Bedding the Enemy (3 page)

“Dinnae placate me, Helena.” Raelin placed one delicate hand on her hip. Helena stared at the informal pose, amusement tickling her nose.

Raelin pointed at the mirror. “Ye havena even taken a good look yet.”

“But I already like the way my face feels so much better.”

Raelin's eyes shimmered with emotion. “I didna think of that. But I suppose it was uncomfortable wearing all that thick powder.”

She sat down and angled the mirror up so that it showed Helena a clear reflection of herself. Having the use of a mirror was quite unexpected because they were such costly things. She held it carefully, making sure to maintain a good grip on it, but just to be sure, she allowed it to rest in her lap. The polished surface showed her a very pleasing sight. You could see the color of her skin once more, only a little powder used to smooth her complexion. Her lips were painted, but with a lighter coral shade instead of the blood red favored by the late queen Elizabeth. Raelin had outlined her eyes in a thin brown that made them look a little larger, and there was a touch of rose on her cheeks. Her hair no longer rose so high above her forehead. Neat rolls parted in the center but they were no more than an inch thick.

A little sigh crossed her lips in relief.

“Now that's much better.” Raelin clapped her hands together, her face shining with her accomplishment. “You and I shall be friends. I will help style you and you will play the music. Her Majesty adores the virginals.”

“That is very kind of you.”

And it was. Raelin McKorey was a maid to the queen, so she didn't have any time of her own. Besides, her family had placed her there in the hopes that she would accomplish all of the things that Edmund wanted of her. Helena smiled at her, seeing so much of herself in the Scots girl, both of them trying to find their way in a world controlled by men and money.

Helena returned to the virginals, setting her fingers onto the keys with a happy heart. Her spirit felt lighter than it had in weeks. It was for certain that her face was lighter. The queen was nodding her head in time with the music while she worked her needle. It was so beautiful, Helena felt privileged to be a part of it.

Edmund could choke on his schemes.

“D
id the queen invite you back?”

Helena jumped, her mind foggy from slumber. Fear shot through her for a brief moment until she forced her eyes to focus on the yellow glow illuminating the doorframe of her tiny room. Edmund stood there, a sneer of impatience on his lips.

“Did she?”

“Yes.”

There was little point in berating him for waking her so rudely. Her brother might take that as a compliment to his ability to ruffle her feathers. His gaze wondered over her, lingering on her face for a long moment before moving down her body. Her fingers curled around the top of the blanket, clutching it closer. Disgust raked across her.

Edmund snickered at her revulsion. “Don't flatter yourself, sister dear. I am merely trying to gauge just what manner of body you've managed to grow. You're certainly not pretty enough to have the marriage offers piling up on my secretary's desk.”

Helena pulled the blanket up anyway, his words giving her little reassurance. It bothered her to have him in her chamber during the night. Her skin itched with distaste.

“I've done what you asked, Edmund. Go on and let me rest.”

His face changed, his lips thinning into something quite ugly. She was accustomed to his schemes but this was deeper somehow. Greed shimmered in his eyes.

“I haven't even begun to tell you what I want you to do. But I'm not surprised that you can't understand what needs to be done for our family to succeed.” His eyes traveled down her length once more, his lips curling back in disgust. “You're just a female, nothing but a bitch that can speak. It falls to me to give you direction.”

He left her doorway, the light of the candle fading down the hallway. It left her in darkness because her shutters were closed. Rolling over and reaching up, Helena found the inch-wide metal rod that secured them. She did it easily from hundreds of repetitions. Pulling it loose, she allowed it to hang by its chain, and propped herself up on one shoulder so that she might open the shutter.

Edmund would have a fit if he knew she opened the shutters at all. Her room wasn't really a room but an attic. He'd had a set of steep stairs built when her parents sent her to join him in the London town house. Residences near the palace were costly and in great demand but she slept in the attic for another reason.

Edmund was selfish.

She smothered a giggle and pulled one shutter open. The night sky was magical. Well, only if one admitted to believing in magic. That wasn't very wise. James didn't seem to have the same zeal for witch hunting as some did, but there were men on his privy council who did.

She pulled the blanket up to her nose to hide any reflections of the moonlight off her plain nightshift. Keeping absolutely still, she could look out over the rooftops of London. She only did it when the moonlight wasn't pointing toward her window. The night was beautiful. Searching the heavens, she located constellations she had first seen in books. Peace settled over her. This was the time that was solely hers. She treasured it.

The corners of her mouth twitched up just thinking about what Edmund might do if he knew how much she adored the tiny attic room.

She hoped nothing. He was her brother, after all. It was sad to think they would never like each other. She still held out hope that they might find some topics that they agreed upon, possibly even enjoy conversing on.

To date it had not happened. The moment she arrived in London, Edmund had begun telling her what he planned for her to do. What use he had for her. It was disheartening, to say the least. They were blood but honestly they were little more than strangers. Edmund had left their family estate at the age of six and she had been barely out of swaddling at the time. He returned from time to time but never for long. Her memory held brief recollections of him at different ages, but it was likely that she held those memories due to the paintings her parents commissioned of their only son. They were huge oil canvases, ones that hung proudly in the dining hall of their estate. She hadn't really known what to expect upon her arrival. What she'd found was a man who was a stranger to her.

Edmund wore lace and ribbons set with gold tips. Pearls adorned his doublet and his slops were full and round. His boots were always polished and freshly blacked. Lace edged the ruffles of his shirt. The thing that looked the most out of place on him was the sword he had strapped to his hip. The hilt was gilded and polished. Edmund had a habit of resting one hand on it, almost lovingly. He was every inch the courtier. His life revolved around the gossip. The first few days she had attended with him, she had stared in wonder while he made his rounds. He wasn't alone in that. Hundreds of people were crowded into court. They competed for appointments with the king. Bribes were frequent and high. Seating at banquets cost you a good amount of silver if you wanted to be seated next to the person of your choice. Edmund dictated every move she made. No one danced with her without his permission. She did not go where he did not bid her to go.

Just like today with the queen…

Raelin and the other girls who served as maids of honor came to mind. Even their dresses were uniform. In spite of having known her so short a time, Helena found herself liking the Scots girl. A desire to return to the queen's private chambers was growing stronger, but not due to any direction from her brother.

Poor Edmund. How would he deal with such devastating news?

She laughed at her own jest. It wasn't too terrible to tease her brother in her thoughts. Well, the church would argue about that. Still she didn't feel guilt chewing on her conscience. After all, Edmund made no attempt at all to be pleasant. A few ill thoughts were the least of his due. But she would not linger on them. The only person who would be upset was herself.

Reaching up, she closed the shutter. Dawn would arrive promptly, so best to rest while she might. Edmund would likely have her dressed and in the carriage at daybreak. But she didn't mind, for it meant she might see Raelin again, and the idea of having a friend sent her off to slumber with happy thoughts.

 

“Welcome back, Mistress Knyvett.” One of the queen's ladies-in-waiting waved the guards out of the doorway. Helena lowered herself before entering.

“Her Majesty is unwell this morning.”

“I am sorry to hear such news.”

The lady offered a small smile that confused Helena. The queen's illness was no reason for smiles, she would think.

“'Tis the babe making her ill. It will pass in a few more weeks.”

Helena's face reflected her surprise. She had heard no rumors of the queen being with child.

“And you shall keep that knowledge to yourself, madam. Her Majesty does not need to be bothered with the endless congratulations and chattering of every soul who wants to advance themselves by wiggling into her good graces. Now is the time for quiet so that her body may adjust.”

“Of course. I understand.”

The lady waved her off, toward the circle of maids of honor. They smiled at her, Raelin patting a bench next to her.

“I'm so glad ye came.”

Raelin kept her voice a whisper. “Dinnae ye worry, things will be right as rain by noon. Until then, we will have to behave.”

There was a soft round of laughter from all the girls that they covered up quickly, and lowered their heads to peer at their sewing. Helena felt her eyes widen when she beheld what was sitting on the table in the center of their group. A small chest, banded with iron to make it secure, was there with its top open. Pearls in more colors than she had ever seen sat nestled inside it—cream, white, pink, gold, and even blue ones. They were sorted into different sizes and held in small silk bags that were all carefully untied so that you might see into each bag.

“Can you stitch?”

“Of course.”

Raelin shook her head. “There is no ‘of course' about it. The pearls are counted and recounted when removed. Make sure your stitches and knots are secure.”

Raelin handed her a silk sleeve that was edged in velvet. Tiny chalk marks showed the design where the pearls were intended to sit. She also handed her a golden needle.

Helena marveled at the little needle. It was so smooth, no rough burrs to catch on the fabric. She rolled it between her fingers, simply enjoying holding such a fine item. The sleeve itself was beautiful and working on it was a pure delight for the senses. The girls whispered all the time they attached pearls. Helena felt Raelin watching her first few stitches but she did not become flustered. Her skills were very good and she knotted the thread with a practiced hand.

The queen finally emerged from her sleeping chamber, her face pale. Her ladies fluttered around her but she waved them away.

“A bit of fresh air. That is all I need.”

She was wearing only a dressing gown and that was untied, allowing her chemise to be seen. Her hair was braided into one thick length that trailed down her back. But she still looked so regal. It was in the way she moved, commanding everyone around her.

“Helena, play something sweet.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Carefully setting her work aside, Helena rose and curtsied to her queen before sitting at the virginals. The queen looked out over the garden but her face lost some of its pinched look when Helena began to play.

“I heard ye were feeling poorly again.”

Helena missed a note as the king strode into the chamber. The queen turned and lowered herself. But the king reached for her hand, raising her.

“I am very well.”

James Stuart didn't appear to believe her. His face was darkened with concern. Anne laughed at him.

“This is not our first babe. I will be strong and well.”

The king kissed her hand, lingering over it. He suddenly noticed Helena, looking straight at her.

“A new maid of honor, my dear?”

The queen smiled. “This is Helena Knyvett. I enjoy her command of the virginals quite a bit.”

“Then I am in her debt.”

Helena felt a smile brightening her face. There was no way to ignore the rise of satisfaction inside her. But it wasn't due to some sense of family duty. The king might command the best musicians in the country to play for him. Pleasing his ear was an accomplishment, to be sure. She inclined her head to acknowledge his words, not wanting to lose the melody.

Servants entered with large serving platters that had silver domes over them. They set a table right in the middle of the chamber. The scent of fresh bread and newly cut cheese drifted to her nose when they lifted the domes. The king and queen began dining. Helena watched them from beneath her lowered lashes. It was a fascinating sight because, in spite of their positions, they appeared quite normal.

Not that she might ever dare to call them normal. Many still believed in the divine right of the monarchy. But it was almost an intimate setting, so far removed from the other times she had viewed the royal couple. At banquets, there were horns that announced the couple every time they entered the room. Each tempting and lavish tray was presented to them before anyone else. Earls and countesses served them, doing even the most basic of table chores, such as holding a bowl of wash water for the queen to rinse her hands in before she supped. The ladies of the chamber served the royal couple but it lacked the abundance of lowering and curtsies that was displayed by these very same women in the great hall. There was no lack of respect, simply a lack of pretense.

Helena was suddenly more content than she had been since leaving home. Behind all the polished manners and expected duties, there were people here. She enjoyed that.

Even Edmund and his schemes couldn't tarnish her joy.

London…

Keir McQuade looked down on the town with a frown. He'd honestly never thought to travel so far into England. He liked Scotland and was quite content to run his estates.

There was yet another thing that had changed with his father's recent behavior. James might just leave him standing in the outer chamber for months, considering the last McQuade he'd had in his presence had needed running through by the royal guard. The only thing his monarch might be interested in seeing him about was the inheritance taxes due the crown. But the secretary of the privy council could collect that.

Yet it was his duty to wait for his king's attention.

Every new laird swore an oath to his monarch. It was a tradition that needed to be observed even more because of the way his father had disgraced the name of McQuade. Keir looked down on London and tightened his resolve. He wasna afraid of anything that would befall his own person. He was more worried about nae being able to restore his clan to good standing with his king. Being the McQuade laird, that was now his burden. Every soul wearing McQuade colors looked to him to maintain their honor. The men riding with him all wanted to be proud of the name they'd been born with, to wear their kilts with chins held high. His father had made that difficult with raids that cast a shadow over the honor of the entire clan.

He tightened his hand around the reins.

He'd make sure their sons could be proud of being McQuades.

 

“You're more clever than I thought.”

Edmund was drunk, although her brother handled it expertly. There was only a slight slurring to his words and a pinch at the corner of his eyes that she had learned to recognize.

“Don't plan on getting married. I need you.”

She bit her lip to retain the harsh words that bubbled up in response. What an arrogant fool her brother was. He mocked himself with his own words. One day he was ready to get rid of her, and the next he was warning her against thinking of marrying. The only thing his warning did was illuminate how little say she had over her own fate. Such knowledge was beginning to chafe, and being told that it was a woman's position to accept it, very old.

Her brother's hunting hounds appeared to have more choice than she.