Maid of Deception (7 page)

“Such a frown as I’ve never seen upon your face, Beatrice. Would that I could help take it away.”

I barely kept myself from stiffening, and instead turned and favored Meg’s Spaniard with a smile. “What a charming surprise, Count de Martine. What brings you out into the sunlight?”

Despite my pains to be polite, Rafe grinned at me, then took my hand in his and curled it into his arm. “No need to stare daggers at me, fair maiden, or tire yourself with attempting friendship. I merely wish to serve as an escort to
you. A young lady of your soft beauty should not ever have to take her air alone.” He paused then, considering. “Unless that was your goal? To flee the confines of the castle and all who rest within it?”

If only that were possible.
But Rafe’s sudden appearance was something I could use. He was a dashing, handsome Spaniard, for all that he was still a Spaniard. Half the women in court swooned over him, though he only had eyes for Meg. He would do as a young man to squire me into the Lower Ward, I supposed. For as I’d already learned to my chagrin, nothing drew the attention of one Alasdair MacLeod to me as when I was receiving attention from another courtier.

“I think you see the value I may bring you,” Rafe observed blandly, and I glanced to him, startled by his laugh. “Worry not, fair maid,” he said, patting my hand. “We shall put on a fine show of it until I get you to your destination.”

“Perhaps I have underestimated you, my count,” I observed archly, and was rewarded again by another of his chuckles.

“You would not be the first.” We walked several paces more, down the quadrangle’s northern passageways and through the Norman Gate. We crossed into the Middle Ward, shadowed by the enormous Round Tower that marked the highest point of Windsor Castle.

I stopped Rafe there, staring up at the Tower’s round bulk as if I hadn’t passed by the thing nearly every day for the past several months. But there was something else I wanted to ask of him, before we descended into the chaos of the Lower Ward.

“The jade stone ring you brought to England,” I began. “How did . . . how did you come by it?”

Rafe hesitated. Then I felt the warm pressure of his hand over mine. “Meg didn’t tell you?”

“She said it came from your mother,” I said coolly. “I could only assume that your mother knew my father in an earlier time, and that he gifted it to her. On that topic you need explain no more.”
God save me from philandering fathers as well.
“But was there anything else she shared with you about it—or any other of my family’s treasure that my father seemed so fond of casting about?”

“Fair questions all,” Rafe said. He gave me a little tug, and we moved back into the sunlight, strolling like bosom friends along the flower-edged lane. “She said nothing of your father. I have no idea how she came by the ring, only that it gave her great satisfaction to keep it secret from my own father.”

I snorted. “As one might well expect.”

“But as to other bits of your family treasure being strewn about the castle, she did say this—‘’tis but the smallest trifle from a wealth laid in the very earth of his holding.’ ” He shrugged. “I took it to mean that whatever lord she’d charmed was very rich indeed.”

“Rich!” I burst forth with such a grim laugh that even Rafe was forced to check his stride, looking down at me in concern. Too late I realized my mistake, and struggled to amend it. “Rich we would be indeed if my father would forestall his own hand in giving away all our worldly possessions.” I glanced up at him with as rueful an expression as I could muster. “I do apologize, Count de Martine. I should
not prattle on about something so inconsequential.”

“We can only marvel at the actions of our parents,” Rafe agreed, turning again to escort me into the Lower Ward. “Their decisions remain a puzzle even to themselves, I suspect.”

Or to any rational person alive.
The Knowles family may have been rich at one time—our mansion in Northampton was a hulking effigy to that largesse. But the money had long gone from our coffers, which were systematically being emptied even further by my spendthrift father and addled mother. I’d not been back to Marion Hall since the Queen’s coronation early this year, and I had no great need to see it again anytime soon.

“Ah, here we are, then. Shall I tarry with you farther, or have I served my purpose?” Rafe’s eyes were alight with good humor, and I supposed I could see why Meg fancied him. Even if he was a Spaniard.

“Pray, you may consider yourself released to enjoy the day, good sir.” I found myself laughing the words, grateful for the moment’s respite from my own twisting thoughts. I curtsied to him with the coy flirtation of a blushing maid. “I do thank you for your gallant rescue to ensure I did not walk alone.”

Rafe, for his part, executed a perfect courtly bow. “Your brightness only illuminates me further; I could not stay away,” he said, straightening with a flourish. His eyes shifted to something over my shoulder, and he winked at me. “I think we’ve caught our fish,” he said lightly.

“Would that he not stink of one,” I returned, but I let
Rafe, now laughing openly, take my hands in his. He brought them to his lips for a final flirtatious coup, and winked at me again. Then he took his leave of me, and I busied myself with my velvet pouch, as if I were searching for shillings to pay for a market day pie.

I had just opened the strings when I felt a strong tug at my right arm, curling my hand over a thick, corded biceps. Even though I’d been expecting something along these lines, I could barely forestall my gasp at the temerity of the young man’s touch.

Alasdair MacLeod turned me around smartly and walked with me into the midst of the teeming market, as if proclaiming to all that I was his property. He said not one word, and I strained against his arm. “I do beg your pardon, sir, but—”

“Do not tempt me, m’lady.” Alasdair cocked a glance down at me. The faintest of smiles now stretched his lips. “The idea of you begging for anything would be too much for me to bear.”

Irritation surged forth, as it always did with the impossible Scotsman. “May you at least lighten your grip? You’re hurting my arm.”

That did it, as I suspected it would; the oaf loosened his hold at once, contenting himself with maintaining his hand over mine on his arm, as if he were afraid I would collapse if left completely free.

Alasdair was a head and a half taller than I was, though I was certainly of a fine height—nearly as tall as the Queen. But he seemed overmuch concerned for my personal safety
when he was around. “Thank you,” I managed, though I had done myself no favors. Now the Scot’s large hand covered mine, and I had left the castle interior without gloves. The feeling of Alasdair’s rough fingers on my skin left me oddly breathless, and I struggled to remember why I needed to speak with him in the first place. Thinking to head off any comments intended to nettle me, I broached the subject of my failed wedding directly. “ ’Tis a fine day, is it not? For all that it began with a disrupted wedding?”

He grinned fiercely, firming his fingers on mine once again. “The day is all the better for that turn of events, aye.” He glanced down at me. “Tell me you were not relieved. I saw you watch me with hope in your eyes even as you strolled down the aisle.”

“You saw no such thing!” I snapped. That only seemed to goad him on further.

“You like me shaven clean and fit for your English weddings, eh?” He lifted my hand in his meaty paw and drew it down his cheek, before resettling it on his arm. “Find me much more civilized this way?”

“Never fear that I will ever find you civilized, sir,” I said frostily, though my stomach had tightened at the bold caress and how quickly he’d managed it, and my fingers still tingled with the roughness of his face, his beard already returning though he’d likely shaven mere hours before. “In truth you may unhand me completely, if you please. I am well able to walk unassisted.”

“ ’Tis no bother to me,” Alasdair said, and he tugged me along, only the crush of the crowd ensuring that I did not
stumble over my own skirts in trying to keep up with his long stride. “You belong on my arm.”

That drew me up short. “Sir, you must be mistaken. My wedding was postponed, not canceled.”

“It looked canceled to me,” he countered. “The look on the face of that stick you were tying yourself to was something to behold. He looked like he’d eaten spoiled haggis.”

“Lord Cavanaugh had every right to be upset,” I reasoned, pricked despite myself. “He was very much looking forward to being my husband.”

“More like he was looking forward to having you all to himself. Not that I can blame the man, but I’d not wish marriage to him on my worst enemy.”

“And you think what you have to offer would far outweigh one of the most noble houses of England?” I scoffed, at once furious with Alasdair and incensed with myself for being drawn out by him. This was not what I needed to learn from the scoundrel!

“I have more to offer in my little finger than he does with all of his horses and land,” Alasdair replied, drawing his fingers over mine to emphasize his point. I felt the color rise in my cheeks, but he just continued talking. “Though your Queen does have an eye for making an entrance in the most dramatic way possible. I’ll give her that.”

“She does,” I said, grateful for the change of subject. “Our Elizabeth is nothing if not dramatic.”

Alasdair slanted me a look. “She is jealous of you.”

I grimaced as we stopped before a stand that sold savory pies. “I rather doubt that,” I said, though with Elizabeth it
was well possible. Even though she was the most powerful woman in England, I’d seen her devolve into an apoplectic fit when she felt she was being slighted by one courtier or another. They’d quickly learned to not invite her wrath, but mayhap I should have had more of a care myself. If she felt I was trying to outshine her, then far more than a postponed wedding would be my reward.

I blinked as Alasdair ordered enough food to feed a family of twelve. “I’m so sorry, sir. Did I interrupt your provisioning of your men?”

“You canna interrupt me, m’lady,” Alasdair returned, tucking the pies into a sack he’d pulled out of somewhere and catching up a flagon of wine as well. He tossed a pile of coins to the vendor, waving off the man’s offer to count it. “I merely thought you must be fatigued at having your future so effectively ruined. I wish to help revive you.”

“My future is not ruined.”
Other than being dragged around by you.
But I allowed Alasdair to pull me to the edge of the market, where benches had been set up in a loose group. He hooked a bench with one of his long legs and sat down upon it, patting the space beside him.

“Eat something, wench,” he said, breaking off a piece of steaming pastry. “You’re skinny enough to see through.”

“I am not—” I opened my mouth to protest, and he shoved the bit of pie in, as neatly as if I were his truculent niece. “Oof!” I managed, my eyes watering.

He uncorked the wine and handed me the open bottle. “It’s hot. Drink this.”

And thus was I in the middle of the teeming rabble of the
Lower Ward, drinking wine straight from a bottle like any common Street Sally.

Lo, had my fortunes changed.

Still, I had my part to play, and by God I was going to play it. I handed the bottle back to Alasdair, noting his satisfaction as he stared at my wine-stained lips. Forcing myself to keep from snatching a handkerchief out of my pouch, I licked my lips instead. His eyes darkened, and I plunged forward.

“I will tell you plain, I think the Queen’s decision had less to do with me and more with your countrymen.” I sighed, canting my head to the right in a way I knew presented the curve of my jaw to best effect.

It served its purpose. Alasdair went very still, watching me. “My countrymen?” he asked. “What role do they play in this?”

“Elizabeth is just so
nervous
about all of you.” I fluttered my hand vaguely to the north, as if in one gesture I could encompass the whole of the Scottish kingdom. “She sees the rebellion gathering steam, but also the violent and prolonged opposition from the Catholics. And with more Scots now in Windsor than we’ve had in an age, she is ill at ease, wondering who is her friend and who her foe.”

“The Scots are here for one thing alone, and that is English arms and support,” Alasdair said flatly. I almost caught my breath, and it was all I could do to not betray the quickening of my heart. Would it really be so easy as this? I could tell Cecil—Walsingham—the Queen. I could be done with all of this and married within the fortnight. I stared into his eyes, willing him to spill all of his secrets like
so much cheap wine. “Our intentions are not so cloaked as those of you Englishers,” Alasdair continued. “If you wish to know something for your Queen, m’lady, you have but to ask.”

Then his smile turned into more of a leer, and he leaned forward to speak words that only I could hear. “But I’ll tell you plain. There will be a price for the information.”

Despite myself, I jerked back. “What sort of price?” I asked, trying and failing this time to mask my reaction. “You cannot mean, sir—”

When his grin just deepened, I felt the outrage spill out of me.

“No!” I hissed, forgetting myself entirely and placing my hands squarely on his broad chest, shoving him back. “Sir, you go too far! I refuse to be treated like some wayward tavern girl and have you disrespect me as if I were the rushes beneath your feet. I will not have it!”

Alasdair tilted back his head and howled with laughter, the sound loud enough to draw the eyes of even the most raucous of the market day rabble. I jumped up from the bench, blind with anger, but no sooner had I turned away than he was right there with me, turning me back to him as tears fairly streamed down his face, his body shaking with mirth.

“Well done, well done!” he managed, his voice low and resonant. “You’ve met my only condition, my lady. I will tell you all you wish.”

That caught me up short. “What do you mean?” I demanded. “I will not be trifled with, good sir.”
Not this day, and certainly not by you.