The Winter Queen Page 18

  ‘I don’t think you owe him anything at all! Not with the way he deserted you. But you must do as you see fit.’ Anne handed her the scissors. ‘Just be careful, Rosamund, I beg you.’

  ‘Of course I will be careful,’ Rosamund said, straightening her sewing box. ‘I hope I have learned some caution here at Court.’

  Anne laughed. ‘Not from me, I fear.’

  ‘Mistress Percy! Lady Rosamund!’ the Queen called. ‘What are the two of you whispering about, pray?’

  Anne sat up straight as Rosamund tried to stifle her giggles. ‘Of our costumes for your masquerade, Your Grace,’ Anne said.

  ‘Ah. There, you see, Cecil?’ Queen Elizabeth said. ‘Everyone plans for the masquerade already. We cannot disappoint them.’

  ‘As you wish, Your Grace,’ Lord Burghley said reluctantly.

  ‘And I must make my own plans,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Lady Rosamund, fetch Mistress Parry to me. She is in the Great Hall.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Rosamund abandoned her ruined sewing and hurried out of the chamber, grateful for some task. For the chance to look for Anton.

  Yet she did not see him in the crowds in the Presence and Privy chambers, or in the corridors. Nor was he in the gallery, where the choir was again rehearsing. This time it was for the wassail carols that traditionally accompanied the New Year’s gift-giving that would commence at that night’s banquet. The strain of that gift-giving showed on courtiers’ faces. Would their gift impress the Queen? Would it bring them favour?

  ‘Wassail, wassail, all over the town, our toast it is white and our ale it is brown! Our bowl it is made of the white maple-tree, and a wassailing bowl we’ll drink unto thee!’

  Rosamund listened to their wassail song, stopping to peer out of the window at the gardens below. She did not see Anton there, either, among the many people strolling the pathways under the weak, watery sunshine.

  As Rosamund stared down at the garden she did not see the paths, the people bundled up in their furred cloaks or the winter greenery under the dusting of sparkling snow. She only saw Anton, saw his smile as he held her, his laughter as he twirled over the ice.

  She saw the dark look in his eyes as he watched her with Richard. The danger that was already around them all the time.

  She spun away from the window, only to come face to face with Richard himself.

  He smiled at her, reaching for her hand. ‘Rosamund! At last we meet. I have been looking for you all morning.’

  ‘Indeed, M-Master Sutton?’ Rosamund stammered, trying to take back her hand. He held it too tightly, though, and she worried people were watching. ‘I have been with the Queen, as usual.’

  His smile widened, his blue eyes crinkling in a way she had once found so attractive. ‘You are very busy with your tasks here at Court. I see the Queen shows you much favour.’

  ‘No more than any of her other ladies,’ Rosamund said quickly. But then she relented a bit, drawn in by his eyes, by the memory they evoked of summer and home, the times they had shared. ‘But it is true she has not thrown anything at me yet!’

  Richard laughed. ‘And that is quite an accomplishment, from what I have heard.’ He raised her hand for a quick kiss, then he released her at last. ‘Rosamund, will you walk with me? Just for a while?’

  ‘I…’ She glanced around the crowded gallery. ‘I am meant to fetch Mistress Parry for the Queen. She is in the Great Hall.’

  ‘Then I will walk with you there,’ he said. ‘Please, Rosamund. I must speak with you.’

  ‘Very well, then. I would be glad of the company,’ she answered. She would also be glad of the chance to find out where he had been all those months. Why he had left her. Why he had returned now.

  They fell into step together as they made their way through the crowds, but he did not try to touch her again. It was as if he, too, sensed the new gulf between them, the distance of time and reflection. The distance of new pursuits and affections. A new truth, a new way of life.

  Or perhaps it was only she herself who felt that, Rosamund thought wryly. Even as Richard smiled at her, as she felt the tug of home and memories, he seemed a stranger to her. What they had once been to each other seemed strange and foolish now. The emotions were of someone she scarcely even knew, a girl.

  ‘You do look lovely, Rosamund,’ he said quietly. ‘Court life agrees with you.’

  ‘You mean I look better in my fine gown than I did at home with loose hair and simple garments that can’t be mussed by the country mud?’

  His eyes crinkled again, and he leaned towards her, as if to find something of their old connection. ‘You looked lovely then, too. Yet there is some new elegance about you here. You seem—changed.’

  ‘As do you, Richard. But then, it has been a long time since last we met.’

  ‘Not so long as all that.’ He paused. ‘I thought of you often, Rosamund. Did you think of me?’

  ‘Of course I did. There was much speculation in the neighbourhood about where you had gone.’

  ‘But did you think of me?’

  She stilled her steps, facing him squarely. This had to be ended now. ‘For a time. When I did not hear from you, though, I had to turn to other matters. To listen to the counsel of my family.’

  ‘I wanted to write, but I fear I was not able to. Not from where I was.’

  ‘And where were you?’ she asked, not sure she wanted to know. Richard had secrets; she could tell. She needed no more secrets in her life.

  ‘On an errand for my own family,’ he said. But Rosamund noticed he would not quite meet her gaze. Mysteries, always mysteries; there were so many of them at Whitehall. ‘I moved about too often, I fear. Yet I thought of you every day, remembered our declarations to each other.’

  ‘The declarations of foolish children. My parents were right—I was too young to know my own mind.’ She started to turn away, but he caught her arm in a tight clasp, crumpling the fine satin of her sleeve.

  ‘Rosamund, that isn’t true!’ he insisted. ‘I had work to do, for us. So I could support you as you deserve, to show your parents I was worthy.’

  ‘I thought you worthy,’ Rosamund said. She tugged at her arm, trying to free herself. There was a glow to Richard’s eyes, a hard set to his jaw she did not like. It was as if the mask of the laughing summer-time Richard had fallen away, showing her the stony anger and resentment underneath. His hand tightened on her arm, painful enough to bruise.

  ‘Let me go!’ she cried, twisting her wrist. A few courtiers glanced their way, hoping for new distraction, new scandal.

  The mask fell back into place, leaving a repentant visage behind. Yet there was still a red flush of anger in his cheeks. Rosamund suddenly remembered more than their sunlit kisses, remembered things she had once ignored, excused: the temper when a groom had fumbled with his horse; his railing against her parents, against the injustice of society. His unkind words about Celia, disguised as concern for his brother. Those memories only made Rosamund feel doubly foolish, especially as she rubbed at her sore arm.

  ‘I am sorry, dear Rosamund,’ he said repentantly. ‘Forgive me. I just have thought of you, longed to see you, for so long…’

  She shook her head. ‘Please, Richard, do not. Our flirtation was sweet, but it seems so long ago. It is over,’ she said, trying to be firm. Even if there had not been Anton, anything she had once felt for Richard was entirely over.

  His lips tightened into a flat line. ‘You have changed. Living here at Court, amid all these riches, these grand courtiers, has changed you.’

  Aye, she had changed; Rosamund knew that. Yet it was not the glitter of Court that had changed her. It was knowing what a truly good man was like; it was Anton. A man who tried to do his duty, to protect her, even as their passion drew them closer and closer together.

  ‘I am older now, that is all,’ she said. ‘Please, Richard. Can we not part as friends?’

  ‘Part?’ He looked as if he would very much like to argue, perhaps to reach for her, grab
her again. But a laughing group passed close to them, jostling, and he stepped away. ‘Yet we still have so much more to speak of together.’

  ‘Nay, Richard,’ she said. ‘My life is here now, and yours is—wherever you have made it in these last months when I did not hear from you. We must part now.’

  She took a step back, only to be brought up short when he snatched her hand again. That laughing knot of courtiers was still nearby, so she had no fear. Yet she did not like the way he looked at her now, the way he held onto her.

  He jerked her to his side, whispering roughly, ‘You and your parents think you are so great, so high above my family that you would refuse my suit. But soon, when I have made my fortune and great events have come to pass, you will be sorry.’

  Rosamund twisted her hand away from him, hurrying down the gallery as fast as she dared. She longed to run, to dash to her chamber and wash her hands until the feel of him was erased. Until all her old memories, good and bad, were gone too.

  She turned down another corridor, and at its end glimpsed Anton. He still wore his cap and cloak, and his skates were slung over his shoulder as if he’d just come in from the cold day. He saw her too, and a smile of welcome lit his face. But then a wariness took its place, dimming, dampening, as the grey clouds outside.

  Rosamund did not care, though. She had to be near him, to lean into him, to feel that calm strength of his and know she was safe. Know that the past was gone, and Richard held no threat.

  She hurried towards him, dodging around the ever-present crowds until she stood before him. She reached out and lightly touched his hand, tracing the little gold-and-ruby ring on his finger. His skin was cold, the frost still lingering on his woollen sleeve.

  His smile returned, warmer than any fire, any sun.

  ‘You were skating on the river?’ she said, taking her hand back before anyone could notice her bold touch. Her fingers still tingled, though.

  ‘Aye. ’Tis a fine day, Lady Rosamund, you should join me later and try those new skates.’

  ‘I should like nothing better,’ she answered. ‘Yet I fear I will be busy with the Queen this afternoon. She is finishing preparations for the gift-giving tonight.’

  ‘Then I shall not keep you from your tasks,’ he said. He glanced over her shoulder and his eyes narrowed.

  Rosamund looked back to see that Richard stood at the other end of the corridor, watching them. She leaned closer to Anton, seeking his strength.

  ‘Or perhaps you are also busy with your old friends from home?’ he said slowly.

  Her gaze flew back to his. He knew of Richard? Ah, but then of course he would. Everyone knew everything at Court. There were no secrets.

  Almost.

  ‘I—nay,’ she said. ‘That is, yes, Richard’s family’s estate neighbours ours, and I have known him a long time. I begin to think I was quite mistaken in his character, though. Too long a time has passed since I last saw him.’

  ‘He seems quite pleased to see you,’ Anton said. ‘But then, who would not be?’

  ‘Anton,’ she whispered. ‘Can we meet later?’

  His hand brushed hers under cover of his cloak. ‘When?’ he said, his voice reluctant but deep with the knowledge that he could not resist. Just as she felt.

  ‘There will be fireworks tonight after the gifts. Everyone will surely be distracted.’

  ‘Lord Langley’s cousin’s chamber again?’

  ‘Aye.’ Rosamund longed to kiss him, to feel his lips on hers, and she saw from the intent look in his eyes that he must feel the same. Or was she imagining things again? She wanted to stay, to talk to him.

  Yet she had her errand, and had to be content with one more quick touch, a smile. ‘I will see you there.’

  Then she hurried on her way, glad her path did not again take her past Richard.

  Anton watched Rosamund dash out of the corridor, her velvet skirts twirling, before he turned his attention to the man: Richard Sutton.

  Anne Percy had said he was a ‘suitor’ of Rosamund. Yet obviously he was not one her parents approved of, for she had been sent to Court rather than married to him. Was he now some danger to her?

  When Rosamund had run up to Anton and taken his hand, he’d seen a flash of fear in her eyes, like that of the St Stephen’s Day fox going to earth. He was glad indeed she felt she could run to him, but there was a fury that anyone should frighten her at all.

  He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Richard Sutton. The man talked with Celia Sutton now, and she looked angry as well. Her usually solemn, stone-serene face was tense. She shook her head at whatever he was saying to her, and he flushed a dark, furious red.

  The man did appear to be burlier than he, Anton had to admit—thick-chested and broad-shouldered; an English tavern-brawler. But he also showed signs of running to fat, where Anton was lean and quick from skating and sword-play. Surely he could best this harasser of ladies in a duel?

  And a harasser he seemed indeed. He grabbed Celia’s wrist, his fingers tightening as she shook her head again. Anton had seen enough. He pushed away from the wall, striding towards the arguing pair.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, sliding smoothly between them. He took the man’s thick hand in a firm grip, peeling his tight clasp back from Celia’s thin wrist. With his other hand he took her arm, drawing her a few steps away.

  For once, she did not protest. She hardly seemed to notice who held her arm, so occupied was she in glaring at Richard Sutton.

  So, Anton thought, he was not the only one she quarrelled with. ‘I beg your pardon for interrupting such a cozy tête-à-tête,’ he said. ‘But I have an appointment with my fair cousin. I am sure you will excuse us, Master…?’

  ‘This is my brother-in-law, Richard Sutton,’ Celia said. ‘He and I have nothing left to say to each other.’

  ‘On the contrary, Celia,’ Richard said, all false, bluff heartiness. ‘We have a great deal to say to each other! And who is this foreigner, anyway?’

  ‘He told you,’ Celia said. ‘He is my cousin. And also a foreigner who is much admired and favoured here at Court. Just ask Lady Rosamund Ramsay.’

  She swung away suddenly, pulling Anton with her as he still held her arm. But he looked back at Richard, holding her still for just a moment longer.

  ‘And also a foreigner well-educated in gallantry and courtesy to ladies,’ he said lightly, but with an unmistakable threat of steel laced underneath. ‘In my country, we tend to become very angry indeed when we see a woman treated with less than proper respect.’

  The flush on Richard’s florid face deepened. Celia smiled at him sweetly, and added, ‘And that is why the ladies here are so appreciative of you, Anton. Our rough Englishmen from the countryside have little knowledge of such gallantry and fine manners.’

  ‘Nay, for we have knowledge of far more useful matters,’ Richard said. ‘Such as warfare. Dispatching our enemies.’

  ‘Tsk, tsk, brother,’ Celia said. ‘Such martial tendencies will never win you a fair maiden like Lady Rosamund.’

  Anton arched his brow and gave Richard a mocking bow before walking away with Celia on his arm. He could feel the burn of the man’s glare on the back of his neck all the way down the corridor, and it made him itch to draw his dagger.

  But there were too many people about, and Celia’s clasp was tight on his sleeve.

  ‘So, that interesting person is your brother-in-law,’ he said.

  Celia snorted contemptuously, her steps so quick he had to pay close attention to keep up with her. They passed the open doors to the Great Hall, where much activity went on to prepare the tables meant to display that night’s New Year’s gifts.

  ‘He was my brother-in-law, until my husband died,’ she said. ‘Now that family seeks to deny me my dower rights.’

  As he sought to deny her her rights to Briony Manor? But he did not seem to be the focus of her ire today.

  ‘They are a greedy lot, the Suttons,’ she said. �
��I would never have married into their midst if I had a choice. Lady Rosamund is most fortunate.’

  ‘Lady Rosamund?’

  ‘Ah, yes. I forgot you, too, admire her. Perhaps your suit will fare better with her parents than Richard’s.’ A tiny, cat-like smile touched her lips. ‘I would like to see Richard’s face if that happened.’

  ‘They objected to his offer?’ Anton asked, even as he cursed his curiosity, his damnable need to know everything about Rosamund.

  ‘It never came to a formal offer. Richard and his family are quite ambitious, and they schemed for the match. I believe he even tried to woo her in secret, but I knew it would come to naught.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Why, cousin,’ Celia said slyly. ‘Who knew you would be so interested in provincial gossip?’

  Anton laughed. ‘I am a man of many interests.’

  ‘Indeed you are. Foremost among them Lady Rosamund, perhaps?’

  ‘Anyone may know my regard for her.’

  ‘I would advise you to be sure of her affections, then, before you brave the Queen. Or the Ramsays. She is their only child, their treasure, and they quite dote on her. I knew they would never let her go to a clod like Richard.’

  ‘Or to a foreigner?’ They must know what a treasure they had, then, and would not easily let her go.

  ‘That remains to be seen, does it not?’ She abruptly came to a halt, staring up at him with those brown eyes so like his mother’s. And his own. His only family, so very angry at him.

  ‘I will say this, cousin,’ she said. ‘We have been rivals, but I am not entirely a fool. I can see that you are made of finer stuff than the Suttons, and that Lady Rosamund cares for you. But you should not underestimate Richard. He looks bluff and hearty, an empty-headed farmer sort of man, but he is ambitious. He hides and creeps like a snake, and he detests to be thwarted.’

  ‘I have no fear of a man like him.’ It was not Richard Sutton who kept him from Rosamund but his own duty.

  ‘I know you do not. In truth, you remind me much of my own father. He feared nothing at all, for everyone seemed charmed by him, yet that was his undoing in the end. Just watch for Richard, that is all. Especially if you somehow succeed in gaining Lady Rosamund’s hand.’