Maid of Deception (14 page)

“The smell almost makes them not worth it.” Anna’s laugh was rueful. “But it is good to be dry, and to have a chance to test them on horseback.” A month ago and more, now, she’d coated plain woolen cloaks with a thick salve of lanolin, reasoning that if it kept the sheep dry, it should keep us dry as well. She’d been right, but there was a price for such success. Dry, the cloaks looked like any other woolen covering. But once they got well and truly soaked, they not
only kept us protected from the rain. They also smelled like wet sheep.

Fortunately, we’d been far away from the court before we’d discovered this.

“Dry trumps everything,” Jane said from her post at the back of our small group. She alone of us was dressed as a man, offering up the very fair reasoning that one of us needed to be astride and give the appearance of being a guard. But in truth Jane just hated the sidesaddle; she’d learned to ride with the boys in her village, and she refused to give up control of her steed no matter how indecent it looked. “One last rise, Beatrice, and we’ll have lost the farthest outriders.”

We’d been told to stay within view of the Queen’s guard, but their loyalty was to the Queen, not her women. So gradually we’d moved faster and faster along the roads, trotting and cantering. I needed all the time I could at Marion Hall before Elizabeth descended.

“Good,” I said, surveying the forest as it stretched before us. “We’re almost to the break—”

“What ho! What’s this?” Meg danced her pony around, peering hard into the driving rain. “Beatrice, is that—”

“Of course it is.” I frowned and rode to the fore of our group, but I’d recognized the rider immediately, resting exactly where the trees parted and the path into the forest could be found. “How in God’s name did Alasdair MacLeod gain permission to join the Queen’s progress? What could he possibly be doing here?”

And why did my heart give a little leap to see him? He’d been at every turn and corner in the castle in the days
following my public reveal of Lord Cavanaugh’s indiscretion. Not approaching me, exactly, but not staying away either. He’d lurked in the shadows like a dark-eyed god, watching me and those around me. I hadn’t known whether to be flattered or annoyed, but annoyed had seemed smarter.

Seeing him here, however, so close to my home, inspired a whole raft of different emotions. Had he seen where I lived? Surely he had to have done so. And what had he thought? Was he planning to heap yet more humiliation upon me? Was that why he’d ridden so far into the woods, away from Marion Hall to greet us?

“Well, be glad we’ve the company, no matter who it is.” Jane’s words cut into my increasingly darker thoughts. “We could use the protection. I’m not a fan of woodlands. There is too much that can be hidden.”

“In this forest in particular,” Sophia said, and I glanced at her, startled to hear her voice. She’d ridden silently for much of our travels, her gaze intent and her expression rapt. I always forgot how constrained her life must have been, as niece to the Queen’s astrologer. Even though he was only a few years older than the Queen, John Dee already seemed to be an old man, buried in his books and muttering over his charts. He was not often at court—and he never asked after Sophia, at least not since her betrothal to Lord Brighton. I thought on that now. Was John Dee complicit in the apparent plot that had been perpetrated to separate Sophia from her father? Was it because of this rumored Sight that she had? But surely he couldn’t have known about that. Sophia had been a little girl when her mother had died and she’d
been kidnapped, according to the papers Jane and Meg had found in Lord Brighton’s study. How could she have demonstrated any powers at all, when she could barely speak?

In any event, now Sophia was looking around with solemn eyes. “Who lives here, in these woods?” she asked as we headed into the hidden swale.

“It’s the southernmost tip of Salcey Forest,” I said. “No one lives in it.” Not exactly true, but I was in no mood to slice the point more finely. “We’ll go quite a ways through it before we reach our holding. But the main road would take an age.” I paused, scowling ahead at Alasdair. At least he would make the girl feel more comfortable. “Do you not feel safe, Sophia?”

“Oh no, that isn’t it. . . .” Sophia’s words petered out as she peered into the forest, but she didn’t turn her horse into the wood, at least. I had no time for an enchanted woodland experience.

“Well, I for one will be glad to get under cover,” Anna huffed, shaking out her cloak and sending water flying. “I’m not sure how much longer our cloaks will last.”

Then we were trotting into the break of trees, with Alasdair riding toward us on his magnificent horse. It certainly hadn’t come from the Marion Hall stables, I could see at a glance. Too big.

“Well met!” he boomed, then touched his hand to the reins, turning his horse just slightly. “God’s bones, but you smell like a herd of—”

“Enough!” I raised my hand sharply. “What are you doing here? I did not realize you were part of the Queen’s
progress.” It was not unheard of for Elizabeth to bring foreign courtiers on her jaunts, but really? Scotsmen?

Alasdair grinned at me through the rain. “As lovely as ever, my lady, and scented like a rose.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“Because it’s not a necessary one.” Alasdair lifted the edge of my cloak. “So that’s why,” he mused, turning the flap of cloth over and inspecting both sides. “Ingenious, and if that’s why the smell is so strong, I’m thinking an herb concoction of vinegar and heather—”

“What’s this? What’s this?” Anna nosed her horse forward as I yanked my cloak out of Alasdair’s hands.

“We do not have time for this discussion!” I protested. “We need to get—”

“Aye, aye, to Marion Hall,” Alasdair said over my words. He turned his horse in earnest and faced north once more. “And so get there we will. Your father mentioned ye might try to break away from the group, and he sent me to escort you.”

“My father?” I asked, my eyes going narrow even as we moved into the wood. “Pray tell, what occasion had you to speak with my father?”

“I helped him saddle his nag to make haste for his home, and one thing led to another, as oft it does. He invited me and a few of my men to help with the rabble about to descend on Marion Hall, and here we are.” We were moving at a reasonable clip through the woods now, and Anna had been right. The thickly wooded Salcey Forest provided just enough space for two horses to move abreast, once you got out away from
the main road, but the canopy of trees allowed a swift and welcome respite from the rain.

Jane was already out of her cloak, and for just a moment I envied her breeches and jacket. “I’ve got the bigger horse,” she said. “I’ll carry the cloaks. The smell doesn’t bother me.”

What does?
I wondered uncharitably, but I allowed Alasdair to help me out of my cloak, trying to mask my irritation as he and Anna fell into an immediate discussion on Scottish cures for foul-smelling sheep. Instead I forged ahead. I knew this woodland well. For all of our financial straits, Marion Hall had been blessed with a thriving stable of horses, and gentry from all over the county would trade with us for foals and mares. We’d staged races and festivals when times were better, and as a result I’d ridden more than my share through the overarching canopies of Salcey Forest.

Now I peered through the wood, forcing myself to glance only once at Sophia. She was sitting straight and prettily, her skin flushed and her eyes shining, as if she were a princess herself on procession. But she no longer looked about with worry, and I allowed myself to relax the tiniest bit. If she couldn’t sense that others roamed this wood, then perhaps it was currently empty. Lord knew that Alasdair tromping along on his great warhorse would have been loud enough to scare even the hardiest of souls away.

We traveled on for a few hours more, not so fast to lather the horses but at a clip that suffered no delay. Anna chatted with Alasdair and even drew Sophia out in conversation, while Meg and Jane seemed caught in a thorny discussion of what truly rested under the Round Tower of Windsor.

For myself, I just wanted to press on, press on. A thousand and one catastrophes awaited me in the tottering wreck of my home, and I’d need a dozen lifetimes to fix them. Instead I had but three hours.

Finally the trees began to dwindle, and I urged my mount faster, coming up the small rise just as the clouds finally parted and the sun peaked out to brighten the last scatter of rain.

There, nestled in the valley, lay Marion Hall.

Built to withstand both weather and woe, the folly of a mule-brained twelfth-century baron who’d fancied a castle when merely a house would have done, the imposing stone edifice of turreted rose granite sprawled out in ungainly fashion across the lawn. The estate encompassed dozens of rooms, courtyards, and sheds, all of them now bustling with activity, with servants and children and grooms and cooks racing about in panicked flight. And as the wind picked up its measure and skated toward us up the hillside, swirling and whirling with playful abandon, I could hear the unmistakable sounds . . . of screaming.

“Welcome to my home,” I sighed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I didn’t wait to discuss the chaos I saw before us, but rode toward it in a madcap fury equal to what was already taking place at Marion Hall. I feared the worst, especially when we raced up to the stables to find them completely empty of man or beast.

Alasdair had swung down from his horse almost before it had stopped, and helped me out of my sidesaddle. “Don’t look so distressed, Beatrice. Jeremy is a good lad. He had the idea to send all the horses out to line the great road up to Marion Hall, a horse and rider at every quarter mile. Gathered up many of the horsemen in the village too, to make a proper welcome.”

“Jeremy?” I stared at Alasdair. “But who is watching him?” I imagined the twelve-year-old imp I’d left behind at Marion Hall late the previous year. I’d returned to my home after Queen Mary’s death, deep in mourning, as had been the rest of the court. But we had barely begun preparations for the coming Christmas when the summons to return to court had arrived. The new young Queen had need of me, I’d been told. I must return to London at once to serve her.

My father had been in alt; my mother had not grasped the significance. And neither of them—nor I—had realized exactly what service I would be asked to perform.

But Jeremy at Christmastime had not only been the oldest of the fostered children at Marion Hall; he’d also been one of the wildest. “Surely you have not left him alone?”

“He seems used to it.” Alasdair shrugged. “And from all indications is doing a fine job.”

The other maids had dismounted now and were seeing to their own horses. Jane took my mare’s long reins. “Off with you now. You’ll want to see to whatever the shouting is in the house.” She grinned. “I plan to remain in the stables as long as humanly possible.”

“Beatrice, this place is a wonder!” Anna burbled, standing up on a mounting stool the better to see across the courtyard to the main house. “It’s a veritable medieval castle!”

“And every bit as damp,” I warned. But I was already bustling out of the stables, Alasdair at my heels. “You don’t need to escort me in my own home,” I assured him, but he merely laughed and kept beside me.

“I’ll escort you to the end of my days, my lady. And I confess I’m also curious as to the screaming.”

I entered the wide-flung doors, servants carrying sloshing buckets and armfuls of fresh-cut rushes. “Lady Beatrice!” the first one who recognized me cried, bobbing. The poor girl skidded to a stop and almost fell. “Begging your pardon, m’lady, but I’m afraid yer mum has taken a turn. She’d thought she could entertain the children in the west drawing room, but—”

“My mother!” Well, that explained it. “Here.” I took the girl’s rushes out of her arms and thrust them at Alasdair. “Help her do whatever she’s doing, please.” I eyed the girl, her name finally coming to me in a flash of recognition. “You’re Sarah, no?” I asked, and was faintly peeved to see Alasdair’s surprise that I knew a servant’s name, even if it had taken me a moment. The girl’s eyes widened, and she blushed.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, bobbing another nervous curtsy.

“Sarah, put Alasdair to work, and any other visitor who is already here. There are four maids in the stables who would be happy to lend a hand. How close are we to being ready?”

Sarah rubbed her forehead, leaving a streak of dust and sweat across it. I felt a renewed surge of irritation at the Queen. Really, could she not have picked another household to torment for a fortnight? It had to be mine? “With the rain finally ended, we have everything in place for guests, though they will be fair to bursting out of every window, beggin’ your pardon.”

I waved off her apologies. The servants did not stand on ceremony at Marion Hall unless there was a formal event—which was about to start, admittedly, but hadn’t yet. “Well, that’s their own fault. The Queen knows what the hall will hold. That she brought a retinue of fifty courtiers and ladies, servants and hangers-on, is her own poor luck. Where are we putting her, the bridal suite?”