Maid of Deception (35 page)

“My lady?” Alasdair turned to me, and I nodded, nonplussed. This was exactly the kind of moment that I should have seized to spy upon them both. But I just sat there like a dullard.

Meg could have read their lips and pieced together their conversation. Sophia could have discerned their futures with a glance at her obsidian stone. I, on the other hand, was squatting there uselessly, unable to figure out a single thing to do to get the information the two men were sharing. I scanned the Middle Ward, impatient and bored and furious with myself for being so pointless, and that was when I saw it.

One of the ladies of court was standing off to one side of a nearby tree, her hands clasped together, her manner clearly expectant and waiting. She shot looks over to the brawny Niall with ill-disguised impatience, and I at once realized that she’d taken a fancy to the man. I glanced back at Niall. He was handsome enough, I supposed, though he didn’t hold a candle to Alasdair. Still, he was fair and tall and probably no more than a few years older than Alasdair—perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. And the lady—I couldn’t remember her name; she was newcome to court, and I’d been busy of late—seemed completely consumed by him.

I strolled over to her, as guileless as a newborn lamb.

“Well met,” I said, and so focused had she been on her man, she fairly squeaked with surprise.

“Oh!” she said, coloring. “Lady Beatrice! I did not see you there.”

“I understand.” So the woman knew me, but I couldn’t place her to save my soul. Where had my training gone? And why had it chosen now to desert me? I followed her surreptitious gaze back to the two Scots, and made my gamble. “I should probably be jealous if you’re watching the young MacLeod—but I suspect it’s his friend who has captured your interest?”

“MacLeod? Oh!” She colored, and I knew I had her. She’d already heard of my betrothal, though no one was supposed to know. I could use that, though. “I did not realize that was him,” she said faintly, and I pushed out a wry chuckle.

“Well, that story will make its rounds soon enough, for all that it is not true.” I sighed.

She glanced at me sharply, her attention finally torn from Niall. She knew the power of information at court. “Not true?” she asked, feigning only casual curiosity.

“Well, not exactly,” I hedged. “Promise me you’ll keep it close? I’ve been about to burst with this news.”

“Oh, of course!” she said, and she put out her hands to mine. “What is it?”

I grasped her hands with girlish glee. “I’m not the only woman of the Queen’s court whose betrothal Elizabeth is negotiating,” I said, and the woman’s eyes flared wide with interest. “The Queen has the desire to demonstrate that the
Auld Alliance between England and Scotland is well and truly firm. To do that she wants a bevy of English misses and lords mated with our Scottish neighbors. Can you even imagine!”

“I cannot,” the woman said, her eyes straying again to Niall. “Do you—” She swallowed. “Do you know who the Queen has in mind?”

“She referred to them only by their Christian names, and I don’t know everyone at court, I’m afraid, and—”

“Catherine Meredith Anne Marie!” the woman blurted. “Did she include that one? To be betrothed to Niall Garrett?”

“Oh!”
Thank you, Catherine Meredith Anne Marie.
I hesitated, biting my lip. “Well, in truth I should not be saying anything. Alasdair and Niall are friends, and I would hate to betray their confidences.”

“But you cannot stop now!” the woman interjected. “And Niall trusts me—we are friends! Why even now I know what he is sharing with his captain—Alasdair. He couldn’t stop speaking of it in his sleep last night—” Her eyes flared wide. “I mean—”

“Hush now,” I said over her sudden blushes. I squeezed her hands, the soul of understanding. “Your secret is safe with me.” My tone turned just the slightest bit more pointed. “What did he speak about?”

“Soldiers rallying to the cause of the Scottish rebellion,” breathed Catherine Meredith Anne Marie. “Niall’s clan—at Alasdair’s request—has just thrown their support into the Scottish rebellion.”

I lifted my brow. “He spoke of this?” So there it was. Alasdair was not on hand merely to learn about the talk of
the Lords of the Congregation. He had a task as well. To build support for the rebellion, and commit men and arms to its cause.

“Well, not to me, precisely. And I confess, I find it all exceedingly tedious. All this talk of tyranny and battle in the middle of the night, when we have such precious few hours together . . .” She sighed and looked again at Niall, and it was all I could do not to slap her. Here she was being given battle preparations from a foreigner, and she wanted their talk to devolve into whether or not he found her eyes of the deepest blue?

I schooled myself to not sound impatient. “Yes, well, men never do find the right time to confide in us, I guess,” I said. “You are kind to give him solace that he might feel so comfortable to talk in his sleep.”

“Kindness!” She snorted. “ ’Twas hardly that. It was a tincture from that herb mistress in town. She said it would help him speak his innermost thoughts. Fat lot of good that did. All he could rattle on about was the men the clan was sending to Fife to join in the battle.”

“A . . . tincture?” I asked, keeping my voice as flat as possible. She’d poisoned Niall? With some sort of homemade truth potion? Made by a local herb mistress who was likely one part gardener and three parts witch? And we spies didn’t know the recipe? “How frustrating that he didn’t speak of you.”

“Oh, he did eventually,” she said, shooting me a knowing grin. “Once I chased away his words of battle with kisses. But first there were the endless talks about the plans of the French to gain a foothold in his homeland and turn the Scots
into their serfs before they moved on to conquer England. All foolishness of course, but he did seem intent. The MacLeods are apparently spearheading an effort to ensure that all the clans to the north and west are ready at arms. Your Alasdair has become quite the leader among the clans—they will follow him into battle and beyond if he asks them to do so.” She turned her wide eyes back to me. “So, did the Queen mention my name?”

“She didn’t.” I squeezed her hands to take the sting out of my words. “But the day is yet short. You may land your Scot before it is through.”

“Oh, I do so wish it,” Catherine Meredith Anne Marie said. “They are just not like the English.”

Well, that was true enough. They were bigger and brawnier and smelled of leather and heather and spice. At least on their better days. I bade my leave of Catherine Meredith Anne Marie as Alasdair and Niall’s conversation took a turn for the more heated, and I barely made it back to my seat before Alasdair glanced up at me, assuring himself that I was in my proper place. I smiled at him serenely, and he returned me a worried look.

When he came back to me, however, he seemed at his ease, gathering up my hand to place it on his arm, proud and defiant to squire me around the Middle Ward. With each step his mood seemed to improve, even as mine worsened. Oh, I kept up my general prattle. I laughed and smiled and nodded . . . but I just—my heart wasn’t in it.

Being Alasdair, of course, he noticed. “My lady, what worries you so?” he asked, drawing me into the shade of
another tree. There was no one near us, and when I made to look away, he tipped up my chin, his piercing eyes cutting me to the quick. My heart did an awkward little flutter . . . and then I quite lost my mind. All my years of training in the art of questioning, both formal and informal, completely deserted me, and I wanted more than anything—needed more than anything—answers.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Alasdair.” I lifted my hands to his hand, drew it away from my face, and clasped it tightly. “I know you were in the cellar room of Marion Hall with the Lords of the Congregation. I don’t— I have to— Why were you there? What were you doing? I—”

Now it was Alasdair’s turn to lift his other hand to clasp mine. We stood in the lee of the castle wall, an island amidst a teeming throng. “So that is what is troubling you so?” His expression was wry, though his eyes were still serious. “And here I thought I’d managed the switch most neatly.”

“You did!” I blurted, then immediately blushed. “You carried off the role well; I don’t think anyone else noticed. I just—I know your walk, your stance. I know you.”

“Do you, now?” he said, his eyes darkening. Without hesitating, though, he went on. “The answer is not so complicated as you fear, I suspect; I will tell you plain. I was in that room for Scotland for one reason alone: to preserve our greatest treasures.”

“Your treasures?” This was
not
what I’d expected.

He nodded. “In addition to fierce independence and victory in battle, my family has had a long history of valuing
beauty. Small wonder that I am so drawn to you, my lady.” He squeezed my hands, and I felt my heart lurch. “We prefer to stay out of war that does not benefit us, but this battle is one we must take up. But not because of religion, or even power. Nay, our interest in this battle of men on Scottish soil concerns what might be lost. Priceless works of beauty, created by men of God and artists of worth, preserved through centuries. We would not see such beauty cast into the flames, lost for all eternity.”

I frowned at him, taken aback. “You are stealing from the Catholic churches? Before they can be plundered?”

“Aye,” he said. “Though I am not sure we would call it ‘stealing.’ The clan MacLeod has been tracking the work of the Lords of the Congregation for some time. Like most men who have never been soldiers themselves, these rich nobles soon enough decided that their loyal guards could be paid less than a fair wage, as they were doing ‘God’s work.’ Well, men who are poorly used soon find little value in God’s work. So when we came along, offering the guards coin for their information and aid, they were happy enough to help. I knew that this meeting in Marion Hall, when it happened, would name the churches the Lords would strike next. With the help of the guards, I stood among the Lords of the Congregation for that brief time, learned their plans, and then sent out my men.”

I stared at him, astonished. “You sent out your men, just like that? You will be found out—someone will tell!”

Alasdair shook his head. “Men of the cloth often do not care how the treasures of God are preserved from marauders—only
that they are preserved. Most of the priests will not leave their abbeys, though we ask them to do so. But they will give us the most precious of their treasures, that we may keep them against harm.”

My customary mistrust surfaced, and I narrowed my eyes. “Keep them or sell them?” I asked, recalling the maids’ discussion of what Queen Elizabeth would do with “saved” treasures.

In response Alasdair gave a long, low laugh. “My lady, we have enough gold. We will never see a shilling for the treasures that we store. They are ours to protect, not profit from. An’ all goes well, no one will ever know we hold the treasures at all.”

“Then why do you do it?” I asked, completely puzzled.

He shrugged again. “For love, and for beauty,” he said, lifting my two clasped hands so that he could graze the knuckles with his lips. “And that is enough.”

We stood there for only a moment more in shadowy isolation, in time out of time, then, as if by common accord, turned back to rejoin the world of men and mayhem.

Though I was reeling with this new information and what to do about it, the rest of the day passed without incident. Still, I did not immediately try to catch the ear of the Queen in the midst of her “outdoor revels.” I tarried on Alasdair’s arm for several hours, all of us watching the most boring display of archery that ever graced Windsor Castle. (The Scots won.)

The longer I stayed with Alasdair, however, the more resolute I became. I needed to tell the Queen something of
this. I wanted her to know that she had been right—that Alasdair was highly positioned in the Scottish rebellion, and he was someone who would be a good ally. Even if she didn’t need to know precisely how and why Alasdair was involved, she did need to know he had power among the clans. Among men willing to fight against the French. That information was power, for her, and that was my job as a spy. I had to let her know.

As evening drew down, I slipped away from the makeshift dinner tables and reentered the castle, safe and at home again among the familiar passageways.

I’d almost reached the Queen’s apartments when a hand reached out and grabbed me by the shoulder.

I stifled a squeak of alarm, spinning out of the grasp. I was about to execute a return chopping blow to the man’s neck, when I halted, my hand poised like a hatchet in the air. “Oh!” I gasped.

“Yes. ‘Oh.’ ”

Lord Cavanaugh stood before me, his eyes as black as murder.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Cavanaugh took advantage of my momentary surprise to grasp my arm again and pull me, roughly, into the antechamber. It was the same one I’d tarried in with Rafe when he’d first come to Windsor, but this man’s interests were far more sinister, I could immediately tell.

I shrugged off his arm and stood tall. “Good evening, my lord Cavanaugh,” I said primly. “I hope you are doing well?”