The Winter Queen (21 page)

And behind them…

Rosamund gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth. Nay, surely it could not be? But she rubbed at her eyes and he was still there.

It was Richard, unmistakably. His skin was less ruddy than it had been in the summer, and he wore a closer-trimmed beard. He wore fine new clothes too, of sky-blue and silver satin. But his tall, burly chested countryman's physique was the same, as was his shining cap of blond hair, the ever-watchful way his gaze darted about.

After all the months without any word, any appearance, here he was at Court—with a party of Scots! Rosamund was utterly bewildered. It was like the months had slid away and she was back in the past again. Only with all the new knowledge she possessed.

She glanced across the room to where Celia stood with Lady Lennox. Richard's sister-in-law did not seem surprised, but then she never did. Celia just watched the proceedings with her lips pressed together, while Lady Lennox smiled smugly, and her son Darnley just seemed drunk. As usual.

Rosamund's gaze flew back to Richard. He had not yet seen her; what would happen when he did? Would he smile at her, speak to her? Did he even remember
what had happened between them last summer? For herself, she had no idea what she felt. She felt numb, frozen, by the sudden intrusion of the forgotten past into the present. By the sudden reminder of the girl she had been and the woman she had become.

‘Rosamund?' Anne whispered, gently touching her sleeve. ‘What is amiss?'

Rosamund shook her head, watching as the new Scots party, including Richard, bowed to the Queen.

‘Your Grace,' the older man in black said. ‘I am Lord Eggerton. We are happy to bear Christmas greetings from your cousin, Queen Mary, as well as dispatches from her and her hopes that you may soon meet in amity and family unity.'

‘We wish the same, and we welcome you to our Court,' Elizabeth answered. ‘Queen Mary is most generous to spare so many of her own Court at such a time of year!'

‘We are most happy to attend on you, Your Grace, and to serve Queen Mary,' Lord Eggerton answered. ‘May I present Lord Glasgow and Master Macdonald? And this is Master Richard Sutton, one of your own subjects, who brings word of your many friends in Edinburgh.'

‘You are all most welcome,' the Queen said. ‘I look forward to reading your dispatches tomorrow. Right now, though, you must be hungry after your journey. Please, partake of our banquet. My ladies will fetch wine.'

And it was then that Richard saw her; his eyes widened. A slow smile spread across his face, and he veered away from his group to grab her hand in his.

Startled, Rosamund fell back a step. His skin seemed rough on hers, his palm clammy. It gave her no sudden thrill, as Anton's touch always did. She had changed truly. The past had no hold on her at all now.

But he held on tightly, not letting her go.

‘Rosamund!' he said. ‘Here you are at last, my dear little neighbor. And looking prettier than ever. London life agrees with you.' He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a damp kiss to her knuckles as he smiled up into her eyes.

Nay, there was none of that old feeling left, of the old illusions.

She felt ridiculously foolish, admitting to herself that her parents
had
been right all along. And where exactly had Richard been all those months? What had he been doing in Scotland?

‘So this is where you have been hiding,' he said. ‘Here at the Queen's Court!'

‘I have not been
hiding
,' Rosamund said, taking back her hand. She tucked it in the satin folds of her skirt. ‘One is never more out in the open than in London, surely?'

‘And yet your parents claimed they could not disclose your location!' said Richard. ‘We thought you had been sent to some Continental nunnery.'

Rosamund had to laugh at the thought of her staunchly Protestant parents packing her off to a nunnery. Though perhaps they would prefer it to seeing her make a foolish and unhappy marriage. ‘If anyone has been hiding, it is surely you. No one has had a glimpse of you since the summer.'

‘And I am heartily sorry for that, Rosamund,' he said solemnly. ‘I have thought of you so often.'

Somehow she doubted that. Their summer flirtation been nothing more than a passing breeze for them both, she knew that now. ‘But you had important business in Edinburgh, it would seem?'

‘I have. I want to tell you—'

‘Lady Rosamund!' Queen Elizabeth called sharply. ‘Come along.'

Rosamund backed away from Richard, not liking the glow in his eyes, the desperation she saw there. ‘I must go,' she said.

Richard's hand shot out to grab hers again, holding on tightly. ‘Rosamund, I must talk with you. Explain things.'

Rosamund shook her head. That was all done now. ‘Explain what? I assure you, Master Sutton, there is no need…'

‘Rosamund, please! Please, meet with me. Hear me out,' he begged. His hand held onto hers, and she could see he would not let her go until she agreed.

‘Very well,' she murmured, knowing it would be the only thing that would make him let her leave. ‘I will meet with you tomorrow.'

‘Thank you, Rosamund. Beautiful, sweet Rosamund.' He kissed her hand again before letting her go at last. ‘You will not regret it.'

And yet she already did. She regretted being a young, romantic fool, for fancying herself in love with the first man who had ever looked at her. A man she saw now played at some game between the Scots and English. Some game with her heart.

A man not like Anton at all. Or was he? Anton was such a mystery to her.

As she joined the Queen her gaze frantically scoured the crowd for a glimpse of Anton. She suddenly had a desperate need to see him, to know he was still there, that he was real.

But at the same time she hoped he had not seen her—had not seen Richard kiss her hand.

When she found him, though, she saw that her hopes
and fears were in vain. He stood near the doorway with Lord Langley, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her with narrowed eyes.

She could read nothing of him at all.

 

Anton saw the blond, bearded man kiss Rosamund's hand and hold that hand tightly in his as he talked to her. It was no polite greeting; their hands were bent close, their eyes meeting as they spoke intimately, almost as if no one else was near.

Rosamund knew him; Anton could see that. She had looked shocked when he had walked past, her face suddenly as pale as if she had seen a spectre. And the man knew Rosamund, enough to boldly take her hand and whisper in her ear.

Where had the cursed man come from? What was he to Rosamund?

A wave of bitter jealousy rose up in him, and his hands tightened into fists he longed to drive into the man's blond, English face. He had never known such a fury before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. But it all could not be denied. He detested this man he had never met, because he had dared kiss Rosamund's hand, dared to be known to her in some way.

And Anton detested him for the smug smile he exchanged with his Scottish cohorts. He was up to something, and Anton determined to discover what it was—and what exactly he was to Rosamund, even as he knew he had no right to feel that way about her.

Anne Percy joined Lord Langley and him by the doorway.

‘Nothing like a surprise appearance, yes?' she said, watching the new Scots delegates as they sat down to their repast. ‘Too bad they are not more handsome. But
then Queen Mary probably keeps the best of them at her own Court.'

‘You do not think them handsome?' Lord Langley asked, striving to sound disinterested, but not quite achieving it.

‘Not like our own Court gentlemen,' Anne teased. ‘Though that blond-haired Englishman is not so very bad. But I fear his heart seems to be already claimed.'

Claimed by Rosamund?
‘Do you know him, then, Mistress Percy?' Anton asked.

She gave him a shrewd glance. ‘I know only his name—Richard Sutton. He seems to be some kinsman of Celia Sutton. And he also seems to admire Lady Rosamund—which I am sure
you
can understand, Master Gustavson.'

‘Is she already known to him?' Anton asked, compelled to know, even as he did not want to know, not really.

Anne hesitated. ‘I am not entirely sure yet, but I think…'

‘Think what?' Anton urged.

‘Rosamund told me once she had a suitor back at home,' Anne said. ‘Someone her parents did not approve of, though she did not name him to me.'

‘But you suspect this Richard Sutton is he?' Anton asked.

‘Perhaps. He did seem rather closely acquainted with her,' said Anne. ‘And she went quite pale when she saw him.'

‘I see,' Anton said tightly. ‘An ardent suitor.'

Anne suddenly laid her hand on his sleeve. ‘Master Gustavson,' she said quietly. ‘I am quite certain that whatever was between them is in the past.'

‘Or
was
in the past,' Anton said, giving her a smile. Anne Percy loved to seem the careless Court flirt, so
phisticated, knowing. But underneath she was a hopeful romantic.

Much like himself, fool that he was. It seemed he had too much of his mother in him, was too inclined to follow the demands of his heart even against duty and danger.

‘Shall I set my men to discover why he is here?' Lord Langley said. ‘To be mixed up with the Scots—it cannot be good.'

‘Set your spies on him, you mean?' Anton said. ‘There is no need, Lord Langley.'

Anton would find out what he needed to know all on his own. He would not see Rosamund hurt, no matter how ‘ardent' the suitor. And no matter that he himself would most probably hurt her in the end…

New Year's Eve, December 31

‘Y
our Grace, I fear I must heartily disagree with these plans,' Lord Burghley said, thumping his walking stick against the parquet floor for emphasis.

‘My dear Cecil,' answered the Queen, pounding her fist on her desk to make her own emphasis. ‘I fear
I
must then remind you who is master here! This is
my
Court, and I shall order my own Christmas.'

‘But your safety…'

‘My safety? From what? A few paltry threats, that are as nothing compared to what I have faced in the past,' the Queen said. ‘My father always had a masquerade ball to mark New Year's Day, and so shall I.'

Rosamund bent her head over her sewing, trying to pretend she was not there in the Queen's chamber, was not hearing her quarrel with Lord Burghley—again. There was always a quarrel between them.

Even in her short time at Court Rosamund felt she had heard this before—Queen Elizabeth insisting she
would do something, and Lord Burghley arguing she should not for her own sake. Today it was the Queen's insistence that she would have a masked ball tomorrow night. Next week it would surely be something else.

It put Rosamund in mind of her own father. Did her father know Richard was here in London? Had he heard any rumours at Ramsay Castle as he and her mother celebrated their own holiday? If he had, he would surely summon her home in haste. But she knew she could not go now, not when Anton was still here. Not while she was still learning him.

Rosamund bit her lip, remembering Anton's face as he had watched her with Richard. What would he think of the way Richard had kissed her hand, had spoken to her so familiarly? What if Anton thought she did not care for him even after everything?

She had lain awake in her bed all night thinking of it, even as she feigned sleep to keep Anne from questioning her. She had to speak to Anton, and to Richard, too, to find out what he was doing at Court. Yet there was no time, as they all had to attend on the Queen.

Oh, how did all these Court ladies manage all their tangled love affairs? she thought as she stabbed at the linen with her needle. It was confusing enough with only two!

‘Rosamund,' Anne whispered. ‘Are you quite well?'

‘Of course I am,' Rosamund whispered back. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘Because you have sewn that linen to your skirt.'

Rosamund looked down, startled to see that she had indeed firmly attached her embroidery to her velvet skirt. ‘Oh, blast,' she muttered, reaching for her scissors.

‘Here, let me,' Anne said, taking the scissors away.
‘You would cut your gown to ribbons in your distracted state.'

Rosamund sat very still, watching as Anne snipped loose the threads. ‘Tell me, my friend,' Anne said, under cover of the task, ‘Is the new arrival your swain from back home?'

‘Aye,' Rosamund muttered. ‘Richard. I have not seen him since the summer, and I thought that was all ended.'

‘But it is not?'

‘He wants me to meet with him,' Rosamund said. ‘He wishes to explain, he said.'

‘Hmm. It did not appear
his
feelings were dimmed, not with the eager way he held your hand,' said Anne. ‘But what of you?'

‘I fear I do not feel as I once did towards him,' Rosamund admitted. And she had not for a very long time. Maybe not ever.

‘Because of Anton Gustavson?'

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps I have changed.' She knew she had. Anton had helped her change.

Anne snipped away the last of the threads. ‘Will you meet with him?'

‘I do not know. I feel as if I owe it to him to at least hear him out.'

‘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.