The Winter Queen (22 page)

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.'

‘Mistress Sutton!' a woman called. Anton looked up to find the Queen's cousin, Lady Lennox, beckoning to Celia.

‘I must go now,' Celia said, turning away.

‘Cousin, wait,' Anton said, catching her hand. ‘Perhaps I am not the only one who needs must beware. What business do you have with Lady Lennox and the Scots?'

Celia gave him a crooked little smile. ‘We all have to make our way here at Court, yes? Find what friends we may. Just remember what I said.'

Anton watched her go, frowning, as the day seemed to darken. It was true that he did not fear Richard Sutton, or any man. He had faced villains aplenty in battle, and in the austere court of the temperamental King Eric, and he had bested them all.

Yet he had only had to be concerned with himself then. Now there was Rosamund, and Celia too. And nothing made him angrier than threats to a lady.

That anger was also a sign that his own connection to Rosamund grew too great. He had told himself he was careful, that his heart would not rule his sense, that they would not get into trouble for their affair. That he could protect her.

But that had been foolish; he saw that now. He had to end it, once and for all.

 

All the courtiers crowded around the open windows of the Waterside Gallery, bundled in cloaks and furs against the cold. But no one seemed to notice the sharp night wind, for there was too much excited laughter, too much exultation over the success of their gifts to Queen Elizabeth, and the fineness of hers to them. The long tables of the Great Hall were piled high with jewels, lengths of velvet and brocade, feathered fans, exotic food and wines and all manner of lovely things, including the pearl-encrusted satin sleeves Rosamund's own parents had sent.

Not everyone was filled with happiness, of course. A few thought their gifts had been overlooked, or they were slighted by what the Queen had presented to them, and they thus sulked at the edges of the room. But they were few indeed. Everyone else was content with the warm, spiced wine passed among them by the royal pages, and with waiting for the fireworks Lord Leicester had so painstakingly planned to usher in 1565.

Rosamund felt all overcome with excitement, though not for the same reasons. Soon she would meet Anton again in their secret place, and they would be alone at last. She craved those moments in their secret world far too much, it was a bright moment of hope.

Yet some of that brightness dimmed when she glimpsed Richard across the gallery, watching her. At first she surprised him, and the expression on his face was darkly scowling, heavy with some discontent—perhaps that she had not answered the note he'd sent her via one of the pages? Then he smiled broadly and seemed something of the old Richard again. But she no longer trusted that smile. She turned away from him, hurrying over to the windows to stare out at the river.

The frost fair was still in force, full of activity under the glow of torches and the moon. Sleds glided along the frozen grooves of the Thames between the booths and she could hear the distant hum of music, wassail carols to bring in the New Year.

What would the year bring? she wondered. Everything she hoped for? Or heartbreak and trouble?

The night sky suddenly exploded above them, a crackling, glittering shower of red-and-white fireworks. A flare of green followed, and a long waterfall of blue stars. It was wondrously beautiful, and Rosamund stared up, open-mouthed with delight. It reflected the
hope in her own heart, the hope that dared shine its tiny light even in the midst of danger.

Everyone out on the river stopped to stare, too, exclaiming at the beauty of it all. The sparks glistened on the ice, turning it all to a fantasy land far from the harsh realities of winter.

Rosamund eased away from the crowd as their attention was absorbed by the spectacle. Holding her silk skirts close to her sides, she tiptoed out of the gallery into the silent corridor. Once she was certain she wasn't followed, she dashed headlong towards her rendezvous.