Maid of Deception (39 page)

Once again my father surprised me. “I have not seen her in perhaps five years, but I visited her in the Abbey Saint Charles then, when Cavanaugh reached his majority. I gave her a miniature of the man so she could see he’d turned out rather well.” He tightened his lips. “Of course, miniatures do not reveal
what lies beneath the surface. That she will never know.”

I looked at him, feeling unreasonably close to tears. “You got her to a convent?”

He shrugged and patted my hand, and though he would not look at me, I could see his own eyes were strangely bright. “It is what I would have wanted for my own daughter, were she ever to find herself in such dire circumstances. There are advantages to this life we lead, Beatrice. Kindness is the least we can give back.”

Then with one last squeeze of my fingers, he was gone.

I turned as well, to make my way to the Queen’s Privy Chamber. As I walked, I thought of the rabble of children that even now were carousing around Marion Hall, tearing tapestries and upending planters. My father had saved them with his gallant gesture, as much as he had saved me. But there was still the Queen herself to see, my report to give.

And somewhere, in the dark reaches of Windsor Castle, Alasdair still hated me.

Part of me wanted to run to him, to explain everything. But the stronger, louder part of me knew that such a path was folly. The mere fact that I’d been willing to consort with another man during my betrothal to him was an unpardonable sin, and he would not deign to know the circumstances.

And, in truth, what sort of bride was I? At this moment I was going to the Queen to share information about Alasdair’s battle strategy. Though I did so feeling well assured that I was not putting him into harm’s way, how could I know that for certain? What if the Queen took the information that I would give her and planned some sort of false attack on the
MacLeods to stir the Highland Scots to more fervent action? It would be the sort of thing she would find reasonable, a small sacrifice for the greater good.

What of it? Before these past weeks, I had neither known nor cared about any Scottish soldiers on a spit of land thrust up out of the cold sea. I was English, born and bred, and I was a spy for that England. My words would help save English lives. My loyalty would help ensure my family’s safety. That was enough. That had to be enough.

My heart grew colder with each step I took toward the Queen. What I found when I reached her, however, was not what I’d expected.

She wasn’t alone.

Cecil and Walsingham were at the Queen’s side in earnest discussion, and her ladies were milling about, well away from their conversation. Sophia was in the midst of the group, chatting with remarkable ease, and I felt a surge of relief for her, one bright spot in all of this madness.

When I approached the dais and waited to be acknowledged, however, the tone of the room quickly changed. The Queen glanced up at me, then straightened, her spine stiff. With a sharp command she ordered her other ladies-in-waiting to depart. That left only Sophia, who sat with her eyes shining in the dim light, as if she had seen and experienced all of my pain.

“Very well, Beatrice,” the Queen commanded. “What have you to report?”

And I told her.

Well, mostly.

“The Scots who visit within our walls carry not just felicitations for you but battle plans,” I said. “And Alasdair MacLeod is quite a bit more than we thought he was.”

The Queen’s eyes widened, even as Walsingham’s narrowed. “Battle plans for what, Beatrice?” he asked. “What role do the MacLeods truly play in this?” I gave Walsingham a terse smile, my father’s words from just moments ago coming back to me. Sometimes information withheld is far more important than information given. I would not tell him of Alasdair’s desire to protect Catholic treasures. It was enough that he would fight on the side of the Protestants. I did not need to share precisely why, or in what manner. That was for Alasdair to do, and I rather suspected he wouldn’t.

“The important part is this,” I said. “The clan MacLeod is eager to show that even if they hail from the other side of the country, they are not ones to sit idly by and allow the French to set up battlements on the beaches of their homeland. They are willing to pledge men and arms to fight for the Protestant cause, and they will do whatever it takes to ensure its success.” I slanted my gaze back to Elizabeth. “They are starting to gather the clans, Your Grace. They will enter into an alliance with you that is to your favor, I should think. The time to make those alliances is now.”

Elizabeth snapped her fingers, and a page dashed up to her. She bent, whispering something into the boy’s ear, even as Walsingham folded his hands over his chest. “And how came you by this information?” he asked curtly. “I cannot think MacLeod was so forthcoming, or do you have him
ensnared in your talons already? Your betrothal is not even fully announced.”

“I did not hear it from Alasdair,” I said, my words just shy of a retort. “He is more subtle than that.”

“But you do not answer the question,” Cecil observed, and I shrugged. I cared not a whit for Catherine Meredith Anne Marie and her Scottish laird, Niall. I cared only that I got through this interview without breaking down.

“Alasdair’s man Niall was drugged by one of the ladies at court, a woman who found a tincture of truth serum at one of the local huckster stands here in Windsor.”

Walsingham’s eyes flared. He favored poisoning, whenever possible. Clean and impossible to track back to its source, it was the ideal weapon for spies. “What huckster?” he asked sharply, and I shook my head.

“You’d have to ask Lady Catherine. She’s likely to be found trailing after Niall with a moony look on her face and more poison up her sleeve.”

“To what end?” the Queen asked, plainly confused. “Why is she spying upon the man?”

“Not to learn his battle secrets, I assure you.” I explained the woman’s infatuation, and her desire to know Niall’s amorous intentions toward her. As I spoke, the Queen looked outraged, then intrigued.

“We need that tincture,” she mused, and Cecil finally put in a word, huffing with exasperation.

“What we need is more information. This man Niall says his countrymen are already on the move toward Fife? Or that they are planning the march?”

“Oh, leave off, Cecil!” I gritted out, then immediately caught my words. We stared at each other, but I could not—would not—say the words he was daring me to share. “You should just ask Alasdair straight out.”
Since you likely already know the answer, even if you don’t know his real motives.

“And that is what we shall do,” the Queen said, standing taller, her bearing regal, even as her advisors exchanged pained glances. “You have delivered your man, Beatrice. You have served the need.” Her voice carried loudly throughout the chamber, and even the mice in the walls stood at attention. Her Imperiousness had just issued a royal decree, and had made it sound as though I’d contributed more to her machinations than I had. Walsingham flicked an annoyed glance at me, but I was strangely troubled. Something suddenly did not feel right in the room.

“Your Majesty!” The squeaking page had returned, dashing up out of the gloom. “I present you—I present you—”

He stopped, heaving huge breaths, and only then did I hear new paces, heavy now, where before they must have been feather soft. The paces of a man who surely had heard Elizabeth’s practically shouted words, and who could only guess at their meaning, coming on the very verge of his arrival for an unexpected audience with the Queen.

“Alasdair MacLeod, Your Grace,” came the voice, as powerful and compelling as the young man who owned it.

Alasdair stepped into the sconce light, and swept the Queen a bow. He rose again and did not so much as glance at me, and I heard Elizabeth’s words, echoing again and again.

You have delivered your man, Beatrice. You have served the need.

I could feel the intensity of Alasdair’s shock rippling off his body for just a moment, and coldness swept through every inch of me. He thought I’d told tales about him, his most private confidences. He thought the Queen was congratulating me on a job well done. He thought I’d betrayed him—not once but twice. All in the same night.

And he was right.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The Queen and her advisors left us then, taking Alasdair and withdrawing to Cecil’s private chambers. It was up to Alasdair now to determine what I had shared, and hadn’t. My childish decision to withhold the details of his family’s desire to protect church treasures may have been all for naught. But even if it hadn’t been, I was still no prize. I’d still shared every scrap I’d learned from Lady Catherine about the MacLeods’ battle plans. What woman does that to her betrothed?

A woman who was also a spy, I supposed.

I could tell that Sophia wanted to leave the room immediately, but I raised my hand to keep her where she was. Sure enough, a guard was quickly positioned at the door. We were not permitted to leave, then. The Queen might still have use for us.

At length I strolled over to where Sophia was sitting and took a seat on the velvet-covered bench just off the Queen’s dais. She kept her hands clasped in her lap, and her obsidian bauble was nowhere in sight.

“Did you foresee what would happen with Cavanaugh, Sophia?” I asked. “Do you know?”

“Tell me your father reached you in time.” Sophia’s words were urgent, even as her gaze remained upon the guard. “I was so worried.”

I gave her a sharp glance. “You told him where to go?”

“I had seen you with Cavanaugh in a garden, yes.” Sophia grimaced. “It was in the eye of the obsidian stone. I didn’t know which garden, of course. Heaven forfend I am given all of the information at once when I most need it. But I knew the nature of your argument, and that it was one you would lose without intercession.” She turned kind eyes on me. “You cannot do everything alone, Beatrice.”

“Well, I have not had much experience with the generosity of the court.” I shrugged. “But I thank you plainly. Without your help I would not be standing guard over the Queen’s empty throne but would probably already be well on my way to ruination.”

Sophia’s next words were gentle. “But that is behind you, and your entire life is before you still.” She looked down at her hands again. “I also saw my father and Lady Ariane.”

That took me out of my own thoughts. I had heard little of Lord Brighton’s reaction to his change of brides. “How are they faring?”

“Very well.” Sophia said the words with equal parts happiness and relief. “He sought me out, of course. We had a conversation that was rather fraught, once he knew that I knew why he’d betrothed himself to me in the first place. But I did not tell him about the obsidian stone. I did not tell
him that I saw him in a long and happy life. There are some answers that just lead to more questions, I fear.”

“You have the right of that.” Still, something did not quite sit well with me. It was as if I were missing one crucial piece, without which I could never find solace. I glanced at her again. “Do they know of your abilities? Cecil and Walsingham—and the Queen?”

Sophia’s face lost a bit of its color. “Not fully, but they suspect my gift has manifested,” she said. “My uncle has met with the Queen. She had . . . questions. He gave her answers.”

“And you know of this how?”

She smiled then, the expression wry and wise beyond her years. “I would gladly tell you it was in the obsidian stone, but the truth is more mundane. Meg told me; she and Jane had closeted themselves near the conversation.”

“You must be more careful,” I said. Still, worrying over Sophia’s issues was infinitely more interesting then dipping a toe into the roiling sea of my own. “Do you have any clue as to what happens next?”

“The Questioners will return, I suspect, with Bible and crucifix to bear.” At my sharp look she almost giggled, looking for all the world like a girl discussing her first ball instead of her first Inquisition. “Don’t worry, though. I can hold both items without issue. I checked.”

“You
checked
?”

“I thought it prudent.” She smoothed her fingers down her fine gown, one of the last she had received from Lord Brighton. “Anna has been doing research on the kind of tests they put witches to, both in England and abroad.”

“Of course she has,” I said. “I suspect those being put to the question are not being treated kindly?”

“You would be correct in your suspicion.” Sophia gave a delicate shudder. “I tell you this: I am glad that Walsingham will be present, and that the Queen will be besides. This gold ring she gave us will come in more useful than she ever anticipated, unless I miss my guess.”

I rather suspected that the rings proclaiming the Queen’s Grace could just as easily be taken off our fingers as they had been put on, but I was not about to suggest that to Sophia. We would just have to make certain that she was never caught out alone.

I cast a glance down the hallway that led to Cecil’s office. “I wonder what my future will hold,” I said grimly. “Or can you still not bear to tell me?”