Maid of Deception

by Jennifer McGowan

  “No, no,” the Queen said. “I shall betroth you to a man who will be so grateful for the honor that he would gift me scepter and sword, should he have them. Yes.” She nodded, still eyeing me. “That would do nicely. It will be a bit of a shock to the court, but they do well to be surprised now and again.”

  I looked at her with growing concern. “You surely do not mean Lord Brighton?” I asked cautiously.

  “Him! Oh no. I only agreed to that betrothal to get his coin for the Crown. That will also be achieved by granting him Lady Ariane’s hand in marriage. And as you can see, Sophia has become a bit of a thorny issue for me.” Her mind leaped nimbly to the new subject, allowing me a moment’s respite from this sudden intractable turn. “She needs to comport herself more normally, Beatrice. Meg can help with that—she’s been in court long enough to mimic the ladies. You can as well.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” I said brightly. “I brought her to your audience today specifically—”

  “I know, I know.” The Queen waved her hand again. “There is naught you do that doesn’t have two or three reasons, a contingency purpose, and as many side benefits as you can extract.”

  Once again she was speaking almost more to herself than to me, but I frowned at the cutting remark. That isn’t wholly true, I wanted to protest. Not all of my relationships and actions were built on lies and deception. . . .

  I paused, thinking about that, and felt my heart twist a bit. Was this true? Did I love no one for who they were? Did I do anything that didn’t serve my needs?

  The Queen could go no longer than thirty seconds without being entertained by the sound of her own voice, however, so she picked up her narrative again. “But with Sophia in the public eye acting the role of a proper lady, her strange and troubled months here can be more quickly chalked up to nerves and new surroundings. And, freed of her betrothal, she can circulate more easily with the young men of the court. Those she hasn’t already frightened witless, that is.”

  I nodded, as nothing needed to be added here. But the Queen nodded back, her eyes focusing on me once more. “You, however, will serve admirably as the betrothed to Alasdair MacLeod.”

  Despite my careful preparation against this very announcement, I could not stop my exclamation. “Alasdair!” I said, speaking quickly so she could not hear the betrayal of my own thudding heart. “But, Your Grace, he is not even English—and worse, he is not titled or flush with lands that are positioned for your advantage.” Nor is he rich, my mind screamed. Or well-behaved. And he has already lied to me once, and who even knows how many more times? “While I live to serve my country, in marriage as in all things”—just not to a man I cannot control—“I cannot see how he can be of such import to you. Worse, while a casual flirtation has netted me the intelligence I have shared with you”—and more information than that, truth be told—“no one in the court would believe you would affiance me to a Highland Scotsman who is more brute than man. There is no value in it to you. And finally, my Queen— Well, I fear we do not suit.” This last sounded rather desperate, even to me.

  “Quite the contrary, on all counts,” the Queen said, apparently also finding my protestations lacking. “Here, walk with me. I tire of these surrounds.”

  She processed out of the chamber as if it were a drawing room, and we climbed up the long, curving steps once more. My brain was even more a-churn going up than it had been going down. After this night, I doubted I’d be able to see any staircase at all without feeling queasy.

  We resurfaced in the long, broad corridor, and the Queen took my arm in hers as if we were bosom friends. The better for her to spin her terrible words into my ears alone.

  “You are the perfect match, in all respects,” she said. “First, you’ve tarried enough with him that any betrothal between you will seem to be the result of some girlish foolishness.”

  I stiffened reflexively, and her grin was quick and malicious. “It cannot be helped,” she said. “Second, MacLeod is a Scotsman, and the betrothal of the two of you will serve to send a message that England’s and Scotland’s interests are perhaps more closely aligned than anyone had previously thought. We’ll do well to make the announcement as public as possible, as quickly as possible—though the marriage itself will not be necessary anytime soon.” She hmm’d a little again, and I wondered if this was a sign that her mind was going soft. It certainly would have explained this new pile of rubbish she was heaping upon me. “Third, the boy may not be flush with funds and land, but I rather doubt he’s as poor a prospect as you say. He brought his entire retinue here, on horses finer than much of what we have in our stables, and his retainers’ clothes are not coarsely spun. He may be a ruffian and a boor, but he’s not as penniless as you.”

  I thought on this as we rounded the last corner and proceeded down the final hallway toward the Queen’s chamber. I . . . supposed it was possible that Alasdair had money. He never talked of it, and most men with money did. He was proud of his people, and his land, and the huge rock of a castle that his clan called home. But rich? It still was difficult to believe that.

  “And then, of course, there is the Fairy Flag.”

  This time I did pull away, and we stopped in a preceding antechamber to the Queen’s own rooms, hung with lush tapestries that glistened in the candlelight. “The Fairy Flag?” I repeated. “But that’s just a relic—and a myth. You cannot think it a serious advantage.”

  “I can and I do,” the Queen returned, crossing her arms. “Would you deny England anything that will help us gain the upper hand in battle? Would you let soldiers and sailors go needlessly to their deaths because you were too stubborn to open your mind?”

  “But it’s a legend, Your Majesty!” I protested, even in the face of her growing annoyance. Really, she was my Queen, but I could not stand by and allow such lunacy to proceed. “I’m sure there are enough scraps of that Fairy Flag to make up seventeen new flags of a size equal to the original. It’s not like they’re the bones of a saint, Your Grace. These are a superstitious people, who hold on to beliefs of fairies and gold and monsters in their lochs.”

  “Nevertheless.” The Queen raised her hand, indicating that this interview was at an end. “You will secure me the relic for England. That is not a request, Beatrice, but an order.”

  I curtsied, not trusting myself to speak. And the hateful witch kept talking.

  “Tomorrow I will announce to Alasdair and your father your betrothal, and secure the terms of the marriage contract. You need not be present.”

  I whipped my head up, and she saw the anger simmering in my eyes. Saw it and took delight in it. “Then there will be a formal announcement before the evening meal, and music and dancing afterward. We’ll send messengers to London and Edinburgh and Paris. As old and formerly grand as your family is, the significance will not be missed.”

  “Must you announce it so abruptly?” I moaned, not able to stop myself. “My betrothal to Lord Cavanaugh is only just canceled. It would be unseemly.”

  She shrugged. “Give me a reason not to.”

  I looked at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you stupid girl, that Alasdair and your father will know at once. The contract will begin to be negotiated, and your future is in their hands. I care not a whit for that. But if you want me to leave off from announcing it to the world quite yet, I can give you a few more days to accustom yourself to the idea. And my price is a simple one. If you crave my silence for yet a little while, then you know what it is I want.”

  I did, but she could not let this moment pass. She leaned into me, her dark eyes sparking with intensity in the flickering light of a dozen flames.

  “Get me the Fairy Flag.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I left the Queen’s presence still reeling, stumbling back to the maids’ quarters on feet that thankfully knew the way themselves. By the time I reached my own pallet, I was so exhausted that I could barely stand. I slumped, puzzled by the sight of my bed,
knowing that I needed to strip off my ornate ball gown but not having the faintest idea how.

  With a rustle of plain cotton, Jane was at my right. A second later Meg was on the other side, and Anna at my back. They were untying laces and unclasping hooks, and Sophia was in front of me on her knees, easing my feet out of slippers still marred with the rock dust of the spiral stone staircase. Within seconds I stood in only my shift. I opened my mouth to speak, to share with them the worst of what had happened, as there was no good in this night, only darkness.

  Instead they eased me down onto my bed and drew the covers up close. “Hush now,” Anna said, laying a cool hand to my brow. “Morning will be here soon enough, and you are too tired to think. We will protect you this night, Beatrice, so set your thoughts away.”

  I stared at her another moment, the urge to laugh bubbling up in the back of my throat. They couldn’t protect me—nobody could protect me. Not from the Queen, not from myself. And not from what I had to do.

  No one could protect me anymore.

  A moment later I was asleep.

  I woke the next morning with the kind of start that had me sitting upright in my pallet before I was fully aware of my surroundings, gasping and whirling, ready to do battle. A thin, reedy light streamed in from our high windows, announcing that dawn, at least, had awakened before I had.

  Well, not only dawn.

  Four sets of eyes now regarded me in varying states of repose. Jane, as ever, sat up on her pallet, her back against the wall. On our first day at Windsor, she’d dragged her bed over to the wall facing the door of our room, and I doubted she ever truly slept for longer than a few hours at a time. Meg and Anna were still curled up in their covers, awake but trying to convince themselves that they could still take their rest with their eyes open. And Sophia sat fully dressed, her hands in her lap. I darted a glance down at those small white fingers, worrying her obsidian jewel, and then up again to her eyes.

  Swallowing, I nodded to her. “Good morning, Sophia,” I said. “I have so much to share with you.”

  She stilled then, and in her hand the ball of obsidian rolled and spun. “I—” She hesitated. “I know, Beatrice,” she said in her quiet voice. “I felt so nervous, when you didn’t return. We all of us were frightened, and I—I could not bear the not knowing anymore.” She gave a little shrug, and the ball in her fingers rolled and rolled. “I am so glad that you are safe.”

  “I am safe,” I said. But I found myself staring at the gorgeous black orb glinting against Sophia’s white fingertips. What does she mean, she could not bear the not knowing? How could she—

  And then it hit me.

  Sophia had turned the obsidian stone into a showstone. Somehow, some way, she had figured out how to use the large black crystal for scrying, as the old Traveler woman had doubtlessly intended.

  In doing this, however, Sophia had committed a crime against the church—and I knew suddenly that this crime would not be her only transgression, and that this path might well be her undoing in the coming months and years. She had decided to use her gifts.

  “Well, what is it, then?” Anna asked, yawning broadly. “There is so much that went on last night, I suspect you scarce know where to begin.”

  “First and perhaps most important . . . ,” I began, and hid my own wince. My second sentence of the day, and already I was lying. Not an auspicious start. “I expect the Queen will later today quietly and firmly advise Lord Brighton that he will not remain betrothed to our Sophia.”

  Sophia smiled beatifically, as Meg clapped her hands. “Bravo!” Meg said. “It was a masterful play, Beatrice, and I doubt that few took note of your part in it.” Her expression turned a little coy. “Other than Alasdair, of course.”

  “He did more than take note,” scoffed Jane. “He took Beatrice right on out to the North Terrace.” She glanced at me, an unusual curiosity in her eyes. “It was a bit chilly out on that terrace, I should think.”

  “It was at that,” was all I allowed, trained well enough to stay the blushes that would have climbed up an ordinary maiden’s cheeks. “Unfortunately—and I may as well let you know this, since you’ll hear it soon enough—the Queen has decided that there’s more I might get out of Alasdair as his betrothed than simply as his conquest. She plans to announce our intention to wed as soon as it is politically expedient to do so.”

  That stone landed with a thud in the middle of our small group, so shocking that silence ringed the room for one long second. . . .

  Then two.

  Then everyone started speaking at once. “Your intention to wed!” Anna exclaimed, catching up her hands to her breast. “You cannot be serious!” Her eyes were both shocked and intrigued, in that curious way of Anna’s that allowed any twist of fortune to be better endured as long as romance played a part in it. “He’s nowhere near the man of political standing that Lord Cavanaugh is.”

  “But he’s several times more the actual man,” Jane put in, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

  “Is this some sort of new political ploy the Queen is testing?” Meg asked, tilting her head as her agile mind jumped through the drama Elizabeth was about to unravel for her court. “She seems to be making a game of it with all the men she’s been setting up in betrothals, only to knock them down again. I cannot think Alasdair will take kindly to her machinations—unless he first approached her to ask for your hand?”

  “Hardly,” I said, snorting. “Alasdair MacLeod is many things, but a man willing to prostrate himself before the Queen to ask for an Englisher’s hand is not one of them. And to your question about political plotting, Meg, I have to think it’s exactly that.” Well, I knew it was exactly that. The Queen wanted me close enough to pry off a scrap of cloth from the Scot that was probably no more sacred than his torn trunk hose. Still, that was the only political merit to this betrothal. A marriage between one beggared noblewoman and an unmanageable Scot would not prove anything to anyone about the predisposition of England toward its neighbor to the north, and the Queen had to know that. So that left me with a balder truth: As far as Elizabeth was concerned, I was sure, the true value of this betrothal was that it might merely serve to ruin my life.

  Bankrupt my family.

  Shame my name.

  No wonder she liked the idea.

  But, though I could never share this, there were other issues with a marriage to Alasdair. It put me in the path of the one man who could cause my heart to beat like a clatter of stones, my hands to sweat, my eyes to fill with tears, and my breath to come fitfully between my lips, like he was both poison and cure in one heady form. I could not predict Alasdair—I could not guess his movements or prepare for his words, and I could no longer trust myself around him without sharing too much. It made the idea of spying on him absolutely ludicrous.

  I still had a chance to set things right, however. I could get her the Fairy Flag, but since I didn’t believe the thing actually existed, that was a problem. I explained the flag to the other maids, and they promised to keep a sharp eye for the relic, but I did not hold much hope for that. However, if I could find out what Alasdair’s role was within the Scottish delegation and the Lords of the Congregation, then perhaps the Queen would lose interest in this insane betrothal and allow me to find some other man who could protect my family and preserve my name. Someone who could never touch my heart, let alone break it. Yes, surely that was the wiser course.

  Surely.

  We discussed the rest of the evening’s events—my conversation with the Queen about the Lords of the Congregation, her orders for us not to share our confidences with her advisors. This development did not sit well with any of us. We took our orders from the Queen, of course, but Cecil and Walsingham were around us constantly. If they knew we were holding back, they could make—and had made—our lives extremely uncomfortable. And yes, of course, we were all trained liars, but so were they. And they’d been perfecting the art longer than we had.

  I did not tell my fellow mai
ds about the questioning. I would eventually, I was fairly certain. They needed to be aware of everything that took place within Windsor’s walls. We never knew who would be targeted next. But I owed it to Sophia to let her know first the full extent of the danger she faced. She’d gathered some of it, I thought. At least that was what I’d assumed when I’d seen the shock in her eyes as she’d worried her obsidian stone. But she couldn’t know the details, and she needed to. She needed to understand her accusers, even if I could give her no accounting of what they actually looked like.

  The day began in earnest then, and we maids dispersed to our daily chores and requirements.

  Anna and Meg were off to our old schoolroom, where they’d been poring over the books Anna had stolen from John Dee’s library. Anna had quickly learned that Meg’s unique ability for memory made her a valuable ally in the study of ancient texts. Anna had but to make a notation aloud, and Meg not only remembered it but was able to recite it back to her at the close of the session.

  Jane retreated to the guards’ quarters, where she was learning the arts of fighting with her feet as well as her hands.

  Sophia, like myself, was due in the Queen’s chambers. But I had no interest in hastening my immersion in the plots of the court this morning. Especially since I was likely to be the primary topic of conversation. And I did still need to speak with Sophia.

  “Walk with me?” I suggested, even as we bid our good-byes to the other girls. Sophia nodded quickly, her morning ensemble a quiet gown of dove-grey silk. I would miss seeing her being outfitted in the latest style from her father/betrothed, Lord Brighton, but of course she could not go on accepting gifts from him if they were no longer to be wed.

  We set out, keeping far away from the common area. Once again I wished that Jane and Meg had prevailed upon me to learn more of the secret passages through the castle. I knew the one to the Queen’s chamber, of course, and the one that led to the exterior of the castle walls. But neither of those appealed—they were too close to everywhere we did not want to be.