Maid of Deception

by Jennifer McGowan

  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 rea
ction 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?”

  My blade had been expertly aimed, and it hit its mark. Sophia’s gaze flew to mine, then sheared away. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her mouth quivering in a despairing grimace. “Not everything I see happens, Beatrice,” she said miserably. “You know that.”

  I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. Such were my nerves this day that seeing someone so upset about my own pending unhappiness was impossible to fathom. “Sophia, truly. You will not be the first person to predict my downfall. And doubtless you will not be the last.” I gestured her to draw near. “But come, do your worst. It is better to be prepared for what might happen than to live in wonder, no?”

  She moved toward me, but at that moment the guards stepped smartly to the side and bowed. Sophia and I quickly stood and dropped into our customary curtsies as the Queen strolled into the room, followed by her advisors and Alasdair. But I wasn’t looking at them through my lowered lashes. Instead I glanced to the side, noticing as if for the first time that Sophia’s neck was long and gracefully arched, her profile perfect. How had I never seen this girl as a rival? Had my opinions of her been so colored by her “differentness” that I’d failed to see such beauty because of the strangeness that surrounded it?

  What else did I miss, blinded by the court and its perceptions?

  “Arise,” the Queen said airily, and I knew immediately that she was well pleased by whatever arrangements had been reached in the privacy of Cecil’s office. I lifted my head to gaze serenely into her eyes. They held approval and—something else. Something that set my nerves on edge again.

  Calculation.

  “Thank you most plainly once more, Alasdair MacLeod. It does England good to have such allies as your family to the north.” The Queen nodded to him as he executed a flawless bow. Then she turned to mount the short stairs to her throne. She sat, taking her ease, and left the rest of us to stand. Sitting in the presence of her standing court made clear who the most important member of the group was. It was a favorite move of Elizabeth’s. I suspected it was one that would not wear off with age.

  I turned and looked at Alasdair’s face. His gaze could easily have slid over to meet mine, but it did not. He watched the Queen as if she were the only woman in the world. “We are well met, Your Grace,” he said. “I am glad to serve where our interests are mutual and the outcome is so precious to us both. We will be ready.”

  The Queen beamed magnanimously at him, then drew breath to speak again, when Alasdair raised his hand.

  “Another moment of your time, Your Grace.” This time he did allow his gaze to shift to me, and I felt its weight like a burn. “I would grant you a treasure of our people, so precious that it is fit only for a Queen.”

  This arrested Her Avariciousness entirely, and she waved him on with an indulgent hand, sitting forward slightly on her cushioned seat. “A gift?” she asked coquettishly. “Well, this is an unexpected delight.”

  Alasdair reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden oval half the size of his hand, which hung from a heavy gold chain. He allowed the chain to dangle in the air, catching the sconce light, but it was plain to see that the charm at its base was a reliquary of some kind. I lifted my hand to my mouth, knowing what words would come next.

  “You may have heard of the legend of the Fairy Flag,” he began, and the Queen stiffened with surprise, her glance flying to me. She’d asked for me to ferret the flag away from Alasdair, not convince him to give it to her openly. She would be wondering what, if aught, I had to do with his sudden burst of generosity, and I was wondering the same. How had he known the Queen wanted the thing, and whyever would he give it to her?

  “It came to my people before the turn of the last millennium, and its origins are shrouded in mystery,” Alasdair continued. “Some say—and most believe—that it was gifted to my forebears by the Queen of the Fairy herself, in thanks for some aid rendered. This we will never know, but one thing is true enough: When we fly the flag or carry its markers upon us, we are but certain to ride to victory. Each of the sons of the MacLeods is given a token of the flag, to carry forth and keep us from harm, or to give to the woman who captures our spirit.”

  Alasdair’s words were spoken to Elizabeth, but I felt their cuts from the side. I remembered how he’d kissed me in the labyrinth behind Marion Hall. I remembered how he’d held me, if ever so briefly, sheltering me from the harsh winds of the North Terrace. And I remembered his face when he had stared at me in the Privy Garden bare hours before. Had I originally been the woman who had captured his spirit? Had he thought to give the token to me?

  I would never know now.

  “From the Queen of the Fairy to the Queen of England, I grant you this gift of the clan MacLeod,” Alasdair said, stepping forward to mount the first steps of the dais, and then reaching out to deposit the heavy necklace into the Queen’s greedily outstretched fingers. “This is our gift to you.”

  “Oh!” The Queen unlocked the delicate latches of the reliquary, making the contents of the piece available fully to her eyes alone. From where I stood I caught only a glimpse of a satiny white cushion, and then a scrap of faded yellow silk. “It looks so very old!” she exclaimed, holding the golden amulet up to the nearest torch. She lifted her gaze to Alasdair. “It must be priceless.”

  He shrugged. “We canna say w
here it is truly from, so there is no way of knowing. But it is yours. May it bring you all the luck in battle and in peace that you could ever wish.”

  “And I thank you for it.” She watched a moment as Alasdair backed down the stairs. Then she abruptly stood.

  “As you have claimed a moment of my time, allow me to claim one of yours.” He stopped on the steps, looking at her, but it was not him who the Queen’s cool eyes were staring at.

  It was me.

  “I have come to a decision,” the Queen said.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The Queen was speaking, but for just a few seconds, despite all my long years of training to hang on a monarch’s every syllable, I somehow could not quite hear her words. I felt on the edge of a precipice, the crash and rumble of dark waters surging upward to swallow me whole.

  The moment could not last, of course. My attention snapped back into focus with the Queen’s strident laugh.

  “In truth, good MacLeod, I cannot think that marriage was on your mind when you traveled so far from your home to visit us here in England. Am I correct?”

  Her tone was light and playful, and Alasdair matched her jollity with a raised brow and a boyish grin. “No, Your Grace, it was not.”

  This would have been the ideal time for him to glance over to me with longing eyes and speak words of affirmation or continued interest. But Alasdair did neither of these things. He stood there like a marauding conqueror, one foot planted on a lower stair, his knee bent, bantering with the Queen like they were old friends. “I confess, it gave me a bit of a start. I was accustomed to stories of English hospitality, but I canna deny that you did them all one better.”

  “Hmm, yes. Well, in truth you have served us well in building an alliance without the need for matrimonial ties. In our wisdom, we have not aired the possibility of your betrothal to Lady Beatrice much outside these far walls.”