Katherine urged her down to the arena, where the crowd was filing out the open ends of the stands. "What has gotten into you, my lady Mayfield? You cannot wait here unescorted," she said, sounding scandalized.
"The Duke of Darkthorne will escort me," Laurel said, looking away from Katherine for Sebastian. He was somewhere inside one of the tents, having his armor removed and any wounds cleaned, she thought.
Katherine gasped. "You will ruin your reputation well and good, now come along, my lady! It will not do to arrive after the queen."
Laurel repressed the urge to say some unsavory things about the 'queen' and disguised a snort as a cough. On her tiptoes, she searched the front of the tents while Katherine tugged at her elbow. The woman was most annoying and distracting.
After lingering another few minutes in vain, thinking Sebastian wanted her to meet him at the castle instead, she gave in to Katherine's rising panic and fell into step beside her. Men and women wandered in the same general direction, the ladies holding their skirts with their fingers. Mimicking their actions, Laurel lifted her hem an inch or two and silently cursed the stays that made it so difficult to breathe.
Whitehall rose majestic and immense beyond the broad lawn and the trees, and the sight of it jolted her. There was something imposing and fascinating about the gray stone structure, and she forgot herself as they approached a tall set of arching, double doors.
“Lady Mayfield, why are you gaping?” Katherine asked.
Closing her mouth, Laurel glanced from the castle to Katherine. “It's such an impressive piece of architecture, that's why.”
Katherine, again, looked at her oddly. “An odd turn of speech you have, my lady.”
Her speech. So that was it. Laurel was saved having to answer when another lady called out to Katherine and the woman's attention swung away.
Laurel glanced behind her for any sign of Sebastian. Nothing yet. She would just wait right inside the doors so she wouldn't miss him.
Following Katherine inside, she was astounded at the high ceilings, iron sconces and gilded portraits on the walls. Overwhelmed, skin prickling with awe, she craned looks up and around her. There was too much to see. She would have run into courtiers and ladies had Katherine not had a good hold on her arm. As it was, she almost missed several 'my lady' and other greetings from knights and women that they passed, nodding belatedly when the words finally registered. Tall archways, a labyrinth of hallways and broad staircases commanded all her attention. She thought she could get lost with little effort.
"It is a good thing we set our own gowns out earlier, lady Mayfield. We will have a precious few minutes to prepare for the banquet," Katherine said. She started to lead her into one of the gloomy corridors and Laurel stopped.
“Oh, but I need to wait for Se-- er.. the Duke to arrive,” she said, gesturing back toward the doors.
Katherine tsked. “Nonsense! They will go to their chambers to clean up before the banquet. See him there! We have work, my lady, and the queen will not wait.”
Fretting, Laurel glanced back once more for Sebastian. The trickle of courtiers coming in was far less now and everyone already inside seemed to be dispersing deeper into the castle. If she told Katherine to go on, that she'd catch up, then she might get lost. If she waited, someone else might find and question her-- and she couldn't allow that.
“Of course, Katherine,” she said, and let the frowning woman lead her on. There was little else she could do until she saw Sebastian at the banquet. Somewhere along the way, she recalled the name of her apparent 'position'; lady in waiting. To Anne. Lovely.
After what seemed like a mile of confusing twists and turns, Katherine ushered her past several guards and into the queen's quarters. There were several rooms and many doorways leading to and from the chamber. The outer sitting room was resplendent and luxurious and Laurel skimmed distracted curtsies to the other ladies in waiting, gazing around in awe. Katherine led her right into the queen's bedroom, where a grand four-poster sat against the wall. Rich draperies hung in swags and silver gleamed on polished, well-crafted dressers.
Laurel had no idea what to do. Not only was she shocked at the grandeur of the chamber, she was indignant about serving Anne in any capacity. It didn't matter that she was a queen. Katherine guided her without knowing it, leading her to the clothing and taking charge of the buckets for the bath. Laurel had never seen so much fuss over a person in her entire life.
Two and a half hours later, with Laurel's patience stretched to the thinnest edge, they left Anne's chamber. Darkness had settled over the land, pressing in against the open windows, and Laurel was suffering severe anxiety about being apart from Sebastian so long.
Katherine led her through a disorienting maze of halls to a small chamber that struck Laurel as depressing. 'Cell' was a better term, in her mind. There were no decorations on the walls here, no fancy dressers or enormous beds. There were two large armoires, a small stand with a pitcher of water on top, and two beds--cots in Laurel's mind-- set against each opposite wall.
Past the flicker of candlelight from the taper Katherine held, she thought she saw something scurry out of sight. She reminded herself that she was from Kansas and had seen a mouse once or twice in her time. Amidst this initial survey of the room, a pressing need made itself known.
"Katherine, where is the ba-- the…I need to relieve myself," she said, when she couldn't think of the right terms for a toilet. Why hadn't she ever read more historical novels?
Katherine stared at her for an entire minute before she bustled over to one of the beds and reached down to pull out a pot from underneath. It looked...well used. The chipped ceramic had once probably been white and was now a jaundiced yellow. She plopped it down at Laurel's feet with an arch expression.
"Really?" Laurel stared down at the pot, horrified. It looked like something a four year old might squat on. She couldn't fathom how she was going to gather all her skirts out of the way and still be able to find it when she needed to sit, holding yards of material in her arms. This whole thing was a disaster in the making.
"Lady Mayfield, are you feeling a touch of the vapors?" Katherine asked.
"Vapor-- no. I'm-- I am fine," she corrected.
Katherine skewed her brows and turned away to see to the dress laid out on her own cot. "I could have sworn we put yours out earlier, my lady May--"
"Please," Laurel said, humiliated beyond good reason. "Call me Laurel."
"Oh, all right. Some ladies are touchy about that."
Laurel made some noncommittal noise and did her business-- after a wealth of struggle--before fluffing out the gown. She didn't know what to do with the pot and stood there for a moment, glancing around. Katherine, removing her underskirt, paused to look at her. They made eye contact and Laurel knew she needed to do something with it. Well, it had come from under the bed, so she held her breath, picked it up, and carried it back there. She scooted it underneath and stood up, gasping for a lungful of air. She wouldn't be sleeping there tonight, thank god, and wouldn't have to worry about any smell. Katherine seemed to dismiss the entire event, fussing and hassling with her clothing.
Like she knew what she was doing, Laurel went to the armoire and opened the doors. A riot of color exploded from the dark confines and she rifled through the selection. Somehow, they were all exactly her size. She plucked a peach and cream concoction out of the mess and held it up. It would do. All she wanted was to find Sebastian and go home.
In the end, she and Katherine had to help each other change. Laurel bit back scathing remarks about hooks and fastenings and too-tight corsets. After last minute adjustments, Katherine took up the candle and led the way back to the queen's chamber. They were just in time to fall in with the other ladies-in-waiting who trailed after Anne toward the banquet hall. Laurel reached up to tuck an errant strand of pale hair into the mass gathered with pins at the back of her head.
She took her cues from Katherine, performing a curtsy when Henry joined them in th
e corridor, hovering behind Anne as they entered the banquet hall at last. There was a seating ritual but once that was done, Katherine and Laurel were free to accept dances from courtiers.
The hall, transformed at night into a place of revelry, boasted throne chairs, polished wood floors, candles in tall holders, tables laden with food and rich tapestries on the walls. For a moment, the revelry paused and everyone bowed to acknowledge the king and queen. The festivities had officially begun. Henry took his seat and handed Anne into her own, making a show of it.
Behind them, a hearth blazed bright to keep the chill of the spring evening from the air. Laurel glanced through the room, fussing with the wide-mouth sleeves of her dress, seeking Sebastian in the throng. He was not hard to find; standing with two other distinguished gentlemen, he wore breeches to the knee and a midnight blue doublet with silver trim that had slashes in the sleeves to show a white shirt beneath. His boots were tall and polished.
Relieved, she bided her time while he greeted Henry and Anne, foregoing the tables of food that Katherine had wandered over to. The king called for music and the dancing began.
Maybe they would get their dance after all, she and Sebastian. She saw him leave the royal couple and begin to make his way over, which saved her from having to all but attack him. Thinking herself sly, she performed a curtsy with decent skill when he stopped to bow before her. He was so handsome, she thought, with his freshly shaven face and elaborate clothing. Nevertheless, she felt a strong desire to have their dance, make their memory and go.
"Lady Mayfield, I believe," he said, straightening.
She expected him to launch into concern about being parted, or his relief to see her again, not greet her like a stranger. Her smile faltered a little.
"Sebastian, really. It's late and I cannot keep the ruse up much longer. Katherine's going to start asking questions I can't answer. Can we have our dance and go, please?" She stepped closer, careful not to make any overt touches that might be noticed by others. Her plea was clear.
Sebastian frowned. "Forgive me, lady, but have we met? Twice now you have used my name but to my knowledge, we have not been introduced."
Laurel stared up into his face, wondering what game he was playing. He seemed so…distant. Not like the possessive Sebastian she had grown used to. She swallowed down a fresh wave of panic.
"Oh dear god, this isn't funny. Please," she said, and her chin trembled. "Don't do this. You know that I need you. I can't fix this on my own."
He seemed disconcerted at her reaction and took a goblet of wine from a passing server, pressing it into her hands. "Drink, my lady."
Laurel took the goblet with shaking fingers and lifted it to her lips for a noisy sip. She watched for any sliver of recognition in his eyes--and saw none. Not even the best actor could pull off that kind of polite neutrality.
He didn't know who she was.
"Now then," he said. "Tell me of what service I may be. Perhaps I can help you fix what is broken." He offered his aid with sincerity behind every word.
Laurel was sinking. A vicious riptide had swept her away from the shores of safety, threatening to drown her in a turbulent sea. She cupped a palm over her forehead, a perfect signal of great feminine distress, quite fitting for the time. If she could coax him back through the door, would everything revert to normal? Would he be Sebastian and would she be Laurel? Would he even go into some empty chamber with her alone, given his chivalrous nature?
Reaching into the bodice of her gown, she pulled the chain free and dangled the charm in the air. She sought his eyes with desperation in her own. "Do you remember this, Sebastian? Please tell me you remember this." A sob caught in her throat and tears stung the back of her eyes.
With each passing second, Sebastian's frown grew more severe. He looked like he wanted to help her-- and didn't know how. Giving the charm a long glance, he shook his head. "Forgive me, my lady. I do not."
Chapter Twelve
Sebastian, or Thorn--as his contemporaries called him--was disconcerted in the extreme. It wasn't only that the lady teetered on some strange, emotional brink; it was his stark reaction to her pain that made him ill at ease. The sound of her sob manifested like a physical ache inside. The revelry of the court was a blur in periphery, secondary to the creature that stood in front of him. He could not define a clear understanding of her problem to decide how to help her.
She looked at him like she expected him to save her, and he would--if he knew what to save her from. The despair in her eyes overwhelmed him.
And her beauty. Of that he was potently aware.
“Perhaps a brief respite from the crowd, my lady." Even as he suggested it, he cupped his hand beneath her elbow and turned her toward a dim hallway. He guided her into an alcove out of sight of the courtiers and dancers. The small space meant they stood within inches of each other.
“Thank you,” she spoke in a voice that sounded tight with emotion.
He blocked her in with his broad shoulders and stood there like a sentinel, regarding her.
“Do we have a common acquaintance?” he asked, trying to get to the root of her situation. Was she mad? Or had she confused him with someone else?
“I … I …”
He was patient as she stammered, tears gleaming in her eyes.
“I don’t think so, Se--Your Grace. I think … I believe I’ve just been … mistaken. I’m sorry.” She sounded distraught. The glass shook in her hands.
Sebastian thought he had never seen a woman look more lost. For reasons he could not rationalize, he felt a sense of overwhelming protectiveness toward her. He lifted his hand, intending on smudging an escaped tear off her cheek, when he realized what he was doing. Making a fist, he lowered it back to his side.
“There is no need to apologize, my lady.” He murmured the words with an encouraging smile, his breath hot on her temple in the close confines of the small alcove. His heart beat more quickly at her close proximity, at the scent of light perfume he could detect on her skin.
“If there is something I can do, it would be my pleasure. I owe you a debt, hm? Your favors brought me good fortune today in the lists.” It was impossible not to crowd her. He studied her upturned face and tensed when she reached up to stroke the pad of her thumb over the pulse in his throat. It was such a private, intimate action. Sebastian thought she seemed rather intent on that particular spot.
“Actually, your Grace, perhaps there is. You seem an expert in the saddle. I wonder… would you care to show me the countryside? Riding. I would like to know if… if you’ll go riding with me. Tomorrow, if you’ve time.”
It took a concerted effort to focus on what she was saying. When she drew her fingers from his neck, he caught her hand mid-air. Her invitation was a bold one. Even though he was surprised, he found himself saying, “It would be my pleasure, my lady."
He chose that moment to step back from her, opening distance enough for him to raise her hand up so he could brush a kiss across the back. Their gazes remained locked. The look she wore was soulful, searching, though for what he could not have said. She trembled on the verge of some deep emotion, and he was beset by a desire for her that he couldn’t understand.
"Thank you, Se--your Grace. And please, call me Laurel," she said with such a serious look on her face. It was not commonly done for men and women to call each other by their given names, especially in court. He would use it only in private. Brushing a light touch under her chin, he said. “Until tomorrow, Laurel.”
In the next instant, he turned and departed the alcove.
He retreated. Or was it an all out escape? Not from her, but from the inexplicable draw she had on his senses. From the protectiveness and desire she provoked; things he had no business feeling when he was already involved.
In the hall proper, he plucked a goblet from the tray of a servant and settled against a column of stone to observe the dancing from a distance. Not far enough away to miss how the King and Queen shared heated looks and secret
words when the figure of the dance brought them close enough.
Since Anne’s ascension to Queen, there had been much revelry in the hall. She was young, beautiful, energetic.
And his wife.
It had happened when they were much younger. An impetuous affair followed by an even more impetuous promise of vows before a country priest. They had told no one their secret, intent on waiting until they were older to inform their families, and thus avoiding the censure that would surely follow their impulsive love.
Of course, it had never happened like that. Anne ended up in the court of the French King, and Sebastian had been gone, fighting under his own King’s banner. By the time he had returned to court to claim what was his, the King had beat him to it. Despite his childhood friendship with Henry, and the favor the King bestowed upon him, Sebastian was under no illusions. Should word of their marriage surface now, both Anne’s and his life would be forfeit. It was treason to touch what belonged to a King, no matter that Sebastian had been there first.
And so he held his tongue. Relegated to the occasional clandestine meeting with Anne, he stood by and watched another man marry, and make love to his wife. He watched night after night as they laughed and danced, shared the intimate looks she had once shared with him.
It was galling. He felt like his masculinity was being chipped away.
Until tonight.
His attention flickered in the direction of the alcove where he'd left the mysterious new lady-in-waiting. Just as he began to worry at her absence, he saw her slip back into the hall, her cheeks a shade of pink that made him suspect she'd been crying.
Despite his original intention to leave, Sebastian straightened and discarded his empty cup before moving to join a small group of courtiers to the side. They were all dressed similarly; doublets in rich velvets and silks, tall boots to the knee, and swords strapped low and dangerous on their hips.
Candles flickered in round holders suspended from the tall ceiling, casting the shadows of the dancers on the walls. The atmosphere was jovial and lighthearted, the late hours common to the reign of the young, virile King.
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