Maid of Secrets

by Jennifer McGowan

  I was getting a little tired of poorly bred louts calling my Queen a whore.

  To stem my annoyance with Turnip Nose, I turned my attention more fully on him, trying to keep up with the flow of his words. Surely I’d remember him the next time I saw him, though other than his distinctive nose, he looked like many of the other Spanish guards—thick and unwieldy, almost laughable in their fine silks. The courtiers, at least the younger ones, were built generally like Rafe, strong and lean.

  Why would Rafe be talking to a Spanish guard in the middle of the night? And in the middle of an abandoned chapel?

  What was Rafe’s role with the Spanish delegation, in truth? Had he just come across the English channel to seed a delegation of dandies paying court to a capricious Queen with another handsome face? Was he here to serve the Bishop de Quadra? Or was Rafe something more than a courtier after all?

  Suddenly Turnip Nose thrust a small object toward Rafe, his words rising on a tide of disgust. Rafe reached out for it, and the object caught the light of the meager moonshine as the beams filtered through the dirt-clogged windows.

  A letter!

  I almost gasped out my surprise but managed to keep my peace.

  Rafe tucked the letter into his doublet and patted Turnip Nose on the back, all forgiven between them, apparently. The guard grinned sheepishly in return, and they continued their conversation for a few minutes more, too quietly for me to hear. I seriously began to suspect I should be going, when Rafe turned away from the man.

  Then Rafe whirled back in a blur of motion, so fast I could barely track him. Suddenly, his hands were on either side of the other man’s head, which slewed sideways with a sickening wet crunch, shocking in the silence.

  Turnip Nose slumped to the ground.

  Rafe crouched over him, and I was gone.

  Blind and deaf to anything but the sudden knowledge of my own danger, I started running like the armies of Satan were chasing me out of that chapel, headlong toward safety. A few moments later I heard rapid feet behind me, but the chase was abandoned quickly, and I didn’t stop in any event until I’d gone almost the full length of Saint George’s Hall. I ripped off my makeshift apron and threw it down, lungs heaving. I ducked out the door to the hall, then rushed through rooms large and small toward my own chambers as quickly as I could, my hands working furiously to reset my hair to at least some semblance of propriety, in case I ran afoul of a guard or servant. Heaven forfend! I had no desire to explain why I was out so late.

  As I neared the maids’ quarters I picked up my pace, and in my haste I wasn’t looking as far ahead as I should have. If I had been more focused on what was ahead of me instead of what was behind me, I am certain I would have taken note of the faint prickling at my neck, the decided hitch in my stride as my heart began galloping faster than even my panicked run should have caused.

  As it was, I was jerked off my feet by a powerful set of arms and hauled summarily into an antechamber before I even had breath to cry out.

  “I thought I’d find you along this corridor.” Rafe gave me a shake. “Scream, and I’ll knock you senseless, like you so richly deserve.”

  “What are you doing here?” I gasped. I jerked my head back, indignant at his hold, but he did not let go.

  “I could ask you well the same thing.”

  “I live here,” I snapped, and a cold chill bloomed in my chest. God’s hounds, had the castle become home to me? “You’re just an unwanted guest.”

  Rafe grinned at me, too close. “An unwanted guest that you can’t seem to stay away from,” he said. “Why are you following me?”

  I drew myself up. While I was still panting with the exertion of my run, Rafe looked as if barely a hair had been turned on his sleekly styled head. How had he made it to this part of the castle so quickly? If there was a second door in the chapel that I’d missed, how did he know about it? And more to the point: “What did you do to that man?” I demanded.

  “You were eavesdropping on our conversation,” he said coldly. “I want to know why.”

  I scowled. “I was just out walking. I do that. I heard voices.”

  “You were just out walking. In the dead of night, in the middle of a deserted chapel at the far end of a ruined hall? I’m afraid you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “I don’t even understand Spanish,” I pointed out with exasperation. It was a convincing argument, and I shouldn’t care what he thought about my level of education. Really. I shouldn’t care.

  That stopped him. “You don’t?”

  Before I could shake my head, he spoke a torrent of words, all of them rich and vaguely . . . intimate-sounding, but in truth I could neither follow them nor adequately memorize them, even though my name was sprinkled liberally throughout. All the while, he watched me closely. Whatever he saw on my face must have pleased him, because he finally stopped.

  “What did you say?” I asked, making no secret of my annoyance. I was getting better at Spanish, true enough, but not Spanish that was spoken so quickly.

  He tilted his head, considering. “You truly can’t understand my words? And yet you continue to follow me?”

  “I told you, I wasn’t following you,” I retorted. “I was out walking.” I tried a different tack. “You killed that man, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Not even to me.

  Rafe rolled his eyes. “I knocked him out. He will recover.”

  I narrowed my gaze at him. He most certainly had done more than knock the guard out. It had sounded like he’d snapped the man’s neck. “Why did you strike him at all?”

  “Why are you asking such questions?” Rafe frowned, and without warning his manner shifted into something almost . . . protective. “What is this about, Meg? Skulking around corridors pretending you’re a spy is not a child’s game. You could be taken for one in truth, and then where would you be?”

  I stiffened at his tone. “I do not need your lecture, sir.”

  “No, you need a leash.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless . . . ” He shook his head. “Surely not. You cannot have been sent to follow me. That would not make any sense.”

  Uh-oh. “Don’t trouble your mind with such a thought,” I sniffed. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  It was too late. “But, wait. Perhaps . . . the night of the ball.” A tone of wonder lilted his voice, and I hid my wince. I’d done too much, too soon. I’d overplayed my hand, but I didn’t know how to turn him from his line of thought. “You were with me then as well,” he said. “The night of the ball.”

  “As were about fifty other women, yes,” I said. “What of it?”

  “My packet of letters was opened.”

  “What packet of letters?” I asked blankly. “What are you talking about?”

  Rafe shook his head again like a dazed dog. “No,” he said finally. “I won’t believe it.”

  Good. “Believe what?” I glanced at his clothes. They were not dissimilar from the outfit that he’d worn the night of the ball, and I would wager I’d find Turnip Nose’s letter in the same place the other letters had been. Did I dare lift it from him now? I didn’t have the opportunity of closeness like the dance had afforded me. I could embrace him again, but that thought sent me into a panic. It was once again too much, too soon.

  Then all at once an idea sparked in my head.

  I took note of where we were standing. This antechamber was used by members of the ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor when their families came calling. It was simply furnished, and exuded a comforting air. Shifting backward just a step, I sighed and sat down heavily on the nearest cushioned bench, leaving a space open beside me to my left. “I will tell you this,” I said, my words small and forlorn. “I do not like this castle.”

  Rafe dropped down beside me, sliding into the role of guardian so quickly, I almost felt bad. “Are you all right?” he asked, now all concern.

  I smiled wanly at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Yes, of course. I am quite well.” I glanced a
way at the very end of this small speech. This really was too easy.

  He leaned toward me. “You don’t seem quite like the other maids,” he said gently. “Are you from the countryside?”

  The question sent a fresh bolt of panic through me. How was I not like the others? I needed to work on fitting in better. “I am from the country, yes,” I said, with another shy glance to the side. “Is it so obvious?”

  His smile was kind, and I felt a weird pang in my heart. Once again I was lying to him, though for a good cause. I let my hand sidle closer to his leg, inches away from the pocket in his puffed trunks. He would not even feel me lift the letter free, if I were careful. And I always was careful. Well, I usually was careful.

  But Rafe was continuing. “You looked deeply chagrined at Beatrice’s words the other night, and by your own admission just now that you don’t know Spanish. There is no slight in coming from the country, Meg. Not everyone can be born into a wealthy family.”

  “I suppose.” I moved my hand closer still. “You seem at ease here, though. Is this your first visit to Windsor?” I asked.

  He leaned yet closer to me, and I found myself intensely aware of him. I needed to focus on my task, I knew, not on him. But he was making it very difficult.

  “This is my first visit since Elizabeth has worn the crown, but not the first to England, fair maid.” Rafe glanced up, as if thinking, and I made my move while he spoke. I nicked the letter from his pocket, palming the flimsy bit of parchment in a smooth, easy pass and shoving it into my waistband next to my candle and picklocks. Time to sew more pockets. I drifted my hand back down to the cushion while Rafe continued. “During Mary Tudor’s reign, we Spanish considered England almost our second home. There’s not a rock I haven’t overturned in Whitehall or Windsor, so often have I roamed them both.” He grinned at me. “But now that I’ve made your acquaintance, I’ll be sure to return more frequently.”

  “And if I am still here, I’ll be sure to say hello.”

  “I should like it very much if you were.” He hesitated, dark eyes unreadable. “Your betrothal will not be brief?”

  My what? I stared at him for a long beat before realizing what he was talking about. I would not be able to carry on that particular charade, I decided in an instant. There were some lies that could not be upheld. “Oh, that. It was a misunderstanding, I’m afraid—the Queen had chosen the wrong maid.”

  Rafe’s brows shot up. “She cannot keep you straight?”

  “She’s very busy.” I shrugged.

  He shook his head, wonderingly. “I cannot think you’d be easy to misplace, Meg, whether by countryman or Queen.”

  “Are you always so good with words? Or am I just particularly blessed tonight?”

  He grinned again. It looked good on him. “I’ve been taught my lines well. Not unlike you, I suspect.”

  “Your lines?”

  He reached up to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, and his hand lingered on my cheek. “We all must play our roles, sweet Meg. Surely you understand what it feels like to not belong somewhere?”

  “Well, yes, but—you’re a courtier.”

  “And far from king and country, with no home to call my own.”

  His words were light, but the pain of them resonated through me, my own pain echoing in response. “You would find a home someday?”

  His gaze held mine. “I go where my heart directs me. And there I find my home.”

  He was so close to me, his breath the scent of honey and cinnamon, his eyes warming me.

  Kiss him! Kiss him! my own traitorous heart surged, and I blushed so thoroughly, he had to know, even in the darkness. “I . . . I should be going,” I said, giving him a final shy smile.

  “Of course, of course,” Rafe said easily. We both stood, and I turned. I curtsied to him, and he bowed, gesturing for me to proceed him. I neatly transferred the letter to my bodice as I walked.

  I’d almost made it to the door, when he laughed.

  “You really are quite good, aren’t you?”

  Every fiber in my being screamed at me to flee, but a greater sense of gamesmanship held me fast. Rafe was beside me in an instant, turning me around. He held out a hand. “The letter, if you please.”

  I lifted my chin. “It is not yours. I’ll not have any of the English caught up in your intrigues.”

  “My intrigues!” He protested. “If I’d not already been duped by you, I would not have checked my own pockets until well after you had left.”

  “Duped?”

  “Don’t be coy.” Rafe scowled now. “The skills you possess are dangerous, Meg; I will tell you plain. Is thieving something you enjoy, or did you develop the skill by requirement?”

  There was danger here, but I didn’t know how to measure it. “You took a letter from the guard. I took it from you. There is nothing more to the tale.”

  “I see. And who else knows of your ability to light-finger a letter from an unsuspecting mark’s pockets?”

  I stiffened, feigning outrage. “No one,” I lied succinctly.

  “Not even your parents?”

  For some reason that comment stung me to candor. “Certainly not them. My mother died in childbirth, not long after I entered the world. My father never recovered, or so the story goes. After that there was only my grandfather, and now he, too, is gone.”

  That made Rafe pause, and I silently commended myself. The words were painful—and honest fact; I’d heard the tale since I was little more than a babe myself. The admission added the necessary embroidery to make the whole cloth seem like it was woven in truth.

  Rafe’s next words were as unexpected as they were gentle. “Poor, sweet Meg, all alone in the world,” he murmured. My heart slewed sideways, and I felt the danger prick my spine, but he began speaking again, almost more to himself than me. “But your skill is not inconsiderable, and your mind is as fleet as your thieving fingers.” He rubbed his jaw. “There are those who would seek to use you, Meg, and not be careful in the using.”

  A bit too late for the counsel, I thought. Walsingham and Cecil had already claimed me for their own. “You should worry less for me and more for yourself, I should think. Whatever intrigues you’re setting up for yourself within the castle, you will be caught out.”

  “And you would not see me hang, is that it?”

  I instantly thought of Cecil’s threats. “Do not joke,” I said severely. “The Queen suffers no fools not of her choosing, and I cannot believe you set so little store by your own life to abuse her kindness so.”

  “Meg,” he murmured, putting a hand over mine. I was held fast, like a rabbit in a snare, and he squeezed my fingers. “Your concern flatters me, but it is not I who am in danger here. You must have a better care for yourself. Whether you were out hunting for an errant letter or not, the castle at night is not safe for women alone; not even for the Queen’s attendants.”

  The night whispered of Marie Claire, but I lifted my chin. “I assure you, you’ve no need to worry about my safety.”

  “After your demonstrations this evening, Meg, I’m afraid I’m not convinced that you have a care for it yourself. What if others learn of your abilities?”

  “My abilities, as you call them, are not known, and shall not be known, lest I in turn know that you are the one who spread the rumors.”

  He shook his head. “I tell no tales that do not profit me, and your safety is not worth any price. But come.” He stood and curled my arm into his. It felt right, somehow. Secure and warm. “We should return before your absence is made note of, by maid or master alike.”

  “No one would be looking for me,” I assured him, but his laughter cut into the darkness.

  “And that is where you are wrong, sweet Meg. That is where you are wrong.”

  We moved swiftly down the corridor, until we neared my chambers; gradually we slowed, then stopped. I thought he might lean into me then, a flash of knowing that startled me with its sudden imagery, at once intimate and foreign. Would he
. . . would he kiss me now?

  Rafe gathered me close, holding me in an embrace so soft, I thought I would crumple within it. Then his hands seemed to be everywhere at once, pressing me into the wall, searing through my skirts, hard upon my waist. He seemed to pause a moment, then redoubled in his intensity.

  His hands crept up . . . up . . . and I felt suddenly dizzy, drunk on the moment with the sweetest of wines, yearning for him to touch me, even through the cloth of my gown. He did, tracing his fingers over the curve of my bodice, then brushing the tidy lacings that held the cloth together.

  And just like that, I knew my mistake.

  He pulled the letter out as quick as a breath, taking a sharp step away.

  “You ingrate!” I yelped, clutching my hand to my bodice, though the letter was long gone.

  “Sweet Meg, I can honestly say, I’ve never enjoyed my work more.” Even in the darkness I could see the gleam of Rafe’s teeth as he grinned broadly. “Pray feel free to steal from me at any time.”

  “I would not have need to steal from you at all, were you an honorable man,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Spoken from the heights of your own inestimable nobility, I can see,” he mocked back, then swept me another bow. “Good night, sweet Meg,” he said, and I murmured some semblance of good-bye, riddled with fury and embarrassment for being so easily duped.

  We both turned at once, to retrace our steps to our separate lives. But before I turned into my chamber, I thought I heard his voice again, a whisper in the darkness.

  “I’ll be watching you.”

  “Why do you suppose we’ve been canceled again?” Anna mused from her desk the following morning, well after dawn had broken with no sign from Cecil or any other of our tutors. Her lips were pressed together. “Seems to me a briefing would be quite appropriate, with the Flemish court coming to England to pay homage to the Queen.”

  “The who?” I asked, as Jane straightened. Even Beatrice looked up at this new bit of gossip.

  “The Flemish court?” Beatrice asked. “But the Queen despises King Philip, especially since he married the French child. She suffers the Spaniards because Spain is so powerful. But what need has she for the Netherlands?”