The Winter Queen

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘Of course, Your Grace.’

  ‘Of course,’ she echoed. ‘But—I sense you crave another boon as well, Master Gustavson.’

  Anton hardly dared move. ‘Your Grace has been most generous already.’

  ‘Indeed I have. Yet it did not escape my notice that you were in great haste to rescue Lady Rosamund—or that she is a pretty girl indeed.’

  Anton’s eyes narrowed as he steadily returned the Queen’s stare. ‘I cannot deny that she is pretty, Your Grace.’

  ‘I do not like my ladies to leave me,’ she said, reaching again for her quill as if she dismissed him. ‘I must think on this a bit longer, Master Gustavson. You may go now.’

  He bowed again, restraining himself from arguing as he earlier had from cursing. Quarrelling with the Queen would gain him nothing at all in this delicate, perilous dance. He played for the greatest stakes of his life, for Rosamund’s love, and his every move had to be calculated to that one end.

  He had to plan his next step carefully indeed, or he, like the volta he practised with Rosamund, would fall into ruin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Twelfth Night, January 5

  ‘Are you quite sure you want to do this, Rosamund?’ Anne asked, fastening Rosamund’s pearl necklace for her. ‘You still look rather pale.’

  Rosamund shook out the folds of her white-satin gown trimmed with silvery fox-fur and embroidered with twining silver flowers. Her best gown, saved for Twelfth Night. ‘I could hardly miss the festivities, could I? It is the most important night of Christmas. Besides, I could not stay in bed another moment.’

  All that time alone had left too much time to think. To think about Anton, and the fact that she had not seen him since their icy adventure. To think about their future, and how she would feel if she lost him for ever. Would she be able to move forward again? To forget all that he had taught her, all they had together?

  Tonight felt like the end of something. But would it be a beginning, too—or a step into dark uncertainty?

  She quickly pinched her cheeks, hoping to look less pale. She had to be completely well, or risk being sent back to bed by the Queen and her infernal physicians. ‘How do I look?’ she asked.

  ‘Lovely, as always,’ Anne answered. ‘And me?’

  ‘Beautiful, of course,’ Rosamund said, examining her friend’s sable-trimmed red-velvet gown.

  ‘Mary Howard will faint of envy when she sees us!’

  ‘And Lord Langley will fall even more in love with you.’

  ‘Pooh,’ Anne scoffed. ‘He is not in love with me, and even if he was I care not. I have found there are far grander men here at Court.’

  Grander than a young, handsome, rich earl who was clearly in love with Anne? Rosamund thought not, but she knew better than to argue. Things were not always as they seemed. ‘We should go down, then, and start inciting that envy.’

  Anne laughed, and she and Rosamund linked arms as they hurried down the stairs and along the corridors to the Great Hall. Unlike the dark, mysterious scarlet and black of the ill-fated masquerade ball, the vast chamber was now a wintry paradise. Hangings of white and silver draped from the gilded ceiling, and the walls were lined with trees in silver pots hung with garlands of spangled-white satin to resemble ice. Silver urns held chilled white wines, and musicians in their gallery high above played soft madrigals of love.

  But, unlike the real ice-wrapped forest, it was warm from the crackling fire and from the well-dressed crowds of courtiers packed all around. They all flocked to surround Rosamund when she appeared, exclaiming over her adventure.

  Anton, though, was not among them, and nor was her father, who she had not seen since they had broken their fast together that morning. She smiled and chatted, but their absence, and all the uncertainty, made her feel nervous and unhappy deep down inside. She did like to have a purpose, to know what would happen next and what her actions should be. Where she belonged.

  I am not cut out for Court life, then, she thought wryly. Uncertainty was an everyday matter here. But she accepted a goblet of wine and went on with her conversation as if she had not a care in the world.

  Suddenly, there was a herald of trumpets from the gallery and Queen Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, dazzling in black velvet and cloth-of-gold, her red hair entwined with a wreath of wrought-gold flowers. On her arm was the head of the Swedish delegation, Master Vernerson.

  And in the procession behind her was Anton. Rosamund’s breath caught at the sight of him, so very handsome in his tawny-coloured doublet sewn with black ribbons in a fashionable lattice pattern, a topaz earring in his ear. He seemed none the worse for their adventure. Indeed he seemed more hale and hearty than ever, radiating youth and life.

  The Queen mounted her dais with the Swedish party, her golden train rippling behind her. Rosamund’s father came to her side as they watched Queen Elizabeth, taking Rosamund’s hand in his.

  ‘You look lovely tonight, daughter,’ he said with a smile. ‘So much like your mother, at a Court much like this one.’

  ‘You look fine yourself, Father,’ she answered, examining his purple velvet and black-satin garments. ‘I haven’t seen you so well clad in ages!’

  He laughed. ‘There is no need for such finery at home! Hopefully we shall be back there soon, sitting by our own fire. I am too old for this.’

  The Queen raised her hand, and silence fell over the hall. ‘Welcome all to our Twelfth Night celebration! We have much to celebrate, methinks, after weathering many hardships in these last days. It is cold beyond our walls, but here we have a good fire, fine food—and the best of friends.’

  A cheer went up, and only as it faded did Queen Elizabeth continue. ‘Some friends will remain with us,’ she said, smiling at Lord Leicester who would not, after all, be travelling to Edinburgh. ‘Yet we must say farewell to others. Master Vernerson and his Swedish party will be returning to King Eric, bearing our everlasting friendship. And Master Von Zwetkovich will return to Vienna. Our Court will soon be much less merry, I fear.’

  Rosamund glanced frantically at Anton, who stood behind the Queen’s shoulder. The Swedes were departing so very soon? That left them little time to make their plans. Very little time for her to persuade her father that this time she was very, very certain. That she was willing to do anything for her love.

  The Queen continued. ‘One of our new friends will remain with us, though, or so we hope. In thanks for his efforts to save us from a most wicked plot, and in honour of his grandfather’s long service to my own father, I grant the deed of Briony Manor to Master Anton Gustavson, along with the rank of baronet.’ She half-turned, holding out her hand to Anton. ‘Come, then, Sir Anton.’

  He knelt before her as she laid her bejewelled hand on his glossy dark head. ‘Your Grace,’ he said, ‘You have my deepest thanks.’

  ‘It is only your due, Sir Anton. Your family has long served mine, and indeed continues to do so, as Mistress Celia Sutton is going on an errand for us to Edinburgh, bearing my greetings to my cousin there. I hope I may rely on you in the future?’

  ‘Indeed you may, Your Grace.’

  Rosamund nearly laughed aloud with the sudden bright rush of joy, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Anton was given his manor, and a title! A place in England. But what did it all mean for her, for them?

  ‘We think you have one more task to perform, though,’ the Queen said, raising Anton to his feet. ‘Was there not a wager made, one concerning dancing?’

  Anton smiled. ‘I believe that is true, Your Grace.’

  ‘Then we must determine a winner. Lady Rosamund Ramsay, come forward!’

  The crowd parted, letting Rosamund pass. Her stomach fluttered, and she feared she could not breathe. She walked slowly, carefully, to the base of the dais, dropping into a low curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘Lady Rosamund, are you recovered enough to dance for us?’

  ‘I hope I am, Your Grace, thanks to your fine physicians.’

  ‘And do
you think your pupil is ready for his test?’

  Rosamund laughed, daring to peek at Anton. ‘We can only hope so, Your Grace.’

  ‘Play a volta!’ the Queen commanded the musicians, as Anton came to take Rosamund’s hand in his. He bowed low, kissing her fingers lingeringly.

  ‘You look well, my lady,’ he murmured.

  ‘I feel well,’ she answered. ‘Now.’

  ‘But shall we impress the Queen with our dancing? Or were we too distracted in our lessons?’

  ‘Do you need to impress her?’ Rosamund teased. ‘Are you so in need of yet more prizes?’

  ‘Only one, I think.’ He led her to the centre of the hall, where the other courtiers had made space for them and gathered around to watch.

  Rosamund held tightly to Anton’s hand as they took up their opening pose, smiling as if she was tranquil and happy—not quaking with fear inside. She wanted so very much for them to do well before her father and the Queen, to show that she and Anton could be truly united. But there was always the memory of the many falls they had taken in rehearsing—and the way those rehearsals had always been interrupted by kisses!

  The music started, a lively tune, quicker than they were used to. Rosamund squeezed his hand and they stepped off—right, left, right, left, and jump.

  To her joy, the leaping cadence went off perfectly, and they landed lightly with one foot before the other. After that, the dance went as if by magic. They jumped and twirled and spun, then whirled into the volta, facing each other.

  Anton held her by the waist as they turned, Rosamund shifting onto her inside foot as she bent her knees to spring upward.

  ‘La volta!’ the crowd shouted, and Anton lifted her high, twirling her around and around as she laughed in utter joy.

  Anton spun her about one last time as she laughed merrily. It had been a grand dance, perfect in every way. She hated to see it end, but it did end so splendidly, with her held tightly in Anton’s arms.

  He slowly lowered her to her feet, her head spinning giddily.

  ‘Did I do that properly, then, Mistress Teacher?’ he whispered.

  ‘You are a fine pupil indeed,’ she answered.

  They gazed at each other, the rest of the room fading away into a mere bright blur. They seemed the only two people in all the world. All the danger, the worry, faded away, and she was sure this was where she was meant to be all along.

  But they were not alone for long. Queen Elizabeth applauded, drawing them back to her. ‘Very well done, Sir Anton. I think you must now concede that anyone can dance.’

  ‘Indeed, Your Grace,’ Anton said. ‘If even I can, it is true anyone may—with a good teacher.’

  ‘I believe you owe Lady Rosamund a boon, then,’ the Queen said. ‘Was that not the agreement?’

  ‘I will give Lady Rosamund anything in my power,’ he said.

  ‘Yes? Then we have a suggestion, in which we are seconded by the lady’s excellent father,’ said the Queen. ‘You should marry Lady Rosamund, and make her mistress of your fine new estate. Are you content with this?’

  Rosamund’s hand tightened on Anton’s, and his fingers folded around hers. It could not be real, she thought in a daze. She had just been given all she desired, all she had hoped for so ardently. Was she dreaming?

  She glanced back at her father, who smiled at her. Then she turned back to Anton and saw her own joy reflected in his beautiful dark eyes.

  ‘I am most content with this, Your Grace,’ he said.

  ‘And you, Lady Rosamund?’ the Queen said. ‘Do you accept this as your wager’s prize?’

  ‘I do, Your Grace,’ Rosamund whispered, sure she must be dreaming those words. ‘Most heartily.’

  ‘I do hate to lose the company of my ladies, but surely a wedding is a cause for celebration. We must all have a dance! Master Vernerson, will you partner me?’ the Queen said, holding out her hand to the bowing Swede as the musicians launched into a galliard. ‘It is not every day we look forward to a wedding.’

  Laughing, Rosamund and Anton joined the line of dancers, twirling and leaping until they reached the end of the hall and could slip out of the doors.

  There, hidden in the shadows, they were truly alone at long last.

  ‘Is it true, then?’ she whispered, holding close to his hands so he could not escape her. Not now, not so close to their dream’s realisation. ‘We may marry and live at our own home here in England?’

  ‘It seems so,’ Anton said, laughing. ‘But do you want to marry me, Rosamund, after everything we have been through? After my foolish behaviour in letting you go? Will you be content as Lady Gustavson, far away from this grand, courtly life?’

  ‘I will be the most content lady in all the land!’ Rosamund cried. ‘I only ever wanted your love, Anton.’

  ‘And you have it, my lady. For ever.’ He took the gold-and-ruby ring from his finger, sliding it onto hers. ‘As you cannot yet skate, I believe you won this fairly.’

  Rosamund laid her hand flat against his fine doublet, admiring the gleam of her new ring, the shining promise of it. ‘And your heart?’ she teased.

  ‘You have certainly won that as well. From the first moment I saw you, it has been entirely yours.’ Anton gazed down at her, his face more solemn and serious than she had ever seen it.

  ‘As mine is yours. For ever.’

  With the music of Twelfth Night in their ears, and the promise of the new year to come before them, they kissed and held each other close, knowing at last that it was truly for ever and always.

  Epilogue

  Briony Manor, Christmas Day, 1565

  ‘Do you see it, Bess?’ Rosamund whispered. She gently waved the newly made kissing bough above her daughter’s cradle, laughing in delight as tiny Bess reached for it with her chubby rosebud hand.

  Rosamund kissed those pink little fingers, marvelling at their perfection. Bess laughed, kicking her feet under the hem of her long gown. Behind them the fire crackled in the grate of the great hall, flickering on the greenery and red ribbons of the holiday.

  ‘You know it is Christmas, don’t you, my darling?’ Rosamund said, swinging the bough back and forth before her daughter’s fascinated gaze. The baby’s eyes were dark, like her father’s, but a fluff of pale-blonde hair crowned her perfect little head.

  ‘’Twas a year ago I found your father, on the coldest Christmas that ever was seen. And now this year I have you.’ Her heart truly overflowed with joy, Rosamund thought. ‘Christmas is the finest time of year.’

  ‘I agree most heartily to that,’ Anton said, bounding into the hall. He still wore his riding boots, and bore the chill of the outdoors, the crispness of green and smoke of the winter’s day. But Rosamund cared naught for the dust on his boots as he kissed her.

  ‘How are my ladies this fine afternoon?’ he said, reaching for the baby’s hand. Her fingers curled tight around his as she laughed and cooed.

  ‘Quite well with our decorating, and hoping your hunt was successful,’ Rosamund said, marvelling at the sight of her husband and child together—her two great loves.

  ‘Indeed! We will have a fine feast to welcome your parents tomorrow.’

  ‘They don’t care about that. They only want to see Bess.’

  ‘I hope you told them she is the most perfect baby in all the world.’

  ‘In every letter since she was born. Mama writes she expects no less from her grandchild, and Father says we must betroth her to a duke at the very least.’

  Anton laughed. ‘Perhaps we should wait for her betrothal until she is walking.’

  Rosamund tucked the fur-lined blanket around Bess, handing her a toy lamb to play with. ‘I saw there was a letter this morning from Celia. Will we see her back in England for the holiday? She has been away on the Queen’s business for so long.’

  Anton shook his head. ‘My cousin says her work is not yet done in Scotland. Perhaps next year.’

  ‘Then our table will be complete. But for now we must make certain Be
ss’s first Christmas is wondrous.’

  ‘Just as ours is now?’ he said, catching her in his arms for a long, passionate kiss. Even after a year of marriage, his kiss thrilled her to her very toes, making the cold day as warm as July.

  She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as their baby cooed and laughed. ‘Oh, my dearest. There could never be a finer Christmas than this one!’

  Author’s Note

  Ilove Christmas, so was very excited to dive into Rosamund and Anton’s story! The history of Christmas traditions in the Renaissance is a rich—and fun!—one, especially in the reign of Elizabeth I, who certainly knew how to put on a party. Despite the lack of trees and stockings, we would be very familiar with many aspects of the holiday in the sixteenth century—the music, the feasting—though not many of us have peacock and boar’s head on our tables!—the greenery and ribbon used in decoration. And the possibility of romance under the mistletoe…

  I also enjoyed weaving real Elizabethan history into the story. The winter of 1564 was indeed so terribly cold that the Thames froze through and a frost fair was set up on the ice. Mary, Queen of Scots, as always for Elizabeth, was a great concern and nuisance. Her disastrous marriage to Lord Darnley was just over the horizon, despite Elizabeth’s suggestion that her cousin marry Lord Leicester.

  While Anton and Rosamund, as well as their families, friends and enemies, are fictional, a few real-life historical figures play a role in their story. Among them are Lord Burghley, Lord Leicester, Blanche Parry, Mistress Eglionby—who had the unenviable task of corralling the young maids of honour!—the Scots Melville and Maitland, the Austrian Adam von Zwetkovich, and the Maids Mary Howard, Mary Radcliffe and Catherine Knyvett. I also used much of Queen Elizabeth’s complicated courtship politics in the story, including King Eric of Sweden—who a few years later went mad and was deposed by his brother—and Archduke Charles.