Christmas At The Tudor Court: The Queen's Christmas Summons / The Warrior's Winter Bride. Amanda McCabe

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       Chapter Eight

      ‘There. What do you think?’ Alys asked, balancing carefully on the stool as she tied the painted cloth to the wall of the old dairy. The bright colours of the scene seemed to make the dim, dank little room a bit more vivid, a bit less dreary. ‘I don’t think anyone could recover their health in such darkness, with nothing pretty to look at.’

      Juan laughed. ‘I have recovered my health completely, thanks to my ministering angel. And you have made a cosy little home here in such little time. I’ve never lived anywhere so comfortable.’

      Alys studied the room, which she had tidied and feathered with new cushions, blankets and the cloth. It was rather cosy, she thought, and not a bad place to recover a measure of health, but she doubted it was the best place he had ever lived, not after being in so many fine cities. ‘I don’t think that can be true—have you not visited palaces and such?’

      ‘Oh, nay, I assure you—it is by far the best.’ He took her hand to help her down from the stool and his touch was warm on her skin. She hated to let him go. They sat down together on the newly cushioned stools, near the teetering stacks of books she had loaned him to pass the time. ‘Palaces, though certainly grand in their state rooms, are small, cramped and damp in their accommodations. They are old places, by and large, and cold even in summer. Not to mention crowded and smelly. Here I have this space all to myself and may read and think all day. I can’t remember ever having such luxuries.’

      ‘I think I should still like to see a palace, even if they’re cold and cramped!’ Alys said. ‘Dunboyton is very old and often dank, and always crowded, but we have no marble pillars and fine carpets to look at, such as the Queen must possess. There must be amusements there we don’t have, as well.’

      ‘There are amusements, true,’ Juan said. ‘Banquets and dancing almost every night, and in the summer there are often river pageants and picnics, hunts, ceremonies to welcome foreign ambassadors, always music and fine food.’

      Alys sighed happily to envision it, a crowd of velvet-clad courtiers dancing under gilded ceilings. ‘It would be lovely to see new people sometimes, not always the same faces all the time.’

      ‘You must have gatherings here? Dancing and music?’

      ‘We do dance here, especially at Christmas,’ she said. ‘But I am sure it can’t be nearly as elegant as the courtly dances.’

      ‘Well, shall we compare them?’ Juan said. He rose to his feet and offered her his hand as he gave a bow.

      Alys laughed at the contrast between his elaborate bow, low over his outstretched leg, and his rough borrowed clothes, their simple surroundings. ‘Compare?’

      ‘Aye. You must imagine you are in the Queen’s own hall. There is the dais where sits her velvet-and-gilt throne, an embroidered canopy of state over it. And there are the carved panels of the wall, the cabinet piled high with glittering gold-and-silver plate. The musicians are in their gallery above our heads, playing a royal galliard on their lutes and drums. All the courtiers are taking their places. Now, my lady, will you honour me with this dance?’

      Alys dipped into a low curtsy. ‘I shall, kind sir.’

      He took her hand in his and led her to the empty centre of their little room. His touch was warm on her fingers, slightly rough from his work on the ships, and for a moment she imagined they were in a palace. That she was surrounded by velvet and satin gowns, tapestries sparkling with gold thread, the scent of rich, flowery perfumes. That she herself wore bright silk and flashing jewels.

      ‘Now, imagine the music like this,’ Juan said, and hummed a few bars. ‘One, two, one, two, three, three. Right, left, right, left and jump, landing with one leg ahead of the other. Like so.’

      He showed her the patterns slowly at first, then quicker as she followed, his movements as lithe as a mountain lynx. Alys saw it was not so very different from their Dunboyton dances, and she copied him, landing with a little twirl. She hoped against hope he thought she was almost as graceful as those court ladies.

      ‘Very good,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Are you sure you have not done courtly dances before?’

      ‘You must be a fine teacher,’ she answered with a teasing smile.

      ‘We shall see when you dance before the Queen,’ he said, holding her hand up as she made another little twirl. ‘Now, let go of my hand and face me, like this.’

      She came to a stop close to him, mere inches from his shoulder. She didn’t dare to look up at him, into those magical eyes. The warmth of his nearness made her breath catch. ‘Now—now what?’

      ‘I put my hand on your waist, like this,’ he answered hoarsely as his hand landed lightly on her waist. ‘You touch my shoulder and we turn.’

      They spun around each other, slowly at first, their steps twining around each other, perfectly matched, as if they had always danced just like that. Alys held on to his strong shoulder, letting him guide her, trusting him.

      But then she got ahead of him and his leg tangled in her skirt. She felt herself tip off balance, toppling towards the floor. She caught at his shoulders, her stomach lurching, and he swung her up high in the air.

      Alys laughed, her head floating giddily. ‘Is this part of the dance?’

      ‘It is now! Our own new step.’ He twirled her around and around, as if she was a mere СКАЧАТЬ