The Winter Queen. Amanda McCabe

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СКАЧАТЬ be Lady Rosamund,’ she said, her voice soft and deep, unmistakably authoritative. ‘We have been expecting you.’

      ‘Your Grace,’ Rosamund said, curtsying deeply. Much to her relief, both her words and her salute were smooth and even, despite her suddenly dry throat. ‘My parents send their most reverent greetings. We are all most honoured to serve you.’

      Elizabeth nodded, rising slowly from her desk. She wore a gown and loose robe of crimson and gold, the fur-trimmed neck gathered close and pinned against the cold day with a pearl brooch She came to hold out her beringed hand, and Rosamund saw that her long, white fingers bore ink stains.

      Rosamund quickly kissed the offered hand, and was drawn to her feet. Much to her shock, Elizabeth held onto her arm, drawing her close. She smelled of clean lavender soap, of the flowery pomander at her waist and sugary suckets; Rosamund was suddenly even more deeply aware of her own travel-stained state.

      ‘We are very glad you have come to our Court, Lady Rosamund,’ the Queen said, studying her closely. ‘We have recently, sadly, lost some of our ladies, and the Christmas season is upon us. We hope you have come eager to help us celebrate.’

      Celebrating had been the last thing on Rosamund’s mind of late. But now, faced with the Queen’s steady gaze, she surely would have agreed to anything.

      ‘Of course, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘I always enjoy the Christmas festivities at Ramsay Castle.’

      ‘I am glad to hear it,’ the Queen said. ‘My dear Kat Ashley is not in good health, and she seems to live more and more in old memories of late. I want to remind her of the joyful holidays of her youth.’

      ‘I hope to be of some service, Your Grace.’

      ‘I am sure you shall.’ The Queen finally released Rosamund’s arm, returning to her desk. ‘Tell me, Lady Rosamund, do you wish to marry? You are very pretty indeed, and young. Have you come to my Court to seek a handsome husband?’

      Rosamund heard a quick, sharp intake of breath from one of the ladies, and the room suddenly seemed to go suddenly still and tense. She thought of Richard, of his handsome blue eyes, his futile promises. ‘Nay, Your Grace,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I have not come here to seek a husband.’

      ‘I am most gladdened to hear it,’ Queen Elizabeth said, folding her graceful hands atop her papers. ‘The married state has its uses, but I do not like to lose my ladies to its clutches. I must have their utmost loyalty and honesty, or there will be consequences—as my wilful cousin Katherine learned.’

      Rosamund swallowed hard, remembering the gossip about Katherine Grey, which had even reached Ramsay Castle—married in secret to Lord Hertford, sent to the Tower to bear his child. Rosamund certainly did not want to end up like her!

      ‘I wish only to serve Your Grace,’ Rosamund said.

      ‘And so you shall, starting this evening,’ the Queen said. ‘We are having a feast in honour of the Swedish delegation, and you shall be in our train.’

      A feast? Already? Rosamund curtsied again. ‘Of course, Your Grace.’

      Elizabeth at last released Rosamund from the force of her dark gaze, turning back to her writing. ‘Then you must rest until then. Mistress Percy, one of the other maids of honour, will show you to your quarters.’

      A lady broke away from the group by the fireplace, a small, pretty, pert-looking brunette in white silk and a black-velvet sleeveless robe.

      Rosamund curtsied one last time to the Queen and said, ‘Thank you, Your Grace, for your great kindness.’

      Elizabeth waved her away, and she followed the other girl back into the Presence Chamber.

      ‘I am Anne Percy,’ she said, linking arms with Rosamund as if they had known each other for months rather than minutes.

      Rosamund had no sisters, nor even any close female friends; Ramsay Castle was too isolated for such things. She wasn’t sure what to make of Mistress Percy’s easygoing manner or her open smile, but it was nice to feel she was not quite alone at Court.

      ‘And I am Rosamund Ramsay,’ she answered, not certain what else to say.

      Anne laughed, steering Rosamund around a group of young men who hovered near the doorway. One of them smiled and winked at Anne, but she pointedly turned her head away from him.

      ‘I know,’ Anne said as they emerged from the Queen’s apartments into the corridor again. ‘We have been talking of nothing but you for days!’

      ‘Talking of me?’ Rosamund said in astonishment. ‘But I have never been to Court before. And, even if I had, I would look terribly dull next to all the exciting things that happen here.’

      Anne gave an unladylike snort. ‘Exciting? Oh, Lady Rosamund, surely you jest? Our days are long indeed, and always much of a sameness. We have been talking of you because we have not seen a new face among the ladies in months and months. We have been counting on you to bring us fresh tales of gossip!’

      ‘Gossip?’ Rosamund said, laughing. She thought of the long, sweet days at Ramsay Castle, hours whiled away in sewing, reading, playing the lute—devising foolish ways to meet Richard. ‘I fear I have very little of that. No matter what you say, I would vow life in the country is far duller than here at Court. At least you do see people every day, even if they are always the same people.’

      ‘True enough. At my brother’s estate, I sometimes had to talk to the sheep just to hear my own voice!’ Anne giggled, an infectiously merry sound that made Rosamund want to giggle too.

      ‘Since I know so little of Court doings, you must tell me all I need to know,’ Rosamund said. ‘Maybe then the tales will seem fresh again.’

      ‘Ah, now that I can do,’ Anne said. ‘A maid of honour’s duties are few enough, as you will find. We walk with the Queen in the gardens, we go with her to church and stand in her train as she greets foreign envoys. We sew and read with her—and try to duck when she is in a fearsome mood and throws a shoe at us.’

      ‘Nay?’ Rosamund gasped.

      Anne nodded solemnly. ‘Ask Mary Howard where she got that dent in her forehead—and she is even the daughter of the Queen’s great-uncle! But that is only on very bad days. Most of the time she just ignores us.’

      ‘Then if our duties are so few what do we do with our time?’

      ‘We watch, of course. And learn.’ Anne paused in the curve of a bow window along the gallery. Below them was an elegant expanse of garden; neat, gravel walkways wound between square beds outlined in low box-hedges. The fountains were still, frozen over in the winter weather, the flowers and greenery slumbering under a light mantel of silvery frost and snow.

      But there was no lack of colour and life. Yet more people flowed along the walkways, twining like a colorful snake in pairs and groups, their velvets and furs taking the place of the flowers.

      Rosamund recognised Leicester’s peacock-blue doublet, his black hair shining in the grey light. He stood among a cluster of other men, all more sombrely clad than he, and even from that distance Rosamund could still sense the anger etched on his handsome, swarthy face.

      ‘We have no fewer than three important СКАЧАТЬ