The Winter Queen. Amanda McCabe

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘They will probably try to persuade you to plead their cause to the Queen.’

      ‘Do you mean bribes?’ Rosamund whispered back.

      ‘Oh, aye.’ Anne held out her wrist to display a fine pearl bracelet. ‘But be very careful which faction you choose to have your dealings with, Lady Rosamund.’

      ‘And what are my choices?’

      ‘Well, over there you see the Austrians.’ Anne gestured towards one end of the garden, where a cluster of men clad in plain black and gray hovered like a murder of crows. ‘They are here to present the case for their candidate for the Queen’s hand—Archduke Charles. Truly, they are like the new Spanish, since King Philip has given up at last and married his French princess. No one takes them seriously, except themselves. And they are very serious indeed.’

      ‘How very dreary,’ Rosamund said. ‘Who else?’

      ‘Over there we have the Scots,’ Anne said, turning to another group. They did not wear primitive plaids, as Rosamund would have half-hoped, but very fashionable silks in tones of jewel-bright purple, green and gold. But then, they did serve a very fashionable queen indeed. Perhaps Queen Mary made them wear French styles.

      ‘That is their leader, Sir James Melville, and his assistant, Secretary Maitland. And Maitland’s cousin, Master Macintosh,’ Anne continued. ‘They are the tall ones there, with the red hair. They certainly seem more lighthearted than the Austrians. They dance and play cards every night, and Her Grace seems fond of them. But I would not be too open and honest around them.’

      ‘Why is that? Why are they here? Surely they can have no marriages to propose?’

      ‘On the contrary. The Queen of Scots is most concerned with her own marriage prospects.’

      Rosamund stared down at the Scotsmen in the garden. ‘She seeks an English match? After being married to the King of France?’

      ‘Perhaps. But not the one Queen Elizabeth would have her make.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      Anne leaned closer, her voice such a soft whisper Rosamund could hardly make it out. ‘Queen Elizabeth desires Queen Mary to take Robert Dudley as her consort. They say that is why she made him an earl last autumn.’

      ‘Nay!’ Rosamund gasped. ‘But I thought the Queen herself…?’

      Anne nodded. ‘So do we all. It is passing strange. I’m sure Melville thinks so as well, which is why he bides his time here rather than hurrying back to Queen Mary to press such an offer.’

      ‘So, that is why the Earl stalks about like a thundercloud?’

      ‘Indeed.’

      ‘But then who is the third delegation? How do they fit into these schemes?’

      Anne laughed delightedly; every hint of the seriousness she’d showed when discussing the Austrians and the Scots vanished. ‘Now, they are a very different matter, the Swedes.’

      ‘The Swedes?’

      ‘They are here to present again the suit of their own master, King Eric,’ Anne said. ‘It seems he is in great need of a powerful wife’s assistance, with war looming with both Denmark and Russia, and possibly France, and his own brother scheming against him.’

      ‘He doesn’t sound like a very attractive marital prospect,’ Rosamund said doubtfully.

      ‘Oh, not at all! That is why he was already rejected a few years ago. I’m sure Her Grace has no intention of accepting him—or not much.’

      ‘Then why does she keep his delegation here?’

      ‘Why, see for yourself!’ Anne pointed as a new group entered the garden through one of the stone archways. They were a handsome gathering indeed, tall and golden, well-muscled in their fine doublets and fur-lined short cloaks, laughing and as powerful as Norse gods entering Valhalla.

      And, right in their midst, was the most handsome and intriguing of all—the mysterious Anton, he of the amazing feats on the ice.

      He carried his skates slung over his shoulder, shining silver against the black velvet and leather of his doublet. A flat, black velvet cap covered his inky-dark hair, but his radiant smile gleamed in the grey day.

      The striking red-haired lady from the pond held onto his arm, staring up at him with a rapt expression on her sharp-featured face, as if her very breath depended on his next word.

      Rosamund feared she knew very well how that woman felt. Her own breath was tight in her throat, and her face felt warm despite the chill of the window glass.

      Think of Richard, she urged herself, closing her eyes tightly. Yet even as she tried to remember Richard’s summer kisses, the way his arms had felt around her as he pulled her close, all she could see was a man spinning across the winter ice.

      ‘That is why the Queen keeps them here,’ Anne said. ‘They have proved a great ornament to the Court—almost worth the trouble.’

      Rosamund opened her eyes. Anton was still there, whispering in the lady’s ear as she covered her mouth with her gloved hand, no doubt hiding a peal of flirtatious laughter.

      ‘Trouble?’ she murmured. Oh, aye; she could see where he would be a great deal of trouble, especially to a Court full of bored ladies.

      ‘The Swedes and the Austrians detest each other,’ Anne said cheerfully. ‘The Queen has had to strictly forbid duels. And I am sure the Scots are involved somehow, though I have not yet devised how.’

      ‘Oh.’ Rosamund nodded, rather confused. She certainly did have a great deal to learn about Court life! Translating Greek manuscripts was simple compared to the complexities of alliances.

      ‘That dark one there—Anton Gustavson, his name is,’ Anne said, gesturing to the handsome Anton. ‘He is only half-Swedish, they say. His mother was English. He has come to England not only on behalf of King Eric but on his own errand. His grandfather has left him an estate in Suffolk, a most profitable manor, and he wants to claim it. But he is in dispute with a cousin over the property.’

      Rosamund watched as Anton laughed with the lady, the two of them strolling the walkways as if they hadn’t a care in the world. ‘I can scarce imagine a man like that in dispute with anyone. Surely he could charm the very birds of the trees into his hand?’

      Anne gave her a sharp glance. ‘You have met Master Gustavson, then?’

      Rosamund shook her head. ‘That is merely what I observe from watching him now.’

      ‘Oh, you must be wary of such observations! Here at Court, appearances are always deceiving. One never shows one’s true nature; it is the only way to survive.’

      ‘Indeed? And must I be wary of you, too, Mistress Percy?’

      ‘Of course,’ Anne said happily. ‘My family, you see, is an old and wealthy one, but also stubbornly Catholic. I am here only on sufferance, because my aunt is friends with the Queen. But I will tell you this, Lady Rosamund—I am always an honest source of delicious gossip for my friends.’

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