Bound to a Spy Page 4

  Margaret managed to wedge them into the center of the bench. Ruth had to take Rose’s place at the end of the bench, and she did not look pleased about it. Rose didn’t feel bad for the girl. Ruth was devious and Rose didn’t wholly trust her.

  Emma Howard sat across from Rose. The group of girls were like dim stars that circled Emma, who was their sun. Emma was a born leader who kept all of them in line. She was also friendly with Queen Mary. Rose suspected that most of the girls stayed close to Emma with the sole hope of conversing with the queen.

  The first course was served, herring that Rose pushed around her plate and barely nibbled on even though her stomach was grumbling rather angrily.

  By the third course she was having a difficult time keeping her eyes open when a voice behind her had her sitting up straight, her shoulders snapping to attention and her head whipping around. Margaret shot her a strange look.

  She recognized that voice and it sent shivers up her spine. Bad shivers of foreboding.

  Two men were walking away from her, and she cursed under her breath because she could not recognize them from their backs, but she remembered now where she had heard their voices. From the secret meeting in the cellar. Those two men who were now nearly across the room had been plotting to kill the king.

  For a moment she was frozen, torn between standing up, pointing her finger and announcing them traitors to everyone, and remaining in her seat, frightened. She wisely chose to stay in her seat. She might be from a warring border clan but she wasn’t an ijit. She knew that if any of those men discovered she’d heard them she was as good as dead. No, if she told anyone it would have to be someone she could trust. Someone who would not betray her.

  She turned back to stare at the quail on her plate. There were killers amongst them and no one but she—and the conspirators—knew. It was a burden she did not want, nor would wish on anyone.

  “I heard he was returning,” one of the girls at the table said.

  “It’s about time,” another said. “He shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

  “The queen demanded his return. His refusal was making Scotland look bad, and he with his wee one getting baptized.”

  Darnley was returning to Holyrood palace? Now her stomach was rebelling the small amount of food she’d put in it. She’d been so hopeful that his boasts of leaving the country would come true even though it would have been an embarrassment for Mary, and for Scotland, if the father of the prince were not present for his son’s baptism.

  Still, she had felt safe knowing he was far away and even safer if he was a whole continent away.

  Her mind went to the two men whose voices she recognized, and it occurred to her that the king’s life was in danger.

  She should tell someone.

  Or should she?

  —

  After supper everyone moved into the queen’s outer chambers as they did almost every night. Weary, Rose let the tide of people push her into the room where she stood with the same girls she ate dinner and supper with every day. Was she the only one who was tired of the tediousness of every day? The same people at dinner and in the evening. The same thing over and over. Nothing changed except maybe who the girls gossiped about.

  Rose stood amongst them and smiled and nodded but tuned them out while she looked around the room for the two men whose voices she recognized. One had had dark hair and the other a lighter brown. They’d been of similar height, dressed in black. That was not much to go on as most of the men had the same coloring, and quite a few were wearing black. She wished she could skulk around and listen to conversations to see if she could discover them again by their voices. But even as her gaze roamed, her mind wandered to something entirely different.

  Will.

  He had not been present at supper. At least not that she had seen. And from what she could tell he wasn’t present in the outer chambers. There was a small flicker of disappointment deep within her.

  He made her feel…

  She wasn’t certain what word she was looking for. Secure? Safe?

  No, because he also made her feel uncertain.

  Truth be told, he made her feel a whole host of conflicting emotions.

  The queen entered, causing a stir.

  Queen Mary looked drawn and tired. Some said she was still recovering from a fall from her horse that had happened a few weeks ago.

  “It’s a shame,” Emma said as she stepped up beside Rose.

  “What’s a shame?” Rose asked.

  Emma tipped her head toward the queen. “That the king and queen don’t get along. That the king does not respect her the way she should be respected. It weighs on her.”

  Rose thought that running the entire country, watching her advisor killed before her, and dodging power-hungry nobles was wearing on her. But Emma was probably correct that the king did not ease the queen’s burdens.

  “Is it true, do you think, that he’s returning to court?” Rose asked.

  “Yes,” Emma said on a sad sigh. “It’s good that he is but Mary is always in such turmoil while he is in residence. They simply don’t suit.”

  Rose was in turmoil as well. She would not rest easy while he was here and would have to watch her every move.

  “I suppose it’s best for Scotland that he’s here for the prince’s baptism,” Rose said.

  “I suppose,” Emma said, but she didn’t sound too sure.

  The queen, flanked by the Marie’s, the four women who had traveled to France with her when they were young girls and returned to Scotland with her, greeted people with a wan smile.

  “Rose?”

  Rose turned to find Margaret leading a tall gentleman toward her. He had fair hair and a skin tone that told her he rarely ventured outside. Slight shoulders and a thin build put her in mind of someone sickly. He was nothing at all like Will who was shorter, wider, darker and more handsome.

  Oh dear. Why was she comparing anyone to Will?

  “Rose,” Margaret said, stopping in front of her with the tall man. “I would like to introduce Richard Kirkinny, earl of Lysle. My lord, Miss Rose Turner.”

  Lord Lysle bowed and smiled. His teeth were even and white except for one in the bottom middle that slightly overlapped the other. His eyes seemed to look straight through her.

  “I begged Lady Margaret to introduce us,” he said. “It wasn’t until yesterday that I had the slightest clue that a rose lived among us thorns in the palace.”

  She gave him a weak smile. The rose and thorn analogy was an old one used often and it became tiring.

  “You flatter me too much, my lord.”

  From behind him Margaret rolled her eyes and drifted away.

  “It’s not flattery when it’s the truth,” he said, smiling down on her. For some reason all she could see was that crooked tooth when he smiled. In some men it might have been endearing but for Lord Lysle it was not.

  “I hope there is dancing tonight so that I can ask to accompany you.”

  She smiled again, not having a handy reply.

  There was an awkward moment when neither of them spoke, and Rose cast about in her mind for something to say, but honestly she didn’t want to be here, standing with this man who made her slightly uneasy. She wanted to be outside, in the barn with the horses and the cats who patrolled the stalls, with the fresh smell of hay and the sound of the horses munching on their oats. It entered her mind that she would like to visit the stables with Will. She had a favorite horse that she wanted him to see.

  Lord Lysle suddenly leaned forward, causing Rose to rear back, alarmed.

  “Pardon me, my lord?”

  He appeared chagrined, color creeping into his cheeks as he drew back just as suddenly as he’d leaned forward. “My apologies, Miss Turner, it’s just that your scent drew me to you.”

  What in the heavens was he talking about? She was not a mare.

  His color was deepening. “I fear I misspoke. Oh dear, but I’m botching this terribly.”

  For a momen
t her heart warmed to him. He appeared so awkward and unsure of himself. How many times had she tried to make conversation and bungled it terribly herself? Too many to count. He truly did seem embarrassed and unsure how to rectify the situation.

  “You just startled me.”

  “Of course I did. Terribly rude of me. But…” He appeared to want to say something.

  “But?” she prompted.

  “It’s just that you smell quite good. Are you wearing a particular scent?”

  Her brows drew together. She had not at all expected him to say that and it took a moment for her mind to change direction.

  “It’s a soap my mother makes.”

  He smiled and the crooked tooth became endearing. “I knew there was something special about you. You smell divine if I may be so bold.”

  “Why, th-thank you.” She stammered a bit, unsure what one was supposed to say in this circumstance. “It’s rose and lavender mixed with vanilla.”

  “Sweet and spicy,” he murmured. “Dare I say just like the lady herself?”

  Chapter 6

  Over the next few days activity at the palace increased as the baptismal day crept ever closer.

  The servants were preparing for the large influx of international visitors. Queen Mary was holed up in her private chambers, planning and plotting the big day that would shine a light on Scotland and her son. Hopefully a favorable light, but no one could predict how Lord Darnley would act and the unknown caused much tension in the palace.

  Rose was in the outer chambers with the other girls, her embroidery in her lap. She was not very good at sewing, despite her mother’s best efforts to teach her. She simply didn’t have the patience for the fine, tight stitches, nor did it particularly interest her. Although she had chosen a pattern with trees and birds—as close as she was to come to the outdoors this day.

  She was sitting by the window, alone because it was cold where she was; the heavy paned windows offered no protection against the chill wind blowing through Edinburgh that day. She’d pricked herself at least ten times. Her finger was throbbing.

  The doors to Mary’s chambers opened and two men walked out. They passed close to her, talking as they walked, but it was their voices that made her heart stop and her breath hitch.

  It was them. The two from supper the other night. The men who she was certain were in that room in the cellar discussing killing the king. And now she knew who they were. Lord Moray and Lord Maitland.

  She held very still as they passed, afraid to move, afraid to call attention to herself. Although it was silly to think they knew that she knew what they were up to. But now that she had faces and names, her thoughts became jumbled and confused. She should tell someone. It wasn’t right what they were planning. Killing a king! Who would ever think of such a thing?

  She glanced at the closed doors to Mary’s chambers. Two guards dressed in the queen’s livery stood outside, their pikes crossed in front of the doors, not letting anyone in unless Mary or Bothwell approved it. Rose had no chance to speak to the queen today and probably not until after the baptismal festivities, which she heard could last a few weeks.

  By then the king could be dead.

  Could she live with herself knowing she might have prevented his death?

  She closed her eyes and clutched her embroidery fabric to her chest while she tried to control her breathing as thoughts of Darnley’s hands inching up her skirt overtook her. Her whole body trembled in the need to flee and her mind kept telling her heart that he wasn’t there. He wasn’t at the palace yet, despite rumors that he was arriving soon. There was nothing to run from. She was safe. For now.

  “Rose?”

  Her eyes flew open to find Will sitting on the bench next to her, a worried look to his eyes.

  “Are you feeling unwell?”

  She looked in the direction that Moray and Maitland had left. Except they hadn’t left. They were by the outer doors, speaking to Lord Lysle, a tight trio, their body language loudly proclaiming that no one else was welcome in their conversation.

  Will followed her gaze, then looked back at her, the worried expression still there.

  She looked down at the bunched embroidery clutched between her hands and pressed against the bodice of her gown. The fabric was creased, the stitches uneven, and if she looked close enough there was probably a spot of blood staining the work.

  “I don’t know why I torture myself with this stitching. I’m not very good at it.”

  Will tilted his head to look at the wrinkled mess of fabric. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not so bad.”

  She laughed. “It’s awful.”

  “So then why do it if you don’t like to?”

  She tried to smooth the creased work but no amount of smoothing would ever make it look presentable. “I don’t know why,” she said. “I guess because it’s expected of me. A wife should know how to sew.”

  “It’s a requirement to know how to stitch scenes on fabric to get married?”

  She smiled. “When you put it that way it sounds silly.”

  “I would never make such a requirement of my wife.”

  “Then she is a lucky woman. Mary is very good at embroidery. Her works are magnificent. She has the patience and the fine hand for it.”

  “The world would be a boring place if everyone was good at the same things. We would never grow as a people if it were like that.”

  “This is true.”

  She smiled up at him and the anxiety from a few minutes ago had abated. She looked over at the three men—Moray, Maitland and Lysle—who were still on the other side of the room laughing and conversing. What evil hearts lay beneath such fine velvet? Certainly if Lysle knew what the other two were plotting he would not be speaking to them.

  “Do you know them?” Will asked.

  She dragged her attention from the men, realizing that she’d been caught staring by Will.

  “I’ve been introduced to Lord Lysle, but I’ve not met the other two.”

  “Lysle?” Will looked at the man in question. “And what did you think of him?”

  “He’s polite and attentive, although he does not like the outdoors, especially the cold.”

  Lysle had said all the right words and behaved admirably enough that Rose did not spurn his attention, but there was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on that made her keep a distance.

  Will chuckled. “A sin in your book, I’m sure.”

  She grinned. “A small sin. He’s just the type of man my mother hoped I would attract.”

  Will raised a brow. “And what type would that be?”

  Rose could feel her face heating and she looked down at her embroidery, regretting that she had said anything. Surely this was not appropriate conversation.

  Will leaned to the side to nudge her shoulder with his. “No getting shy now. What type of man does your mother want for you?”

  She waved her hand in the air. “Oh, you know. The usual. Titled, wealthy.” She paused. “Scottish.”

  For a moment Will did not say anything and she looked at him from beneath her lashes. He was staring at Lysle.

  “He told me he’d been married but sadly his wife had died giving birth to his son, and that he aspires for his son to be a companion to the prince. They are of the same age,” Rose said hurriedly to fill the silence.

  Will hummed but Rose did not know what the sound meant as he was still studying Lord Lysle.

  “Do you know the others?” she asked.

  “I know of them. We’ve never been formally introduced.” He turned his back to them and gave her his full attention, flicking her embroidery with a finger. “So what would you rather be doing since you do not want to stitch?”

  “I’d rather be outside.”

  “It’s raining ice,” Will said with humor dancing in his eyes. “But that does not matter to you?”

  “I would go to the stables. There is this most magnificent horse named Tyche. He’s such a beauty. He and I get on
well.”

  Will’s lips twitched. “Do you ride him?”

  “No. Of course not. He’s not mine. I just admire him and bring him treats.”

  “He’ll grow fat and lazy under your care.”

  She laughed. “I’ll have to take you to meet him sometime.”

  Silence fell between them, and she once again concentrated her gaze on her stitching, feeling foolish for thinking he would want to go to the stables with her. She did not know what Will’s intentions were, why he sought her out. What she did know was that she enjoyed his company. He was easy to talk to and he put her mind at ease.

  “I’d like that,” he said softly. “But for now I have to go. The king is in residence and he has asked to see me.”

  She looked up sharply. “Darnley is here? In Holyrood?”

  He looked at her curiously. “Yes. Just arrived this morning.”

  Rose tried to school her features to not show how much she cared—or didn’t care as the case may be—for this news.

  “I’ll hold you to that walk to the stables,” Will said as he stood. “But only if it’s not raining ice.”

  She smiled wanly and he made a short bow before sauntering away. There was so much confidence in his walk that she couldn’t help but admire it. She did not look away until he was through the door and out of her sight and then she looked about the room self-consciously, afraid someone had seen her looking at him. But no one was paying her any mind.

  Maitland, Moray and Lysle had left and she abandoned her stitching where it was and headed for the library in search of Margaret. Sometimes Rose worried about Margaret. Her interest in the sciences would seem unnatural to others but Rose knew her friend’s thirst for knowledge was nearly unquenchable.

  However, Margaret wasn’t in the library. The vast room was empty and silent. A fire burned in the grate, casting shadows into the corners. Rose closed the door behind her, happy to find somewhere quiet. If the rooms weren’t occupied with the nobles who trailed the queen around, they were occupied with servants cleaning and repairing and preparing for the baptism. These days it was rare to find a room all to oneself.