QUEEN'S CHRISTMAS SUMMONS, THE

by MCCABE, AMANDA

  ‘I wish only to serve Your Majesty,’ she answered truthfully. She never again wanted to feel that terrible, empty, hollow ache that had plagued her when Juan left.

  ‘So you shall, starting this very night,’ Queen Elizabeth said. She sorted through her papers, no longer looking at Alys. Being released from the hold of those dark eyes was like surfacing from the ocean, able to gasp a breath again. ‘We are having a banquet to welcome some new members of the French embassy.’

  A banquet already? Where she would be faced with not only the court, but French ambassadors? ‘I—of course, Your Majesty,’ Alys whispered, her mind whirling. What would she wear? What could she say? She had never felt quite so alone before, not even on the ramparts of Dunboyton.

  ‘Very good. Lady Ellen Braithwaite will see you to your quarters and tell you what is expected. I need Mistress Jones’s assistance right now.’

  At a brusque wave of Queen Elizabeth’s jewelled hand, a lady broke away from the group by the fireplace. She was very pretty indeed, tall and slim in her white gown, with red-gold hair twisted up into a gold caul. She smiled, warm and welcoming, and made a small curtsy. ‘Lady Alys? If you will follow me.’

  Alys only had time to curtsy once more and thank the Queen for her favour, but Elizabeth paid her no heed. The pretty Lady Ellen took Alys’s arm and led her away with a merry, confiding smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Lady Ellen was so beautiful, so elegant, she made Alys feel quite small. Still, any chance to make a friend should be seized, she told herself. She needed as much help as she could find at court.

  ‘How do you do, Lady Alys,’ she said, and her voice was as low and sweet as it should be, full of hidden laughter. ‘I am Lady Ellen Braithwaite. I can’t tell you how excited we all are to see you here!’

  ‘Excited to see me, Lady Ellen? But surely I am quite unknown to anyone here.’

  ‘Oh, not at all! You cannot know yet just how long and tedious our days are here at court. Once the victory celebrations were over in the autumn, and poor Lord Leicester died, it has been quite dreary here. And there have been no new ladies for months. It’s always the same people all the time.’

  Alys laughed. She did know how such monotony felt, but she couldn’t imagine ever growing bored of the colourful court. ‘I am not sure I can help make things more interesting for you. I know so little of court life.’

  ‘But you are someone new! You will have new stories to tell us, new gossip to share.’ Ellen led her towards the noise of the Privy Chamber and stopped to wave and giggle at two elaborately dressed gentlemen in the doorway. They bowed and smiled back, following her with admiring eyes. ‘And aren’t you from Ireland? You must have fascinating tales of such a wild place.’

  Alys thought of Dunboyton, the walls and corridors she had known all her life. Mayhap for a while it had been exciting—too exciting, with shipwrecks and fires and rescued sailors who pitilessly stole hearts. But not most of the time. ‘It is very different from here.’

  A small frown fluttered over Ellen’s pretty face. ‘Were not some of the Armada ships wrecked there? That must have been quite a tale.’

  Something held Alys back from answering entirely. Surely at least the memory of Juan was hers and hers alone? Not something she ever had to speak about again. And she did not want to remember the wrecks, the poor men killed. ‘My father kept me quite sheltered at our home.’

  ‘You could see nothing of any of the ships? We heard such dramatic tales of it all. The ladies were quite aghast.’

  Alys shook her head. ‘As I said, my father is most protective.’

  Ellen sighed and laughed, her frown vanished as if it had never been there. ‘Aren’t they all? Brothers, too, though my brother is quite sweet, really. I am sure they sent me here because they thought it would keep me out of trouble. Little do they know...’

  Alys was rather intrigued by this hint of domestic drama. ‘Do you have many suitors at your home that they want to keep you from?’

  ‘Suitors? Nay, nothing of the sort, I fear. I have yet to meet a man who would suit me. Knights in poems are so much more fascinating, don’t you think?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Alys answered slowly. Men who seemed like knights in poems, though handsome and mysterious, were surely trouble.

  ‘What of you? Were you betrothed to some wild Irish chieftain?’

  Alys laughed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a wild Irish chieftain. All my father has talked about for as long as I can remember is returning to England, making me an English lady. But I’m afraid I will disappoint him, since I know so little of courtly ways.’

  ‘That is not so hard,’ Ellen said lightly. She led them deftly through the crowds, giving one or two other gentlemen a smile, but not stopping. ‘A Maid of Honour’s duties are few, really. We walk with the Queen in the gardens, even now when the winter wind blows, go with her to church, stand around looking pretty as she greets diplomats. We sew and read with her, as you saw in her chamber. Most important, we run away and duck when she loses her temper and throws things.’

  Alys was so startled by the image of the Queen hurling things about that she laughed. ‘Throws things?’

  ‘Aye. Shoes or scent bottles, usually. But her anger fades fast enough and mostly she just ignores us.’

  ‘Then what do we maids do with the rest of our time?’

  ‘Come to see who is waiting in the Privy Chamber, mostly. There is usually a card game going on, or someone to gossip with for a bit.’ She waved her hand around the crowded room, as if to emphasise the fact that there was never the lack of company.

  The chamber seemed even more full than before, the air hot and close with the scent of so many people, so many different perfumes. Everyone had turned towards them as they heard the doors to the inner chambers open, their expressions full of hope and fear, only to have that hope fade quickly when they saw it was only some of the Queen’s ladies. The chatter rose again, like a wave.

  ‘Lady Ellen!’ a man in a peacock-blue doublet slashed with purple and green called out, pushing his way through the crowd. He was tall and rather handsome in an English country type of way, blond and red-cheeked, and his smile to Ellen seemed to say they were good friends. ‘We have been talking about the new style of sleeve and cannot decide if they suit us or not. You must come help us decide.’

  Ellen laughed brightly and stroked one of the bright streaks of green. ‘I am quite the expert on sleeves, I confess. Show me what you think, Lord Merton.’

  Alys tried to follow their conversation, which quickly moved from sleeves to shoes, but the long journey suddenly seemed to catch up with her. A wave of dizziness flooded over her mind, leaving it dim and fuzzy. For a moment, she leaned against the panelled wall and suddenly Ellen was lost to view in the sea of jewelled satins and lacy ruffs. The laughter around her buzzed in her ears like the flocks of seagulls over the beach at Galway.

  Everything grew hazy before her eyes and she squeezed them shut. She couldn’t faint now and disgrace herself, on her very first day at court!

  She forced her eyes to open again and studied the crowd pressed around her. They were such a blur of bright colours, she could not see anyone clearly. Suddenly, just above their heads, she glimpsed someone taller. Someone with glossy dark hair, a pearl earring and a quick, flashing, familiar smile.

  It was him. Juan.

  ‘Nay,’ Alys whispered. She closed her eyes again and shook her head. She was just tired, just seeing dream-like things. She needed to rest. That was all.

  And yet—yet for that instant he had looked so real.

  It was not him, she told herself. Juan was gone from her life. Yes, she had once wondered fleetingly if he was at court, but surely she would never see him again. Except in her dreams at night.

  She had to be sure. She pushed herself away from the wall and clasped her hands at
her waist to stop them from trembling. She had to appear calm; she had to be calm. She was just beginning her life at court and whether or not that was Juan she had glimpsed, she could not afford to let it make a difference.

  Yet that glimpse, that one beautiful image of his face in the sea of courtiers...

  ‘Lady Alys!’ Ellen called, pushing back to her side. ‘There you are. Do come meet my friends, Lord Merton and Sir Walter Terrence. Lady Alys is the one we have been waiting for, from Ireland.’

  Alys forced herself to focus on the two men at Ellen’s sides. One was the man in the slashed doublet, another an older gentleman in blue satin. He raised a glass to his eyes to examine her. ‘Ireland!’ he exclaimed. ‘You must tell us everything. It sounds so dramatic.’

  ‘Better than a Southwark playhouse,’ the other man said.

  Alys laughed, trying to be polite even as she longed to break free, to run through the crowd looking for Juan. ‘I did tell Lady Ellen, I saw nothing dramatic at all. My life in Ireland is quite dull. I am glad to be here at court.’

  ‘But you must tell us something!’ the other man cried. ‘I am longing to know about the Irish rebel chieftains. Do they really wear wolf skins and tie bones in their beards?’

  ‘You are so silly, Walter, I am sure they dress much as we do,’ Ellen said. ‘Except for these sleeves. You were quite right to be wary of them.’

  ‘Lady Ellen, I vow you are too cruel! I think they suit me well.’

  Ellen laughed, but her laughter suddenly faded as she looked over her friend’s shoulder. Her eyes widened, the light in them growing softer. ‘Oh, but here is our other newcomer to court,’ she said, waving her fan at someone Alys couldn’t yet see. ‘Do join us, my lord. You ran away so quickly before.’

  Alys put on her courtly smile, prepared to meet another of Ellen’s peacock friends—and her smile froze before it could form.

  It had not been an illusion, a fleeting trick of her tired mind. It was him, Juan. Right there before her, when she had been so sure she would never see him again, could never see him again. She shivered and fell back a step, suddenly feeling so very cold.

  He did not quite look like her Juan, bearded and ragged from the sea. He was just as tall, but his shoulders were broader and he wore no beard to hide the elegant angles of his sculpted face, his high cheekbones and sharp jawline, his sensual lips. He wore courtly clothes of purple velvet trimmed with silver, a high, narrow ruff at his throat. But his eyes—those brilliant summer-green eyes she had once so cherished—widened when his glance fell on her.

  For an instant, his polished smile, his elegant façade that covered him like a velvet cloak, fell away and there she glimpsed her Juan in the flash of his smile.

  But a veil quickly dropped over his face, and his smile turned cool, small. His eyes narrowed. He was all careless boredom.

  Why was he even there? Alys wondered wildly. Why was he lounging here at court, looking so bored? Was it part of some plan, some betrayal? And if so—of whom? She had never felt so confused, so uncertain.

  ‘Lady Ellen,’ he said with a bow, making Ellen giggle. ‘You shine like the sun on this dismal room.’

  Shine like the sun? The Juan Alys had known would never have said such silly words, not in such a silly way. She remembered how he had called her an angel, had kissed her hand. That had been the truest, sweetest moment she ever knew. Where had that man gone?

  Lady Ellen did not seem to find it silly. She giggled again and blushed, and laid her hand on his purple-velvet sleeve. Alys noticed that some of the other ladies nearby watched the couple most closely, their expressions sour as Juan kissed Ellen’s hand. So he was popular with the ladies at court, was he? Alys gave a sniff and looked away.

  ‘This is the newest Maid of Honour here at court, Sir John,’ Ellen said. ‘Lady Alys Drury, of—of somewhere in Ireland.’

  ‘Of Dunboyton,’ Alys said. ‘A most interesting place.’

  ‘Not compared to Paris or Venice, I would vow,’ John said in a bored voice, looking away to flick a lace-edged handkerchief at a speck of dust on his sleeve. ‘I have heard it is naught but bogs and rebels.’

  Ellen giggled nervously. ‘But Alys promises to tell us all about its beauties. If you can cease to be rude, she might tell you as well. Lady Alys, this rogue is Sir John Huntley. He has just returned from London.’

  ‘It must have been something important to take you away from court at Christmas, Sir John,’ Alys said.

  His gaze met hers and again she saw the flicker of the man she had known. Something knowing, full of laughter, behind the boredom. ‘Important indeed. But I’m glad I made it back to Greenwich just in time.’

  ‘Lady Ellen,’ a page in the Queen’s green-and-white livery called. ‘Lady Ellen Braithwaite! The Queen requires you for an errand.’

  ‘Oh, God’s teeth, but what now?’ Ellen said impatiently, with scowl and a toss of her head. ‘Lady Alys, I am sorry. I shall return anon and show you to our lodgings.’

  ‘I can see Lady Alys to her chamber,’ Juan—John—said, still in that bored drawl.

  Alys looked up at him, startled. Behind the cover of her heavy skirts, he gave her hand a quick, warning squeeze. Alys swallowed hard and tried to keep smiling, even as she couldn’t breathe at the thought of being alone with him.

  Ellen laughed. ‘I dare say you do know where the maids’ chamber is, Sir John! Aye, do see Lady Alys there. I shall meet you both when I have finished whatever errand this is. Lord Merton, will you walk with me?’

  ‘Lady Alys?’ John said, holding out his arm.

  Alys still felt that cold uncertainty, that fear that she didn’t know which way to leap now. But she noticed many people watching them, waiting. Ellen had already vanished. She could not make a scene and cause gossip already. She reached out and gently laid her fingers on his sleeve. Even with such a light touch, she could feel his warmth, his strength, beneath the fine fabric and it brought back every moment they had spent together in Ireland. His touch, the feel of him, the safety she thought she had found in his arms.

  He led her out of the crowded chamber, past the knots of laughing, pushing, eager people and into the corridor. At the end of the hall, rather than lead her up the stairs towards where Mistress Jones had said the maids lodged, John pushed open a door and drew her into a tiny, dark closet before she could even gasp.

  After the brightness and noise of the courtly chambers, for an instant Alys couldn’t see anything but shifting shadows. Yet John was there, so close to her, watching her. She could feel it with every fibre of her being. His skin smelled the same, of clean water and crisp, citrus linen, and he felt the same, too. Large, strong, enough to keep her safe from anything.

  But there was nothing to keep her safe from him.

  She wanted to flee, but something held her where she was, pressed against him in that dark silence. That old, shimmering, invisible bond that had seemed to bring them together in Ireland was still strong, even after everything. After all they had shared, how could she feel so frightened now?

  Yet all was changed. He was, and yet was not, her Juan. He looked like him, felt like him, but that man had never really existed at all. Now here was this courtly stranger, with Juan’s eyes.

  She stepped back from him until she found her back to the wall. The room was so small she could not go far. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and only now did she allow herself to look at him fully. To study his face, his eyes.

  That bored, careless man of the Privy Chamber was gone and now John watched her solemnly, closely. ‘Hello, Alys,’ he said softly. ‘You must be surprised to see me, I would wager.’

  Alys stared up at him in the shadows of their hiding place. How different he looked here at court and it was not just the clean-shaven jaw or the fine clothes. He seemed harder, colder, like a man turned into a perfectly sculp
ted marble statue. A very handsome statue, but she could see nothing of laughter or emotion in his eyes.

  She, however, feared she would drown in the emotions that had seized her at seeing him again. The last time she saw him they had kissed and it had felt as if the world opened up to her at last, only to slam closed once more. She only realised now how very angry and hurt she had truly been when John left Dunboyton without a word.

  She twisted her fists in her skirt to stop her hands from trembling.

  ‘Of course it is a surprise,’ she said. ‘How could I have known you came here? I didn’t know where you went at all.’

  ‘I am most sorry I had to leave in such haste,’ he said quietly. ‘I owe you so very much, Alys. If not for my duty...’

  His duty? ‘Duty?’ The word snapped out sharper than she intended. ‘I, too, have a duty, and I was foolish enough to neglect it. When the village burned the night you left—I saw how I never should have trusted you, not for a moment.’

  He took a small step back. ‘The village?’

  ‘Aye. They said that the villagers had harboured spies, though when none were found they set the blaze anyway. Luckily none were killed.’ As she spoke, she remembered the feelings of that terrible night, the panic and fear so thick at the castle she could hardly breathe. And then John was gone. ‘It must have happened as you were leaving.’

  ‘Alys, you must believe me—I never would have done such a deed.’

  ‘But you are a spy, are you not?’ Alys cried. And who could trust a man with such a career, a profession built on lies.

  He said nothing, but the long, taut silence was its own answer. She spun around and reached for the door. He was too quick for her. He grabbed her hand, holding her with him.

  ‘Let me go,’ she whispered. His grasp just tightened and they were so very close together in the shadows. The warmth of him, the vitality and life of him that drew her to him in their strange abbey sanctuary, was still there. It wrapped all around her like velvet-soft bonds, bonds that had not even snapped in the months since she last saw him.