The black sky suddenly exploded above them, a crackling, glittering shower of red and white and green fireworks. A long waterfall of blue star-like lights followed, showering down on the gardens below. It was wondrously beautiful and for an instant Alys was pulled out of her worries at the beauty. It seemed to ignite a spark of hope in her own heart, hope for the future. She whirled around, longing to find John so she could share that hope with him.
Everyone else seemed enraptured by the fireworks, their faces turned upward. Alys slipped away from the other maids as their attention was on the sky. She hurried back into the palace and down a spiral staircase to the gallery.
She found him in the Great Hall, waiting near the tapestry where they had once hidden at a dance. The memory of that night overcame her and she lifted her skirts to dash to him, longing to feel that kiss again, to be reassured. He caught her by her arms and held her close.
‘Alys—angel,’ he said, and for an instant she thought he would kiss her. But instead his touch slid down her silk sleeves to hold her hands in his. He held her away from him.
Alys stared up at him, bewildered. His jaw was tight, his sea-green eyes darkened. ‘What is amiss?’ she whispered.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Very sorry, my angel. I should never have let things go so far between us.’
She shook her head in hurt confusion. He still held her hands, they still stood so close together, but she sensed he was very far away from her. It felt as if a cold storm wind rushed between them, pushing them apart.
‘What—things?’ she stammered. She felt like a fool again—she had let him into her heart twice now, only to have him shatter it.
‘I have work I must finish and I was selfish to involve you in any way,’ he said. ‘I should have seen that after the day of the hunt. I was wrong, very wrong to behave thus. I put you in danger again and I am sorry, Alys. I cannot do that again.’
‘We both wanted this!’ she cried. She took a stumbling step towards him, but he backed away. He was so distant from her and she couldn’t reach him. ‘Whatever the danger is, it doesn’t matter. We have faced danger before.’
‘Of course it matters! I made an irresponsible mistake. It must end here.’
‘End?’ Alys felt as if ice trickled down her spine, numbing her, making her feel entirely removed from the scene. If only it was not so terribly real, the shattering of her fragile hopes.
‘I have work to do here at court and I’ve let myself be distracted from it,’ he said coldly, not looking at her. It was as if they were suddenly strangers. ‘You have your own duties. I wouldn’t bring you trouble with the Queen, Alys, that would be poor repayment for all you have done for me.’
‘I care not for that, John,’ she protested. She didn’t understand. Surely what they had, what they could have, was what mattered? Perhaps they could not be together then, but in the future...
The numbness faded and she felt instead the prickle of hot tears. Angry, confused tears she impatiently dashed away.
She had thought, ever since Dunboyton, they had a rare connection and was sure he felt the same. But now he watched her so coldly, so distant. She didn’t know what could be happening, unless...
‘You prefer someone else,’ she whispered. So many of the ladies in their chamber cried over men who had changed their romantic allegiances. ‘One of the other maids.’ Someone more sophisticated, who could help him restore his home as she could not.
He frowned, but did not deny her words. ‘I am sorry,’ was all he said again. ‘It is not that, but—this.’ He held up a small silver-satin bow, and with a shock Alys realised it was from her own sleeve. The one she had to mend after she foolishly went to search John’s rooms.
‘I—I did not mean...’ she stammered.
‘I know you did not,’ he answered tersely. ‘You play a dangerous game here at court, Alys, one you cannot understand. It is my life, though, and I can’t let you be a part of it. You should go back to your safe maids’ chamber and forget playing at spies. I cannot help you now.’
Alys spun around, dashing away from him before her shameful tears could fall. She would never show him, or anyone, the dreadful, stabbing pain he caused her by pushing her away so suddenly. The shame she felt at taking a step so terribly wrong.
Alys didn’t even know where she was running, she just knew she had to get away. She had been wrong, so wrong, about John, about so many things. She rushed past the laughing crowds of people in the Great Hall, trying to keep her head high, a smile pasted on her lips. She would not cry. She was a Drury, and a de Vargas. She would not crumble now.
No matter how much her heart ached.
‘Lady Alys!’ she heard one of the other maids call out and she froze. Her escape was utterly blocked and she feared that even a word might crumble the fragile shell she had gathered around herself.
But she had no choice. She had to answer.
Alys turned to see one of the youngest maids, the pretty, slightly silly Mistress Danton, hurrying towards her through the crowd, a confused expression on her dimpled face.
‘Lady Alys, Her Majesty seeks a letter from her chamber, which she forgot to sign earlier and which is now needed most urgently.’ Mistress Danton sighed and shook her head. ‘Why it is now so urgent, I do not know, but it must be found. She said Lady Ellen would know where it is, but I cannot find her at all. I do not know what to do!’
‘Shall I fetch the letter, then?’ Alys asked, glad of an errand, a purpose. A chance to escape the crowd. ‘I am sure I could find it without too much trouble.’
Mistress Danton’s face crumpled in relief. ‘Oh, thank you, Lady Alys! It is sealed with green wax.’
‘I will go at once.’ Alys hurried out the doors of the hall. The corridors were icy cold away from the crowds and the roaring fireplaces, and Alys shivered as she drew her new shawl closer around her shoulders. There was silence along with the chill, blessed quiet where the painful emotions swirling in her mind could grow still and she could numb herself.
She dashed up the stairs and through the ghostly empty Privy Chamber. There were a few guards there, but one slept and snored, and the others played at dice. They paid no heed to Alys as she rushed past them.
In the Queen’s bedchamber, the candles were already lit for her return and the bedclothes folded back to wait for the Queen’s return. All was as it should be.
But Alys found she was not alone in the chamber. Ellen was already at the Queen’s desk, along with a man whose back was turned to Alys. They were sorting hurriedly through the royal documents and Ellen looked distraught.
‘We haven’t much time,’ she said. ‘They will return soon and if they find Sir Matthew’s report...’
‘Do not grow hysterical now, Ellen,’ the man growled and Alys recognised Lord Merton’s voice. ‘You knew what could happen when you agreed to receive Master Peter’s letters. You cannot grow pale now.’
Alys gasped and spun around to flee, to summon the guards. She could hardly believe it—her friend, a traitor! But there it was, right in front of her. She called out.
‘Nay, stop her!’ Lord Merton cried as Alys ran for the door, her shawl tumbling from her shoulders. She didn’t get more than a few steps when there was a flurry of heavy, running footsteps and a strong arm caught her around her waist and jerked her off her feet. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, smothering her cries.
Alys twisted in Merton’s iron grip, panic rising up in her like a cold, drowning wave. She bit down hard on the suffocating hand, penetrating leather and nicking skin. The metallic tang of blood almost made her gag.
‘God’s teeth!’ Merton shouted.
‘Let her go,’ Ellen cried, a tinge of panic to her voice. ‘She has done nothing, she isn’t part of this.’
‘She is now,’ Merton said. ‘Shall I finish her?’
>
‘Nay!’
‘Not here,’ another man said and Alys recognised Sir Walter. What conspiracy was this, then? What was happening between those three? ‘That would have the whole palace down on us if her body was found in the Queen’s own chamber. Besides, she might know something. Wasn’t her mother Spanish?’
‘You can’t kill her!’ Ellen sobbed. ‘Let her go.’
‘You know we can’t do that,’ Merton said and shouted out when Alys managed to bite down again. ‘Z’wounds, but she is a vixen!’
‘Must I do everything? Here, hold her down so I can bind her,’ Sir Walter said.
‘I said leave her alone!’ Ellen cried. ‘This cannot go on any more. Let her go!’
There was a terrible sound, as if a series of slaps, and Alys heard Ellen fall to the floor. There was silence from her then, but Alys had little time to fear for her. She herself was roughly pushed to the floor and a gag knotted over her mouth. Her heavy satin skirts weighed her down, but she managed to kick the man trying to bind her squarely in the chest as he tried to tie her feet.
‘Enough of that,’ Merton growled and she glimpsed a gloved fist flying towards her. There was no time even for fear. A burst of pain, fiery and sharp, exploded in her jaw, then she fell deep into a cold darkness.
* * *
What had he done?
John moved through the crowd, bowing and smiling at their greetings as if nothing in the world was amiss, even as his chest ached physically at the memory of Alys’s pale, shocked face as she ran from him. He had wanted with all his strength to run after her, to grab her up in his arms and never let her go. But he knew he could not. He had vowed to focus on his work again, to let her move on with her life and find true happiness, as she deserved. He had done what was right, he was sure of that. Why, then, was it such agony?
Doubt was certainly not a sensation he was familiar with. He could never succeed in his dangerous work if he ever doubted a step. Yet now it tugged at him with its sharp, cold fingers. In trying to do what was best, had he fatally wounded them both?
He studied the crowd around him, but Alys was not there. Surely she should have returned to the party long before? After all that had happened...
A lady bumped into him and apologised in a flustered flurry. He looked down, half-hoping it would be Alys, but it was a Mistress Danton, tiny and golden, her eyes wide and confused.
‘Can I be of some help, Mistress Danton?’ he asked.
‘Oh, Sir John! I am looking for Lady Alys Drury—have you seen her? She went to fetch a paper for Her Majesty from her chamber and has not returned. The Queen is asking for her. I cannot find her anywhere.’
John frowned, a tiny, cold prickle of unease forming in his mind. Alys, of course, could be in any number of places, perfectly safe. Yet he could not quite shake away the feeling that all was not right, a sense that had always served him well in his work.
‘I will go search the Privy Chamber, Mistress Danton, and ask if the guards have seen her,’ he said. ‘You ask in the kitchens.’
She nodded and he left her to dodge around the now-drunken revellers, making his way out of the crowds and up the empty staircase to the Queen’s quarters. He scowled at the lack of guards everywhere, even as he came near the Privy Chamber. Had they been given a small respite, perhaps a ration of ale to celebrate the holiday? Or was something more sinister afoot?
He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his dagger and made his way carefully through the empty room. The darkness of the usually crowded chamber felt ominous and he could hear nothing in the echoing silence. The empty throne lurked, shadowy, on its dais.
Even the Queen’s own chamber, usually so inaccessible to normal mortals, was empty. A few flickering candles and a low-burning fire in the grate was all that illuminated the cave-like space. The papers on the desk were disarranged, some of them tumbled to the floor.
And lying there in their midst was a lady huddled in her white skirts, perfectly still.
‘Alys!’ John called in a rush of cold fear. He dashed to the woman’s side and knelt down, reaching out to touch her throat. A thin, thready pulse of life beat there, but he saw it was not Alys. It was Lady Ellen, her golden hair tumbling down, her face bruised.
She blinked, as if slowly coming back to consciousness, and let out a low sob. ‘Oh, Sir John! Thank God you have come. They have taken her! It is my fault, I never meant for this to happen. My brother said...’
John sat back on his heels, going very still. The old, cold battle instinct was strong in him again, that tense, ominous feeling that came before the clash of steel, the blood and death. ‘They have taken who?’
‘Alys, of course,’ Ellen sobbed. ‘Oh, please! You must find her and quickly.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alys slowly came awake, as if she was swimming up from some dark depth towards a tiny, distant spot of star-like light. Her whole body ached and everything in her screamed to fall back into the painless dark. But she knew she could not. She had to fight onward to that light and grab on to it.
She forced her eyes open and the sudden light made her head throb as if it would split open. She made herself breathe slowly, carefully, until she could see straight again.
She was not in her chamber at Dunboyton, or even at the maids’ room at Greenwich, but somewhere she had never seen before, some place strange and rather fearsome. She was lying on a dirt floor, a thatched ceiling above her, shadows shifting all around to reveal a small, bare space.
Then she remembered it all, in a hot, dream-like rush. The Queen’s bedchamber, Ellen and those two men going through the Queen’s papers. Being hit, falling, that darkness.
But where was she now and, more important—where were they? What did they want of her? She had obviously caught them in some treasonous act. Whatever it was, she refused to surrender to them. She was a Drury, she would fight.
As the cold, painful waves of her headache receded a bit, she was able to push herself up and examine her surroundings more closely. It seemed to be a cottage, somewhat similar to the abbey dairy she had once shared with John. There was no furniture except for a travelling trunk, draped with a blanket. The window spaces were covered over with boards.
She could hear the whine of the winter wind outside, sweeping around the walls. And something else, something that sounded like the blur of angry voices. A heavy silence fell amid the pounding hooves of a horse departing and, before Alys could react, the door flew open and heavy, booted footsteps pounded across the dirt floor. A hard hand grabbed her arm and yanked her up painfully, loosening her bonds with quick, jerky movements.
She spun around and saw it was Lord Merton, his face red with fury as he stared down at her. His over-fashionable doublet was torn, the sleeve stained with blood, and she remembered how he had knocked Ellen to the floor before driving his fist into her own jaw.
Alys felt fury wash over, sweeping away fear. ‘How dare you!’ she screamed. ‘Traitor!’
Merton scowled, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until her teeth rattled. Her head felt like it would explode under the onslaught, but she managed to twist hard under his grasp and wrench herself away. She had to get away from this man, no matter what.
He snatched at her again and she ducked away as she slapped out at him. Her nails scratched in a bright red arc down his cheek.
‘Witch!’ he shouted. He grabbed her arm again, nearly yanking it from its socket, and she scratched him with her other hand at the same time kicking out at his leg. She landed a lucky blow and he fell back with a curse. She took the advantage and ran as fast as she could, ducking out of the cottage and into the freezing night. She had no idea where she was, where she was going, but she kept running.
Her breath ached in her lungs, her stomach lurching with fear as she dodged around the dark hulks of trees
. She could barely hear anything, her heart was pounding so loudly, but Lord Merton let out a roar behind her, driving her onward.
‘Come back here!’ he shouted. ‘You will only die in the darkness, you stupid witch.’ He tripped over one of the fallen logs she had clambered across, giving her more of an advantage in distance, despite her skirts and her dancing slippers.
Then she came to a fork in the pathways and for an instant she was baffled, not knowing which way to turn. A tree was at her back, a stout old oak, and she suddenly remembered when she would sometimes climb trees at the abbey at home, much to her mother’s distress. She could go high then, in the monks’ old orchard; could she do it now?
She quickly tucked up her heavy skirts and jumped up to the lowest branch of the tree. She strained to pull herself up, ignoring the way the bark scratched at her palms, and grabbed the next branch up and the next. Her hands slid on the icy wood, but she kept pulling herself upward, not daring to think of anything else.
She could not look at the ground, could not listen to Merton’s shouted threats as he found her and circled the base of her sanctuary tree. She just had to keep going up. She felt the tip of his sword catch at her stocking, making her leg sting, but in the next instance she was out of his reach.
At last she reached a vee in the stout trunk and wrapped her arms around it tightly as the wind caught at her hair. She closed her eyes and made herself picture John. Not his cold expression as he told her they could not be, but his smile by their fire in Ireland, his kiss, the touch of his hand. His laughter. Surely he would come for her, even if he was angry. Surely he cared enough to do that. Didn’t he?
She prayed harder than she ever had in her life that it was so.
Help me, she begged silently. Find me!
* * *
He had to find Alys, and soon, before those villains could hurt her. Ellen’s sobbing confession had told him they would stop at nothing to achieve their goals of seeing Queen Elizabeth overthrown. Anyone who got in their way would pay a terrible price.
QUEEN'S CHRISTMAS SUMMONS, THE Page 21