Maid of Secrets (22 page)

Uh-oh.
“Don’t trouble your mind with such a thought,” I sniffed. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

It was too late. “But, wait. Perhaps . . . the night of the ball.” A tone of wonder lilted his voice, and I hid my wince. I’d done too much, too soon. I’d overplayed my hand, but I didn’t know how to turn him from his line of thought. “You were with me then as well,” he said. “The night of the ball.”

“As were about fifty other women, yes,” I said. “What of it?”

“My packet of letters was opened.”

“What packet of letters?” I asked blankly. “What are you talking about?”

Rafe shook his head again like a dazed dog. “No,” he said finally. “I won’t believe it.”

Good.
“Believe what?” I glanced at his clothes. They were not dissimilar from the outfit that he’d worn the night of the ball, and I would wager I’d find Turnip Nose’s letter in the same place the other letters had been. Did I dare lift it from him now? I didn’t have the opportunity of closeness like the dance had afforded me. I could embrace him again, but that thought sent me into a panic. It was once again too much, too soon.

Then all at once an idea sparked in my head.

I took note of where we were standing. This antechamber was used by members of the ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor when their families came calling. It was simply furnished, and exuded a comforting air. Shifting backward just a step, I sighed and sat down heavily on the nearest cushioned bench, leaving a space open beside me to my left. “I will tell you this,” I said, my words small and forlorn. “I do not like this castle.”

Rafe dropped down beside me, sliding into the role of
guardian so quickly, I almost felt bad. “Are you all right?” he asked, now all concern.

I smiled wanly at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Yes, of course. I am quite well.” I glanced away at the very end of this small speech. This really was too easy.

He leaned toward me. “You don’t seem quite like the other maids,” he said gently. “Are you from the countryside?”

The question sent a fresh bolt of panic through me.
How was I not like the others?
I needed to work on fitting in better. “I am from the country, yes,” I said, with another shy glance to the side. “Is it so obvious?”

His smile was kind, and I felt a weird pang in my heart. Once again I was lying to him, though for a good cause. I let my hand sidle closer to his leg, inches away from the pocket in his puffed trunks. He would not even feel me lift the letter free, if I were careful. And I always was careful. Well, I usually was careful.

But Rafe was continuing. “You looked deeply chagrined at Beatrice’s words the other night, and by your own admission just now that you don’t know Spanish. There is no slight in coming from the country, Meg. Not everyone can be born into a wealthy family.”

“I suppose.” I moved my hand closer still. “You seem at ease here, though. Is this your first visit to Windsor?” I asked.

He leaned yet closer to me, and I found myself intensely
aware
of him. I needed to focus on my task, I knew, not on him. But he was making it very difficult.

“This is my first visit since Elizabeth has worn the crown, but not the first to England, fair maid.” Rafe glanced up, as if thinking, and I made my move while he spoke. I nicked the
letter from his pocket, palming the flimsy bit of parchment in a smooth, easy pass and shoving it into my waistband next to my candle and picklocks.
Time to sew more pockets.
I drifted my hand back down to the cushion while Rafe continued. “During Mary Tudor’s reign, we Spanish considered England almost our second home. There’s not a rock I haven’t overturned in Whitehall or Windsor, so often have I roamed them both.” He grinned at me. “But now that I’ve made your acquaintance, I’ll be sure to return more frequently.”

“And if I am still here, I’ll be sure to say hello.”

“I should like it very much if you were.” He hesitated, dark eyes unreadable. “Your betrothal will not be brief?”

My what?
I stared at him for a long beat before realizing what he was talking about. I would not be able to carry on that particular charade, I decided in an instant. There were some lies that could not be upheld. “Oh, that. It was a misunderstanding, I’m afraid—the Queen had chosen the wrong maid.”

Rafe’s brows shot up. “She cannot keep you straight?”

“She’s very busy.” I shrugged.

He shook his head, wonderingly. “I cannot think you’d be easy to misplace, Meg, whether by countryman or Queen.”

“Are you always so good with words? Or am I just particularly blessed tonight?”

He grinned again. It looked good on him. “I’ve been taught my lines well. Not unlike you, I suspect.”

“Your lines?”

He reached up to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, and his hand lingered on my cheek. “We all must play our roles, sweet Meg. Surely you understand what it feels like to not belong somewhere?”

“Well, yes, but—you’re a courtier.”

“And far from king and country, with no home to call my own.”

His words were light, but the pain of them resonated through me, my own pain echoing in response. “You would find a home someday?”

His gaze held mine. “I go where my heart directs me. And there I find my home.”

He was so close to me, his breath the scent of honey and cinnamon, his eyes warming me.

Kiss him! Kiss him!
my own traitorous heart surged, and I blushed so thoroughly, he had to know, even in the darkness. “I . . . I should be going,” I said, giving him a final shy smile.

“Of course, of course,” Rafe said easily. We both stood, and I turned. I curtsied to him, and he bowed, gesturing for me to proceed him. I neatly transferred the letter to my bodice as I walked.

I’d almost made it to the door, when he laughed.

“You really are quite good, aren’t you?”

Every fiber in my being screamed at me to flee, but a greater sense of gamesmanship held me fast. Rafe was beside me in an instant, turning me around. He held out a hand. “The letter, if you please.”

I lifted my chin. “It is not yours. I’ll not have any of the English caught up in your intrigues.”

“
My
intrigues!” He protested. “If I’d not already been duped by you, I would not have checked my own pockets until well after you had left.”

“Duped?”

“Don’t be coy.” Rafe scowled now. “The skills you possess are dangerous, Meg; I will tell you plain. Is thieving something you enjoy, or did you develop the skill by requirement?”

There was danger here, but I didn’t know how to measure it. “You took a letter from the guard. I took it from you. There is nothing more to the tale.”

“I see. And who else knows of your ability to light-finger a letter from an unsuspecting mark’s pockets?”

I stiffened, feigning outrage. “No one,” I lied succinctly.

“Not even your parents?”

For some reason that comment stung me to candor. “Certainly not them. My mother died in childbirth, not long after I entered the world. My father never recovered, or so the story goes. After that there was only my grandfather, and now he, too, is gone.”

That made Rafe pause, and I silently commended myself. The words were painful—and honest fact; I’d heard the tale since I was little more than a babe myself. The admission added the necessary embroidery to make the whole cloth seem like it was woven in truth.

Rafe’s next words were as unexpected as they were gentle. “Poor, sweet Meg, all alone in the world,” he murmured. My heart slewed sideways, and I felt the danger prick my spine, but he began speaking again, almost more to himself than me. “But your skill is not inconsiderable, and your mind is as fleet as your thieving fingers.” He rubbed his jaw. “There are those who would seek to use you, Meg, and not be careful in the using.”

A bit too late for the counsel,
I thought. Walsingham and Cecil had already claimed me for their own. “You should
worry less for me and more for yourself, I should think. Whatever intrigues you’re setting up for yourself within the castle, you will be caught out.”

“And you would not see me hang, is that it?”

I instantly thought of Cecil’s threats. “Do not joke,” I said severely. “The Queen suffers no fools not of her choosing, and I cannot believe you set so little store by your own life to abuse her kindness so.”

“Meg,” he murmured, putting a hand over mine. I was held fast, like a rabbit in a snare, and he squeezed my fingers. “Your concern flatters me, but it is not I who am in danger here. You must have a better care for yourself. Whether you were out hunting for an errant letter or not, the castle at night is not safe for women alone; not even for the Queen’s attendants.”

The night whispered of Marie Claire, but I lifted my chin. “I assure you, you’ve no need to worry about my safety.”

“After your demonstrations this evening, Meg, I’m afraid I’m not convinced that you have a care for it yourself. What if others learn of your abilities?”

“My abilities, as you call them, are not known, and shall not be known, lest I in turn know that you are the one who spread the rumors.”

He shook his head. “I tell no tales that do not profit me, and your safety is not worth any price. But come.” He stood and curled my arm into his. It felt right, somehow. Secure and warm. “We should return before your absence is made note of, by maid or master alike.”

“No one would be looking for me,” I assured him, but his laughter cut into the darkness.

“And that is where you are wrong, sweet Meg. That is where you are wrong.”

We moved swiftly down the corridor, until we neared my chambers; gradually we slowed, then stopped. I thought he might lean into me then, a flash of knowing that startled me with its sudden imagery, at once intimate and foreign.
Would he . . . would he kiss me now?

Rafe gathered me close, holding me in an embrace so soft, I thought I would crumple within it. Then his hands seemed to be everywhere at once, pressing me into the wall, searing through my skirts, hard upon my waist. He seemed to pause a moment, then redoubled in his intensity.

His hands crept up . . . up . . . and I felt suddenly dizzy, drunk on the moment with the sweetest of wines, yearning for him to touch me, even through the cloth of my gown. He did, tracing his fingers over the curve of my bodice, then brushing the tidy lacings that held the cloth together.

And just like that, I knew my mistake.

He pulled the letter out as quick as a breath, taking a sharp step away.

“You ingrate!” I yelped, clutching my hand to my bodice, though the letter was long gone.

“Sweet Meg, I can honestly say, I’ve never enjoyed my work more.” Even in the darkness I could see the gleam of Rafe’s teeth as he grinned broadly. “Pray feel free to steal from me at any time.”

“I would not have need to steal from you at all, were you an honorable man,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Spoken from the heights of your own inestimable nobility, I can see,” he mocked back, then swept me another bow.
“Good night, sweet Meg,” he said, and I murmured some semblance of good-bye, riddled with fury and embarrassment for being so easily duped.

We both turned at once, to retrace our steps to our separate lives. But before I turned into my chamber, I thought I heard his voice again, a whisper in the darkness.

“I’ll be watching you.”

“Why do you suppose we’ve been canceled again?” Anna mused from her desk the following morning, well after dawn had broken with no sign from Cecil or any other of our tutors. Her lips were pressed together. “Seems to me a briefing would be quite appropriate, with the Flemish court coming to England to pay homage to the Queen.”

“The who?” I asked, as Jane straightened. Even Beatrice looked up at this new bit of gossip.

“The Flemish court?” Beatrice asked. “But the Queen despises King Philip, especially since he married the French child. She suffers the Spaniards because Spain is so powerful. But what need has she for the Netherlands?”

Anna nodded, setting some official-looking documents aside. “Well, she likes the Flemish painters well enough, and it is said Philip rules the Netherlands with a heavier hand than he does in Spain. Perhaps the Queen is looking to build alliances?” She pursed her lips together, thinking. “King Philip has not been idle, despite his love for his new bride, and with France firmly in hand, there now is whispering that he seeks to shore up his position on the Continent. The Queen will
have to counter that with something. I’ve heard word that there will be visitors from the Ottomans as well.”

“The Ottomans.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “But they’re infidels!”

Beatrice snorted. “Elizabeth would allow the devil himself to pay her court, after what Philip did to her. He was still having de Feria beg for her hand on his behalf while he was finalizing his own marriage negotiations with France. There’s nothing she wouldn’t do to thwart him.”

Sophia’s voice piped up from the corner. “There is darkness coming,” she said in her soft trill.

That, perhaps not surprisingly, froze us. We looked as one to Sophia, who was still focused on her embroidery. In the past weeks, she had taken to spending hours a day on her complicated needlework. Now she was working on a wide swath of black silk that Anna had whispered was part of her bridal ensemble. I was ever reminded of the tale we had read of Odysseus’s wife, Penelope, weaving on her loom during the day, only to undo all her work every night.