Maid of Secrets (41 page)

Two hours later I knew
everything
I had to do and
exactly
how I should do it, but none of that eased my mind.

I made my way through the castle alone toward the quadrangle of the Upper Ward, trying to tell myself I wasn’t actually fleeing the weight of the place. My head was ringing with too many plans, too many possibilities. And a nearly ceaseless stream of thoughts about my parents. Had they walked these same hallways? Had they seen the baby princess that I was now sworn to protect as Queen?

Was this truly my place, now?

I’d asked Anna for a special favor, to go fetch Master James to meet me in the Lower Ward. I’d even explained why I wanted to speak to him, but that still didn’t quite stamp out the look of starry-eyed excitement Anna had turned on me before fleeing the room. God bless her, Anna would never stop looking for romance in every corner of the castle, even romance that was terribly ill-advised. Despite my heavy heart, I smiled to myself as I approached the wide doors of Windsor.

Then I stepped into the sunlight.

And almost burst into tears.

I’d been released from the dungeon hours earlier . . . but I’d been in that accursed hole for nearly a full week. It seemed like it had been years, however, since I’d felt the sun on my face, my hands. It was a fine August day, with the mist long since burned off and hours yet until the night drew down, and yet the air seemed filled with a fey energy, like there was magic sparking somewhere in the castle, an alchemist at his wheel. It was the most beautiful day of my life.

The Upper Ward was all but deserted, and I made my way down the quadrangle and through the Norman Gate to the Middle Ward without incident. I slipped into the Lower Ward, warming to the noise and life that surrounded me. It was Wednesday, market day, and the stalls in the Lower Ward were teeming with people. The smells of cooking meat and succulent spices filled the air, and I found my stride lengthening, my fingers twitching, the world striving to be once more at my fingertips despite all of the horrors of the last six days.
Spices . . . Spices . . . What was I trying to recall?

Master James was to meet me in the sitting area of the Dean’s Cloister, away from the market day festivities of the main ward. I just had to get to him and explain what I needed, and I was sure he would help. A rush of pleasant certainty flowed through me with that thought. Of course he would help; he was the troupe master. That was what he did.

I stepped into the marketplace, and was immediately caught up short. There was an odd energy here, a sense of characters being out of place, of a trap waiting to be sprung, and I frowned, trying to understand it. The townspeople of Windsor were all perfectly placed in their stalls
of gaily colored ribbons and cloths, meats and sweets, so what was—

Then I turned the corner. Leaning against the first stall, plainly waiting for me . . . was Rafe.

Why did simply seeing him give me such a start? And why was I so glad when he stalked toward me like a victor claiming his spoils, when he took my arm with assurance and stared at me with a curious fire in his eyes?

Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.

“What ho, Miss Fellowes, well met,” Rafe said smoothly, the perfect gentleman as he turned me down the lane between the market stalls, forcing me to match his stride. I glanced at the cloisters, knowing my interview was drawing near with Master James, but unwilling to leave Rafe. Not quite yet.

“You’re prepared to tell me everything?” he asked with deceptive calm. “From the moment I left you until now?”

“I am,” I said, and he relaxed the tiniest bit.

“Then by all means, begin.”

And I did tell him. Most of it. When I had finished, however, his face had darkened to a grim scowl. “It was all I could do not to free you myself, when Sophia told me what she’d seen. If your friends’ gambit had not succeeded, we would already be gone from here.” He sighed, a wealth of pain and frustration in the sound. “This is not over, no matter what happens today. This is not over.”

“Rafe—” I began, but he cut me off.

“Anna told me this plan of yours,” he said flatly. “I don’t like it. I particularly don’t like you dressing as Jane, and she as you.”

“If the villain is looking for me, then Jane dressed as me
makes perfect sense,” I said. “She’s the better fighter. You know that as well as I.” And if Jane was to be the target, as I feared, then she would be as far away from harm as I could set her, while still being close enough to give aid to me should I need her blade.

“You’ll still be armed, I assume?”

“With Jane’s own blades. They go with the costume. Though, mark my words, her knives will cause me more damage than any Spaniard could.” I shook my head. The wrist blade was the worst, constantly nicking the base of my palm when I’d tried wearing Jane’s weapons under her clothes. “And I won’t be walking much, lest her wig falls off my head.” I grinned to allay Rafe’s fears. “I plan to stand rooted to the spot, trying to see everything.”

Rafe nodded, and once again, I was struck with his seriousness. Yes, of course, I was in danger—we were all in danger—but that was almost to be expected. Why did he seem so . . . intent? “Are you well?” I asked carefully. “Those men were your own countrymen.”

“Those men were no friends to Spain,” he said briskly. “They were operating on their own, without official sanction of any kind. Any actions of mine taken to end the threat to your Queen—which shall never be proven, mind you—were met only with relief from the Spanish delegation.”

“Even from de Feria?”

“Of course,” Rafe said smoothly.

I quirked a glance at him. “So, um . . . you’re a hero?”

He snorted. “I live to serve. I was sent here to stop anyone who would besmirch the reputation of King Philip, and stop them I did. But my work is not yet done. Cecil
and Walsingham—and their guards—will be standing at the ready to come in?” he asked, changing the subject neatly.

“Yes. We can’t have too many guards in the Presence Chamber, or it won’t look right. But they will be lined up behind the right partition, against the wall. Which is where Jane will be as well.” I shook my head. “I want this done.”

“We all want this done,” Rafe agreed. “How are your combat skills in tight quarters?”

I rolled my eyes. “Trust me, we will not need to find out. I will leave the fighting to the guards.”

We argued back and forth before he finally took his leave of me, scowling at my insistence to be alone with my thoughts. I waved him off, and his elegant figure created a ripple of sensation through the market. After allowing myself a few additional moments to watch him cut a swath through a knot of sighing girls, I finally turned away.

Suddenly gloriously happy, I grabbed a meat pie from one of the stalls—I
was
famished, after all—and paid with the Queen’s coin, happy to return some of her ever shifting wealth back to the villagers who adored her so. I looked into the blank, serene face of the woman who took my money as if I were seeing a merchant’s wife for the first time. There was so much energy in the courtyard—so much noise and color and life!

I bit into the steaming pastry and wondered if I would ever fully recover from my days and nights in the watery dungeon of Windsor Castle. A chill stole along my skin even at the memory of it, and I resolutely shoved the question away. A thought for another time.

I entered the Dean’s Cloister a few moments later, finishing the last of my small meal. I liked this place far better than the Horseshoe Cloister, I decided. That was a place for men of God; I felt unworthy there. But here, in this place of scholars and lore, I felt almost at home.

The lightest touch brushed my side, and I whirled to my right, feeling the pickpocket slide away—

And there was no one there.

“Looking for someone?”

It was a voice I knew all too well, laced with laughter. I turned to my left, and scowled at Master James.

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Long enough to see your exchange with your young friend in the Lower Ward.” James laughed, the sound throaty and deep, his white teeth flashing. “So there’s an admirer for my Meg?”

James’s beard was closely trimmed, and he looked almost refined, with his dark chestnut hair curling against the collar of his doublet, which was stylishly slashed with alternating strips of black and silver. I blinked.

He was more than
almost
refined, I realized. His stockings were spun charcoal-grey silk, his shoes polished black leather. Even the hammered silver amulet that he traditionally wore under his tunic was out on display, now suspended by a fine black velvet cord. He could have passed for any nobleman in the court.

“Where did you get that clothing?” I asked, aghast.

“What, you expected me to come pay homage to the Queen in nothing but rags? I’m not a complete rogue, Meg.”

I blinked hard again, trying not to stare. He could play a courtier anywhere, doing anything, and suddenly I realized how very little I knew of Master James. Where had he come from? “I never said— I mean, I never meant—” I shook my head, trying to reconcile this image of the perfect—and perfectly lazy—nobleman with the laughing, calloused-palm troupe master who had carried babies across flooding streams, built stage props out of falling-down barns, and chased down geese for dinner when the day’s haul had not been enough.

“What are you about, Meg?” James asked, interrupting my thoughts. “You have more energy than a dormouse at dinnertime, and anyone who knows you will see it.” Then he took my arm in his, as if he were a gentleman and not at all a troupe master and thief, and proceeded to escort me around the cloister. I tried to completely ignore the fact of him being so near to me, and focus on what I needed to say.

“I need your help, Master James,” I said, and I felt the ripple of tension tighten his grip on my arm. An answering shimmer of awareness flowed through me, and I forced myself to steady my nerves.

“Anything you need, Meg. You know that,” he said, his words warm and resolute.

All . . . right
. “I—will be drawing out an unsavory character this night, who believes me to have information to sell.” I drew in a breath. “He is targeting the Queen’s maids for harm. I would hide all of the Queen’s attendants away, but their complete absence would be noticed.”

James slanted me a look. “How many maids are we speaking of?”

I nodded and smiled to a passing lady, who was doing everything she could not to ogle James. “I need six girls to be represented, as it happens. All from the ages of twelve to eighteen.”

“Stout or slender? Tall or short? Or a mix such that a casual observer wouldn’t notice?”

“A mix. I rather get the feeling we’re not noticed at all by the nobility. Certainly not the younger maids. And none of the girls you’ve met, my friends, are a concern. I worry more for others.”

“Yes, I rather think your Miss Knowles can handle herself.” Ignoring my pointed look, James considered further. “I’ve seen the others of your company strolling through the wards. The bookish one wouldn’t notice she was being attacked until it was far too late, I think. And the little one—who stands always at the edge of the conversation?”

I raised my brows. “Sophia? Dark hair, large eyes?”

“Her.” He nodded. “Keep those two out of the fray. They are of this world, but not in it.”

I frowned at the odd turn of phrase, but I took no issue with the directive. It had been ever thus with James. His stage management, whether for his actors or his thieves, was flawless. “Agreed,” I said. “Jane and Beatrice and I will be in the main crowd. We just need a few others to round out the cast.”

“Jane. The fierce one with the long stride. I got the sense she would as soon kill a man as talk to him.” He nodded. “She would be an asset in any fight. Which turns us to that issue as well.” And just that quickly, the tension returned to his body. We took another turn around the courtyard, and I
forced myself to smile and nod, once more a proper English lady, out for a summer’s walk.

“What is it you expect of this unsavory villain, who would target maids instead of men?” he asked when we were out of earshot again.

“I suspect he would hurt one of my friends, if we give him the opportunity. I’d rather his focus be on me.”

James grimaced. “Of course you would.” He tilted his head, angling it toward me. “They don’t have guards in this place to do your fighting?” he asked in exasperation. “Or dungeons to hold enemies to the Crown?”

I smiled grimly, the shadow of the past several days catching up to me. Somehow James must have seen, for he stopped short.

“Meg,” he said, turning me to face him directly. He stared closely at me, and if he saw anything in the pallor of my skin, the sunken-ness of my eyes, I could not have gainsaid him. “Tell me what is going on, plainly. What is this place you have come to? What is it they are asking you to do?”

His concern overwhelmed me for a moment, and an unwelcome rush of emotion rose within me, threatening to spill forth.

“That’s really not at issue,” I said gently. “It is the place I must be, for now. And the thing I must do.”

Darkness flashed across his face. “We could get you out of here, if you wish it.”

“James,” I said, and I reached out my hand, touching his arm. A curious sort of warmth danced up my fingers, and I pulled my hand away from him even as he glanced at me in
surprise. “What I wish is for your help in ensuring the safety of the Queen and her court.”

Another moment passed as he stared at me, just a beat too long. Then finally James relaxed. “And I am just to sit by and watch? What of the young Spaniard who can’t seem to leave your side?” He laughed softly. “He watches you even now, from the shadows.”

He does?
I steeled myself not to look. “He will be in the crowd. But he is too quick to rise to the fight, and it would not be wise for him to do so this eve.”

“I see.” James huffed a short laugh, then grinned at me. “Perhaps I should court
you
this eventide, then, and not the Queen? That will keep the Spaniard’s mind off mischief, I wager.”