“I’m not!” I protest, my hands crushing my wool skirt. “The traitors conspiring for a coup and your murder are ruining your party!”
Mary waves her hand dismissively. “No one is going to attack Scotland in the winter.”
“I don’t think the traitors are going to consider the weather when they’re planning to kill you.”
Mary drains her goblet and flops down on her pillows, ignoring the plate of crumbs that spills over the bedcovers. “I’ve already told Darnley to go back to Kirk o’ Field and leave me be here, so that’s taken care of. But we’re not canceling the party. It’s not like my idiotic husband has an army in his pocket.”
“It’s exactly like that,” I growl. “Need I remind you of that weapon he brought into Holyrood, the way—”
Mary turns her head to me. “The way David was slaughtered in front of me? No. You need not remind me of that.” Her voice is ice.
“Darnley has found a way to sneak not just Red Cap weapons into Scotland but Red Caps themselves.”
“Who?” Mary says. She’s still lounging, but her eyes are sharper now. “Where are these Red Caps?”
Samson, I think. But if I tell her that, she’ll imprison him at the very least. No one in court will care; he’s English, and if it comes out that he’s not even truly a Scottish laird’s secretary, there’s every chance he’ll be executed for impersonating one, and that’s without his Red Cap blood.
My hands smooth out my skirt. Samson is my proof that Darnley’s rebellion is escalating, that Scotland is on the brink of disaster.
The humans will kill him for espionage if the truth comes out. He was sent by the queen of England’s closest spymaster. His head will be on a block. And if that doesn’t doom him, the Leths will kill him.
Even Moyra wanted me to kill Samson in front of her, and she’s awitch. The Scottish court will be less forgiving than her. Beira seemed accepting, but she would never step in and interfere with such mundane affairs as preventing his death.
“Well?” Mary asks.
I keep my lips pressed shut and swallow down my secrets.
My grandfather told me once that the key to the Graham legacy is that our ancestors never hesitated in their loyalty.
But…maybe it’s time for me to question who I most want to be loyal to.
“There is no Red Cap at court,” I lie. Then I raise my eyes to meet hers. “Yet,” I add more firmly. “Because they are coming. And a little snow and ice won’t stop an invasion.”
Mary’s head lolls on her pillow. “Well, they’re not coming tonight, so we may as well have a feast.”
“Mary!” I’m unable to keep the frustration out of my voice.
The queen closes her eyes. “Dismissed,” she says.
I close ranks the best I can. Cockburn and Strathglass scurry to obey my orders, but it will be that much harder to keep the castle safe if the doors are flung open for the party. Anyone can sneak in, hiding behind a lace mask and goblets of wine. I give Kitty pure butter, which she eats by the fistful, promising to continue to help, and I’ve sent for the glaistigs to return.
But soon enough, I’m left with one cold realization:
I need to tell my father about this.
All of it.
Or…I should. I should tell him about Samson. What if Samson’s Red Cap tendencies are triggered in battle and I cannot take him out? The Seelie Court needs to know.
If I can muster the courage to bare that part of myself that I wish I could keep locked safely away in my heart.
I go to the stables again. I already smell like a barn; what’s one more ride? The sun is starting to set now, but the party won’t be in full swing for hours yet. I could walk, but a fast horse is what I need now, not just for the speed but for the way I can let my worrying thoughts fly behind me like my billowing cloak. I go north by the old paths.
At the Bridge of Allan, I feel a pull, a whisper of magic strong enough to make me slow my horse and then stop, letting the creature breathe heavy clouds that hang in the cold air. I stand in the stirrups, looking around until I see—
The bean-nighe.
The washerwoman kneels at the creek. She scrubs at a piece of white linen.
