Alyth
It wasn’t exactly hard to round up the lairds and confirm the meeting place, although minding men is like minding cats. Especially Bothwell, the bastard, who made a point to pinch my rear as I walked away from him. I whispered to the brownies to ensure his fire goes out for the next few nights; a man like him deserves nothing but bitter cold of a morning.
We don’t meet in the Great Hall—too much commotion there, in preparation of the grand ceremony—nor in the chapel, which the Protestants would refuse to step foot in, even if it would be a private place to talk.
Instead, the lairds gather in the palace block, the place where the queen and king consort stay at Stirling Castle, consisting of two sets of chambers made of multiple rooms and suites. Darnley’s off hunting with some of his cronies, leaving the area free of his stench. Mary’s bedchamber is the most remote and private; only a few select people, including me, are allowed in the privy chambers, especially the placewhere the queen sleeps. Once we’re through those rooms, the Great Chamber awaits.
Anyone with reasonably high rank in court has access to the Great Chamber, although today, only the men in Mary’s inner circle wait, with guards stationed at every door. On the other side of those doors is the outer hall, a public area that Mary has used for masquerades and balls and that will no doubt be decorated soon for baby James. And on the other side of that hall are the king’s chambers.
The Great Chamber is decorated in patterns of red, gold, black, and white. The shutters are closed to the growing darkness of night, and fires roar in the hearths.
The lairds, who’d been quietly talking and barely registered my presence when I came in, silence as Mary enters. They each extend a leg in a formal bow, creating a pathway directly to the throne set in the far wall of the room. I peel away from the crowd and walk a pace behind the queen, her loyal servant, while her other ladies are playing cards or sewing in the solar. When she mounts the single carpeted step leading to the ornate throne, I shift to the side, finding a corner to watch from the shadows.
Joseph catches my eye and gives me a nod. I’m glad he’s here at least.
All the lairds ignore me. It’s not unusual for Mary to have a lady-in-waiting with her, even in the privy council, and none of them blink when Mary holds out her hand and I step closer, giving her the embroidery cloth she likes to fidget with when the lairds talk.
I am invisible to them all.
Except for Samson.
I feel his eyes watching me even as the Earl of Moray—Mary’s half brother—moves in to speak directly to the queen. Everyone’s curious about what she wants done with Darnley and how the tangled web she’s trapped in can be unraveled.
But Samson’s eyes track me and me alone, pinning me against the velvet wall covering.
I am so used to being unseen. The least of the queen’s lady maids, the lowest at court. The queen ignores me except when she needs me. I make a point of being ignored by the king consort whenever possible. The only person in the entire castle who’s ever tried to see me as a person is Joseph, but he doesn’t look at me the way Samson does right now.
As if he can see my very soul, the dark as well as the light, and he wants nothing more than to devour it—me. My breath catches, then escapes my lips, stuttering and unsure, and even though he’s across the room from me, I catch the smirk that twists his mouth, the little glint of satisfaction in his eye.
Well, feck that. I don’t even trust the man. Howdarehe look at me as if he knows me?
But even so, I feel my cheeks burning, and I cast my look away, focusing on the ceiling in the corner.
I can still feel his gaze on me. My heart thumps, and I clench my hands in my skirts, willing my body to calm. To not think about that dream the night we met, to not think about how easy it would be to make it come true. There’s not just promise in Samson’s hot gaze; there’s possibility there too.
Focus.
I turn my full attention to the queen, who is taking her sweet time calling the meeting to order. She laughs about the gifts that were recently delivered to the men as they praise her generosity. It’s so painfully obvious that these gifts were essentially bribes to ensure the lairds continue to support Mary and not her husband, but no one seems to mind.
She looks down, a pretense of being demure. But in her lap is herembroidery cloth, which I have charmed so I can communicate with her privately in plain sight.
I twirl my finger in a circle, then rub it against my thumb. On the throne, Mary tugs at the thread she pulled taut, and it knots. She pulls her needle harder, and the thread snaps. With a little frown, she looks up at me.
Get on with it,I think, and even if the queen cannot read my mind, I’m certain my expression is eloquent.
Mary sighs and makes a gesture with her hand. “Gentlemen,” she says. Her voice isn’t raised—in fact, it’s soft—but everyone hears.
Everyone obeys.
“I have gathered you today to discuss the Darnley problem.” The queen fiddles with the raw edge of the cloth she’s been working on, the needle tucked safely in the corner, the broken thread dangling.
My eyes shoot to Samson. And he’s…shocked? Surprise is plain on his face. What did he expect? Surely Latimer filled him in on the tensions at court between the monarchs.
His attention focuses on me, and his mask slips back on, but I know what I saw. He did not thinkDarnleywas going to be the subject of this meeting.Does he know about the Red Cap weapon Darnley used?I wonder. He clearly has some sort of knowledge of the fae, but not, I think, too much.What does he know?
There’s a more important question though:What does he hope to learn?
“How you could have married him in the first place…” Moray starts. As the closest living relative to Mary by both blood and proximity, Moray is sometimes allowed to say things that others dare not even think. From the queen’s glare, it’s clear that the past mistake of her marriage is not to be discussed. Moray ducks his head, clasping his hands in front of him.
