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Greer turned his gaze back to the bustling hall. “Yay and nay,” he said. “Lord Moray prefers the English garb, and young King James as well. Those coming from the mountains however wear the broad woven wool kilted up around the waist.”
“Is it not…” Leister lowered his voice, “breezy beneath?”
’Twas difficult not to laugh at the man whose head looked like it sat upon a ruffled platter. “Aye, but to a Highlander who is always hot and ready, it suits us well,” he said without breaking his frown.
Leister’s eyes opened wider, his gaze dipping to Greer’s jack. “Always hot and ready, you say?” His open mouth broadened into a smile.
“Aye, but don’t tell the ladies, else I’ll get no peace here in England. Pardon.” Greer walked away and into the Great Hall, his gaze scanning the people who had gathered around the queen. Elizabeth was bedecked in bright peacock colors to match Lord Leicester. Even if she refused to wed, there was no doubt of the man she favored, the man right now probably wondering about the size of Greer’s jack.
Greer had no need to speak to the queen directly, but he wanted to stay close. It was dangerous enough that Walsingham hadn’t demanded the forfeiture of weapons before entering the hall. His gaze swept the festively decorated room. Holly and mistletoe were hung in long garlands.
Greer’s gaze halted as Lucy stepped up to the doorway with her sister, both in bright silk gowns. Cordelia wore green, and Lucy wore a bright red, a shade Greer had never seen before. It caught the attention of many in the room. Before Greer could move, William Darby, who’d been standing with his father, Reginald Darby, walked straight to the sisters, offering his two arms to escort both.
Lucy’s smile was brilliant, lighting up her lovely, smooth face. Did she fancy the poison inspector who hadn’t given her away to Walsingham? Greer walked to the side table where wine was being served and took a goblet of chilled wine.
“You look splendid.” Lucy’s voice made Greer turn. She stood alone. “May I have some wine?”
He handed her a goblet, nodding to her. “And ye look radiant. I am surprised the queen would allow such a color to outshine her.”
Lucy glanced down at the bright red. “’Tis a color called cochineal and produced by an insect in the Americas. Quite rare.” She glanced at the queen who was laughing with Lord Leicester. “I hope the queen doesn’t mind. William said it was from a Spanish envoy years ago when King Phillip thought he might convince Elizabeth to wed him after her sister died. The queen refused to ever wear it, so William passed it to me.”
The man was in love with her. He hadn’t exposed her to Walsingham, showed up at her side often, and was giving her rich cast-offs.
“Do ye love William Darby?” Greer asked, his brows lowering in annoyance at himself for letting the question roll from his mouth. What did it matter? He was on a mission, and Lucy Cranfield was a suspect.
“Pardon?”
“’Tis none of my concern,” he said, and took another swallow of wine. His gaze slid over the crowd. “Ye are drawing the eyes of every man in the room, and I am certain that every woman envies ye.”
“I don’t love William Darby,” she said, the smile fading from her voice. “Why did you ask that?”
“I’m watching him to make certain he’s not planning to harm your queen.”
“Nonsense,” Lucy said. “He checks her gowns for poison. He and his father are trusted more than nearly everyone at court.” She looked back out at the crowd. “If he wanted to harm her, he’d have done so by now. You’re wasting your time focusing on him.”
“Like I said before, I have a long list of potential assassins,” he said.
“Am I on it?” she asked and took a sip of wine.
Their gazes connected over her silver cup. In the low light, her pupils were large in her smoothly pale face. “Everyone is on it.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding knowingly. “But does my name have little stars next to it?”
“Stars?”
“To mark all the times I do assassin-like things, like giving children coins and food, and saving innocent animals from a cruel death.”
“I don’t make stars.”
“May I see the list?” she asked, glancing down his body as if to find a pocket.
“I keep the list in my head.”
She snorted softly. “Pity. I’d like to compare it to mine.” She tapped the side of her head.
The quartet in the corner increased the tempo of the merry tune they were playing. “Do you dance?” Lucy asked.
Greer looked into her face, only to be captured by it again. Her lashes were long and surrounded her large eyes. Even her nose seemed the perfect size, and her lips were full and rose-colored. “Only in battle,” he said.
