AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Reddens laudes Domino”
She strode forward, the long line of finely dressed and masked courtiers mixed with gaily dressed servants and commoners allowed at the castle. Walsingham had inspected each one, but Greer still stood watch. Alyce, Catherine, and Nick had come at her request, full of excitement.
The procession moved boisterously along the Stone Gallery toward the Great Hall, but first they would parade out in the bailey and around the stables and through the gardens, all the way to the Thames.
Once theBoar’s Head Carolfinished, the minstrels strummed and whistled their way intoI Saw A Maiden. With prejudices put aside, courtier, yeomen, and goodwives sang together and clapped with the thumping of the drums, many swinging each other around on their arms. Lucy wished their differences could be set aside every day of the year.
Even the stone in her slipper, biting her foot every third step, didn’t bother her. Lucy laughed, turning in a circle to swish her petticoats about. Greer followed beside the procession, his gaze catching hers. He didn’t smile, but his mouth had softened.
Despite the assassination attempt and Richard Whitby’s murder, Christmastide was continuing. Playing the part of Lady of Misrule would help prove to everyone that she was no hidden traitor like her mother. Lucy only needed to make it through Twelfth Night alive.
As she made the turn, doubling back on the procession, the three children bowed and curtsied to Lucy as they went by. She stopped to curtsey back, which made everyone in line bow or curtsey to each other, laughing at the absurdity of it.
Make We Joywas the next carol, and they sang enthusiastically as they traveled down the lane to the front of Whitehall Palace, entering in through doors held wide by smiling guards. Lucy stepped to the side, waving the minstrels to continue into the great hall.
Her gaze roamed over the merry people. Could one of them be plotting regicide. Could they hide completely behind their smile and laughter?I do.The thought struck her soundly, making her bright smile dim. She’d always used humor to lighten the darkness of Cranfield when her mother ruled it. Even when she was being treated for her marks, she tried to make herself smile. Somehow it alleviated part of the pain.
But could a villain who didn’t care if others died in the process smile and sing with merriment?
The ladies of Elizabeth’s chamber had been given permission to wear bright colors for the season instead of their usual white, black, or silver. They smiled and complimented each other, some twirling slowly to show off embroidery. Margaret and Lettice strode inside on the arms of Johnathan Whitt, another young courtier. With white ruffs stiff and high about their necks, their heads did look like they were set upon platters. Lucy glanced down at her open ruff, glad she chose it so that her neckline was open.
As the participants came by, they made sweeping bows and deep curtseys to Lucy as if she were the queen herself. It was a struggle not to curtsey back, but she inclined her head with stately seriousness. William escorted Cordelia on his arm, Reginald Darby walking behind them. The older man seemed to watch everyone with suspicion, and William mimicked it whether he knew it or not. The comical similarity made Lucy chuckle. She balanced on one foot, raising her petticoat to grab her slipper.
“Such mayhem is the perfect place for an assassin to hide.” Greer’s voice in her ear caught her off-guard, and Lucy lost her balance.
“God’s teeth,” she said as he caught her against him. She clutched his arms to steady herself, her foot still bare under her petticoats. Why did his arms have to feel so incredibly muscular, like a figure out of the Greek story books about gods?
“What happens when I’m not here?” Greer asked. “Do ye fall all the time?”
“You startled me while I was balancing, trying to release a pebble from my slipper.”
Without a further word, he knelt at her feet, his hands pushing past the petticoats to find her foot. Lucy looked out at the line of people singing as they circled around, everyone noticing Greer digging at her skirts. “Holy Mother Mary,” she whispered. “I will forever be the talk of the court.”
She felt Greer’s hands grab her stockinged foot. They were warm, and his thumbs pressed up the arch, nearly pushing a groan out of her. But then he slid her slipper back in place and stood. “Pebble released.”
The entire line of merry people made their entrance back inside, and Lucy turned to hurry to catch them. They sangGood King Wenceslausas they entered the Great Hall. Halfway through, the boisterous crowd changed “king” to “queen,” and Elizbeth clapped in delight from her dais.
She stood in a resplendent golden dress, and the minstrels stopped. The singing softened until the room grew silent. Elizabeth slowly opened her arms to encompass the room. “I welcome you all to my hall to enjoy my graciousness to celebrate the birth of our Christ. May we all know his mercy and the joy of the season.”
The room erupted in cheers, but Elizabeth waved them to hush. She looked out over the crowd to Lucy. “I welcome the Lady of Misrule to reside over this court, to make us merry for these twelve days.”
Lord Burghley, standing next to Elizabeth, whispered in her ear.
“Yes, yes,” she said frowning. “Eleven days.” She cut him a glare. “Thank you not for reminding me of the asp in our midst.”
Burghley looked back out at the crowd as if he too was scanning the room for killers. But Elizabeth bent her bright red lips into a smile. “Come forward, Lady of Misrule, Queen of Mischief and Merriment.”
Lucy walked forward to stand before her queen. They both wore gold, but the colorful additions on Lucy’s ensemble marked her as the merry jester. Elizabeth had turned forty years old and was determined not to show any signs of age or blemish from her bout of smallpox. She favored the pale paint made with egg and lead in order to achieve the pristine surface that reminded Lucy of a cold marble statue. William would probably suggest Lucy apply the same type of covering to her scars.
Lucy curtseyed before the queen. “Rise, good lady,” Elizabeth intoned. She motioned to one of her ladies who brought a circlet of pearls intertwined with gold ribbon. Elizabeth took it, holding it over Lucy’s head. An unseen pair of hands removed her hood, and the queen lowered the crown on her pinned curls. “I hereby crown you Queen of this Christmas Court,” Elizabeth said. “For eleven days.” Lucy rose to applause. The position had been coveted at times, but surely not this year after poor Richard had died.
She turned to the brightly clad crowd, and they all bowed and curtseyed. Greer, looking splendidly rugged in his Scottish wrap and crisp white tunic, even bowed his head. Lord Leicester claimed Elizabeth’s arm as if she were one of the court ladies and not the sovereign, and led her to dance.
Greer walked up next to Lucy. “Where are ye to go now?” he asked, again near her ear. The closeness made Lucy’s heart beat even faster, and she leaned away, holding onto her indignance.
Ignoring him, she walked to Elizabeth’s throne to perch on it. The cushions were soft, and if she sat back, her feet barely touched the floor. She looked out on the festivities, keeping her gaze away from the damnably handsome and vexing man as he approached.
“I apologize,” Greer said, standing beside her chair and inhaled fully. “Ye are far from predictable, Lucy Cranfield.”
