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The gathered courtiers and listening commoners slowly followed the queen’s dismissal, floating away with tentative smiles at Alyce. The minstrels began to play another lively tune.
Catherine raised up on her toes, her hands clasped as she smiled at Alyce. “The queen says you’re strong, Alyce! And you don’t have to hide your face.”
The girl kept her mask in place, but her frightened grimace had softened. She looked at Greer. “Thank you, Master Buchanan,” she said softly. A type of adoration seemed to fill her eyes.
“Yes,” Lucy said, squeezing Alyce’s shoulders. “Thank you for your defense. The common people rarely receive any.”
“All people,” he said, meeting Lucy’s gaze, “need defense, especially at court where nobles play at slander and intrigue in order to elevate themselves.”
Lucy glanced away. “That they do.” She took a full breath, nodding toward some servants walking in with trays. Each servant had a guard next to them whom Lord Walsingham asked a question. As the guard nodded, Walsingham made the guard eat one of the sweetmeats that he randomly chose. Once the guard ate the sample, Walsingham allowed the tray to enter.
“Are they safe?” Nick asked.
“Lord Walsingham has required each cook be guarded,” Lucy said. “So yes, very safe.”
Catherine clapped her hands, and Alyce took one to lead her around the edge of the room toward the long table where the platters were being arranged. Nick, however, cut right through the middle of the floor to arrive there first.
Lucy glanced at Greer. “Your defense of Alyce was so generous.” She shook her head. “I didn’t even hear the comment.”
“I wasn’t defending only Alyce,” he said. He came closer to her. “There’s no shame in your scars, Lucy.”
Lucy tucked her hand behind her back. “They’re ugly, and I abhor pity,” she said with a smile. “I’m fortunate they are easily hidden with clothing, unlike Alyce.”
“Will ye let no one see them?” he asked. “Besides a chemist who wants to hide them and a mother who told ye they were ugly?”
“I hide them because theyareugly. And if the red and dark marks weren’t hideous enough at birth, trying to burn them away made them so.” She looked away.
“Did Darby say they’re hideous?” he asked, his voice harsh.
She swallowed, remembering the first time she’d shown William. “He said nothing.”
“Silence can be as cutting as words.”
She looked at him. “And some words can leave scars inside that will never heal.” She tried to turn away, but he caught her arm.
“Lucy—”
“I must choose the most festive spinning wheel,” she said, nodding toward the length of wall where the household spinning wheels had been set. The ladies of the court had decorated each of the twelve wheels with dried flowers, holly, and ribbons so the wheels couldn’t be used for work during the twelve days of Christmas.
“Perhaps one day, ye will show me your scars,” he whispered close to her ear. “I will not judge them the way ye fear others do.”
Lucy’s breath caught at his nearness, and the warmth of his words.Show me your scars?He’d practically suggested she undress for him.
“Lady of Misrule, you are needed across the hall,” Cordelia said, stopping behind them.
Cordelia found Lucy’s right arm in the folds of her gown and tugged her to follow. As she walked away, Lucy could feel Greer’s gaze on her back. He really had suggested that she let him see her without clothing. The thought sent a ribbon of heat twisting down through Lucy’s middle.
*
The rest ofthe evening floated by like a play that Lucy acted in while her mind worked over Greer’s words. She could still feel the pressure of his strong hands as he lifted her in the La Volta, turning her and setting her down without taxing himself at all. And how he’d leapt to Alyce’s defense, even against the queen, deftly turning her opinion while saving Elizabeth’s pride. Greer Buchanan was a warrior, but one who had trained at the Scottish court to also be a diplomat. Clever and courageous, he’d shown he could fight battles at court as well as on the cold, rocky moors.
And he wants to see my scars. Her scars were under her clothing, across her back, legs, and stomach. Scattered here and there like ink blots on smooth parchment. Some had been red, some darker. Now the skin around them was mottled with burn marks, turning the marks darker in most places. A failure that her mother had blamed on Lucy, of course.
He wants to see them.What did that mean? Did he only want to see the spots, or the rest of her too? She felt her cheeks warm and snorted softly, wishing she were more worldly like her sister. But there’d been no opportunity to consider a man. Lucy was loath to look at herself, let alone allow another to see her undressed. It had been under great distress that she’d showed William and his father a few of them.
But Greer Buchanan was different. Her heart sped at the thought. Might this be the only time in her life that she could allow a man to see her? All of her? Not just glimpses from under a physician’s sheet?
Her mother had said no man would marry Lucy for fear the spots would mar his children. Even when Cordelia whispered to Lucy that she would find a man, Lucy hadn’t believed her. After one miserable summer of her mother’s torture and mourning the loss of a future she’d never have, Lucy had decided to focus on things that made her and others smile. So, she’d focused on her natural sense of humor. It had become her best trait. Even her mother had said so.
