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“I overheard you in the wine cellar talking about a plan.” Greer held her gaze like he was gripping her throat. She seemed to have a hard time swallowing against it.
“Did that plan include poison?” he asked.
The bluntness of her question made Mistress Wakefield blanch.
“Of course not,” Lucy answered for her. “I told you that their plan was about obtaining property, which is currently in the hands of the crown.”
“I would hear it from Mistress Wakefield,” Greer said, keeping his gaze away from Lucy and on the flushed woman.
“’Tis true what Lady Cranfield says,” the woman answered. “John Simmons, Jasper Lintel, Richard Whitby, and I were, that is to say—arepooling our moneys to petition the queen to buy one of the closed abbeys west of here.” She glanced back and forth between Greer and Lucy. “When Master Whitby was killed, Simmons decided that he didn’t want to involve milady anymore in case that was why he was murdered.”
Lucy squeezed the woman’s hand. “I am certain Richard wasn’t the intended victim, and I am only giving you advice.”
The fear in the woman’s face was real enough. “If I have more questions for ye,” Greer said, “will Lady Lucy know where to find ye?”
The woman nodded quickly like a bird pecking at seed.
“Thank you, Mistress,” Lucy said with an encouraging smile. “Now go enjoy yourself.”
“I am not sure that is possible,” Mistress Wakefield said. “This Christmastide is like no other.” She walked off toward the wine table that was being guarded by three men.
Greer stood close to Lucy, both of them looking out over the busy room. Her arm brushed his as she backed against the wall, but she pulled it closer to her body as if she abhorred his touch.
The thought made his chest feel tight. “Your sister is sending scowls my way,” he said, also backing against the wall.
Lucy’s hand rose to her neckline. “She suspects I was being ravished. My necklace had come undone and was down my bodice, which was slightly shifted to the side.” The sound of the minstrels and conversation blocked her words, but she still lowered her voice.
“She’s quite clever,” he said. “Ye were, and I am sorry for it.”
Lucy’s face snapped to his. “Sorry? Because you think you kissed an assassin or because you fouled it up by suggesting it?”
He ran a hand up the back of his neck to squeeze it. “Because I lost focus of my mission, and because I made ye angry in the process.”
She turned completely to him, leaning in, apparently having forgotten that she was on display for everyone in the room. “Do you really think that I could be trying to kill anyone?”
Greer took in all the smooth features of Lucy’s face. He exhaled. “If you are, you are by far the deadliest assassin I’ve ever met.”
She snorted. “Why is that?”
“Because I’ve never been so thoroughly distracted before.”
“Distracted? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she asked, the fierceness mellowing in her glare.
He leaned close to her ear and inhaled the scent of strawberries and cloves. “Everything about ye, lass,” he said, “pulls the rational and logical thoughts from my mind and replaces them with fiery, carnal want.”
Lucy leaned completely against the wall as if she needed it to hold her up. “Oh,” she said, the bluster completely out of her voice.
He turned back to stand beside her against the wall. “Ye may decide if that is a good or a bad thing.”
*
The party draggedon until midnight, and Lucy was required to stay through it all, at least until the queen retired. “Don’t wake me in the morning,” Lucy said to Cordelia as she hid a yawn behind her glove. “I will sleep until Twelfth Night.”
“The curse of being witty, merry, and known for jesting,” Cordelia said, following Lucy with her own yawn.
“Go on to bed,” Lucy said. “The queen will quit the room soon.” She nodded toward Elizabeth, who whispered with her favorite as he fed her sticky pieces of flat gingerbread that had been plated in an exchequer design with dark and light squares.
“What?” Cordelia said. “And leave you here to find your own way back? All alone?” The insinuation in her voice spoke her suspicion even though Greer had left the hall an hour before with three very sleepy children. He said he’d deliver them to Cranfield House safely. The memory of Catherine tucking her hand in his warmed Lucy’s heart. But it was the words Greer had whispered in her ear earlier that slid molten rock through the rest of her.
