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“Huzzah!” Catherine yelled from the tabletop.
“Huzzah!” Nick repeated, pumping his fist in the air.
Alyce wrapped her arms around Catherine, lifting her off the ruined table and onto the floor.
Mary and Jacob O’Brien were led out of the room by several guards, and other kitchen maids scurried around with trays collecting all the cake. Even though it seemed only two slices were tainted with poison, no one was taking any chances.
“So, Master Buchanan,” Lord Walsingham said as he drew close to Lucy and Greer, “it seems Lord Moray muddled the source of the danger.” He frowned. “’Twas not Mary Stuart from Scotland who sent an assassin but Mary and Jacob O’Brien acting on behalf of Ireland.”
“Unless there’s another assassin,” Elizabeth said.
“Heaven help us,” Lord Burghley said. He looked to one of the maids. “Is there any untainted cake tucked away in the kitchens?” He followed her in that direction.
Elizabeth stood regally next to Walsingham. Her gaze fell between Lucy and Greer. “And what will you do now, Lady Lucy? Remain here at Whitehall dodging assassins and…” her eyes lowered to Lucy’s exposed arm, “hiding your infirmaries? Or will you follow your friend Maggie Darby to Scotland?”
Lucy’s mouth opened and closed. “I do not know, Your Majesty.”
“Well, you better make up your mind soon,” she said with a glance at Greer. “Twelfth Night is over.” She turned and glided out of the hall.
Chapter Twenty
“As a Protestant Queen, Elizabeth was forced to live with the threat of assassination from Catholics throughout her reign. But there was an army of men working in secret to protect the Queen. These were her spies, her secret service, and they were overseen by the most ruthless spy master of them all: FrancisWalsingham.”
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“And I rememberedhow Nick used to take bits of ice and put them in the center of a snowball,” Lucy said. “It hit as hard as a rock, but nothing could be seen of it once it melted.”
Cordelia shook her head. “You really are brilliant, Lucy,” she said as she folded another smock to lay upon the others in her traveling trunk.
Lucy didn’t feel brilliant. In fact, she felt rather like a fool. After the theatrics of Twelfth Night, Greer had walked her back to her bedchamber at Whitehall. There had been time to ask him what he thought she should do, but the words would not come. Because she didn’t want to hear him tell her to stay.
Instead of being able to sleep, Lucy had paced her room far into the night. She’d only settled down after she’d written a letter to Maggie Darby asking if the invitation to join her in Scotland was still open. She was living with the Gordons way up north at Auchindoun Castle in Banffshire. It was several days’ ride north of Edinburgh. Perhaps they could stay in Edinburgh before continuing on to the Gordons.
What was left for her in England? Despite their innocence, Cordelia and Lucy would be treated with cold indignation. The Cranfield name was already associated with treason, and now the shadow of guilt would follow them. If the whole assassination attempt weren’t enough, William had told her that people were coming to ask him if the deformity on Lucy’s arm was contagious. And slanderous comments were being made about Lucy’s lack of virtue.
“Are the children packing?” Cordelia asked her.
Lucy left her gloves off and rubbed her injured hand absently. “They will, but they haven’t much to take.”
“Of course. And we have time.” Cordelia motioned to her trunk. “I really could wait, but I confess I want to leave now.” She turned away from the trunk to look at Lucy. “You’ve sent off the letter to Maggie?”
Lucy nodded. “This morn. It went out with the same carrier taking Lord Walsingham’s letter of what has occurred to Lord Moray and King James. He will pass it to another courier in Edinburgh to take it up to Banffshire. So it may take a fortnight to hear back.”
Cordelia’s brows rose. “Why didn’t Lord Walsingham send his missive with Master Buchanan?”
Lucy turned away from her sister’s questioning gaze. “I believe Greer wishes to stay a few days more to…wrap up stray details for his full account.”
Cordelia walked over, the heels of her slippers tapping the floor. She squeezed Lucy’s arm, making her turn. “What is he to you?” Cordelia asked.
Caught in her sister’s piercing stare, Lucy’s pleasant mask of confidence fell. Her eyes closed as tears gathered behind them and her brows felt heavy, bending low like her lips.
“God’s teeth,” Cordelia swore softly. “You’re in love with him.”
The words didn’t shock Lucy. She’d guessed the ailment already. She blinked her eyes open, sniffing helplessly at the two tears that had swelled over her lashes to slide down her cheeks.
“Are you with child?” Cordelia asked.
Lucy shook her head. “My courses came, and we haven’t been together since.”
