Читать книгу Christmas At The Tudor Court - Amanda McCabe - Страница 17
ОглавлениеAlys made her way along the path to the abbey the next morning, carrying a large hamper of fresh supplies. No one had noticed her slipping out of the castle not long after first light. Bingham’s men had all marched off to find more shipwrecked sailors further down the coast and all seemed quiet again. But Dunboyton was not yet quite back to normal. Everyone was still too unsettled, too excited by the violent interruption to their daily routines. The maids still cried into their aprons, the pages still carried around kitchen knives ‘just in case’ and everyone jumped at the merest loud noise.
The maids would no doubt be relieved not to have their lady watching them as they whispered together over their kettles and dusting cloths instead of working. And she had not seen her father all night or morning, he was shut up in his library with his steward and the captain of his guards. There was no one to see her pack up wine and food, gather up bandages and herbs from the stillroom. At least she truly hoped no one had.
Alys glanced over her shoulder and saw nothing but the sweep of the empty meadows down to the cliffs and the sea beyond. The great gale that wrecked the ships had blown away, but there was still a chill to the wind and there were no fishing boats putting out to sea. Most of the villagers, along with Dunboyton’s household, stayed behind their locked doors for the time being.
She hoisted her basket higher in her arms and turned towards the path to the abbey. Once again, like old friends, the spires against the grey sky greeted her. A warm sense of anticipation rose up in her at the sight. She looked forward to seeing Juan, to checking that her nursing skills were working, to see if she could coax more stories from him. He owed her a few more tales; after all, that was their bargain.
And, if she was honest, it was not just the prospect of nursing that made her steps grow quicker as she reached the edge of the crumbling cloister wall. She looked forward to seeing him again, to hearing the secret smile in his voice as he talked to her, the way his green eyes glowed.
Life at Dunboyton was not a bad existence, but Alys admitted it was a quiet one. The same people, the same tasks, every day. Juan was like no one else she had ever met. He was a complete puzzle, one she wanted to fit together so very much. She wanted to know more about his Spanish mother, whether she had told him tales of her homeland as Alys’s had to her. The feeling of belonging to two different worlds was one they shared. Alys could not see things as everyone else did, as English and Spanish and thus different, for she knew they were not. Did Juan feel the same?
And, if she was being doubly honest with herself, she had to admit that she was deeply attracted to her shipwrecked sailor. The thought of giggling over something so frivolous in the midst of such a terrible time made her chide herself, laugh at herself for her silliness. Who would have thought dull, practical Alys could sigh so over a pair of lovely green eyes.
She hurried through the open, sky-lit sanctuary and found the dairy. She was almost afraid he would have gone, but then she saw the silvery smoke snaking from the chimney. She knocked carefully at the door, and called out, ‘’Tis Lady Alys.’ As much as she wanted to see him, she wanted no repeat of yesterday’s rough greeting when she surprised him.
The door cracked open and he stood before her. He smiled, making his eyes crinkle most invitingly, and held out his hand. She could tell with a glance that he looked better, his skin not so pale and his figure standing straighter, taller. ‘Lady Alys. I was afraid you might not come today. I have been watching for you.’
He had been watching for her? Did he...want to see her, as she wanted to see him? She felt her cheeks turn warm at the thought and she set quickly about her tasks to hide her confusion. ‘I had to make sure breakfast was prepared for the household. They are so disordered, nothing seems to be getting done at all. I am sorry, you must be hungry.’
‘You did promise me a pie,’ he said teasingly. ‘I have been trying to come up with a story fine enough to deserve it.’
Alys brushed by him to the fireplace and he followed her. She was achingly aware of the heat of him, his tall strength right behind her. Pretending nothing was amiss, she knelt beside the hearth and started to unpack her basket. Beside her was his makeshift bed, a nest of tumbled blankets and pillows, and she tried not to imagine what he looked like lying there, at his ease beside the fire as the flames turned his bare skin to pure gold...
Silly girl, she chided herself. Her hands shook as she measured out her packets of herbs.
‘I am very comfortable here,’ he said. ‘In fact, I do not think I have ever been in such a comfortable place. The silence and peace all to myself is most wondrous.’
‘I am sure being packed into a ship for months at a time cannot provide much silence at all,’ she answered, handing him a serving of bread and cheese and pouring out some wine. She wondered where he had been before that ship, what kinds of lodgings he had known in Paris and Antwerp and Lisbon. Surely he was only being polite now; a makeshift pallet on a stone floor could not compare to fine Parisian chambers. Though he had made it cosy for himself. Besides the bed, there was a small milking stool he had found somewhere and the canvas sacking formed into draperies to soften the cold walls. There was also a small block of wood on the stool along with a fruit knife, it looked as if he was carving something.
‘What are you working on there?’ she asked.
He gave her a sheepish smile and swept the wooden object and its shavings under the edge of a blanket. ‘’Tis nothing. A bit of nonsense to pass the time. My carving skills are grown rusty, I fear.’
‘So you are an artist as well as a sailor?’ As well as a spy, mayhap? Her curiosity about him grew every time she saw him, discovered yet another half-hidden facet of this gorgeous man.
He laughed and his eyes crinkled again. It made him look so much younger, so much freer and happier. Alys found she longed to make him smile again, would do anything to see that facet of Juan once more. ‘I am neither artist nor sailor.’
‘Are you not? Then what are you?’
His laughter faded in an instant, faster than that storm blowing up from the sea. His changeableness was startling, almost frightening. He looked down to tear open the loaf of bread. ‘I am nothing at all, I suppose. A wanderer. A seeker.’
A seeker. Alys knew how that felt, even though she could seek only in books. To see, to know—it was tempting indeed. Perhaps that was what had drawn him to the ships, the need for adventure. She poured out more wine, including some for herself. ‘I suppose I could call myself a seeker, as well, though I cannot look for what I desire in the world as you can. I can only read of it. I envy you.’
He sat down beside her, their backs to the fire. Once again, he studied her closely with those brilliant eyes that seemed to mesmerise and capture, as if he sought out her secrets just as she sought his. He was much too easy to talk to, she knew she would have to carefully guard her words when he looked at her like that. ‘What do you seek in your books?’
Alys hesitated a moment before she spoke. ‘I’m not sure. I suppose I want to know what the world is really like beyond Dunboyton and the only way to find that is in books, and the tales my mother used to tell me. I want to see London, the churches and shops and palaces, but I would also like to know what the sea looks like beyond our bay. I’d like to see Spain, taste real oranges there, feel the sun on my face. And Paris—’ She broke off with a little laugh. ‘It must seem silly to you, who have actually seen all those things.’
He gave her a gentle smile. ‘The world outside this place does hold many beauties,’ he said. ‘But it can also be a cruel and ugly place, and it is lonely to see it by oneself.’ He reached out to softly touch a strand of loose dark hair that had fallen from its pins. Alys held her breath at his nearness, the warmth of his hand so close to her cheek. ‘I can see why your family would want to protect you, to keep that—that sweetness in your eyes.’
Alys swallowed hard and leaned away from his touch. She feared if she stayed there, looking into those eyes of his, she would lean into him instead and kiss him. She ached to know what his lips might feel like on her own and that was one thing she should never try. She turned away to unroll a pile of bandages and then roll them again. ‘Even Dunboyton can be filled with cruelty, as we saw all too clearly only days ago. If I knew more of the world—of how to shield myself—’ She broke off, overcome by the memory of those poor men on the beach. By how easily Juan could have been one of them.
He laid his hand against her arm, lightly, as if he feared she would break away. She did not. ‘Of course. It was most hideous. I didn’t mean to imply you were some sort of swooning maiden in a tower. You are obviously very brave, as well as kind. See how you help a stranger, at peril to yourself.’
Ah, but Juan was not just any stranger. Alys came to see that, fear that, more and more as she knew him. ‘You said you grew up in an English abbey.’
He looked surprised at the sudden change in topic, but he recovered quickly and smiled. She thought she glimpsed something in his eyes behind that smile, a flash of wariness. ‘So I did. My father’s estate. His grandfather bought it from King Henry.’
‘But you did not stay there.’
‘Nay, I left to study at Cambridge and then went to the Netherlands in a company of soldiers with my godfather.’
He fought for the English in the Netherlands? Alys wondered if her suspicions were right and he was a spy. But for whom? ‘And from there you went to Spain? To find your mother’s family, mayhap?’
He looked down, hiding those eyes from her as he crumbled the remains of the bread. ‘I have never known anything about my Spanish family. My understanding is that I have no living Spanish kin.’
It sounded unbearably sad, a tiny child left without his mother, without even a sense of where she came from or what kind of person she was. At least Alys had known and loved her mother, known something of Spain. ‘I am sorry. I am glad I did know my mother and stories about her family. I could imagine what it was like, even here in Ireland, though I will never see it for myself.’ She laughed. ‘I will probably never even see London, let alone Madrid! You are lucky in your travels.’
He flashed her a smile, but it looked sad. ‘I have never felt so fortunate. Always being in a different place is a very lonely life indeed.’
‘But an endlessly fascinating one, I am sure.’
‘I did say I would tell you some tales of my travels.’ He stared up at the painted ceiling for a moment. ‘Amsterdam, for instance. It is a city built on water, as Venice is, but the two are very different despite their canals. Venice is old, full of crumbling stones and ancient bridges, of mysterious eyes peering from behind shuttered windows. Amsterdam is clean and orderly, with barges going about their marketing business and tall, painted houses along every walkway. And Portugal...’
‘Is it as sunny as everyone says?’
‘It might be, but it’s hard to know, since the houses are built so close together. Their roofs almost touch on the streets overhead, blocking the light, until one comes to the river. Then, all the lanes open up on to wide wharfs and ships bound for every port wait at anchor to set sail for the New World, or mayhap for India.’
‘India.’ Alys sighed, thinking of silks and spices, and warm sunshine. She did have dreams of the royal court at London, which sometimes seemed as distant as India could be, but she thought there were more worlds to be seen than anyone could ever dream of. Amsterdam, Venice, Paris...
‘How many adventures you must have had,’ she said sadly.
He knelt down beside her next to the fire, watching her closely. He seemed to hide nothing from her now, his eyes clear, speaking of a sadness she could barely fathom.
‘Lady Alys,’ he said softly. ‘There were many reasons I was on that ship, but I am bound by my honour not to speak of them. I only want you to know that you and your father’s household have naught to fear from me. I will do nothing to harm you and never would have.’
Alys studied him very closely for a long, tensely silent moment. For that time, they seemed bound close together with shimmering, invisible cords that could not break. Their breath, their very heartbeats, seemed as one. ‘I—I think I always did know that. We do live in such a world of secrets, and as I said I know little of the lands beyond Dunboyton. But I do know that the Queen’s throne is not a steady one and she needs help from the shadows.’
He suddenly leaned back, away from her, and she glimpsed the surprise and suspicion on his face. Had she found out something, then? Guessed correctly about his work?
She quickly turned away. He still needed his bandages changed and she mixed up her herbal poultice with trembling hands. ‘How will you find your way to where you are going? After you have recovered your strength, of course.’
‘I will find some way, Lady Alys, never fear. And I will not burden you with my presence here long at all, I promise. I think I am strong enough to move now, thanks to you.’
She glanced back at him and saw that even sitting there talking to her, holding tight to his secrets, had tired him. His skin was pale again, his eyes dark-shadowed. ‘I vow you are not! You need more rest and good food. Here, sit here and let me look at your bandages, then you must have some of this spiced wine. It does strengthen the blood.’ Alys busied herself with those familiar tasks, the herbs and the bandages, to try to force away one desolate thought—Dunboyton would be even lonelier, even more dull, when he was gone.
He sat down on the stool near the fire and went very still as she eased back the laces of his borrowed shirt and unwound the old dressings. He was warm now, but from the fire and not fever, and his skin was so deliciously golden she longed to touch it, to feel the silken heat of him under her fingers. If she closed her eyes, she could picture exactly what it would be like to do, to breathe in the scent of him, and lean closer and closer until...
Nay! She had to focus on her tasks, not on things that were impossible.
‘Tell me of your days here,’ he said quietly.
Alys smiled. His wound was healing well, no streaks of reddened infection at all. She smoothed on the new poultice, trying not to linger. ‘They are dull indeed, especially compared to what you must have known in your travels. Sometimes, when my father has visitors, I must play hostess to them in the great hall, but that is not often. I go to market in the village, I oversee the laundry and the kitchens, I work in my stillroom...’
‘Where you learned your great knowledge of healing herbs?’
‘My mother taught me. The stillroom is my little sanctuary.’
‘Your sanctuary from what?’
Alys shook her head. ‘I should have not said that. Dunboyton is not so terrible as all that. But sometimes I have to escape the quarrels of the maidservants. They do find an extraordinary number of things to disagree about. Or escape from doing the same things every day. The stillroom is always quiet and it smells lovely...’
‘So that is where you get it.’
She looked up at him, confused, and found him smiling down at her. ‘Get...what?’
‘You smell so lovely, Lady Alys. Like a meadow in the summertime.’ He caught up her loosened strand of hair and lifted it to his nose to smell it. It was as if he inhaled all of her, all she was and knew.
She felt her cheeks turn warm and pulled away. Her hair slid between his fingers. ‘ʼTis lavender and rosewater.’
‘Is that what you are using to heal me, too?’ he said, gesturing to the herbs in her basket.
Alys was most glad of the change of subject. ‘I doubt rosewater would help you, though a rosehip syrup couldn’t hurt. This is feverfew and yarrow, to bring down your fever. And I will give you some valerian for your wine for tonight, to help you sleep and purify your blood.’
He was silent for a moment, studying the dried and powdered herbs as she pointed to them. ‘So when do you read, if you are so busy gathering your herbs and physicking everyone? When you walk here to the abbey?’
‘Sometimes. The abbey is a bit like the stillroom—an escape. It isn’t often we get new books here and I like to savour them with no one to interrupt me.’
‘And what do you read? Poetry? History?’
Alys bit her lip, afraid he would think her rather—unfeminine. ‘Whatever I can find. I read my prayer books, of course, and histories of England. I do love poetry, tales of adventure and romance. When we receive French volumes, they are the best, but that’s a rare treat. And I like reading of courtly life. I want to...’
His head tilted as he studied her. ‘Want to what?’
‘Well, imagine what life is like there, I suppose, at the Queen’s court. What it would be like to meet her, serve her, see people from foreign lands. The fashions, the music. My father often shows me drawings of London and I would like to see it for myself.’
‘Will he send you to court as a Maid of Honour, perhaps?’
Alys thought of all the letters that had come to her father, all the messages refusing to summon him to court because of his Spanish wife. She feared a palace life could never be hers. ‘Perhaps one day.’
‘I am surprised you are not yet married.’
His voice sounded tight when he said the words and she glanced up to see a flash of something like jealousy cross his face. Or perhaps that was her wishful imagining. ‘I have not thought about it. I think I would rather go to court for a time before I must go from managing Dunboyton to another household just like it. I am not so very old as that yet.’ Though it was true many girls younger than she were wed here in Ireland, she had met no one she would even consider as husband.
She feared no man would measure up to Juan now, either. It was a great pity.
He laughed. ‘You are not so old at all, Lady Alys. And I do understand your wishes.’
She thought of all the places he had been, all his adventures. She could not picture him quiet by his own hearth. ‘I am sure you do, or surely you would not have gone on such dangerous travels.’ Or put himself so near death. She shivered at the thought of how close he had come.
‘Royal courts are glittering places indeed,’ he said. ‘But a lady such as you should never stay there long. There can be many dangers there.’
Alys laughed. ‘I told you, Juan—I am no delicate angel. I am sure that, given time and instruction, I could find my way.’
‘I am sure you could do anything you set your mind to, Lady Alys. But I must disagree with one thing. You are most assuredly an angel.’
He reached for her hand, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss as courtly as any she could imagine receiving in a palace. His lips were soft against her skin, and lingered in a sweet caress. Alys leaned closer, drawn to him as she would be to a fire on a cold night, as if his touch was necessary to her very breath. He looked up at her, his eyes so very, very green...
And suddenly something dropped down from the thatched roof above them, something long and horribly shimmering. It landed on Juan’s shoulder and fell to the ground, rearing up to bare sharp, needle-like fangs.
‘A snake!’ Alys cried. How was that possible? She had never even seen a snake at Dunboyton and here was one right at her feet, about to strike. She felt paralysed, staring down at it, as if time had slowed to a terrible crawl.
But it never struck. Juan tossed a dagger at it, quick as flash of lightning and with unerring aim. The blade sank deep in the viper’s neck and it fell to the dirt floor with a hiss.
Juan sucked in a deep breath. ‘You did not warn me I shared my accommodations.’
Alys swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. ‘I—I have never seen such a thing here before. They say St Patrick drove all snakes away from here.’
‘He obviously missed some.’
Alys choked on a laugh, even as she shivered with a sudden fear. Was the snake a terrible sign? A warning?
What evils would befall her, and Dunboyton, if she did not heed it?
* * *
Alys ran up the path towards the gates of Dunboyton, as fast as if even more snakes chased at the hem of her skirts. She was so distracted when she returned to the castle that she didn’t notice the servants and her father’s soldiers hurrying past, didn’t notice the usual clamour and bustle that always surrounded mealtimes. She didn’t notice the wind that cut through her cloak as it swept around the courtyard.
All she could see in her mind was Juan, the tenderness of his touch as he reached for her hair, the sweetness of his kiss on her hand. The fierce, quick strength when he killed the snake. The glow of his beautiful eyes.
At the foot of the stone steps that led to the inner door, she did notice something out of place—a fine grey horse that did not belong to the Dunboyton stable. It stood at attention, the centre of a circle of gaping grooms, its silver-and-green velvet trappings shimmering. It was too fine for anyone Alys knew nearby. Could it be that Bingham or even Fitzwilliam had returned, searching for Juan?
Pushing down her fear, she ran into the house and, after she hid her baskets and cloak in the stillroom, went to find her father in the great hall. She had been worried about him of late, worried about how tired he seemed, but now he was talking with great animation, even a smile, to the man who sat next to him beside the fireplace.
She didn’t know the man, but she could tell at a glance he must be someone of some consequence. He was tall and lean, with the erect bearing of a soldier, his thick iron-grey hair brushed back from austere, hawk-like features. He wore travelling clothes of the finest grey wool and velvet, a cloak of green velvet that matched the horse’s trappings spread before the fire to dry.
‘Oh, Alys, there you are,’ her father called. ‘A guest has just arrived this afternoon.’
Alys made her way forward as their visitor rose and gave her a bow. Standing, he was even taller, more imposing, even while dressed so simply and sombrely. He seemed to notice everything around him in one quick glance with his grey eyes and Alys was suddenly aware of how windblown and flustered she must look. She pushed the loose lock of hair back into its pins and smoothed her red-wool skirts.
‘I am sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, sir,’ she said. ‘I had some tasks in the outbuildings and did not know anyone was expected.’
‘’Tis of no matter, my lady,’ he answered, his tone perfectly civil and soft. ‘I did not expect to stop here on my journey. I have spent a most pleasant hour with Sir William, hearing all about this most intriguing place.’
‘Alys, my dear, this is Sir Matthew Morgan, an agent from the Queen’s court. We knew each other long ago, when I was at Cambridge, and it’s an unexpected pleasure to see him again. Sir Matthew, this is my daughter, Lady Alys.’
The Queen’s agent? Would they send someone like this to track down fleeing Spanish sailors? Alys could think of no other reason he would be there and knew she had to warn Juan. But for now, faced with those sombre grey eyes that seemed to see too much, she had to stay calm and polite. To give nothing away.
‘I am most pleased to meet you, Sir Matthew. My father often speaks so fondly of his days at Cambridge, and to see a new face at Dunboyton is always most welcome, though I fear you will find us much less than “intriguing”. Our days are usually quite dull.’ She gestured to one of the servants to bring more wine, and sat down on the cushioned stool next to her father. Their guest resumed his seat across from them, smiling pleasantly. But Alys could not quite shake away that lingering fear.
‘Not dull in recent days, I fear,’ Sir Matthew said.
‘Unfortunately not,’ her father answered. ‘I much prefer my quiet routine. But Bingham has taken his men off along the coast now, he won’t come back here any time soon. We saw only two ships break up in the bay below our cliffs and he dragged away the few survivors.’
‘Is it Bingham you seek, then, Sir Matthew?’ Alys asked, pouring out the fresh wine.
‘I would like to speak with him, of course,’ Sir Matthew said. ‘He has much to answer for to the Queen. My task now is to make some sense of what has happened here for an account to Her Majesty. She wishes to be sure any valuable survivors are questioned by her own men and kept here in honourable imprisonment until they can be ransomed back to Spain. They say there were many men of the most noble families in Spain and Portugal aboard these ships. England cannot face such an invasion again, but neither can she be seen to be unmerciful.’
Alys bit her lip, thinking of how she had found Juan, ill and injured, freezing in the reeds. And he was the fortunate one. She couldn’t let him be found now.
‘I am afraid we can be of little help to you here, Matthew,’ her father said. ‘Bingham did not linger here long and, as far as I know, he took only one valuable prisoner, a nobleman named Perez. Many were killed and my men could not stop it, I am ashamed to say.’
Sir Matthew took a slow sip of the wine, his austere face completely unreadable. ‘One of the ships that went down near here was called the Concepción, I believe. A valuable galleon of the Biscay Squadron.’
‘Aye, they did say that was one. The other is yet unknown,’ her father said.
‘I would like to question your household, with your permission,’ Sir Matthew said. ‘Many times people witness something of great import and do not even realise it. I must be as thorough as I can in my report, not an easy task after time has gone past.’
‘Of course,’ her father answered, though his expression looked rather reluctant. He had been governor of Dunboyton for many years and Alys knew how protective he was of all his household.
‘I shall not be more than a day or two, William, and will go gently,’ Sir Matthew said.
‘You must stay with us, then,’ Alys said. ‘I will have the maids air the chamber here above the great hall—I fear it is seldom used. There is a sitting room, too, which you can use for your enquiries.’
‘I am most grateful for the hospitality, Lady Alys,’ Sir Matthew said. ‘I have been sleeping in the saddle for too many days now.’
‘Then, over dinner, you must tell me all about the Queen’s court,’ Alys said with a smile. Perhaps she could lure a titbit of information from him, if she was careful. Something that might tell her what he really sought at Dunboyton. ‘I am so eager to hear all about it all! It must be so magical.’
Her father chuckled. ‘Alys is quite obsessed with the latest fashions and dances.’
Sir Matthew smiled indulgently. ‘I fear I am not a dancing man myself, but I will tell you all I can remember from the royal banquets. I have the feeling, though, that ruffs and sleeves are not quite all that interests you, Lady Alys.’
Alys tried to cover her surprise with a quick smile of her own. ‘If you know anything of new embroidery patterns at all...’
He laughed and held out his goblet for more wine. ‘Now there, I would be of no help at all.’
‘Well, your company is welcome none the less, Sir Matthew,’ Alys said and rose to her feet as slowly as she could. She couldn’t go running away now. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall see to your chamber.’
As she made her way out of the great hall, she heard her father say, ‘My poor daughter. It is a lonely life here at Dunboyton. I have been trying to secure a place for her at court for some time.’
‘She would grace it with her presence, she is quite pretty,’ Sir Matthew answered. ‘And with all your services to the Queen, especially of late, there should be no difficulty. Any who have aided in the defeat of the Armada will be rewarded. Perhaps I could be of some help?’
Alys hurried away before she could hear her father’s answer. A bribe of sorts, to find information from her father? Alys did not quite trust Sir Matthew, despite his polite smiles. She had to make her way back to Juan soon and warn him the Queen’s men were here. He deserved the chance to go to them himself and tell them his tale, if her suspicions of his spying activity were correct.
And if she was wrong about him, about everything—she was in too much trouble for even a position at the Queen’s court to fix.
