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Celia glanced at the Queen in surprise. Elizabeth so seldom spoke of the difficult past. Why would she now, and to Celia of all people? “Your Grace?”
“I know how you must feel, Mistress Sutton. We are alike in some ways, I think. And that is why I sense that I can ask a great favour of you.”
Ask? Or demand? “I will do anything I can to serve Your Grace, of course.”
Elizabeth tapped at the papers again. “You have heard the recent rumours surrounding my cousin Queen Mary, I am sure. She always seems of such acute interest to my courtiers.”
“I—well, aye, Your Grace. I sometimes hear tales of Queen Mary. Is there a specific rumour you refer to?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, yes, there are many. But I refer to the fact that she intends to marry again. They say she has hopes of a union equal to her first with the King of France. I hear she has her sights set on Don Carlos of Spain—King Phillip’s son.”
“I have heard such rumours as well, Your Grace,” Celia said. She had also heard Don Carlos was a violent lunatic, but even a reputed great beauty like Queen Mary seemed willing to overlook that for the chance to be Queen of Spain.
Elizabeth suddenly slammed her fist down on the desk, sending an inkwell clattering to the floor. “That cannot be! My cousin cannot make such a powerful alliance. She is menace enough as it is. I have suggested she should marry an English nobleman. I must have someone I can trust in her Court.”
“Your Grace?” Celia said in confusion. How could she assist in such a task?
Elizabeth lowered her voice to a whisper. “I have a plan, you see, Mistress Sutton. But I will need help to see it carried off.”
“How can I help, Your Grace? I know of no candidates for Queen Mary’s hand.”
“Oh, I will take care of that, Mistress Sutton. I have the perfect candidate in mind—someone I can trust completely. I cannot say who just yet, but I promise you will know all you need to soon.” The Queen sat back in her chair and reached for one of the papers on her desk. “In the meantime my cousin, the Countess of Lennox, who is Mary’s cousin as well, petitions for her son Lord Darnley to be given a passport to visit his father who is now resident in Edinburgh.”
Celia nodded. She knew well of the Countess’s petition, as Lady Lennox had made certain indiscreet confidences to her in the last few days. Lady Lennox hoped that once Queen Mary met Lord Darnley, who was tall, blond and angelically handsome, she would marry him and make him King of Scotland. His own royal lineage would strengthen Mary’s claim to be Elizabeth’s heir.
Celia was not so sure such a plan could work, hinging as it did on Lord Darnley. Even she could see, from her brief time at Court, that he was a drunken braggart under his pretty exterior, and rather too fond of men.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said.
“It appears Lady Lennox has made a friend of you in these last few days.”
“Lady Lennox has been welcoming to me. But she tells me little except that she misses her husband.”
“I have been reluctant to let Lord Darnley travel north,” Elizabeth said. “He seems the sort it is best to keep an eye on. But Lord Burghley counsels, and I concur, that we should allow him this passport now. He will depart for Scotland in a week’s time.”
“So soon, Your Grace?” Celia was surprised anyone could travel now. It was the coldest winter anyone could remember, with the Thames frozen through. Sensible people stayed home by their fires.
“I think time is imperative in this matter,” the Queen said. “And Lord Darnley seems eager to go. I wish for you, Mistress Sutton, to be one of the travel party.”
Celia tried not to gape at the Queen like a country lackwit. She had no idea what to say or even how to calm her jumbled thoughts. She—go to Scotland? “I fear I do not quite understand how I could help you in Edinburgh, Your Grace.”
Elizabeth gave an impatient sigh. “You will serve Queen Mary as a lady-in-waiting—a gift from me. I need a lady’s close eye on matters there, Mistress Sutton. Men are all very well for certain things, of course, and Burghley will have his spies in the party. But a woman sees things men are blind to—especially when it comes to other women. I need to know Mary’s true thoughts concerning her possible marriage. And I need to know if she is … persuadable in that regard.”
“And you believe I can do that?” Celia said carefully.
Elizabeth laughed. “I am sure you can. I have been watching you these last few days, Mistress Sutton, and I see how you notice everything around you. How you observe and listen. I need someone like that. Not a preening Court peacock who sees nothing but the cut of their own coat. It is vital that I know everything my cousin does right now. The security of our northern borders depends on her marital choice.”
Celia nodded. She knew how unpredictable the Scottish Queen could be. Everyone knew that. And Celia did watch and listen; it was the only way for a woman alone to survive. She also knew how limited her own choices were. With no money or estate of her own, and no husband or family to lean on, she was dependent on the Queen’s favour.
Better that than the cold charity of her in-laws.
“You would be rewarded for your efforts, of course,” the Queen said. “As soon as Queen Mary’s marriage is settled satisfactorily and you have returned to our Court you shall have a marriage of your own. The finest I can arrange, I promise you, Mistress Sutton. And then you will be settled for life.”
Celia would rather have an estate of her own than another husband. In her experience husbands were useless things. But for now she would take what the Queen offered—and renegotiate later.
“What would be a—a satisfactory settlement?” she asked.
Elizabeth smiled and slid a folded letter from under the ledger on her desk to give to Celia. “This will tell you all you need to know, Mistress Sutton. I intend to propose my own marital candidate to Mary. When you have messages to send to me, you may give them to my own trusted contact and he will see they reach me quickly.”
Celia tucked the letter into her velvet sleeve. “Contact, Your Grace?”
“Aye. You can meet him now.” Elizabeth gestured to the major-domo, who bowed and disappeared through a door tucked into the panelling. He returned in only a moment, followed by a tall, lean man clad in fashionable black and tawny velvet and satin.
John Brandon. It was him she had seen before. He was no illusion. Celia half rose at the sight of him, and then fell back onto her stool. She felt cold all over again.
His eyes—those bright sky-blue eyes she had once loved so much—widened when they glimpsed her. For a fleeting instant she saw a flare of emotion in their depths. A hint of a smile touched his lips. But a veil quickly fell over those eyes, and she could read nothing there but fashionable boredom. He gave no signs of recognising her at all.
“Ah, Sir John, there you are,” Queen Elizabeth said. She waved him forward, holding out her hand for him to bow over. He gave her an elaborate salute and a flirtatious grin that made her laugh.
“Your Grace outshines the sun itself,” he said. “Even in the midst of the winter you send us warmth and light.”
“Flatterer,” the Queen said, laughing even harder.
Celia remembered that smile all too well, and how it also had made her laugh and blush whenever he turned it in her direction. Back then it had been half hidden in a close-cropped beard. Now he was clean-shaven, the sharp, elegant angles of his chiselled face revealed and the full force of that smile unleashed.
From the corner of her eye Celia saw some of the young ladies-in-waiting sigh and giggle. Yes, she remembered very well that feeling—that sense of melting under the heat of his smile. But that had been long ago, and she had learned the painful consequences of falling under John Brandon’s spell.
“Sir John, this is Mistress Celia Sutton, who will also be journeying to Scotland,” Queen Elizabeth said. She lowered her voice to whisper confidentially, “She will give you any messages to be dispatched directly to me. You must see that she stays safe in Edinburgh.”
A frown flickered over John’s face, as if he was not happy with the task. But he could not be any less happy than Celia. Her heart sank in appalled confusion. She would have to travel with him? Confide in him?
She had the wild impulse to leap from her seat, cry out that she refused the Queen’s task and run from the room. But she forced herself to stay where she was, biting her lip until she tasted blood to keep from shouting. She could not refuse the Queen. There was nowhere for her to run.
John’s frown vanished as quickly as Celia had glimpsed it. He bowed again and said, “I am Your Grace’s servant in all things,” he said.
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair with a smug little cat’s smile. “Come now, Sir John. This is surely far from the most onerous task I have asked of you. Mistress Sutton is quite pretty, is she not? I’m sure spending time with her will not be so difficult on your long journey.”
Celia froze at the Queen’s teasing words. John’s glance flickered over her with not much interest. “I fear that when Your Grace is near I can see nothing else,” he said.
Elizabeth laughed. “Nevertheless, I expect the two of you will work together very well. Your mother was Scottish, was she not, Sir John?”
A muscle tightened along John’s jaw. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“She even lived at the Court of Queen Mary’s mother, when Marie of Guise was Regent, I believe?” Elizabeth said carelessly, as if those years when the English and Scottish armies under Queen Marie de Guise had been at bitter war was a mere trifle. “So you should be able to assist Mistress Sutton in learning the ways of the Scottish Court. Perhaps you will even rediscover your own family there.”
“I have no family but that of England, Your Grace,” he said tightly.
Elizabeth waved this away and said, “You may both leave us now. You will have a great many tasks to prepare for your journey, and I must finish these petitions before tonight’s banquet.”
Celia rose slowly from her stool and curtsied, her legs trembling and unsteady. She still could not quite believe all that happened in this strange short meeting. Her worries of having no home or income had been whisked away, only to be replaced by the sudden reappearance of John Brandon and a journey to Scotland to spy on Queen Mary. Her head spun with it all.
She would have laughed if it was not so coldly serious.
John bowed to the Queen, and the major-domo came forward again to lead them away. He took them not to the crowded presence chamber but through a hidden door into a small, dimly lit closet. After the brightness of the privy chamber Celia could see nothing but the shadow of heavy tapestries on dark wood walls.
She rubbed her hand over her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked again the servant was gone—and she was alone with John.
He watched her closely, his lean, muscled shoulders tense and his handsome face wiped of all expression.
“Hello, Celia,” he said quietly. “It has been a long time, has it not?”
Chapter Two (#ulink_27b63791-7bc2-5888-b2ec-e37dbfb6e63a)
Celia stared up at John in the shadows of the closet. The faint, hazy bars of light fell over his face, and she saw that the years had changed him just as they had her. He was leaner, harder, his eyes a wintry, icy blue as they studied her warily.
Once she had thought those eyes as warm as a summer sky, melting her heart, piercing all her defences. But now her heart was a stone, a heavy weight within her that was numb to all feeling. It was better this way. Feelings were deceptive, treacherous. Never to be trusted.
Especially when it came to this man.
Celia stepped back until she felt the hard wood panelling of the wall against her shoulders. He didn’t move, yet his eyes never wavered from her face and it felt as if he followed her. It felt as if he pressed up against her in that dim, quiet light, his hard, hot body touching her as it once had. Demanding a response from her.
She twisted her hands into her skirts, struggling not to look away from him. Not to show her weakness.
“Aye, it has been a long while,” she said, once she finally found her voice again.
The last time she’d seen him he had been kissing her beneath that tree, their secret meeting place. His body had held her against the rough wood of the trunk, just as she braced herself to the wall now. He had kissed her, his mouth and tongue claiming hers, demanding she give him all her response as he dragged her skirt up, baring her to his touch. There had been such a wild desperation between them that day, a need such as she had never known. He had made her dream of a romantic, glorious future with him.
And the next day he was gone. Vanished without a word.
“Yet not nearly long enough,” she said coldly. “I thought never to see you again.”
His glance swept down over her again, taking in her austere gown, her ringless fingers, the tight, smooth twist of her hair. For an instant another image flashed in her mind. John taking her hair down, freeing it from its pins and running his hands through its heavy length. Calling it a fairy queen’s hair as he buried his face in it …
Those all-seeing blue eyes focused on her face again, narrowing as he watched her closely, as if seeking her thoughts. Once she had gifted him with all she was, given herself to him in every way.
She hoped she was no longer such a fool. She looked back at him with a steady, cool daring. Let him try to read her, play her again. The besotted, silly, giddy Celia he’d once known was gone. John had killed her—with the able assistance of her wretched husband and foolish brother.
“I’ve thought of you, Celia,” he said.
She quickly scrambled to cover her surprise at his words. He had thought of her? Surely not. Unless it had been to chuckle at her naivety. The country girl who had fallen so easily for his charm, his dalliance to pass the time of rural exile.
Celia laughed. “I would have thought Court life would be far too busy for any idle nostalgia, John. So many tournaments to win, ladies to woo. I’m sure every moment is filled for a man of your … assets.”
She let her gaze drift down over his body—the long, lean line of his legs in his tall leather boots, the snake-like hips and powerful shoulders. The years had not softened him one bit.
Her stare slid over the bulge in his breeches and she had to turn away. She remembered that part of him all too well … hot velvet over steel, sliding against her, inside of her.
“Aye,” she said tightly. “You must be busy indeed.”
Something seemed to crack in his iron control then. As fast as the strike of a hawk diving for its prey he seized her arms in his hard hands and held her against the wall. Those blue eyes she had thought so icy burned down at her in a white-hot blaze.
Celia could feel her own carefully built walls slipping and she struggled to hold onto them. Nay, this could not be happening! Five minutes in John’s presence could not be destroying all she had built up to protect herself. She twisted away from him but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Let me go!” she cried. His hands just tightened, holding her between the wall and his body. The heat of him, the vital, fiery life that had always been a part of him, wrapped around her like velvety unbreakable bonds. She remembered the tenderness, the need she had once felt with him.
“What has happened to you, Celia?” he said roughly.
“What do you mean?” she gasped.
She went very still and stared at the hard angle of his jaw above the high collar of his doublet. A muscle flexed there and his lips were pressed in an angry line. She imagined twisting her hands in that collar, tighter and tighter, until he let her go. Until she could hurt him as he had once hurt her.
“You look like the Celia I remember,” he said. One hand slid slowly down her arm, rubbing her velvet sleeve over her skin until he touched her bare wrist. Something flared in his eyes as he felt the leap of her pulse, and he twined his fingers with hers.
Celia was too frozen to pull away. She felt like the hawk’s prey in truth, mesmerised as he swooped closer and closer.
“You’re even more beautiful than you were then,” he said, his voice softer and deeper. “But your eyes are hard.”
Celia jerked in his arms. “You mean I am not a foolish, gullible girl who can be lured by a man’s pretty words? I have learned my lesson well since we last met, John, and I’m grateful for it.”
He raised the hand he held to study her fingers. The pale skin and neat buffed nails. His thumb brushed over her bare ring finger. Celia tried to twist out of his caress, but despite his deceptive gentleness he held her fast.
“You aren’t married?” he asked.
“Not any longer,” she answered with a bitter laugh. “Thanks to God’s mercy. And I intend never to be again.”
He raised her hand, and to her shock pressed his mouth to the hollow of her palm. His lips were parted, and she could feel the moist heat of him moving slowly over her skin. It made her legs tremble, her whole treacherous body go weak, and she braced herself tighter against the wall.
That weakness, that rush of need she had thought she was finished with, made her angry. She made herself go stiff and unyielding, building her defensive walls up again stone by hard-won stone.
“I may have changed, John, but you certainly have not,” she said coldly. “You still take what you want with no thought for anyone else. A conquering warrior who discards whatever no longer amuses you.”
His mouth froze on her skin. Slowly he raised his head and his stare met hers. She almost gasped at the raw, elemental fury she saw in those depths. The blue had turned almost black, like the power of a summer storm.
“You know nothing of me,” he whispered, and it was all the more forceful for its softness. “Nothing of what I have had to do in my life.”
I know you left me! her mind cried out. Left her to the cruel hands of her husband, to a life where she had nowhere to turn for sanctuary. She bit down on her lip to keep from shouting the words aloud.
“I know I do not want to work with you on the Queen’s business,” she said.
“No more than I want to work with you,” he answered. With one more hard glance down her body, he abruptly let her go and spun away from her. His back and shoulders were rigid as he raked his hands through his hair. “But the Queen has commanded it. Would you go against her orders?”
Celia braced her palms against the wall, trying to still the primitive urge to smooth the light brown waves of his hair where he had tousled them. “Of course I would not go against the Queen.”
“Then to Edinburgh we go,” he said.
He heaved in a deep breath, and Celia could practically see his armour lowered back into place. He shot her a humourless smile over his shoulder.
“I shall see you at the ball tonight, Celia.”
