‘Yorkshire?’ Jack looked back at the two as they receded into the crowds of the courtyard. ‘But that’s in the north.’
Jack stumbled forward when Wodecock slapped his head. Jack rubbed the spot and scowled.
‘It’s Yorkshire. Aye, it’s just as incomprehensible as Scot, but it isn’t the same. You’ve made a fool of yourself and almost made a fool of me, too. What have you to say for yourself?’
‘Well … I …’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I did make a mistake, master. It’s easy enough to do.’
‘Only for a sack of turnips like you.’ He brushed off his hands. ‘Go back to your hidey-hole, boy. Before they catch you.’ He gave Jack a parting glare before he stalked across the courtyard back toward the Great Hall’s entrance.
Jack looked back toward the guard and the lord and cursed. ‘How am I supposed to know the difference?’ he muttered. ‘North is north, to me.’ But as Master Wodecock receded, another idea rose up in his mind, and he found himself trotting after the hefty steward.
‘That had better not be Jack Tucker on my heels,’ he growled, not turning round.
‘Er … it is, good master.’
The steward dug into the courtyard with heavier steps, head lowered. ‘Are you mad? Go away!’
‘But master! There is another man I must find. The Keeper of the Jewels. And I—’
Wodecock came to an abrupt halt, muttering murderously, until he spun and faced Jack. ‘You will not be stealing into his chamber or any other. You will go back to your place of securement or, by God and St George, I will shout out right now in this courtyard who you are and that you are a thief. And then you’ll see how quickly the king’s guards can dispatch you.’
Jack swallowed. ‘A little charity goes a long way, Master Wodecock,’ he murmured.
Wodecock took a deep breath in order to call out, but Jack lurched forward and covered the man’s mouth with his hands.
‘Peace, good master! All right! I surrender to your good counsel … such as it is.’ He huffed a sigh and released him. No wonder my master is so sour all the time. ‘I’ll go. Thank you for your help and guidance.’ He bowed.
‘Next time, boy, stay the hell out of Westminster. It’ll be healthier for you and your master.’ He gave Jack no further acknowledgement but instead trod forth as fast as he could away from him and up the steps to the Great Hall.
Alone again in the courtyard, Jack watched him disappear into the shadows of the archway and took one last longing glance at the Great Gate. Farewell freedom, he sighed and, making certain his cloak covered his coat, he trudged back toward the entrance of the hall and wearily climbed the steps.
What was he to do now? How could he possibly help the queen when he couldn’t help himself? Yet was he to go to her and tell her that he had failed before he even tried?
He thought he had learned enough as the apprentice to the Tracker, foolishly assuming that he might be ready to do it on his own, but he found himself woefully inadequate to the task. He began to worry that he would never fully master it. Didn’t Master Crispin have the advantage of him after all, with his being born into his nobility? His master knew how to talk to all kinds of people whereas Jack did not, could not, by virtue of his place in life. Who would talk to the likes of him? He’d be brushed off like so much dirt. How was he ever to accomplish it?
He moved across the Great Hall, going unnoticed by the many courtiers and hangers-on, servants and tradesmen. He glanced up into the rafters and trailed his hand along a pillar. Wasn’t Master Crispin sneered at and berated for being a traitor – a word Jack would never dare utter in his presence? But it was true. He had committed treason and paid the price for it every day. He seemed to be disdained and disregarded as much as Jack was, yet he accepted it with aplomb. ‘That’s breeding,’ he decided, something he lacked. Would he ever be good enough? Was Master Crispin’s trust misplaced?
Jack took his morose thoughts through the corridors and almost failed to notice Lady Margaret when she stopped before him. He bowed to her and she giggled, offering him a rounded cheek and a grin. ‘Master Goat! I was hoping to find you.’
‘Lady Margaret. Alas. I was on my mission for your lady and I am afraid I have failed.’
‘Failed? Oh no, you mustn’t say that.’ She brushed her fingers along his arm and he was cheered momentarily by the gentle touch.
‘I am afraid it is true.’
‘And I must confess the same, for the king’s guards turned up no Scotsmen. Only a man from Yorkshire. Imagine making that mistake.’
‘Heh. Aye, imagine it.’
Jack eyed the very public place they were standing, and gently took her hand to lead her to a more private area behind a pillar. ‘Has she … has the queen confided in you in the matter?’
‘I understand the gist of it now.’ She glanced down at their joined hands, for Jack had forgotten to let it go.
He hastily tried to snatch his hand away with a muttered apology on his lips, but Margaret held it fast.
‘There’s no need. There is comfort in your hand. And … such a strong hand it is.’
‘Oh.’ Jack felt himself blush down to his toes. Lady Margaret was the very image of pink and modest virginity. Yet there was mischief in her eye as well, especially when she fluttered her lashes in that manner. ‘Well, a man must be strong. To protect the women.’
‘And do you have a woman, Master Goat? Many, I’ll wager.’
His cheeks felt even hotter. ‘Well now. I am a man of responsibilities. I haven’t the time to while away my days on trivialities.’
‘Trivialities?’ She feigned offense and took back her hand. ‘And so! A woman is nothing but trivial to you?’
‘The playing of coy games, demoiselle, is what I meant. But I am an honest lad. And when I give my heart, it is for keeping.’
She gasped, forming her lips into an inviting ‘O.’ ‘Bless me,’ she said softly, moving closer. ‘Such a … charming thing to say.’
‘Aye. Well.’ He shuffled. He would like the sentiment to be true, and one day it would be. But for now … He leaned in with the objective of capturing those soft lips and Margaret seemed intent on letting him, when she suddenly pulled back.
‘You are wicked, Master Goat. You bewitch me.’
‘Not as much as you bewitch me,’ he said breathlessly.
‘Oh, but my lady is sore afraid. We must keep our minds on that.’
‘Our minds. Aye.’ Jack straightened his coat and blew out a breath. ‘So … Let me think this through. Queen Anne was in the church with all the rest.’
‘And I was there beside her.’
‘Aye. And she said that in all the confusion, you got pushed back.’
‘I shall never forgive myself.’
‘But I was there, too. There was the loud report, smoke, and much confusion. One could not be certain if there wasn’t a fire. Many tried to flee.’
She shook out her veil, letting the soft material flutter over her shoulder, revealing a creamy, slender neck. ‘You were there?’
‘Er … aye. In the back.’
‘Intriguing,’ she said. A smile crept onto her face once more.
She was far too beguiling for his thought processes. ‘Well then … her grace told me of those that were sitting with her. Oh! Perhaps you can help see me to the Keeper of the Jewels’ chamber.’ Lady Margaret might be a far better distraction than the beefy steward.
‘The Keeper of the Jewels? Why him?’
He sidled closer. ‘Know you that the queen has lost a valuable brooch?’
‘Yes. But though he sat with us, he was nowhere near my lady.’
He scratched his head, frowning. ‘But her grace told me that she was seated near the Keeper of the Jewels and that she was ushered forth by a guard who told her – in a northern dialect – that she was to come with him …’
‘Yes, the Keeper was near us but that is not what happened.’
He stared at her anew. ‘Eh?’
‘I clearly recall. I had been shoved back by one of those gallant men scrambling to get themselves to safety,’ she said with a sneer. ‘But it wasn’t the king’s guard who spoke to her. It was the monk that was sitting beside my lady, he was the one who took her arm and told her to follow him. The monk with the northern brogue.’
‘The monk?’
‘Yes.’
Jack blinked. ‘Do you know the name of this monk?’
‘Of course. I remember it well because it was the same as the saint of Scotland. Andrew.’