Lord Will Sheffield watched her from afar during the evening supper.
She was nervous, her shoulders rigid, her gaze flicking about the dining hall like a nervous bird. He could read her easily. She wasn’t adept at hiding her thoughts. That wasn’t a good trait to have in the court of a monarch where espionage and secrets flowed like the honeyed wine being served.
She had information but not enough information. She knew the what but not the who. That protected her some. But there was still Lord Lysle.
Will shifted his attention to Lysle, who was with his mates, Moray and Maitland. Stupid of them to congregate together but they were of a class of people who thought themselves above the law. They believed they could plot and plan a king’s murder behind closed doors then act like the best of friends in public with no one the wiser. And maybe they were correct. Who would imagine that three of the highest ranking nobles in Scotland were discussing death and destruction of such magnitude?
Occasionally Lysle would casually look around the room. Maybe he didn’t yet know the identity of the woman who had left her shawl behind. Then again maybe he did. But his gaze never lingered overlong on the nervous ginger-haired lass.
However, Will’s gaze did linger on that lady. Besides the nervous jitters and the rigid posture, she was fair to look at. Fairer than when he’d seen her stumble through the outside cellar door. Her gown was certainly cleaner. No muddied hem, no melting snow dotting her shoulders and skirts. Her complexion was that of a ginger, pale with a touch of peach. Her hair reminded him of Queen Elizabeth’s, only lighter, with touches of blond and yellow. He liked it. She was slim and short but there was something else about her. Something that set her apart from the others. She didn’t titter and giggle and glance around to see if the eligible men were watching her. Then again, it could be because of her nerves.
Or it could be because that was the way she was. The meal slowly wound down. People began to leave, heading toward Mary’s outer chamber and the salon she was holding that night. Will followed, keeping back, pretending nonchalance while he continued to observe her.
Lysle did the same, his sharp gaze raking the women as they passed. To Will it appeared that Lysle was looking for the owner of the peach shawl, but still wasn’t certain which one she was.
What was her name? It seemed rude to refer to her as the ginger, but for now it would have to do.
He noticed that she was with Emma Howard’s group. That could work to his advantage. He would wait. His opportunity would come if he was patient and didn’t rush it. But he had Lysle to think of as well. He shot another glance at the lord but he was gone, swallowed up by the crowd. Somehow that wasn’t reassuring.
Will was one of the last to enter the outer chambers where the salon was being held. The room was filling up. Groups had started to form, some playing games of chance or cards, others listening to the musicians, while others congregated into tight groups to talk and discuss. About what he wasn’t certain. They all resided in the same palace and saw each other day in and day out. One would think they would tire of each other but that never seemed the case.
He spotted Lady Howard with her entourage of lasses and headed toward her. She was a cool blonde with pale blue eyes that studied, weighed and evaluated. She always chose her words carefully and rarely let her feelings show. She’d been in this court a long time, hence the reason the others flocked to her. She’d become a widow at a young age and had no desire to find another husband, and therefore was not a threat to the other lasses’ bids for a successful marriage.
She appeared bored while the others chattered and flitted about her. Will caught her eye and motioned with a lift of his chin for her to come to him. He wasn’t sure it would work. Emma was her own person.
She came to him but the expression in her eye wasn’t friendly. Will was accustomed to the cool reception. He was a friend of Darnley, and even though Darnley was the king and the husband of Queen Mary, the man wasn’t well liked—and that was putting it in the best terms possible. Being a “friend” of Darnley’s was not an accomplishment to most people.
Emma was a Howard. Her loyalties lay strictly and solely with the queen. Since Rizzio’s murder and the rumors that had circulated afterward that Darnley had somehow been involved, Mary had called the Howards around her as a safety net. The Howards were not, and never had been, friends of Darnley.
Emma tilted her head at him, keeping silent so that he had to begin the conversation.
“You’re looking well, Lady Emma.”
She pursed her lips and her look told him that she wasn’t buying anything he was selling.
“And just what are you about, my lord?”
He grinned. Truly he admired this woman. She’d come from a bad marriage, was widowed a few years into it, was childless and now her own person. She might be the same age in years as the girls that followed her like puppies but in so many other ways she was older than all of them.
“I need a favor.”
She made a noise of disbelief and surprise. “Surely you jest.”
“No jest and this is completely innocent.” He was lying but he was a good liar. Lying didn’t bother him, and so he felt no qualms.
Her head tilted the other way and she pressed her lips together, forcing back a grin of her own. “Nothing you do is innocent.”
He raised a brow. “And what do you know of the things I do?”
“I know you’re Darnley’s man. That’s all I need to know.”
“We were school friends. That is all.” He walked a fine line here at Holyrood Palace. He did not particularly like being referred to as Darnley’s man because he did not like Darnley, but it was the cover that kept him here to do his job. And for once it wasn’t a lie. He and Darnley were boyhood friends, having gone to school together.
“What do you want of me?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
He lifted his chin toward the ginger who was sitting on a bench by herself. “I want to meet her.”
Emma followed his look. “Rose? You want to meet Rose?”
Ah, he finally had a name. Rose.
It was fitting. She seemed a delicate flower.
“Why do you want to meet Rose?” Emma asked.
“Why, my lady. That is rude.” He pretended to be taken aback, and she slapped lightly at his arm.
“The question is fair and the answer will determine my response.”
He found himself looking at the ginger—Rose—closely and in a different way than he had at supper. “Because I admire the color of her hair, and I like that she keeps herself apart from your gaggle of followers. She doesn’t seem silly like them.”
Instead of following his gaze to Rose, Emma looked at him thoughtfully. “That was very poetic,” she said. “I didn’t know you had it in you. You surprise me, my lord.”
Like a schoolboy he felt his face heat in embarrassment. “Will you introduce us?”
She seemed to think about it, her blue eyes narrowing on him. “That depends. What is your motive?”
“To pass the time with a pretty girl.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to no doubt give him some sort of put-down. “Not in that way. I would never do that.”
Her eyes narrowed again. “I have heard stories of you so I don’t believe that.”
“Rose is not that kind of girl,” he said.
“Oh? And how would you know that?”
He shrugged. He just did.
“Rose is…different,” Emma said, looking over at the girl. “She’s quiet and she far prefers the outdoors to other pursuits like landing a husband. She doesn’t flirt and she’s shy.” Emma looked back at him. “I don’t think she’s for you.”
He felt his opportunity slipping away and knew he had to convince her quickly before he lost his chance.
“Don’t you think that’s for me to decide? And Rose?” It seemed wrong to call her by her first name so soon but he didn’t know her last name yet.
“What I think is that I had better keep my eye on you. Rose doesn’t have anyone to defend her.”
He mock shuddered. “The thought of you defending her frightens me.”
She laughed, and he began to relax.
“You have my word, Emma. My intentions are honorable.”
She slanted him a disbelieving look. “Your idea of honorable and mine are vastly different, Will.”
“In this I think they are the same.” He was telling the truth now. All he wanted was to make sure Rose was safe and that Lysle never realized she was the one missing the shawl.
Emma huffed out a breath, and it was then that he knew he’d persevered. But had not necessarily won.
“Follow me,” she said in resignation.
Will clamped down on his smile of victory and followed Emma to where Rose was sitting by the window, watching everyone closely, her gaze flitting about, her shoulders still tense. If Emma noticed, she didn’t comment.
“Rose, dear, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Rose’s head jerked up and panic flashed in her eyes for a small moment before she banked it down and stood gracefully. Will’s first assessment had been correct. She was short and her hair seemed to be redder and blonder up close.
She looked up at him with light green eyes the color of spring grass. The panic was no longer present in them, and her expression was placid. Only he knew the cause of the turmoil churning inside of her.
“My lord, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Rose Turner. Rose, this is Lord William Sheffield. Lord Sheffield comes to us from England and is a friend of Lord Darnley.”
“Acquaintance of Lord Darnley,” Will interjected quickly. “We went to school together, and I thought I would visit while I was passing through Edinburgh,” Will said. For some reason it was important that she know the distinction.
Rose stared up at him with barely a flicker of an eye. The tension and nervousness at supper were gone, and he had to wonder where she’d learned to hide her feelings so well.
“It’s pleased I am to meet you, Lord Sheffield,” Rose said. Her accent was more English than Scottish, telling him that she lived closer to England. Possibly she was from a border clan although that seemed improbable since Mary had been having problems with the border clans of late and probably wouldn’t be keen on inviting one of them to court.
Turner. He tried to remember if he had heard Darnley speak of trouble with any Turners but could not recall.
He sketched a short bow. “The pleasure is mine, my lady.”
She waved a small hand in the air. “You may call me Miss Turner.”
Interesting. She was not even of the peerage which would make it quite impossible for her to find a good match at court as most men were looking for ladies with noble blood.
Emma stubbornly remained by his side, and he shot her an annoyed look that she ignored.
“So you are Darnley’s man?” Rose asked.
“We went to school together,” he repeated, making it sound like they were barely acquaintances.
She nodded absently, her gaze going to the crowd behind him.
After a slight pause Will said, “Would you like to take a stroll around the room?”
Rose jerked her gaze back to him, hesitated, then nodded. He offered her his arm and they set off, leaving Emma behind.
“Lady Emma said you’re from England?” Rose asked, her attention directed to the men they passed and her tone distracted.
He found that he wanted all her attention, not just half of it, and it perturbed him that he thought this way.
“And you’re from a border clan?” he asked in return.
She jerked, then smiled. “Is it that obvious?”
He shrugged. “Maybe not to some, but I can tell by your speech. You don’t have the heavy brogue of a Highlander so I surmised that you are a Lowlander. And…” Here he hesitated, not wanting to offend.
“And I don’t have the title of lady so I must be from the border clans,” she finished for him with a bright smile that drew him in. Her tone indicated that she was proud of her heritage and that it did not matter to her that she lacked the title of “lady.” She was entirely intriguing and completely foreign to him.
“Not only am I from a border clan,” she continued brightly, “I’m from the notorious Turner clan.”
Ah, such pride in her voice.
“Not too notorious,” he said. “I haven’t heard of you.”
“Then you must be living under a rock. We’re a pain in the queen’s side, not to mention Bothwell’s too.”
Bothwell was captain of Queen Mary’s guard, tasked with controlling the pesky border clans who were disgracefully rowdy and uncontrollable with their reiving and thieving on both sides of the border.
“And yet you are at court,” Will said, interested to know how a border lass made it to the queen’s court. He was beginning to think it was her charming personality.
“My mother was in the queen’s mother’s court, and it has been her wish since the moment I was born for me to serve in Mary’s court. She also said I was too wild with five brothers and no sisters.”
“Wild?” My, this was becoming more and more interesting.
“Very wild.”
“You hide it well.”
They were halfway around the perimeter of the room. It was a small chamber but tonight there were many people. Mary had not made an appearance but that was not unusual. Just nine months ago her most trusted advisor, David Rizzio, had been killed in this very room by a handful of Mary’s closest nobles. Since then the queen’s health had not been the best.
Will stopped Rose in front of an open window. It was December and snow was blowing outside but the room was stuffy from the press of so many bodies, and the cold breeze was a welcome relief.
Rose turned toward the window and sniffed at the air. “Ah,” she said. “Fresh air.”
“Do you prefer the outdoors?” He recalled her stepping through the secret door, snow swirling around her full skirts and dotting the cloak about her shoulders. Her cheeks had been pink and her nose red but she hadn’t seemed to mind in the least.
“I much prefer the outdoors,” she admitted. “It’s where I spent most of my childhood.”
The breeze brought to him a spicy, unique scent of lavender, roses and vanilla, and he realized with a jolt that the tantalizing fragrance came from Rose herself.
And just as that thought hit him, Lysle started making his way toward them.