A knock on the door had both Rose and Margaret pausing. Two frightened gazes clashed. Rose was certain that Margaret was thinking the same as her.
Darnley has come for me.
If a king summons then you must go.
Margaret’s hand slowly moved toward the fire poker she’d placed at her knees and her fingers curled around the handle. “You can’t hit the king with a poker,” Rose whispered.
“Who says?” Margaret whispered back.
“Margaret…”
But Margaret was already on her feet and heading toward the door, poker pressed to her side.
Rose’s mind was whirling. Maybe it was Alice, their maid. But no, Alice would have stuck her head in by now, or just walked right in as she sometimes did.
Margaret stood to the side of the door, her knuckles white where she held the poker tightly. Rose swallowed. She couldn’t allow Margaret to do harm to the king. She should stop her. Yet Rose was stuck to her chair, panic making it impossible to move.
Margaret eased the door open a crack and Rose craned her neck, trying to see who was on the other side.
The poker dipped toward the floor, no longer in a defensive position, and Margaret opened the door wider.
Emma Howard slid in and Margaret closed the door with a solid click.
Emma’s concerned gaze immediately went to Rose. “I saw you leave the library and you did not look well,” she said. “I said something to you but you must not have heard me.”
Rose stood on shaking legs, pleased that Emma had thought of her but not wanting anyone else to know of her predicament. “I’m well. I apologize that I didn’t hear you.”
Emma looked her over critically. “Really, Rose. I’m more astute than that.” She looked pointedly at the poker still clutched in Margaret’s hand. “What is happening here, lasses?”
Rose and Margaret looked at each other. With a huff Emma moved toward the fire and dropped to the ground, her fine skirts billowing out around her to settle into the rushes. Emma seemed not to care one whit about her gown, but she did seem determined to hear the story.
“Emma…” Rose’s voice trailed off.
“Lord Darnley has taken a fancy to our Rose,” Margaret said in her no-nonsense way as she put the poker back in its place on the hearth.
“Margaret, please,” Rose said weakly, embarrassed. Emma was close to the queen. She shouldn’t be hearing any of this.
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Was he in the library with you?” she asked.
Rose nodded miserably.
“And did he take liberties with you?”
Rose looked away and bit her bottom lip. One had to be very, very careful about what one said in the palace, especially about the king and queen. Anything could be reported back to them. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Emma, it was that she didn’t want to put Emma in a moral predicament.
Emma leaned forward to place a hand on Rose’s knee. “Your secrets are safe with me. I promise you, Rose.”
Tears built in her eyes again, and she angrily swiped them away. She hated Lord Darnley. Hated him with a ferocity that she’d never felt for anyone before and it frightened her.
“My husband,” Emma began, “was not a nice man. For a long while I thought his treatment of me was my fault. I didn’t do enough for him. I wasn’t the wife he had hoped. If I just tried harder then he would like me and he would…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “It took me a long time to realize that his actions were not my fault. There was something wrong with him, something internal that maybe even he couldn’t control. But his actions were not my fault.”
Rose was staring down at her fingers clutched in her lap. She’d known that Emma had come from an unhappy marriage but she had never spoken so openly of it before.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, Rose,” Emma said. “It’s not your fault that Darnley has cast his eye toward you.”
“Surely, I’ve done something,” Rose whispered. “Something to attract his unwanted attention.”
“You’re beautiful but that is not your fault and nothing you should be ashamed about,” Emma said. “Darnley is…” She seemed to search for her words. “Darnley has yet to learn to control his urges.”
“He’s very angry at me.”
“He’s not accustomed to being denied and you have denied him. He will cast his gaze elsewhere once he realizes that his pursuits are fruitless.”
Rose looked at Emma and at Margaret who was sitting a bit behind and to the left of Emma, watching Rose with worried eyes.
“Why does it even have to be that way?” Rose asked, her anger churning in her stomach, making her sick and fearful. “I should be grateful that his attentions have shifted to another innocent woman? I should turn a blind eye and thank God that he no longer finds me attractive and wipe my hands of the matter? How can I live with myself knowing that another lass is suffering the same fate I suffered? And what if he doesn’t stop? What if he keeps coming for me? What if he never gives up? Must I live my life in fear of him?”
Emma pressed her lips together and Margaret looked down at the rushes. Neither woman had an answer because there was no answer. If Darnley tired of her then another lass was doomed. If he didn’t tire of her, eventually he would get his way, either by force or because he wore Rose down and she just wanted to be rid of him.
Neither scenario was ideal.
“He’s a bastard,” Rose hissed, saying what all three of them were thinking but were too afraid to voice.
“Shhhh.” Margaret looked around wildly as if the king’s spies were lurking in every corner and behind every piece of furniture. And who knows, maybe they were.
“It’s true,” Rose said, turning on Margaret. “We’re all thinking it.”
“But we cannot say it,” Emma said calmly. “He is still the king, regardless of his deplorable actions, and to speak thusly about him could be considered treason.”
Rose slumped back in her chair. “And now you see my predicament. Because I am not of an important family I must tolerate his advances. Eventually he will take full advantage of me.” She looked from Margaret to Emma but neither woman would look at her.
“Then you must not be alone again,” Emma said. “Ever.”
“And you two will be my guards?” Rose asked bitterly. “I cannot ask that of you. You have your lives to lead. You cannot be my nannies forever.”
She thought of that secret room in the cellar, of the men plotting the king’s death and fervently wished that they would carry out their diabolical plan soon.
Will had to be certain that he kept his expression neutral. He couldn’t let Darnley know that he found the man’s words about Rose despicable.
“I didn’t get a good look at her,” Will said. “But I’m not attracted to gingers.”
Darnley laughed. “Her hair is like fire and I’m anxious to see if it matches what’s down below.”
Will had to rein in the anger that rose swiftly. Darnley was intentionally being crude because he was angry that Mary was denying him. He wanted to take his anger out on someone and since that someone couldn’t be Mary he chose Rose—another woman who had denied him.
“She’s rebuffed me twice.” Darnley was pacing again, becoming more agitated. “Mark my words, Sheffield, I’m deuced tired of women telling me no. Mary I can do nothing about it, damn her hide, but the ginger chit cannot deny me for long.”
Will gave a passing thought to encouraging Darnley to leave Scotland like he was threatening to do. But if Mary discovered that Will had pushed Darnley in that direction her cold acceptance of him would come to an end and he would have to leave Scotland and return to England without completing his mission.
He’d never not completed a mission.
But damnation, he really wanted Darnley to disappear.
For a moment he thought of Moray and Maitland’s plan to do just that and for a longer moment he considered it a good idea.
“Unwilling women are not to my liking,” he said, trying to appear bored with the conversation.
“Then you have not sampled them enough, my friend. They can be quite feisty.”
Will’s stomach churned. Tristan had said that there were casualties in every mission but more and more he was not willing to allow Rose to be that casualty.
“There are plenty of feisty women in Edinburgh if you know where to look,” Will said, feeling a pang of guilt for throwing an unsuspecting wench in Darnley’s path, but the thought of diverting Darnley’s attention away from Rose appeased him greatly.
Darnley appeared interested for a moment. “As king I must be discreet.”
Will just barely stopped himself from choking on his wine. “Discreet” was not a word that anyone would associate with Darnley. He was the most indiscreet man Will had met, and it was one of the things that irritated Mary the most.
Darnley slumped into a nearby chair and ran a hand down his face. “What am I to do, Sheffield?”
Lately Darnley’s moods were mercurial, and Will had given up any hope of trying to follow the convoluted and disconnected conversations. He was just happy that Darnley’s mind was off Rose for the moment although he had no hope that it would not return to her eventually.
“I suggest not going abroad now,” Will said.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Darnley pounded the arm of the chair with a closed fist. “Why should I care that my departure embarrasses her? It’s not as if she hasn’t embarrassed me.”
Ah, yes. It always came back to Darnley. Everything was always about Darnley. Never mind that his very existence embarrassed Mary.
“She does not allow me to take part in affairs of state. She’s turned all of my friends against me. Except you, of course. She does not want me to be seen. I have nothing to occupy my time. Who can blame me if a beautiful girl turns my head? It’s not as if the queen allows me in her bed any longer.”
So they were back to Rose.
“Appearances must be kept,” Will murmured.
“To hell with appearances,” Darnley shouted. “To hell with it all. Scotland, Mary—the bitch, the monarchy. I’m nothing but a stud horse to her. She has no respect for me.”
“Your departure to the continent would not only embarrass Mary, it would also embarrass Scotland. Word would spread. Queen Elizabeth would hear, and she just might take her displeasure out on your family.”
Darnley pressed his lips together, unable to dispute that. Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary had an odd relationship. They were rivals, but they were also allies. Elizabeth felt a need to mentor the younger queen and Elizabeth was not pleased when she heard rumors of Darnley’s indiscretions and mistreatment of Mary. Darnley was well aware of this.
“She has me a prisoner,” Darnley said. “A prisoner in this country. I despise my life, Sheffield. I would have been better off a pauper or a farmer.”
Will very much doubted that Lord Darnley would have survived a day as a pauper or a farmer, but he understood the man’s sentiments. Sometimes it would be nice to not have the weight of England’s safety in his hands, to only worry about what he needed to accomplish to survive for that day. And those thoughts brought him back to the reason he was in Scotland in the first place.
“What do you know of Lord Lysle?” he asked, gazing into his wine as if Darnley’s answer mattered little to him.
“Lysle?” Darnley asked, as if he’d never heard the name before.
“Richard Kirkinny, Lord Lysle.” Will turned the goblet of wine in his hand and stared into the fire.
“Lysle, Lysle, Lysle,” Darnley whispered as if trying to recall the name. “Estate up north, correct?”
Will hummed noncommittally.
“Father was Angus Kirkinny. Friend of Mary’s father, I believe.” Darnley shrugged. “That about all I know of him. Why?”
“No reason.” Will drained his wine, disappointed that he’d not learned more. Apparently, the earls of Lysle did not cause much scandal. But knowing that Richard Kirkinny’s father had been friends with the late king of Scotland was something at least. It told him that the current Lord Lysle would be loyal to Mary and not Darnley.