But with two loved-up vampire couples staying there, that’s out of the question. And by the way, Floss is quickly devising a schedule for all of us; it looks like I’m hardly going to get a chance to sleep in my own bed!
Chapter 5
Hester | London, 1560
‘Make haste, Hester,’ the queen whines. ‘I wish to commence my meal.’
It is her birthday feast at Windsor Castle, and the entire court is holding its breath, waiting for me to finish sampling from the platter piled high with steaming food. I know the queen is hungry and wishes to be merry and gay, but my task is not one to be taken lightly. If she is murdered on the day of her birth, it will be my fault.
I chew the last morsel of food, swallow, and wash it down with a glug of red wine. Sweat beads my forehead as I wait for the deadly effects of poison (from either the food or wine) to clutch at my throat. Nothing happens, and I wipe my face with my kerchief, my shoulders relaxing. Praise be to God, I am to live yet another day.
‘The task is complete, Your Majesty ... and happy birthday.’
The queen smiles widely, then waves a hand to the room.A sea of cups are raised to toast her health. Then they all fall upon the food; the wooden tables groan under the weight of the bounty. Underneath the noise of chatter and clinking of cutlery, my stomach gurgles, and I feel nauseous. After the food I’ve eaten, wine I’ve drunk, and stress I’ve endured, I only wish to retire to my room and count my blessings that I am still alive.
While the queen is deep in conversation with Lord Robert Dudley on her other side, I attempt to escape. But she has sharp ears and detects the rustle of my gown.
‘You will remain by my side, Hester,’ she says, champing down on a chicken leg with my teeth marks in it. ‘There is a play to be held after the feast and dancing later, too. I may wish to partake in some sweet treats and more wine. It is my birthday after all.’
Then seeing my pale, sickly face, she becomes concerned and quickly lowers the chicken leg from her mouth. ‘Are you quite well?’ I know she is thinking I may have ingested a slow-acting poison, one designed to lull her into a false sense of security. But it is that I have eaten too much too quickly. I cover my mouth with my hand and burp softly.
‘Yes, Your Majesty, quite well. It is only a bellyache.’
The queen exhales and nods. She tosses the half-eaten chicken leg on the plate anyway and breaks off a piece of bread. Her eyes glitter with mischief as they rove over thejostling court spread out before us. ‘I invited some of my knights to be in attendance,’ she whispers. ‘If you cannot eat, then feast your eyes upon them instead. One of them may inspire another of yourromantictales.’ She smiles at me and returns to her conversation with her own favourite knight. A quick glance under the table shows Lord Dudley’s hand resting on her left thigh, his thumb moving in small circles. It is shocking enough that he is touching the royal body, but even more so because he is ten years married. Has the queen taken leave of her senses? She has not said anything about their relationship to me, though she must know of the gossip circulating amongst her courtiers. I do my best to quell it, but it does not help that she spends much time in his company and his chamber is located near hers.
Fortunately, Lord Dudley is planning a long-overdue visit to his wife, Lady Amy, who is currently in Cumnor Place near Oxford. I wish with all my heart that he would remain there to let the rumours cool, but I suspect the queen will not allow him to stay away for long. He is her favourite, her Knight of the Garter, her trusted confidant. I hopefriendshipis the reason for their closeness. But as Lord Dudley’s thumb circles higher up the queen’s thigh and she leans towards him, giggling at something he has said, I cannot distrust my own intuition on the matter.
Turning away, I do as she says and let my gaze roam over a group of young knights, seated near the royal table. The fair countenance and liveliness of one in particular catches my eye. He has black curly hair and a strong profile. By the way he is recounting some tale, to much guffawing laughter from the others, he also possesses some skill with words, which intrigues me to know what he is saying that is so amusing. Story finished, the handsome knight reaches for his cup, grinning, and happens to catch me watching him. He tilts his cup to me with a wink, and I look down at my lap hurriedly, cheeks aflame at being noticed.
When I raise my eyes, moments later, he is flirting with two pretty serving maids, broad arms around both their waists. Jealousy claws at my throat, but I cannot make myself look away.
‘Those maids will be lucky tonight, mark my words,’ Marigold whispers in my ear, seeing my attention upon him.
‘Pray, who is he?’ I return softly. Marigold is also a lady-in-waiting, but of lower rank.
‘Sir Darius of Mystras,’ she says knowingly, spearing an apple from the fruit platter with her fork. ‘Apparently, he can speak several languages and is well known for his ... talented tongue.’
My blood heats thinking on that. I sneak another peek at Sir Darius. He is holding out his cup to be filled by one ofthe flaxen-haired maids. She twines her fingers through his soft inky curls, and he smiles up at her. Ohhh, he is thigh-clenchingly handsome! I imagine my legs spread, his dark head moving between them as his talented tongue aids me to climb the sweet slippery hill to climax. I sip from my cup, my hand shaking with lust, unable to tear my eyes from him, and rather shocked at my body’s reaction to a man I have not even been introduced to. The queen has any number of handsome knights pledging their allegiance to her, and I have not so much as given them a second glance. But there is something about Sir Darius that makes my loins quiver. He has, as the French say, a je ne sais quois.
‘He is in the play later, so you can quench your thirst for him then. Most of us will be, I expect.’ Marigold pops a piece of apple in her mouth and chews slowly.
‘Heis in the play?’
‘Oh yes.’ She nods. ‘They were short of actors, so he volunteered for a part. His acting skills are rumoured to be quite masterful. Plus he has scandalously good legs and favours a short doublet. The ladies of the court will be titillated bythat, I am sure.’
She gives a breathy laugh. ‘It is a pity I am enamoured with my husband. Otherwise, I would be eager for an invite to his chamber.’
But from the way Sir Darius is devouring those prettymaids’ bosoms with his eyes and squeezing their buxom hips with his strong masculine hands, it seemstheywill be the only ones receiving an invite to his chamber tonight. The thought vexes me. Yet he has noticed I am alive at least, so it is not out of the realm of possibility. But even if I did, by some miracle, receive his coveted invite, it is impossible. I must be on hand for the queen, to soothe her if she has a nightmare.
Giggling, then a low gasp reaches my ears, and I know without looking that Lord Dudley’s thumb is now circling a certain part of the royal body through layers of satin fabric. Hmmm, perhaps I will not be needed tonight, after all?
Chapter 6
Will | en route to London, present day
Stretching back in my seat, careful not to knock Hester’s knees under the table, I watch her reading the messages that keep appearing on her phone and wonder idly who they’re from. Her mental shields are intact, so I have no clue. Is it a man? A lover? The thought of it annoys me. That she should read his messages inmypresence. Feeling ignored, I stare out the train window grumpily, watching waterlogged fields and bare-branched trees whizz by.
Thanks to my insistence that we travel together down to London, I’ve got lots of alone time with Hester. I thought it would be fun to say provocative things and watch her squirm as she attempted to figure out if I was flirting or not. But so far, she’s studiously avoided getting into conversation with me. It’s like she’s got something else on her mind.Probably wondering how she’s going to manage to compel the entire cast and crew for rehearsals.I smirk to myself, then feel mean, then righteous. Hester hasonly herself to blame. She should have let go of the past and acted like I know damn well she can. The Drury Lane incident was over 270 years ago, for fuck’s sake!
