The Winter Queen (15 page)

Rosamund frowned, thinking of Master Macintosh, the glowering Austrians. Of Anton, and all she knew of him—and did not know. ‘Perhaps.'

‘But if we thought too much of such things we would be frightened all the time,' Anne said. ‘Better to get on with our business and forget it. However we can.'

Rosamund sighed. ‘I'm sure you are right, Anne. But, still, must they forget by dancing so very
badly?
'

Anne laughed. ‘Speaking of dancing,' she whispered, ‘How do your lessons progress with the beauteous Master Gustavson?'

‘Well enough,' Rosamund said cautiously. ‘He has a great deal of natural grace, though perhaps some difficulty remembering the correct progression of the steps.'

‘Which will require many more lessons, of course.'

Rosamund had to giggle. ‘Mayhap.'

‘Oh, Rosamund. Tell me—where were you really when you disappeared from the hunt? For I find it hard to believe you are any kind of poor horsewoman.'

Rosamund feared she could hide nothing from Anne. She surely had a long way to go before she became a true Court lady, jaded with plotting.

She slid down lower in the bed, whispering back, ‘I was talking with Master Gustavson.'

‘Talking?'

‘Yes!' And a bit more—but secret-keeping had to start somewhere.

‘Hmm. No wonder you were so flushed. And no wonder you have a little mark just there below your neck.'

Rosamund glanced down, drawing away the wide neckline of her chemise. ‘Blast!' she muttered, yanking that neckline higher.

‘Not that I blame you one bit. He is a luscious-looking gentleman indeed, all the ladies here are mad for him. But what of your old sweetheart? Do you no longer care for him?'

Rosamund was not sure she had ever cared for Richard, not really. There had only been her girlish dreams, which she had pinned onto him. ‘Oh, Anne. I simply don't know. I thought I did once. But I haven't for a long time. Am I a faithless harlot, to be so easily distracted?'

Anne laughed. ‘If you are a faithless harlot for a bit of flirting, Rosamund, then so are we all. It's easy to be distracted here at Court, especially if our lovers do not keep faith with
us
. But what think you, really, of Master Gustavson? Is he just a distraction for you?'

If he was, then he was a truly potent one. Rosamund could not think of anyone else when he was around. All the glimpses he gave her of his inner self, of a yearning
for a home and place that matched her own, only increased his attraction. What did it mean?

Before she could answer, the door to their chamber burst open. Elderly Lord Pomfrey appeared there, clad in a nightcap tied over his unruly grey hair—and nothing else. His shrivelled, purplish member flapped about as he strode angrily down the aisle.

Rosamund sat straight up, staring in utter startlement as the dancing maids shrieked and dove into their beds.

‘You cursed chits have kept me awake for the last time, I vow!' Lord Pomfrey thundered. ‘You shout and frisk about all the night long, and it will end here! No more of your riots, I say. No more!'

As he continued his ranting and shouting—stopped only when a most indignant Mistress Eglionby appeared—Rosamund fell back onto her pillows, laughing helplessly. Anne was entirely right—one never knew what would happen at Court.

St John the Evangelist's Day, December 27

T
he cold air snapped at Rosamund's cheeks, whipping her cloak around her as she wondered if this was such a very good idea. The palace was warm, with plenty of fireplaces to huddle next to, and letters waiting to be written, mending to be done. Surely if she was sensible at all she would be back there?

But at the palace she would have to listen to the Marys gossiping and sniping. And there would be no Anton to look at.

She tucked her hands deeper into her fur muff, watching him as he built a fire with Master Ulfson and Lord Langley. He was a sight to see indeed, his close-fitting dark-brown doublet stretched taut over his lean shoulders as he stacked the wood. He had taken off his cap, and his hair gleamed like a raven's wing. He laughed at some jest of Lord Langley's, his smile as bright as any summer sun. It warmed Rosamund right down to the tips of her toes.

She was very glad indeed that she had ventured out today. Any danger, any doubt, seemed so far away.

That decides it
, Rosamund thought cheerfully.
I
am
a faithless hussy!

She had to face the fact that whatever had happened with Richard did mean what she'd once thought. That—horrors!—perhaps her parents had been right, that she would know the right person for her, the right situation, when she found it.

But her parents were not here now, and she was starting to enjoy the sensation of being a flirtatious Court lady, at least for a short time. At least for today, with Anton.

She went and sat next to Anne and Catherine Knyvett, where they perched on a fallen log covered by an old blanket. At their feet was a hamper, filled with purloined delicacies from the Queen's kitchen, which Anne was sorting through.

‘Oh, marzipan!' she said. ‘And cold beefpies, manchet bread. Even wine. Very well done, Catherine.'

Catherine laughed nervously. ‘I did feel so terrible filching them. But no one seemed to notice, so I suppose all is well.'

‘They are all too busy preparing for tomorrow night's feast to even notice one or two little things missing,' Anne said. ‘And, even if they did, the Queen is too busy consulting with her Privy Council to listen to their complaints. Here, Rosamund, have something to drink. Wine will soon warm us.'

‘Thank you,' Rosamund said, taking the pottery goblet from Anne. As she sipped at the rich, ruby-red liquid, she went back to studying Anton. The men had finished building the bonfire by the frozen pond, and it crackled and snapped merrily as they watched in smug self-satisfaction.

‘Humph,' Anne scoffed. ‘They act as if they were the first men to discover fire.'

Rosamund laughed. ‘Better than letting us shiver here.'

‘Quite right, Lady Rosamund,' Lord Langley said, turning to them with a grin. His gaze lingered on Anne, who did not look at him. ‘What would you do without our fire-making skills?'

A reluctant little smile touched Anne's lips. ‘Perhaps that is the
only
useful skill you possess, Lord Langley.'

‘
Touché
, Mistress Percy,' Anton said. ‘A palpable hit from the lady, Lord Langley. It seems we must work much harder to impress your fine English females.'

He sat down beside Rosamund on the log, unlooping his leather skate-straps from over his shoulder. Rosamund did not move away but stayed where she was, pressed to his side, feeling his body next to hers. They seemed wrapped in their own warm cocoon in the cold air, bound by invisible cords of memory and heady desire.

She remembered their kisses in the Greenwich woods, remembered falling heedlessly to the ground, their bodies entwined. She could hardly breathe.

He seemed to remember, too, staring down at her, at her parted lips.

‘I doubt anything at all would impress such hard hearts,' Lord Langley said.

‘Oh, we are not so immune as all that,' Rosamund said, glancing away from Anton. But even as she watched the red-gold ripple of the fire the spell held, and she was entirely aware of him beside her; their shoulders were touching. Through the thick wool and fur, her bare skin tingled. She worried for a moment they would cause gossip, but the Queen could not see them.

‘We are impressed by diamonds and pearls,' Catherine said.

‘And fine French silks!' said Anne.

‘Furs are rather nice, too,' added Rosamund. ‘Especially a nice sable on a day like today. And books! Lots of books.'

‘I dare say we could also be impressed by great feats of strength,' said Catherine. ‘It is a great pity there are no tourneys in winter.'

‘We shall just have to make do with what we have, then,' Anton said, all mock-sadness. ‘As, alas, we have no pearls, silks or tourneys to fight in. I challenge you to a race on the ice, then, Langley.'

Lord Langley laughed, pulling out his own skates from his saddlebags. ‘Very well, Master Gustavson, I accept your challenge! If the ladies can provide a suitable prize, that is.'

‘You shall have our undying admiration,' Rosamund said before Anne could venture something quarrelsome. ‘And a share of our picnic.'

‘A prize worth fighting for indeed,' Anton said. He bent to strap one of the skates to his boot, tying the leather thongs tight over his instep and calf until the thin, shining blade seemed a part of him.

‘Will you gift me with your favour, Lady Rosamund?' he asked as he strapped on the other skate, raising his head to smile at her.

Rosamund smiled back, as she always did when he looked at her that way. His merriment was infectious; it chased away the doubts and fears that plagued her in the night. Until she was alone again, and it all came back.

But not now. Now, she just wanted to feel happy and young again, as she had not done in so long.

‘I have never gifted a favour for a skating contest,' she said. ‘Or for anything else, either, except country fairs.'

‘Is that not what life is about, my lady?' he said. ‘New experiences, new—sensations?'

Rosamund shivered, remembering all the new sensations he had shown her already. ‘I am beginning to think so.'

She snapped one of the ribbons from her sleeve, a shining bit of creamy silk, and knotted it around his upper arm. It showed there, pale against the brown fabric, and for just a moment Rosamund felt some satisfaction at the mark. He wore
her
favour, fought for her, even if it was just here at this quiet pond with friends watching.

‘And a kiss for good luck?' he said teasingly.

She laughed, shaking her head. ‘When you have claimed victory, Sir Knight.'

‘Ah, so you are right, Lord Langley—your English ladies
are
hard of heart,' Anton said. ‘But I shall defeat all foes for you, my lady, and claim my prize ere long.'

He stood up from her side, launching himself onto the frozen pond in one long, smooth glide. As he waited for Lord Langley to finish putting on his skates, he looped around in long, lazy-seeming patterns, backward and forward again. He left smooth scores in the ice, unbroken lines and circles that showed the precision and grace of his movements.

Yet his hands were clasped behind his back, and he whistled a little madrigal as if it was all nothing.

When Lord Langley was ready, they stood side by side on the ice, poised to break into motion.

‘Mistress Percy,' Johan Ulfson said as he and the three ladies gathered at the edge of the pond. ‘Perhaps you would do the starter's honours? And help to keep count—three laps around the pond.'

Anne drew a handkerchief from inside her sleeve, waving it aloft. ‘Gentlemen,' she cried. ‘On your marks—one, two, three—go!'

The handkerchief fluttered to the ground and the men shot away. Lord Langley was good, powerful and fast, but not quite with the same easy, leonine grace as Anton. Lord Langley tried to push ahead with sheer, mute speed, but Anton bent lower to the ice, his feet a blur as his steps lengthened.

He truly seemed one with the ice, encircled by the same elegant, easy power, the same single-mindedness of purpose he showed on horseback or in dancing. The rest of the world seemed to vanish for him, and he was entirely, intently focused.

That was how he kissed, too, Rosamund thought as her cheeks turned warm. How he would make love to a woman—as if she was his entire focus, his whole world.

At the end of the pond, they twirled round and circled back. Anton did not even seem out of breath, nor at all distracted from his task, his goal. The onlookers, including Rosamund, cheered as the racers dashed past, and Lord Langley looked up to wave. But Anton appeared not to even hear them.

Three laps was the agreed length of the race, and Rosamund watched, transfixed, as Anton circled around again. He bent closer to the ice, hands behind his back as he flew along faster than she would have thought humanly possible.

Lord Langley, though quite fast when starting out, expended his energy and fell behind. By the time they finished their final loop, and slid past Anne's fallen handkerchief for the last time, he was at least two steps behind Anton. He stumbled off the ice to fall onto the log, laughing and winded.

‘I am defeated!' he declared. ‘I cede all victory in ice-skating to the barbaric Northman for evermore.'

Anton grinned. He still stood on the ice, balanced lightly on his blades, but he leaned his hands on his knees. His shoulders lifted with the force of his expelled breath. ‘You only cede in skating, Langley?'

‘Aye. I challenge you to a horse-race next. We Englishmen are renowned for our horsemanship!'

‘I would not be so quick to brag, Lord Langley,' Catherine said. ‘Did you not see Master Gustavson at the hunt yesterday? It seems the Swedes do not neglect their equestrian education either.'

‘And yet they
do
seem to neglect their dancing,' Lord Langley said. ‘What say you, Lady Rosamund? How goes your tutelage?'

‘Quite well,' Rosamund answered. ‘I think he will surprise you on Twelfth Night, if he will apply himself to his lessons.'

‘That will be no hardship, I think,' Anton said. ‘Given the sternness of my teacher.'

‘'Tis true,' Rosamund said, pouring out a goblet of wine and finding a serviette in the hamper. ‘I am a very stern teacher, indeed.'

As the others turned to the food and the fire, she went to the edge of the pond, watching as Anton removed his skates. When he finished, she held out the wine and cloth to him.

‘They are poor spoils for the victorious hero, I fear,' she said.

Anton laughed, wiping at his damp brow. His dark hair clung to his temples, and a faint flush stained his high cheekbones, but those were the only signs of his athletic effort. He looked as if he had just finished a stroll in the garden.

‘I would prefer that kiss for my prize,' he murmured.

Rosamund shook her head. ‘Patience is another virtue heroes must possess, I fear.'

‘And kisses are not so easily won?'

‘Hercules, a hero if there ever was one, had
twelve
labours, did he not?'

‘You will not make me clean a stable next, will you?'

She laughed. ‘That remains to be seen!'

He laughed too, and took a long swallow of the wine. She watched the movement of his throat muscles, fascinated. ‘Come, Lady Rosamund, walk with me for a while.'

‘Should you not sit and rest?' she asked, glancing over at Lord Langley, who lounged on the fallen log as Catherine fed him marzipan.

‘Nay—he will be sorry when his muscles ache tonight,' Anton said. ‘It's better to keep moving until the body is cooler.'

Rosamund shivered as another gust of wind swept around her. ‘That should not take long.'

Anton left the empty goblet and his skates near the fire, taking her arm as they walked out of the clearing. They went through the narrow, wooded path where Rosamund had walked on her journey into London on that day she'd first seen Anton. Then the bare trees and tangled pathways had seemed somehow ominous, lonely, her heart full of trepidation.

Today, with him by her side, they were beautiful, a Christmas marvel of glass-like icicles and glittering frost. She did not even fear masked Lords of Misrule and dark warnings, not when she was with Anton. She had never met anyone she trusted more to keep her safe; he was so steady, so firm of purpose. So determined.

‘I remember when I first saw you,' he said. ‘You
suddenly appeared there by that very pond, like a ghost or a fairy. I thought you an illusion at first.'

‘And I you,' she admitted. ‘I didn't know people could perform such feats on the ice. I am sorry I ran away so quickly.'

‘Ah, yes. When you vanished, I was
convinced
you were an illusion!' he said. ‘That I imagined a winter-fairy. No human woman could be so very beautiful.'