The next morning was too clear and pretty for Alice’s dark mood, so she took comfort in the night’s damp that was still making the morning unpleasantly cold. Rubbing her arms, she walked briskly out through the iron doors and into the enormous courtyard.
The light had not yet crested the horizon and the courtyard was bathed in a glow somewhere between night and day. The dim light did not matter. She knew where she wanted to go. The kitchen gardens would be empty of courtiers and servants at this time. She needed the privacy. Better yet, she desired the ugliness of lacerated chopped vegetables and herbs. A mutilated barren garden might lighten her mood.
She had spent most of the night trying to resolve what the King wanted of her. When she hadn’t been able to, she had tried to sleep. Nothing had worked. The night had not been long enough for her to resolve anything, and the dark had made her already nightmarish thoughts more frightening.
She rushed up the inclined hill, and turned to walk through the lavender-hedged entrance.
The kitchen gardens were empty. She pulled her skirts tight against her to walk the narrow paths between each planting. She didn’t know why she bothered. Tearing her dress might be a welcome distraction.
In fact, she’d welcome company, too. She longed for Esther, her most loyal of servants, but she was too old for this trip. Esther’s cantankerous company would have kept her occupied with menial chatter. She’d would even have taken her father’s flighty personality for a diversion.
Then she wouldn’t have to worry about the task she had been ordered to do: to spy on her friends, to expose one of them for the enemy they were.
It would be impossible. The King was not asking her to delve into the personal belongings of strangers, but of friends. She would have to search their homes, their carriages, their wardrobes to look for a hidden seal. How could she betray her friends’ trust?
A crunch on the pebbled path announced that she was no longer alone.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’
She did not need to turn around to know who was behind her. His voice, as familiar to her as her own, confirmed her other nightmarish thoughts. She had indeed seen Hugh again. In the night, she’d hoped she imagined him because of the unfamiliarity of Court.
Releasing her grip on her skirts, she turned to face him.
He stood closer than she’d thought was possible on the pebbled footpath, and the morning light was strong enough to illuminate what she could no longer deny.
His lean, rugged body was solid; the blond hair that had once curled around her fingers was bright. Everything about him was all too real. Including her sharp anxiety at seeing him again.
It was as if six years had been stripped away and she was sixteen again. Sixteen and spilling out her naïve adoration with no reserve, with no thought that her affections would not be reciprocated.
She remembered every inflection of his sneering reply.
Shame flooded her limbs. She wanted to flee, to turn away, at least to lower her eyes—but she could not.
He approached her slowly, stealthily. The blue concentration of his eyes burned away her confidence. Even her skirts hung limply, as if the very clothing she wore was as insignificant as she felt.
‘So it was you,’ she whispered.
He took a step closer. The glint of the morning sun softened his features, or maybe it just hid the harshness she had glimpsed last night.
‘Did you doubt it?’ he answered. ‘When it was I who had you in my arms again?’
Hot embarrassment swept through her. It had not only been the King’s mission occupying her thoughts throughout the night. Hugh’s arms, his slightly crooked nose and all her embarrassing confessions to him had haunted her dreams and had her wishing for the light of day so that she could pretend he did not exist.
She had almost convinced herself, too. When the King demanded so much of her, she didn’t need her thoughts occupied by her childish vow to marry him. Certainly she never wanted to re-live her begging him for a kiss when she was sixteen.
And now he stood right in front of her, like a mocking reminder of her foolish youth.
A reminder of how he had rejected her.
But that did not mean she had to listen to him or repeat the mistake of conversing with him. He had purposely made it sound as if her running into him had been a clandestine affair. As if she would ever consider such thoughts again!
She looked pointedly around him and lifted her skirts—but he blocked the only exit from the garden. For one flaring moment, she fought the terror of feeling trapped. No doubt he had done that purposely, too.
‘Let me pass,’ she said, proud that her voice didn’t betray her true feelings.
‘After this long time, that is all you have to say to me?’
‘I’d say less if you would let me by,’ she replied.
‘You have changed much, Alice. You used to be more talkative.’
‘Maybe I thought you were someone worth talking to.’
She took a step in his direction. She’d force him to move if she had to.
He didn’t move. ‘I merely guessed that you couldn’t sleep. It was either that or you never made it to your bed. But you have changed your gown. I was always partial to that colour grey on you. It almost matches the colour of your eyes.’
‘You have been too long at Court,’ she said. ‘Save your pretty words for the more feeble-minded.’
‘Just as well you didn’t wear grey yesterday, for it seems the King prefers purple,’ he replied, as if they were carrying on a normal conversation. ‘Did you return to your room last night, or did one of your many servants bring you a change of clothing?’
Why was he talking of her clothing? He was close enough that she should have been able to know what he was thinking, but his eyes were like opaque glass—reflective, revealing nothing.
She didn’t need this confusion.
‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. ‘I know it wasn’t to talk of my dress.’
‘After we had run into each other in the hall, I thought we could meet once again—but then you spent time with the King.’
‘Are you following me?’ she asked.
‘Only enough to see you.’
His eyes held hers and his lips curved almost sensuously, almost as if he wanted her.
She couldn’t take his looking at her like that—not now, not when she was too tired to keep her defences up. Why was he acting as if he cared? She knew that he didn’t, and never had.
Treacherous
