Bedding the Enemy. Mary WineЧитать онлайн книгу.
she?”
“Yes.”
There was little point in berating him for waking her so rudely. Her brother might take that as a compliment to his ability to ruffle her feathers. His gaze wondered over her, lingering on her face for a long moment before moving down her body. Her fingers curled around the top of the blanket, clutching it closer. Disgust raked across her.
Edmund snickered at her revulsion. “Don’t flatter yourself, sister dear. I am merely trying to gauge just what manner of body you’ve managed to grow. You’re certainly not pretty enough to have the marriage offers piling up on my secretary’s desk.”
Helena pulled the blanket up anyway, his words giving her little reassurance. It bothered her to have him in her chamber during the night. Her skin itched with distaste.
“I’ve done what you asked, Edmund. Go on and let me rest.”
His face changed, his lips thinning into something quite ugly. She was accustomed to his schemes but this was deeper somehow. Greed shimmered in his eyes.
“I haven’t even begun to tell you what I want you to do. But I’m not surprised that you can’t understand what needs to be done for our family to succeed.” His eyes traveled down her length once more, his lips curling back in disgust. “You’re just a female, nothing but a bitch that can speak. It falls to me to give you direction.”
He left her doorway, the light of the candle fading down the hallway. It left her in darkness because her shutters were closed. Rolling over and reaching up, Helena found the inch-wide metal rod that secured them. She did it easily from hundreds of repetitions. Pulling it loose, she allowed it to hang by its chain, and propped herself up on one shoulder so that she might open the shutter.
Edmund would have a fit if he knew she opened the shutters at all. Her room wasn’t really a room but an attic. He’d had a set of steep stairs built when her parents sent her to join him in the London town house. Residences near the palace were costly and in great demand but she slept in the attic for another reason.
Edmund was selfish.
She smothered a giggle and pulled one shutter open. The night sky was magical. Well, only if one admitted to believing in magic. That wasn’t very wise. James didn’t seem to have the same zeal for witch hunting as some did, but there were men on his privy council who did.
She pulled the blanket up to her nose to hide any reflections of the moonlight off her plain nightshift. Keeping absolutely still, she could look out over the rooftops of London. She only did it when the moonlight wasn’t pointing toward her window. The night was beautiful. Searching the heavens, she located constellations she had first seen in books. Peace settled over her. This was the time that was solely hers. She treasured it.
The corners of her mouth twitched up just thinking about what Edmund might do if he knew how much she adored the tiny attic room.
She hoped nothing. He was her brother, after all. It was sad to think they would never like each other. She still held out hope that they might find some topics that they agreed upon, possibly even enjoy conversing on.
To date it had not happened. The moment she arrived in London, Edmund had begun telling her what he planned for her to do. What use he had for her. It was disheartening, to say the least. They were blood but honestly they were little more than strangers. Edmund had left their family estate at the age of six and she had been barely out of swaddling at the time. He returned from time to time but never for long. Her memory held brief recollections of him at different ages, but it was likely that she held those memories due to the paintings her parents commissioned of their only son. They were huge oil canvases, ones that hung proudly in the dining hall of their estate. She hadn’t really known what to expect upon her arrival. What she’d found was a man who was a stranger to her.
Edmund wore lace and ribbons set with gold tips. Pearls adorned his doublet and his slops were full and round. His boots were always polished and freshly blacked. Lace edged the ruffles of his shirt. The thing that looked the most out of place on him was the sword he had strapped to his hip. The hilt was gilded and polished. Edmund had a habit of resting one hand on it, almost lovingly. He was every inch the courtier. His life revolved around the gossip. The first few days she had attended with him, she had stared in wonder while he made his rounds. He wasn’t alone in that. Hundreds of people were crowded into court. They competed for appointments with the king. Bribes were frequent and high. Seating at banquets cost you a good amount of silver if you wanted to be seated next to the person of your choice. Edmund dictated every move she made. No one danced with her without his permission. She did not go where he did not bid her to go.
Just like today with the queen…
Raelin and the other girls who served as maids of honor came to mind. Even their dresses were uniform. In spite of having known her so short a time, Helena found herself liking the Scots girl. A desire to return to the queen’s private chambers was growing stronger, but not due to any direction from her brother.
Poor Edmund. How would he deal with such devastating news?
She laughed at her own jest. It wasn’t too terrible to tease her brother in her thoughts. Well, the church would argue about that. Still she didn’t feel guilt chewing on her conscience. After all, Edmund made no attempt at all to be pleasant. A few ill thoughts were the least of his due. But she would not linger on them. The only person who would be upset was herself.
Reaching up, she closed the shutter. Dawn would arrive promptly, so best to rest while she might. Edmund would likely have her dressed and in the carriage at daybreak. But she didn’t mind, for it meant she might see Raelin again, and the idea of having a friend sent her off to slumber with happy thoughts.
“Welcome back, Mistress Knyvett.” One of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting waved the guards out of the doorway. Helena lowered herself before entering.
“Her Majesty is unwell this morning.”
“I am sorry to hear such news.”
The lady offered a small smile that confused Helena. The queen’s illness was no reason for smiles, she would think.
“’Tis the babe making her ill. It will pass in a few more weeks.”
Helena’s face reflected her surprise. She had heard no rumors of the queen being with child.
“And you shall keep that knowledge to yourself, madam. Her Majesty does not need to be bothered with the endless congratulations and chattering of every soul who wants to advance themselves by wiggling into her good graces. Now is the time for quiet so that her body may adjust.”
“Of course. I understand.”
The lady waved her off, toward the circle of maids of honor. They smiled at her, Raelin patting a bench next to her.
“I’m so glad ye came.”
Raelin kept her voice a whisper. “Dinnae ye worry, things will be right as rain by noon. Until then, we will have to behave.”
There was a soft round of laughter from all the girls that they covered up quickly, and lowered their heads to peer at their sewing. Helena felt her eyes widen when she beheld what was sitting on the table in the center of their group. A small chest, banded with iron to make it secure, was there with its top open. Pearls in more colors than she had ever seen sat nestled inside it—cream, white, pink, gold, and even blue ones. They were sorted into different sizes and held in small silk bags that were all carefully untied so that you might see into each bag.
“Can you stitch?”
“Of course.”
Raelin shook her head. “There is no ‘of course’ about it. The pearls are counted and recounted when removed. Make sure your stitches and knots are secure.”
Raelin handed her a silk sleeve that was edged in velvet. Tiny chalk marks showed the design where the pearls were intended to sit. She also handed her a golden needle.
Helena