Christmas At The Tudor Court: The Queen's Christmas Summons / The Warrior's Winter Bride. Amanda McCabeЧитать онлайн книгу.
to your needlework!’
Alys struggled not to cry, both at the pain in her brow and at his cruel words. ‘I am not a stupid girl! You—you hedgepig.’
‘What did you call me, wench?’ The boy took a menacing step towards her.
‘Enough!’ The tall boy stepped forward to pull her would-be attacker back. He shoved the mean boy away and turned to Alys with a gentle smile. She noticed his eyes were green, an extraordinary pale green sea-colour she had never seen before. ‘You are the one at fault here, George. Do not be ungallant. Apologise to the lady.’
‘Lady?’ George sneered. ‘She is obviously no more a lady than you are a true gentleman, Huntley. With your drunken father...’
The tall boy grew obviously angry at those words, a red flush spreading on his high, sharp cheekbones. His hands curled into fists—and then he stepped back, his hand loosening, a smile touching his lips. Alys forgot her pain as she watched him in fascination.
‘It seems you must be the one who took a blow to the head, George,’ Huntley said. ‘You are clearly out of your wits. Now, apologise.’
‘Nay, I shall not...’ George gasped as Huntley suddenly reached out, quick as a snake striking, and seized his arm. It looked like a most effortless movement, but George turned pale. ‘Forgive me, my lady.’
‘That is better.’ Huntley pushed the bully away and turned away from him without another glance. He came to Alys and held out his hand.
He smiled gently and Alys was dazzled by it.
‘My lady,’ he said. ‘Let me assist you to return to the palace.’
‘Th...thank you,’ she whispered. She took his arm, just like a grown-up lady, and walked with him back to the steps.
‘Are you badly hurt?’ he asked softly.
Alys suddenly realised her head did still hurt. She had quite forgotten everything else when she saw him. It was most strange. ‘Just a bit of a headache. My mother will have herbs for it in her medicine chest.’
‘Where is your mother? I’ll take you to her.’
Alys shook her head. Her mother had stayed at the inn, pleading illness, so her father had taken Alys away with him. She didn’t know how to get back to the inn at all. ‘She is in the village. My father...’
‘Has he come here to see the Queen?’
The Queen? No wonder this place was so grand, if it was a queen’s home. But why was her father to see her? She felt more confused than ever. ‘I was not supposed to move from the steps until he returns. I’ll be in such trouble!’
‘Nay, I will stay with you, my lady, and explain to your father when he returns.’
Alys studied him doubtfully. ‘Surely you have more important things you must be doing.’
His smile widened. ‘Nothing more important, I promise you.’
He led her back to the top of the stone steps where her father left her and helped her sit down. He sat beside her and gently examined her forehead. ‘It is rather darkening, I’m afraid. I hope your mother has an herb to cure bruising.’
‘Oh, no!’ She clapped her hand over her brow, feeling herself blush hotly that he should see her like that. ‘She does have ointments for such, but it must be hideous.’
He smiled, his lovely green eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘It is a badge of honour from battle. You are fortunate to have a caring mother.’
‘Does your mother not have medicines for you when you’re ill?’ Alys asked, thinking of all her mother’s potions and creams that soothed fevers and pains, just as her own cool hands did when Alys was fretful.
He looked away. ‘My mother died long ago.’
‘Oh! I am sorry,’ she cried, feeling such pain for him not to have a mother. ‘But have you a father? Siblings?’ She remembered the vile George’s taunt, of Huntley’s ‘drunken father’, and wished she had not said anything.
‘I seldom see my father. My godfather arranges for my education. No siblings. What of you, my lady?’
‘I have no siblings, either. I wish I did. It gets very quiet at home sometimes.’
‘Is that why you came to look at our game?’
‘Aye. It sounded very merry. I wondered what it was.’
‘Have you never played at football?’
‘I’ve never even heard of it. I have seen tennis, but few other ball games.’
‘It’s the most wonderful game! You start like this...’ He leaped up to demonstrate, running back and forth as he told her of scoring and penalties. He threw up his arms in imagined triumph as he explained how the game was won.
Caught up in his enthusiasm, Alys clapped her hands and laughed. He gave her a bow.
‘How marvellous,’ she said. ‘I do wish I had someone at home to play such games with like that.’
‘What do you play at home, then?’ he asked. He tossed her the ball. She instinctively caught it and threw it back.
‘I read, mostly, and walk. I have a doll and I tell her things sometimes. There isn’t much I can do alone, I’m afraid.’
‘I quite understand. Before I went to school, I was often alone myself.’ His expression looked wistful, as if his thoughts were far away, and Alys found herself intensely curious about him, who he was and what he did.
‘Alys! What are you doing?’ she heard her father shout.
She spun around and saw him hurrying towards her, frowning fearsomely. ‘Papa! I am sorry, I just...’
‘I fear your daughter took a bit of a fall here, my lord,’ her new friend said, stepping close to her side. She felt safer with him there. ‘I saw her, and I...’
‘And he came to help me, most gallantly,’ Alys said.
Her father’s frown softened. ‘Did you indeed? Good lad. I owe you many thanks.’
‘Your daughter is a fine lady indeed, my lord,’ Huntley said. ‘I am glad to have met her today.’
Her father softened even more and reached into his purse to offer the boy a coin. Huntley shook his head and her father said, ‘My thanks again. We bid you good day, lad, and good fortune to you.’ He swung Alys up into his arms and walked away from the grand palace.
Alys glanced back over her shoulder for one last glimpse of her friend. He smiled at her and waved, and she waved back until he was out of sight. She thought surely she would never forget him, her new friend and gallant rescuer.
Dunboyton Castle, Galway, Ireland—1578
‘And this one, niña querida? What is this one? What does it do?’
Lady Alys Drury, aged ten and a half and now expected to learn to run a household, leaned close to the tray her mother held out and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Despite the icy wind that beat at the stout stone walls of Dunboyton, she could smell green sunshine from the dried herbs. Flowers and trees and clover, all the things she loved about summer.
But not as much as she loved her mother and their days here in the stillroom, the long, narrow chamber hung with bundles of herbs and with bottles of oils and pots of balms lining the shelves. It was always warm there, always bright and full of wonderful smells. A sanctuary in the constant rush and noise of the castle corridors, which were the realm of her father and his men.
Here in the stillroom, it was just Alys and her mother. For all her ten years, for as long