Christmas At The Tudor Court. Amanda McCabe

the dried and powdered herbs as she pointed to them. ‘So when do you read, if you are so busy gathering your herbs and physicking everyone? When you walk here to the abbey?’

      ‘Sometimes. The abbey is a bit like the stillroom—an escape. It isn’t often we get new books here and I like to savour them with no one to interrupt me.’

      ‘And what do you read? Poetry? History?’

      Alys bit her lip, afraid he would think her rather—unfeminine. ‘Whatever I can find. I read my prayer books, of course, and histories of England. I do love poetry, tales of adventure and romance. When we receive French volumes, they are the best, but that’s a rare treat. And I like reading of courtly life. I want to...’

      His head tilted as he studied her. ‘Want to what?’

      ‘Well, imagine what life is like there, I suppose, at the Queen’s court. What it would be like to meet her, serve her, see people from foreign lands. The fashions, the music. My father often shows me drawings of London and I would like to see it for myself.’

      ‘Will he send you to court as a Maid of Honour, perhaps?’

      Alys thought of all the letters that had come to her father, all the messages refusing to summon him to court because of his Spanish wife. She feared a palace life could never be hers. ‘Perhaps one day.’

      ‘I am surprised you are not yet married.’

      His voice sounded tight when he said the words and she glanced up to see a flash of something like jealousy cross his face. Or perhaps that was her wishful imagining. ‘I have not thought about it. I think I would rather go to court for a time before I must go from managing Dunboyton to another household just like it. I am not so very old as that yet.’ Though it was true many girls younger than she were wed here in Ireland, she had met no one she would even consider as husband.

      She feared no man would measure up to Juan now, either. It was a great pity.

      He laughed. ‘You are not so old at all, Lady Alys. And I do understand your wishes.’

      She thought of all the places he had been, all his adventures. She could not picture him quiet by his own hearth. ‘I am sure you do, or surely you would not have gone on such dangerous travels.’ Or put himself so near death. She shivered at the thought of how close he had come.

      ‘Royal courts are glittering places indeed,’ he said. ‘But a lady such as you should never stay there long. There can be many dangers there.’

      Alys laughed. ‘I told you, Juan—I am no delicate angel. I am sure that, given time and instruction, I could find my way.’

      ‘I am sure you could do anything you set your mind to, Lady Alys. But I must disagree with one thing. You are most assuredly an angel.’

      He reached for her hand, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss as courtly as any she could imagine receiving in a palace. His lips were soft against her skin, and lingered in a sweet caress. Alys leaned closer, drawn to him as she would be to a fire on a cold night, as if his touch was necessary to her very breath. He looked up at her, his eyes so very, very green...

      And suddenly something dropped down from the thatched roof above them, something long and horribly shimmering. It landed on Juan’s shoulder and fell to the ground, rearing up to bare sharp, needle-like fangs.

      ‘A snake!’ Alys cried. How was that possible? She had never even seen a snake at Dunboyton and here was one right at her feet, about to strike. She felt paralysed, staring down at it, as if time had slowed to a terrible crawl.

      But it never struck. Juan tossed a dagger at it, quick as flash of lightning and with unerring aim. The blade sank deep in the viper’s neck and it fell to the dirt floor with a hiss.

      Juan sucked in a deep breath. ‘You did not warn me I shared my accommodations.’

      Alys swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. ‘I—I have never seen such a thing here before. They say St Patrick drove all snakes away from here.’

      ‘He obviously missed some.’

      Alys choked on a laugh, even as she shivered with a sudden fear. Was the snake a terrible sign? A warning?

      What evils would befall her, and Dunboyton, if she did not heed it?

      * * *

      Alys ran up the path towards the gates of Dunboyton, as fast as if even more snakes chased at the hem of her skirts. She was so distracted when she returned to the castle that she didn’t notice the servants and her father’s soldiers hurrying past, didn’t notice the usual clamour and bustle that always surrounded mealtimes. She didn’t notice the wind that cut through her cloak as it swept around the courtyard.

      All she could see in her mind was Juan, the tenderness of his touch as he reached for her hair, the sweetness of his kiss on her hand. The fierce, quick strength when he killed the snake. The glow of his beautiful eyes.

      At the foot of the stone steps that led to the inner door, she did notice something out of place—a fine grey horse that did not belong to the Dunboyton stable. It stood at attention, the centre of a circle of gaping grooms, its silver-and-green velvet trappings shimmering. It was too fine for anyone Alys knew nearby. Could it be that Bingham or even Fitzwilliam had returned, searching for Juan?

      Pushing down her fear, she ran into the house and, after she hid her baskets and cloak in the stillroom, went to find her father in the great hall. She had been worried about him of late, worried about how tired he seemed, but now he was talking with great animation, even a smile, to the man who sat next to him beside the fireplace.

      She didn’t know the man, but she could tell at a glance he must be someone of some consequence. He was tall and lean, with the erect bearing of a soldier, his thick iron-grey hair brushed back from austere, hawk-like features. He wore travelling clothes of the finest grey wool and velvet, a cloak of green velvet that matched the horse’s trappings spread before the fire to dry.

      ‘Oh, Alys, there you are,’ her father called. ‘A guest has just arrived this afternoon.’

      Alys made her way forward as their visitor rose and gave her a bow. Standing, he was even taller, more imposing, even while dressed so simply and sombrely. He seemed to notice everything around him in one quick glance with his grey eyes and Alys was suddenly aware of how windblown and flustered she must look. She pushed the loose lock of hair back into its pins and smoothed her red-wool skirts.

      ‘I am sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, sir,’ she said. ‘I had some tasks in the outbuildings and did not know anyone was expected.’

      ‘’Tis of no matter, my lady,’ he answered, his tone perfectly civil and soft. ‘I did not expect to stop here on my journey. I have spent a most pleasant hour with Sir William, hearing all about this most intriguing place.’

      ‘Alys, my dear, this is Sir Matthew Morgan, an agent from the Queen’s court. We knew each other long ago, when I was at Cambridge, and it’s an unexpected pleasure to see him again. Sir Matthew, this is my daughter, Lady Alys.’

      The Queen’s agent? Would they send someone like this to track down fleeing Spanish sailors? Alys could think of no other reason he would be there and knew she had to warn Juan. But for now, faced with those sombre grey eyes that seemed to see too much, she had to stay calm and polite. To give nothing away.

      ‘I am most pleased to meet you, Sir Matthew. My father often speaks so fondly of his days at Cambridge, and to see a new face at Dunboyton is always most welcome, though I fear you will find us much less than “intriguing”. Our days are usually quite dull.’ She gestured to one of the servants to bring more wine, and sat down on the cushioned stool next to her father. Their guest resumed his seat across from them, smiling pleasantly. But Alys could not quite shake away that lingering fear.

      ‘Not dull in recent days, I fear,’ Sir Matthew said.

      ‘Unfortunately not,’ her father answered. ‘I much prefer my quiet routine. But Bingham has taken his