“But . . . You can’t wait in here, sir.”
“Well, I’m not going to hang around outside. His horses have run amok in the camp. Get Thornlee now.”
“But he’s just left to sort it out, sir.”
“Then get him back, you idiot.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the flustered guard left, Ambrose moved quickly round the table in the center of the tent. A pile of letters lay on the polished wood. Ambrose flicked through them until he found one with the royal seal.
“Who did this man say he was?” barked a voice from just beyond the side of the tent.
Thornlee!
Tucking the letter into his belt, Ambrose drew his dagger, cut a slit in the back of the tent, and stepped out. His heart hammered as he forced himself to walk calmly toward the trees, expecting with every step someone to shout “stop.” But no one did, and as soon as he was under the cover of the trees he broke into a run, not stopping until he had reached the meeting point he had arranged with Tarquin.
“Success?” asked his brother.
Ambrose held out the letter, trying to catch his breath.
Tarquin took it and unfolded the heavy paper. He scanned the contents quickly.
“Well, it seems our illustrious king knows something of war strategy that we don’t, because this army is going to invade the most remote northern part of Pitoria.”
CATHERINE
LEYDALE, PITORIA
Queen Valeria is famously quoted as saying: “The people love their queen and the queen loves her people.” These words would never, could never, be said by a king.
A History of Brigant, Thomlyn Thraxton
IT WAS all very well talking about being one of the Pitorian people, but Catherine didn’t look like them or feel like them; they seemed elegant, elaborate, and exotic, and for her plan to work she needed to look like them, only better.
She rose at dawn on her first morning in Pitoria and had her maids set out her Pitorian dresses. When Catherine had first seen them, back in Brigant, she had thought they were dangerously exposing, but the ladies the night before had been even more daring. Indeed, most of the men last night had been more elaborately dressed than Catherine. She needed some of that daring, but not too much—something that suggested Pitoria but was also uniquely her.
Her wedding dress was not laid out, so she asked Sarah to bring it. It was white and gold, with crystal work covering the bodice and more crystals scattered over the wide skirt. It covered her from ankle to throat, but with slashes in the shoulder and bodice that didn’t expose bare skin, as a fine transparent gauze lay beneath. This was a dress that said “Pitoria” and “princess” perfectly.
“Put this green one on, Jane,” she said.
Jane approached Catherine and started to lift her nightdress.
“No, not on me. I want you to wear it.”
Jane stopped and stared.
“Tanya, you wear one of the red ones.” Tanya curtsied and grabbed the red dress that Catherine had worn in front of her father. “Sarah, you’re in the black. Today I’m going to ride rather than sit in the carriage. You’ll ride with me. Get dressed.”
Sarah, Jane, and Tanya glanced at each other with a mix of excitement and nervousness but willingly stripped off their beige maids’ dresses and, with help from one another, were quickly transformed into Pitorian ladies. The dresses fit well enough with a few quick stitches. Standing together, they looked like the stripes of the Pitorian flag, and they looked stunning.
“Will you wear the dress from yesterday, Your Highness?” Jane asked.
“I’ll be wearing the white dress,” Catherine replied.
“But . . .” Jane said meekly, “that’s for your wedding, Your Highness.”
“I intend to get another for that occasion. I want to wear this one now.”
They helped her into it. It was heavy and tight on the chest and neck. Riding in it in the hot sun would not be particularly pleasant.
Sarah started to pack the train away, folding it carefully.
“No. I want the train too. Sew it to the bodice.”
“But it’s so long!” Tanya said.
“Yes. It’s perfect.”
Sarah quickly unraveled the train, which was sprinkled with crystal. She sewed it to the bodice at the shoulders and clapped with delight as Catherine walked across the room to see how it fell.
“Should I wear my necklace or not?” Catherine mused.
The maids looked uncertain.
“No, you’re right—we must show some Brigantine restraint. The dress is enough.”
Just then there was a knock on the door, a servant with a message that a gentleman was waiting in the library. Catherine hadn’t realized how long the dressing had taken, but now she was ready to test the effect of her outfit on Sir Rowland.
When they were organized, Catherine said, “Sarah, you lead the way. I would like you to assess the look on Sir Rowland’s face when I enter.”
“You look stunning, Your Highness,” Tanya said.
Catherine smiled. “Good. Nothing less will do.”
She followed Sarah downstairs to the library, Jane and Tanya a step behind, ensuring her train didn’t catch on anything. Sarah opened the doors and Catherine entered. She had intended to surprise Sir Rowland, but it was she who was surprised.
“Noyes!”
The eyes of the king’s spymaster went wide as he saw her, and he took two quick steps backward. Catherine wasn’t sure if that was a good effect or not, but she certainly liked to see Noyes in retreat. She could feel Tanya twitching at her train, but couldn’t tell if she was straightening it or indicating Catherine should hold back.
“I was expecting to meet Sir Rowland.” Catherine immediately regretted telling Noyes what she was doing. “Did you wish to talk with me?”
“I wanted to compliment you on your handling of the situation yesterday evening, Your Highness.”
“A compliment from you. A rare thing indeed.” Catherine braced herself for the catch.
“Lord Farrow’s speech was clumsy and unwelcoming. Your own rescued the situation as well as could be expected for a young woman making what was clearly her first public speech. It was an interesting novelty, I’m sure, for much of the audience. However, I know that your father would not approve and would require you not to repeat it.”
Catherine pursed her lips. “I had several compliments yesterday evening and certainly got the impression that the guests appreciated hearing my views. I intend to ensure they see us Brigantines as friends and not as threats, which is surely what my father intends.”
“The anti-Brigant feelings held by Lord Farrow and his like will not be swayed by a pretty speech, Your Highness, and you risk . . . well, you risk making a mistake, risk making a public spectacle of yourself.”
You’re becoming predictable, Noyes, Catherine thought, playing on my insecurities. He knew her fear of failure, of being laughed at, but what Noyes didn’t know was how she was changing. Free from the shadow of her father, the reward of success now outweighed that fear of failure, and Catherine was finding she was more of a gambler than she had realized.
“Thank you for your advice, Noyes. You’ll be pleased to hear that I don’t intend to make a speech today. Or, rather, I’m going to let my dress do the talking. I’m hoping the crowds will like it.”
Noyes smiled. “Alas, I fear most won’t be able to see it from the carriage.”
“An excellent point, Noyes. That’s why I’ve decided to ride.”
For the second time that morning Catherine had the pleasure of seeing Noyes wrong-footed.
“Ride! In that?”
“Yes. The dress will look splendid on horseback.” How it would feel was another matter; Catherine wasn’t sure if she could even sit down in it yet. She turned, swishing her dress so that the jewels jangled. “Was there anything else, Noyes?”
Noyes didn’t reply.
“In that case, you may go.”
Noyes hesitated, then bowed hastily and stalked out of the room. As he left, Sir Rowland entered. He beamed at Catherine and held out his arms.
“You look magnificent, Your Highness. And your speech last night was a great success. Already I’ve heard people discussing you on their morning rides.”