When a maid of honor to the Queen is rescued by a handsome and contentious pirate, she has to spend three days aboard his ship before returning to court. But is three days time long enough to truly get to know someone? And is English court as diffic...
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Celia walked with a sway in her step as she and the captain left the ship, still feeling the rocking from the waves beneath her feet even though she was on land. Silence plagued the two as Luke trailed behind, the castle looming over them and casting a shadow as they neared it.
Two guards stood on either side of the gate, their gaze stony and stern, proudly wearing the Tudor flower emblem on their uniforms. One of them cocked his head slightly as Celia reached him, a memory clicking in his brain as her unforgettable fiery ringlets and deep blue eyes shone even from a distance.
"Mistress Celia," he spoke with a deep voice, remaining in his rigid stance.
Celia recognized him at once. "Sir Arthur," she smiled. "You are back from your journey to Kent. How was your family?"
"My sister is unwell."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Celia replied.
"Thank you, mistress," he said. "If I may, has your trip to France been cut short? You were not due back for another week."
"There has been a complication, but none to worry you over. May we enter?"
"Of course—"
Sir Arthur had begun to signal for the gate to be lifted, but the guard on the opposite side cut him off. "Halt," he shot daggers from his eyes at Arthur before sending them to the trio. "Who are they?"
"These are very good friends of mine. Sir Harry and Doctor Williams," Celia explained.
"Any friends of yours are welcome in Greenwich Palace, I am sure," Arthur said.
The unknown guard grumbled under his breath as Arthur signaled for the gate to be lifted. As the iron rods screeched open, Celia glanced at Harry, who gave her a disconcerting look.
"Nervous?" Celia asked in a hushed tone.
"More than I would like to admit," he replied.
"Give me your arm," she said. Harry did as he was told and Celia wrapped her hand around his bicep, feeling if flex occasionally underneath the sheer fabric of his shirt. "I intend to show off my rescuer."
Harry's low chuckle was silenced as the heavy doors to the palace swung open by two guards. Celia glanced back at Luke, whose eyes were wide with fear as if he were a child entering a dark forest.
"Welcome to court," Celia said, smiling as she led the way into her home.
Their footsteps echoed against the shiny marble floor that reflected their faces. The walls towered on every side of them, paintings of monarch legends, such as Henry VIII and Elizabeth of York, lining the entry way. Coming to another set of doors, Celia smiled at the guards, turning on her charm as simply as lighting a candle.
"Mistress Celia," they said in unison, confusion written in their tone.
"Hello, gentlemen," she said. "I must speak to the Queen on matters concerning my father's whereabouts."
