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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Elizabeth and Harry had slipped out of view from Celia only moments later, disappearing to a quiet corner of the throne room to discuss business, Celia presumed. She was not alone with her thoughts for long, however. Beatrice Smith clutched Celia's hands instantly.
"You're back!" she squealed with joy. Celia embraced her friend—practically sister—and smiled, feeling at home once again. "Was the visit with your family successful? Well, I imagine not, since you are back so soon. But, wait, you weren't due back for another week. Why are you here?" Her bright blue eyes shone as she looked at Celia, and not a single blonde hair on her head was out of place.
"Goodness, Bea. Take a breath," Celia smiled. Although she had missed her best friend, she did not miss her excessive chatter. "There is so much I have to tell you." Celia linked arms with her fellow maid of honor and took a turn about the spacious room.
"And I you," she replied. "But, you go first. Tell me all about France."
"Well, we never actually made it."
Beatrice stopped walking instantly. "What do you mean?"
"Our ship was attacked. I was rescued by that man I escorted in."
"He's a dream," Beatrice sighed. She was the definition of a hopeless romantic. "Who is he? Tell me all about it. Oh! And that handsome man who entered behind him. Doctor Williams?"
"Sir Harry Styles is a crown-employed pirate," Celia whispered, leaning in close to her friend. "He is quite argumentative, strong-minded, and quick-witted. But also very kind and gentle and..." Celia's eyes drifted to Harry on the opposite side of the room, her gaze lingering long enough for both he and Elizabeth to notice. She removed her eyes at once and sighed.
"And, what?" Beatrice asked, a smile painted on her face.
"Amiable."
"Amiable?" Beatrice laughed. "You want to know what I think, Celia?"
"I have a feeling you would tell me even if I didn't."
"I think you're in love."
Celia stopped in her tracks, causing Beatrice to stumble over her feet. She quickly regained balance and looked at Celia, whose features were ridden with disbelief. "I think you must be ill."
Beatrice relinked their arms and practically pulled Celia along. "I think you're in denial."
"Even if I was in love—and I'm not saying I am."
"Of course not," Beatrice played along.
"The Queen would never allow it, and you know that as well as I."
Beatrice groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. She was eighteen years of age, and even though that was only two years difference from Celia, it seemed that at times she acted like a complete child. Celia glared at her best friend and Beatrice immediately shrugged off the sour look on her face, straightened her posture, and pursed her lips.
"That, perhaps, may be the only drawback to being a maid of honor," Celia said.
♛
A feast was held that evening to honor Celia's safe return to court and to welcome Harry at last. Celia sat beside Beatrice at the dining table, Harry opposite of her and Luke next to him. Elizabeth, of course, was seated at the head of the table, and occasionally found Celia stealing glances at the pirate, which she found amusing. It was not until she spotted Harry's gaze lingering on Celia that she felt a strange feeling bubbling in her stomach; jealousy.
The courses went by, one by one, in an agonizingly slow pace. Celia was thrilled to be eating delicious food once more, while Harry found it all rather overdone. Nonetheless, he smiled and ate the food willingly.
Elizabeth had settled Harry and Doctor Luke in quarters on the guest wing of the castle, while Celia resumed her residence in her shared bedroom with Beatrice. The room was spacious and the beds were comfortable, and she was glad to be back in a clean bed after taking a hot bath. What she was not glad of, though, was the meticulous process of undressing Elizabeth. Her gowns were lavish and heavy, practically a substitute for lifting weights. However, falling into the comfort of her bed after helping the Queen into her own was satisfying.
Her muscles relaxed as she pulled the duvet up to her chin, settling her head in the perfect position against her feather pillow. Beatrice shuffled across the room to her own bed until she sighed and fell into the sheets.
"Celia," she whispered. Celia hummed in response. "Sir Harry was looking at you during supper."
Celia felt her lips curl, and she was thankful that the darkness hid her smile from Beatrice. "Oh?"
"Elizabeth was looking at him almost the whole time, as well. I think she fancies him. And who wouldn't? I just don't see how she refuses to ever marry. Doesn't she long for the touch of a man? I think she may long for the touch of Sir Harry."
"You shouldn't say such things, Bea," Celia said harshly.
"No one is here, why shan't I?"
"The walls have ears," Celia whispered. "Have you learned nothing from the death of Jane Foley?"
Beatrice clenched her teeth at the sudden remembrance of poor Jane. Right hand mistress to Elizabeth only two years prior, she had been slipping off with a mysterious suitor for months until it was finally revealed that he was, in fact, a Scottish spy and loyal supporter of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. It remained unknown whether or not she was feeding him information, but the act of loving him was betrayal enough for Elizabeth to send her to the gallows.
"Of course, I just—"
"You indulge in gossip," Celia interrupted. "As any young woman of court would inevitably succumb to, but you are far greater than being just any young woman of court. You are special. Do not let the poison of court seep into your veins. I have lost my sister and I refuse to lose you."
