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 felt as if an anchor had been let loose in the pit of her stomach, dragging her to the ground. It took all of her strength to lock her knees and stand up straight as the fears were unleashed in her cluttered mind.
Lord Berkeley was rumored to be a most handsome man with a large sum of money, thanks to his ancestor's feats in the Battle of Bosworth and constant loyalty to the Tudor line. However, it was no secret that he was a womanizer and careless with his fortune, addicted to the buzz of gambling. Celia had never had the displeasure of meeting him, and a part of her prayed that lightning would strike her before she would ever have to.
She clutched her stomach and clenched her jaw. Elizabeth noticed her sudden shift in mood. "Has something upset you? Lord Berkeley is a step above your station, I would think you to be glad of this news."
Celia had to change her attitude completely to keep the Queen's good graces and to keep her secret agendas hidden. "Of course I am, your Majesty. Just shocked by the news is all. But, is Lord Berkeley's home not far from court? I had hoped to remain as a maid to you."
Her ruby lips formed a thin, tight smile. "You may remain here as long as you like. I'm sure Lord Berkeley would enjoy the time at court, as it's been so long since his last visit."
Celia tried to smile. "I'd be very pleased."
"Run along, now. Take your walk, or whatever it takes to clear your head of those dreams of yours."
♛
The wind picked up speed as Celia's body began to sprint through the gardens of the palace, passing by courtiers and their lingering glares, until she reached the closed gate and demanded to be let through. Of course, the guards complied without a word and Celia ran away from the palace. The air nipped her nose and cheeks, stinging her eyes and creating pools of tears within them. Celia equated it to be a result of the wind, but it was more likely to be a mixture of that and her emotions.
The moment her feet hit the sand of the shore, she immediately fell to her knees, her hands sinking into the grainy ground. She hung her head low as she gasped for air, tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping into her gaping mouth. As her chest heaved up and down rapidly, the sound of the ocean magnifying in her ears, she heard the crunching of boots against the sand behind her. She clamped her eyes shut and licked her lips, soothing the cracking that had begun on them, and sat upright.
The person did not speak and Celia had not seen their face, but as they lowered themselves on the sand beside her, their silent presence was enough for Celia to gauge who it was. She opened her eyes and tilted her head to verify that it was who she thought it to be. Brown curls blew gently in the wind as his eyes scanned the shoreline, as if he was searching for something in the distance. Not once did he look at Celia.
