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 cowered in fear as the the guards approached her. They each grabbed one of her arms and yanked her forward, causing the letter she had written to Harry to flutter to the ground. The men dragged her away, her feet scrambling to catch herself and stop her from behind dragged, but it was no use. She gave in, her body limp in their pinching grasp as the men hauled her across the room.
Glancing back at the Queen before she was thrown into the hallway, Celia could swear there were tears in her eyes and a frown on her lips.
The doors were slammed shut behind her as she was tossed to the ground, her hands and knees smacking against the floor. A searing pain spiked in her joints. She hung her head low as she tried to catch her rapid breath. The hallway was silent, but she spotted two pairs of feet in her vision. She slightly lifted her head and raised her eyes to find Cassandra and Margaret standing before her.
Their facial expressions said it all. While Margaret wore surprise and worry, Cassandra's features were drenched in triumph.
Cassandra smirked down at Celia. "What do we have here?"
"Celia—" Margaret stepped forward only to be stopped by Cassandra.
She grabbed Margaret's arm. "My servants say that a letter was found in her room, addressed to her secret husband, Sir Harry Styles," Cassandra whispered to Margaret. Her eyes flicked down to Celia. "She's nothing more than a harlot."
Margaret ripped away her arm from Cassandra's grip. "This is your doing," she said to Cassandra. "I've seen you whispering with the servants as they exit her chambers—you've done this to her."
Cassandra did nothing but smile. "She did this to herself."
The guards behind Celia grabbed her by the upper arm and lifted her to her feet. She tore her arms away from their acidic touch. "I can walk myself," she spat with anger.
The men complied and began to walk, Celia sandwiched between them. She looked back over her shoulder to Margaret, who was staring straight at Celia and shaking her head with disbelief. Celia swallowed hard and whipped her head around, preparing herself for the ridicule that would follow.
Courtiers halted in the hallways as Celia passed by, her posture straight as an arrow and her head held high with her gaze fixed in the distance ahead of her. They watched in awe as the daughter of the late advisor to the Queen strutted down the hallways with no visible fear on her face, her eyes strong and not bearing a single tear.
Turning a corner, more noblemen and women stopped in their tracks. Celia scanned her eyes across their faces, catching a pair of glowing green eyes. Harry, his shirt half buttoned and hair unruly, stood beside Beatrice. Their faces were flushed and worry was etched into their sorrowful features. His jaw hung low and his eyes widened as he looked at his wife.
Celia's knees buckled and she crumbled to the ground. Every ounce of strength that she had summoned to get her through the walk to the Tower of London had vanished at the sight of Harry. The guards, now a few steps ahead of her, stopped and turned around to look at the helpless woman on her knees.
