A Very Tudor Christmas. Amanda McCabe

scene that afternoon the more sure she was.

      “Meg!” Beatrice hissed, tugging at Meg’s sleeve again. Her cousin’s touch pulled Meg back to the present moment, to their hiding place above her parents’ great hall. “What is happening now?”

      Meg shook away the memory of Robert’s wondrous kiss, and his terrible distance after. She peered back through the knothole to see her parents with the two elder Errolls next to the blazing fire.

      Robert had not appeared at supper, hours after he’d left her at the kitchen door with a bow and a quick kiss to her hand. Only his parents had been there, his portly, bearded father swathed in a velvet and fur doublet, and his beautiful, black-haired, chilly-eyed mother. Meg’s own mother had seemed quite startled they were there, though she had scrambled together a creditable feast and made sure Meg and Beatrice were well-dressed.

      The conversation had only been of court news and the weather, naught about their son. And Meg dared not ask. She and Bea were sent away soon after the meal.

      “Hush, or I won’t be able to hear a thing,” Meg whispered, peering closer.

      Her father was pouring wine into everyone’s goblets. “We are honored by your visit, of course, Lord Erroll,” he said. “We get little enough word of court here.”

      It was Lady Erroll who answered. “It is most unfortunate for you, Master Clifford. Everything happens at court, does it not?”

      “But we must look in on our estates from time to time,” Lord Erroll said. “We are on our way there now. Knowing we were going there, the queen herself asked us to deliver a message to you.”

      The queen? Meg heard Bea gasp, and she grabbed her cousin’s hand to quiet her. It was all far too much excitement for one day in their tiny corner of the world.

      “Her Grace?” Meg’s mother cried. “The queen has a message for us?”

      “Aye,” Lady Erroll said, seeming quite as doubtful as Meg’s mother. “She has heard you have a pretty, amiable daughter, as indeed you do, as we have seen her ourselves tonight, and we understand our son met your family at a New Year’s banquet. Queen Elizabeth wishes for her to come to court, to see if she might suit as a new maid-of-honor.”

      “Meg!” Beatrice whispered, almost crushing Meg’s sleeve with her enthusiasm. “Did you hear that? You could serve the queen.”

      Meg had indeed heard it—she just couldn’t quite believe it. Her, go to court? She couldn’t even wrap her thoughts around it. It was true that once her grandmother had served one of old King Henry’s queens, and her father sometimes went to court to present Queen Elizabeth with a New Year’s gift, but there had never been talk of her doing such a thing.

      And—and if she was truthful to herself—she had to admit that wasn’t why she had hoped the Errolls had come to Clifford. She’d dared hope they came to propose a betrothal.

      Her throat felt thick, but she refused to cry in front of Bea. She should not cry, not over silly dreams.

      But the way his kiss had felt....

      Meg shushed Beatrice again and twisted her head so she could see her parents’ faces. They looked at each other in that quiet way they always had together, as if they could communicate with their gaze alone. It was always maddening to try and decipher what they thought.

      “Our Meg is young yet,” her father said. “And she has little training for a court life. This news is a surprise, and a great honor. We must think about it.”

      Lady Erroll shrugged. “As you think best, of course, Master Clifford. But court is truly the best place to secure a family’s fortune. Our own daughter is but sixteen and has been a maid-of-honor for a year now. And our son...” Her languid voice suddenly turned proud. “Our son has a great career ahead of him. Her Grace is sending him as part of a delegation to Paris. He will be gone for at least a year, and when he returns we have hopes of a very great marriage for him with one of the Howard girls.”

      “If he can cease to be such a care-for-nothing,” Lord Erroll grumbled into his wine. “Running about London with those young bravos....”

      Lady Erroll shot him a scowl. “Robert is young and handsome. Why should he not enjoy himself now? He has a brilliant future ahead of him. The right marriage will surely...”

      Meg could hear no more. She broke away from Bea and scrambled out of the closet. Lifting the heavy hem of her skirt, she ran as fast as she could along the corridors and down the stairs.

      “Mistress Margaret!” a maidservant called as she dashed past. “Wait! I have...”

      But Meg could not stop. She feared her tears would blind her, and worse, people would see them. Her hood tumbled from her head and her hair fell free, but she scarcely noticed.