Kathryn Kramer - GAME OF QUEENS by Highland Bride

Author:Highland Bride
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2013-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

The day dawned clear with just a snap of frost in the air. Winter was relatively mild in Stafford, or so it seemed thus far, Moira thought as she looked out the window at the rolling hills and pasturelands. From the windows of Chartley, she was afforded a magnificent view: Acre after acre of snow-dusted ground, blue ribbons of icy water winding over the hills, and leafless trees with upraised branches, as if in prayer. There was a serene beauty to the countryside that reminded her of her home in Scotland, and made her just a bit homesick at times. But her longing to see her home again was nothing compared to how much she missed Ryan Paxton. How was it possible for a man to have become so very integral to her happiness? Without him, loneliness had taken on a new meaning.

“I must forget him for the time being.” She whispered, trying to put all selfish thought from her mind. It was easier said than done, for not one day passed that she didn't think of Ryan Paxton with a heavy heart. When she returned, would she ever be able to make him understand the reason why she had left London? Would it be too late? He was a handsome man; would he find another love to take her place? She could only hope that he would not, that it would not be too late to tell him that she loved him and to make amends.

Moira tried to think of other things lest she give way to melancholy. She had taken on a new last name, Mowbray,” pretending to be related to two of the women already in Mary’s employ. It was an identity that Paulet did not seem to doubt, though he did scold her from time to time with the admonition that she must earn her keep and make certain her hands were busy. In truth, there was always a great deal to keep her occupied, for she had been given the task as lady’s maid to Mary. It was a request surprisingly granted by the stern-faced Paulet, who nonetheless kept a stern watch over Moira’s every move.

Moira aided Mary in dressing, and attended the queen at morning Mass. After religious services, she sat by Mary’s side for breakfast, then kept her company at her sewing. Mary tried to while away the long hours of her confinement with embroidery, reading, gardening or at play with her pet spaniels—she who had once relished riding, hawking and hunting. Now Mary suffered from an inflammation in her joints and pain in her muscles, no doubt brought on by her lack of freedom, and thus the chance for proper exercise. Sometimes her legs were so swollen that she could not even walk. When her health and the weather allowed it, Mary should most certainly be given the privilege of seeking the fresh air. Surely even the frown-faced Paulet must have some compassion. Or did he? Moira wasn't so sure.

Paulet, oh how Moira loathed the man.

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