Free Maid of Deception by Jennifer McGowan Page B

his to tell.” Careful, girl.
    “Of course he will,” I said quickly to draw Elizabeth’s attention away, my tone breathless with ardor. “Cecil would be mad not to do your bidding, Your Grace, or to serve you to the fullest of his ability.” The Queen was so startled that her gaze swerved off Sophia and rested upon me, her manner instantly hardening.
    “And what of you?” she asked. “I notice you have not been following MacLeod so closely as I would like. What use are you to me if you do not obey my command?”
    Let me be the first to say it: I really hate the Queen.
    “Your Grace,” I said, bowing to both compose my face and to curb the sharpness of my tongue. I lifted my head again and spoke with soft assurance. “As I have already shared with you, I learned all that may be useful when the learning was needed—MacLeod and his men have no religious fervor to speak of, but they well and truly despise the French. In that you have their staunch support. If your needs require me to question them further, I will of course begin again at once.”
    “Hmm,” she returned, still scowling at me. “Do that. Find out if the Scottish Highlanders would respond to an English call to arms against the French. Not that I can imagine the French would last long that far north, but they are a tiresome lot.”
    She turned her gaze to my right. “And you, Meg. I need to verify that what my advisors are telling me is all that they are being told and not some abridged account. But I cannot ask such questions myself, precisely. Not with Cecil and Walsingham dogging my heels at every step. You say you are an actress. Could you take on the role of the most important woman in England?”
    Beside me Meg gave a quick grin. “I am almost of a height as you, Your Grace, and can make myself seem quite like you indeed. With your meanest castoff costume and a borrowed wig—” Meg tilted her head then and placed her hands upon her hips in a perfect imitation of the Queen, as though she were still a member of the Golden Rose acting troupe that had brought her into our fold—a gaggle of men, women, andchildren who were all consummate actors . . . and unrepentant thieves. “I cannot spend the whole of my day closeted with those jabberers,” Meg said severely, mimicking the Queen’s tone and cadence precisely. “But neither do I imagine that it takes hours upon hours of Cecil’s time.”
    “Ah!” The Queen clapped her hands together, for once looking like the young woman I always forgot she was. I resented Meg for liking Elizabeth so well in that moment, though I knew it was uncharitable of me. Meg did not chafe so much as I under the Queen’s constant demands.
    Then again, Meg had never been sent off to giggle over boorish Scotsmen with wandering eyes. And hands.
    “I approve,” Elizabeth continued. “The Festival of the Moon will provide us ample opportunity for you. You will dress as me, Meg, and go into the crowd, seeking out any members of the Scottish delegation whom we suspect to be the Lords of the Congregation. Once you gain their ear, ask them plainly what they need of me. I will be curious to know if their requests match those Cecil has shared with me, or if he is hiding something.”
    “I understand,” Meg said, and the Queen nodded again.
    “There has been a flurry of horsemen arriving today, and I suspect messages will be sent back and forth. I would know them for myself, before Cecil has a chance to refashion their contents to words he considers more palatable to my ear. See that you are ready to act as me, and to report all that you hear.” She paused then, and glanced back to Meg, as if expecting something more than Meg had already given.
    “Of course, Your Grace,” Meg said, curtsying for noapparent reason. She had a habit of that, but it seemed to please Elizabeth.
    “Excellent.” The Queen crossed her arms and surveyed us again, including even me in her approving gaze. “We’ll learn what there is to