Amanda McCabe: The Winter Queen

High Seas Stowaway

“Amanda McCabe has gifted us twice over—nothing is better than hearing about friends from other stories. High Seas Stowaway is a fast-paced, exciting novel. Amanda McCabe has done it again—a wonderful tale!”

—Cataromance

A Sinful Alliance

“Scandal, seduction, spies, counter spies, murder, love and loyalty are skillfully woven into the tapestry of the Tudor court. Richly detailed and brimming with historical events and personages, McCabe’s tale weaves together history and passion perfectly.”

—RT Book Reviews

A Notorious Woman

“Danger, deception and desire are the key ingredients in A Notorious Woman, and Amanda McCabe skillfully brews all these potent elements into a lushly sensual, exquisitely written love story.”

—Chicago Tribune

His hair was black as a raven’s wing, falling around his face and over the high collar of his doublet in unruly waves. He impatiently pushed them back, revealing high, sharply carved cheekbones and dark, sparkling eyes.

Eyes that widened as they spied her standing there, staring at him like some addled peasant girl. He handed the lady his empty goblet and moved toward Rosamund, graceful and intent as a cat. She longed to run, to spin around and flee back into the woods, yet her feet seemed nailed into place. She could not dash off, could not even look away from him.

“Well, well,” he said, a smile touching the corner of his sensual lips. “Who do we have here?”

The Winter Queen

Harlequin ®Historical

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* A Notorious Woman #861

* A Sinful Alliance #893

* High Seas Stowaway #930

The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor #943

“Charlotte and the Wicked Lord”

The Winter Queen #970

Other works include

Harlequin Historical Undone eBook

* Shipwrecked and Seduced

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Author’s Note

December, 1564

…it is our deepest hope that, once at Court, you will see the great folly of your actions and rejoice at your happy escape from this poor match. The Queen has done our family a great honour by accepting you as one of her maids of honour. You have a chance to redeem yourself and our family name through service to Her Grace. To discover what will truly make you happy. Do not fail her, or us.

Lady Rosamund Ramsay crumpled her father’s letter in her gloved hand, slumping back against the cushions of the swaying litter. If only she could crush his words out of her memory so easily! Crush the memory of all that had happened since those sweet, warm days of summer. Was it all just months ago? It felt like years, vast years, where she had aged far beyond her nineteen years to become an old, old woman, unsure of herself and her desires.

Rosamund shivered as she tossed the crumpled letter into her embroidered bag, curling her booted feet tighter around the warmer that had long gone cold. The coals weren’t even smoldering embers now. It made her think of Richard, and their professed feelings for each other. The kisses they had stolen in the shade of green, flowering hedges. He hadn’t even tried to see her when her parents had separated them.

And now she was being sent away from Ramsay Castle, pushed out of her home and sent away to serve the Queen. No doubt her parents were sure she would be handily distracted there, in the midst of a noisy, crowded Court, like a fussing babe handed a glittering bauble. They thought that, with Queen Elizabeth’s patronage and all the fine, new gowns they had sent with her, Rosamund would find another match. A better one, more suited to the Ramsay name and fortune. They seemed to think surely one handsome face was as good as another in a young lady’s eye.

But little did they know her. They thought her a shy little mouse. But she could be a lion when she knew what she wanted. If only she knew what that was…

Rosamund parted the curtains of the litter, peering out at the passing landscape. Her parents’ desperation to send her away was so great that they had launched her out into the world as soon as the Queen’s letter had arrived, in the very midst of winter. The world beyond the narrow, frost-rutted roadway was one of bare, skeleton-like trees stretching bony branches towards a steel-gray sky. Thankfully, it was not snowing now, but drifts of white lay along the roadside in lumpy banks.

A sharp wind whistled through the bare trees, bitterly chilling. Rosamund’s escorts—armed guards on horseback, and her maid Jane in the baggage cart—huddled silently in their cloaks. She had not heard a single word since they had stopped at an inn last night, and likely all would be silent until they at last made it to London.

London. It seemed an impossible goal. The palace at Whitehall, with its warm fireplaces, was surely just a dream, as the cozy inn had been. The only reality was this jolting, jarring road, the mud, the never-ending cold that bit through her fur-lined cloak and woollen gown as if they were tissue.

Rosamund felt the hollow sadness of loneliness as she stared out at the bleak day. She had lost her parents and home, lost Richard and the love she had thought they shared. She had no one, and was faced with making a new life for herself in a place she knew so little of. A place where she could not fail, for fear she would never be allowed home again.

She drew in a deep breath of the frosty air, feeling its bracing cold stiffen her shoulders and bear her up. She was a Ramsay, and Ramsays did not fail! They had survived the vicissitudes of five Tudor monarchs thus far, and had escaped unscathed from them all, with a title and fine estate to show for it. Surely she, Rosamund, could make her way through the Queen’s Court without getting herself into more trouble?

Perhaps Richard would soon come to her rescue, prove his love to her. They just needed a plan to persuade her parents he was a worthy match.

Rosamund leaned slightly out of the litter, peering back at the cart rumbling along behind her. Jane sat perched among the trunks and cases, and she looked distinctly grey and queasy. It had been hours since they had left the inn, and Rosamund herself felt stiff and sore, even tucked up among the fur robes and cushions. Feeling suddenly wretched and selfish, she gestured to the captain of the guard that they should stop for a moment.

Jane hurried over to help her alight. ‘Oh, my lady!’ she gasped, fussing with Rosamund’s white-wool cloak and gloves. ‘You look frozen through. This is not a fit time for humans to be out and about, and no doubt about it!’