Wild Rose

Rosie Woolley

Description

Anne Lightfoot's quiet life in the forest with her father is shattered by the appearance of Francis Walsingham, Queen Elizabeth's spymaster. First thrown into the Tower of London then freed to serve the queen, Anne finds herself at the heart of a dangerous mystery. Alone, without her father or Captain Blake, her childhood protector, Anne must decide who can be trusted to help uncover the secrets being kept from her. Should she trust Nicholas de Byle, a young and rebellious courtier determined to help her, or Willem, a foreign nobleman with a scandalous answer to the question of Anne's identity? From the chill of the Tower to the heat of Queen Elizabeth's stare, we follow Anne through a maze of relationships, grand occasions and perilous challenges to her story's thrilling conclusion.

Informations

• Publié par: eBookPartnership.com
• Date de parution: 04 décembre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781909270992
• Langue: English

Extrait

Rosie Woolley has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by eBookPartnership.com
First published in eBook format in 2012 ISBN: 978-1-909270-99-2
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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For DRW
Prologue: Ponder
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue: George I
Acknowledgements
My home stretches from the Traitor’s Gate on the river and climbs up to the majesty of the White Tower. From the river, the Tower is unmistakable: the glory of the kings and queens of England is written on its walls. Bright sculptures, golden window frames, intricate carvings, all tell of the power and wealth of the English throne.
I am Ponder, Raven Protector Royal, eldest son of Raven Protector Courage and Raven Protector Legend, the High Raven Protector Royal of all England. My family has worked at the Tower for more generavens than the Memory can say. It has been our sacred duty to serve the kings and queens of this great nation. Our work is secretive – the People do not perceive our power over them. It was said by a king of old that if there were no Ravens left here, the White Tower would fall and England fall with it.
This country is very old; though great it has not always followed the true path. Do not be fooled by the wealth of our kings or the beauty of our queens, to us Ravens they are no different from all their kind. Capable of great good and great evil: the People fascinate us. The Memory is filled with tales of their heroism and treachery. In the time of my foreravens, their task was simpler. A child inherited the throne from their parent. In these dark days, all is chaos. The power of the throne intoxicates those who are near it. The People will do anything to claim the crown for themselves or their families.
I want to tell you a story, for this is how the Memory lives. The People do not know this story. They do not see as we see. This is a story that makes the Ravens’ eyes sparkle. It tells of the power the People have when they lose all power. It tells of the mysterious love they share for one another. It tells of the bravery and tenacity of one Raven. In all our years, going back through the generavens, we have not seen its equal in all the royal palaces. You must remember and tell this story to your children. We wait and watch and work for its happy ending.
Anne crept towards where the bird was resting on the top branches of the hedge. A big dark bird like this was unusual. It certainly didn’t belong by the sea, where the birds were bright and nosy, or the forest, where they were small and nervy. This bird was the deep darkness of the forest in a rainstorm and the rich green flash of her mother’s gemstone ring and the sparkling darkness of the deep water far out to sea.
The raven put its head to one side, as though he was thinking. She smiled and edged closer. The raven nodded quickly and put its head to the other side. Anne laughed with delight and ran toward the bird, which rose into the air with a deep croaking cry.
The bird was lost behind the hedgerow, which towered above her. Anne ran: faster and faster, picking up her skirts and calling to the bird. When she burst out of the path onto the beach, she searched the open skies but saw no raven. With a sigh, she turned and walked along the beach toward where fishermen were hauling their boats up from the waves.
As she walked she wondered. In her woods she saw deer; from time to time she heard wolves and thrilled with the fear they inspired. Birds of all kinds were her daily companions, but she had never seen such a big bird, such a black bird. Anne pushed against the stiff breeze by the shoreline until her cheeks glowed warm though the heat of the summer was failing.
Where the tide had gone out it had left behind it treasures that had been carried from the deeper waters in the currents that swept through the narrow channel. Fragments of glass that had been pounded by the waves into the rough sand and pebbles glinted in the light and shone like precious stones. Anne found a length of heavy, salty rope that was twisted around itself like a snake. She grasped one end of the monster and jumped back as it curled toward her of its own accord. Next she found the largest stone she could and carried it down to the water. Launched into the sea, it sent up a great plume and made a deep ‘ploop’ that sent Anne looking for another.
Only when the sun dipped behind the cliffs, casting the beach into shade, did Anne turn to home. Ahead, the fishermen were resting against their boats. She could feel their eyes on her as she approached them. ‘Good evening,’ she said politely as she passed them. They each nodded and looked away, but she felt their eyes on her again as soon as she had her back to them.
Anne was used to being the object of curiosity. Though she had grown up in the same house, played in the same forest and run along the same beach her whole life, it seemed that those she met never got used to seeing her there. Her manners, education and dress placed her in a big house, child of a wealthy knight. Her games in the forest, the scrapes on her shins, muddy hands and rosy cheeks placed her on the land.
Anne lived with her father in a stone house with a thatched roof at the end of a long lane that had been cut through the trees. Where the lane met the main road from London there was a barracks where a small group of soldiers made up part of the coastal defences. A garden had also been cleared from the trees and a plot of land for growing vegetables and keeping animals. Standing guard over the house stood ancient trees – oak and ash, cedar and birch. The trees stood apart from one another just enough to allow the ferns and grasses to grow beneath them, where the sunlight reached its golden fingers to the ground.
Anne waved to the soldiers as she passed the barracks, humming happily. She straightened her cap and smoothed down her skirt but still when her father saw her he tutted and sighed at the sight of her.
‘Anne, there you are. Look at your clothes. Come here. Where have you been this time?’
Shaking Anne’s cloak, he frowned at the leaves and sand that fell from its folds.
‘What are we to do?’ he asked Anne, who returned his smile but twisted out of her father’s arms.
What were they to do? Anne did not see that anything needed to be done. She loved to be out in the forest or on the beaches and cliff tops near their home. The open sky was as exhilarating as the dark forest was mysterious. But her father was nervous about Anne wandering far from their house. His tight expression told of some worry that he would not speak of to Anne.
‘Please, Anne,’ her father entreated. ‘Do not stay out long, if you must be out at all. It is not safe for you to be wandering the way you do.’
Anne did not reply. She was suddenly tired and wanted to be alone. If she could not know what troubled him, she did not think it fair that she was hemmed in by his fears. She nodded slowly and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
As Anne drew the curtain on the forest, she saw with a start that the raven was watching.
Anne was sheltered by her father just as the forest sheltered their home from the world beyond. John Lightfoot was a humble but educated man and he spent much of his time teaching Anne. While John was reluctant to let Anne stray far from their home, he would treat her to the histories and politics of foreign lands.
So at the age of fourteen, Anne knew more about the lives of the French and their court, whose shores she could see on a clear day from the cliff tops, than her own neighbours. Her head buzzed with knowledge and skill, but she had no one to share it with and nothing to do with all that she learnt.
A small handful of people came into their lives from beyond. One was Mr Goodbody, an ancient man whose body curled over in a way that made him seem as though he was perpetually searching for something he dropped. His news came from the court of Queen Elizabeth, second hand from the rich family who now employed him as a tutor to their sons and daughters.
The soldiers at the barracks came and went. Most were young and so were nearer to Anne’s age than anyone else she came into contact with. Anne could understand their frustration at being stationed so far from any action. After all, were the Spanish likely to land where the cliffs were tall and the sea strewn with submerged rocks? The soldiers made occasional patrols of the coastline but most of the time they exercised their horses and tried to stay warm in the damp woodland barracks.
The barracks’ commanding officer, Captain Blake, had been posted at the end of the Lightfoots’ lane for as long as Anne could remember. Blake was