The Hawk and the Dove

by Virginia Henley

  She was disconcerted that he wasn’t afraid or even the slightest bit alarmed that she had his knife. She glanced down at the dagger and saw its handle was fashioned in the shape of a wildcat. From somewhere he had produced its mate. “Now we each have one … a matched pair … keep it.”

  As she faced him the full realization that he was her husband hit her. England’s law, aye, and God’s law, too, gave him the power of life and death over her. As she faced him she realized she was wearing what should have been her wedding gown and she was almost undone. Tears sprang to her eyes for what might have been, then a raging anger dried them instantly. This, then, was the enemy. This was the one man she would know intimately, the one she would enslave, the one she would destroy. How to begin? Instinctively she fell back on parry and thrust. She curled her lip. “I came only for the necklace. It is mine!”

  The mockery was back in his eyes. “It is the queen’s.”

  “Ha! Whatever gives you such a ridiculous notion?”

  “I gave it to her. You must get it back from me and replace it before you are discovered.” His words told her plainly her only alternative.

  “In return for the necklace you actually expect me to become your mistress?” she demanded hotly.

  “Mistress? By God’s blood, there’s arrogance for you. I had only one tumble in mind.”

  She was so stung by his words, she lunged at his gut with the knife. He set his teeth and almost crushed the bones in her wrist. The dagger slipped to the carpet and he swept her into his arms. His tongue flicked over her lips. “How do I know you’d be any good?” he teased. His lips traced a path up to the tempting little beauty mark and he tongued it sensually.

  “Since I’m untouched … I’d be only as good as you made me.”

  Her words sent a surge of hot lust through his body. His hands held her captive against his hardness. He slanted an eyebrow at her. “Untouched? Unused? Unsullied?” He paused, then whispered maddeningly, “Untrue!”

  She answered him in kind. “Unwilling! Unyielding!” She paused, then whispered her challenge: “Untamed!” She bit him.

  He held her eyes with his. “Life is a game. This is a game between us, Sabre, but if you want to play, you’d better know all the rules. In every game there is risk. In every game there is a winner and a loser.”

  “If you think I’m not going to win this game between us you are mistaken; badly mistaken. I have resolved to win!” She hated him with a passion. Her breasts heaved with her agitation and the pink nipples became more visible with each deep breath she took.

  “Take off your clothes and let’s see how you show,” he taunted.

  She pulled from his embrace, angry enough to kill him if she’d had her sabre in her hand. “Take off your clothes, my Lord Devonport, and let’s see if you measure up!”

  Very deliberately he took off the shirt and slowly turned before her so she could inspect him. The impact of his body stunned her. The taut muscles rippled across his chest and back, and across one incredibly wide shoulder blade was a dragon tattoo. Desire rose up in her like a hot tide sweeping through her body. She knew a raging need to be pressed against his naked length in the great bed. Incredibly, she wanted to touch him, taste him. Slay the dragon … or be slain. Her legs would not support her; she slipped to the rug, burried her face in her hands, and sobbed out her misery.

  He did not lift her up, but lay on the floor with her and gathered her to him. “Hush, sweeting, don’t cry. I enjoy being a cruel bastard. Mayhap you spoke the truth. But your innocence will be fleeting at court, my little wildcat.”

  He smoothed the tumbled coppery tresses and shuddered at the feel of her hair beneath his fingers. He buried his face in it and groaned. “Let me be your protector, Sabre.”

  An easy conquest would bore him quickly. That she didn’t want, couldn’t afford. She knew he wished to seduce her that he might be the master; she wished to keep him desiring to seduce her, so she denied him. “I’ll be no man’s mistress! Only my husband will take my virginity,” she vowed.

  “We’ll see about that,” he taunted as he stood up. “I warn you, my efforts to change your mind will be relentless.” Grinning wickedly, he offered his hands to her. She arose gracefully without his help, but not before he had been treated to a display of her exquisite breasts. Without a word he offered her the necklace and the dagger. She took both.

  Alone in her room, she was exultant! She had won the first round and couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she held the turquoise and jade to her neck and looked at her reflection in the mirror. “’Fore God, I almost had him begging!”

  Next morning she awoke with a heightened anticipation that the day or the night would bring them face-to-face again. It was child’s play to replace the necklace when Kate unlocked the jewel caskets. She hadn’t felt this alive in her life.

  When she learned that Hawkhurst had actually gone to join the queen’s progress she was stunned like a bird flown into a wall. She voiced every curse and invocation she’d ever heard and hurled them at the queen. How could she be jealous of an aging virago? But she was!

  She resigned herself to an uneventful summer. She furthered her female friendships, learned to love the fascinating city of London, and with cool disdain kept the men of the court at arm’s length.

  When Matt returned from Calais he let her pick a length of expensive French silk from his cargo, and she chose a watered silk of pale lemon shot through with silver. He took her to dine at Gunter’s in London, very fashionable; but it was a most daring thing to dine alone with a man. Matthew told her he was going home to visit his mother. She had been alone since Sebastian had died, and since Hawk could not undertake the filial responsibility, he must.

  By August the queen’s wardrobe had been refurbished. Kate was pleased with Sabre and insisted she wouldn’t have managed alone one tenth of what they had accomplished together.

  Sabre had had a busy day. Kate asked for her assistance while she went into the city. They had, with the help of an armed guard, taken the queen’s broken jewelry to the goldsmith’s in Lombard Street and the broken fans to the fanmaker’s in Eastcheap. Elizabeth seldom threw anything away, so everything had to be tallied on long descriptive lists and copies given to the craftsmen making the repairs.

  She had still made time to exercise Sabbath, for she had begun to really enjoy her rides along the river. She didn’t discourage gentlemen from joining her, but always made sure she accepted more than one escort.

  Her small chamber felt airless, so before she climbed into bed, she opened the casement just a crack. Tomorrow she promised herself she would begin cutting the pattern for the new silk gown.

  * * *

  The farther from London the queen’s progress traveled, the more Shane Hawkhurst’s thoughts lingered on Greenwich. He cursed the time he must waste in useless social activities that had taken them all over East Anglia, ending up in Norwich. Bess kept him at her side, along with Robin Devereux, the young earl of Essex. He and Essex were not friends, yet they were not enemies either. Rather they were rivals for the queen’s affection and patronage, and between them managed to manipulate her rather well. For if she gave a favor to one, then in fairness she would reward the other. Bess had made Essex her master of horse, since his stepfather, her beloved Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, was off commanding her troops in Holland. To prevent jealousy she had made Lord Devonport a gentleman pensioner, a member of the Queen’s Own Guard.

  Hawkhurst lay with his arms crossed behind his head, his body sated for the moment but his mind in turmoil. His companion was piqued at the fact that five minutes after he had made love to her, he was again a distant stranger. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his shirt or breeches.

  “You never kissed me, Lord Devonport,” the queen’s lady-in-waiting said, pouting prettily.

  He turned absently toward her and was shocked to see how shopworn she looked. No wonder, he thought with disgust. Essex, Southampton, and I pass the queen’s
ladies around as casually as a shared bottle of wine. All to alleviate the boredom of cooling our heels, dancing attendance while Bess ignored impending threats from every direction. She had no foreign policy, but shifted with the wind and somehow survived, even flourished. She was assailed from the north by Scotland. France was going to dishonor its treaty with her to make a separate peace with Spain. That country’s king, Philip, was at this moment building his great Invincible Armada, so it was no wonder the Irish intended to seize this time for rebellion to free themselves from the English yoke. Yet here they dallied night after night, filling their hours with fireworks and fornication!

  Lady Mary Howard slipped from the bed and brought back two silken cords, which she held out to him. “Would you like to play a game, Lord Devonport?”

  He cynically realized it was a new diversion Essex must have taught her. He noticed how brilliantly her eyes shone at the thought of being tied so he could have his way with her. Hell’s fire, the wench was so willing, where was the thrill? After the erotic practices he had learned on his voyages to exotic lands, this was tame fare indeed. He stifled a yawn and prepared to enter the game. She regretted it later when he forgot to untie her before rolling over in a sound sleep.

  The next day began badly for Hawkhurst when the earl of Southampton, having lost a vast sum to him dicing, kept drawling sarcastic barbs directed at his integrity. His irritating lisp exacerbated Hawk’s temper. Southampton was the type of youth who could be vicious as a dog when the mood was upon him, or appealing as a playful puppy when everything was going his way.

  Hawkhurst, always on a short fuse, had laid the youth out flat, all sprawling six feet of him. Then, to make matters worse, Bess had had petulant words with him and Essex about the stallions they rode. Essex had acquiesced and chosen a gelding, but Hawkhurst was damned if he would.

  Before the sun began its afternoon descent into the western sky, he found himself booted and spurred and riding the hundred miles that separated him from Greenwich. Sabre Wilde … the punishing ride would be worth it when he sought release between her thighs. After Bess’s close company for a month he needed his freedom, he needed to feel the powerful stallion beneath him, and the wind in his hair.

  As he climbed to the third-floor balcony and swung his legs across the stone balustrade, he mocked himself for a fool. What if another warmed her bed? He had ridden most of the night hell-bent for leather, only to hesitate at the last moment. He slipped quietly into the room and crossed to the bed. The moonlight spilled across her, showing that she had twisted free from the coverlet and lay in a pristine lawn smock. He was aroused by the sight of her, but it was her innocence that sent desire flooding through his veins.

  He searched the room for evidence of a lover. The cupboard held only three gowns, and her other possessions were quickly and thoroughly tallied—no gifts, no jewels, only a small store of coins. He knew a need to wake her, to see her green eyes widen at his presence. He ached to touch her, taste her, fill her with his great heat, but he crushed the raw cravings he felt rather than disturb one moment of her peaceful slumber.

  He reached out thumb and forefinger and touched a tress of the sable fire, exulting in its silky texture. What an impulsive fool he had been to ride a hundred miles for just a glimpse. He sighed and, taking a small object from inside his doublet, placed it on her pillow.

  As he left he pulled the casement tight to keep her safe. He promised himself there would be endless nights when he would come to her and enjoy the green eyes widening at his boldness. Always when he closed his eyes to conjure her image, the same picture rose up. It was the first moment his eyes had devoured the coppery, hip-length curls mingled with those between her legs.

  He would not waste what was left of this night. Now that he was in London and all thought him at Norwich, it was a heaven-sent opportunity to execute a fine piece of business. He knew he must be back in Norwich before the evening’s festivities, and by the time dawn found him riding north, six Irish political prisoners had escaped from the Devlin Tower, through the water gate, and by now were safely hidden aboard a Hawkhurst vessel crossing the Irish Sea.

  When the governor of the Tower, and later Walsingham, questioned the guards, only one admitted seeing anything at all. He stuck to his story of seeing a “black shadow,” and before the week was out London was rife with rumor and the Black Shadow was on the lips of every gossip.

  When Sabre opened her eyes she snatched up the jewel lying on her pillow. The brooch was a wildcat fashioned from diamonds with large green emeralds for its eyes. There was no doubt whatsoever in her mind who had given her the priceless gift, but considering when and how he had done so sent shivers up her spine. The knave had been here under cover of night, watching her sleep, yet he was a hundred miles away, wasn’t he?

  She smiled a secret smile, the corners of her mouth turning up saucily. This was just the first of a vast array of jewels she intended to collect. Her days at court had already taught her that riches meant power. The Golden Rule had new meaning—those with the gold ruled.

  Chapter 8

  Suddenly it was September and the queen and her court were returned to London to start the brilliant winter season of entertaining and great festivities. London took on new life; its excitement could be felt in the very air. Entertainments, masques, parties, and feasts were planned. Every theater in London presented a new play, and the playbills were handed out on every street corner.

  Kate gave Sabre a final lesson in the hierarchy of the court. The highest-ranking ladies were the grand ladies of the bedchamber, then came the ladies of the privy chamber, then the substream ladies of the presence chamber who had no specific duties, but simply attended the queen when she received foreign ambassadors or parliamentary delegations. On formal occasions six unmarried maids of honor formed the queen’s train.

  Her ladies were expected to accompany Her Majesty on her morning walks, attend her at church, dance nightly in the council chamber, ride to the hunt with her, and never step over the boundaries of obedience and chastity, which of course they sometimes did, and then they were expected to stand meekly before her while she vented her spleen of all its venom.

  Kate was one of the chief gentlewomen of the privy chamber who must always be present at the robing, the most important ceremony of the morning. There were so many gowns to choose from, so many jewels to be tried on then discarded. A caul chosen to match a gown; a hat spangled with gold to match a bodice spangled with gold. The ruff alone could take half an hour; a half-ruff or a shoulder-wide starched ruff to set off huge padded leg-o’-mutton sleeves.

  It was the express duty of her ladies to shower her with compliments, and it would be Sabre’s express duty to restore order from chaos by putting away whatever Bess had discarded.

  Sabre couldn’t wait to get a firsthand view of the queen she had heard so many contradictory things about and to form her own opinion. Kate advised her to attend church the first morning Elizabeth returned, so that she could observe without herself being observed.

  Sabre sat well back in the queen’s chapel and received one surprise after another from the moment Elizabeth arrived. Her entrance into the chapel was noisy, rather than hushed, as a holy place required. She walked very quickly, as if a ghost were upon her heels, and all her ladies had to hurry to keep up with her. The gaudy spectacle she presented reminded Sabre acutely of her own red dress episode. The queen was outfitted in bright orange with rows and rows of gold spangled braid. She wore two or three rings on every finger of her exceptionally long, white hands. She was so vain of their beauty she continually gestured with them in an exaggerated fashion. She wore a wig which without doubt was the brightest, most unbelievable color of hair Sabre had ever witnessed. Her eyes were brilliant black and missed absolutely nothing. And she was as flat chested as a boy.

  Everything went smoothly until her chaplain began his sermon. Unfortunately he chose to speak of a woman’s duty to marry and beget heirs. The queen stood up in a high rag
e. “Leave that! Leave that!” she shouted. “The matter is now threadbare!” Then she spat upon the floor.

  Sabre was astounded. If she hadn’t witnessed it with her own eyes, she would never have believed it. Elizabeth wielded supreme power. She made it crystal clear to all that she would say and do exactly as she pleased and woe betide any who stood in her path.

  Greenwich Palace overflowed with courtiers. Meals were suddenly lavish, formal affairs with the dining hall so crowded, Sabre had to squeeze in wherever the tiniest space on a bench could be found, and all the talk was of plans for the masque to be held to celebrate the queen’s birthday on September twenty-seventh. It was rumored the court would remove to Windsor, where there was more room and where the queen could indulge her love of hunting.

  Bess had a robust constitution, and the second night she was back in Greenwich the dancing was expected to last until midnight. Sabre wore the new gown of lemon silk shot through with silver. She had fashioned the neckline in a deep V that lured the eye to the breathtaking breasts swelling out of the bodice, and she pinned the wildcat with the emerald eyes at the bottom of the V. She wore a half-ruff to allow her hair to be worn in careful dishevelment around her shoulders and down her back. It was all the rage to wear the hair up in the latest style, so of course Sabre would be different.

  The absolute latest fashion was for a woman to affect a “bodkin” or small dagger, so she had designed a sheath into the sash of her gown and tucked in the blade Hawkhurst had given her. Of course the knife was no lady’s ornament, but a very real and lethal dagger. However, she could not resist wearing both the wildcats with which he had gifted her.

  Anne Vasavour was flirting with Lord Oxford, but the moment he saw Sabre he asked to lead her out in the dance. Anthony Bacon also danced with her and later in the evening introduced her to his brother Francis, reported to be the most brilliant mind at court. He had an unfortunate stutter and seldom indulged in social chatter with the ladies, for they were always trying to help him by putting words in his mouth or finishing his sentences for him. It never occurred to Sabre to do such a thing and Francis Bacon took an immediate liking to her.