Wild Hearts

by Virginia Henley

  "I don't want a wife, I want a mistress. It's my brother who is taking a wife tomorrow,"

  She looked puzzled for a moment. "If Sir Philip Herbert is your brother, why don't you have the same name?"

  "My dear, I'm the Earl of Pembroke. Herbert is our family name."

  "Forgive me, milord, my ignorance is truly appalling," she said, blushing.

  "You enchant me when you blush. If you won't spend tonight with me, be with me at the wedding tomorrow?"

  "If your brother is one of the King's favorites, why is he allowing him to wed tomorrow?"

  Pembroke hugged her to him. "Little innocent. The King isn't jealous of his favorite's women, especially if they regale him with all the intimate details, but they must not enjoy other men."

  "I see," she said faintly.

  The wedding of Sir Philip Herbert and Lady Susan Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, though it was supposed to be a private ceremony for relatives and close intimates of the King, was one of the social highlights of the festive season. Once more the whole of Anne's Court would make the journey along the Strand to Whitehall. The ceremony was to take place in the royal chapel, and the wedding feast would be celebrated in the banqueting hall.

  Queen Anne and her ladies seemed so determined to dress ostentatiously, they were bound to outdo the bride. Today the Queen wore a deep royal blue gown, which had a mantle of cloth of gold that stood up in a fan shape behind her head and fell to the ground in heavy folds. It necessitated the aid of two maids-of-honor if she moved a distance greater than three feet. Once again Tabrizia noted the colors that dominated were gold, red and purple. By contrast, she stood out from the crowd. She wore a pale green tissue gown edged with silver ribbons. It set off her beautiful hair to perfection and allowed the roses to bloom in her delicate complexion. Though she knew it was neither spectacular nor regal, she was aware that she was the prettiest female at Court. The other ladies seemed unaware that their choice of colors was too harsh for them.

  Tabrizia had never attended a wedding before, and the religious ceremony held all her attention. Much of it was in Latin, since King James had a passion for the language. Nevertheless, she found the altar, vestments, the incense and the music stirred deep feelings within her. As the couple were given the sacrament, exchanged vows, and she received his ring, Tabrizia felt tears come to her eyes for the beauty and sanctity of the ceremony.

  In the banqueting hall the Queen's players put on a tableau purporting to be an allegory about wedded bliss. It was filled with angels with large golden keys, which were supposed to be the keys to Paradise. Naked children with bows and arrows were supposed to be cupids and cherubs, but the damage they were intent on inflicting upon each other with the deadly weapons forced the tableau to come to a rapid climax.

  The food, for a change, was still warm. There was never a shortage of meats and game birds, for the King and his gentlemen hunted every morning of their lives. When the food was cleared away, the tables were pushed back to make room for dancing. Although Tabrizia had had very little practice, she did not lack partners. Even some of the King's favorites sought her out, and she came to the conclusion that they enjoyed female company more than they dared admit to James. Pembroke spent as much time as he could with her, although his duties as groomsman to his brother kept him busy.

  The finale of the day of course was the "bedding." As the hour grew late, the jests more ribald and the bets more ridiculous, the whole assembly accompanied the bride and groom to their nuptial chamber. The King had his arm around Philip as they maneuvered the stairs, and none knew just who supported whom, so flown with wine were they.

  Tabrizia stood wide-eyed as the gentlemen of the bedchamber stripped Philip naked and the maids-of-honor did the same with Lady Susan. No blushes covered this bride—she needed no urging to climb upon the bed. As two of the King's favorites lifted the groom onto the bed, King James cried, "Remember our bet--- twice you said, you young ram. Facta non verba." He chortled. "Deeds speak louder than words!"

  Tabrizia, a flaming blush upon her cheeks, spun on her heel to flee the coarseness of the chamber. A dark figure standing just inside the door reached out a strong hand to stay her flight, and a deeply pleasant voice asked with concern, "What is it, mistress?"

  She raised her head and gazed into the steady, unblinking gray eyes of Patrick Stewart. She faltered over her words. "They are... they are actually..." She could go no further, as the words caught in her throat and the crimson blush spread down her throat.

  He said slowly, drinking in her delicate beauty, "Modesty in a Court lady is indeed a rarity."

  "I... I have not been long at Court, milord," she whispered, lowering her lashes to her cheeks. "Please let me pass."

  "Nay, I will escort you wherever you wish to go," he told her firmly.

  "I am returning to Denmark House, milord. I thank you for your offer, but I have been at Court long enough to know I must never be alone with a gentleman."

  "I shall take you in my carriage. You will be safe with me." He spoke with such authority, she believed him when he promised she would be safe.

  A great black coach pulled up at the entrance the moment the Earl of Orkney emerged from the building; its driver was flanked by a pair of stag hounds. As he assisted her up into the vehicle, her hand rested on his arm, and she felt the strong, corded muscle flex beneath the black velvet of his sleeve. Effortlessly, he swung into the coach and took the seat opposite her, so that he could gaze his fill of this fragile enchantress who had dropped into his hands. The lantern cast a pale glow over her, picking out the highlights of the silken mass that caressed her bare shoulders. She cast her eyes down and concentrated on bracing herself against the sway of the coach. A shiver escaped her, and he immediately leaned forward to wrap her in a thick fur rug, his eyes daring her to object. Her heavy lashes fluttered downward as he continued to stare at her. He admired the creamy skin and the soft pink mouth that seemed fashioned for kissing. As the silent tension stretched between them almost to the breaking point, the coach drew to a stop before the blazing lights of Denmark House.

  She sprang forward quickly. "Thank you, milord."

  He let her get no farther. "I shall provide safe escort to your door, mistress."

  Warily, she watched him leave the coach first; then, utterly assured, he reached up and lifted her down beside him. She saw that a small scar upon his cheek lifted one corner of his mouth in a permanent smile, and he wore his mustache long to conceal it.

  In that instant she knew that she liked him. In spite of his commanding ways and air of total authority, she felt that he was sensitive, perhaps even vulnerable. They walked along silently, side by side, up the main staircase and along the narrow corridor that took them to Tabrizia's small chamber. As he brought her hand to his lips in a gallant gesture, she murmured breathlessly, "Thank you, milord, you have been very kind."

  He looked down into the dark, violet pools and said, "I could be kinder." That was all. He did not even ask her name.

  The next morning Tabrizia visited her father and found him in fine fettle. He had been enjoying the rare sport of hare hunting at the King's new estate of Royston. There, he had heard that word had quickly spread that the Earl of Ormistan had a daughter who was in the market for a husband, and that as well as being an heiress to her father's estate, she was wealthy in her own right, from a previous marriage.

  "I hope you are able to stay for a few days. I've had offers for you, and we must sit down and seriously consider them. Sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak."

  Tabrizia was startled. "Who has offered so quickly?"

  "Ha, they know they have to be quick or the prize will be snatched from under their noses." Magnus laughed. "Let's see, there's Lord Mounteagle, and Charles Percy, both English; and Sir Harry Lindsay, master of the Queen's household, a worthy Scot like myself." She was disappointed that Pembroke had not offered for her, but he had warned her fairly that he did not seek a wife. "None of these gentlem
en has approached me. I don't even know who they are."

  "I should think not, and none will until I give them leave to court you."

  "Then how can I decide?" she asked, perplexed.

  "We shall do some entertaining so that you can meet and consider these men, and if you allow me to guide you, how can you go wrong?"

  She smiled and knew he was back to playing his favorite role of leader. "Who is Lord Mounteagle?"

  "A wealthy English peer and landowner. The only drawback is he's Catholic. Still, he's definitely worth considering. Then there's Sir Charles Percy. He's brother to Northumberland. The Percys are one of England's oldest, richest and most powerful families."

  "Oh, now I know who he is. My friend Frances Howard is betrothed to Northumberland. I should like to have Frances for my sister."

  "Then there's young Harry Lindsay. He's a Scot, and that's in his favor. He could rise high here at Court. He won't stop at master of the Queen's household if I know aught of the ambitious Lindsays. Still, all in all, I'd say the best choice is Percy. Charles Percy. Shall we invite him?"

  "If that is the way things are done, then by all means invite him to sup with us, and we shall dissect the poor devil between courses." She paused and searched her father's face seriously. "There is no great hurry for me to decide definitely, is there?"

  "Of course not. We'll give it six months. If you've found no one who suits you by summer, we'll return home."

  During the next few days, Tabrizia grew tired of smiling. They entertained each of her suitors, and the subject of marriage came up tentatively. It was apparent that what it all boiled down to was the size of the marriage portion. Frances Howard, excited at the prospect that they could become sisters-in-law, advised her to offer a larger dowry as the Percys were extremely avaricious though masqueraded as anything but.

  Tabrizia liked Sir Harry Lindsay best. He was a plain-faced young man with wide shoulders, a strong Scots accent, and he had a hearty sense of humor. Tabrizia agreed to accompany Sir Charles Percy to see a new play by Ben Jonson, the Queen's newest playwright, if Northumberland and Frances Howard made up a foursome. It was great fun, and the ladies carried eye masks on long sticks to cover their faces while out in public. She returned to Magnus with many praises for the play but few for Percy.

  Magnus had news to impart. "This afternoon I had a visit from the Earl of Orkney. You remember him from the investiture?"

  "How could I forget?" she asked, a small curl of excitement tightening in her stomach.

  "What he had to say was most interesting. Come and be comfy, and I'll tell you all about it. Patrick Stewart has come to Court to make advantageous marriages for his brothers. He makes no bones about the fact that they need money, which is refreshingly honest; at least. He is building two great fortifications— a palace at Kirkwall and a castle at Scalloway. He rules the Orkney and the Shetland Islands and is obviously setting up a kingdom of his own. They are royal Stewarts, and though he is prevented from taking the throne by his illegitimacy, he has a throne in his own kingdom. He has seven brothers, one of whom is already married and two who are too young to wed. That leaves four brothers to choose from. He seeks an heiress for each and hopes to secure you for the eldest brother if you are interested."

  She smiled a dreamy, secret smile. "The answer, I think, is no, but I should like the pleasure of delivering it myself, if you would be good enough to summon him tomorrow."

  "Think you a royal Stewart would answer a summons from me?" Magnus asked dubiously.

  "If he needs money badly enough, he just might." She laughed. "Mrs. Hall, where are you? Do you suppose we could resurrect the pale green gown with the silver ribbons I wore to the-wedding last week?"

  "Och, child, 'tis already cleaned and pressed and hanging in yer wardrobe upstairs, but do ye think it suitable for an afternoon caller?"

  "You've been listening again." Tabrizia laughed.

  "And don't ye think I have a right to listen, you bein' like my own child?"

  Tabrizia kissed her fondly. "What would I do without you?"

  The next afternoon Tabrizia spotted Patrick Stewart from her bedroom window. As he came from Denmark House, she noticed that he was accompanied by his brother, a younger version of himself. They wore sober black velvet with snowy stocks, the inevitable stag hounds following at their heels.

  She glanced into the mirror to make sure she looked her prettiest, and ran lightly downstairs to await her visitors. The firm knock upon the door sent her own heart hammering as she opened it-herself and bade them enter.

  Patrick Stewart's steel gray eyes went wide with instant recognition. "My damsel in distress. What are you doing here?" he asked warmly.

  The sullen look had left his brother's face and had been replaced by one of smoldering admiration. She took her time, pouring them brandy and thoroughly enjoying herself. They both drained their glasses in a single swallow and replaced them upon the silver tray.

  "My father has explained your brother's offer for me, Your Grace," she began formally.

  "You are the daughter of the Earl of Ormistan?" He smiled as her identity became plain to him.

  In that moment, a devilish desire to tease him overcame her, and she said sweetly, "I have decided to accept your brother's offer."

  The smile vanished from his face instantly. While his brother waited in vain for an introduction, Patrick's eyes never left her face. He gazed at her unblinking, as the minutes stretched between them. Finally, he broke the tension. "Summon your father," he commanded with quiet authority. As she dipped him an obedient curtsy, his eyes traveled to the soft curves of her breasts, which rose above the neck of the familiar green gown.

  It took only a moment to call her father, and she let him go into the Stewarts alone. Patrick wasted no time. "I withdraw the offer I made you yesterday." Before his brother could protest, he said, "I formally request that you betroth your daughter to me, the Earl of Orkney."

  Magnus beamed: "I am aware of the great honor ye do me, Your Grace. I am totally satisfied with the match, but my daughter is her own woman and a little headstrong, I fear. She will need to be wooed and won before I can give ye my consent."

  Patrick bowed formally. "I shall return this evening." It was a statement of his intent.

  Magnus went in search of her, and he didn't have far to look. "I don't know what ye've been up to, and I don't care. Ye've done it, lass. He actually offered for you!"

  "You didn't accept, did you?"

  "I know ye better than that; besides, the terms haven't been agreed upon yet, but I think y'er wise enough to know ye'll never receive a better offer than this. Ye will reign like a queen in yer own right." Magnus chuckled. "The wee laddie wi' him was fair grinding his teeth with disappointment."

  "I'm afraid that was my fault. I told Patrick I would accept his brother's offer."

  "By God, y'er a Cockburn, all right. Every last one devious to the bone!" He laughed. "He's coming back this evening, as soon as he rids himself of the wee laddie."

  "Why didn't you tell me? Get the cook to prepare a proper meal. None of that muck that we get at Court. Mrs. Hall, I need you again. I want to wear something very dramatic for tonight, something far removed from this frothy thing I'm in now."

  In the end, she decided upon black lace and diamonds. With Mrs. Hall's tireless help, she braided her hair into a high coronet and fastened it with jeweled pins. It emphasized the prominence of her delicate cheekbones and gave an alluring slant to her eyes.

  The moment Patrick Stewart saw her, he knew her answer would be yes. He was shrewd enough to realize by the way she had dressed, she was showing him she could fit the role of a queen. Oh, he knew she would lead him all around the park, giving neither a nay nor a yea, but he was certain of the outcome.

  After dinner, Magnus went out for the evening so that the couple could be completely alone. Tabrizia brought the decanter of brandy and placed it at his elbow, and they made themselves comfortable before the fire.

&nb
sp; "What have you heard of me?" he asked quietly.

  She raised her eyes to his level, gray ones and knew it would be impossible to lie to him. "That you need money to build your own kingdom. That the King hates you and the Queen loves you."

  He nodded gravely. "It is all true, I'm afraid, and there is yet more." He hesitated, then said tentatively, as if regretting that he had to impart the information, "I have two small children, a boy and a girl." He was not prepared for her reaction.

  "Oh, how lovely, I adore children." The radiance that glowed from her face told him she would be tender toward his children. He hastened to explain further. "You don't understand. If we have a son, he cannot be my heir. The son I have from my first marriage will get my titles, my land, my castles."

  "I see," she said slowly. "But if you have your own kingdom, could not you build him a castle of his own and create new titles for him?"

  He moved to sit beside her on the loveseat before the fire. His fingers traced along her delicate jawbone. "If you give me a son, I promise I will do these things for him." He smiled. "I think you are as ambitious as myself."

  She shrugged her beautiful, bared shoulders. "I have learned that might is right. Power is the greatest thing on earth."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Not love, my little cynic?"

  "I know nothing of love," she said clearly.

  "You were married," he said.

  "I know nothing of love," she repeated.

  "Then I will teach you," he claimed hoarsely. He covered her mouth with his and kissed her slowly, thoroughly. His hand fell to her waist, and he drew her closer to fit her body against his. In his warm embrace, she began to relax and allowed herself to respond to his kiss. His kiss deepened, then; as he withdrew his mouth, she breathed, "Paris." She had been so lost in the moment, the name had come unbidden to her lips. She caught her breath as he moved away, yet he gave no sign that he had heard her whisper another man's name. The face that had appeared when she closed her eyes frightened her. She was determined to blot it out. "Let's settle things tonight, Patrick."