“Tomorrow?” Alison squeaked. “Sleep here?”
Olivia looked at the huge bed. “I think there’s room enough for two.”
“It’s not that, Liv.” Alison got to her feet and began to pace restlessly. “That older brother gave me the creeps, the way he was looking at us, but especially at you, and the younger one—
that Geoffrey—I guess every century has its nerds. And this room gives me the creeps.”
“Well, it’s probably not haunted yet,” Olivia said lightly, trying to inject some humor. “Most likely any ghosts haven’t even been born.”
“I’m not talking about a ghost!” Alison threw herself into one of the chairs. She picked up the glove the Queen had given her and spread it on the table. “And what about this thing? What are we supposed to do with it?”
“This is actually a very valuable gift.” Olivia sank down into the opposite chair and smoothed both gloves out side by side. “Look at the workmanship on the beading—and feel the quality of the leather? Things must be looking up for Lord Nicholas,” she murmured as she picked up one of the gloves and peered at it closely. The white leather was soft and supple. Each stitch was tiny and precisely placed. The back of each glove was embroidered with intricate knots and headwork, lavishly worked with pearls. “Look at this,” she murmured as she ran a fingertip over the exquisite stitches. “Can you believe how beautifully it’s done? I mean, it seems weird to us, Allie, but this is actually worth a very great deal now. This gift means—”
“Good grief, Liv, stop mooning over that—that artifact and let’s think about—”
Suddenly the door opened. Both women jumped to their feet. Framed by the dark wood, Lord Nicholas Talcott stepped into the room, his broad shoulders rigid, his chiseled mouth tight.
“You—Mistress Lindsay—come with me.”
Olivia exchanged glances with Alison. “My name is Lindsley, Lord Nicholas. And where do you expect me to go?”
“The Queen commands your presence.” He glanced over his shoulder, took another step into the room, and pulled the door shut. He clenched and unclenched his hands with suppressed tension and, fleetingly, Olivia was frightened. The man was like a coiled spring, every fiber of his being held in uneasy check. “Come here and let me look at you.”
Startled, the women exchanged another glance, and Olivia had the uncomfortable feeling she was being scrutinized with the same detachment as the man might give to the once-over of a mare.
“Come here.” He made an impatient gesture. “Her Majesty is not the most patient of women these days, and your dress is—most odd.” He seemed to understand exactly who they were, however, and Olivia surmised he must’ve seized a few private words with his brother. You had to give him credit, she thought. For someone who’d never even heard of Einstein, he was taking the idea of time travel with remarkable aplomb. Or maybe it was simply his survival instincts. He was clearly determined to make the best of the situation at the moment.
Olivia edged forward a couple of steps. Alison held her ground, and Olivia noticed that Alison was nearly as tall as Nicholas. Beside the two of them, she felt unexpectedly dwarfed. Thank God Alison is here, she thought suddenly as his eyes raked over her. She pulled herself to her full height of five feet, three inches, and squared her shoulders as his gaze lingered on her bosom. “Well, sir?”
It was his turn to look startled. “Mistress?”
“Am I to your liking? Do I satisfy?” She hoped she sounded more authentic than she looked.
“Your costume is outlandish, mistress. Were it not for the fact that my brother has been spinning a tale even more outrageous than the truth for Her Majesty’s entertainment, I’ve no doubt we’d all be clapped in irons by now.”
“Then why not let her just stay here?” put in Alison. “I don’t want to go out there any more than you want us to. Surely it’s safer if we both stay put.”
He gave Alison a look that bordered on disgust. “Do you not understand, mistress? The Queen commands her presence. And no one gainsays the Queen’s commands.”
“Well, just tell her Olivia’s indisposed or something. Tell her she’s sick.”
At that he shook his head and made an impatient gesture. “Good God, mistress, if you do not understand what you have been brought to, by God’s grace, hold your tongue.”
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” murmured Olivia. She reached for Alison’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “And when in Rome…”
“…Do as the Romans do?” Alison finished.
Nicholas listened to this exchange with a furrowed brow. “Our lives hang in the balance, mistresses. You, mistress.” He paused and his intense blue eyes fastened on Olivia. “Have managed to captivate our Queen. And thus she wishes another song. I hope you have one ready.”
Olivia drew a quick breath, searching through her remembered repertoire of Elizabethan and Jacobean music. “I can sing another, if Her Majesty wishes.”
“Her Majesty does assuredly so desire, mistress. Believe me, if I thought there was a way to keep you from her presence, I would’ve employed it.” He put his hands on his hips, and Olivia could not help but notice how the doublet and hose emphasized the slimness of his waist and the breadth of his shoulders. And the codpiece… She dropped her eyes, feeling a telltale warmth rise in her face. It appeared to be merely decorative.
She glanced at Alison from beneath her lowered lashes. She wasn’t sure how much her friend knew about sixteenth-century clothing, but this would be good for a giggle later. And God knew they’d need to find some way to break the tension. Alison’s cheeks were pale, but her mouth was pinched tight, and her brows were drawn together in the way that told Olivia her friend had reached her limit. Nicholas took another long look at both of them and finally shook his head.
“There’s no time to find you anything else to wear. Those clothes—she’s remarked three times about the colors—” He shut his eyes and Olivia had the distinct impression that his head ached. Suddenly she felt sorry for him. This mess was not of his making. “Come along now.”
He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing her to precede him from the room. In the hall, he took her firmly by the arm and led her back down the stairs, out of the house, and back into the gardens, muttering instructions all the while.
Finally, just as the top of the tent—or the pavilion, or whatever they called it—came into view, Olivia paused. “Lord Nicholas,” she began.
“What is it?” He tapped his foot impatiently.
She raised her chin once more and stared right into his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that they were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “My friend and I—we want you to know that this wasn’t our idea. We certainly had no intention of crashing—of intruding into your party or your life, and we apologize if our presence here creates any awkwardness for you. We are both aware of how tenuous your situation—and ours—is at the moment. And we are not quite the doddering bumpkins you apparently think us to be. We understand, sir, that lives hang in the balance here. And we will certainly do our best to follow the necessary cues in order to bring this off to our mutual satisfaction.”
Nicholas’s face softened an infinitesimal amount. He raised his head and looked at the colored flags flying from the corners of the pavilion and at the great red and gold crest that announced Elizabeth’s presence. “If we all yet live by dawn tomorrow, mistress, I will be well satisfied.”
Olivia raised her chin and squared her shoulders with an assurance she didn’t feel, hoping to defuse the tension.
Elizabeth was no fool. If they didn’t act as naturally as possible, she would sense that something was afoot. Olivia forced herself to meet his eyes with a smile and, momentarily, the stern look he wore softened. Well, she thought, hadn’t she always wanted to be an actress? This was going to be the greatest performance of her fledgling career. “Then lead on, Lord Nicholas. Even in my time, Her Majesty is known as the most impatient of women.”
CHAPT
ER 3
OLIVIA’S HEART POUNDED in her chest, and she found herself clutching Nicholas’s arm with a grip like a vise. A few of the faces that turned to look at them as they rounded the corner into view of the pavilion seemed friendly—some men raised their goblets as Nicholas passed, and smiled or bowed, and one or two even offered cheerful jests or toasts to his health. But most of the courtiers only stared silently as they went by, and Olivia sensed Nicholas’ anxiety rise to an even higher level. So much depended upon both their performances, she reflected. She forced herself to smile and nod graciously to even the most suspiciously hostile of faces, as though she, too, were to the manor born and had every right to be here, on the arm of this admittedly good-looking hunk of a guy, who happened to be an English lord to boot. They reached the open space before Elizabeth’s dais, and sank into low obeisances. Olivia looked up to see the dour-faced Puritan in Elizabeth’s train staring at her, his expression one of disgust mixed with something that in another man she would have thought blatant desire. She suppressed a shudder and fixed her eyes on Elizabeth, who was watching her with a bright, dark-eyed stare.
Olivia met the Queen’s gaze squarely, knowing instinctively that Elizabeth would recognize any kind of prevarication or dissembling.
“Welladay, mistress,” Elizabeth was saying, tapping her fan against the arm of her chair, “your song pleased me greatly. Can you give us another?”
Olivia drew a deep breath. “It would be my very great pleasure, Your Majesty.” Nicholas had withdrawn to the side, where he stood watching with folded arms. She glanced in his direction. His expression was wary. Here goes nothing, she thought. With a deep breath, she launched into one of her favorite songs from Twelfth Night.
Oh, mistress mine, where are you roaming?
Oh, stay and hear, your true love’s coming,
Who can sing both high and low.
Seek no further, pretty sweeting,
Journey’s end in lovers’ meeting—
Every wise man’s son doth know.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
Youth’s a stuff ’twill not endure.”
As she began the second verse, she was startled to hear other voices chiming in, picking out harmonies and embellishing the top notes with trills and little vibratos. Her gaze darted among the crowd of courtiers, most of whom joined in the singing enthusiastically. The song went on and on, with Elizabeth herself joining in, her voice a surprisingly strong contralto, rich and sure. As the song ended, Olivia dared a peek at the sour old Puritan whose eyes seemed to bore through the flimsy fabric of her costume. She felt a hot flush creep up her neck, and she shifted her gaze to Dudley, burly and balding. He was sitting next to the Queen on the opposite side from the Puritan, watching Olivia with amiable interest. He winked and she automatically smiled back as all the voices faded into silence. She glanced at Nicholas, who had not moved. The Queen smiled and applauded enthusiastically, and the entire company followed suit. Olivia remembered that Elizabeth was known for her gracious reception of all the entertainments offered for her pleasure on her visits to her subjects, and she sank into another curtsy as the Queen spoke. “A pleasant, if melancholy, tune, maiden, but well sung.”
Olivia rose, wondering how long she would be required to stay before the Queen, but Nicholas was there, stepping beside her, bowing with that same polished grace even as he said, “If Your Gracious Majesty will allow, Mistress Lindsley will retire. She is yet fatigued from the journey, and her sister is unwell.”
Elizabeth smiled fleetingly and raised her hand in dismissal, her attention diverted by Leicester, who leaned upon her arm and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Olivia saw the Queen glance at the sober Puritan and laugh again, but the meaning of the byplay was lost, as Nicholas once more took her arm and escorted her from the pavilion.
When they were safely out of earshot, he said gruffly, “Thank God you pleased Her Majesty well enough. Now stay out of sight, until either my brother or I come for you.”
Olivia looked up at him in disbelief. She’d saved both of them with that performance, and he couldn’t even offer so much as a simple thank-you? She didn’t speak as he strode into the house, his long strides practically forcing her to scamper just to keep up. He marched her into the house and up the steps. At the door to the room he paused. “Remember, stay here and don’t leave this room.”
Olivia raised her chin. “You forget, Lord Nicholas, that neither my friend nor I am any happier than you are that we find ourselves here.”
Nicholas shook his head and looked over his shoulder, as though he feared someone listened. “My brother is a heedless fool who thinks only of his own interests. Give me your word you will not leave this room.”
Olivia met his eyes fearlessly. “You have my word. There is no need to lock us in.”
Nicholas hesitated, clearly torn. “Very well, mistress. I will trust your good sense not to risk your own lives.” He pushed the door open and waited for her to walk through. Without another word, he pulled it shut behind her, and she heard his footsteps echo down the stairs.
Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief as he pounded down the stairs. His footsteps echoed in the silent hall. Thanks be to the God who’d made them all that the one woman, at least, had the presence of mind to understand his need. Which was more than that fool of a brother did. He’d known exactly what had happened the moment he’d seen the two women standing beside the maze, dressed in their bizarre clothing, Geoffrey beside them with a sheepish look all over his face. It was bad enough that Geoffrey and his eccentricities, as Nicholas preferred to name them, should ever put them in danger of the Tower or worse. Fortunately, with the execution of Queen Mary of Scotland, Elizabeth seemed to have lost her taste for punishing Papists. But nothing would save them from a charge of witchcraft—and Geoffrey would be hard pressed to explain how the two women had appeared if he were ever dragged into a court, ecclesiastical or otherwise.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and tugged his doublet into place. Just a few more hours and the Queen and her retinue would be gone. And then he would have to deal with the women and his brother. Pray that the maze was as effective in reverse, and the two women could be returned to wherever they happened to come from. Without warning, a vision of Olivia’s face rose before him, her expression the soft and earnest one she’d worn to sing before the Queen. Then it rapidly changed to become the determined look she’d had when she confronted him about their unexpected appearance. Fleetingly, he wondered what it would be like to talk to her about her time, and then he instantly dismissed such a dangerous thought. The less he knew about the whole appalling episode the better. And as soon as it was safe to do so, he’d have Geoffrey dismantle that damnable maze. God only knew who—or what—might come stumbling out of it next.
A soft cough from the side of the room startled Nicholas out of his reverie. He glanced around to see a simply dressed man sitting on one of the long benches that lined the walls of the hall. With a start he recognized the man as Master Christopher Warren, someone he’d assumed was one of Elizabeth’s gentlemen pensioners, the male equivalent of a lady-in-waiting. But the man was dressed nearly as plainly as the Puritan Sir John Makepeace. The thought of Sir John brought an unpleasant taste to Nicholas’s mouth, and he forced the image of the man out of his head even as he walked slowly over to Warren, who clearly waited for him.
“May I help you, sir?” Nicholas asked, puzzled as to why the man would have followed him into the house, and cold all over at the thought that perhaps he’d noticed the suspicious behavior of Geoffrey and the two women.
“I wondered if we might have a word, my lord.” Master Warren smiled, and Nicholas noticed that his lips merely folded, and that the expression did not reach his eyes.
“As you will, sir. Master Warren, isn’t it? Is there something you require?”
“Not I, my lord, but the Queen.”
Nicholas frowne
d, genuinely perplexed. “The Queen is well served, I trust. She seems quite pleased.”
“Ah, by the feast, yes, of course. Your hospitality has pleased her greatly, and your choice of entertainment is most—most charmingly unconventional. But that’s not what I meant, my lord. There are other matters—matters in which it’s come to our attention that you might have an interest.”
“What sort of matters?” Nicholas asked.
“You know of the work of Sir Francis Walsingham?”
Nicholas’s lip nearly twisted in a grimace, but he forced himself to keep his face smooth. A chill ran down his spine. There had been talk that the Babington plot and the executions that had followed it had been a concoction of Walsingham’s ferocious determination to see Mary of Scotland dead. Any member of any Catholic family, no matter how loosely connected to the Roman faith, knew of Walsingham and his fanatical hatred of Catholics. “Who doesn’t?”
“We know how hard you’ve worked to establish yourself as a loyal subject of Her Majesty.”
Nicholas began to frown at the implication that he’d been under scrutiny and just as quickly forced the expression off his face. “Then you know of my implicit and absolute allegiance.”
Warren spread his hands. “Your valor with Lord Leicester in the Low Countries was remarked upon far and wide. And thus we turn to you, in hope that you will perform another service for Her Majesty, such as can only be performed by a man of courage and discretion.”
This time Nicholas did frown. There was something about the man that made him wary, something about the flat look in his dark eyes that made Nicholas’s blood run cold. “What sort of service?”
“Please, my lord. Will you sit?” With a broad sweep of his hand, Warren indicated the empty space beside him on the bench.
I’d sooner sit beside a snake, thought Nicholas, then instantly suppressed the feeling. Walsingham’s crew might be fanatical but he knew that the Queen and Cecil, her secretary, trusted them implicitly. If he had merited the favorable notice of Sir Francis, it could only be a positive thing. “What can I do for you, sir?”
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