Pirate's Rose

by Janet Lynnford

  Rozalinde put on a look of insult, but she couldn't main­tain it. She grinned. "I'll not injure you. I'm relaxing you. Can't you just accept and let it be?"

  He laughed at that and pulled her closer. "Roses," he growled, nuzzling at her neck. "You smell like roses."

  "Blast the roses," she chuckled, easing herself down on him again. "I don't care about them. I care about you."

  There was a celebration in the town hall the next day, where William of Nassau, Prince of Orange, received his faithful followers and decorated the admiral of the Sea Beg­gars with a special medal struck in honor of the Victory of Enckhuysen. The room was crowded with soldiers, bur­ghers of the town with their wives and children, and all the other townspeople, who cheered and clapped each speech and toast with jubilation.

  Then the prince called Lord Christopher Howard, the Earl of Wynford, to stand before him. Kit left Rozalinde with Courte Philips on one side and the Count of Hoorne on the other and went to bow before the prince.

  "Lord Christopher Howard," said William, his voice ring­ing clearly so all could hear him in the huge hall, "we owe you a debt we can never repay for your courage and de­voted service which have aided us in winning this victory. You have made a great sacrifice on behalf of our nation. May God bless you and your queen and all the people of England for your support."

  The crowd applauded wildly. But then the prince did something unexpected. "I would also like to call upon the Countess of Wynford, Rozalinde Howard, to come forward to receive our thanks."

  Standing beside the Count of Hoorne, Rozalinde's mouth fell open. She was so astonished, her legs could scarce carry her forward, but she managed to move through the crowd toward the dais where the prince waited. Kit was grinning at her proudly as she came to a halt at his side.

  "Without the aid of the countess," Prince William contin­ued, "and her expert deciphering of the Spanish code, we would not have known about the surprise attack planned on our navy. We are eternally in her debt."

  Amid thunderous applause, the prince presented Kit and Rozalinde each with medals showing the Lion of Holland joined with the Tudor roses of Queen Elizabeth. Though Rozalinde smiled and curtsied, pleased to receive the prince's praise, her heart went out to Kit for his sacrifice in rendering this service. She knew how he felt about his ship, knew its loss pained him deeply. And although she felt in a mood to celebrate, she left him alone that after­noon instead, to hobble along the quay with Courte and remember.

  Besides, now that the battle was won, now that Kit was up and about, she had another task. In Phillipe's company, she took herself to the city garrison where prisoners were kept. But in response to her questions, no one knew of an Englishman taken prisoner off the Gran Grifon. All prison­ers had been Spanish, and among them there had been no English citizen named George Trenchard, nor anyone answering to his physical description.

  Rozalinde returned to Kit afterward, deeply puzzled. It was not her imagination that George Trenchard had sailed on the Gran Grifon. Had he managed to escape both the burning, sinking ship and the Dutch soldiers? In the chaos of battle, it was possible. With this disquieting thought to haunt her, Roz packed her navigation instruments in her trunk, arranged the new garments Kit had bought her in another, and prepared for their return to England.

  Kit, too, had many tasks to perform before departure, but the most important one he saved for last. He went to call on Phillipe where he lodged at the Hotel de Ville, along with the Prince of Orange.

  "I must return to England for now. But I'll be back to see you and aid the Netherlands. I promise."

  Phillipe embraced him heartily. "You are a married man now, Christopher. You must stay at home and beget your heirs. I won't hear of you endangering your life chasing Spanish communiques. In fact, I forbid it."

  "But the Spanish still trouble you. They trouble both our countries."

  "We will launch a new initiative," Phillipe insisted. "One that does not require your active presence."

  Kit shook his head, not believing such a thing possible, but he embraced Phillipe in return and whispered, "Duizendmaal dank, mijn vader."

  Phillipe looked at him, a spark of pleasure danced in his eye. "Have you decided, then, on our kinship? I have never been so sure."

  Kit looked away, embarrassed. "No. I've decided it doesn't matter what the reality might be." He turned back, determined to speak his heart. "You are as a father to me, and since I have no other, I thought ..."

  "I understand."

  Once again Phillipe enfolded Kit in his massive, warming embrace, and the two men clung to each other in farewell. Kit felt much of the troubling pain from his past lift from his shoulders, and he returned to Rozalinde, feeling more joyous of heart than he had in years.

  Back in West Lulworth, there was great jubilation at Roz's homecoming. Her father, looking more fit than he had in months, met them at Poole and bore his daughter home with great ceremony and excitement. There she was greeted by four squealing youngsters and her mother, all of whom hung on her and demanded the story of her ad­ventures. Jonathan's greeting was more restrained, though no less loving. But Rozalinde thought he looked tired and worn. When she had a chance, she took him aside.

  "You have had much to bear in my absence?"

  He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

  "All is well with the shop? Mother and Father? The children?"

  They were well. She realized the trouble lay not there. "Margaret?"

  Jon's face changed, and Rozalinde knew she had found the cause of Jonathan's dispirited expression. Margaret's father had finally died, she learned, and Margaret had been spirited away by her mother to live with relatives in the north. Roz strove to comfort her brother for the loss of his sweetheart, but she was required to journey to London with Kit almost immediately. There she settled the business of her father's company debts while Kit visited the queen, for he still required her permission to marry.

  The queen didn't approve his choice, naturally. At least not until Kit knelt before her.

  "Your Majesty, I wish to take a wife, so that I may get heirs to my family name and have a woman to comfort me in my old age."

  "Old age," Elizabeth snorted. "He talks of old age. When you are twice the age you are at present, you may speak of such things. But very well, I shall look about me and choose you a wife."

  "I have already chosen her, Your Majesty. Her name is Rozalinde Cavandish."

  The queen's eyes narrowed. The corners of her mouth turned down. "Many eligible daughters of my nobles want for husbands. I will choose you one of them."

  To which Kit had replied nothing. He only placed in her lap a carved, wooden box and, opening it, displayed for her amazed yes a hundred shining pieces of gold. "There are more where those came from." He motioned to his servant, who left the chamber and returned with a companion, both groaning under the weight of gold equalling two thousand English pounds. "The Spanish," he explained, "no longer had use for it."

  Elizabeth's face changed suddenly, for her treasury was ever bare and she did not scorn to take income from any reasonable source. She smiled on him an indulgent smile. "Good, my lord, and you wish the wedding to be soon?"

  "I do," he answered, glad he had not mentioned that he and Rozalinde had already wed.

  "I shall send you a gift," Elizabeth decided, "and I shall stand godmother to your first child."

  "We would be honored, Your Majesty."

  The visit to London was not all pleasant, however. One day Rozalinde returned to the Howard town house to find Kit frowning over a letter.

  "Bad news?" She couldn't imagine what else might hap­pen to mar their happiness.

  "Trenchard," Kit answered.

  The name caused Roz's smile to fade She fell the blood drain from her face. "I never did understand why he risked everything to sail into battle with the Spanish," she began

  "He could have stayed in Lulworth and his traitorous ways would not have been discovered. As it is, he cannot return to Engla
nd."

  Kit looked up from the letter. "That depends entirely on the future, as this letter reveals. I am on friendly terms with Francis Walsingham, Her Majesty's secretary. He has men in many foreign places who find out information im­portant to England. In response to my inquiries, they bring word of an Englishman who has taken up residence at the court of Philip, King of Spain. He appears to be a fa­vored advisor."

  Rozalinde blanched further. "And it is Trenchard?"

  "He is called by a different name, but the description leaves no doubt whatsoever as to his identity." Christopher studied his wife for her reaction.

  Worry creased Rozalinde's forehead. "But why would he go to live there?"

  "To understand that, you must think using his logic," Kit answered dryly. "First of all, when he gambled on the Span­ish winning the Battle of Enckhuysen, he thought the odds were in his favor. The Spanish are strong. And he knew that if they won, I was the one who would not return to Lulworth. Thus, there would have been no one to prevent his return, no one to betray him or prevent his continued work for both countries. He intended to win a great victory and rid himself of me in one stroke."

  "I would have betrayed him," Roz declared indignantly. "I would have opposed him at every turn."

  Kit scoffed. "To him, that meant nothing. Once you were his wife, he would have been free to make up any story he wished. And if you will remember, he was good at them. If you didn't obey him by agreeing, he could have had you flogged, imprisoned, clapped up in a mad house, anything he wished. The Spanish must have promised him much, for he took a great risk, but apparently even though the Span­ish lost the battle, Trenchard did not lose in like measure. He seems to have gained."

  "But his house in Lulworth," Roz protested, "and his shop. He's lost those."

  "He was never stupid." Kit tapped the letter. "Walsingham's men learned that the business was sold in the last week, for a tidy sum, and the funds invested in a foreign venture. All perfectly legal."

  Roz sighed deeply. "He is clever. What about the house in Lulworth?"

  "Rented," Kit told her crisply, slapping the letter down on the table and pushing himself away with both hands. "At a pretty price, with word given out that the owner has gone abroad for his health."

  "But the Privy Council can take away his property," Roz­alinde argued, thoroughly aggrieved by this news. "They can confiscate his land. And what about his appointment as deputy-lieutenant?"

  "They can't take his land until after a hearing in the courts. And Trenchard has hired a very good lawyer to represent his interests in his absence. Without Trenchard present to prosecute, there is no solid proof of his guilt. He claims to have gone abroad for his health. It could take years to untangle through the law. And he very neatly sold his appointment."

  Rozalinde groaned with frustration. "How can he advise the Spanish king? What does he know that's so valuable, he receives favored treatment?"

  "He knows the best way to invade England." Kit shook his head ruefully. "Such information is valuable. But never mind, Rose. Let us forget him. He can't reach you here and that's the important thing. If in future he should return to trouble us, we will deal with him then. Right now, we must concentrate on the part of English law that will get us legally wed."

  Kit's arms encircled her, and Roz let herself lean against his broad chest. She nodded, willing for once to give in to his demands. Trenchard was as good as dead in her life.

  And so Kit and Rozalinde were married for a second time before the parish priest of West Lulworth, so that in the eyes of their family and neighbors they would be truly joined. After Kit placed his ring on Rozalinde's finger and the priest pronounced them wed before man and God, she knelt before him and he set on her shining braids the heir­loom coronet of the Countesses of Wynford. And all the congregation cheered until the sound echoed through the vaulted stone church and out into the streets of West Lulworth.

  Rozalinde was pleased to note that none cheered them more vigorously than the former dowager countess of Wyn­ford, who attended the ceremony with her new husband, a rich knight from the north. Not only was the Lady Mary happily wed, Kit pointed out to Rozalinde, but she was already growing great with child—a blessing that had never been bestowed on her by his brother.

  A mighty feast took place in the great hall of Lulworth Castle that night, with many toasts drunk and dancing and music. At one point during the revels, Rozalinde's father assembled the immediate family in a private chamber to make an announcement.

  "I have changed my will," he indicated, smiling upon his newly wed daughter and her husband. He linked arms with his wife, who leaned against him affectionately. Her belly had grown larger during Roz's absence with the newest member of the family. "It's not quite what I originally planned," he went on, "but at the urging of your mother and my new son-in-law, I have made certain changes." Here he took a deep breath, then continued. "Upon my death, as is right and natural, my wife will inherit her one-third portion in the form of this house and other property. But with Rozalinde now one and twenty and a married woman, she will be specified as heir to all my business holdings. She would also act as guardian to her brothers as long as they are underage. When her brothers reach their majority, they can elect to become partners with her or receive a share of profit from the business, according to their desires. Your mother wishes it thus, don't you, my dear?" He patted Joan's hand. "She says she has no head for such things."

  Rozalinde looked at her father and mother in astonish­ment. Then she stared at Kit. "You urged this? This is wonderful."

  He grinned at her mischievously. "It's you who loves the business. Not Jon. Eh?"

  Jon nodded vigorously in agreement.

  "And the others are too young to know for sure," Kit finished.

  "I don't love it, either," Charles volunteered loudly to everyone present. "She can have my share and welcome. I'll take the gold."

  His elders chucked at his openness. "You must wait to decide when you're older," Rozalinde told him, caressing his hair. But a smile hovered on her lips and she was vastly pleased at her father's words.

  After that, Rozalinde was able to watch her father enjoy the revels, knowing she had put his mind at rest. He at last had an acceptable guardian for both family and business should he pass away. Perhaps for that very reason he looked healthier and happier that night than he had for some time. And Roz's mother was all smiles, knowing that her daughter would continue to run the business the way she had, so her husband could rest. Even Jonathan, who made no secret about disliking drapery, had been a diligent manager in Roz's absence, running the business compe­tently for his father. And though he now put on a sober face on life due to his loss of Margaret, he seemed all the more trustworthy because he had no distractions. Roz tried for a while to cheer him, but before long she gave up and sent him off at Kit's suggestion to sit with Courte Philips and listen to the men tell stories about the Battle of Enckhuysen. It was a tale that would be repeated for years to come, embellished with each telling.

  Despite these distractions, Kit found he had eyes only for Rozalinde, and sitting beside her at the high table, he leaned near and whispered to her. "We're not to have this nonsense of a bawdy bedding. You are to slip away quietly when I give you the signal. I'll join you after, as soon as I can."

  Kit was as good as his word, and at last they were alone in Kit's chamber, sitting in the great curtained bed with the clamor of the guests still resounding below.

  "My sweet." He took her in his arms. "I never thought the day would come when I would look upon the woman in my bed as my bride."

  Once Roz would have taken offense, but now she laughed and pressed herself against him, "How do you find your bride? Old and ugly? A shrew?" She nipped his neck with her teeth.

  Obligingly he wrestled her to the bed in mock anger, all the while indulging his eyes on the feast of her body—slim white hips and thighs, sweetest of lush young breasts. With

  one hand he explored those lovely breast
s until a sigh es­caped her lips and she confessed her love.

  It lit his blood like flame put to a brazier, that confession. With a groan he fell upon her, covering her body with his own, parting her legs with eager hands. He had not meant to use haste, but suddenly it seemed he couldn't possess her soon enough.

  "Old and ugly, indeed, my Rose," he whispered as he slid into the depths of her. It made him remember the night in his cabinet, when she had come to warn him, and his blood soared again like on that night, singing with desire for her. He began to move within her, carefully at first, then more quickly as she met his thrusts.

  "Ah, Rozalinde," he said afterward, when it was over. He brushed the hair from her damp face. "How long I have loved you."

  "Love?" Rozalinde smiled up at him, obviously de­lighted. "Did I hear you say love, Christopher Howard? I thought you didn't know the word."

  "Oh, I know it," he chuckled, cradling her cheek with one hand. "I learned it from someone just recently. I won't say who."

  "Tell me," Roz coaxed, opening her eyes wide and feigning innocence. "Who would have taught you such a thing?"

  But Kit grew thoughtful, his expression turned serious. "I learned it when I was young from my mother. What a tragedy that I stopped believing in it as I matured. And how strange it is that here I am, once again understanding. It's a miracle, really."

  "Not so strange," Rozalinde countered, turning his hand to kiss the palm. "I think you were not meant to be de­prived of it forever. That would have been a cruel fate."

  "You are right in that. I wouldn't want my son to grow up without it." Kit caressed her belly. "Our child will be a son, you know."

  Rozalinde stared at him, astounded. "Son? Just what makes you think—"

  "Consider the date," he answered, smiling in a superior manner. "Either our son has already set up housekeeping in your belly, or your body behaves in a manner not the least natural to women. With a mind as mathematical as yours, you should have realized that."

  Roz thought about the date she had set sail from West Lulworth, then realized he was right. She should have had her monthly courses by now, but none had come. "You may be correct, Lord Howard," she told him saucily. "But you need not consider yourself so wondrous clever. You've become a hopeless romantic if ever I saw one, babbling about love and babes. Is there a shred of logic left in you?"