Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Gerrit!” Denoriel exclaimed. “How surprised I am to see you, and how glad. I am sorry I did not enquire about you, but after that crazy attempt to take the princess—”

  Gerrit shook his head and looked anxious, his eyes warning. “Lady Elizabeth, yes. But I don’t remember too much about that night. Only that after it … His Grace of Richmond sickened and … he died, m’lord. He … he asked for you sometimes.”

  “I didn’t know,” Denoriel said, allowing his eyes to fill with tears. “Harry knew I was bound to leave the very next day on a trading venture I could not delay any longer. At first I received letters from him. He never said he was sick. When I heard … I simply could not come back to England in time. I am sorry. I should have thought of Harry’s dependents.”

  “Oh, no. No need to worry for that, m’lord. His Grace’s will took care of all of us. But you know, we were so used to being together … it was like a family. And when Ladbroke came and told me that he and Dunstan had got taken into Lady Elizabeth’s service, I … we all came and spoke to Dunstan.” He uttered a low chuckle. “That Dunstan. It’s lucky he don’t want to be God, ‘cause I think he might just wheedle his way up on the heavenly throne.”

  “Ladbroke and Dunstan are in service to the prin—to Lady Elizabeth too? I am delighted. And the boy, Tolliver, was it?”

  There was nothing to surprise Gerrit in Lord Denno not seeming to know what might have become of Henry FitzRoy’s servants even though he was in the company of Lady Alana. For all Gerrit would know, she had never noticed them in FitzRoy’s service. Many of the nobility never “saw” servants and guards. And Gerrit, of course, did not know that she was not human.

  Dunstan and Ladbroke did know who Lord Denno and Lady Alana really were because they had been mortal servants Underhill, but they could not speak their knowledge. Neither bribe nor torture could wring the information from them even though they were exceptions to the general rule that a human released from Underhill had his mind wiped of all memory of the place. Dunstan and Ladbroke had been allowed to keep their memories the better to assist Denoriel and Aleneil in protecting Henry FitzRoy. Instead, they had been deprived of the ability to speak of what they knew.

  Gerrit grinned. “Oh, Tolliver’s here. Not so much a starved boy anymore, m’lord. Real hafling, he is. Half in love with m’lady. Follows her like a puppy when she’s out of the palace.”

  “Well, it cannot hurt to have a devoted and watchful eye on her,” Denoriel said, frowning suddenly. “I know there is a true heir to the throne now, may he thrive and live long, but there might be those who wish her ill for … for reasons … best left unsaid.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Gerrit looked slightly startled and slightly concerned too. “Thank you, m’lord. I’ll keep that in mind and warn the others.”

  “Good man.” Denoriel nodded to him and rode through the gate into the courtyard where Aleneil was already dismounted and waiting for him.

  Ladbroke was holding Ystwyth—carefully not touching the illusory rings of the bit. “Glad to see you home safe at last, m’lord,” he said to Denoriel as he dismounted.

  “And I am glad to see you here in Lady Elizabeth’s service.”

  Ladbroke took hold of Miralys’s halter, taking care not actually to put any pressure on it because he knew it would simply slip off the elvensteed’s head. He bobbed a bow as he clucked to his charges and began to turn toward the stable. He stopped, uncertain of what Denoriel knew, and then decided to give him the basic information he might need.

  “Lady Alana was good enough to recommend us to Lady Bryan, who was then governess, when several of the stablehands left because they didn’t want to be in a disgraced household. And then the groom of the chamber was discovered to be lining his pockets in anticipation of being without a position so he was dismissed. Lady Elizabeth recognized Dunstan, too—”

  Denoriel did his best not to goggle. “At three?”

  “Lady Elizabeth is a … is unusual, m’lord.”

  At that moment Reeve Tolliver, who Denoriel remembered as a starved boy of twelve plucked from a workhouse, came to the door of the small stable and called that the stalls were ready. He was now a tall, broad-shouldered young man, still with an unruly shock of hair above a plain but pleasant face.

  “I’ll take these two in and settle them. You go take a look at the brown carriage horse’s off fore. I was just about to do that when Lady Alana rode in.”

  “Not favoring it,” Tolliver said, frowning slightly.

  “No, but it looked swollen,” Kip replied. “Maybe it was just the light, but it can’t hurt to look.”

  And while he looked, Ladbroke would remove the bridles, which had no bits attached and were so loosely fastened that Miralys and Ystwyth could rid themselves of the head-furniture with a brisk shake. Denoriel smiled, lifted a hand, and followed Aleneil toward the entrance to the east wing of the palace where Dunstan was waiting, bowing correctly but grinning with obvious delight to see Denoriel.

  A flick of the eyes showed that Dunstan had noticed the hair, now silver rather than blond, but all he said was, “If you will pardon me for saying so, m’lord, I am very glad indeed to see you here again, safe and sound after your long voyage.”

  Denoriel smiled. “You are certainly pardoned for saying you are glad to see me. I hope all is well with you, that you are satisfied with your new service.”

  “Very satisfied, m’lord.” Dunstan’s lip twitched. “It’s a bit quieter than serving His Grace the duke of Richmond, but that’s all to the good.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Denoriel agreed, and then, lowering his voice, “but don’t forget that it might get livelier at any time.”

  Concern showed in Dunstan’s eyes, but he only bowed to Aleneil and gestured for them to follow, saying, “Mistress Champernowne is awaiting you in the presence chamber, so please you.”

  They passed through a large room, obviously serving as the great hall. There were trestle tables stacked along one wall, and a wide door led to a somewhat smaller but still large room, the general reception room. There two pages, a footman, and three young gentlemen (whom Denoriel did not recognize) lounged and made idle chatter. They all looked at Dunstan, but no one made any move to question his right to escort people through the Lady Elizabeth’s apartment.

  Then Denoriel realized that they all recognized Lady Alana. The footman bowed to her as did two of the gentlemen, but they all returned to their conversations only casting a curious glance or two at Denoriel. On his way out, Denoriel resolved, he would stop and talk to the gentlemen, and the pages too, if he could find a cause.

  Past the large reception room, Dunstan gestured them into the presence chamber and closed the door behind them. He turned to Denoriel as if he were about to ask a question, but the door on the other side of the room opened and a young woman, likely in her early twenties, stepped through. She was smiling and holding out her hands, which Aleneil hurried forward to take.

  “My dear Lady Alana—” Mistress Champernowne’s voice was mild and sweet “—how delighted I was to receive your message two days ago. Your last letter had been so uncertain about when you would be able to come again that I was quite in despair.”

  “I am sorry for that, Mistress Champernowne, but you may blame my cousin … well, I call him cousin although it was by a long-ago marriage. A crusader uncle took … who was she to you, Lord Denno?”

  “Great-grandmother, I think, although she might have been a great-great-grandmother. I am not certain and, as you know, I have no way of checking the church records any longer.”

  Aleneil put her hand on Denoriel’s arm and patted it consolingly. “God’s Grace, Denno, I am so sorry to have reminded you.”

  To insinuate himself into the ranks of the higher nobility of England wealth alone would not have been enough. Aleneil had tampered a little with the minds of two of King Henry’s friends so that they “remembered” Lord Denno Siencyn Adjoran’s story. He was now supposed to be a Hungarian nobleman, cous
in to Hungary’s king, and from a family grown very, very rich from trade. Lord Denno himself had been abroad on a trading mission when the Turks had overrun Hungary. In the disaster, his entire family had been killed. Their Hungarian lands had been confiscated, but there was no way for the Turks to lay hands upon the wide-spread trading empire his family had controlled. After some years of rootless wandering, Lord Denno Siencyn Adjoran had come to rest in England, a country he had found so much to his taste that he had made it his home.

  Denoriel smiled and shook his head. “It is all very long ago now and not very painful, although sometimes I still grieve for my little brother Imre—he who gave me the iron cross. Or, perhaps the grief is really for my Harry—” he bowed to Katherine Champernowne “—beg pardon, I mean the late Duke of Richmond. But we were very close. I gave him the cross when—”

  “An iron cross, plain black iron on an iron chain?” Mistress Champernowne asked eagerly.

  “Yes, that is it.” He nodded. “It is of no real material value though it meant a great deal to me. Because he was so like my little brother, I gave him the cross to protect him, and I suppose when Harry … when Harry was lost, the cross was lost also—”

  “No, no, it wasn’t.” Mistress Champernowne smiled with genuine pleasure at being able to help someone. “Lady Elizabeth has it. She is absurdly attached to the thing and wears it constantly. But I am sure she would return it to you if you told her—”

  He managed to look shocked, pleased, and embarrassed at the same time. “No! Grace of God, no! I am utterly delighted to learn that the cross was not lost, but I am very eager to have Lady Elizabeth keep it and continue to wear it. Harry was devoted to her. It will be—will be as if some part of him is still watching over her.”

  “It is very plain and not very suitable to a highborn lady’s dress,” Mistress Champernowne said, clearly somewhat disappointed at not having a reason to wrest Elizabeth’s unsuitable adornment from her.

  “I am sure the duke of Richmond gave it to her because he believed she might need it. That cross was said to have been made from the nails of the True Cross or part of the blade of the lance that pierced Christ’s side—” He shrugged. “—but I do not know that any of that is true. It was also said to be invested with holy protective spells. Imre gave it to me to keep me safe on what he believed was a dangerous voyage. Holy Mother help me! Perhaps if I had not taken it—I did not believe in it, you see; I took it only to cheer him because he feared for me.” He allowed his expression to cloud, and his eyes to darken with feigned pain. “But mayhap—if I had not taken it, I would have drowned on that stupid voyage and he would have lived!”

  “Denno!” Aleneil said sharply. “You could not know. Do not begin again to distress yourself over what was beyond your control. Your father sent you on that voyage; you did not ask to go. In fact, if I remember aright, you argued bitterly to stay in Hungary.”

  “Yes, I did.” Denoriel cast a quick glance in Mistress Champernowne’s direction and was satisfied with what he saw. The lady was highly impressed, and highly intrigued too. He found a rueful smile. “There was this young lady of whom my father did not approve.” He sighed.

  “That is a very sad tale,” Mistress Champernowne said, sighing too. “But you now believe that the cross is a powerful relic? That it has protective powers?”

  “I believe it, yes, but you know the old saw that God helps those who first help themselves. I believe the cross has power—perhaps no more than that it is God’s symbol, but that is power also. And I desire with all my heart that Lady Elizabeth continue to wear it. Nonetheless, I would not walk down a dark alley without my sword just because I was wearing a holy relic. And you should not relax your vigilance for Lady Elizabeth’s safety because she wears the cross.”

  “No, of course not.” Mistress Champernowne shook her head and laughed lightly. “But who would wish to harm her? So sweet a child. So clever. All who meet her love her. Still, I understand better why she always wears the cross … only why did she not tell me of its power?”

  “Likely because she does not know herself why she keeps wearing it,” Aleneil said in Lady Alana’s soft voice and smiling. “Is it not possible that Richmond gave it to her and explained that she must always wear it, that it would keep her safe from danger. She was only three. Doubtless all she remembers is that she must wear the cross, not why.”

  Mistress Champernowne frowned. “It is just as well that she does not remember too much about the happenings of that year. I suppose she has forgotten.” But her voice was uncertain and she sighed. “At least she has stopped asking for Richmond.”

  “You did not tell her he … he had passed on?” Denoriel asked.

  “I was not here then and cannot say what I would have done, but Lady Bryan felt there had been too much death around the poor child. She told my lady that Richmond had been sent away on a diplomatic mission and later that he was to live in foreign lands until Prince Edward was grown and acknowledged as the true heir. But as soon as she learned to write, she wished to send him a letter.” Mistress Champernowne sighed again. “The devices I was put to to prevent it.”

  “Why prevent it?” Denoriel asked, thinking of the joy a letter from Elizabeth would bring to poor Harry.

  “Well, I did not understand it myself and let her write a note. Fortunately I asked Lady Bryan what to do about it, and she explained to me that for a child whose mother had been executed and who had been declared illegitimate and out of the succession to write to the ‘deposed’ heir begging him to come back to England and take care of her might be … ah … misunderstood … and that I must discourage her from ever writing to Richmond again.”

  “The king—” Aleneil put her hand on Denoriel’s arm “—is grown more and more suspicious as he grows older. He has a … a love-hate feeling for the child. As his daughter—so clearly his daughter with her pale skin and red hair and those long-fingered hands—he loves her, but as her mother’s daughter he is suspicious of her, too ready to believe she might wish him ill, and perhaps even hates her.”

  Katherine Champernowne, who would not have spoken so clearly herself, nodded. “So do not mention Richmond, I beg you, even though you were his especial friend. I think she has forgotten … but she is very tenacious …”

  A tap on the door heralded Dunstan and a servant carrying a tray with wine and cakes for refreshment. Mistress Champernowne nodded approval, said she would fetch Lady Elizabeth, and went back through the door through which she had come. Denoriel poured wine for himself and Aleneil.

  “That was very clever,” Aleneil murmured. “I didn’t know you remembered that I told you Kat didn’t like the cross. But there’s no doubt she believed you. She’s not stupid, you know, but she is very credulous. She’ll stop trying to get Blanche to get rid of it. And, at worst, if she decides she can’t stand Elizabeth wearing it, I’m sure she’ll give it back to you.”

  Denoriel shuddered slightly, but before he could reply, the door opened again. Through it came a little girl, seven or eight years of age, slight-boned and slender. Her skin was very fair, her hair brilliantly red; in the dull interior light her eyes appeared to be dark. She began to come forward, a hand graciously extended to greet Aleneil and then hesitated for just a moment when she saw Denoriel.

  Behind her was Mistress Champernowne and just behind her but well to the side so she could see the whole room was Blanche Parry, one hand raised to clasp the necklace of crosses that Denoriel knew lay under her chemise. Blanche remained in the doorway, watching, as Mistress Champernowne came forward.

  “Lady Elizabeth, may I present to you Lord Denno, distant kin to Lady Alana, whom you know.” Aleneil dropped a low curtsy and Mistress Champernowne continued. “Lord Denno has been away on a long voyage, but he says he knew you when you were little more than a babe and he wished to pay his respects now that he is back in England.”

  Denoriel bowed, sweeping off his hat. He saw Elizabeth look at the side of his head toward his crown and
he swallowed nervously, wondering whether he had forgotten to mask his long, pointed ears with illusion. Then she transferred her gaze to his eyes. Nothing showed in her face, but Denoriel knew that she saw the long, oval pupils of a Sidhe rather than the round ones of a human. As an infant and a young child she had been able to see through illusion. Apparently she still could, but she gave no other sign than the quick movement of her eyes.

  “I am very glad to see you again, Lord Denno,” she said, with the gravity of a woman of forty. “I hope your voyage was profitable enough to make up for your long absence from those you knew and loved in England.”

  Denoriel’s lips parted, but words stuck in his throat. What she had said was the sharp-honed rapier-prick of an angry woman—but she was only eight years old. Doubtless it was an innocent platitude. But he was thrown off balance and before he could think of a suitable answer Elizabeth had turned to Aleneil with an impish smile.

  At first he thought she would advance on poor Aleneil, whose lips were already tight with discomfort from the iron cross, just to see her retreat or suffer more pain in silence. But although Elizabeth held out her hand, she moved no closer to Aleneil, only smiling with real warmth. Denoriel was a little surprised at the evidence of Aleneil’s reaction because the cold iron of the cross Elizabeth wore had awakened no more than a distant, dull ache in his bones and he was actually closer to her than Aleneil was.

  “Greetings, Lady Alana.” Elizabeth barely touched Aleneil’s fingers and then stepped back, almost to Denoriel’s side, although she did not seem to notice that. “What do you think of my dress?” she asked.

  It was in the height of fashion, children and adults wearing the same style—a rich light green brocade overgown with a low, square bodice edged in elegant, dark green embroidery. Above the bodice her chemise, high-necked and tied to form a ruffle, filled in the low décolletage of the gown, which was tightly fitted to the waist. The sleeves fitted the upper arm closely, then widened greatly and were turned back to show a gold velvet lining.