by Pride, Mia
“You seem awfully full of despair, Sir Thomas,” a teasing young voice said from behind him. He smirked, already knowing he would find the young courtier he had met the last time he was at court standing there. Long blonde hair and alabaster skin, she was the perfect image of innocence, or so he had thought before she gripped his manhood beneath a table upon their last meeting. She was some Lord’s daughter, though he did not know which one, nor did it really matter.
Turning to face her, he took in her shiny hair piled high on her head, fashionably coifed with intertwined jewels and pearls. The fact that she could, indeed, wear pearls, told him she was from a very prominent family. Her red damask gown flowed down her body, the skirts fluffing out wide to match her sleeves. The bodice was cut low enough to show off her more than ample cleavage. “Ah. Lady Emily,” he took her hand and grazed her knuckles very gently.
“It is nice to see you again, Sir Thomas. How long have you been in attendance? I did not see you here last night,” she pouted, her full pink lips protruding invitingly.
“Ah. I only arrived late last night. I am afraid I missed the festivities. But, I am here now,” he winked flirtatiously. Nothing he had said or done was beyond propriety, as it was simply the courtly behavior expected of a knight. Yet, the glitter in her blue eyes told him she had improper thoughts. However, he was certain hers could not even begin to match his own.
“I have heard some rather interesting stories about you since our last meeting,” she smiled. He knew what she referred to. For whatever reason, women were particularly enthralled when they learned who his grandmother was. And though it bothered him at times, he had made love to many women who reveled in his pirate blood. With his dark hair, short groomed beard, and green eyes, he may have looked too clean-cut to be a pirate, but he had the body and mind of one.
“Oh, aye? And what is it ye have heard of me, lass?” He allowed his Irish accent to come to the forefront. It gave him an edge of mystery and danger that the ladies seemed to enjoy. By the way Emily tittered and ran a finger across her bosom, he knew she, too, enjoyed it.
“I heard that you are the grandson and heir of the famous Pirate Queen, Grace O’Malley, that you come from a long line of pirates and the darkness runs through your blood. And that while you sailed the seas with Sir Drake, you are almost as good at commanding a ship as the captain…” Her eyes grew wide and she whispered the words as if they were some deep, dark secret.
“Aye. ’Tis true, lass,” he smirked, intentionally making her nervous with his intense scrutiny. He was not his grandmother’s heir, for his bastard Uncle Murrough who used to beat his mother still held that honor, but while he refused to speak on that to the lady, the rest was indeed true. He had spent much time on a ship, both against the Armada and as the third mate aboard Drake’s famous ship, the Golden Hind, as well as on other commissions by the queen throughout the years. Indeed, being on a ship and free upon the waters made his soul sing. It was also true that darkness ran through his veins; a need for adventure, the chase, treasure, and wenches called to his every sense. How he missed his dear companion Sir Drake and longed to once again sail the sea. Being stuck on land for the past few years had been driving him mad, and his childhood dreams of the Treasure of Danu had haunted him more persistently with every passing day.
“How did you end up at court, as an English knight?” she asked, stepping closer than was proper, but she seemed to not care about propriety and he refused to step back.
“’Tis a long story, that. But my father is an English Baron. Lawrence Esmonde. I am just as much English as I am Irish.” His heart bristled at his own words, but it was the truth.
She fluttered her charcoaled lashes and smiled shyly, though he knew any lass who would reach beneath a table and grip a man’s cock was not shy, nor was she likely a maiden. Not that it mattered to him for he had no plans for this young lady. Thoughts were one things. Actions had consequences he did not wish to face. Despite his reputation with women, he had scruples and did not bed just any willing lass, especially ones more than a decade younger than him.
Taking a long swig of mead, he watched her carefully, wondering how he could escape her notice. “Perhaps you would like to take a walk with me in the royal gardens?” she asked, batting her eyes. If that was not an invitation to bend her over and plow her, he did not know what else it was, and though he admitted to himself that he was tempted, his code of honor forbade it. It also forbade affairs with a married woman, and yet he had somehow turned a blind eye to that rule. He also made it a rule to not bed more than one woman in a day, and he was quite sure the sun had been on the rise while his head was buried between Frances’s thighs this morning.
Och, these thoughts were making his head spin and the mead was not helping. “Lady Emily, ye are a bonny lass, but I am afraid my honor prohibits me from accepting your offer.”
Her cheeks flamed and she looked around her as if afraid someone would witness her rejection. “I only asked you to walk with me!” she feigned indignation and placed a hand over her protruding bosom. “I am sorry if you thought I suggested anything more.”
He wanted to remind her that the last time he saw her, she had his bollocks cradled in that same hand, but he decided against it. After all, he had done nothing to stop her before when he hardened in her hand and allowed her to stroke him through his breeches beneath a cursed table. What man in his right mind would stop a beautiful woman from fondling his jewels? He had been deep in his cups and too aroused to move, at the time. No wonder she expected more of him now. But, it was not going to happen.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the very last man in all of England he wished to see, walking straight toward him with determination. His lover’s husband. With a growl that scared Lady Emily and made her gasp, he squared his shoulders and touched the handle of his rapier, just in case the man meant to run him through.
“Sir Thomas,” the man said with a stiff nod of his head.
“Essex,” Thomas responded, as if the man bored him. In truth, he did. Robert Devereux, second Earl of Essex, was one of the queen’s favorites, but he was also duller than unpolished silver and his overlarge ruffled collar made him appear more of a daisy than a knight. “Can I help you, my lord?” Thomas bowed, as the man was an earl and way above his own station. He tried to forget that he had been suckling on the man’s wife’s breasts only hours before.
“Not me, Esmonde. Apparently, the Queen wishes an audience with you.” A dark brow quirked as curiosity flooded him. The last time his queen had asked for an audience had been after his Uncle Owen had been killed… murdered by that bastard Bingham over in Ireland, and his grandmother had been imprisoned. What ill news did she bear him now? Despite his rock-solid exterior, inside he felt panic. Had something happened to his mother? Or perhaps his father, whom he seldom saw but had grown affectionate toward over the years? Then his eyes narrowed. Why would his cunning monarch send his lover’s husband to fetch him, of all people? She did love to play mind games and mayhap this was a grand one of hers.
“Thank ye, Lord Essex,” Thomas nodded, and turned toward the lass who still stood beside him. “If ye will excuse me, Lady Emily,” he bowed his head politely, then hesitated. “I am sorry. I cannot remember your family name…”
“Oh…” she hesitated and wrung her hands together nervously. “Bingham. My father is Richard Bingham,” she whispered cautiously. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. She was the daughter of the bastard who continuously harassed his family, the man who betrayed his Uncle Owen and imprisoned his grandmother. Was this some game to her? Had she any idea all her father had done to his family, or was she innocent of all knowledge? By her downcast gaze and the flush in her cheeks, he knew the truth. No wonder she knew so much about him. She knew exactly who he was and, for some reason, she had searched him out, wanting him to ruin her if another man had not already. Had it been a trap? If he had taken her out to the gardens, would someone have stumbled upon them? Of course, as an
honor-bound knight, he would have been forced to wed with her; somehow, he knew that was her intention.
Why the lady would want to trap her father’s enemy into marriage was beyond him, but he was suddenly most glad that he had turned her offer away. He would rather walk the plank and jump into shark-infested waters, than touch the daughter of Richard Bingham. The thought actually made him feel ill.
With a hint of scorn and warning in his voice, he tilted his head and murmured, “Good evening, Lady Emily Bingham,” and allowed his lover’s husband to escort him out of the great hall, through the corridors and toward his queen’s privy chamber, where he was most curious as to her desire to speak with him. Whatever it was, it could not be welcome news.
Chapter Two
“I bear bad tidings, I am afraid, Sir Thomas.” Thomas’s heart plummeted to his feet at his queen’s direct delivery. She was a no-nonsense woman and he appreciated that. Still, thoughts of more bad news revolving around his family made his square jaw tick with anxiety.
Swathed in an ornate gown made entirely of cloth of gold, her extremely puffed out sleeves had slashes through the material, revealing more cloth of silver beneath. In her sixties, she did her best to cover the signs of aging with layers of white ceruse caking her wrinkles, but it only emphasized the folds of flesh, causing her to look ghostly white with cracking skin. A periwig meant to conceal her gray hair lay atop her head, slightly askew, but he did not dare to stare. She flashed him her usual flirtatious smile, her teeth more yellow than he remembered. Mayhap it was the reflection of so much gold cloth and red hair that only made it appear to worsen? Still there was no denying that her teeth on the left were for some reason longer than the ones on the right.
After paying her proper respect, he stood up to his full height, wondering how she could attempt to flirt with him directly after telling him she bore bad tidings. Forcing a smile on his face, he was relieved when she waved her hand in dismissal. “None of that now.” She paused and stared at him in silence, apparently scrutinizing him and wondering how much to say.
“Your grandmother visited me several months past. Are you aware?”
Thomas felt his breathing quicken. Something had happened to his grandmother, but he knew he must remain calm in the presence of her majesty. “Aye, I am aware, my Queen.”
With a scoff and another wave of her hand, she nodded. “Of course, you know. You speak frequently to your family in Ireland.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Nay. Not frequently, my Queen. I received a missive in October from my mother about my grandmother’s meeting with you. ’Tis the last time I heard any news.”
“I see. I suppose you know much about what has transpired during the war in your homeland, then?”
“England is my home,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster. It was an impossible position to have loyalties for two warring nations.
“Yes, yes. But you still consider Ireland your home and I cannot blame you. I have avoided sending you overseas during the war. Making you fight against Ireland seems most unfair, even cruel. I do try not to be cruel.”
“You are a most fair and generous monarch,” he replied, bowing his head.
She made a face at him that told him she was not so sure she believed that, but in truth, he did. Queen Elizabeth, though not without faults, had always treated him most fairly despite his ties to her enemies. She had knighted him and given him commissions on ships, even allowing him to be Drake’s third mate during a most important battle. He always did his best to serve her well and in truth, it was her fairness that kept him loyal to a nation that he otherwise would have turned away from long ago. Once his Liege Lord had died in battle six years ago, he had come to work directly for her Majesty and found her relatively pleasant.
“Sir Drake has perished.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but as his gaze snapped up to hers, he saw sadness there. Sir Drake was a favorite of hers, as he was of Thomas’s. He was a privateer, but most knew he was more of a pirate, dealing in the illegal trade of slaves and plundering enemy ships or villages, namely the Spanish. With his queen’s favor and a letter of marque that allowed him to bring stolen goods into the country so long as they belonged to the enemy, Drake had made a bloody fortune in his lifetime… and certainly Queen Elizabeth had benefited.
Though Thomas had no issue with the plundering of enemies, he never could agree with slavery and though he considered Drake a mentor and even a friend, the slave trade always made him weary. Still, hearing that Sir Francis Drake had died was a most unexpected announcement. It was a strange feeling to have his stomach churn over the loss of a man he knew well yet have his heart soar that the news was not of his family.
His voice cracked as he swallowed his emotions. “I am most saddened to hear this news, my Queen. May I ask how?”
“Dysentery, it seems. Back in January of this year. The news only just now arrived. His body was buried at sea, within an iron coffin, they say. Drake would never allow his body to be buried anywhere besides the sea, yet he would never want to become shark bait. I suppose he is where he would have wished, given the circumstances.”
Thomas only nodded. He was indeed close to Drake, yet why the queen had called him in for a private audience, he was still unsure. He was not kin to Drake and surely his death had no real bearing upon Thomas, aside from his sense of loss.
“I will say this as best I can, and then I have other matters to attend. You know one of my mottos is ‘video et taceo.’ I see, but say nothing.” Thomas was unsure where she was going with this, but he stayed silent, just as eager to be done with this audience as she was. “I know you have been having an affair with my lady in waiting. I have known for quite some time. I shall do nothing about it, not really, for I need the alliance between her family and Richard’s and though I know the law comes down much more severely on a woman for adultery, am I not a queen? A woman who has fought against injustices, simply for having been born a female. If her husband can have a mistress openly and a child, why should I punish her? I will not. But I also cannot allow it anymore.”
Thomas nodded his understanding. He almost told her that he, himself, ended it just this day, but decided to say nothing and allow the queen to believe she had that power. “Furthermore, I know being torn between England and Ireland has not been easy for you. You have proven your loyalty to the Crown time and again and yet, I get the sense that with all the recent injustices your family has seen, your loyalty wanes. The news of Bingham’s treatment of your grandmother has not set well with me since her visit. He killed one of her sons and though he reports to me that he did so only when Owen tried to flee, your grandmother says Owen had been bound and defenseless. I cannot know the truth, but I do know Grace O’Malley very much believes her son was brutally murdered by my man, and now with the recent arrest of her other son and the force with which Bingham seems to use, it is enough to compel me to keep an eye on the man.”
She paused and Thomas felt his ears ringing, wondering where all this was leading. “I do try to be fair, as I said. It is true that we battle for power in Ireland, but it is also true the Irish people have brought this fight upon themselves. Had that chieftain in the north, Hugh O’Neill,” she said his name and grimaced, “not persuaded the Spanish to support them and supply them weapons against us, I would not have had to bring my navy upon them. It is not at all how I had hoped it would go, but I cannot allow anarchy, either. It is with great sadness that I listened to your grandmother’s reporting of the treatment of my people… for the Irish are my people, you see.”
Thomas wanted to balk at that. The Irish had only ever wanted freedom, to live the life they had lived for thousands of years, where chieftains and kings ruled in their own small clans. They had been Catholics for over a thousand years and pagans before that. Their mythology, folklore, and beliefs were the very fabric of their lives, and that fabric was being rent from beneath them by the queen’s desire to control them and bring them to their knees. She
may not see it in that manner, but the Irish did, and if he was being honest, he saw it in the same light.
“I have often wondered what to do with you since the death of your foster brother and Liege Lord six years ago, Sir Thomas. He grounded you, guided you, and held your loyalty in a way I fear I cannot. Do not argue,” she held up a hand to silence him when he opened his mouth to speak. “I have a point to make. The answer to my dilemma has become quite clear. I need trustworthy eyes in Ireland, and with the death of Drake, I need another… privateer to watch the waters around Ireland. Drake brought much wealth to our country, and he did quite well himself. It just so happens that upon his deathbed, he wrote me this letter.” The queen lifted a piece of parchment in her right hand.
“With no issue to his name, his nephew is to inherit his vast fortune, but alas, he must have been quite fond of you, for he has bequeathed you a tidy sum of money, as well as a ship and crew. He claims to have seen much promise in you. With him, his first mate has also perished. His second mate is now the Captain of the ship, and I have seen fit to make you his first mate. I cannot entirely honor his wishes, for I am not yet ready to allow you a ship and crew. So much power for a man who teeters in his loyalty cannot be allowed, yet I respect Drake, so this is my compromise. If you can prove your worth and loyalty in Ireland, I shall then allow you your inheritance. I also need you to keep an eye on Bingham and report back to me if you suspect foul play. I know this displeases you, by the look upon your face, but if the man is truly guilty of all your grandmother claims, I have no qualms about bringing him home in disgrace, but I need the word of a trusted source, you understand… not of a Pirate Queen,” she emphasized.
