“You’re right,” he admitted. “I have spent the time since my return to Court arranging my next marriage.” Her shoulders shook, and his ears caught a muffled sob. “The lady I wish to make the next Countess of Lynmouth is one of the most beautiful women in London. She is wealthy, so I need not fear that she seeks my money. Her manners are flawless and she is an excellent hostess, able to deal graciously with those of high and low estate. She is the perfect mate for me.”
His voice was filled with such love and admiration that each word he spoke was like a great knife thrust into her heart.
“There was only one problem that might have prevented the match,” he continued, “so it was necessary that I convince the Queen that, despite this impediment, I would have no other woman to wife.”
“I-I-I am not interested, my lord Earl.” Turning, she tried to push past him, but he held her fast. Her face was pressed against the velvet of his doublet. “I must return to my guests,” she pleaded.
He ignored her. “The lady in question is not English. She claims to be an Irish orphan who wed a Spanish merchant and was then widowed. So I have represented her to the Queen. I know, however, that the story is not true. She was a captive slave of unknown background who was fortunate enough to catch the eye of the great Whoremaster of Algiers. He took her under his protection, and when he was murdered she fled Algiers with his wealth. But I love her, and I want her for my wife. I have convinced the Queen of the wisdom of my choice. She has given me her permission for us to wed.”
Skye pulled away from the Earl, and when she looked up at him her eyes were blazing blue fire.
“I do not know how you have obtained your information. Though your facts are correct you know nothing at all! Yes, I was brought as a captive to Khalid el Bey—that was his name, my lord Earl. I had no memory of who I was or where I had come from, but he didn’t care. He might have made me a whore in one of his houses, or he might have made me his concubine. He did neither. I was indeed under his protection. But, my lord Earl, I was also his wife! Are you so narrow-minded that you believe a marriage doesn’t exist unless it is celebrated by a Christian priest? The chief mullah of Algiers wed me to my lord Khalid! I was well and truly married!”
She was pacing back and forth now, her burgundy silk skirts swishing angrily. Her hair had come loose, and as she turned to face him again it swung fiercely with her. “My daughter, sir, bears her father’s Christian surname, for he was a Spaniard by birth, driven from that cursed land by the cruelty of the Inquisition. I expect, my lord, that even you can understand that! You will find in the baptismal registry of St. Mary’s Church in Bideford the name of Mary Willow Goya del Fuentes!
“I could not wed with you, my lord! It would be grossly unfair to mingle my unknown blood and tainted body with such as yours. I fully understand the great honor you do me, but no!” And pushing past him, she fled the room.
Geoffrey Southwood stood stunned and disbelieving as Robert Small entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“What the hell did you do to her?” growled the little captain.
“I asked her to marry me.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her!” shouted the Earl. “I told her I knew the truth of her past, and it mattered not. I even have the Queen’s permission.”
“Laddie, laddie, you’re a fool. Did she tell you that she has no memory prior to her life in Algiers?”
“Yes.”
“Listen to me, my lord. I am old enough to be your father, and I’ll speak to you as one. Her husband was my best friend in all this world. He was born the second son of an old and noble family, but fate decreed that he live a life far different than that for which he believed himself intended. Whatever his profession, he was a true gentleman in every sense.
“You love Skye. So did he, with all his heart. She was his joy, his pride, and he wanted nothing more than to spend his life with her and the children they wanted to have. He had just learned, before he was murdered, that he was to be a father, and his happiness came close to making me weep.” Robbie breathed deeply and turned to sit. Southwood sat across from him. “I invented Skye’s background in order to protect her and the child. Now, Geoffrey lad, I will help you to bring Skye around, for the stubborn wench loves you and has sighed and wept enough over you these last few months. I don’t suppose she told you she’s with child?”
“Oh my God!” the Earl whispered.
“No?” said Robbie drily. “Well, she is angry with you. Well, we must be firm then. I have just the way to settle this, but you must go along with me in all I say. Agreed?” Southwood slowly nodded. “Come along then, lad, and I’ll show you how to neatly trap a vixen.”
They came back out to the large salon where Skye and the Queen were holding court together, surrounded by a laughing group of courtiers. They worked their way forward carefully until they were next to the young Queen. Elizabeth was looking especially lovely, her glorious red-gold hair a mass of long, loose ringlets, her smoky eyes sparkling. Her gown was of apple-green silk embroidered heavily with gold, small pearls, and topaz.
“Is the guest of honor finally among us?” said the Queen, laughing. “Pray, sir, where have you and my lord Southwood been?”
“Settling the details of the match that’s so dear to your kind Majesty’s heart. As Mistress Goya del Fuentes’ parentis in absentia, it was my duty. Now, madam, with your gracious permission I shall delay my departure by one day in order to give the bride away. Can your Majesty persuade the archbishop to waive the banns and wed the happy couple tomorrow?”
Stunned, Skye began to speak, but the Queen clapped her hands with delight. “Sir Robert, it’s an excellent idea! Yes! Yes! The wedding shall be tomorrow at Greenwich. You shall give the bride away, and I shall hostess the wedding party!”
“Majesty, we are honored,” said the Earl, placing a firm arm about Skye. “Are we not, sweetheart?”
“Aye, my lord,” said Skye loudly and sweetly. Then, while everyone chattered excitedly about them, she hissed, “I’d sooner have the pox than marry you!”
“Come, everyone,” cried the Queen. “If Mistress Goya del Fuentes is to be ready to wed at one o’clock tomorrow then we must leave her now. Away to Greenwich!” She turned to Skye. “My dear, you’re a delightful hostess. We have enjoyed ourselves so much. You shall be a credit to the Southwood family, I know. Lynmouth will escort me home. Hie yourself to bed and rest. I should imagine you’ll get little sleep tomorrow night if your betrothed’s reputation is fairly earned.” Chuckling, the Queen departed for her barge.
Skye rounded on Robbie furiously. “I’ll not marry him, do you hear? I’ll not marry him!”
“Indeed you will, Skye lass,” said Robert Small with infuriating calm. “Be sensible, my dear. He knows the truth of your past, and yet he loves you and wants to marry you. Think, Skye! You’ll be the Countess of Lynmouth. And think of the child you’re carrying. Refuse Lynmouth and no one will believe the baby is his, for what woman in her right mind would not marry her child’s father? Then the question will be asked whose child is it. And since you have not socialized with anyone it will be assumed that you coupled with a groom or a footman. The child is lowborn, people will say. Then what will happen to Willow?” With every word he uttered she felt more and more trapped. “I’ll go happily off to sea now, knowing you’re safe, loved, and cared for, Skye,” he finished.
“Damn you, Robbie! If Khalid knew what you’d done—”
“He’d fully approve, Skye, and you know it,” snapped the gruff little man. “Come along now. The Queen is right, and you need your sleep tonight. Tell Daisy what gown you’d wear tomorrow so the maids may freshen it.”
“I will choose nothing!” she said stubbornly.
“Then I will, my dear. Come along now, lass.” He took her hand and walked her upstairs to her apartment. “Daisy, girl, to me,” he called, and the buxom maid appeared.
“Sir?”
“Your mistress is
to be wed at one tomorrow to the Earl of Lynmouth. What in her wardrobe is suitable for a wedding gown?”
Daisy’s brown eyes grew round with awe and delight. “Oh, sir! Oh, ma’am! How wonderful!”
Skye turned away sulkily and stamped into her bedchamber, where she threw herself on the bed. Daisy looked questioningly at Robert Small.
“Don’t fret, girl,” the captain reassured her. “Your mistress is simply in a mood. Let’s have a look at her wardrobe.”
Daisy led the way to Skye’s dressing room. Robert Small’s mouth fell open. “Sweet Jesus!” he exclaimed, “I’ve never seen so many fine feathers in my entire life.”
Daisy giggled. “These are only the ones suitable for a wedding, sir. The simpler things are hung in another room.”
Robert Small shook his head, then began to study the gowns. White was ruled out, for Skye was a widow. And somehow a bright color seemed inappropriate. Then his eye was caught by a rich, heavy, candlelight-colored satin. “Let’s see that one.”
Daisy drew the gown forth and held it out for his inspection. The simple bodice was cut low and embroidered in seed pearls. The puffed sleeves, which ended just below the elbow, were slashed and the openings filled in with a fine cream-colored lace. Below the elbow the sleeves hugged the arm in alternating bands of satin and lace. The wrists were ruffled by a wide band of lace. The underskirt was embroidered with delicate seed pearls and tiny diamond flowers. The dress had a small, starched, heart-shaped lace collar edged in tiny diamonds that rose up behind the neck. The underskirt was a graceful bell shape.
“Aye, Daisy, my girl! This will more than do! See it’s pressed and ready by ten in the morning. Your mistress is being married in the Queen’s own chapel at Greenwich, and the Queen is giving the bridal feast afterward. They’ll also be spending the night there.”
“Oh … sweet Mary, sir! Will I be allowed to go? My mistress will be needing me, I’m sure.”
“Aye, girl, you’ll go.”
The little maid nearly swooned in her ecstasy. “Lord, sir! Wait till me old mother hears that I’m maid to the Countess of Lynmouth! She’ll be so proud! Oh, sir! You don’t think Mistress Skye will want someone else, do you? I’m nothing but a simple Devon girl.”
“Your mistress will want you, Daisy, never fear. See to the dress now, and have a scented bath ready for your lady at dawn. Wash her hair, too.”
“Yes, sir.” Gathering up the beautiful gown, Daisy left Robert alone. He walked back to the bedroom.
“Are you finished sulking, lass?” he asked.
“I never sulk!” she snapped, sitting up. “I simply dislike having my life settled for me by other people. Do I have no choice in this?!”
“No, lass, not this time. You’re angry with Southwood, and so you seek to spite him by making his son a bastard. Yes, I do believe it’s a boy you carry. But the Earl has suffered enough, being caught in a loveless marriage, having his heir die. Without even knowing that his potent seed has already taken root in your fertile womb, he offers you marriage. It’s hardly an insult, my dear.”
“And what of my wealth? Is it to be poured into the Lynmouth coffers along with that of his first two wives? No! No! I won’t be left helpless and dependent like poor Mary!”
Robert Small smiled a slow smile. “So that’s what’s bothering you, lass.”
“Part of it,” she admitted.
“Don’t fret, Skye lass, I’m not about to leave you helpless. The Earl directed me to have a marriage contract drawn up tonight, which he’ll sign in the morning. You’ll have to give him a good dowry, Skye, but the bulk of your wealth will remain in your hands. This house will remain in your hands, and I’ve made you my heiress, providing that if anything happens to me you’ll care for Cecily. That way you’ll have plenty for Willow.”
“Robbie! Oh, Robbie!” she began to weep softly.
Embarrassed, he clumsily put his arms about her. “Give over, lass,” he muttered gruffly. “For pity’s sake don’t cry all over me. I like it better when you scream. Who else could I leave Wren Court to, Skye? You’re the daughter I never had, lass, and you’re as dear to me as if you were my own.”
“Thank you, Robbie. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” She wiped her eyes and Robbie tried to muffle a sniff.
“Now listen to me, Skye. We’re giving Southwood twenty-five thousand gold crowns for dowry, and of course you come with your clothing, plate, and jewelry. All the rest of your wealth, the money Khalid left, the shares in our partnership, this house, and Wren Court remain exclusively yours. He can’t take them, so you are free and independent.”
“Will he sign such a contract, Robbie?”
“He’ll sign, lass. The Queen would have his head if he refused, for Young Bess is very much her own woman, like you.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s very late, Skye, well past midnight. Rest now, my dear. I will see you in the morning.”
“Which gown did you choose, Robbie?”
“The creamy satin with the pearl and diamond embroidery,” he answered, smiling.
“It’s the one I’d choose, were I interested in this marriage.”
He chuckled. “Sleep well, Mistress Goya del Fuentes. Tomorrow night you’ll be Lady Southwood, Countess of Lynmouth. Not bad for such an ugly wench.” He ducked the pillow she threw at him as he strode from the room, laughing merrily.
CHAPTER 17
SKYE’S WEDDING MORNING WAS A RAINY SPRING DAY. SHE stretched in a leisurely fashion, dimly aware of activity about her, then suddenly sat straight up in bed. She was being married in a few hours, and there was so much to be done! A steaming tub was already waiting before the fireplace.
“Good morning, m’lady,” chorused Daisy and the two undermaids, bobbing curtseys.
“Not ‘my lady’ yet, Daisy,” said Skye sharply. The two maidservants giggled, then gasped, their faces reddening as Skye rose from her bed, drew off her gown, and walked naked across the room. Daisy, who was used to her mistress’s eccentricities with regard to nudity in the bath, smirked smugly at the red-faced underlings and helped Skye up the two steps and into the big tub.
Skye sunk gratefully into the bath. The sweet-smelling oily water caressed her skin and lapped about her shoulders. Daisy drew a screen about the tub, leaving her mistress to a few moments of privacy, while she guided the undermaids in the laying out of the bride’s clothing.
So, thought Skye, today is my wedding day. How different it is from the joyous day that I wed you, Khalid. Oh, my dearest lord, how I loved you. But you are gone, Khalid, and this strange English lord has caught at my heart. I may be wealthy, dear Khalid, but the honest truth is that the widow of an Algerian “merchant” is scarcely on a social footing with a belted Earl. Yet, he would make me his Countess. It’s not simply to get me in his bed, for I have already been there. He claims to love me, yet he left me without a word for weeks. Dare I trust him? Or will he break my heart? Oh, God, I wish I could know. I want to be loved, but even more I want to be safe again.
“Mistress,” scolded Daisy, “you’ve not yet begun to wash.” Daisy took up the soft cloth herself and began to scrub her mistress. Skye continued to muse silently as Daisy moved on to wash her mistress’s hair. Daisy’s chatter caused Skye to lose her train of thought and she exploded. Relenting at the hurt look on Daisy’s face, Skye confided, “I’ve wakened with a terrible headache, Daisy, and I don’t want it later on at Greenwich.”
Daisy became concerned. “Ah, m’lady, I’ll have an herbal draught made up at once. Hawise,” she turned to one of the serving maids, “ask Dame Cecily to please make up an herbal tea for m’lady’s headache.”
Skye left her tub wrapped in a large warmed bathsheet and, seated by the fire, endured Daisy’s further ministrations. Her hair was rubbed free of excess water, brushed and brushed and brushed again until it was dry, then rubbed with a piece of silk until it shone with deep blue-gold lights. Meanwhile, the second of the undermaids knelt paring her mistress’s toenails.
“Geoffrey!”
“Good morrow, wife.” He stood before the tapestry that hid the secret passage door.
“Not quite yet, my lord,” she answered sharply. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to be reminded what a magnificent creature you are, madam,” he drawled lazily, his green eyes sweeping boldly over her.
A flush stained her entire body, and she shook her cloud of hair. Did he really love her, or was it only lust to possess her? She determined to try and find out now. He could cry off when she had finished, but that was better than being owned by a man who had no real feelings for her. Walking deliberately to the door, she locked it and then said firmly, “Sit down, my lord. Will you take some wine?” He nodded, and she poured him a small goblet from her sideboard supply.
“Well, madam,” he demanded after accepting the goblet and leaning back. “What is it?”
She drew a deep breath. “How brave you are to wed with me, my lord, but are you sure you really want to take to wife the widow of one of the most notorious men in the history of Algiers? I remind you that I recall nothing whatever prior to my life with Khalid el Bey. He made me what I am. God only knows what tainted blood flows in my veins. My mother might have been mad and my father a murderer. Think carefully, my lord. Is this the sort of woman you would take to wife?”
Skye O'Malley Page 34
