The servants placed an enormous salt cellar upon the main table. Two standing winged silver griffons and two standing gold lions together held up a carved coral seashell filled with salt. The goblets were pale-pink blown Venetian glass, the Queen’s crest carved upon an oval piece of garnet and affixed to each. Golden plates were placed before those at the head table. The other guests seated above the salt had to be satisfied with silver, and those below the salt with simple crockery.
A parade of liveried servants began the circulation of an enormous feast. The first course consisted of the usual bowls of icy cold raw oysters, mussels and scallops broiled with herbs and butter, tiny prawns in white wine, thinly sliced salmon on a bed of young watercress, whole sea trout, and great loaves of both brown and white bread. The next course offered sides of beef, whole roast red roe deer, legs of lamb. A whole great boar with wicked curved tusks rested upon a huge silver platter which had to be carried in by four footmen. There were small, sweet roast suckling pigs with apples in their mouths, gingered capons, big pink hams, swans stuffed with fruit, geese, roast pheasants and peacocks served with their full colorful plumage, larded ducks, steaming pies made with lark, pigeon, dove, sparrow, and rabbit. There were bowls of new lettuce, scallions, radishes, and artichokes. The servants kept everyone’s goblets full to the brim with a deep red heady Burgundy.
Skye ate little, disliking huge feasts where the menus were far too heavy. A few oysters, a capon wing, a thin slice of suckling pig, and some lettuce satisfied her. She noted thankfully that Geoffrey was as abstemious as she, choosing oysters, a small slice each of the beef and the goose, an artichoke, and some bread and butter.
The last course of sweets and subtleties arrived with a profusion of colorful molded jellies, fruit pies, plum cakes, early strawberries with bowls of clotted cream, early cherries from France, oranges from Spain, and wheels of Cheshire cheese. There was, of course, an enormous sugar-iced wedding cake. To Skye’s great relief, the cake did not have the usual marzipan bride and groom figures with their overly endowed sexual organs and breasts. Instead, the cake top was decorated by a small bouquet of tiny white roses and blue forget-me-nots, all tied with silver ribbons. Somehow Skye knew this was the Queen’s touch, and she leaned across Lord Dudley and thanked her.
The Queen smiled quietly. “He loves you very much, Skye. I have not seen such true love and devotion in all my life. How I wish I might have such a love to help me sustain my great burdens.”
“Why surely you can, madam!” said Skye. “There are any number of gentlemen willing to lay their hearts at your feet.”
The Queen smiled again, sadly this time. How innocent the new Countess of Lynmouth was! How sheltered she must have been before coming to England. “There are many men willing to lay their hearts at my feet, Skye, but none really loves me. They seek my crown, or a part of it. They do not want Elizabeth. A queen who rules in her own right has no true love. She is wed to her country. That is the harshest to serve of all lords.”
“Oh, madam!” Skye’s eyes filled with tears.
The young Queen gently brushed a tear from the bride’s cheek. “Why, my lady Southwood, what a soft heart you have. But weep not for me. I knew my fate a long time ago. I accepted it, and I wanted it.” Then thoughtfully she said, “I think, my kind-hearted little Countess, that I shall call upon you to serve as one of my ladies. An honest, open heart is a rare thing at Court.”
Skye shortly found out how right the Queen was. After the tiny cordial glasses of spiced hippocras wine and thin sugar wafers that officially ended a banquet were served, the dancing began at the other end of the hall. The bride danced first with her new husband, then with Lord Dudley. After that she was prey to all the gentlemen. Several were forward enough to suggest assignations while staring boldly down her dress. Skye was shocked. The morals of the Islamic world she remembered had been quite strict. Here at Greenwich they appeared to be lax indeed.
She soon found herself partnered by the scowling Lord Burke. Did the man never smile? “My felicitations, madam. You have done quite well for yourself.” His tone was most insulting, and she found herself once again infuriated by the man. She fixed him with a level gaze and asked, “Why, my lord, are you so hostile to me? Have I done you some injury of which I am not aware? Pray speak, sir, that I may correct whatever fault it is that offends you.”
Wordlessly he drew her from the dance floor and led her to the table where refreshments were being served. His silver eyes probed her face, never looking away. Suddenly he asked, “Have you ever heard of the O’Malleys of Innisfana Island, madam?”
She thought a moment, then replied, “I am sorry, Lord Burke, but I have not. Is it important to you?”
“No,” he said roughly. “It is of no account, madam.” But he appeared almost distraught. Why? she asked herself.
Dame Cecily bustled up just then. “It’s time you got ready for bed, my dear. Here are Mistress Lettice and some of the Queen’s ladies to help you.”
“Lady Southwood.” Lord Burke bowed curtly over her hand. Then he turned and walked away.
Skye and her female companions left the hall discreetly. “Her Majesty,” confided Lettice Knollys, “has given you an apartment in a quiet part of the palace. You’ll be quite private. How I envy you this night! Southwood is said to be a magnificent lover!”
“Lettice!” scolded another of the Queen’s ladies, “if Her Majesty should hear such loose talk, you’ll be sent down to the country.”
The Queen’s red-haired cousin tossed her beautiful head. “The Queen would sell her soul to be the bride this night if Lord Dudley were the groom.”
“Lettice!” cried several scandalized voices, “you speak treason!” but Lettice Knollys simply laughed. “Ah, here we are, Skye,” she announced as she paused before a door.
The guards flung open the door, and the chattering women entered into a prettily furnished bedchamber where Daisy awaited her mistress along with two palace maids.
The large oak bedstead held up ornately twisted bedposts which were hung with pink velvet hangings. To the left of the bed, casement windows looked out toward the rain-swept river. To the right of the bed was a large stone fireplace, now blazing with enough warmth to have removed all dampness from the room and rendered it cozy.
Daisy and her two assistants set to work immediately disrobing the bride. Wearing only a single petticoat and her underblouse, Skye bathed in rosewater from a silver basin. Then her hair was taken down and brushed until it gleamed. The blue-gold lights were the envy of most of the women in the room. Now Daisy brought forth the nightgown, the two undermaids removed the last of the bride’s clothing, and the nightgown slid down and over her. The Queen’s ladies gasped in shock and envy, for the nightgown clung to Skye as if it had been painted on her. It was made of pure white silk, the bodice forming a deep V, the sleeves wide like butterfly wings, the skirt a mass of tiny pleats.
“God’s blood!” Lettice Knollys voiced all their thoughts. “That gown will not be long on you, my dear Skye.”
“But will he leave it in one piece?” murmured one woman. The rest of the ladies giggled.
Skye blushed and then laughed nervously. “It is said to be a copy of one worn by the Pope’s mistress.”
“Hurry,” called one of the women, “I can hear them coming.” They helped her into bed, plumping the fat lace-edged pillows behind her back and smoothing the down-filled satin coverlet. She felt very foolish, the center of all this attention in what should have been a private moment. She remembered how she and Khalid el Bey had slipped away from their guests on their wedding night to ride down the moonlit beach to the Pearl Kiosk. But she was not in Algeria, she was in England. It was not Khalid el Bey she eagerly awaited, but Geoffrey Southwood.
The door burst open, admitting a laughing crowd of men and women. Geoffrey Southwood was pushed forward. He was bare-chested, “We’ve half undressed him, madam,” said Lord Dudley with a drunken grin. His arm was around the Queen i
n a proprietary manner, and Elizabeth was flushed and looking very pretty.
“I shall finish the job myself,” said Lord Southwood firmly. “For the Countess and myself, I bid you all a good night.”
“Come, everyone,” the Queen called, throwing the newlyweds a sympathetic look. “I have not yet tired of dancing.”
The courtiers and servants all filed out and the Earl shut the door behind them and threw the bolt hard. Wordlessly he stripped off the rest of his clothing and blew out the candles. The firelight played on his lean frame and golden hair. He turned and held out a hand to her. “Come to me, Skye.”
She rose from the bed and walked toward him. A slow smile lit his face. He took in the full effect of her gown and the grin grew. The tiny skirt pleats undulated to show her long legs, and when she stood before him he quietly hooked his hands on either side of the neckline and tore the gown away. Laughing, she flung her arms about him. He could feel his passion flame and, taking her face in his hands, he pressed a kiss upon her half-opened lips.
“I love you, Skye,” he murmured huskily.
“And I love you, my lord,” she answered, her deep blue eyes shining.
His hands slid slowly from her perfect shoulders down her smooth, long, fair back, until he could cup and gently squeeze each sweetly rounded buttock. “I have missed you so,” he sighed, softly bending his head to capture a taut nipple in his warm mouth. Teasingly his tongue encircled it again and again until he felt her quiver. Sliding to his knees, his mouth moved with maddening slowness downward until at last his probing tongue slipped between the pouting lips of her woman’s center. She whimpered, “Please!”
He raised his head and gazed at her. “Please what, Skye?”
“Please!” she repeated, and pulling away from him, fled to the bed and flung herself upon it. Laughing softly, he joined her, pinioning her beneath him. “Do you want me, my wanton little wife?” he teased. “No, Skye, don’t turn your head away from me. I want to see your lovely face when I take you. Ah, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong in wanting this. Tell me, love! Tell me!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she half sobbed, and he filled her full, his own excitement mounting as her beautiful eyes told him all the things she was even now too shy to say aloud. He was incredibly gentle, and this very gentleness roused her wildly. Her passion again acted as a spur to his own desire until it exploded within her as hers exploded.
They lay exhausted and then he pulled her into his arms, caressing her soft hair, her trembling body. “Ah, love,” he murmured low, “now we have officially sealed the bargain we made today before the archbishop. I love you, Skye, and I shall always make you happy. I swear it!”
She turned in his arms so that she faced him, and said quietly, “Your child already grows in my womb.”
“Thank you, my darling,” he answered. Puzzled by his lack of surprise, she realized that he must have guessed her secret.
“Geoffrey—you knew? Is that why you asked me to marry you?” He could see the hurt mounting in her eyes. “I am no bitch to be bred!” she cried furiously.
“I did not know until after I had asked you,” he said quickly.
“Robbie told you,” she accused. “Damn him for a meddling old woman!”
“Aye, he told me. I was close to either strangling you, or beating you black and blue. You are the most stubborn, wayward witch I’ve ever met, Skye Southwood! The child you carry is both yours and mine, and I want it! You’ve no right to deny it me simply because your pride fears I might love our child more than I love you! I will love the babe, but I shall never love anyone or anything as I love you, Skye. Whatever I had to do to get you to marry me I would do again!”
She was stunned by the intensity of his voice, and unable to find the words of reply. She heard him begin to chuckle softly, and the chuckle grew until the chamber was filled by the sound of his laughter. “So!” he crowed. “I’ve finally rendered you speechless, you overproud, overtalkative Irish wench! Mayhap now you will finally admit to my mastery over you. Surely no one has ever rendered you speechless before now.”
The angry reply died on her lips at the sight of his bright lime-green eyes, which were tender and full with love.
“I have a terrible temper,” she said in a small voice.
“Aye,” he agreed gravely, “you do.”
“I do not like injustice of any kind.”
“Nor do I, my love. Nevertheless, it is not a perfect world we live in, as you well know. And there are no perfect humans living in it, as you also know.”
“I will not be chattel, Geoffrey. I have guided my own destiny too long.”
“Were you so independent with Khalid el Bey, my darling? I cannot imagine the wife of a Moorish gentleman being given such great freedom.”
What a strange conversation to be having on my wedding night, she thought. Here I am lying naked in my second husband’s arms calmly discussing my previous lord! “Khalid,” she said slowly, “respected my intelligence. It was he, along with his secretary, who taught me how to run his business and handle his investments. He used to jest that if anything happened to him I should surprise everyone by being able to take care of his interests.”
Geoffrey Southwood mused on his wife’s words. He had, since meeting Skye, thoroughly investigated the reputation of Khalid el Bey. It had not been easy, for the distance between Algiers and England was great, but his curiosity had been piqued by this man of notorious repute who had taken in and then lost his heart to a nameless lost waif. What he had learned had surprised Geoffrey. Despite his rather unsavory business, Khalid el Bey was considered a gentleman. He was noted for his honesty, his charitable nature, and his charm.
It was this last that gave Geoffrey Southwood the most difficulty. It had never mattered to him whether his woman of the moment had had other men; but Skye was different—and she was his wife. Was she already comparing her two husbands? It fretted him, and unwittingly he crushed her to him.
“Geoffrey!”
His mouth savaged hers, blazing a burning trail down her neck and across her breasts. “Do you compare me to Khalid el Bey, Skye?” he asked fiercely.
She understood instantly. He had never really been secure in a woman’s love. Her heart went out to him. “Oh Geoffrey,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around him. “There is no comparison. Khalid was Khalid and you are you. I loved him for what he was as I love you for what you are.” She raised his head and kissed his mouth sweetly. “I love you, my lord Southwood, but sometimes you play the fool.”
And he did feel very foolish.
“Is this how you would spend our wedding night, my lord?” she asked teasingly. “Now that we have discussed my first husband, shall we speak of the many ladies who have graced your bed, sir?”
“Madam,” he growled, trying to gather the remaining shreds of his dignity, and then he heard her muffled giggles. “Oh, witch,” he laughed, “would anyone believe such a conversation between two lovers who are newly married?” Then he covered her face with kisses, and she sighed happily, which only made him laugh again.
“I shall not be able to hide my condition much longer, Geoffrey,” she said thoughtfully, “and the Queen has asked that I join her ladies.”
“When is the babe due, my love?”
“In early autumn, after the harvest.”
“Do you feel all right?” he asked anxiously.
“Sometimes in the evenings I feel queasy,” she admitted. “It’s the smell of roasting meat that does it to me, though tonight, thank God, I was not so distressed.”
“I want you in Devon as soon as possible,” he said. “We will hide your condition a month and then you must go.”
“It would be better if I went in two or three,” she said. “To admit my pregnancy in less than two months’ time would be to bring the Queen’s anger down upon us. She is a very moral lady, Geoffrey. Besides, it will be safer for me to travel later than now. We can avoid following the Court for a month or so, for Her Maje
sty will not deny us a honeymoon. Then, when we do return to the Queen’s service, I shall feign sickness. Everyone will be praising your virility long before we make our joyful announcement. Then, if you wish to escort me to Devon, it will be permitted and we will offend no one.”
“I begin to see,” said the Earl of Lynmouth, “why Khalid el Bey trusted your judgment. To find such a clever mind lodged in such a beautiful body is astounding.”
“I trust you mean to flatter me, my lord,” she said drily.
“Yes, witch. I mean to flatter you!” And tumbling her back amid the plump feather pillows of their bed, he kissed and tickled her until her happy laughter could be heard as far away as the ballroom.
CHAPTER 18
NIALL BURKE SLOUCHED DEEP IN A LARGE CHAIR IN THE study of his London house, staring out as the gray dawn rose over the dark and rainy river. A fire crackled merrily in the large fireplace, but the big Irishman scowled blackly, ignoring its warmth. He clutched in his clenched fist a large goblet from which the odor of spiced red wine rose. Around the house the sou’wester that had dampened Lord Southwood’s wedding was roaring itself out.
A blast rattled the windows, and Burke glowered again. The wedding of Mistress Goya del Fuentes and the Earl of Lynmouth had been hell for Niall. He and Constanza stood with the rest of the Court watching as the most beautiful bride he’d ever seen was married to a very handsome groom. It had been torture. For, in his mind, he saw again the candlelit chapel of the O’Malley tower house, and a hollow-eyed, frightened young bride whose face was whiter than her gown. He remembered how he had flung open the chapel doors only a moment too late, how she had fainted upon seeing him, how he had outrageously demanded the droit du seigneur. Most of all, he remembered how sweetly she had yielded.
“Skye!” he whispered softly, saying her name aloud for the first time in many months. “Oh, Skye, how I love you!” He was so painfully confused, and the new Countess of Lynmouth was responsible. She was his Skye’s identical twin. He ached with longing for her, yet he was ashamed. Upstairs slept his sweet and faithful young wife, alone in their bed while he sulked downstairs, lusting in his heart for another woman, a dead woman, and another man’s wife.
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