Isabel and the bishop lined up across from each other. His long nose and scraggly beard seemed to point directly at her. When the dance began and they drew closer together, he introduced himself. “I am John Lesley, Bishop of Ross and Queen Mary’s envoy to Elizabeth. I travel a good deal between here and London.”
They separated, and when they came back together to join hands, Lesley said, “And you are?”
His hands were dry and leathery. “Isabel Tait, sir. From near Derby.”
“How came you to be here, Mistress Isabel?”
The man was full of self-importance, his questions sounding more like demands than polite inquiries. “Lady Shrewsbury knows my family, and she invited me, sir.”
“Did she? Well. Who are your people?”
“Nobody you have ever heard of, I assure you.” She hoped that would put a stop to this interrogation. Asking a question of her own might distract him. “Where is Queen Mary? I thought she would join the dancing.” Again, they separated, so she had to wait for an answer.
When they came back together, he said, “She retired early. The queen suffers from many complaints. I blame her detention. She does not get sufficient fresh air or exercise.”
At last the dance ended. After a curt bow, Lesley hurried away. Isabel was glad to be left alone. But it was not for long. Philip Blake hurried over and asked her to dance. It was a galliard, and she told him he would need to instruct her. Laughing, he said, “Essentially, you stand still while I hop and jump around you. You can do that without too much trouble, I’ll wager.” In the beginning, that was fine. But Isabel soon became aware that the other women were hopping, leaping, kicking, and jumping along with their partners. Blake did not seem to mind her ineptitude, and nobody was pointing at her and snickering. “We shall have dancing lessons one afternoon. I, for one, would be happy to tutor you,” he said, as the dance ended.
Isabel laughed, because it had been fun, even though she hadn’t done much more than stand still, hands on her hips, watching while he performed the steps. During the remainder of the evening, she danced with each of the two men who had arrived after supper, learning that they were castle guards. And once more with Blake, but never again with Gavin. He partnered all the other ladies, at least twice each, and Bel couldn’t help noticing how he flirted with each of them in turn. They all gazed at him with adoration, laughed at whatever he was whispering in their ears, and touched him as much as possible.
He’s probably bedded them all.
She’d no idea what had caused that most unwelcome thought to pop into her mind. Usually, she did not think of such things, although she was not naive. Her brother Thomas had fathered a child with a servant girl. Isabel’s family believed she did not know of this, but one of the maids had told her. The same one who had vividly described the act of procreation.
The merriment finally ended, and Isabel followed the others toward the bedchambers. On her way down the passage, she remembered what Lesley had told her about Mary’s illnesses. According to him, she had many restrictions placed upon her and was limited in what activities she was permitted. Isabel felt compassion for her predicament.
The passage was ill lit, and the ladies with the candles had gotten far ahead of her. Isabel caught a glimpse of two figures huddled together a bit farther on, close to Mary’s rooms. In a moment, she identified them by their voices as the queen and John Lesley. She paused, uncertain whether to continue. And then someone grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth with his hand and dragging her backward into a window embrasure. She could not cry out, and she wasn’t strong enough to wrench herself away from him.
Chapter Four
Gavin had frightened her, and he was sorry for it. Her heartbeat thudded against his forearm. But it couldn’t be helped. This was his chance to listen in on an exchange between the queen and the bishop. If Isabel had proceeded down the passage, they would have ended their conversation.
He whispered in her ear. “Shh. It’s Gavin. I mean you no harm. I’ll remove my hand if you’ll not cry out.” When she nodded, he did so. Instantly, she relaxed against him, her posterior touching his privy part, which immediately grew hard. He hated to let her go, because her body felt so damn good against him, but she would feel his throbbing cock and then she might indeed scream. Slowly, he removed his arm from across her body, his hand brushing the underside of her breasts.
He again signaled Isabel to be silent and whispered, “Don’t move.” Then, surreptitiously, he took a few cautious steps toward Lesley and Mary. When he could go no farther without being seen, he stopped, listening closely.
“Why did you not tell me of my cousin’s intention to wed the Duke of Anjou? You should not simply have announced it at supper.”
“May we not go inside, madam?” Lesley asked, “where we might have privacy?”
“Non. There are ladies in the presence chamber, and there is no one about here. Pray answer my question.”
“The answer is simple. I thought you already knew.”
“How could I? Do you think my cousin keeps me informed of her marriage negotiations? This does not bode well for me—I will lose the support of the French if she forms an alliance with them.”
“Aye, I fear that is true.”
Queen Elizabeth was continually negotiating with one country or another for a marriage. Her councilors wanted her to marry and have children, to ensure the succession. But she resisted. Always, she resisted. Gavin couldn’t imagine this time would be different.
“Do not despair, madam. We still have allies.”
“Norfolk? He cannot be relied upon. I have thrown myself at his feet, offered myself to him. He moves like a tortoise.”
“I will have a word with him. But we must look to Spain for help also, and to the Pope. And there is someone else we may soon rely on in that quarter.”
“Ah. Who might that be?”
“An Italian. A banker named Ridolfi. He has an interest and…connections.”
Booted footsteps on the flagstone floor warned Gavin that the nighttime sentries were approaching. Silently, he backed up into the alcove.
“I must retire now,” he heard Mary say.
“Sleep well, Your Majesty.” Mary’s door closed, and Lesley disappeared into the darkness of the passage.
Gavin turned and looked at Isabel. Her eyes were wide. And accusing. “What are you up to?”
“I’ll explain later,” he said. The sentries were close, and there was only one solution. He grabbed Isabel and said, “Play along.” And then he drew her close and kissed her. Startled, she emitted a little gasp. It was a chaste affair—the kiss of a woman who had never had the pleasure, but sweet and arousing nonetheless. Her lips were soft and supple, and she opened them slightly. Gavin coaxed them open farther, but resisted the urge to deepen the kiss. He sensed the moment she began to enjoy it, because she relaxed into him, as she had before, and slowly, her arms slid up and around his neck.
“Well, what have we here?” The two sentries, who sounded well into their cups, chortled.
Gavin, who had nearly forgotten the reason for the kiss, pulled away from Bel. “Good night, mistress,” he said. As Isabel emerged from the window embrasure, he gave her a playful slap on the arse. Had to be convincing, did he not?
The sentries carried candles, and Gavin could clearly see annoyance written all over Isabel’s face as she walked away, glancing at him over her shoulder. He would need to invent a reason he was spying on Mary and Lesley, and it had better be believable. He had the feeling Isabel would recognize a lie when she heard it.
“Good night, lads,” Gavin said as he sauntered off.
But it had been a good night’s work. For the first time, he’d heard the name Ridolfi spoken by one of Mary’s closest associates. And Lesley had confirmed there was something afoot. Now he would need to find out exactly what that might be.
…
Isabel crept into her chamber, believing Frances would already be abed. To her surprise, the
other lady was not in her bed, or even in the room. Ann entered and helped Bel disrobe to her smock. Before the girl left, Bel asked her if she should leave a candle burning for Frances.
A smile flashed across Ann’s face. “Nay, mistress. She’ll bring one with her when she retires.”
Where is she? Perhaps talking with the queen and the other ladies, but, given Ann’s smile, Bel guessed Frances was with a man. Perhaps they all partnered with someone every night. It was their business. Isabel did not care, provided nobody expected her to do the same.
After washing, Bel climbed into bed. She said her prayers and then lay still, trying to quiet her mind. But the events of the evening, both the good and the bad, sang like a Greek chorus, demanding her attention. She had half a mind to inform Lady Shrewsbury that she wished to return home. Other than Frances, the queen’s ladies had neither welcomed her nor eased her way, even after Mary had bid them to do so. She could expect no different from them in the coming days. Why must she accept their scorn and mistreatment?
But the alternative was to scurry back to her mother, who feared Isabel would get in the way of her happiness with a new husband. The question of Bel’s own marriage would be revisited, and she would no doubt end up with one of the men her brother had put forward.
No, she would have to remain here and endure it as best she could. In time, she would find an opportunity to prove herself to the queen and her entourage. Isabel only hoped it would come sooner rather than later.
Tonight, she would rather fall asleep remembering her dances with Philip Blake and Gavin. A pair of virile and handsome men. And they both seemed to like her, although Gavin had danced with her only once. But that kiss. Oh, she was well aware of why he’d done it: to distract the sentries and prevent them from asking why she and Gavin were lurking in the passage. But his kiss had seemed more than that. It had been sweet and tender. He must have realized she was inexperienced, and it had been considerate of him to respect that. That slap on her bottom had been unnecessary, though. The scoundrel.
Why had he been listening in on the queen’s conversation with John Lesley? From her place in the window embrasure, Isabel had made out only a few words. Philip. Spain. The Pope. And a foreign sounding name she didn’t recognize. Surely Mary had many supporters among Catholic Europe.
Isabel had no idea what tomorrow would bring. At present, her only alternative was to carry on.
In the morning, a rank odor pulled Isabel from the depths of sleep. It reeked like sewage, and she certainly hadn’t smelled it the night before. While Ann was helping her dress, Bel asked her about it.
“’Tis foul today. It depends on which way the wind is blowing. The fumes result from inadequate drainage.”
“Cannot some laborers fix the problem?”
Ann laughed. “The stench has existed since the queen has been in residence, and nobody has done a thing about it.”
Frances had not stirred. She must have retired late. Isabel was afraid of waking her, but Ann said there was no danger of that—Frances could sleep through anything.
“You may break your fast in the dining chamber, mistress,” Ann said.
Isabel, having assumed she’d be dining alone, was surprised to see the queen already seated at the table. She curtsied and said, “Good morrow, Your Majesty.” One of Mary’s gentlemen attendants began to steer Isabel toward a smaller, separate table, but Mary stopped him by simply lifting her hand.
“Mais non. Bel will join me. George, help her, s’il vous plait.”
Obligingly, he pointed out the food offerings. Isabel selected cheese, bread, frittered apples, and fresh pears. George carried it all to the table and helped Bel with her chair.
“And did you sleep well, ma chere?” Mary asked. “I trust Frances to be a kind and helpful friend to you.”
Isabel thought it best not to reveal she hadn’t seen Frances since last evening’s entertainment, except for making out her form under the covers this morning.
Bel simply nodded. “Will Lady Shrewsbury be returning soon, madam?”
Mary patted Bel’s hand. “Ah, you feel her absence. Tomorrow, I believe. I trusted her to find another lady to serve me, and she made a good choice in you.”
“Thank you. I hope you are feeling better this morning, Your Majesty,” Isabel said, after eating a slice of pear. “The bishop told me you were not well.”
“I suffer from many complaints. It is the rank air, the lack of exercise. You have noticed the odor this morning. Or should I say, the malodor?” Sighing, Mary leaned back in her chair. “Shrewsbury says I have ‘grief of the spleen.’ Perhaps. I also experience pain in my joints. Rheumatism.”
Isabel wished to be sympathetic, but thought it best not to encourage Mary to wallow in self-pity. Ultimately, that would not serve her well. “What shall we do today to lift your spirits, Your Majesty?”
“Ha! I like you, Bel. You will be a tonic for me. My health will improve with your arrival.” She began slicing a frittered apple and eating small pieces of it. “We do have something amusing planned today. There is to be a tennis match between Master Cade and Philip Blake.” She paused to slide a piece of apple from knife to mouth. “The men have cleared out a ruined section of this monstrosity of a castle and transformed it into a court. This will be the first use of it as such.” Mary bent her head toward Isabel. “I have given my favor to Philip.”
When Isabel raised her brows and smiled, Mary said, “It means nothing. I shall give one to Gavin the next time. Or another handsome man.” She laughed, a tinkling sound. “Now, ma chere, if you have finished your repast, will you not rouse the other ladies? The tennis is scheduled for later this morning, and they must rise and dress.”
When the queen got to her feet, Isabel did likewise. “Come to my rooms at eleven of the clock. We shall proceed from there.” She squeezed Isabel’s shoulder before hurrying away.
Isabel had no enthusiasm for the task she’d been given. What if some of the ladies had gentlemen in their beds? Bel entered her own chamber first, hoping Ann might be there dressing Frances. But, to her dismay, the lady was still asleep. Isabel gently shook her by the shoulder until she opened her eyes and said a groggy, “What is it?”
“The queen wishes us to attend her at a tennis match at eleven o’clock. You must get up. I’m going to rouse the others.”
As she exited, Frances said, “Send Ann to me, pray.”
“I will, if I can find her.”
Knocking lightly on the chamber door adjacent to hers, Bel slowly cracked it open. Dorothy and Alice lay sleeping. “Ladies,” Isabel said. “You must get up. The queen wants you to attend her by eleven.” They shifted and groaned, and Isabel was satisfied they were awake.
Growing rather impatient with women who couldn’t wake up on their own and prepare for the day, she rapped on the next door and, without pause, pushed it open. A sight she’d never thought to see greeted her. The Bishop of Ross, John Lesley, was sitting up in bed between Cecily Blake and the elusive Ann. His chest was bare, but the two women, thank the Virgin, were wearing their chemises. They were not engaged in any carnal activity at present, but it was obvious they had been. Isabel’s jaw dropped, and she was perfectly incapable of speech. Ducking her head, she half-covered her eyes. A hot flush started at her neck and worked its way up. Her expression prompted much laughter among the three in the bed.
“Care to join us, mistress?” Cecily asked.
At last Isabel found her voice. “The queen wishes you to attend her at eleven of the clock. And Frances needs you now, Ann.”
Among the three, Lesley was the only one who appeared to be embarrassed. When Isabel left, he’d been tugging his shirt on. Where could she go, what could she do until eleven? She didn’t wish to engage with any of them. The castle had a bell tower, and during the daylight hours, someone rang it on the hour and half hour. She could safely exit and keep track of the time.
Bel hurried down the stairs to the door, but a guard stopped her. “Where are yo
u going, mistress?”
“I need a breath of fresh air, sir. Where may I walk?”
“Why, in the queen’s garden, ma’am.” He opened the door and pointed. “’Tis just there.”
She thanked the man and hurried on her way. The day was fine, the air crisp but comfortable. High, scudding clouds floated above. In these late days of autumn, no flowers were blooming, but the foliage had turned deep red, orange, and yellow. Isabel inhaled deeply and began to calm down and consider what she’d seen.
A man and two ladies. It repulsed her, yet at the same time, fascinated her. She had enough difficulty imagining the sex act between one man and one woman, let alone among three people. And John Lesley! He was an old man, at least forty. Oh, the ways of the world puzzled her exceedingly. She strolled about the garden until she heard the bell ring the half hour, and then reluctantly made her way back inside. As soon as word spread, the ladies would tease her unmercifully.
Chapter Five
By the time everyone had gathered in Mary’s hall, there was no opportunity to mock Isabel. Although, when she’d entered the room, snickers, sly looks, and whispers proliferated. Frances approached her and said, “Walk with me, Bel.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but looped Bel’s arm through hers and let go only to descend the stairs.
Once outside, they lagged behind the others. Mary was on the arm of one of her male attendants, and the other ladies clustered about her. Frances didn’t say anything at first, but when everybody had moved beyond hearing range, finally spoke. “You mustn’t be too shocked by our behavior, Bel. It is lonely here, and we are bored much of the time. We do what we can to amuse ourselves. You will too, eventually.”
Isabel almost laughed. I will never be in the same bed as John Lesley… “I understand. But perhaps all of you might consider my feelings. All my life I have been sheltered and protected. I will not judge you or the others and would hope to receive the same consideration.”
“Fair enough,” Frances said. “’Tis best to take these things in your stride. Of necessity, we are close and wary of outsiders. As I said last night, it will take time to gain acceptance from everybody.” She drew Isabel closer. “Trust that you already have mine.”
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