Page 16 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

“He’s a crude Highlander,”

murmured Velvet, “and more than likely the stones in your ears are either glass or garnets of poor quality.”

“How would you know?”

Mary de Boult sneered, tossing her head so that the red stones glittered.

“He’s my brother’s friend and is staying at Lynmouth House,”

replied Velvet sweetly. “I suspect he’s a fortune hunter, m’lady, for earlier this summer he tried to sweep me off my feet, and I’m a betrothed lass. Robin says he has very little but an old stone castle in the mountains west of Aberdeen. More than likely he’s come south for a rich wife to rebuild his tumbling-down manse.”

“Well! I should certainly not qualify to be his wife,”

said Lady de Boult huffily, “after all, I have a husband.”

“Then why do you accept gifts from another man? I doubt very much the queen would approve such conduct,”

Velvet retorted primly.

“You know very little about the world, Mistress de Marisco,”

Lady de Boult replied scathingly.

“True, madame, but is yours an example I should follow? I may be young, but I am not so young that I misunderstand either your shameless behavior or Lord Gordon’s base motives.”

“How dare you!”

Mary de Boult’s fair complexion became mottled with outrage, and she raised her hand to slap Velvet, but at that moment the door to the Maiden’s Chamber flew open violently.

“Where is the queen?”

Robert Devereux entered, an urgent and distressed look about him.

“I’ll tell her you’re here,”

said Bess Throckmorton, and, catching Velvet by the hand, she drew her away from Lady de Boult. Together the two young women entered the queen’s bedchamber where Elizabeth lay sleeping, for she had had the ague recently. “Majesty, please awaken,”

Bess said gently, touching the queen lightly.

Instantly Elizabeth woke. “Yes, Bess, what is it?”

“The Earl of Essex with an urgent message, madame.”

The queen sat up. “Velvet, hand me my wig and help me with it. Bess, give me but a moment and then tell the earl I shall be with him.”

Quickly Velvet aided the queen in setting the beautiful red wig upon her head. The queen’s hair had grown thin and gray with age, and she did not feel it suited her at all. The wig was a vanity she readily admitted to, but she cared not who knew as long as no one she considered important saw her own naturally steely locks. Once the hairpiece was affixed atop her head, she stood up, and Velvet helped her sovereign into a beautiful white velvet chamber robe embroidered with gold threads and pearls.

“Thank you, child,”

murmured Elizabeth kindly to Velvet. “I am so very glad to have you with me.”

Bess held the door open as the queen passed through into the Maiden’s Chamber. Robert Devereux knelt and, taking the queen’s hand, kissed it.

“Madame,”

he said, his voice low and choked. “Madame, I do not know how to tell you this without hurting you, and hurting you is the one thing I would not do.”

Elizabeth Tudor stiffened. “Say on, my lord, for your procrastinating will make it no easier.”

“I have come to you from my mother at Cornbury. She wishes you to know that her husband, my stepfather, Lord Dudley, departed this life on September fourth. She said I was to tell you it was a peaceful death, and that Lord Dudley’s last thoughts were of Your Majesty.”

Essex caught at the hem of the queen’s gown and kissed it fervently. “God forgive me for having to be the one to bring you this news, for I shall never forgive myself.”

For a long moment Elizabeth Tudor stood very still and remained very quiet. She was whiter than her gown, and Velvet was almost afraid that the queen would die right where she stood, seemingly rooted to the floor.

Then Elizabeth Tudor took a deep breath and said in a tight, controlled voice, “Get up, Essex.”

When he had risen, she continued, “I forgive you, for someone had to tell me, and I had as lief it was you. Now leave me, all of you!”

Then, turning, she moved swiftly back into her private closet.

“Come along.”

Bess Throckmorton hurried them all from the Maiden’s Chamber, but not swiftly enough, for they all heard the sound of Elizabeth Tudor’s bitter weeping. Shock coursed through them for never in the memory of anyone present had the queen been heard to cry.

It was said that though Elizabeth was sorry about the Earl of Leicester’s death, no one else was. The court was too worried over their sovereign’s grief, however, to stop and mourn even had they had the desire to do so. The queen locked herself in her rooms for some days, weeping until her eyes were virtually swollen shut and vastly irritated by the salt from her tears. Food was brought in upon trays only to be taken out barely touched as the ladies-in-waiting and the Maids of Honor huddled, whispering worriedly, with the queen’s councillors in the palace corridors.

Finally, when several days had passed, and the queen was still prostrate with her grief, Lord Burghley’s concern for Elizabeth Tudor overcame his respect for the privacy of the woman he had served for more than thirty years. Pounding on her bedchamber door, he shouted, “Madame, you must cease your grieving now! I understand your sorrow, but it will not bring my lord of Leicester back to life again, and it would pain him to know that you neglect your duties in this way!”

“He would love every minute of her grief,”

muttered Ralegh irreverently.

Lord Burghley sent Sir Walter a fierce look, effectively silencing him. “Madame, I beg you,”

William Cecil continued.

“You must give up your sorrow now. We need you. England needs you!”

There was no sound from within the queen’s closet now, and after a few moments Lord Burghley took it upon himself to order the door broken down. It was the smashing of the wood that finally brought the queen to her senses. Rising from her bed, she admitted her ladies into the room. She was queen of England, and there was no further time for sorrow. She would have to face the rest of her days without her sweet Robin.

Her grief was stirred afresh however, several weeks later when the Earl of Leicester’s will was read. In it he wrote:

First of all, and above all persons, it is my duty to remember my most dear and gracious Princess, whose creature under God I have been and who hath been a most bountiful and princely mistress to me.

The queen was then presented with a rope of six hundred pearls from which hung three great bright green emeralds and a large diamond set amidst them. Dudley had left the necklace to Elizabeth, his parting gift to her. A single bright tear rolled down the queen’s face before she firmly recovered herself.

When Leicester’s widow, Lettice Knollys, quickly remarried Sir Christopher Blount, the queen sued the Dudley estate for all of the thousands of pounds he owed the crown. She would have forgiven the debt but for her cousin Lettice’s lack of respect for Leicester’s memory. Now she would rather impoverish Lettice than see the money go to the Blounts.

Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, was mortified by his mother’s lack of respect for her late spouse. There were times, he thought, when Lettice could be an embarrassing liability, and this hasty marriage to a man young enough to be her son was certainly one of those times. Besides, he had come to like his stepfather.

He grumbled about it to Velvet one afternoon as they stole a few moments from their duties, seated together in a secluded, windowed alcove. “Blount, of all people, Velvet! What in God’s name does she see in him?”

“He’s very handsome,”

Velvet ventured.

“Handsome!”

Essex was forced to laugh. “That’s just the sort of answer I would expect from an inexperienced girl.”

“I am not inexperienced!”

Velvet huffed.

Essex chuckled and slipped a bold arm about her waist. “You’re certainly not experienced, Mistress de Marisco,”

he teased her fondly, and then stole a lingering kiss.

“Fie, sir!”

she scolded him breathlessly, but she dimpled and colored becomingly, totally unaware of how very lovely she was at that moment, of how she glowed, flattered by his attention.

It would have added greatly to her pleasure to know that across the room, unobserved by the pair, Alexander Gordon seethed with impotent rage. He could not hear what they said, but it mattered not, for it was obvious that Velvet was flirting shamelessly with the Earl of Essex, and Alex could do nothing about it.

The court that autumn was a dull place, for the queen would hold no revels nor allow any gaiety until the official thanksgiving for the Armada victory, which was to be held on November 17. Nonetheless, the younger members of the court managed to find their way to the beer gardens, the theaters, and the autumnal fairs during the afternoons when the queen was less apt to notice their absence.

Alexander Gordon kept up his seemingly ardent pursuit of Lady de Boult. One warm autumn afternoon Velvet came upon the couple in an arbor by the river. The sight of his hand down her well-filled bodice enraged Velvet.

“Lecher!”

she shrieked at him as Mary de Boult looked stunned, caught between the two of them. “So you court her to make me jealous and to bring me to heel, do you? Liar! Liar! Liar! You could not possibly have known that I would choose to walk at this hour along this path! You but use our estrangement as an excuse to pursue any bitch who is willing to lift her tail for you!”

Then she slapped him with all her might and, turning on her heel, stalked angrily away.

“Madame!”

His voice roared after her, and when she did not stop, he leaped the space between them and, grasping her arm, spun her about.

“Unhand me, lecher!”

she snapped, “else I’ll tell the queen of your behavior with this woman!”

She tried to pull away from him, but his fingers tightened cruelly about her flesh.

“You’re jealous,”

he said flatly.

“Never!”

She shouted the hollow denial.

“Aye, you’re jealous, Velvet, and I’ve been jealous, too, each time I’ve seen you cuddling with my lord Essex.”

His grip loosened enough to pull her toward him, while his other hand tipped her face up toward his. “Come, sweetheart, enough of this warring between us. We have both been wrong. Now let us make peace and begin afresh. Your parents will be home in the springtime, and we will celebrate our marriage then. Let us spend the winter learning to love one another.”

He bent to kiss her, but Velvet turned her face from his.

By this time Mary de Boult had recovered her surprise and, glaring at them, demanded to know, “Are you to marry this, this chit, my lord Gordon? How dare you lead me on, then! I have never been so insulted in my entire life!”

“Nor as amply rewarded for your infidelity!”

snapped Velvet. “If you feel so abused, my lady, then I suggest you complain to your husband!”

“Ohhhh!”

Lady de Boult was a picture of perfect outrage. With an angry, futile, “Well!,”

she glowered at Alex, and then, to his surprise, she also slapped him before stamping off toward the palace.

With a rueful grin, he rubbed his twice-injured cheek. “You English lasses have hard hands,” he said.

“Go to hell!”

was Velvet’s furious reply. “If you think I intend to kiss and make up with you, you’re mistaken, my lord.”

His brow darkened, and then he said in a seemingly calm voice, “What I think, Velvet, is that you’re a spoilt brat. I admit I was wrong in ignoring you in the years between our betrothal and now, but when that contract was made between our families you were a child and I already a man.”

“You might have sent the child a doll, my lord. You might have remembered her occasionally on her birthday, or Twelfth Night, or even the anniversary of our betrothal, but you did not! The truth of the matter is that you did not remember me at all until your dying father reminded you of your obligations. Only then did you decide you needed a wife, a creature upon which you might breed the next generation of Gordons of BrocCairn. Well, my lord Earl of BrocCairn, I am not a brood mare, and I have decided that I will not marry you ever! You’re far too fickle a man to suit me!”

Alex was stung by the truth of her words, yet if she would not give in, neither would he. The right was his, he told himself firmly. “I was willing to wait until yer parents returned home, Velvet,”

he said in an ominous voice. “I have played, or tried to play, the suitor for these four months, but ye’re an impossible little shrew! I will wait no longer! Not for yer parents, not for ye, not for anyone! I need a wife now, and ye’re contracted to me by both God’s law and man’s.”

Taking her firmly by the hand, he dragged her along behind him down the queen’s garden toward the river.

“Stop! Where are you taking me?”

Velvet demanded of him.

“To Scotland, madame! To be my wife! To be the mother of my children! By this time next year, the first of our sons will be at yer breast, Velvet, and this nonsense will be long forgotten!”

“Never!”

she cried. “Never! I would sooner be dead!”

He ignored her cries and her frantic struggles as, reaching the quay, he called out to hail a boatman. Shoving her down into the small boat, he directed the man to Lynmouth House. When she looked as if she might scream, he glowered at her and said in a low, threatening voice, “One word, Velvet, and I’ll toss ye in the river to drown! I swear it!”

She believed him, regretting bitterly that she had ever driven him so far. It was symptomatic of her own childishness, she realized, that she had been so wrapped up in herself she hadn’t stopped to consider him or his feelings in this matter. Perhaps she might reason with him.

“My lord,”

she began softly, “please, I beg of you, do nothing foolish. We are too much alike, I fear, to make a successful match. I cannot believe that there are not any number of girls who would be honored to be your wife.”

“Ye are my betrothed wife,”

he growled at her. “Now be silent! I don’t wish to share our problems with all of London.”

She opened her mouth to protest further, but then closed it again. Better not to aggravate him. They were going to Lynmouth House, and Robin and Angel would be there. They would help her reason with him and it would all be resolved. Meekly, she folded her hands in her lap and waited to reach their destination.

The Earl and Countess of Lynmouth, however, were not in residence when they arrived. A message had come up from Devon late the day before saying that the earl’s little daughters were ill, and nothing would do, the majordomo told them, but that her ladyship hurry down to Lynmouth Castle to minister to her stepdaughters. Naturally his lordship went with her.

Velvet was horrified, realizing that without Robin and Angel to mediate this quarrel she had no control over Alex. Turning, she whispered, “I can’t leave without seeing my brother, my lord.”

“We’re leaving within the hour,”

he said coldly. “I want to be free of London and well on the road north before nightfall. We have maybe four hours of daylight left today. Pack only essentials. I’ll arrange to have the rest of yer things sent later on.”

“I cannot leave the queen, my lord. She will never forgive me if I go without speaking to her first.”

“Once we’re in Scotland, Velvet, Elizabeth Tudor will no longer matter in yer life. Ye’ll have a king then. A Stewart king.”

“What about Pansy? I can’t travel without my maid!”

“Aye, ye’ll need the girl. Where is she?”

“Back at the palace.”

“I’ll send Dugald for her.”

He grasped her arm again and led her up the stairs of Lynmouth House to his apartments. “I want ye with me, madame, for I’ll not have ye upsetting the servants with any caterwauling.”

They entered his rooms. “Dugald! Get back to St. James and fetch Mistress de Marisco’s tiring woman, Pansy. Be quick, man, for we’re off for home this day!”

Dugald’s face split into a wide grin. “Aye, my lord! I’ll not be long in fetching the lass, and ’twill be good to go home at last.”

He hurried out the door without so much as a look in Velvet’s direction.

“Sit down,”

Alex commanded, and in order not to anger him any further, she obeyed.

For some minutes they sat in silence, and then Velvet said pleadingly, “Please, my lord, you can’t do this.”

He looked coldly at her. “I am doing it, Velvet, and if ye were to challenge me in the courts over this I should win. Ye are legally my betrothed wife, and unless either I or yer parents dissolve the contract made between us, ye have no other choice. Yer parents are away, and I wish to marry now. Yer brother would support me if he was here as he is yer guardian. Ye know that, so resign yourself to our marriage.”

“Wait at least until Robin returns from Devon, my lord!”

“Nay, Velvet. If I sent a messenger after Robin it would be several days before we had a reply. Winter is coming, and in the north it’s nearer than it is here in yer soft England. Even the few days it would take to obtain Robin’s official permission could mean the difference between our getting back to Dun Broc before the snows or being caught in the first storm of winter. I have the right, Velvet, and we leave before sunset.”

Once again silence descended upon the room. Why, thought Velvet to herself, why could I not have walked away when I saw him fondling that overblown de Boult creature? Because you love him , came the answer, and she cried aloud, “No!”

“No?”

he questioned.

“ ’Tis nothing, my lord. I but had a thought that distressed me.”

“What thought?”

She shook her head.

“What thought?”

he repeated, and now he came and knelt by her chair so that he might look up into her face. “What thought, Velvet, distresses ye so greatly that ye cry out against it?”

“I but merely wondered why I had not left you to your pursuit of Lady de Boult instead of interfering,”

she said honestly. “Had I not disturbed you, I should not now be in this position.”

“And why did ye interfere, sweetheart?”

His voice had gotten softer, and his amber eyes were suddenly gentle and even a touch amused.

She shook her head. If he thought to cozen her with sweet words, then he was very much mistaken.

“Oh, Velvet,”

he said quietly, “why do ye refuse to admit that perhaps ye care a trifle for me?”

“Nay!”

Her denial was too quick, and she flushed quietly.

He sighed. “I think ye lie, lass, not only to me, but to yerself also. Never mind, for we shall become reacquainted again on the road where we will have no one but each other. I had thought, though, that perhaps ye were beginning to care a little.”

“And you, my lord? Do you care, even a little?”

she asked.

“Aye, lass,”

he answered her without hesitation, and to her great consternation. “I do care.”

Velvet swallowed hard, but refrained from answering him. For ten years he had ignored her existence, and then, upon entering her life, he had falsely represented himself. He had flaunted another woman at her, no matter that she had known it was only to make her jealous. She strongly suspected that he had enjoyed himself, and that was totally unforgiveable!

The silence about them deepened. Lord Gordon arose from his knees and, going to a table, poured himself some wine from the decanter. “Are ye thirsty?”

he asked her, holding out a goblet. She shook her head, so he drank deeply of it himself. The minutes ticked slowly by, and the tension about them was so thick that she thought she would scream. Finally, when she believed she could bear it no more, the door of the apartment opened, and Dugald entered with Pansy, who ran directly to her mistress.

“This brigand dragged me from the Maiden’s Chamber where I was awaiting you, mistress. He says we are going to Scotland. Is it true then?”

Before Velvet could answer, Alex spoke for her. “We will leave as soon as ye can pack, Pansy. We are riding. There will be no carriage. Lord Southwood’s servants can pack yer mistress’s things for shipping later on, but she will need some necessities for now. I expect ye can ride?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Very well then, go along, lass, and hurry.”

“I must go with her,”

Velvet said.

“Why?”

he demanded harshly. “My lord, have you no delicacy?”

He flushed. “I beg yer pardon, Velvet. Of course, go with yer woman, but Dugald will accompany ye.”

“As you will, my lord,”

was her cool reply.

Ignoring the grinning Dugald, Velvet left Alex’s apartments and, with Pansy following, hurried through her brother’s house to her own rooms. As Dugald attempted to step into the apartment after them, Velvet firmly barred his way. “I will have my privacy!”

she said sharply.

“The earl said I was to stay wi’ ye, mistress.”

“There is only one way into or out of my rooms, and we are three stories up,”

Velvet snapped. “You’ll stay here in the hall, or I’ll scream the house down! Lord Gordon will not thank you if I create a scene.”

Then she firmly slammed the door in his face.

“What is happening?”

Pansy begged to know.