Page 3 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

Conn understood her plea. She had been very sheltered by her parents who adored her so very much. Velvet’s very birth had been a miracle, and until this trip neither Skye nor Adam had been content to let her out of their sight.

“We will explain everything to the earl when he comes to Queen’s Malvern , Velvet. I’m sure he’ll understand and be reasonable,”

Lord Bliss promised, silently hoping that he was right.

Velvet kissed her uncle’s smooth cheek, then slipped from his lap. Though she led him to believe otherwise by her docile submission, she had no intention of sitting quietly and waiting for fate to sweep her up. She knew very well that if she allowed the earl to make the decision he would insist on celebrating the marriage immediately. She had seen how men looked at her of late, and it would be no different with this betrothed husband she had suddenly found she had. She was not that big a fool! Men thought they owned women.

“I am not getting married,”

she muttered mutinously to herself. “At least not yet, and not ever unless I love the man!”

Then she smiled mischievously. Uncle Conn had seemed so very relieved, innocently believing that everything was settled. Sweet old Dame Cecily thought Velvet was an angel, and would never suspect that she could be devious. There was no one to bother or interfere with her for several days, of that she was certain. It was time enough to put into action the plan she had been thinking of ever since she had digested the news of the Earl of BrocCairn’s impending arrival.

Although Velvet’s sister, Deirdre, was six years her senior, they had always been very close. Deirdre and her husband, Lord Blackthorn, lived just a few miles away at Blackthorn Priory. On the first of May they would be entertaining the queen, who was beginning her annual summer’s progress. Velvet had never met the queen that she could remember, although her mother said Elizabeth Tudor had seen her as a baby. The English queen was one of her two godmothers, the other being Queen Margot of France.

Deirdre had been half-promising for months that Velvet could come and get a peek at the queen when Elizabeth stopped overnight at Blackthorn Priory. Velvet’s scheme involved meeting the queen and becoming one of her maids of honor. The Earl of BrocCairn could scarcely go against Elizabeth Tudor’s wishes and take a royal maid of honor from court without the sovereign’s permission, and Velvet knew the queen’s attitude toward gentlemen stealing her maids away. She chuckled to herself, quite pleased with her own cleverness. In the queen’s service she would be safe until her parents came home and the matter of this betrothal was straightened out.

“I’m going to ride over to Blackthorn Priory to get a glimpse of Her Majesty,”

Velvet told Dame Cecily on the morning of the first of May. She had just come in from gathering an armful of flowers, and they were still wet with the dew. “Perhaps I may be of help to my sister, for she is surely very busy right now.”

“What a love you are, Velvet pet,”

returned the old lady, “but have your forgotten, child? It’s your birthday. Do you want to spend it helping Deirdre with last-minute chores?”

“Deirdre is breeding again, Dame Cecily. She has been very tired of late, and I am sure she will welcome my help today. Besides, I really do want to see the queen. I never have, and here I am fifteen!”

Dame Cecily chuckled. “Run along then, child, and have your look at Bess Tudor,”

she said. “With your parents still away ’twill not be much of a birthday for you again this year, I fear.”

Velvet almost shouted with joy as she rode the few miles between her home and her sister’s. It was an incredibly lovely morning, a perfect May day, and her big chestnut stallion galloped along easily. She reached the hall without incident and, slipping down from her horse’s back, tossed the reins carelessly to a waiting groom.

Inside, the priory was just as she had expected. Chaos reigned everywhere, and in its midst was Deirdre Blakeley, Lady Blackthorn, looking harassed and forlorn by turns, her fair skin flushed, her black hair half undone from its chignon.

Deirdre’s blue eyes lit up at the sight of her youngest sister, and Velvet felt a twinge of sadness, for Deirdre looked so very much like their mother.

“Velvet poppet, thank goodness you’ve come! I’m at my wit’s end, and the queen is due by two o’clock!”

Deirdre exclaimed.

Velvet flung an arm about her older sister. “I came to help, sister. You have only to tell me what it is you need done and I will do it.”

Deirdre lowered her slender form, with its very distended belly, into a chair. “I’m not sure where to begin, Velvet. I’ve never entertained the queen before. I don’t even know how she knew of Blackthorn Priory , but her secretary wrote that she had heard of our fine gardens and wished to see them. How could she have heard of our gardens? We are not a part of the court and neither is anyone else in the family except for Robin, and he withdrew from it after Alison’s death. I doubt Robin made any remarks to the queen about our gardens. Gardens are not our brother’s métier.”

“Don’t fuss so, Deirdre. ’Tis a great honor the queen does you and John. She rarely ventures out of the home counties to come to Worcestershire.”

“Better she hadn’t decided to venture this far!”

said Deirdre irritably. “Do you have any idea what it costs to entertain royalty? Nay, how could you? You’re just a child!”

“I wish that Scots earl claiming to be my betrothed understood that,”

muttered Velvet, but her elder sister didn’t hear her for she was too concerned with her own problems.

“It will cost us a small fortune to have the queen and her court here. Of course, John wrote to Her Majesty’s household controller, Sir James Crofts, that we could not entertain the entire court. The priory is simply not big enough for all those people. Do you know what he wrote back? That Her Majesty would only expect us to put up fifty or so of her people within the house and that the rest would be housed in tents upon our lawns! Can you imagine what the lawns are going to look like after five hundred people, their horses, and baggage trains have trampled upon them? It will take us five years to restore them!”

She shook her head in an agitated fashion. “I don’t mean to sound inhospitable, Velvet, but what will we get out of all of this besides debts—and the privilege of saying that the queen stayed in the Rose Bedchamber, which of course will have to be renamed the Queen’s Room now. She won’t even be sleeping in the bed there since she travels with her own and will sleep in no other.”

Velvet listened to her sister with a sense of growing amazement. She had never known Deirdre to be this way. Deirdre was the serene daughter. She had never fussed like Willow or Velvet herself.

“It’s all too much,”

wailed Deirdre, “and I’m sure that we have neither enough food or drink for such a huge gathering. We shall be disgraced, I am certain.”

“Tell me what’s been done so far, Deirdre,”

Velvet said soothingly. She could see that her sister was growing more nervous by the minute.

“The whole house has been turned out,”

Deirdre began. “The Rose Bedchamber has been completely redone. Heaven only knows where I’m going to put the rest of her attendants! Thank the Lord they will only be here for one night. God’s bones! I only hope I have enough food for the whole company!”

“What have you laid aside?”

Deirdre furrowed her brow in concentration. “There are six dozen barrels of oysters packed in ice, twenty-four suckling pigs, three wild boars, trout from the river, twelve legs of lamb, another dozen sides of beef, six roe deer, and six stags; two dozen hams, five hundred lark pastries for tonight, capons in ginger sauce, goose, at least three dozen, larded ducks, pigeon pies and rabbit pies, a hundred apiece. Every house in the neighborhood has baked for us.”

She stopped to draw a breath. “There will be bowls of new lettuce, cress, radishes, scallions, artichokes in white wine, carrots glazed in honey, and enough bread to feed an army! There are molded jellies; marzipan of every imaginable color; fruit tarts from dried apples, peaches, apricots, and plums; custards; and the first strawberries of the season with clotted cream!”

she finished triumphantly. Then her brow puckered. “Will it be enough?” she fretted.

“ ’Tis not elegant, but I suspect ’twill serve,”

Velvet teased. “You’ve not forgotten the wines?”

“Nay, there are a full two hundred casks each of both red and white from Archambault , bless your grandparents, as well as a hundred barrels of Devon cider, which Robin sent from Lynmouth. Then, too, we have our own October ale.”

“Well,”

observed Velvet, “if they don’t stuff themselves with all the foods you’re offering, they will most certainly drown in the drink!”

“Oh, how I wish Mother were here instead of in the Indies!”

Deirdre wailed.

“You don’t need her, sister. You have done everything just as Mother would have if the queen were visiting her.”

“Oh, Velvet! What would I do without you, little sister? You will stay overnight, won’t you?”

Velvet’s heart skipped a beat. “But where will you put me, Deirdre? I would love to see the queen, but let me just peek at her from among the servants and then be on my way home.”

“No! You must stay with me Velvet! I can’t get through this without you, especially in my present condition. You can sleep in my dressing room.”

“Who is to sleep in your dressing room?”

demanded John Blakeley as he came into the sunny morning room where the two sisters were seated.

“Velvet,”

replied his wife. “I want her to stay for the queen’s visit, John.”

“By all means, my dear,”

replied Lord Blackthorn as he bent to place a kiss upon Deirdre’s brow. “The queen is Velvet’s godmama as I recall, and it would not hurt for her to renew her acquaintance with her now.”

He walked over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine from a crystal decanter. “A friend at court cannot hurt a lass.” He looked up and smiled at Velvet.

“Thank you, my lord, and I believe you are correct in your observations,”

Velvet answered demurely, curtsying to her brother-in-law. Lord Blackthorn grinned at her over his wife’s head and winked conspiratorily. God’s bones, thought Velvet, what does he suspect? He can’t possibly know what I plan! He can’t! Her brother-in-law’s next words gave her cause for more worry.

“When is the earl arriving at Queen’s Malvern , Velvet?”

“His letter only said he would arrive within a few weeks’ time, my lord. It did not give a date. Most thoughtless.”

“Well, I do not imagine it will be within the next day or so, little sister, so you are quite welcome at Blackthorn Priory for the queen’s visit. It will do Deirdre good to have you with us.”

He turned his attention back to his wife. “Come, my dear, I want you to rest before we must greet our royal guest. I have personally inspected all of your arrangements and, as always, Deirdre, everything is perfection. You are a fine wife.”

“You see!”

Velvet crowed with delight. “Did I not tell you, silly goose?”

Deirdre blushed with pleasure at her husband’s words, then said to her younger sister, “Send one of the grooms to Queen’s Malvern to bring back proper clothes for you, Velvet.”

She stood up heavily, her seventh month of pregnancy weighing upon her. “I think I shall rest, John.”

He escorted her from the room, and Velvet, after writing a hasty note to Dame Cecily, dispatched it with a Blackthorn groom. She then sat down to gloat quietly. She felt no remorse at using her sister to gain her way in this matter. Someone had to take the situation in hand, and her Uncle Conn was obviously not about to do so. Despite her logical protests against this marriage, she sensed she would still find herself wed to the arrogant-sounding Earl of BrocCairn before her parents returned from their voyage, by which time it would be too late. She needed a powerful protector, and there was none more powerful than England’s own queen. She smiled at herself, a grin of smug satisfaction.

“Ah, I knew that you were planning some mischief,”

Lord Blackthorn said as he reentered the room.

“You imagine it, my lord,”

came her quick denial.

“Nay, Velvet lass, I do not imagine it. I hope you do not think to appeal to the queen in this matter of your marriage. Elizabeth Tudor is a firm believer in parental authority and the keeping of contracts.”

He looked closely at her, but Velvet’s face was devoid of expression.

“John, you must think me appallingly ill-bred to believe that I should attempt to involve Her Majesty in a family matter,”

Velvet said tartly. “I have no intention of discussing my marriage with the queen. I came to Blackthorn today to help Deirdre if I could; and, if I may remind you, my sister promised me months ago that I could come to see the queen when she stopped here. If you think I seek to cause some sort of scandal, however, then I shall tell Deirdre that I have a headache and go home to Queen’s Malvern.”

Lord Blackthorn could not rid himself of the feeling that his young sister-in-law had some scheme in mind, but Velvet was not a liar, and if she said she would not discuss her marriage with the queen then he believed her.

“Nay, lass, I want you to stay. I simply don’t want to find myself in the middle of a family argument. I don’t want to endanger my position with your parents. You know that they worried at first that I was not right for Deirdre.”

Velvet felt a small twinge of guilt at his words. Her family had come to Queen’s Malvern when she was barely two years of age. Deirdre had been eight then, and John Blakeley twenty-eight. His first wife was still living and his life was a misery. Maria Blakeley was totally mad, and had been since the stillbirth of her only child ten months after her marriage. For the past eight years, she had been confined to her apartments where she raved and wept but showed no signs of either recovering or dying.

At first Lord Blackthorn was drawn to Deirdre because the child his wife had miscarried was a girl and would have been Deirdre’s age. Deirdre’s own life had been a rather topsy-turvy one, and though it had finally become settled, she who had been fatherless for most of her life suddenly discovered that she now had two father figures. Adam de Marisco was a loving stepfather, but he was unable to conceal that Velvet, his only child, was the light of his life. Had John Blakeley not been there for Deirdre, her life would have been a sadder one. When his love turned from paternal to passionate, and her love grew from a child’s to a woman’s, neither was ever sure.

Maria Blakeley escaped from her captivity and drowned herself in the estate lake at the priory when Deirdre was thirteen. A year and a day later, Lord Blackthorn asked Deirdre to be his wife and was joyously accepted by her.

Deirdre’s mother and stepfather, however, were not pleased, and at first refused their permission. They felt John Blakeley was far too old for Deirdre Burke. Lord Blackthorn pleaded desperately, for he was a man in love. Deirdre pined away as more suitable suitors were paraded before her, only to be weepingly rejected. In the end the lovers’ persistence won out, and they were married four months after the bride’s sixteenth birthday. For a time afterwards Skye and Adam de Marisco worried that Deirdre might not be happy. Only just before they had sailed had they become convinced that John Blakeley was the perfect man for the gentle Deirdre.

“I swear to you, John, that I shall cause you no trouble,”

Velvet promised him now.

“Go along then, lass, and see to your sister. She’s too excited to sleep, but she’s lying down.”

With great control, Velvet walked calmly from the room, then fled up the staircase to Deirdre’s apartments. To her great relief, her sister had finally fallen asleep, and Velvet settled herself quietly in the dressing room. Mama and Papa weren’t going to be angry at her for avoiding a quick marriage to the earl. They would understand why she had done what she was going to do. After all, she hadn’t said she wasn’t going to honor her betrothal. She simply wanted time to get to know the earl, and she wanted to wait until her parents returned from their voyage to make her decision. It wasn’t a great deal to ask, despite what her uncle and her brother-in-law thought. Velvet closed her eyes and dozed.

She was awakened by a maidservant bringing her clothing into the room. “Is it time to dress?”

she asked groggily.

“Aye, Mistress Velvet. Lodema has prepared baths for both you and m’lady.”

Lodema was Deirdre’s fiercely protective tiring woman.

Velvet arose and the servant girl helped her to disrobe so that she might wash. Deirdre was already happily splashing in her oaken tub by the fire in the other room, while Lodema grumbled fussily at her.

“All this washing, and in your state. ’Tis unhealthy, I tell you, m’lady.”

“Nonsense!”

The nap had restored Deirdre’s good humor and confidence. “Hurry, Velvet, or your water will be chilled,”

she called to her younger sister.

Velvet came shyly from the dressing room, somewhat embarrassed by her nudity. She quickly got into the tub, then wrinkled her nose in delight. “Gillyflowers! Oh, Deirdre, you remembered!”

“Hyacinth for me and gillyflowers for you. Of course I remember. I was twelve when Mama gave me my own scent, and you cried and cried until she chose one for you also, even though you were much too young for a fragrance.”

Velvet giggled. “I remember,”

she said, “but I only wanted to be like my big sister, and you had a perfume and I didn’t.”

“Fiddlesticks!”

replied Deirdre firmly. “You were a spoilt minx, Velvet, and you still are!”

Then she chuckled. “But, damn me, little sister, if you don’t have charm! I’ve never known anyone so able to get people to give you your way and yet never feel resentful about it.”

“Are you planning to greet the queen in your shift, m’lady, because that’s all you’re going to have time to get into unless you get out of that tub!”

Lodema grumbled at her mistress, and when Velvet giggled again, the tiring woman turned a baleful eye on the girl. “As for you, mistress, you’d best wash yourself quickly, or you’ll be joining your sister in a chemise! Hurry along now, both of you!”

The two finished bathing quickly, then left their tubs to be dried and powdered by two waiting undermaids. Velvet dressed in her silken undergarments swiftly, not liking to be nude before unfamiliar servants. She glanced at her sister’s protruding belly and thought that even so Deirdre was the most beautiful creature, almost their mother’s mirror image.

Their gowns were brought; both sisters had chosen to wear velvet as the day was cool. Deirdre’s dress was a rich ruby red with an underskirt of white satin embroidered in silver thread. Silver and white puffed and slashed sleeves also showed through the rich velvet. About her neck was a strand of marvelous pearls to which was fastened a heart carved from a single large ruby, and in her ears Deirdre wore pear-shaped pearls that dangled from small rubies. Her black hair was simply dressed in a French chignon at the nape of her neck and fastened with jeweled pins; upon her slender fingers were several beautiful rings.

Velvet’s gown was similar to her sister’s in design, with a charming bell skirt. It was a rich forest green in color, its satin underskirt a lighter green embroidered in gold thread; the chemisette showing through the sleeve slashes was a golden color. The dress was a birthday gift from her aunt and uncle, and was the only really fashionable one she possessed. Her lovely auburn hair fell in tempting ringlets about her shoulders, and around her neck she wore a gold chain from which dangled a carved and heart-shaped gold pendant that was actually a locket.

Deirdre loaned her little sister delicate little freshwater pearl earbobs, for Velvet, being considered too young, had little jewelry. Lodema, casting a critical eye upon her mistress’s sibling, directed an undermaid to bring her two full-blown golden roses from a vase. She then twisted the flowers together with green ribbons and affixed them on one side of Velvet’s head.

Standing back, she noted sharply, “There now! You’ll not disgrace us.”

Deirdre and Velvet hurried from the apartment and flew downstairs to where Lord Blackthorn awaited them. Velvet felt like an intruder upon an intimate moment as her elder sister brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her smiling husband’s deep blue doublet. John was a very handsome man, Velvet thought, and obviously in his full prime. He stood just a head taller than his wife, and had a well-molded figure that was devoid of fat. If anything he was a bit on the slender side. He had a full head of deep brown hair that was well sprinkled with silver, and he kept it close-cropped. His eyes were of a much lighter blue than Deirdre’s; his face was very narrow and aristocratic with a slim nose, well-spaced eyes, and thin lips. Despite his austere appearance, he was a man who smiled easily and appreciated a good jest better than most.

John Blakeley’s family had owned Blackthorn Priory since the days of William the Conqueror. The priory and its lands had been given to the nobleman who had captured it for William from its inhabitants, rebellious Saxon monks. He was the Sieur Blakeley. The Blakeleys were loyal Englishmen who loved their land and protected it fiercely. They had fought for England alongside Richard I and Edward, the Black Prince, but never had they involved themselves in any court or its politics. It had been their salvation.

Never had an English monarch visited Blackthorn Priory until Elizabeth Tudor had learned—Heaven only knows how, thought John Blakeley—of Blackthorn Priory’s beautiful gardens, which were justly famous throughout the countryside. The gardens, begun over two hundred years ago, had been lovingly tended and added to by each Lady Blackthorn right down to Deirdre, who, like her late grandmother O’Malley, was a lover and collector of rosebushes. The gardens, however, contained not only roses but every flower known to the English, including some beds of rare Persian and Turkish tulip bulbs smuggled in from the East by O’Malley ships. There was also a wonderfully clever boxwood maze, and the queen was known to enjoy mazes. At this moment, the gardens were colorfully ablaze with late tulips, narcissus, primroses, and columbine. Elizabeth should not be disappointed.

Suddenly, up the carefully raked gravel driveway of Blackthorn Priory raced the head gardener’s barefoot son, crying out: “Her is coming! Her is coming!”

“Get off the drive, boy! Get off the drive!”

shouted the priory’s fussy majordomo, and the lad scooted onto the green lawn, making a rude noise in the direction of the majordomo as he went.

The younger maidservants, lined up in order of importance, giggled, only to be silenced by a severe look from the housekeeper. The entire staff of Blackthorn Priory , from highest servant to the lowly potboy, stood washed and waiting for a glimpse of the queen and her court.

For what seemed a long moment, there was no sound, not even the chirp of a bird, but then faintly on the wind came the sound of jingling bells and laughing voices. The servants tensed and strained their necks to get the first sighting of the court. At last, as if by magic, around the curve in the drive appeared Elizabeth Tudor and her court, and those waiting and watching let out a collective sigh of delight.

The first rider was mounted on a fine chestnut gelding and bore before him the ceremonial sword of state. Next came the queen riding upon a magnificent snow-white stallion with the Earl of Essex, her Master of the Horse, who rode a beautiful black gelding and held the queen’s bridle as part of his duties. All around Elizabeth were members of her guard, who were followed by the lord treasurer, the lord chancellor, and other officers of the state: the household treasurer; Sir Francis Knollys, the queen’s favorite cousin; Lord Hundston who was lord steward; Sir James Crofts, the household controller; the other household officials and menials; and of course the court.

The queen was attired in the most elegant fashion. Her overgown was of black velvet edged with tiny pearls along the hem and the sides of the gown separation. Interspersed along the rows of pearls were red silk bows tied with jet beads, alternating with black silk bows tied with garnet beads. Her shoulder rolls were similarly decorated, as was her stomacher, which was festooned at its point with a red silk bow from which hung a large teardrop-shaped pearl. Beneath the overgown was a white satin undergown edged in lace. The same white satin showed through the slashes in her black velvet sleeves. About the queen’s neck was a small starched white lace neck ruff, beneath which hung eight rows of pearls that dripped down the black velvet gown front with its merry cherry-red bows. The queen wore a bright auburn wig that was topped by a soft, round black velvet cap from which bravely fluttered white feathers held down firmly by a bright red ruby clip. Her hands upon the reins of her mount were sheathed in perfumed white leather gloves embroidered with pearls, garnets, and jet.

Around Elizabeth Tudor, upon equally spirited and prancing horses, were her gentlemen and ladies, all clothed just as luxuriously and colorfully as if to complement their monarch. On either side of the queen rode gaily clad gentlemen, Sir Walter Ralegh and young Essex being nearest her. Ralegh was currently the captain of the Queen’s Gentlemen Pensioners, her personal bodyguard. Essex, as her Master of the Horse, held the position once performed by his stepfather, the Earl of Leicester, Robert Dudley. Dudley, though still the queen’s dear friend, had lost some of her favor on his marriage to her cousin, Lettice Knollys, though she still held a deep fondness for him.

As the horses came to a stop before the priory, Lord Blackthorn stepped forward to lift the queen from her mount and, having done so, knelt to pay his homage. Both Deirdre and Velvet curtsied low.

“As pretty a pair of pigeons as I’ve ever seen,”

murmured the Earl of Essex to Sir Walter. “Sisters, d’you think?”

Ralegh said nothing, seeing the queen’s head stiffen as she caught Essex’s words, but he did grin at the earl, his moustache waggling in appreciation.

“Welcome to Blackthorn Priory , Your Majesty,”

said John Blakeley. “We know not what we have done to deserve such honor, madame, but may your stay be a pleasant one.”

He signaled to his head groom, who immediately led forth an exquisite rare Arabian mare, pale gold in color. Upon the mare’s back was a silver saddle bejeweled with pearls, topazes, blue zircons, rubies, and small diamonds. The horse’s bridle was also silver. John Blakeley arose and said, “For you, madame, with devotion and great admiration. I count myself fortunate to be living in your reign.”

The queen’s eyes swept over the mare and her accoutrements, warming at this Midland lord’s great generosity. His flattering tongue had also given her pleasure, for she believed his words to be from the heart. He had naught else to gain from her by them, not being a member of the court. Graciously, she held out her hand and said, “Our thanks for your most beautiful gift, my lord.”

John Blakeley kissed the hand presented to him. “My wife has a way with animals, madame, and has schooled the beast herself. You’ll find she has an excellent gait and is a fine jumper. She seems to have been created by almighty God Himself for the sole purpose of hunting. ’Twas why I chose her.”

Elizabeth Tudor smiled, well pleased, for there was nothing she enjoyed better than the hunt. “Present me to your family, Lord Blackthorn!”

she commanded him. “I would meet this lady who can school horses so well.”

John Blakeley took Deirdre by the hand and led her forward to the queen. “My wife, Deirdre, Your Majesty.”

Deirdre curtsied again.

“God’s foot!”

Elizabeth Tudor swore, staring hard at Deirdre. “You’re Skye O’Malley’s daughter, Lady Blackthorn, aren’t you?”

“Her daughter, and Lord Burke’s,”

said Deirdre, “but I remember not my father, madame. He died when I was quite young.”

She smiled. “I should like to present my youngest sister to you, Mistress Velvet de Marisco.”

Velvet stepped forward and curtsied prettily, making sure to keep her eyes modestly lowered.

The queen reached out and gently raised Velvet’s head up, cupping the girl’s chin in her elegantly gloved hand. “Rise, dear child, and let me look upon you. What a pretty thing you are! I have not seen you since you were a tiny baby, but then you would have been too young to remember. How old are you now, Velvet de Marisco?”

“I am fifteen today, Your Majesty,”

said Velvet sweetly.

“Today?”

the queen exclaimed. “This is your birthday?”

“Aye, Your Majesty, and I might have been May Queen in our village, but I far preferred to come to the priory to meet you.”

It was said with such a lack of guile that Elizabeth Tudor smiled.

“We must give you a gift then, child. I am your godmother, Velvet de Marisco. Before you were born in France I was much angered by your parents’ behavior, for they had not obtained my permission to wed. Your clever mother made me your godmother in an effort to placate me, but I never knew your exact birthdate. Tell me, my dear, what can I give you?”

The queen smiled more broadly at Velvet’s wide eyes and little gasp.

Velvet was stunned. Here was incredible good fortune, and she could scarcely believe it was hers. Now she would not have to find a way to wheedle the queen, but she must still be quick and clever. Her hands flew to her cheeks in a gesture of innocent surprise. “Madame,”

she gasped, “Oh, dear Majesty, I cannot think!”

Elizabeth Tudor smiled once again and patted the girl in a kindly fashion. “Within reason,”

she teased gently. “Remember I am merely queen of England.”

Velvet composed herself and looked adoringly at the queen. “Madame, I have everything I could possibly want in this life but one thing. My parents have always been more than generous with me and of material treasures I lack none; but all my life I have dreamed of serving you, Your Majesty, of being one of your Maids of Honor. Can you give me my dream, madame? If you would truly gift me, then gift me with the privilege of serving you.”

Lord Blackthorn squeezed his wife’s hand to prevent her from speaking. He was filled with genuine admiration for his young sister-in-law’s astuteness. She had not broken her promise to him and yet she was going to get her own way nonetheless.

“Dear child!”

The queen’s face was wreathed in smiles.

By tradition Elizabeth Tudor had eighteen female attendants. There were four Gentlewomen of the Bedchamber, older, married women of rank; eight Gentlewomen of the Privy Chamber, also married women of noble birth; and six Maids of Honor, young girls of noble families whose ambitious parents believed that by serving the queen honorably they might increase their value on the marriage market. These eighteen saw to the queen’s wardrobe and toilette, her food, and all of her creature comforts within her private apartments. They were her closest companions.

The position of Maid of Honor was greatly sought after, and under normal circumstances the queen would have been forced to turn her godchild away since there would have been no opening available. By merest chance, however, one of the queen’s Maids of Honor had just given birth to a child in the Maiden’s Chamber. Enraged, Elizabeth Tudor had clapped both mother and child into the Tower along with the unfortunate father. The fact that the young people had been secretly wed for over a year did nothing to improve the queen’s temper, or ease her outrage. Both sets of parents were in equal disfavor with Her Majesty for having spawned and raised such disobedient offspring.

The valued post the girl had forfeited would have been swiftly filled, but the queen was so annoyed by this latest episode of what she considered rampant immorality amongst her ladies, that no one dared broach the subject. Now here was this sweet and unspoilt child begging her innocent birthday boon of the queen.

Elizabeth Tudor, of course, did not let her sentimentality override the humor she saw in the situation. This child was the daughter of Skye O’Malley. Skye O’Malley, that outrageous, prideful, rebellious, stubborn, haughty, and unsubmissive woman who had dared to do battle with England’s queen. That impossible creature who had had the effrontery to bargain with Elizabeth Tudor! That damned woman who two years ago had turned down Elizabeth’s offer to take her child under royal protection. The queen smiled, quite broadly this time. What a fine jest!

“Of course you may be one of my Maids, Velvet de Marisco!”

she said. “When we leave here you will come with us. With your mama away I feel a moral duty to take you under my wing. Still, I would have you accept a small, tangible token of this our first meeting on your fifteenth birthday.”

The queen drew from an elegant finger an emerald ring, square-cut and flanked with diamonds on either side. The stones were set in red gold, and the setting was engraved both in the front and the back in a design of graceful filigree. “Wear it always in remembrance of Elizabeth Tudor, my dear girl,” she said effusively. Then, taking Lord Blackthorn’s proffered arm, she moved forward into the priory.

Velvet slipped the ring onto her little finger and gazed down at it wonderingly.

“It matches your eyes, sweetheart,”

came a deep, masculine voice, and she lifted her eyes to look directly at the speaker.

“We have not been introduced, sir,”

Velvet said primly, though thinking at the same time that with his curly red hair and sparkling bright black eyes he was a divinely handsome young man. He was tall and well formed with a long face ending in a slightly weak chin. That, however, did not detract from his overall good looks. He was dressed in deep blue velvet trimmed in silver lace.

The man laughed and, turning to his equally well appareled companion, said, “Introduce us, Wat.”

The elegant gallant complied by making a leg to Velvet and saying, “Mistress de Marisco, may I present to you, Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, Master of the Queen’s Horse. My lord earl, Mistress Velvet de Marisco.”

The Earl of Essex bowed gracefully to Velvet, his black eyes twinkling mischievously.