Page 30 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

“We will duel to satisfy the code of honor,”

Alex said quietly.

“I will go to the queen! You know she has forbidden dueling,”

Velvet threatened.

“Ye will go home, madame, and ye will say nothing to Elizabeth Tudor,”

he said softly.

“I will!”

Velvet couldn’t remember ever having been so angry.

“Nay, Velvet,”

said Essex soothingly. “There are things a woman does not understand, things she cannot comprehend easily, and dueling is one of those things.”

“The queen understands men better than you think,”

snapped Velvet, “and so do I! Men are naught but little boys!”

“No one will get hurt,”

Essex promised, smiling his most winning smile at her. “You’re right when you say de Boult knows his wife is lying. The bitch has put him in an untenable position. But to admit it would dishonor him even more. It would be like saying he can’t control his own wife. He had to challenge Alex. I will see that they fight with their swordpoints tipped. Honor will be quickly and easily satisfied, I promise you.”

Velvet looked at her husband, and Alex nodded.

“I agree, lovey. No blood will be shed, and especially not mine.”

He smiled down at her.

The crowd had dissipated, returning to the dancing, and the queen, if she was aware of the scandal that had exploded in her ballroom, gave no sign of it. The principals involved hoped that by the time she received a full account the duel would be over and done with. Essex had gone back to Elizabeth’s side, and Alex and Velvet found themselves surrounded by their family. The incident was retold, and while Willow and Angel expressed their indignation over Lady de Boult’s terrible behavior and comforted Velvet, James Edwardes and Robin Southwood, along with Captain Murrough O’Flaherty and Lord Burke of Clearfields Priory , agreed with Alex that the duel must be fought.

“I offer myself as your second,”

said Robin quietly.

“I also!”

enthused Padraic Burke.

Velvet glowered at her brothers, but her annoyance was particularly reserved for Lord Burke. “When did you arrive in London?”

she demanded. “ ’Tis a strange time to come calling when at midnight Lent begins.”

Lord Burke, the master of Clearfields Priory , even handsomer than his late father, Niall, grinned down upon his youngest sister. His silvery eyes twinkled at her and as he spoke he brushed back an errant lock of black hair that tumbled over his high forehead. “I arrived but this evening with Murrough, who sails on the tide tomorrow morning back to India, sweet sister. My signature was necessary upon certain documents, y’see, else I should never have come to this stinkhole of a city.”

He turned to Alex. “We’ve not met, my lord. I am Velvet’s brother, Padraic Burke of Clearfields Priory. You look none the worse for wear having been married to this wench these last few months.”

With another engaging grin Padraic held out his hand, and Alex grasped it, a smile upon his own face. He instinctively liked this young man who stood almost as tall as he himself did and had the graceful body of an athlete.

“Ye feel about London as I do, eh, younger brother?”

Alex said.

“If you mean by that that I prefer my lands, then you’re right,”

came Padraic’s quick reply.

“Then come visit us in Scotland next summer,”

said Alex. “We’ve good hunting and fishing.”

“I’ll do that!”

agreed Padraic. “And perhaps I’ll even be the first of our family to see my new nephew—or niece, whichever the case may be.”

“I am not with child yet!”

snapped Velvet.

“Being home will remedy that, madame,”

said Alex maddeningly.

“My lords and ladies,”

came the stentorian voice of the queen’s majordomo, “ ’Tis midnight. The feasting is over, and the penitential season is upon us. Her Gracious Majesty commands that you all join her in the chapel to receive ashes.”

With an almost audible sigh the court trooped forth from the queen’s ballroom. The tables lay almost empty and wasted behind them; the musicians had already departed. The solemnity of Lent had fallen about them like some dark cloak, and they were suddenly anxious to be home.

The church service was mercifully brief, and the children of Skye O’Malley quickly found themselves descending the river stairs to the wharf where their barges were lined up and waiting. Velvet had insisted that Padraic stay with them, and Murrough, too, this last night before he sailed. There was more than enough room for them all in the BrocCairn barge, and as the tide was now with them the boat quickly moved upriver to the Strand. The Lynmouth and BrocCairn vessels raced to see which would get home first. They were fairly matched, for while Velvet and Alex carried her two brothers, Robin and Angel had Willow and James as passengers. Both boats finished in a dead heat, which was a disappointment to the bargemen, those on the winning vessel having been promised a purse. The two earls, however, in a burst of generosity, awarded their men their prizes despite the tie. Then calling good night to each other as they passed up their adjoining gardens the Southwood and Gordon parties entered their respective homes.

Murrough’s rooms awaited him, and an apartment was quickly prepared for Lord Burke who, kissing his sister good night, whispered, “Don’t fret, littlest one, nothing will happen to Alex I promise. Besides, de Boult is not said to be any sort of a swordsman.”

Velvet made a little moue with her mouth. “The whole thing is foolishness, and that dreadful jade will brag for weeks afterwards about having caused a duel. Thank God we shall not be here to listen to her.”

Murrough hid a smile. Velvet became more like their mother every day. “Shall I bid you farewell now, Velvet?”

he asked. “Or will you arise from your snug bed in the morning to see me off?”

“What time will you go?”

She looked dubious.

“I must leave Greenwood by half after seven at the latest. The tide is just after eleven in the morning.”

“What time is the sunrise?”

she said quietly.

“Half after six,”

said Alex, and he took her hand in his to reassure her.

“I will be up, Murrough. I shall see you off myself.”

He nodded and then, bending, kissed her good night.

When Velvet and Alex were undressed and in their own warm bed, she asked him, “Is this duel really necessary? It is foolish of me, I realize, to be frightened, but I cannot help it. No one I’ve ever known has fought a duel.”

He drew her into his arms. “There is no danger, Velvet, lass. Now be a good girl and kiss me, sweetheart.”

She gave him her lips in a sweet and tender kiss, but when his hands began to roam lasciviously about her lush body, she slapped them away, saying severely, “Nay, my lord! You need all the sleep you can get! It is past two now, and you must be on your damned field of honor in four hours!”

He swore a mild oath and then chuckled. “Very well, lass, but I hope ye’ll not have cause to regret turning me away. Think of the beautiful child we might start this night.”

“And shall I explain to him how his father lost an ear in a duel several hours after his conception because he could not resist rutting like a stallion when he needed his sleep?”

Alex laughed outright. “Little Tartar,”

he scolded. Then, kissing her full on the mouth, he turned her so that her body curved into his, spoon fashion, and, clamping a hand about one of her soft breasts, he fell asleep.

Velvet smiled in the darkness of their room and thought with a contented sigh that she would not find it necessary to take her potion any longer, at least not until after her first child was born. She did regret the fact that she had not let him make love to her, but despite everyone’s reassurances and the fact that they all made light of the matter, this duel frightened her. Then she decided she was being foolish. Even if they fought with naked swords, Alex would triumph. De Boult was a much, much older man. She relaxed and snuggled closer into her husband’s embrace.

When Velvet awoke, dawn was smearing color across the horizon. She reached for Alex and then, with a frown, remembered. That damned duel! The door to her bedchamber opened and Pansy hurried into the room.

“You’re awake then, m’lady? You said you wanted to see Captain O’Flaherty off, and ’tis almost seven o’clock.”

She held out her mistress’s quilted apple-green chamber robe.

Velvet swung her legs from the bed and thrust her feet into her slippers. Standing, she slipped into the robe. “When did his lordship leave?”

“At least half an hour ago. ’Tis only a few minutes’ ride to Brightwaters, but no gentleman likes to be late to a duel. ’Tis considered quite rude.”

Velvet was forced to smile. “I wasn’t aware that you were familiar with the courtesies of dueling, Pansy.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised, m’lady, what I heard from the other servants when we was at court. They’re a chattery bunch.”

Velvet laughed. Pansy could always put her in a good mood. “Has Captain O’Flaherty broken his fast yet?”

“Nay, m’lady.”

“Then ask him to break it with me in my dayroom and see that the food is brought quickly, for he did say he had to leave by half after seven o’clock.”

“Yes, m’lady,”

came Pansy’s answer, and the servant hurried off.

Within a very few moments both Murrough and the meal arrived. Murrough was dressed for travel in well-made, serviceable but expensive garments. He had but recently celebrated his thirty-second birthday and was a fine figure of a man who looked very much like his mother with his dark hair and his Kerry-blue eyes. The only thing of his sire about him seemed to be his squared jawline, which, though it had been weak in the long-dead but never lamented Dom O’Flaherty, had a firm strength in his younger son.

Smiling, Murrough greeted his youngest sister with a kiss and then sat down. “I still can’t believe that you’re a properly settled matron,”

he said with fond indulgence. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mother’s face when I tell her, not to mention Adam’s.”

“Don’t tell them!”

begged Velvet. “I want to surprise them with a grandchild when they return. Can you imagine Papa if I greet him at the docks with a baby in my arms?”

Murrough howled with delight as he pictured the scene. Adam de Marisco absolutely doted on his daughter, his beloved only child. It had never bothered him one whit that Alex Gordon had ignored Velvet from the day of their betrothal, for Adam had preferred to be the most important man in his daughter’s life, only barely tolerating her half brothers who were equally enamored of her because she was so like their adored mother in character. Willow had been a prim and proper English miss from the start, always mother-henning them, and Deirdre had been a shy and insecure little mouse of a girl. It had always been Velvet who was the imp.

Murrough wiped his eyes, for he had laughed so hard that he’d begun to cry. “I should like to indulge you, poppet, but Mother, having been penned up these many months in a hot city, will be anxious for the open sea and might decide to go adventuring once more unless I can offer her an incentive to return home. Your marriage will be just the incentive. I’ll wager that when Mother hears you’re already a wife, even possibly with child, she will wish our ships had wings. You’re very dear to her, Velvet.”

“And she to me, Murrough. Aye, you had best tell them. It will give Papa time to calm his famous temper. ’Twill no doubt be winter once again when you return to England, dearest brother. You’ll send a messenger by the fastest horses, won’t you? I will feel so much better just knowing that Mama and Papa are safely home again.”

“Aye, dear one,”

he answered her, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

“How are Joan and the children?”

she inquired as she served him a large plate of eggs poached in marsala and cream, which had been placed on a thick slice of pink ham. “It was thoughtless of me not to ask you last night.”

She poured a tankard of brown ale and handed it to him.

“They are fine, but I left Henry angry at me for leaving him behind this time. Joan, however, is grateful. We promised the boy he could go off with the O’Malley uncles this spring, which has mollified him somewhat. He’ll not find the Spanish Indies too tame, I’ll warrant, although I will admit I made it sound safer to Joan than it actually is. Still, the O’Malleys will see that he comes to no harm, and the lad has to learn if he’s to make the sea his life. He has no great love for book learning like our brother Ewan.”

Velvet nodded and attacked her own plate with vigor. For several minutes they ate in silence, for neither were considered poor trenchermen by those who knew them. They ate with enjoyment and an obvious appreciation for the subtlety of the sauce that covered the eggs. Both were therefore surprised when the door to the room burst open and Padraic stumbled in, white and drawn.

Velvet looked at Lord Burke and then her hand went to her throat as she spoke but one word. “Alex?”

“An accident,”

burst out Lord Burke. “Oh, God! It was awful!”

The room dimmed before her eyes, but with a monumental burst of willpower Velvet refused to faint. Her voice, when she managed to find it, was ragged with fear. “What happened, Padraic? For God’s good mercy, tell us!”

“We arrived at Brightwaters just as Lord de Boult did. Essex was already there with the queen’s physician. The doctor said the queen had told him to go with Robert Devereux that morning. God’s nightshirt! Is there nothing she doesn’t know?”

Velvet’s eyes were round with shock.

“What happened, Padraic?”

repeated Murrough tensely. “Get on with it, laddie!”

“Both Alex and Lord de Boult agreed to Essex’s suggestion that the swords be tipped with wax balls. The duel began, and both men fought well, but soon Lord de Boult began to tire. Suddenly the wax ball flew from his blade tip, and he stumbled. There was no time for Alex to get clear. It was an accident, but the blade pierced him. Oh, God! I’ve never seen so much blood! Essex cried out, ‘Jesu, man, you’ve killed him!’ When they carried him from the field, I rode back to tell you, Velvet. I couldn’t let them bring him home to you like that … not without warning you.”

He began to weep. “Oh, God, littlest one, I am so sorry!”

Velvet sat very still in her chair, her beautiful face devoid of both expression and color. Neither of her brothers spoke, and the only thing that could be heard in the silence was the slow and reassuring tick of the mantel clock. Then suddenly, without warning, she began to weep wildly. The tears surged down her face in an abundant and fast flow. Within moments her eyes were swollen with her unassuaged grief. “Mama,”

she wept piteously. “I want my mother!”

For a moment Murrough was shocked. Was Velvet still just a child that she called for their mother? Then it hit him. She was no child but a woman finally grown. Alex was dead, and she had already accepted it. Now she called for someone she loved as deeply to comfort her in her unbearable grief. He was quickly at her side, and she cried into his shoulder as he murmured soft, unintelligible sounds in an effort to comfort her.

After a few minutes her tears ceased, and, looking up at him, she whispered brokenly, “Take me with you, Murrough. Please take me with you!”

“Velvet!”

Padraic Burke was finally coming to his senses.

“Have you no respect for Alex? You must bury your husband, Velvet. You can’t leave him!”

She turned her head to look at him, and he saw the terrible grief in her green eyes.

“Why can I not leave him, Padraic?”

she said bitterly. “He left me! I pleaded with him not to involve himself in this meaningless duel with Lord de Boult, but no! Honor must be served, which I could not possibly understand being but a simple woman.”

Her voice was thick with pain and scorn. “Well, this much I do understand, Padraic. I am widowed three months after my marriage, and for what? Because two grown men could not admit either to themselves or to each other that a whoring jade had lied?”

She began to weep once more.

“You must bury him, Velvet,”

Padraic repeated helplessly.

“Bury him?”

Her voice was suddenly hoarse with horror. “I can’t bury him, Padraic! Enclose him in some dark tomb? Dear God, no! Besides, he would not want to be buried here in England. Let his men take his body back home to Dun Broc. He was the last of the Earls of BrocCairn. There will be no heirs of his body, and that much is all my fault!”

She looked desperately at Murrough and begged once again, “Take me with you, brother! I won’t make the long trip to Scotland, and what is there for me here? I cannot face the pity of our family or the court. I will go mad for certain! If there is any kindness in you, Murrough, take me with you. I will die here alone. Oh, Alex, why? Why? I do not understand, and I never shall!”

Then she wept once more, falling back into her chair, her face in her hands, her slender shoulders wracked by heartbroken sobs.

Murrough watched her, and a deep sigh rent his frame. It was imperative that he leave this day. It was already a week past his intended departure date. He would just reach the Indian Ocean in time to catch the favoring winds before they reversed their course, making it difficult, if not impossible, to cross that body of water. Still, how could he leave her? He made an attempt to reason with her. “Velvet, I would take you with me, poppet, but I must go now, today. Mother’s life depends upon my swift return. If I delay even another day I could lose the favorable weather I need to get across the Indian Ocean safely. I cannot wait for you!”

“I can go now, today,”

she said. “My things are already packed for the trip north.”

“But you’ll need lightweight garments for the Indies, my dear. The climate is terribly hot and steamy.”

“Pansy knows where everything is,”

she reassured him.

“Please, Murrough, I beg of you! Don’t leave me behind. I need Mother!”

He glanced at the clock upon the mantel and then made his decision. It was madness, but her frame of mind was precarious just now, and he believed she would be better off with him away from all that was familiar. The pain of her grief would be no less, but it should ease faster in a different setting. “Can you be ready in an hour?”

The tension drained momentarily from Velvet’s body. “Aye, I can be ready,” she said.

“You’re mad, both of you!”

Padraic shouted, but Velvet had already run from the room, calling for Pansy.

Murrough shrugged helplessly. “How can I leave her under these circumstances?”

he demanded of his younger sibling. “You don’t understand her, but I do. She is just like Mother in that she feels things with greater intensity than the rest of us. She loves with all her being, and she hates and grieves the same way. This grief will consume her here with all her memories of Alex, and if she returns to our dear Dame Cecily at Queen’s Malvern that good worthy will baby our sister into a wasting sickness.”

Then he glared at Padraic. “You’re sure?”

he demanded. “You’re absolutely certain that Alex received a mortal wound, Padraic?”

Padraic Burke looked offended. “Of course I’m certain,”

he snapped. “There was blood all over him, and Essex said most distinctly that he’d been killed. They carried him to a nearby house so that the queen’s physician could do his duty in comfort as it was beginning to snow. It’s stopped now,”

he finished helplessly.

Murrough put his arm about his brother. “I’m not sure how wise you were to hurry here with the news, but ’tis done now, and I’ve no other choice than to take Velvet with me.”

A short while later a barge pulled away from Greenwood’s small dock and steered a course for the London pool where Murrough’s vessel, Sea Hawk , stood awaiting the outgoing tide. From an upper window Padraic Burke watched the barge go and felt a deep sorrow in his heart. Velvet’s chambers were now empty and silent. Then something caught his eye, and, bending, he picked up a dainty glove. Crushing it to his cheek, he smelled the fragrance of gillyflowers and a tear slid down his cheek.

Slowly Padraic turned from the river and, walking to the sideboard, poured himself a goblet of Archambault Burgundy. He downed it in three deep gulps and poured himself another. Sitting before the banked fire with both decanter and cup, he drank himself to sleep, for he had had little enough rest the night before and his exhaustion, coupled with the shock his system had suffered that morning made him all the more vulnerable.

Awaking with a sour mouth some time later, his temples throbbing hurtfully, he saw by the mantel clock that it was well after one in the afternoon. Stumbling to his feet, he made his way downstairs. Alex’s body would undoubtedly be placed in the main room for the mourners.

Willow would probably lay Padriac out in lavender for allowing Murrough to take Velvet, as if he could have stopped either of them. Willow would be furious at Velvet’s lack of decorum, but they would simply have to tell everyone that the widow was too prostrate with grief to attend the funeral and, besides, the body was going home to Scotland. It was a perfectly plausible explanation.

Reaching Greenwood’s lower level, Padraic saw Dugald, the earl’s man, just entering the house, and he hurried toward him. “Have you brought the earl’s body home then?” he asked.

“He’s too badly injured to move right now,”

replied Dugald, “but the queen’s physician says he’ll live to be an old man yet.”

Padraic Burke suddenly felt sick. He heard his older brother’s voice demanding, “You’re sure?”

Finding his voice, he gasped, “Alex is alive? He’s not dead?”

“Dead?”

Dugald looked surprised. “What in hell made ye think that, my lord?”

“The blood,”

said Padraic helplessly. “All that blood, and Essex said de Boult had killed Alex. He said it.”

“Essex!”

Dugald said scornfully. “What the devil would that gallant know about death? ’Twould take more than just a sword’s prick to kill the Gordon of BrocCairn.”

“Where is Alex?”

“They carried the earl to the nearest house, one owned by a Master Wythe, a silversmith. They dared move him no farther, and he must remain there until his wound is closed so that there will be no danger of it opening and bleeding again. We believed ye came on ahead to tell her ladyship, but when she did not come I was sent to fetch her and to reassure her that my lord will survive though he is sleeping now with the draught the queen’s physician gave him.”

“Jesu!”

groaned Padraic Burke. “What have I done?”

And then he was calling for his horse and running through the door, while behind him the Earl of BrocCairn’s man stared after him in open-mouthed confusion.