Written in the Stars

by Sherrill Bodine

  “My lord cannot bear when I am ill.” Laurel sighed. “Now you must sit by my side.” Her smile trembling at the corners, she patted the edge of the satin-draped bed.

  He sat close, as bidden, and held her cool, outstretched hand.

  “Will, tell me your thoughts about Lady Elizabeth.”

  Before this day, he would have sworn he could share all with Laurel. Now sharp unease and heavy confusion caused him to choose his words with care.

  “Lady Elizabeth is more beautiful than rumored.”

  “’Tis true!” Laurel sat up straighter. “I’ve never beheld such an abundance of curling, shining dark hair, nor eyes as light green as spring buds. I hope she will become my friend.”

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “All wish to be your friend, Laurel.”

  “Yes, I saw kindness on her face, yet I felt—” Laurel shook her head. “—such power around her. You felt it?”

  From the moment their eyes met, nay, before, watching her walk with pride and strength toward them, he knew Elizabeth was coming to him.

  He shook his head to clear it of traitorous thoughts and desires.

  Not to me, to Carlyle.

  “Lady Elizabeth has great pride and knows well how to behave as a future duchess.”

  “I hope she brings much merriment to our court and to our villagers, for they plan a fair in her honor.” Laurel coughed and took a long, shuddering breath as if struggling to draw air into her lungs.

  Will reached for the goblet of wine. “Drink.”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “I need it not. What I desire is to see young Stephen on the morrow. He is all I need to make me light of heart and health. As all he needs is a mother.” Laurel slanted him a familiar worried look.

  Sighing, he smiled, acknowledging her concern. “You know Stephen has his nursemaid, and you are a mother to him.”

  “Will, you are the brother I was never blessed to have, and I am a loving aunt to Stephen. Yet he needs more. A woman who will catch him when he stumbles. A woman you want always by your side.”

  I have found her and she belongs to another.

  “Will, your face! What troubles—”

  Laurel’s sudden spasm of coughing cut his heart. He knew worse could follow.

  “Call my grandfather,” Will commanded the hovering maid.

  “I am here.” His grandfather spoke from the door and moved swiftly to take Will’s place.

  “Laurel, drink this potion I’ve prepared for you.” Charles Grey held a cup to her pale lips and she clasped it with her palms, swallowing it in great gulps.

  Sighing, she fell back on the pillows. “Truly in your hands, the magic of the old gods is good.”

  “There is no magic in the elements of our world. Air. Fire. Earth. Water. They are gifts to us to be used wisely.”

  “Your wisdom brings me much peace, Charles Grey,” Laurel whispered, her eyelids drooping.

  “Then rest and find more comfort, sweet Laurel.”

  Will and his grandfather stepped away, watching Laurel close her eyes. When her breathing became an even rhythm, his grandfather nodded.

  “The plant I brewed will help her sleep. It grows in a part of the forest seldom visited by others.” His grandfather stared deep into Will’s eyes. “There I found signs of the old, dark pagan ways. The blood of the sacrifice was fresh upon the altar. Have your scouts heard rumors of the dark practices rising again to menace us?”

  Instinctively, Will’s hand went to his sword. He knew of the glade in the deep forest where such an altar had once stood. Long ago, when they were boys, Carlyle had shown him a special place he had found. It was an old memory he kept silent out of past love for his brother. For the love he still felt, he tried to ignore the cunning and depravity he sometimes sensed in Carlyle. If his brother had succumb to his fascination with the old, dark ways, he would discover the truth and put a stop to it for the sake of their father. And to spare Elizabeth.

  Will lifted his chin and stared steadily back at his grandfather. “Have you spoken to the duke about what you have seen?”

  His grandfather glanced back to Laurel, who slept peacefully now. “When her attacks of the lungs become less frequent, I shall burden him with the news. No need to spoil tomorrow’s banquet to celebrate Carlyle and Elizabeth’s betrothal.” Watching him, his grandfather’s eyes darkened. “What think you of the match, Will?”

  The match is wrong! Elizabeth belongs to me! As he had done with Laurel, Will chose his words with care, fighting the powerful feelings pounding through him from the moment he saw Elizabeth.

  “My brother is a fortunate man.”

  …

  The pungent aroma from the flowers and herbs Florea kept thickly strewn across his chamber floor masked the sharp scent of blood.

  Carlyle waited for her as he had every night in remembered time.

  She appeared as if born of the shadows. Her long fingers stroked his hair, knew where his neck muscles corded with tension. He sighed, lifting one of her gnarled hands to his lips, kissing the rough flesh.

  This was the hand, as strong as the sacred oak, which had held his fist clutching the jeweled blade for his first sacrifice to the old gods.

  “My Flower, it is as you foretold. Elizabeth is marked by magic.”

  Florea’s chuckle warmed his ear. “As you were marked by magic as a babe suckling at my breasts and learning the lore of our pagan gods in your nightly lullabies. All shall be as I promised.”

  He tensed. “When? I grow eager for my due all the old gods decree I should possess.”

  Again her fingers dug deep into his flesh, smoothing his bunched muscles.

  “Elizabeth is young and pure of heart. She does not yet understand the great power she possesses within or wears wrapped about her body.”

  He twisted to gaze up at his old nurse. “Her celestial girdle is her source of power?”

  “The power of the girdle can only be released by Elizabeth recognizing and accepting all she is destined to be.” Florea cupped his face with hot palms. “You are destined to be the catalyst to release Elizabeth’s darkness. With her by your side there is naught you cannot possess in the future.”

  The past flashed before his eyes. Will showing him how to fence with his first small rapier. Will, taller and stronger, teaching him to ride with the wind. Will, his strokes sure, helping him as he floundered clumsily while swimming in the stream. Always watching with indulgence and affection, the duke’s eyes lingered on Will, never on him. Florea had helped him see the truth. She had guided and soothed him as admiration and fondness had dissolved into jealousy and scorn for his brother—and finally into a deep hatred for Will, whom all loved. None more than the duke, who could not hide his preference for this favored son. “In the future I shall have my father’s respect above all others? There will be none to challenge me?”

  She kissed his cheek. “Yes, Carlyle. As I made sure there would be no other heir to threaten what is rightfully yours, I promise at last you can vanquish your bastard brother.”

  Dunham Castle, 1601

  My world spins around me, scattering my thoughts to the winds.

  I have faced the danger my old nurse had foreseen. My choice, made in eagerness with my heart and soul, was unwise beyond my capacity to fully understand how I could so have lost my way.

  A strong passion and deep longing I dare not have believed possible consumed me when I believed I had met my betrothed. I knew with him I had found my destiny.

  Yet the man to whom I gave my heart in one look is not Carlyle, Earl of Seymour, heir to the Duke of Lennox.

  The man is named Will Grey, Captain of the Guard.

  Confronted by such feelings, I faltered, forgot all I have been taught. All I must do.

  Now I must close my mind
and heart to these traitorous longings.

  I am Lady Elizabeth York, the Earl of Wharton’s only child, and know well my duty.

  Yet, even reason and purpose cannot still the questions burning in my mind.

  Surely the blood of the duke runs through Will’s veins. Yet I sense deep within me there is more to his story than him being a bastard son and grandson to the duke’s physician. More which I crave to learn.

  Who is Will Grey, and why do I know that our destinies are to be entwined for all time when duty demands it cannot be so?

  Chapter Two

  A sleepless night spent staring at the curved ceiling, searching for her compass, the sense of self which had always guided her, left Elizabeth fearful of meeting with Laurel this morning.

  What if Will is with her and I falter as I did when first our eyes met?

  Her chamber door swung open, startling Elizabeth out of her careening thoughts of Will and her future.

  “What can you have been thinking not calling for me last night?” Snapping brown eyes wide, her maid Alice, sounding very much like her grandmother, Cybil, exploded into the room.

  Pleased by the interruption, for indeed she felt only disgust with her new weakness and dishonorable desires, Elizabeth flung back the bed cover and rose. “You had fallen asleep. Fatigued by our long days of travel. I managed with the duke’s servants.”

  Hands on hips, sensible Alice surveyed the damage done by Elizabeth’s sleepless hours of soul-searching. “I can see the fine job they did by the look of you. Not even my Granny Cybil’s concoctions can take away those purple shadows from under your eyes.” Sighing, she shook her head, brown curls bouncing about her face. “Well, let me try to put all back as it ought to be.”

  Like she’d done since the first day, when they were both young girls giggling together, Alice helped Elizabeth through her morning absolutions.

  Once dressed, she sat in front of the gilt-edged mirror to have her long, oft-unruly hair brushed. At last she caught a smile from Alice.

  “Elizabeth, I know you are not fond of gossip but if you let me tell you what I learned last night and this morning in the kitchens, I won’t be hurt by you not letting me do my duty. Such stories there are here and all eager to tell.”

  Curiosity and confusion had been her demons throughout the long night and they had not vanished with the dawn sun.

  With a fearful determination, Elizabeth nodded. “It is no doubt wise to be informed about my new home.”

  “Indeed,” Alice replied, a lilt in her voice. “Well, Carlyle’s mother, Judithe, brought a great dowry and vast lands to the west, along the border.”

  Elizabeth knew well the role she played. “As I bring gold and lands to the east, with access to the sea.”

  “Well, let’s hope that is all the two of you have in common!” Alice frowned. “Poor Lady Judithe. One year after she produced an heir in Carlyle, she again was with child. She endured months of illness before she lost the babe. It would have been another son to secure the lineage. She never recovered from the loss.”

  In the mirror, Elizabeth met Alice’s eyes. “Surely Charles Grey could have helped her. He appears very wise in the ways of health and well-being.”

  “Lady Judithe would have no part of him. She only desired to be attended by a servant who had come with her from her home. She who was also Carlyle’s nursemaid. Lady Judithe lingered for two years until one morning she simply did not awaken.”

  Remembering the loss of her own mother, Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Carlyle and I have a bond in both losing our mothers at too tender an age.”

  “There is more you need to know,” Alice insisted. “The duke did not seek another bride. Then in the plague epidemic of ’93, his old friend Sir George Douglas of Wyndham fell ill. He sent his daughter, Laurel, here for safety. The duke dispatched Charles Grey to Sir George’s side, yet he could not save him. But he bore back to the duke from Sir George a last letter requesting his old friend to marry his beloved Laurel. And he bequeathed to him monies and small parcels of land to the south.”

  Alice took a large gulp of air to continue. “They say Lady Laurel and her father often visited here and she had long held the duke in high admiration. All believe it is a gentle, caring match for them both.”

  Such compassion touched Elizabeth. Her eyes misted and she blinked to clear them. “I sense great kindness in the duke.”

  “His Grace is much beloved by all. As is that handsome captain of the guard. It is plain the blood of the duke runs in Will Grey. All know it is a great privilege and show of trust for the duke to bestow such a title upon him. There’s a story there but none seems to know the truth of it.” A determined gleam lit Alice’s dark eyes. “I shall unearth the truth before I return to Wharton Keep after your wedding.”

  “No!” Elizabeth rose, stricken by the sure sense it was a betrayal of her feelings toward Will to discuss his secrets.

  “No,” she said more gently, embracing Alice. “Do not waste your time here on others. Enjoy yourself. I know it was difficult for you to leave your life and family at Wharton Keep, even for so brief a time.”

  “Aye, I long to return to them all, yet it was Granny Cybil who told me it was my destiny to come with you. None argue with her.”

  Again, Alice’s sharp gaze traveled over Elizabeth’s hair, now held high by ribbons. Nodding, she gave one last tug on the folds of Elizabeth’s jade satin gown. “There now, you look more your beautiful self. I’ve been told you are to visit with Lady Laurel. Off with you. I shall make ready your bath and all you need for tonight’s festivities.”

  Feeling more settled with trusted Alice by her side, Elizabeth hurried along the cool corridor to Laurel’s chambers.

  She swayed to a halt, her heart thumping against her ribs, meeting Carlyle helping an elderly woman who carried a bouquet of yellow field flowers. She was dressed as a servant but the indulgence plain on Carlyle’s face proclaimed her much more.

  “Ah, Lady Elizabeth, you have caught us,” he said winsomely, slight color flushing his cheeks. “My old nurse, Florea, has picked these flowers for Laurel. Would you present the blossoms to her?”

  Bowing, Carlyle’s old nurse held the bouquet out. When Elizabeth took it she caught a milky glance from eyes no longer sharp to view the world around her.

  “Florea is a beautiful name. Made of flowers,” she said softly.

  “Ah, Elizabeth, you understand why my pet name for my nurse has indeed always been My Flower.”

  Florea’s pale lips twitched into the semblance of a smile.

  Witnessing Carlyle’s kindness to his old nurse—mirroring Elizabeth’s feelings toward her own Cybil—lessened her unease with him.

  Yet another bond I share with Carlyle.

  “Forgive me, Elizabeth,” he said, with apology in his eyes. “I must leave you to lead Florea back to her chamber.”

  She stepped aside, watching him gently guild his old nurse away.

  I must remember this kindness when I falter and think of naught but Will…

  Feminine laughter and tiny giggles coming from Laurel’s chamber brought Elizabeth back to this moment she had dreaded. Lifting her chin, she slowly entered the room which was hung with tapestries of gold and scarlet. Thick, ruby-colored carpets were strewn across the stone floor.

  Still in her black silk night robe, Laurel lounged upon satin-and-velvet pillows placed on the floor where a small male child sat beside her.

  Elizabeth bowed. “I come bearing gifts from Carlyle and his old nurse, Florea.”

  A servant appeared at Elizabeth’s side, taking the heavy, sweet blossoms from her arms.

  “Yes, leave them and come join us,” Laurel called.

  Obeying, Elizabeth walked toward the duo. The babe blinked up at her, his rosebud mouth curling to reveal two milk tee
th and a dimple in his chin. Gurgling with laughter, he pushed himself up on pudgy legs, swayed, and took two unsteady steps toward her.

  Elizabeth quickened her steps to catch him as he toppled forward. Cooing, he buried his face in the warm hollow between her neck and shoulder. His white-gold hair smelled of sunshine and soap.

  Laurel clapped her small hands. “Look, Will. Young Stephen has gifted Elizabeth with his first steps. You have been properly welcomed to Dunham Castle.”

  Surprise and fear rushed through her, flaming across her skin. Gasping, she swung around to meet Will’s gaze where he stood in the doorway. She hugged the babe more tightly to her breasts as if he could shield her from the powerful current pulling her toward him.

  Desperate to break this strange hold Will had upon her, she turned back to Laurel. “Young Stephen is well favored.”

  Again, Laurel’s light laughter echoed through the chamber. “He should be well favored. His father is the handsomest in the land. Only surpassed by my beloved duke.”

  His skin flushing, making his eyes even more startlingly blue, Will moved to Laurel’s side.

  Can this cooing child clasped in my arms be Will’s son?

  It felt as if she inhaled fire.

  No. Will belongs to no other woman. He is mine.

  Trembling with the strength of her confusion and desire, she carefully placed the babe back upon the floor. Instantly, his cornflower-blue eyes filled with tears. He stretched out his arms toward her, his mouth agape, and began to wail.

  Despite all her resolve, her heart opened to him. She fell to her knees to again gather him close, rocking him.

  A moment later, Will knelt beside her, reaching for his son. “I will take him, Lady Elizabeth.”

  Stephen clung to her, his pudgy arms tightening around her neck. “No, young Stephen, you must go,” she whispered into his ear, his fragrant infant curls brushing her lips. “You need your mother.”

  “Stephen’s mother died in childbirth.” His face unreadable, Will swept his son away from her body, leaving her bereaved of his warmth. “Time for Stephen to rest. He awoke with the roosters.”