Fire Raven

by McAllister, Patricia

  Elizabeth pursed her lips, musing upon the matter.

  Lawrence hastily interjected, “Proof, Your Grace, lies in one’s actions. This clever wench pretended to be blind when she was in Wales. As Your Majesty may now note, she appears to see perfectly well.”

  “’Twas God’s mercy restored my sight, naught else,” Kat angrily exclaimed. “Those at Falcon’s Lair can confirm my tale.”

  “Certainly they shall be given ample opportunity to do so,” Elizabeth said, apparently not taking offense at Kat’s outburst. “Methinks the matter bears further investigation. What say you, Lord Lawrence?”

  “Aye, Your Majesty,” he reluctantly agreed.

  “Very well. ’Tis settled for now, or until we receive a missive back from Falcon’s Lair.” Elizabeth looked to Mistress Tanner. “Would it please you to bring this woman back to the palace?”

  “Oh, aye, Your Majesty. Thank you,” Mistress Tanner cried, seizing the queen’s hand and reverently kissing it. She turned to regard Kat somewhat apprehensively.

  “I know you don’t remember me yet, Kat. I vow to be patient until you do. Will you come with me now?”

  Kat hesitated. Then she nodded, accepting the hand the redhead held out to her. When the other woman’s fingers laced with hers, she felt a brief, tingling sensation, like the charge in the air before a storm. Twins. How could it be? The two of them looked nothing alike. But when she joined Mistress Tanner and the queen’s retinue, Kat’s heart felt lighter than it had in many a day.

  “I STILL CANNOT BELIEVE it,” Kat said, trailing a finger over the edge of a carnelian-topped table. She occupied her sister’s apartment at Whitehall. Upon the table was a miniature of two young women, painted a year or so ago. One of them was definitely her; there was no mistake.

  Kat glanced at the stranger in the mirror for what seemed the hundredth time.

  “’Tis but a fantastic dream,” she whispered.

  “Believe it you must, dear Kat,” her sister said, suddenly overcome by emotion. She approached with her arms outstretched. When Kat accepted the embrace with obvious hesitation, Mistress Tanner was crestfallen but effected a brave smile.

  “How thin y’are, Kat. You’ve been through too much in the past weeks. We must put some meat back on your bones. Now, I insist you rest whilst I summon Jane to see about some suitable clothing.”

  Kat glanced down at her sorry attire and nodded. There was no question, her outfit must be a source of embarrassment to her sister. Certainly, she didn’t blame the other ladies when they had politely suggested Kat ride in an open carriage behind the queen’s coach, so as not to offend their monarch with the stench of her soiled skirts.

  After Mistress Tanner departed to find her tiring woman, Kat looked curiously around the small apartment. There were only two rooms: one for receiving and the other a bedchamber. Her sister said they would share both. It should prove quite interesting. The bedchamber was half the size of the one she had occupied at Falcon’s Lair, and the redhead had already appropriated every visible inch.

  A narrow double bed took up the majority of space in the bedchamber. There was a vanity table with a variety of cosmetics and crystal flagons in evidence and a wardrobe with five drawers. The receiving room contained a small table and the pier glass. A pair of worn velvet chairs flanked the tiny hearth. Other than that, the apartment was quite mean.

  Kat had expected much more of a great palace like Whitehall. Could it be their queen was clutch-fisted? She almost laughed aloud; Elizabeth Tudor’s gem-encrusted gowns were anything but plain. Mayhap such frugality only applied to others, Kat thought with a wry smile.

  By the time Mistress Tanner returned with her maid servant, she was full of questions again.

  “Her Majesty called you ‘Mary.’ Is’t your given name?”

  The redhead looked startled for a moment, until she apparently recalled Kat’s loss of memory.

  “Nay. My Christian name is Erin Meredith Tanner. My middle name first belonged to our paternal grandmother. In her day, Grandmother was a favorite of the queen and was called Merry, as in good cheer, for her sweet disposition. I am said to resemble her. My godmother, the queen, nicknamed me thus when I was born and it stuck. Even our family calls me Merry now.”

  Kat saw why. Merry’s bubbling enthusiasm was infectious.

  “What do you do here at Whitehall Palace?”

  “I am Mistress of the Music,” Merry said. When Kat chuckled, she added loftily, “’Tis a duty of great importance. Her Grace enjoys playing the virginals from time to time, and I am responsible for keeping her music in order.”

  With some difficulty, Kat restrained her amusement. “Whatever do you do with the rest of your time?”

  “Oh, the same things all young ladies enjoy. Embroidery, gossip, listening to music, and dancing whenever I can.”

  “Not the same things as all young ladies, I fear. Such frivolous notions sound positively dull to me.”

  Merry looked scandalized by Kat’s comment. “These activities are considered only proper for a maid at Court. Methinks I should not be surprised by your scorn, though. You always laughed at me for indulging in such pastimes.”

  “Did I?” Kat asked with surprise. If she was indeed Katherine Tanner, she realized she was much the same after the tragedy at sea. She apparently had little patience for such trite amusements.

  “I envied you, y’know,” Merry reflected. “You were always so outspoken, so brave, so daring. You crossed the sea like a sailor born to it, whilst I still quake at the sight of water. You called me a ninny back then. I must admit, I still am. When father gave you your own ship, I was wildly jealous, though I couldn’t bear to walk a deck myself.”

  Merry sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Kat, how I wish Father and Mother knew you were alive. I will send a message to our kin in Ireland, but ’twill be no use trying to reach our parents. They have just sailed again for the Indies, taking the eldest boys with them. The three younger remain with Grandfather O’Neill in Ireland. We have five little brothers, all told.”

  “Our parents sail together?” Kat was surprised.

  “Aye, both he and she captain their own vessels. Theirs is an unconventional marriage,” Merry said with a faint air of disapproval. “Father being English and Mother Irish made it difficult in the beginning, I understand. Fortunately, Elizabeth Tudor is a just queen.”

  O’Neill. Of course. But why the image of a black raven leaped into her mind was beyond Kat’s grasp. She frowned. Then she remembered the amulet she was wearing when Morgan found her. He had also mentioned a tattered flag he’d found with the image of a bird bearing an oak branch. The raven again? The amulet was still at Falcon’s Lair, and the standard, too — assuming Morgan had not discarded or destroyed either one or both.

  She pushed aside thoughts of Morgan. She still ached for him, especially at night, but the pain was too fresh to examine as yet. She sought to distract herself. With growing curiosity, she asked Merry, “What of the O’Neills? Do they all live in Ireland?”

  “Yea, Kat. Uncle Dan and all his boys — how can you forget your favorite cousin Derry? — live up near Ballycastle. You used to spend summers with them on the farm. Aunt Glynnis said you were a handful.”

  “Didn’t you go along to visit them, Merry?”

  “Nay.” Merry shook her head. “I asked our parents if I had to, and they said I didn’t. I’m not like you, Kat. I don’t enjoy dirt, wind, or water. Ireland has too much of all three to suit me.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Of course, Grandfather O’Neill lives with Uncle Brendan and Aunt Glynnis on the farm now. He deeded Raven Hall to you when Mother and Father built their own house. You always were his favorite,” Merry added, a trifle wistfully.

  “Brann O’Neill,” Kat said, not realizing what she said until Merry seized both her hands with excitement and obvious triumph.

  “Aye! You’re starting to remember now, aren’t you?”

  “Not really,” Kat said. “A few things are sta
rting to surface, though — mostly flashes of people’s faces, bits and pieces of names.”

  Still grasping her sister’s hands in her own, Merry proceeded to pull Kat to the narrow window overlooking the Thames.

  “I know how to make you remember,” Merry vowed, dropping one of Kat’s hands in order to point out a row of grand houses on a distant rise. “See the white mansion on the farthest end? The one with the columns?” When Kat nodded, Merry said, “’Tis called Ambergate. It belongs to Uncle Kit, our father’s elder brother. That’s where I spend much of my free time when I’m not at Court.”

  Confused, Kat looked at Merry. “Why don’t you live in Ireland, with the rest of the family?”

  A slow flush rose on the redhead’s porcelain cheeks.

  “Father and Mother said I might come to England,” Merry said defensively, keeping her gaze fixed on the elegant mansion. “They knew how much it meant to me to come to Court and serve our queen. Besides, I wanted to spend more time with Maggie.”

  “Maggie?”

  “Uncle Kit’s youngest daughter, one of our English cousins.” Merry chattered on, quickly and carelessly. “She’s a dear sister to me, y’see, for we have so much in common — ”

  Merry clapped a hand over her mouth, her gray-green eyes widening with dismay. Kat nodded with sudden understanding.

  “Whilst you and I don’t,” she concluded. “I understand things better now. Though we shared our mother’s womb, we’re completely different, you and I. You hated living in Ireland, didn’t you?”

  “’Tisn’t half so grand or fun as being at Court,” Merry confided, with visible relief. Kat’s gesture of understanding prompted her to confide her true feelings.

  “Marry, ’tis quite boring in Ireland, Kat. For one thing, there are no suitable men, and I’d remain a virgin maid forever before I’d wed an ugly old farmer or fisherman.”

  Kat released a peal of laughter at Merry’s remark, then sobered when she realized a deeper truth hidden beneath her sister’s declaration; Merry was ashamed of the O’Neills, ashamed of the fact she herself was part Irish, and ashamed most of all that her twin apparently acted more like a Celtic warrior-queen than a proper Tudor maiden.

  “Here are your gowns.” Merry turned to address a brown-haired servant who entered the apartment with a mound of glistening material in her arms. “Be careful with those, Jane. They are too costly to replace.”

  “Aye, mistress,” Jane panted, as she carried the voluminous pile to the bed. There she laid out two outfits reverently, smoothing the shining folds back with great care, as Merry looked to Kat.

  “Which d’you fancy wearing for your debut? I shall have Jane set aside the other for now.”

  Both gowns were beautiful, displaying huge paned sleeves and elegantly embroidered skirts. One was a shimmering blue-green silk with watchet satin sleeves and cloth-of-silver insets; the other, a rich velvet in a shade of blue bordering on purple, with cloth-of-gold petticoats trimmed with sarcenet.

  Kat sensed the servant girl surreptitiously studying her as she said, “I know nothing of courtly fashion, I fear. You choose for me, Merry.”

  Pursing her lips, as if such a decision was of monumental importance, Merry said thoughtfully, “Methinks the violet for your presentation. We’ll save the other for the midsummer masque. You can borrow my pearls on both occasions. I’m sorry I haven’t any finer jewels to lend, but y’know a Maid of Honor is forbidden to wear anything of greater worth until she’s wed.”

  Kat didn’t know, but she nodded anyway and allowed Jane to help her disrobe. Feeling self-conscious, she quickly slipped into a silk chamber robe Jane held for her, then tied the sash herself.

  “I’ll have a bath sent up for you,” Merry said. By the tone of her sister’s voice, Kat could tell she was expected to act awed and grateful. Merry continued:

  “’Tis rather difficult to procure such niceties, but Uncle Kit taught me that a few well-placed coins can work miracles at Court.”

  “Thank you, Merry.”

  Merry smiled in return, though Kat sensed she was disappointed by the lack of ebullience in her thanks.

  “’Twill not be so difficult once you get used to it, dear Kat. I will teach you all the rules of Court and you and I shall get along splendidly. What fun we two shall have till Mother and Father return. What a tale we shall have to tell them, too.”

  While Jane departed again to see about Kat’s bath, Merry set out the various cosmetics and perfumes she intended to experiment with today. Watching for a moment, Kat remembered with aching clarity the scent of wild lavender Winnie had used to wash her hair at Falcon’s Lair.

  A sense of loss gripped her like a dark hand — would she ever see Morgan again? Surely by now, he should have sent word, an inquiry, something. He had seemed so determined to help her find her family; why would he care so little for her fate now? Or had it never occurred to him to wonder what had happened to her?

  Such agonizing questions plagued Kat day and night, but she found no answers. Day by day, Morgan came ever closer to becoming a part of her past. She was in a different world now. Kat knew she should direct her attention to surviving at Court, but her memories were relentless. So, too, was the realization that she would love Morgan Trelane until her dying day.

  LESS THAN A FORTNIGHT later, Kat received a partial answer to her questions about Morgan. A missive from Falcon’s Lair reached the queen. It was delayed by the Court’s move to Nonsuch Palace in Surrey, where Elizabeth Tudor retired for a summer hunt. Morgan confirmed Kat’s story of the shipwreck with a single terse passage. The curt paragraph revealed nothing of his true thoughts or what had happened between them.

  Merry cheerfully relayed the contents of the letter, never suspecting how Lord Trelane’s words might wound Kat. For weeks, Merry had planned for the day when Kat could be properly presented at Court, and now that her sister’s identity was established, she was delighted at the assurance of success.

  “At last we are able to formally introduce you at Court, dear. So you needn’t mope about these rooms any longer.”

  “’Tis some relief, I grant,” Kat said with a touch of asperity. “I was beginning to think I was your best-kept secret, sister, short of being stowed beneath the bed.”

  Merry shook her head. “Please try to understand the queen’s caution, Kat. Till the truth of your tale was proven, ’twas wisest to placate critics like Lawrence. He did seem to have a fearful grudge against you. Now all appears resolved, and we can finish planning your debut.”

  Kat had already decided she would leave such details to Merry, a master intriguer. Her thoughts were of Morgan and the letter. She was devastated far more by his cutting reply than she cared to admit. Yet she found it impossible to despise him. Instead, more questions came to mind. Why had Morgan not inquired as to her fate, her health? Why had he chosen those impersonal phrases, so clipped and cold? They conveyed a notion of complete and utter contempt for Kat, and disregard for her plight.

  She realized she would never know what prompted his scorn. She dared not write Morgan and ask such questions herself; there was too much risk that a message would be intercepted by the queen’s spies or betrayed by a messenger and summarily misinterpreted.

  Far more likely, though, she feared Morgan would never reply. Did he think so little of her, then? Had his declaration of love been a fleeting lark, a means by which he might amuse himself with a blind woman too foolish to see past her own heart?

  Such dark musings occupied Kat’s mind one evening, as she watched Merry excitedly preparing for her Court presentation. Days of exhausting etiquette lessons and nights of rigorous coaching in courtly manners had apparently rendered Kat acceptable, at last. She wondered why she felt inclined to rebel. She would not hurt Merry for all the world, but she was weary of the superficial and oft foolish conduct required of those who would grace the Tudor Court.

  Before Kat had dressed in her formal attire, Merry drew a flat case of Moroccan leather from her b
ureau. She opened it and revealed a long strand of creamy white pearls and matching earbobs.

  “Father gave them to me on our sixteenth birthday,” Merry said to Kat, lifting the necklace out. She ran it lovingly through her fingers, then pressed it into Kat’s palm. “He knew how I longed for my own jewelry. ’Twill be the perfect touch for your gown this evening.”

  “What happened to my own pearls?”

  Merry laughed. “You never begged for any jewelry, Kat; you wanted your own ship, and nothing else would do. Father and Mother arranged for it somehow, the boys saw ’twas decorated with all manner of finery, and the moment you saw the ship, you christened her the Fiach Teine.”

  “Fire Raven,” Kat whispered, an ache rising in her breast when a thread of memory teased at her. She closed her eyes and fancied she felt the gentle rise and fall of a deck beneath her feet. She fancied a breeze teased at her hair, filling the sails and her lungs with crisp brine air. She touched her neck, expecting to feel something cool and round — a metal disk. The amulet — ’Twas gone.

  Kat’s eyes flew open, and the image shattered into a thousand shards of memory, whisked away by an invisible wind. She almost remembered. Almost … Yet something prevented the full revelation, something she dared not dwell upon. She shivered, though she was covered by her velvet gown and layers of petticoats. Merry did not seem to notice.

  “La, I’ll admit to being jealous, Kat. The arrival of your mighty present quite upstaged the play I had planned for everyone the same evening at Raven Hall. Rowan and Devlin were relieved to have any excuse to escape their roles — the naughty villains — and Kerill — well, he was a hopeless Sir Lancelot anyway. Of course, baby Blase and Sebastian were too young to appreciate my efforts at all.”

  Kat shook her head, still unable to picture her five younger brothers. She tried to hand back the necklace her sister had given her. “’Tis obvious you love these pearls well, Merry, and I do not wish to usurp them from you.”