Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  “I think not, sir. She is beyond the age. Your questions lack taste. I will bid you good morrow.” Ortega would not know from Julian that the queen’s flux had not come and that she thought herself with child even now. The country called her “barren and good fortune for it,” but Julian saw only the hopeless love she bore for Philip of Spain.

  She watched as the red anger spread over his face and fire shone in the hell-dark eyes. The red costume edged with brown fur seemed vastly appropriate, and he bulked taller as he drew himself up. One palm smote the other as he spoke very slowly so that she should not misunderstand a single word. She listened and felt as if the powers of all darkness were arraigned against her.

  “That girl in there is the betrothed of Charles Varland. She is an heiress in her own right; she will recoup his greatly diminished fortunes and restore his name, which was tarnished by association with the Protestants and that other marriage. She wishes to give the queen information that will only make her more suspicious of Varland than she already is.”

  “Nonsense, the girl is distraught, high-strung!” To Julian’s own amazement her voice was rock steady. “Why did you act as if you did not know who she was?”

  The anger smoothed out of his face and one side of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Julian, I am the friend of King Philip and, as you may have guessed, more than a casual visitor to this land. My king is the friend of Charles Varland and has protected you both. I ask little of you in return for all that has been done. I know that you love Varland, and he is a lucky man. You cannot wed, of course, but you would not wish him to be in danger, would you?”

  Julian’s aplomb left her, and she caught at his arm with both hands. “Is he?”

  “Not yet. Calm her down, find out what the difficulty is, and meet me here in the morning. I take it that you will be agreeable? Queen Mary can be most determined, and Philip is far away.” Ortega smiled in a most friendly manner. “I think that her betrothed must be notified to come as quickly as possible. It is time for a wedding.”

  Julian caught her skirts around her and gave him a perfunctory curtsy. “Even so, I must leave you now, my lord.” She was proud of the fact that she met his momentarily baffled dark gaze and did not flinch before she turned her back and almost ran back to her bedroom. She must find out what this coil was all about.

  Lady Dalton had declared herself exhausted and in need of rest, so Julian was left to talk to the maidservant, Alice, who continued to mutter prayers and bathe her charge’s forehead while she whispered out the tale of their adventure. Geraldine was quiet now, and the flush still burned in her cheeks so that she seemed brilliantly beautiful despite the yellow tinge of her skin.

  It seemed that Geraldine’s father, old Lord Rothsoon, had lived to be a great age; all the others of his family had long since died. She was the doted-upon child of his third wife and had lived all her life in the family estate in Cornwall, where Charles Varland’s own castle was. The marriage had been agreed upon after Varland’s wife had died—Lord Rothsoon saw nothing strange in wives doing that—and then he himself had perished while riding a newly bought horse. The Church had been designated protector of the girl until the betrothal could be brought to a wedding. There were no other relatives, and Charles had apparently not been eager to do his duty. Then his summons had come. Geraldine and her chaperons and servants must come to London immediately, there to lodge at his home on the Thames. He himself would welcome them, and when his court business was done, they would marry. But the young girl had sickened and grown pale. Varland’s own physician had tended her, and she seemed better.

  Alice sank down on a stool and fanned herself wearily, the brown eyes bulging with importance. “Then Lord Varland came back and they talked long together. She wouldn’t have anybody near her, said she had to be alone. Of course, I watched her, my nursling from two years on up! She went back looking for him and stopped at a door, listened for a while, and came on back. Then she made me get up early and have a waterman at the door that gives onto the river. She was coughing a lot but seemed better. Then she started a great deal of laughing and said she didn’t want to marry, ever. I came with her—what could I do? Then she started this about the queen. My poor little lady.” She lowered her hands into her lap, and Julian saw that they shook.

  Geraldine Rothsoon sat up in the bed, supporting herself on slender white hands, the glossy black hair falling over her shoulders and framing the enchanting oval face. “They were talking about deposing the queen and making the country Protestant. How could I marry a traitor? Anyway, he is all dark and huge. I don’t want to marry, and I don’t want to marry Charles. I heard them and I saw them. Important men talking treason.”

  Julian approached her. “Lady, you must rest more. You must not tax yourself.”

  Geraldine looked at her and the small knowing mouth turned down. “You are Julian. He spoke of you. It is true, all that I have said. Do you still want him? The ax shall have him instead. What do you think of that?”

  “I think that God must give you grace, for you stand in sore need of it.” Julian resisted the urge to slap the triumphant face even as she went cold for the peril that Charles stood in, whether or not the words were true. If a man’s betrothed—his wife in God even though the vows had not yet been uttered—denounced him, who could say that the accusation was not true? Charles would not be believed.

  Geraldine began to laugh, rocking back and forth with the force of her merriment. It was ugly, bold laughter that went on and on, twisting the beautiful face into a travesty of the purity that had been there. She was curiously like Ortega, and Julian felt the same thrusting fear of a girl younger than herself.

  Alice cried, “Lady, please stop it! You will wound yourself again. Please, Lady Geraldine!”

  Julian watched in horror as the slender hands began to beat up and down as Geraldine’s face grew pinched and she fought for air. The girl gasped, and then blood spilled from her throat and nose, cascading over the front of her gown and onto the bed. It seemed to go on and on before Alice snatched up one of the wet cloths and pressed it to her mistress’s face. Even then the red mass continued to ooze.

  “Put her flat while I fetch more cloths!” Julian gave the command sharply, just as she had once helped to calm Lady Gwendolyn. How could a person lose so much blood and still live? Yet the laughter still continued, and now Geraldine was coughing, a hideous tearing sound that rent her small body.

  “Blessed Jesu! Pray that we are in time!” The shriek came from Lady Dalton, who had just entered the room, her face bold in spite of the genuine horror on it.

  “Murder! Look at the blood!” Another lady-in-waiting whom Julian vaguely recognized swayed against the door and seemed ready to faint.

  The tall figure of the court physician, followed by his younger helper, appeared in the frame. “Stand away, all of you. I must examine the lady. Quiet, now. I must think.” He gestured imperiously to the helper; his own hands must not be soiled by contact with so gross a thing. “Get out, all of you.” He whirled on them and they retreated, even Alice, whose face was blotched with tears.

  Julian saw that Geraldine was being lifted up by the helper and that the blood was flowing harder, then the door was shut in her face and she could see no more. She felt her face harden into a mask that must face the others Lady Dalton had brought with her. If she and Alice could have. been left alone, it might have been possible to staunch the bleeding, but the physician might even consider it a good thing and allow it to continue. If that happened . .. she dreaded to finish the thought.

  “Why did you bring him?” She snapped the words out at the older woman and saw the eyes of the several servants and ladies who had gathered. They were hot with curiosity and suspicion.

  “The poor girl had to have someone.” Lady Dalton was all injured innocence. “Poor child, crying out that way. Poor lost thing.”

  Julian said, “I must have air. Let me pass.” The cluster of bodies had grown in just that short a time,
and she felt the urge to pound at them and scream. As she pushed through to the fringes she heard one comment that stopped her in her very tracks.

  “Another girl ill in strange circumstances! Varland should be put where he can do no more damage!”

  The courtier leaned toward his friend and said so that Julian could hear, “Watch out. That one is said to be eager for him.”

  She heard the subdued sound of their laughter as she ran for the blessed quiet of the garden. There in a quiet niche she knelt before the image of the Virgin and prayed passionately for the health and soul of Geraldine Rothsoon before she dared utter her true prayer for the safety of the man she so desperately loved and longed for, Charles Varland, who stood in deadly danger. The delicately carved face above her was only ivory, however, and there was no comfort. The air was warm against her face, down which the tears slipped, and the image of the hawthorn tree rose full in her mind, the symbol of life beyond life.

  When Julian went back to her room after minutes or hours—she had no idea which—the crush of the curious was standing well back, and the small crumpled figure of Geraldine was lying on a litter supported by four servants. The physician was speaking importantly to Lady Dalton, his tones round and ringing.

  “You likely saved her life by coming to fetch me, madam. She has cause to be grateful to you.”

  Julian saw that the blood still ran from Geraldine’s nose and bubbled frothily from her lips. She wondered if the queen’s own physician would tend Geraldine and what would happen if he did. In her youth she had often helped Elspeth tend wounds, and the stopping of the blood flow had been the first thing. Why should this be any different?

  “The purging will benefit my lady. Evil humors beset her.” Loftily, the physician signaled to the carriers who bore Lady Geraldine away, the maidservant following after. The courtiers looked at Julian, and she felt the weight of their suspicion as a palpable thing. There was little enough to amuse them these days, and this tale had all the earmarks of a true scandal.

  She said clearly, “Lady Dalton, will you go with me to the chapel to pray for the poor lady?”

  The older woman gasped but nodded. It was a shame to leave the fascinating gossip, but on the other hand it might be useful to observe the demeanor of the girl. Julian easily read the conflicting emotions that crossed her face and, in a moment of sheer malice, extended her hand. Lady Dalton took it after a second of hesitation, and they walked from the hall together.

  Julian did not meet Ortega the next morning, for she kept Lady Dalton beside her and made sure that the woman had little opportunity for gossip. The drama of Geraldine’s appearance and sudden illness overshadowed even the discovery that one of the kitchen maids had been caught in the attempt to poison a dish set aside particularly for the queen. It was clumsily done, and the girl was hauled away for questioning within minutes. The great, it was remarked, must expect such things. The queen had sequestered herself on matters of state, and the court had little to do but speculate.

  Very early on the second morning after Geraldine was stricken, Julian was summoned, along with several other ladies-in-waiting, to attend the queen. There was still no news of the girl’s condition; even the most avid knew nothing. Julian felt the stares but carried herself calmly even though she knew that her face bore the marks of the sleepless nights. The copper morning gown was now looser than it had been, and her hair refused to be coaxed into a semblance of order, so she bound it back in a huge knot on her neck, then pinched her pale cheeks to give them some faint color. It seemed to her that she had always been suspended in this eternity of waiting, that there was to be no relief from its torment.

  When they entered the private chamber of the queen and made their obeisances, Julian saw again that she had lost that brief bloom happiness had given. Now she looked her forty years and more as her hands shook slightly from weariness, the lines on her drooping face pronounced and sharp. Whether by intent or purpose she waved the others away and beckoned to Lady Clarence, then to Julian, who was nearest her. The purple-and-gold-hung chamber was muffled and dark despite the blazing candles. It was very hot; the sweat stood out on Julian’s face, and she found it hard to breathe. Heaps of jewels, papers, shoes, and gowns were tossed together in piles, but two portraits of Philip of Spain stood beside the ornate bed.

  Mary Tudor spoke as if to herself, her eyes on the portraits. “No rest in all the long nights. I do truly think that I bear England’s heir, Spain’s heir, within me. Too early to know, they say, but I know.”

  The tired voice trailed away as she submitted to the gentle hands of Lady Clarence, who divested her of the robes and handed them to Julian. The clinging underrobe shone opaque in the candle glow, and Julian glimpsed the rounding of her stomach though she stood straight. One hand went downward and rose again. She had thought herself with child before and the country had rung with merriment, for by then she was hated.

  “Aye, when the news came that my dear lord had taken San Quentin, that great victory, then I knew.” She sank into a chair, and Lady Clarence, eyes alight with love, began to brush the sandy hair with soothing strokes.

  Julian began to fold away the robes and place the jewels in their leather containers and silken bags; the flashing emeralds, milky ropes of pearls, delicate opals, golden chains, slipped smoothly over her hands. She picked up a necklace of delicately wrought gold links, each set with huge blazing rubies. It reminded her of Geraldine’s blood pouring over the white face and soaking the bed. She fought her revulsion lest she fling the thing from her.

  “Madam.” The whispered word from the door caught them all by surprise, and their eyes swung toward it. A middle-aged servant stood there, black dress melding in the darkness, white face shining with the traces of tears. She fell to her knees before the queen, who waved impatiently and waited.

  “Your Majesty, the girl is dead. The bleeding began again, and she could not speak.”

  The queen crossed herself, and all followed her example. Then she said, “I will order masses sung for her young soul. What of Varland?” Her voice grew hard on the name.

  “He arrived only an hour ago, and the physician would permit him only the briefest moment. He waits beyond the door as bidden.”

  Mary the Queen turned to look at Julian with the considering eye that her father’s courtiers had learned to dread and wisely so. “Lady Redenter, come here that I may see you more clearly.”

  The shortsighted eyes watched closely as Julian, heart hammering, moved to obey. The girl knew that propriety demanded she lower her own eyes in modesty and awe, but an instinct older than any court’s told her that she stood in the presence of an affronted lioness, and boldness was her only safety.

  “How may I serve Your Majesty?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The queen’s first words took Julian by surprise and belied the light in her eyes as the stubby lashes swept down. “Go to Lord Varland and remain with him until my priest, my comforter, can arrive. You have suffered losses and will know what to say. Say that I, too, will condole with him upon his great loss.”

  Julian bent in the prescribed curtsy, wondering if this were the real reason she had been summoned. Surely the queen was not being devious; that was not in her forthright nature. Was a plot still afoot? She could think of nothing else at this moment except Charles; the longing that swept through her body shook her to the marrow. “As Madam the Queen commands.”

  Queen Mary spoke fretfully. “I wanted to help you, the daughter of my mother’s lady. Honorable marriage, the peace of the cloister, but no . . . and yet my lord husband has pointed out the precariousness of your youthful upbringing .. . who can know the right?”

  Julian felt the chills go down her back. She did not doubt the goodwill of the queen, but this sounded as if someone had been speaking to her in an attempt to put aside the bargain that Charles told her had been struck. She lifted her eyes to the queen and said with all the power of her faith, “God knows the right, and he has raised you high
. I rest in your wisdom.” Not in her wisdom, thought the girl, but in the simple honesty that had always marked Mary Tudor as girl, woman, and queen.

  “You are dutiful in your words. See that your actions are such.” She shut her eyes wearily, waved Julian back, and motioned for Lady Clarence to continue with the brushing.

  Julian rose on shaky legs and followed the servant to the side room, which was richly appointed with tapestries and velvets. A carved screen depicted the agony of the Christ and the glory of the Resurrection. Shimmering rugs in several shades of purple lay on the floor. Charles stood looking out the window at the expanse of parkland beyond the grounds proper. She watched him for a second, noting the way the warm wind blew back the dark hair and lifted the sleeves of his white shirt.

  “My lord, I am sent by Her Majesty . . She spoke the words the queen had ordered, her voice low and gentle, her mind busy. Here was no grief-stricken lover, no shocked betrothed. His face was stern, the nose-to-mouth lines very visible, the gray eyes watchful. He wore breeches and boots of black and a black cloak lay close by with his sword on a stool.

  “Julian, tell me what happened and do not fear to speak the truth to me.” He stood well away from her; she might have been another man rather than the woman he had once held in his arms and lifted to the heights.

  Julian felt sudden disgust for herself that she could think of such things when Geraldine lay dead. What manner of person was she? One lewd and gross, it appeared. “It was in this manner, my lord.” She progressed with the tale in a low voice and had reached the account of Geraldine’s frantic desire to see the queen, when Charles took several steps toward her, one hand held out.