Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  She made a face. “Kat. A brother or nephew or some such came to grief over gambling debts. And Dunstan … well, he doesn’t lecture me, of course, but he was not happy about my being so much in the queen’s company without any servants of my own.” She hesitated and then looked up, meeting Denoriel’s eyes fully with a too-knowing glance—which was not usual for her. “But there was nothing and no one there that should not be. And I have my cross.”

  She knew. She was all but saying in words that she knew he was no ordinary man, and that sometimes other strange beings and creatures appeared near her. That she did not say it in words said even more. Her self-possession was remarkable, even unnatural in so young a child. But Harry, not as clever as Elizabeth, had also been very self-possessed.

  Also her life must have taught her to hold her tongue. It is not every child whose mother is murdered by her father and whose father is as powerful as a god in her little world—far too powerful to be questioned or criticized. Even a child might learn to think before she spoke and how not to speak at all of many things.

  Denoriel took her hand and squeezed it gently, although dull pain ran up his arm. “Good. See that you wear it always, even when you sleep.”

  She smiled at him, and Denoriel was both relieved and annoyed. She was still testing him every time they met. In a way that was good, but it left a kind of sore place in him that her heart did not leap with recognition of his true identity as his did when he saw her. Aleneil said she did “recognize” him, but that the caution bred in her by her mother’s fate and that of others, made her distrust her own instincts and demanded that she make sure.

  When he had come to visit after Pasgen’s attack on her, she had at first refused to go into the garden with him, even though he had brought her Harry’s letter. She had not even allowed him to hand her the letter, but made him give it to Blanche, who carried it to her. And she had dismissed him immediately, although she did ask him to return the next day, promising she would provide Mistress Champernowne a reason for his second swift departure and early return.

  The letter had not had all the effect Denoriel had hoped either. She had agreed to walk in the garden with him that day, but Nyle and Ladbroke followed not far behind, each armed with a steel-tipped crossbow. And she had said, eyes dark and averted, that the letter sounded as if it had been written by her Da, but … but … But Denoriel himself knew most of the incidents mentioned. He could have told someone and had the letter written. Why, she had asked, was it so important to him that she believe Richmond was still alive?

  It was not important to him, he had told her. He knew his Harry was alive and well … and very happy, too. He was at peace with his knowledge. She needed to believe it so she could again be sure that there was someone alive who loved her with a perfectly pure affection, untouched by employment or hope of favor or even expectation of future good for others. And she needed to know it so that she would believe that Denoriel had not lied to her.

  “But you do lie to me,” she had said softly.

  “No!” Denoriel had protested. “I never lie to you. I … I do not tell you all the truth because … because it is forbidden to me to tell you.” And he raised a hand and ran a finger up to the peak of his ear. Elizabeth’s eyes followed his finger as if they saw what it rested on. “But I do not lie,” he continued, “and I swear, not on your God but on mine, that Henry FitzRoy, Duke of Richmond, Duke of Somerset, Earl of Nottingham, is alive and well.”

  She had walked in silence for a time, then reached into her deep-belled sleeve and brought out a much-folded sheet, solidly sealed. “Here is my reply to Da’s letter.” When she looked up at him this time, her eyes had brightened with hopeful gleams of gold. “But I need to see him. I really need to see him—”

  “He cannot come,” Denoriel interrupted. “Please, Lady Elizabeth, not only is he far away, but he would be in danger if he returned to England … and his return might place you in danger also.”

  The bright eyes misted over for a moment and then her thin lips firmed to a hard line. “A picture then. Ask Da to have a picture painted of him so that I will have something. Surely it is possible, no matter how far away he is, to find a painter who will do a portrait.”

  “Oh, it will be easy enough to find a painter who could do a portrait, but how will you explain a portrait of a … such a portrait?”

  “A portrait of a dead man?” she whispered.

  “No, a live man, but most carefully hidden.”

  “Ah.” Her eyes brightened again and then for a moment followed the edge of his ear to its point at the crown of his head—an ear that should be invisible to mortal eyes. “Why then, instead of a portrait let the picture be of a fanciful place with people in it so that the face might be pure imagination, a picture of a land of myth and fancy, wherein dreams may walk.”

  As if his memory of that meeting in the past summer, before Elizabeth had been called to court by the queen, had somehow been transferred to Elizabeth, who in the present was walking beside him without any guards, she wiggled a hand out of her snugly wrapped cloak and took his hand—starting a wave of pain up his arm—and asked, “When will you bring me the picture that you promised?”

  “Now, do not begin that,” he said. “When the ship comes, it will come. It could not turn around the day it arrived and start back. Harry has to find an artist and the picture has to be painted. And if the ship has gone to other ports, the picture must wait until it returns … I will bring it to you as soon as it comes—unless you are at court again—and I beg you will not plague out my life until I have it.”

  She blinked at him owlishly. “Nonsense. If I suffer, why should you not suffer too?”

  “Elizabeth!” he exclaimed. “What sort of Christian charity is that?”

  “What do you care? You aren’t a Christian.” A moment later she burst out into giggles. “Oh, your face, Lord Denno. I wish I had a glass to show you your face. But it is the fate of those who court royalty to be the butt of their moods.”

  He frowned at her ferociously. And here was another attribute, not so pleasant, that she had learned from her father. “And you are not royalty! Do not put on dangerous airs. Nor do I court you for my profit.”

  “Then why do you court me?”

  “Because I adore you, you noxious little brat!”

  “Do you?”

  She stopped in the path and swung around to take his other hand. Her eyes were bright gold, and the joy and tenderness in her expression rewarded him for much frustration and the pain that was creeping up both arms and beginning to permeate his whole body. She saw his struggle not to stiffen or lean away, let go of his hands, and stepped back.

  She looked down at the ground. “I wish you could hug me,” she murmured. “You used to hug Da. I know you did.”

  “I wish I could too, Lady Elizabeth, but it is not the cold iron that stops me. I could bear it long enough for a hug. It is because you are a girl, and Harry was a boy.”

  She sniffed. “What harm can a hug do? I have seen men hug women. My father hugs me sometimes.”

  “Yes, your father may, and perhaps your brother will hug you when you and he combine your households. As for other men and women … ah … I will explain that when you are somewhat older.”

  “Surely every hug is not a prelude to coupling.”

  Denoriel felt color rise in his face. Eight years old. What could she know about coupling? Well, perhaps she had seen cows or horses or the dogs on the estate.

  “No, of course not,” he said, starting along the path again. “However … never mind. I will explain some other day. But I spoke of your brother and that reminded me. Have you heard when you are supposed join him and do you know whether it will be at Hertford Palace or at Enfield?”

  Her gaze intensified as she thought. “I think at Hertford because it is larger than Enfield. I think Mary is supposed to be with us there, and perhaps my father and Catherine will stop on their way north. Why do you want to know?”


  “Because, as I said, I am enamored of you, you noxious brat, and I need to find a convenient small house to buy or rent nearby to where you live.” They had begun walking again, and he looked down at her soberly. “You know that I will not be able to visit you so freely once you and Edward are lodged together. He is the heir, and is closely guarded and every stranger will be closely scrutinized. I am not likely to be an acceptable visitor to the prince—a foreigner and although I was a prince in my own country, I am now a merchant and have no claim to nobility in England. I will need a special appointment each time I come, and Kat might be blamed for encouraging our friendship.”

  Elizabeth pulled her cloak more tightly around her, shivering slightly, perhaps from the chill breeze. “Does that mean I will not see you again until Edward and I are parted—which will happen a few times a year, I think?”

  Denoriel chuckled a bit self-consciously. “That is what should happen. You will be doubly and triply guarded and Blanche and Mistress Champernowne will be with you, so you will be safe—”

  “Even from—” Elizabeth made the gesture of a long, pointed ear alongside her own head.

  “I believe so. I hope so. Things happened in Hatfield when you were a babe that made that place perhaps a bit vulnerable. But Hertford … Harry was never in Hertford Palace.” He nodded decisively. “You have your cross and Blanche has her own weapons, and I think you should start to carry a steel knife—ask Dunstan or Ladbroke for one. Ask them for a bodkin; many ladies carry them, I believe. However, I will be near enough for Dunstan or Ladbroke or Tolliver to fetch me.”

  She looked up at him directly again. “Would you fight for me as I heard you fought for Da?”

  “To the death, my lady.” He stopped and bowed, face grim, then grinned and added, “And to make doubly sure you are safe and also to be sure that my blood is properly boiled at intervals, I will arrange to meet you and ride with you, whenever the prince does not accompany you, if you ride out.”

  She smiled and reached for his hand again, but walked nearly at arm’s length so the iron cross hardly caused him a twinge. “I love to ride,” she said, “and Edward is not much more than a baby, so I think I can beg for more vigorous exercise than he could take once or twice a week. If my own people accompany me—my guards think you almost one of the family—no one will know or care. We will make do.”

  A good plan, Denoriel thought. What she said was likely true. Since no one but Blanche knew of Pasgen’s attack on her, no one feared for her safety.

  However, in actuality they had plenty of time for more elaborate planning. By the end of April it was certain Elizabeth would join Edward in Hertford, and in the first week in May Denoriel delivered to her—as an aid, he said, to furnishing her new apartment—a portrait of a young man with a look of her father.

  Elizabeth stared at the image in silence for some time. The young man was dressed in clothing a good three hundred years out of date, a short, close fitting tunic with narrow sleeves over long hose, cross gartered to the knee. The tunic was open over a white shirt tied in a bow at the neck, and his hair was long, sweeping his shoulders and held back by a narrow golden band set just above a brilliant blue star emblazoned on his forehead. At his feet was a small creature that might have been a cat, except for the furry wings on its back, and behind him was a unicorn, silver-blue, with black eyes and a silver mane, a tail like a lion’s, the beard of a goat, and cloven hooves.

  “Oh,” Elizabeth sighed, “I did remember. But he is much thinner and, and he looks older.”

  Denoriel laughed. “He is older, nearly five years older and that makes a big difference. You would find he is taller too; a halfling has grown into a man. And he is thinner because … because he was very ill. That long trip he took saved his life, but he was very ill when he left England, which is why so many think he is dead. But he is not.”

  She nodded absently, still gazing into the picture, as if trying to communicate with its subject. “I am glad the picture is not too large. I can keep it with me, perhaps have a stand made for it for my bedchamber. Thank you, Lord Denno.”

  Her eyes searched his face, but he could tell her no more and she sighed and went away. On his next visit he told her he had rented a hunting lodge in the forest less than a mile from the main road into Hertford Castle, and Elizabeth surreptitiously, when Kat and Lady Alana were busy discussing necessary additions to Lady Elizabeth’s wardrobe if she was to dine with Edward, kissed his cheek.

  The king, however, was not yet ready to leave on his progress. He claimed to be still recovering, but Denoriel learned that negotiations were taking place to arrange a meeting between Henry and King James of Scotland. Henry hoped to wean Scotland away from its long alliance with France. Considerable private negotiation was also taking place between Mistress Champernowne and Sir William Sidney, Edward’s chamberlain, about how the two households would arrange for and pay their private dependents.

  Sir William bade Mistress Champernowne dismiss the guards; the prince’s men, he said, could take over securing Lady Elizabeth’s safety. Thereby he could save the cost of four men’s stipend and food and drink allowance and yearly suits and shoes. They were combining to save the king money.

  Elizabeth was horrified; she flew into a most unchildlike rage, absolutely forbidding the dismissal of men who had carried her about, told her tales, and allowed her—with discretion—to play with their weapons. Mistress Champernowne wrung her hands and wept.

  The next thing, Elizabeth said furiously to Denoriel, who arrived later in the day, was that Sir William would want Kat to dismiss Ladbroke and Tolliver and have the prince’s grooms care for her horses.

  “On no account should you allow the guards or grooms to be dismissed,” Denoriel said to Mistress Champernowne, who was sitting in the audience chamber with them because it was raining. “What does that fool think you will do when the households separate, as they are bound to do from time to time? Are you to hire new people? People you do not know whether you can trust?”

  “I do not know what I can do,” Kat quavered. “I fear the exchequer will send our allowances to Sir William. How am I to pay—”

  “If the money is all that is troubling you,” Denoriel said, smiling with relief that the difficulty was so easy to solve, “Let it trouble you no longer. Tell Sir William that you will not dismiss old, trusted servants and you will make shift to support them. I will provide any funds you need.”

  “I cannot accept so much, Lord Denno,” Mistress Champernowne said. “That one time when you gave me fifty sovereigns I was so shocked … and I … Elizabeth needed new gowns. She grows, you know. But to accept more, and for I do not know how long … would that not be wrong?”

  Denoriel blinked. He had never given Kat any money, fearing it would make her even more improvident than she already was. It must have been Pasgen, thinking that Kat would need a bribe to allow him to walk alone with Elizabeth.

  “Would it be wrong, Lord Denno?” Elizabeth asked, looking from Kat to Denoriel. “I really, really do not want to part with Gerrit, Nyle, Shaylor, and Dickson, and I would almost give up my new gowns to keep Ladbroke and Tolliver. If Kat took the money, would it obligate me to you? Would you expect favor in return?”

  “And what favor do you think you can extend to me, you repellent child? Almost would give up your new gowns!” Denoriel was not teasing her this time; she had gotten some appalling manners, and it was time someone delivered a set-down to her. “What a selfish brat you are! And just what would your men do if they were dismissed? How would they support themselves while they tried to find other positions? They have served you well and faithfully, never complaining when your household was stinted and their wages came late! I swear, I should turn you over my knee and lesson you. Do you think it would be too much favor granted me if you said ‘Thank you’?”

  Mistress Champernowne drew a sharp breath. Elizabeth did not generally take kindly to harsh criticism. She could be corrected, but it was needful to do it tactfull
y.

  However, Elizabeth only shook her head, her eyes dark and her thin lips in a straight line. “It is not selfishness, Lord Denno. At least, not only selfishness. I admit, I would like some new gowns, for I love handsome dress, but I must make a show in my brother’s household. He is very young and if his people see me shabby, they will not value me as I may need to be valued.” She put out a hand and barely touched Denoriel’s arm. “I do thank you.”

  Denoriel laid his hand over hers and sighed, deflated. “You are quite right, my lady. I am saddened that, young as you are, you need to think of such matters.”

  “It is sad,” Mistress Champernowne said, “but I have explained to her that there will be much more coming and going of court officers in the prince’s household than there has ever been in hers. Yet those who come to see the prince may well ask to see Lady Elizabeth, who is the king’s daughter. And, indeed, she must consider that some day Edward will be king and must think well of her. She must have the gowns, but perhaps there is somewhere else I can save. I am appalled at needing to take so much from you.”

  He waved her objections aside. “Do not give it a thought. You need feel no guilt. I am rich. I am alone. I have no one else, since Harry does not need my help any longer. And these were my Harry’s sworn men, before they were Elizabeth’s.”

  “Harry?” Kat asked, looking confused.

  “A friend. He has other sources of income now,” Denoriel said with a glance at Elizabeth and then quickly, to divert Kat’s mind from the fact that he had not really answered her question, he added, “Oh, and be sure that the prince’s people do not try to sell off Elizabeth’s horses—or appropriate them for themselves—and have her share the prince’s. Her horses were specially chosen by Ladbroke. They are the best.”

  “We must make some concessions or Sir William will become suspicious. He might suggest that if we can manage on so much less, our separate stipend should be reduced.” Kat looked worried, for the king’s clerks were always seeking ways of diminishing the drains on his purse.