Merry acknowledged the sense in her uncle’s advice, and after Gil and Siany left for Scotland, she effected a move back into Whitehall where the Court adjourned for the remainder of the winter months. Nell would serve as her main tiring-woman, and another girl was secured for lesser errands and relieving Nell with the babe. The queen did not summon Merry for a week, annoyed as she was to have her masque disrupted, but in the end mighty Gloriana softened and Merry was restored to favor.
As one of Her Majesty’s ladies-in-waiting, Merry’s primary function was providing social diversion from the tedium of daily royal duties. Elizabeth conducted business in the morning, and dealt with the Privy Council generally until noon. If the sun was out later in the day, and the weather fair, she would walk in the gardens despite the chill. Otherwise, she strolled the galleries of the palace, attended by the favored members of her Court, including Lady Lindsay. The queen devoted part of every day to study, and was faithful to her religious exercises. Supper was the pleasurable conclusion to each day, always a chance for merriment and moments of mischief Elizabeth favored.
When the queen retired for the eve, she was accompanied by the married ladies of her household, one of whom always earned the privilege of sleeping in the royal bed chamber on a little trundle at the foot of the majestic canopied bed. In addition to the guards, several gentlemen of good repute took turns waiting up in an adjoining room, so their liege might be roused in any emergency. While Elizabeth was known to storm in her council, and on occasion slap a pert maid-of-honor, she was for the most part good-humored and tolerant. Few appreciated a keen wit more than England’s domina, nor loathed dullards just as emphatically.
To Merry’s dismay, Sir Jasper Wickham had not left Court but continued as a hanger-on, his usual companion the notorious Lady Rich. Before long he had joined the circle of Essex’s friends at Essex House, securing his position through the absent Earl of Leicester’s reputation. However, noblemen and citizens whose loyalty was of doubtful character were known to frequent Essex House as well, and thus Elizabeth Tudor never came to fully trust the man.
Since the disastrous masque, Merry took care to avoid Sir Jasper altogether, but it was impossible short of leaving Court. Besides, Sir Jasper openly curried her favor now, making a point to approach her whenever possible and gushing both apology and remorse for his moment of “unthinking mirth.” Merry found nothing humorous in the memory or the man, and cut him coldly at each turn. Despite her frigid nature, he continued to subject her to a flurry of flattery and regrets, making her appear the cruel one before the queen.
“What tiresome feud is this, Madame Merry?” Elizabeth demanded one afternoon as they walked the gallery, after Sir Jasper threw up his hands in a dramatic gesture of surrender and left. “I’faith, never have I known you to be unkind. The fact you did not wed Wickham should scarcely be a point of contention now.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Merry agreed, wondering how much she might explain before the other got impatient with her. She paused to admire a portrait of King Henry, Elizabeth’s sire, but the queen was not distracted.
“Wouldst provoke Wickham to further scenes? Offer the kiss of peace, milady, and be done with it right quick.”
Merry took a deep breath, nodded. She realized it was a royal order, though softened by the twinkle in Elizabeth’s gray eyes.
“’Pon my word, y’are as stubborn as your mother at times.” The queen laughed, seeing the resentment in Merry’s expression. “Is’t truly too humbling, m’dear?”
“I fear so, Your Majesty. Mayhap the Highlands have made me too proud by half.”
Elizabeth regarded her with an indulgent smile. “’Tis true, you’ve changed. I rather fancy it, Sweet Cinnamon. Just so your newfound impertinence never exceeds your loyalty.”
“Never, Your Grace. This I vow with my life.”
* * *
WHILE MERRY SAMPLED COURT intrigues and conversed with the most powerful woman on earth, Ran found himself teetering on the edge of quiet despair. He had never expected to miss his wife, especially given the white-hot fury with which he had all but driven her from his household, but the weeks without Merry had proven surprisingly stark and empty. It came as a shock, for he had never considered something in his nature might crave the simple domesticity she offered. Auchmull’s halls no longer rang with laughter, the hearth ceased to burn bright after Christmas morn. Blair’s stolid portrait was little consolation when it was the warmth of a living woman he missed, the playful sparkle of rain-colored eyes or an impulsive kiss on the cheek.
Absently Ran traced his cheekbone, remembering Merry’s little affections. It was hard to resent one with such a giving heart and honest nature, whose childlike devotion to a cause could humble the greatest warrior. Even The Wolf of Badanloch was not immune to a stiff dose of humility now and then. His relentless hunt for the thieves finally met with success, led to the capture of a band of outlaws posing as Padons. The penalty for stealing from the king, whether a bull or a royal stag, was execution. Kidnapping one of the king’s Cabinet was just as grave an offense. Not long ago, Ran would have swiftly dispensed justice himself. He was still raw from the incident with the Macleans, however, and did not like to envision Merry’s expression if she heard her husband executed seven men.
Fortunately the king was not too pressed to deal with the outlaws, and they were removed to Edinburgh to await their grim fate. The indignant Sir Ian Coates returned to the Stuart Court little worse for wear, considering what might have happened. With the excitement of the chase concluded, Ran found himself looking home again. Missing Merry. Her mischievous little laugh, the way she tugged at his sleeve for attention. Her sweet, spoiled, whimsical ways no longer seemed shallow. Rather, he realized she was a woman with a great capacity for love.
Gil’s return, his tales about Court and Merry’s enthusiastic participation in the revelries there, made Ran feel worse. Naturally she would welcome a change from this dark keep and the brooding man who occupied it. Ran had little to offer a woman who rubbed elbows with nobles and gentry and even held the ear of a queen. He had preserved Merry’s reputation by wedding her, but damned them both to a life of eternal misery.
Ran knew he had reacted much too strongly to the cradle incident, but the searing pain of the moment still haunted him. He doubted Merry had it in her to be deliberately cruel, but then reason fled when he had stepped into the hall, weary and disgusted at missing the outlaws, and glimpsed the manger scene beneath Blair’s covered portrait. He regretted his rage, his accusations. None of it mattered now, for Merry had fled to nurse her wounds.
Eventually she must return, however, and Ran decided a truce was the only means wherein they might coexist. If he let her have run of the household, which admittedly he did not mind too much, mayhap she would be happily occupied for a spell. That was the most he could offer. He had neither the means nor the desire to sustain her forever at Court, and there would be no heirs unless he kept her home.
Ran smiled at the memory of their far too few nights together. Merry was an innocent in many ways, but no husband could complain about her enthusiasm. If only he could love her as she deserved to be loved, Ran did not doubt his English rose would flourish beyond the dreams of the practical and poets alike.
* * *
MERRY REALIZED AFTER TWELFTH Night, she had little excuse to linger in London, but the thought of returning to Scotland and further humiliation at the hands of a man who did not, would not, ever love her was far more daunting. If there was one thing every Tanner had in ample measure, it was pride. Ran had promised to care for her, respect her, but suddenly it was not enough anymore. She watched true lovers at Court, heard the romantic tales again of Raleigh defying the queen for love of Bess Throckmorton, and Dudley for Lettice Knollys, and decided she deserved as much. In truth, the fear of rejection was just as daunting as the reality. She could not compete with a ghost, nor Ran’s sacrosanct memories of Blair. She did not even wish to try.
Her quiet
dignity and single-minded devotion to the queen was oft remarked upon now, for Lady Lindsay was accounted uncommonly subdued. Formerly Merry had led the maids-of-honor in all sorts of mischievous outings and outrageous deeds, though always stopping short of serious consequences. Marriage had lent her a grave air in some fashion, this remarked upon with admiration by Elizabeth, and regret by her former companions.
Merry still danced upon occasion, but rarely, and preferred the position of onlooker to that of participant. She could not have explained herself why she withdrew from the festivities, except it offered ample excuse to avoid Sir Jasper and Lady Rich, the latter who seemed to have taken it upon herself to torture Merry whenever occasion arose. If Essex had been petty and cruel, his beautiful sister was crueler yet, her mocking smiles and dismissive looks calculated to humiliate Merry whenever their paths crossed. Lady Penelope had never forgiven Merry for snatching Gilbert Lindsay away from her predatory aims; she was unaccustomed to being denied anything, especially the company of any man she chose.
One evening, the queen specifically requested Merry’s presence at a minstrel and musical performance. Elizabeth Tudor was skilled upon the virginals, and oft accompanied her Court musicians. Previously Merry had served as Mistress of the Music, a position which entailed little more than turning pages for Her Grace and keeping the musical score in order. The queen expressed dissatisfaction with Merry’s replacement, and wished a competent hand for the critical performance. Given little chance to demur, Merry appeared in a simple but fine raiment, an emerald-green brocade gown embroidered with the figures of the nine Muses in gilt thread. She could hardly hope to compete with Elizabeth’s magnificence, for the queen had no less than three thousand robes, in every conceivable fashion and material ranging from cut velvets to butterfly-thin silks, all with requisite trim like exquisite ruffs and jeweled purpoints.
For her debut in the musical version of Spenser’s Faerie Queene, Elizabeth wore a gown of silver tissue trimmed with pearls, small diamonds sewn across the full skirts in a starburst pattern, a larger stone nestled on her bosom in a frill of silver lace. To complete the ethereal look, she fancied a white velvet cape which flowed fully a pace behind, trimmed with pale blue and silver braid and fastened with a sapphire clasp. When seated at the keyboard, her cape was so heavy several maids-of-honor were summoned to hold up the ends and relieve the burden of weight from the queen’s shoulders and effectively permit her full range of movement.
Courtiers and ladies politely gathered round for the performance. Among the flock was Sir Jasper, though Merry did not see Lady Rich at his side. After the musical, the queen retired to her throne, resting and listening to the minstrels sing, “The Silver Swan.” Elizabeth nodded off during the rendition, and Sir Jasper seized opportunity. Merry stiffened warily at his approach, but dared not make a public spectacle.
“Well met, milady Lindsay,” Sir Jasper began, lifting her hand and brushing it against his lips. Merry nodded but did not feign any warmth. He smiled and held her hand a moment longer than necessary. “I see you have not yet forgiven me for the little faux pas of Twelfth Night. Perforce my regrets must follow me forevermore.”
“There is no need for dramatics, Sir Jasper,” Merry coolly replied. “Lest you seek position among the queen’s fools, and then I should be pleased to recommend you.”
Sir Jasper inclined his head at her cut. “No less than deserved, my dear.” He had adopted a more masculine appearance of late, exchanging pastel satins for jewel-toned velvets and fur-trimmed surcoats and cloaks. His topaz outfit was trimmed with scrimshaw buttons, with a faintly naval flair. It was still fashionable to imitate the late Sir Francis Drake. A pouch and ornate dagger hung from his belt, and he struck an affected pose that might have awed any woman but Merry.
“Alas, I must inquire after Lord Lindsay,” Sir Jasper said. “Have you heard from your husband of late?”
Merry regarded him warily. “Why?”
“’Tis but a simple yea or nay I require, milady. Have you?”
She considered lying, but suspected Wickham had several well-placed spies. “Nay.”
“Ah, ’tis as I suspected. Doubtless he has been too busy … with other concerns.”
Something in his hesitant, yet suggestive manner provoked her curiosity. “What have you heard, Sir Jasper?”
He shook his head, stroked his pointed beard as if wrestling with his conscience. “Nasty gossip, no doubt. I should not have troubled you with it, m’dear. Besides, you are far from Scotland and such petty disputes now. ’Tis advisable you remain so.”
“What have you heard?”
His eyebrow arched at her emphatic demand. He sighed with dramatic flair. “You would force m’hand, I see. Very well. There has been trouble on my lands, in my absence. Someone has availed themselves not only of Braidwood cattle, but left outbuildings aflame, a parting blow.”
“You immediately assumed ’tis Ranald.” Merry regarded him with a challenging air.
“Not at first, nay. I truly believed our disagreement settled when I left Auchmull. I vowed to avoid your lord husband at all costs and have managed it admirably well, I believe. Nor am I the only one who has suffered at the hands of this mysterious villain. English strongholds up and down the border are reporting smash-and-grab assaults, though my properties appear hardest hit.
“This has been going on for nearly a fortnight, on a nightly basis. There are some who have reported glimpses of the man, though ’tis fleeting. Instead of a band of reivers, he operates alone, making it harder to track his movements, or trap him in the act of committing such crimes.”
Merry shook her head, denying the possibility, while at the same time her innards churned with fear. She had to admit, Ran had more than enough motive to hurt Sir Jasper. If his previous hatred was not enough, the proof she had flung at him during their confrontation was enough to engender the sort of burning resentment which might well explode into flames of vengeance now.
She looked at Sir Jasper levelly. “I fail to see what you expect me to do, sirrah. Ran has no obligation toward me, nor would he necessarily tell me the truth if I asked him.”
“Aye, I realized as much myself. That is why I did not care to trouble you. ’Tis but a word of warning you might pass on, if you should hear from Lord Lindsay, because such incidents must needs be reported to the queen very soon. I have abstained till now, for fear of incurring your further resentment when I have sought amends for previous wrongdoing.”
Merry was silent a moment. “You must do as you see fit,” she said at last.
“Aye, milady. I fear I must.”
Chapter Thirty-One
SHORTLY BEFORE CANDLEMAS, MERRY received urgent word from her Uncle Kit at Court. She had retired to Ambergate for the holiday, her first relief from serving the queen since she arrived. Her peaceful retreat was shattered with the news: a border warrant had been issued by Elizabeth against Ranald Lindsay. The raids had not ceased since Sir Jasper’s complaint, but rather increased in frequency and severity until other border lords began clamoring for royal justice. The evidence mounting against Ran was serious enough that his identity was no longer in question. The Wolf of Badanloch was legendary enough in the north; accusations of outlawry seemed less outrageous than the idea he had settled down peaceably for the winter.
Hearing this, Merry flew back to Court with the intent of pleading the queen’s ear, but Elizabeth was indisposed with her Privy Council and no immediate recess was in sight. While she was there, a message came from Lady Rich. Merry considered tossing it out, but curiosity got the better of her and she read it. It was an invitation, rather a plea couched in flowery language, asking “the honorable Lady Lindsay” to attend Essex House as soon as possible. Merry puzzled over the message, as she knew Lady Rich bore her no lost love. Perhaps it was another jest, a second chance to mock an abandoned wife?
In the end, reason prevailed over paranoia and Merry went to Essex House. Lady Rich had stayed in her brother’s residenc
e during his Irish campaign, doubtless for its convenience to Court. Merry was admittedly impressed by the elegant residence, famed for its lavish entertainments. The powerful charm of the siblings who held sway over courtly events was based here, and she drank in the aura of the richly foiled hall while she waited for Penelope.
She was studying a Hilliard of the famous beauty herself when Lady Rich appeared. The two women greeted each other civilly, but Merry’s attention was immediately drawn to the greenish and purple tinges beneath the brunette’s exotic eyes. Lady Rich smiled wryly.
“Now y’see why I have not attended Court of late, Lady Lindsay.”
Merry was still reeling with shock. “Pray tell, who did this to you?” She was horrified by the bruises; though fading now, it was clear Penelope had been beaten recently, and quite severely.
“Wickham. ’Tis fortunate I did not lose more than a tooth, and that from a remote place which shall not permanently mar my looks.” Lady Rich gingerly touched her jaw. She understood Merry’s dazed state quite well. “Aye, I did not believe it myself at first, until he came at me in a sudden rage, and boxed me fiercely. Then he slammed me against a wall, struck me several times and later raped me on the floor.” She gestured casually to a Turkish carpet of forest green, crimson and white before the hearth, and Merry shuddered.
“I am so sorry. What triggered the rage, d’you know?”
“Yea. ’Twas the night of the masque. We came back here after you left. I was still garbed as the first Lady Lindsay.”
Merry gasped. “Blair! You looked like Blair …” It made a terrible, ironic sort of sense, even though Penelope did not deserve to suffer physical abuse at Sir Jasper’s hands.
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