by Kris Kennedy
“Quite.” He paused. “She punched me. Right here.” He ran his fingers along his jaw, then hissed and pulled his hand away. The queen’s eyebrows lifted. “Then she told me she held Rardove for you, and stole my dagger and laid it against my throat.”
The queen stared a moment, then drew up her chair, turned it to face him, and sat down. “Tell me everything.”
She leaned forward, her hands on her knees, and Aodh saw the child she must have been, the young woman, made illegitimate, her mother executed, her father raging mad at times, flailing and powerful. Imprisoned in the Tower when her maniacal sister took the throne, then against all odds, she took it herself, an unwanted pawn who’d somehow outstripped all their ambitions and become, quite simply, magnificent.
But through it all, she was also a woman who’d never been able to be fully a woman, else she’d have lost everything else.
He admired her deeply.
And she did love a good story.
So he, gesturing a silent query toward a flagon on a table, and being graced with a miniature, regal nod of assent, poured a drink, handed it to her, then retook his seat and told her all about how Katarina would have made her very proud, starting at the beginning.
When he was done, the queen was smiling, sitting back in her chair. “I did pick well for Rardove,” she said warmly.
“That you did. You could do so again, my lady.”
Ah, and there they came to it.
The queen eyed him closely, but her body was reclined in the chair more easily now, as it had been in years past, when it was just they two, and he had stories to tell, and treasure to deliver. “I have not seen Mistress Katarina for many a year,” the queen said, and he detected fondness in her words.
“She is a fierce and loyal mistress, Bess, out beyond the Pale. Not many could have done what she has done all these years. Do you know she held Rardove with ten men? Ten men and…” He tipped his head up and reflected a moment. “Approximately twenty-five women.”
Surprise brought the queen tipping forward in her chair.
“Householders, serving maids, even the hen girl. Katarina enlisted and trained them all.”
“Did she?” Elizabeth sat back and peered at the ceiling too, in much the same spot as Aodh had, a smile on her face. “Did she indeed?” For a moment, the room was quiet. The moon, bleached white and scratchy looking, bobbed into the corner of the tall window. Set against blue-black sky, it looked bright and cold.
“You must have made quite an impression on her, then.” The queen’s voice made him look back. “For her to have turned to you so utterly.”
She was no longer looking at the ceiling; she was staring directly at him, and the smile of a moment ago was gone. “She remains yours yet, Bess, I swear it.”
“Does she? Ludthorpe tells me she seemed most enamored of you. Enough to wed you against my will. Enough to stand on the wall with weapons trained on my men.”
“She is loyal to you, my lady.” The message would be repeated however long it took to save her life.
The queen’s gaze drifted over his shoulder, and her voice took on a contemplative tone. “Methinks she is loyal to you, Aodh. For her to have come back to save you…twice.”
He scrambled to his feet and turned to see the door being pushed wide by a soldier. Katarina stood before him.
“I found her lurking, Your Majesty,” the soldier said with a shove.
Aodh surged forward an inch, but when Bess held up her hand, he stopped.
“I was not lurking,” Katy said, composed and indignant, and how she did both, he did not know. “I was coming to see my queen, and you were simply the fastest route.”
The queen waved the hand she’d held up. “Leave her to me.”
The soldier shifted a gimlet eye off Aodh, released Katarina’s arm, and backed out. He shut the door, and the three of them stood in silence.
“You should search her,” Aodh said lazily. “She is fond of weapons. All over.” He waved his hand at his own body, sweeping it up and down, chest to knees.
“Aodh!” Katarina whirled to him, shocked. “This is my queen!” She whirled back, dropped to a knee, and bent her head. “Your Majesty, I humbly beg your forgiveness for any and all errors I have made, and they are many. I have served you faithfully for all my life, until very, very recently, and for that, I would explain. Explain my actions, and my wherefores, and set it all before you, to decide as you see fit. And”—she bent her head farther—“if needed, beg you for my husband’s life.”
“Not your own?” the queen said drily.
Katarina shook her head at the ground. “No. And I do not beg for my own sake, Your Majesty. I beg it for your sake, and Ireland’s.
“Do you indeed?” The queen leaned down and with a slim finger, tipped Katarina’s face up. She looked her over a moment, then said briskly, “And what happened to your face? Do not tell me Bertrand again.”
“If I may not say Bertrand, my lady, I have naught to say.”
A hardening along the queen’s jaw. She made an impatient gesture. “Get up, get up, and tell me your story, give me your pleas.”
Katarina scrambled up, tossing Aodh a single, incomprehensible glance, which he was fairly certain was a silent plea. But he left this matter to Katy, for she had her own things to settle with the queen, and Bess would not thank him for interfering.
Katarina glanced over her shoulder at Aodh, but he was of no help. Accursed man. He stood lazily, one shoulder pressed against the wall, seemingly perfectly content to let her and the queen have their moment. But, she noticed his hand hung near the hilt of his sword, in all a pose of ease, but as always, Aodh was as relaxed as a predator.
“I don’t know what Aodh has been telling you…” she said warily, seeing as Aodh had just told the queen she was prickling with weapons.
“Much,” said the queen, and the dryness of her reply brought Katarina’s gaze back around.
“But I have always been loyal to you, my lady.”
“That appears to be precisely what is under debate.”
“I could not let it happen again, Your Majesty,” she said bluntly. “As it did to my father.”
The queen’s gaze narrowed on her, then turned away. Indeed, the queen turned entirely away and picked up a wine cup that sat atop a decorated wardrobe. The scene was a fresh and lively rendering of sheep and other creatures—nymphs?—cavorting in a green meadow. The queen’s hand rested atop the wardrobe, but her fingers curled tightly over the top, into the hair of the nymphs. “I have long regretted your father’s choices, Katarina. He was a good man.”
“Yes, he was, my lady.”
The queen’s face came a quarter turn in her direction. “His loss was…deeply felt.”
“Yes,” Katarina agreed, “it was.”
Elizabeth continued to stare out the window.
Katarina took a step toward her. “I am sorry for all that has come before, Your Majesty.”
The queen’s eyebrows winged up. “What have you to be sorry for in what has come before? Your guilt lies only what is now before us.”
“If you would but hear me out…”
The queen made a small sound but didn’t stop her. Katarina glanced toward Aodh. Pale-eyed and dark-haired, he smiled faintly and tilted his battered face in the direction of the queen. Go, speak to her.
She closed her eyes and took another step closer to the woman who had been her father’s doom, who might well be Aodh’s doom. And her own.
“This has not gone at all how I planned, Your Majesty,” she said. “I have been chatelaine of Rardove for many years, at your goodwill and command, holding the line but never extending it, for I am not favored as you.”
Elizabeth’s thin eyebrows rose. “Favored?”
“You are beloved, my lady, as well you should be. Everyone bows before you, even Spain. Look to the recent Armada.”
The queen made an impatient gesture. “A storm favored me.” She turned back to the window. Moonli
ght made the tiny panes glow in thick, mottled green light. “I am not so foolish as to believe anything else.”
Then, for the first time, Aodh spoke, from his perch against the wall. “But it did favor you, Bess. You are favored. As great rulers must be to succeed.”
The queen waved her hand. “God’s grace, do not you begin to flatter me too, Aodh. The world is already turned on its head.”
“I do not flatter. And I do not lie.”
The queen’s mouth tipped up very slightly, very briefly.
Katarina went on. “But I have been favored in smaller ways, my lady, with more haunting gifts. Ireland is a wild and windswept place. I love it,” she said simply. “It is like a dart that has been laid in my heart. It is sharp and shines like steel, and if you tried to pluck it from me, I would die.”
The queen took all this in, then laughed. “I well know the feeling.”
“And I know Ireland too, by your leave. I have much experience in knowing what is needed beyond the Pale. And in my most humble opinion, Ireland needs…”
The queen’s eyebrows tipped up. “Yes?”
“Aodh,” Katarina said simply, and looked at the queen, pale and penitent. “You have no idea how well it will go for you if he is there, my lady. As for myself…” She bent her head again. “I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused you.”
“You should be.” The queen’s voice was tart, but somehow less sharp for all that.
“And I…I was going to send word this summer, but the flock has been rebuilt such that we can send wool to market. And next year…it will be even better.”
The queen, ever alert to ways to enhance her treasury, and thereby the security of her realm, straightened with interest. “Better?”
Katarina nodded. “The wool, it is beyond compare, I swear to you.”
“I believe you,” the queen said, and smiled.
Katarina smiled too. Giving gifts was something she had learned from Aodh.
For a moment, the queen examined Katarina. “Ireland has ever been a dangerous postern gate into England.”
“Then it must be guarded,” she replied firmly.
“By rebels?”
“By those who have been received back into the fold and know the power of forgiveness.” She transmitted a fierce, quelling look in Aodh’s direction.
The queen looked at Aodh too. “I do not think your husband believes he has done anything to be forgiven for, mistress, making it exceptionally difficult to see how such a state would exert any power at all. What say you, sir? Think you ‘a forgiven man’ describes you well?”
Aodh moved his gaze to Elizabeth and slowly shook his head. “Nay. Fortunately for you, my lady, you do not need men who know the value of forgiveness. You need a storm on your Irish horizons. Your very own storm.”
And then, then the queen smiled.
Katarina, who’d been holding her breath, revised the plan that had swiftly developed in her mind, to launch herself over the table and knock Aodh into a state of senselessness so he could not push ever harder at things already precariously balanced in the first place.
But as she was learning, perhaps the balance must be upset, to proceed to the next thing. Perhaps the balance was of sickness, or lethargy, or darkness, and while the fall was indeed frightening, it might well be worth the shock of impact.
“And you, Katarina, think you this is true?” The queen’s penetrating eye fell on her. “Oft have I relied upon your counsel in matters of Ireland. What say you to his assessment?”
“I say he is right.”
The queen turned and looked her over thoughtfully. “You would have Aodh, then, and all these doubtful boons of Ireland?”
“I would have him above all else.”
“Above Rardove?
The queen looked between them, and saw how they looked at each other. This one thing she could not have, but could keep them from having.
“We are at your mercy,” Katarina said quietly.
“And if my mercy sends you back to Ireland?”
Against the wall, Aodh straightened. Katarina caught her breath. “We will hold it for you, Your Majesty, I swear it.”
“And those who joined your rebellion?” the queen demanded.
“Some joined a rebellion, Your Majesty, but most joined Aodh. He might have suggested holding a fête and then that is what they would be doing.”
“A fête,” Aodh mused from the wall. “Why did I not think of that?”
The women ignored him.
“And what do I make of you, Katarina?” the queen asked almost gently, coming forward to cup Katarina’s chin in her hand. “After all your promises and oaths, to see you suchly?’
“Do not ever think it was done lightly, my lady. But if one truly has her sovereign’s interests at heart, my queen, then must she not speak the truth, and change her mind, no matter the consequences, however inconvenient or…perilous they may be to her personally?”
“And that is what you are doing now?” the queen said archly. “Safeguarding me, by claiming Mac Con?”
“Indeed I am,” Katarina said. “For nothing, and no one, can serve you better out on the marches than the son of Rardove.”
“Not even you?” the queen asked softly.
Katarina shook her head. “Not even I.”
In the back of the room, Aodh stood, hand on his sword hilt, watching the scene between his queen and his love.
“And if I send you back, and not Aodh?”
“I will…die.”
The room was silent. From downstairs came the distant sounds of courtiers at their merrymaking. Low and soft, through the room, came Aodh’s rough whisper: “Katy.”
“You will not die,” the queen scoffed, but there was a quaver in her voice.
“I will wish to, Your Majesty. That is something you cannot understand, of course, being so great. But in my heart, I will wish to die.”
The queen stared at the tapestry on the wall, a moment, then said irritably, “Well we cannot have the chatelaines of our baronies dying off.”
Katarina held her breath.
The queen looked over. “Fine, take him. There had better be no problems,” she warned with a sharp look.
Katarina shook her head, too stunned to be glad. “No, Your Majesty. Never again.”
Elizabeth touched her hand, then moved away, toward Aodh. He knelt before her, but then rose and took her hands, kissed their backs, then turned them over and kissed the palms, then, devil that he was, leaned in and kissed her cheek, all the familiarities Bess so craved.
“I will miss you, Irish,” she whispered.
“I am your man, Bess, as ever I was,” he said, his voice low.
Her throat worked as she touched his face.
“There is always a place for you in Rardove. You must come visit.”
“Maybe I will one day. Be prepared,” she said in warning.
He laughed, then said, even more softly yet, “The only reason you did not have this”—he gestured to Katy—“was because you chose not. You chose not to have it all, because England needed all of you. All of your greatness.”
“There have been compensations,” she admitted, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Then she straightened and became regal and magnificent again. “Now, go, both of you. I have papers to sign and people to see.” She swung the door open.
Servants started up out of their chairs, and Ludthorpe, who’d appeared in the waiting chamber, lurched to his feet.
“Where is Bertrand, the fool?” she snapped.
Ludthorpe bowed swiftly. “He was coming, Your Majesty, he…” He froze as he saw Aodh. His jaw dropped.
She waved to one of her men. “Escort them out the back, and call for Cecil. I have a matter to discuss with him.” The servant flew off.
“Your Majesty,” called a voice from the end of the corridor. Bertrand could be seen hurrying forward. “I was unavoidably delayed, but am—”
He stopped short as he saw Aodh and Katar
ina behind the queen. He made a high-pitched sound of shock and distress. His forehead and brow were green and black and blue from where Aodh had smashed him on the head.
“I—why— Your Majesty! You cannot… Why are they… How did they…” He whirled to her. “You cannot give him my lands!”
The queen turned sharply. “Your lands?”
“I meant Rardove—”
“You, who cannot take a place even when it has been handed to you?”
“But, I could have— I thought—” He licked his bottom lip.
“Yes, I know what you thought.” The queen swept down the corridor, dragging everyone after her. At the end of the corridor, guards aligned themselves along the walls, ready to announce her presence. “But I have thought of a better plan, Bertrand. I have a castle in the Scottish borderlands that needs tending.”
Bertrand’s jaw fell as he hurried at her heels.
“Of course,” she went on, “the Scottish are currently holding it. You would need to take it from them. Think you are up for the task? And what of that English clerk you took from Rardove?” the queen went on. “The untrustworthy one you wished to toss over a cliff, Ludthorpe? What was his name?”
“Walter,” he replied with alacrity.
“That’s the one. Well, he should go with you, Bertrand. He’s experienced in the matter of savages, one would assume. He might come in quite useful.”
Bertrand’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.
The queen made an impatient sound. “Well, you shall need to earn an income somehow, Bridge,” she said briskly, “for I am taking back the income from the playing cards.” He stumbled. “Think it over,” the queen said. “Swiftly. I believe Scotland will serve you well.” Her voice grew dim as they reached the end of the corridor. “It will keep you far, far away from my wrath.”
Bertrand began to protest, and in his agitation, took a step toward the queen. She waved her hand. Guards materialized from the shadows, grabbed him by the elbows, and carted him off. Ludthorpe stared in silence, his jaw dropped, then looked over his shoulder at Aodh and Katarina, who were standing, likewise stunned.
Just before the entourage turned the corner, the queen lifted her hand and held it in the air a moment. Then she swept away.