“It’s my duty to watch Gilla’s children, help them find their soul mates. And yes, I live”—she moved her hands around—“out there in the ether.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” Drakkina snapped.
“Why do you live in the ether? Why not move on to heaven or somewhere to rest. I mean you are dead.”
“My body is dead but I’m still trying to save this blasted world.”
Kat shook her head. She wasn’t getting very far with her questions. She spoke slowly as if to a child. “But why are you still trying to save this world? Why not just move on and leave the saving up to those who are still alive?”
“Well for one you couldn’t do it without me,” Drakkina answered. She rubbed a hand down a face that suddenly looked tired. “And…I suppose I am a bit responsible for putting it in danger.”
“How?”
“I bound the demons together, thirteen of them. I was trying to stop them. But I haven’t succeeded and I’m afraid that by binding them, well, they may be getting stronger.”
“What were you trying to stop them from doing?”
Drakkina began to pace in the confines of the room. She wrung her hands together and looked at Kat. “I loved once, a very long time ago. He was strong and sound, a master of magic.” She paused to look out the window. “He had a very kind heart.” Drakkina’s voice hitched in her throat and she stared out for a long moment. Then whirled around. “The demons seduced him, told him things to make his magic more powerful. Little by little they worked at him, feeding him information until the quest for knowledge overrode the purity of his heart. It…it corrupted him, killed him.” Drakkina closed her white-blue eyes as if controlling her own emotions.
“I’m sorry,” Kat whispered, not sure what else to say. It was hard to think of one’s annoyer as having a story of her own, but everyone did. Kat certainly knew that after having heard the stories of her children. Every soul had baggage. “So…your fight is for revenge.”
Drakkina’s body seemed to inflate a bit more, making her larger in the room. “My fight is for much more than simple revenge. I fight for this world because it still is good. If the demons win, evil will rule, and your God of Light will have no more influence in this realm.”
Kat smiled softly at Drakkina. “Then we will win.”
“Hmmph! Not without my dragonfly.” Drakkina threw her arms around, making her robes billow in an invisible breeze. “The strange storms that have been plaguing the Spanish on their journey to take England are the demons. They know the amulet is around here somewhere. They are hunting…and waiting for you to show up again. Then they will strike.” Drakkina started to fade.
“Where are you going?”
“Your Highlander comes. I will return when you have the dragonfly. Meanwhile I’ll consult the oracle.” Drakkina’s last words drifted to Kat on the breeze through the window as Toren rapped on the door.
Kat unbarred it and stepped back.
“Elizabeth is about to leave for…” Toren’s words cut off as his eyes ran down Kat’s length. For a single heartbeat, his mouth hung open. In that heartbeat Kat’s confidence bloomed. “Ye look…” Toren’s eyes met Kat’s. “Ye’re exquisite, Kat.”
Kat smiled broadly. “Thanks to your negotiating skills for the dress.”
He shook his head. “The dress does showcase ye’re beauty but ye’d be perfection in nothing but Wednesday undergarments,” he said and his gaze warmed. He took a step closer and pulled Kat into a kiss. Kat surrendered under the assault but pulled back.
“It took me over an hour to get into this gown.”
“I can get ye out in two minutes,” he growled.
Kat planted her hands on Toren’s chest. “I don’t have another hour to put it back on.” She giggled and twirled out of his grasp. “You said Elizabeth was leaving. For Tilbury Hill?”
Toren adjusted himself and righted his finely tailored jacket. “Aye,” he said. “We best get moving else ye find yerself ravished, milady.”
Kat laughed again and turned to the door. “Och, I almost forgot.” Toren stopped her. “To wear, it matches yer costume.” Toren pulled from a folded piece of cloth an intricate gold and rose colored mask held on a ribbon wrapped stick.
Kat’s stomach dropped and she looked at him. “You want me to hide my face.” From giddy to numb in ten seconds.
Toren frowned, his gaze locking with hers as if in confusion. “Elizabeth is having a masquerade later, for the court, to lighten the mood of impending war. All the ladies and many of the men will be holding a mask.” Kat watched his eyes, his face for any indication that there was more to his explanation. He stared straight in her eyes, questioning.
“Ye look pale suddenly, upset.” Toren touched her arm. He pulled out a black leather mask and held it briefly before his own face. “The masks will help us blend in so we can approach Elizabeth easier.”
His explanation made sense. Kat nodded. “Of course, yes, we will be just another glittery couple behind masks.”
Toren dropped back on the bed and grabbed both of Kat’s upper arms. He bent slightly so that she could see his face. He ran his large, warm palm down the right side of her face. Kat tried not to cringe. “Kat, I would never hide ye. Ye are strong and cunning and exquisite.” He kissed her. A long slow kiss filled with power and conviction like he was swearing to her the truth of his words. When he drew back Kat felt tears along her lower lashes and she wiped them away with a fingertip. She nodded quickly.
“I…” she started. “Thank you…for the mask. It does match perfectly.”
His frown relaxed into his neutral serious look. “Let’s go hear some history, then.” He steered her to the door and grabbed a light cloak. “It’s windy and looks like it may rain.”
They stepped into the hallway. “Drakkina says it’s the demons,” Kat whispered. Toren’s gaze snapped around the landing.
“Is the witch back?”
“She was just before you came in. She says she wants the dragonfly and that the demons are circling, waiting to find me.” Kat shivered slightly at the thought.
“Did she try to take ye, send ye somewhere?” Toren’s arm wrapped around Kat’s, pulling her closer to him as they took the stairs.
“No, she just seems to want the…she called it an amulet. You know, I don’t think she even cares about the necklace. She just wants the dragonfly off of it.” Kat tapped her lip as she let Toren thread her through the chairs and men in the common room until they were outside. “That necklace, without the dragonfly on it.” She stopped and looked at Toren. “I knew I recognized it.”
“What?” he asked as they fell into the small crowd striding toward a knoll near the shore.
“The pearl and ruby necklace with the gold medallion in the middle is seen in a couple of Elizabeth’s portraits.” Kat squeezed Toren’s hand. “It even has the long dangling tear shaped pearl hanging from it,” she whispered. “But there is no dragonfly in the center of the medallion. That’s why I didn’t recognize it.” Kat tugged until Toren looked down. “She wears the necklace in the Armada picture. She’s supposed to have it, just without the dragonfly.” Kat’s pulse quickened. “See, we will be successful in getting it back. We already know she’ll wear it without Drakkina’s amulet.”
Wind spun little dirt devils along the street as rays of sun battled dark clouds racing around the skies. Kat’s legs stretched under the wide hoop of her farthingale to keep up with Toren’s strides. Her breath caught on an inhale as a white horse carried a royally bedecked Elizabeth through the throng to the knoll. The grand monarch sat upon a white steed in a white gown shot through with gold thread, the virgin queen. Kat’s stomach tightened in giddiness and she nearly leapt forward to run up the incline. Only Toren’s hand kept her grounded, walking with dignified purpose.
Even with others stopped, Toren maneuvered the two of them through the growing crowd until they stood only four layers away.
Elizabeth’s red hair blew
with the snap of the banners above her head. Guards in metal pointed helmets and breast plates surrounded her horse. Kat’s eyes scanned the crowd. Many were nobles, courtiers come out to hear the queen speak on the dawn of a war, a war many didn’t think she’d win. The rest were guards and working men, the ones who would fight the war for her, the ones who needed to hear their queen’s words.
The queen’s first words pierced the air, slicing through the jumble of murmurs. Kat held her breath and Toren’s arm as she sucked in every word, every nuance of Elizabeth’s stature and face. This was no BBC rendition of the famous Armada speech on Tilbury. This was the authentic, how-it-really-happened, amazing speech. Kat took it all in like a historian. The rapture of the crowd, the growing force of Elizabeth’s voice as she spoke her heart, the heart of a woman king. Elizabeth Tudor was at her best. She loved her people, it was obvious. She loved England and would fight herself to see it safe, hadn’t she done so her entire life. The crowd held their collective breath with Kat. Not a fidget, not a whisper, nothing but rapt enthrallment.
Red lips in an ivory face full of strength and character, Elizabeth spoke her final words. “In the meantime, my lieutenant general shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting but by your obedience to my general, by your concord in the camp, and your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people.”
The crowd cheered and raised their weapons or their fists to fill the space. Women waved banners, children threw flowers from open windows nearby, men hurrahed. Elizabeth bowed her head to her subjects. The guards easily opened a path and Elizabeth rode slowly through the throng, touching many, taking small bunches of posies, nodding with a serious smile. This was no pageant, this was war. Kat so wanted to let the monarch know that it would all work out, that the Spanish would never broach English lands, that she and her navy would be victorious.
As the queen rode by, Kat touched the edge of the white and gold skirts that draped down along the horse. The buzz of magic raced up Kat’s arm to her dragonfly birthmark. Elizabeth gasped softly and looked down, blue eyes wide. Kat snatched back as a rumble of thunder sounded far off. Elizabeth clutched the dragonfly amulet in her palm. Kat curtsied low.
“Laird MacCallum,” Elizabeth said, and Kat stood straight again. Elizabeth looked forward but spoke to Toren. “So you have not disappeared off the face of this earth.”
“Nay, Yer Majesty.”
“Come see me when we reach Dover.” She continued through the crowd, her words coming back to them on the wind. “And bring your wife.”
****
“She thinks we’re married,” Kat said as they rode horseback along the wide pathway to Dover.
Toren pulled Dubh closer to the gentle mare he’d secured for Kat. He took her cold hand. “She would have heard that we were staying as husband and wife at the inn,” Toren said, his voice low so those riding around them wouldn’t overhear. The whole battalion plus the queen had packed up and headed toward Dover as soon as Elizabeth’s speech was over. Despite her advisors’ council she insisted on seeing her enemy with her own eyes. So the whole court rode along the Thames behind the queen. Toren’s eyes caught a glimpse of one of the eight Hell Burner ships that sailed along up ahead.
“When I touched her dress,” Kat murmured, “magic hummed up my arm even though I didn’t open myself to it.”
Toren wove the slender fingers through his own, his mind working through discarded plans to retrieve the dragonfly. “The amulet calls to ye, just like it did at my show when ye took it.”
“But I can’t touch it, not even to give to Drakkina.”
Toren nodded.
“And you need to release it to her. How does that work anyway?” she asked.
“I have to hold it and say that I release it,” he answered, his eyes scanning around them for any eavesdroppers. Most of the riders laughed and talked in small groups or charged up ahead to be near the queen. “There’s more to it than that, but that’s all anyone would see.”
Kat grinned. “I didn’t know I was married to a wizard.”
Toren snorted. “I apparently know enough magic to cause trouble.”
Once settled in an inn in Dover, Kat and Toren made their way to Elizabeth’s lavish tents. Garlands and silken ribbons adorned the white canvas sides. Luxurious carpets covered the dirt, weeds and stones, beginning at the tent opening where two guards stood with pikes.
Kat glanced up at the gray clouds. “The weather seems to be taking a turn for the worse.”
“Aye, time grows short. I can feel it.” Time, it had never been so much of an enemy as it was now.
“Laird Toren MacCallum of the northeast Highlands and his wife Lady Kat MacCallum.”
Kat glanced at Toren and he winked. “I thought ye’d like a different last name.”
“I have a last name,” Kat whispered and squeezed Toren’s arm as they walked through the slash in the curtained door.
Toren dodged a hanging candlelit chandelier in the entryway and they walked into a large tented room filled with courtiers. Guards with pikes stood at regular intervals around the perimeter, guarding their queen. It was said that Elizabeth’s advisors had pleaded with her not to attend Tilbury or journey to Dover for her safety, but this queen would be what England needed, she was their king.
Many of the people in the room already wore ornate masks. He noticed that Kat had raised her own to cover her face as they walked through the curious throng. He left his off. He would not hide before this queen.
“Yer Majesty,” Toren said and bowed low before Elizabeth. Kat sunk into a deep curtsey like she had on the knoll.
“Rise MacCallum,” Elizabeth spoke. She was irritated. He could tell by her tone, but most telling was that she didn’t use his given name, nor her pet name for him. “I have heard that you have decided to throw your sword in with the Spanish, that your wife here is a witch from Spain who has bespelled you to turn traitor on your queen and country. That you disappeared months ago to take her home and have helped Medina Sidonia prepare for this attack. That even now you spy for him.”
Toren felt Kat’s grip tighten on his arm but he stood firm, unmoving. If Elizabeth really believed the reports they would already be on their way to the Tower. No, she was giving him a chance to refute the allegations.
“And who would burden ye with these lies?” he asked but already knew the answer.
“Campbell.” Elizabeth called out. It had the sound of a summons not an answer. The man next to Elizabeth lowered his mask and Fergus Campbell smiled darkly. So the dog hadn’t just holed up in his castle to lick his wounds. Where was Eadan? Did he know Fergus was worming his way into Elizabeth’s court and into her head?
“So ye’ve returned from Spain,” Fergus Campbell said, with the smugness of a cat before a bowl of cream.
“I haven’t been to Spain. After ye abducted my sister and Kat, I took Kat away to wed.”
“In Spain,” Campbell said.
Toren kept silent for a moment. “Kat, remove yer mask.”
Kat lowered the ornate piece and several people next to Elizabeth gasped.
“Yer Majesty, I ask ye to judge for yerself. Does my wife look Spanish?”
Elizabeth studied Kat, her long auburn hair and fair complexion. “What has become of her face?” Elizabeth asked.
“Kat was injured the night Fergus Campbell took her, a burn,” Toren said.
Fergus sputtered next to Elizabeth. “A lie!”
Elizabeth held up a beringed hand and Fergus clamped his mouth shut.
“I took her to heal away from prying eyes.”
“Is this true?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes boring into Kat’s.
“Aye, Your Majesty. Toren helped me heal.” The words were so full of sincerity that Toren nearly believed them himself. The lass could certainly act.
“She’s a witch herself,” Fergus said. “I told ye of
the butterflies.”
Elizabeth waved a hand in the air as if dismissing a crazy tale. “Look at her,” Fergus continued. “She’s a witch, scarred by heaven’s fire, a monster.”
The crowd around Elizabeth murmured loudly, nodding, condemning. No wonder witch hunts were so easily started.
Elizabeth held up a hand and the judgment calmed, waited for her assessment. Toren watched her clasp the amulet on the necklace around her neck. How was he going to get it from her? He had to hold the bloody thing to release the binding spell. And he couldn’t very well leap onto her lap and grab something laid across her bosom.
“Are you a witch?” Elizabeth addressed Kat.
“Your Majesty, I hold no magic, no power except that of a normal woman.”
“But look at her,” Fergus said again and pointed.
Elizabeth tilted her head as if studying Kat. “I see nothing that would indicate she is of Spanish blood nor evil. She wears our Savior’s cross,” she said and eyed the gold cross tied to Kat’s belt.
“But the scars, which she did not get from my hands,” Fergus insisted. “They just appeared on her. From working her dark magic.”
Elizabeth sat back in her throne, letting Fergus ramble for a minute before raising her hand once more to cut him off. She looked at Toren who stood silent. He wouldn’t beg, nor defend, knowing she would judge him as she saw fit. The woman usually weighted silence and stance more than lengthy monologues and defenses. All around them people peered at Kat and whispered. Even though the scars were faded, several ladies acted as if they were ghastly. Toren reached to shield Kat, pull her into him closer, but she resisted. She stood tall, her eyes trained on the queen.
“It seems to me,” Elizabeth said. “That in my years of rule and before, the monsters I have met, who have sought to thwart me, were smooth of skin and most beautiful to the eye.” The room sat in muffled silence as every ear strained to hear her firm words. “I have found that monsters”—she stressed Fergus’s word—“hide their scars inside. Their ugliness and perfidy hide behind masks of perfection. That those who survive vicious outward attacks and live with visual scars are not the ones I must guard against.”
Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3) Page 25