“Why, Skye,” he drawled, “are you trying to discourage me?” She shook her head. He continued. “Did Khalid el Bey teach you to read and write?”
“No,” she answered. “I already knew.”
“What else did you know, my love?”
“Different languages, mathematics,” she said slowly. “The knowledge was just there … though I don’t remember acquiring it.”
“You’ve hardly a peasant’s look,” he observed, “and you’ve been damnably well educated for a man, astoundingly for a woman. From the moment we first met I knew that we should be more to each other than simply friends.
“I wanted to know more about you and I inquired of a sea captain of my acquaintance, one who knew Robert Small and of his association with Khalid el Bey. The captain left Algiers several days after you and Small did. The story of your flight from the Turk was on every tongue in the city, particularly because your loss was said to have rendered the unfortunate man impotent.”
Skye choked back her laughter with the confirmation of her revenge on Jamil. But she didn’t know whether to be angry at Geoffrey Southwood for this invasion of her privacy, or flattered that he had been so deeply interested in her. She was, above all, pleased to know that Geoffrey wanted her even though he knew of her past.
“You’ve signed the marriage contract?” she asked him coolly.
“Aye. Your dowry is most generous, my love. With your permission I shall put it in trust for our first son. I don’t need it,” he countered. It was her move.
One winged dark eyebrow raised slightly. “You read the contract, didn’t you? My wealth remains mine.”
“Of course, my dear. I will dower any children we have. I know you’ll want to provide for Willow. But if you had not a pennypiece, Skye, I’d have gladly dowered your daughter.”
“Yet, it was said that you refused to dower your own.”
“They were Mary’s brats,” he replied bitterly. “Little brown wrens like their mother, obviously capable of bearing only daughters. The three who survived the pox, however, seem to have something of me in them. They’ll be good company for Willow, and since I can see from the mutinous expression in your eyes that you’ll give me trouble unless I dower my daughters, I promise to do so.”
“I shall be a good mother to your children, Geoffrey.”
“I know that, Skye.” He rose and moved toward her, the longing in his eyes almost too painful to behold, but she held him at arm’s length.
“Not yet, Geoffrey. Please, not yet.”
“You have not forgiven me then.” It was a statement.
“I can understand your not writing to me from Devon. It must have been terrible for you there. Yet when you returned you sent no word, and I had to learn from de Grenville of your misfortunes. And he said the Queen was arranging a match for you with an heiress. What was I to think?”
“You might have trusted me, Skye.”
“How could you expect my trust after I learned of the infamous wager that you made with Dickon?”
“Damn, Skye. I never meant to collect from him! Surely you see that the wager happened before you and I truly met.”
“Your reputation preceded you, my lord, Geoffrey Southwood, the Angel Earl, the great cocksman, and breaker of hearts.”
“Enough, dammit. Woman, you argue with too much logic. I love you, Skye. I will always love you. In a few short hours we are to be wed. Let us forget what is past and begin afresh. We are well matched, madam.” He held out his hand to her then. Slowly, after a long, agonized wait, she took it.
“One question,” he said, “and I shall never ask this question again. Did you love him?”
“Yes,” she replied gravely. “I loved him. I awoke from some unremembered horror to find safety with him. He gave me a name, an identity, a reason for living. He was my husband, he was my lover, he was my best friend. I will never forget him.” She continued after a silence. “I find it strange to say this, but though Khalid el Bey will always hold a claim on a part of my heart, I love you also, Geoffrey. Why else would I have been so angry and so hurt?”
The lime-green eyes regarded her now with hope as well as longing. “Then I am forgiven, Skye?”
The smile she offered was tremulous. “Perhaps, my lord,” she said mischievously.
“Madam, you try my patience,” he growled, but his lips twitched at the corners and his eyes were bright with both relief and mirth.
“You had best cultivate patience, my lord, for I will be no meek wife, Geoffrey. I will be an equal partner with you in this marriage. Equal in all things.”
She was more trusting now, and immediately he took advantage. Pulling her toward him, he wrapped both his arms about her, then bent to find her lips. A delicious tremor shot through her and she sighed deeply. “Madam,” he said, kissing the corners of her mouth, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, “it’s a cool, wet day, and were we not to be wed in just a few hours I should take you to bed right now.”
“Do you require several hours, my lord?” Her face was a study in innocence.
“Vixen!” he murmured huskily, burying his face in the scented tangle of her hair. She felt his kisses burning into the satiny skin of her neck. With a low moan she threw her head back and his lips devoured her throat, setting her pulse to racing.
“Beware, madam. Tonight I shall seek revenge for your sharp tongue. But today when you enter the Queen’s chapel, you will look chaste, not newly tumbled.” He loosed her slowly and she swayed unsteadily. He laughed softly and, turning, departed through the secret door behind the tapestry.
Skye stood trembling. Dear God, how he could arouse her. And he knew it. She became aware of pounding at the door. “Mistress Skye! Mistress Skye! Are you all right?” She flew to the door and opened it to find Daisy, Hawise, and Jane standing there with anxious faces.
“I wanted to be alone,” she conjured as best she could.
They gave her funny looks, then continued into the room bearing a breakfast, which was placed on a small table. Two footmen followed and removed the tub. Jane folded the screen and put it away while Daisy and Hawise drew the breakfast table and a chair up near the fire.
“Cook says you are to eat everything. Knowing how you’ve picked at your food lately, and you’ll not eat much later,” said Daisy. “Also, it will be hours before the bridal feast.”
Skye sat down and, lifting the cover on the largest dish, found two perfectly poached eggs in a light cream sauce of sherry and dill. A small platter held several thin slices of pink ham, and wrapped inside a napkin set in a basket were several slices of steaming hot bread. Two crocks held butter and honey, and there was a carafe of deep red wine. She was suddenly ravenous.
“Tell Cook she is to be commended on the menu, Hawise. I shall eat it all! Daisy, my jewel case, please. I must pick out my jewelry while eating. Jane, find the gown I had made up for Dame Cecily and bring it to her. Then fetch Willow and her nurse.”
The two undermaids hurried off and Daisy brought Skye’s huge jewel box. Skye pursed her red lips, considering. Simple pearls were too dull, diamonds too harsh. What was needed was some color! Her fingers sifted impatiently through the many necklaces until she located what she sought. She smiled, quite satisfied with the turquoise necklace. Each polished oval turquoise was surrounded by alternating translucent pearls and fiery diamonds. There were matching earbobs, and two hair ornaments shaped like butterflies. “These,” she said, handing them to Daisy. “Now for rings … a turquoise for luck, a pink pearl for constancy, and a sapphire to match my bonnie blue eyes.”
Daisy giggled. Setting aside the chosen pieces, she removed the large case. “I’ve a message for you from Captain Small, m’lady. He says though the river’s calm, it would be best to go to Greenwich in the carriage. The rain is quite heavy.”
“Very well, Daisy. Ah, here’s my little love,” cried Skye happily as her bedchamber door opened to admit Willow and her nurse.
“Mama! Mama!” the child cried, ru
nning into Skye’s open arms. “Smell good! Willow likes,” she said, burying her little face in her mother’s neck.
Skye swept the baby up and cuddled her in her lap. “Today, my poppet,” she said, “I have a fine present for you. I shall bring you home a papa. Would you like that, Willow?”
“No!” said the baby stoutly. “No new papa! Want Uncle Robbie!”
Skye chuckled. “So it’s Uncle Robbie who has captured your heart, my darling. You’ve good taste. But you’ll soon love your new papa too and he’ll love you.”
Willow pouted, her little rosebud mouth set in disapproval.
The thick dark lashes that fringed her golden eyes—eyes like her father’s—swept down to brush her pink cheeks, then swept upward in such a flirtatious adult manner that Skye caught her breath with surprise.
“Will my new papa bring Willow presents?” she asked slyly.
“Indeed he will, greedy one,” replied her mother, amused.
“What?” The question was an imperious demand.
“I don’t know, my pet. Perhaps a new gown, or a necklace, or a wee basket of sweetmeats.”
“Maybe I’ll like my new papa,” said Willow thoughtfully. “Do you like him, Mama?”
Skye laughed. “Yes, poppet, I like him very much. Now give Mama a kiss and run off to play with Maudie. If you are very good I’ll bring you something from Greenwich Palace.”
Willow kissed her mother and then trotted happily off with her nurse. Skye finished up the last of her meal as the mantel clock struck half past eleven.
“Oh, Lord! You must leave here by noon if you’re to reach Greenwich on time,” exclaimed Daisy. “You, Jane, Hawise! Bring the mistress’s clothes.” She handed Skye a pair of cream-colored stockings so finely knitted they seemed spun of cobwebs. Skye slid them on carefully. Beaming, Daisy handed her the garters with silver lace rosettes, each flower center a tiny freshwater pearl. Skye’s undergarments were pure silk. A small-boned corset made her small waist even tinier. Her farthingale was a modified one, for Skye had no wish to look like a merchant ship under sail. Before putting it on, she sat quietly while Daisy did her hair.
It was brushed once again, then parted in the center and drawn back over her ears. Daisy fashioned the thick, silken mass into an elegant and graceful chignon that centered on the nape of Skye’s neck. The butterfly ornaments were secured, one in the front, one on the right side of her head. As a finishing touch Daisy carefully set two perfect pink rosebuds into the chignon.
Skye sat and stared at her image. A flawless-faced woman stared back at her. Is that me? she thought. And for the first time in many months she began to wonder who she really was. Who had she been before Khalid el Bey had found her? Suddenly she desperately wanted her own identity back.
“Madam,” Daisy’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We must hurry!”
Skye nodded and stood. On went the farthingale, and then it was time for the gown. Chattering excitedly, Jane and Hawise fastened it up. Skye smoothed the skirt and stepped in front of her pier glass. A slow smile lit her features. She was well satisfied. She looked every inch the Countess of Lynmouth. Geoffrey would have every reason to be proud of her.
“Oh, my lady,” breathed Daisy reverently, “you’re beautiful!”
“Thank you, Daisy. Now my cloak, lest the rain spoil my gown.”
A deep-blue velvet cape was draped about her shoulders, and Skye left her apartments to descend the staircase. Robbie and Dame Cecily awaited her and she swept them both a low curtsey. “How magnificent you both look!” Truly she’d never seen either of them looking better.
Dame Cecily’s gown was of elegant black silk with an underskirt of cloth of silver. She had a white lace ruff at her neck and lace ruffles at her wrists. On her silver hair she wore a peaked cap of stiff black silk edged in silver lace. Upon her ample bosom rested a silver chain with a heart-shaped pendant cut from turquoise. Dame Cecily’s light-blue eyes twinkled with pleasure. “My dear Skye, how can I thank you for this beautiful gown? And an ermine cloak! I was despairing over what to wear to Greenwich, and on such short notice too!”
Skye was pleased by the older woman’s evident delight. “I had the ensemble made for your birthday next month,” she confessed. “Now I must find you another gift.”
“Dear child! This is more than enough, and what matter that you’ve presented it to me a wee bit early? This is the perfect occasion to wear such a fine gown.”
“Nevertheless you’ll have a gift on your birthday too,” vowed Skye.
“Is there no compliment for me then, lass?” complained the little captain.
“Why Robbie, you know you’re the prettiest of us all,” teased Skye.
“Hummph!” said Robbie, but a small smile played about his mouth, and he preened without knowing he did so. Skye hadn’t seen him so magnificently attired since the night she had first met him. Like his sister, he was garbed in black, but where she wore silk he wore velvet, the doublet heavily embroidered with gold thread, aquamarines, pearls, and rubies. The sword at his side had a gold-filigreed hilt with a large ruby knob. “Let us go, lass,” said Robbie as he heard the coach draw up before the house. When the front door was opened the wind blew their capes wildly about them and rain thrust its way into the house, wetting the marble floor. Without a word the tallest of the footmen swept Skye up and carried her out through the tempest to the safety of her carriage. A flustered Dame Cecily and blushing Daisy were also deposited carefully. Robert Small climbed in under his own steam.
The trip to Greenwich was a relatively easy one, for the roads had been emptied by the ferocity of the storm. The rain drove against the brightly painted coach, pouring down the windows in sheets. It was impossible to see out. Skye felt a surge of pity for her coachman, high up on the box, muffled against the weather but still prey to it. Even worse off were the footmen who clung behind the vehicle, the rain pouring down over them.
Inside the coach, Skye clung to Robert Small’s hand. She had not been frightened when she married Khalid el Bey, but now she was a little afraid. Added to her trepidation was the realization that she would soon have to tell Geoffrey of the child. She could well imagine his joy, but then what if it was not a son? Would he one day attempt to banish her, as he had poor Mary Bowen? She felt her spine stiffen. She would never allow him to treat her in such a fashion. And if he ever tried, she would appeal to the Queen.
The coach slowed to a clattering halt at Greenwich, and the ladies were carried into the palace by the Queen’s own guards. Greenwich Palace, much beloved of Henry VIII, was built along the river for a seemingly endless distance and stood three stories tall. A palace official escorted them to a small room next to the chapel where they might freshen themselves and repair any damage to their clothing. Daisy helped Skye and Dame Cecily off with their cloaks. The hood of Skye’s cloak had protected her head, so there was little to do.
Dame Cecily drew a small lace-edged square from a hidden pocket in her gown and pressed it upon Skye. “For luck, my dear, and I wish you great happiness,” she said tearfully, kissing the younger woman. Then Dame Cecily disappeared into the chapel, Daisy following behind.
Suddenly everything was moving too quickly. Robbie was there, leading her through the door, into the chapel, and up the aisle. The room was packed. Skye didn’t know most of them, although she spied de Grenville, Lettice Knollys, the Queen, and Lord Dudley, who was rumored to be her lover. Even Lord and Lady Burke were there.
Geoffrey stood waiting before the altar, resplendent in hunter-green velvet. Matthew Parker, the archbishop of Canterbury, waited behind Geoffrey.
Slowly she and her beloved Robbie moved up the aisle. Skye felt as if her legs were encased in glue. Ahead of her, Geoffrey Southwood radiated approval of her attire. His eyes smiled encouragingly. They stopped, and Robbie firmly placed Skye’s hand into Geoffrey’s large paw. Geoffrey’s warmth transmitted itself to her. He gently squeezed her hand and she drew a deep breath of relief. It was going to
be all right.
The archbishop droned through the service, and, as they knelt, their heads close together, Geoffrey whispered softly to her, “Courage, my love.” She felt a stab of love for him race through her. The unease she had felt at the sight of the hot, crowded candlelit chapel was slowly being dispelled by his love. Matthew Parker pronounced them man and wife and, turning them about, presented the newly wedded couple to the assembled congregation. They smiled happily into the sea of faces that all smiled back at them … all but one. Why was Lord Burke’s face so dark with anger? He was such a strange man, and why was he here at all? She turned away and curtseyed low to Queen Elizabeth, who was magnificently attired in purest white silk sewn with gold thread, diamonds, and palest blue aquamarine. Her Majesty spoke graciously.
“Rise my lady Southwood, Countess of Lynmouth. We are pleased to have you at Court, and welcome you right heartily.”
“Majesty, how can I thank you for your kindness? It is all so much.”
“You may show your gratitude, my dear Skye, by being a good and faithful wife to your lord, and by cleaving to him only,” replied the young Queen primly.
“I shall, Majesty,” replied Skye, fervently kissing the hand Elizabeth extended.
“That will be a terrible blow to all the eager gallants,” murmured Lord Dudley softly to Lettice Knollys. She swallowed back her laughter with much effort.
“And now,” cried the Queen gaily, “let us away to the bridal feast! Let the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth lead the way to the Great Hall!”
Skye sent Geoffrey a startled look. Taking her arm, he reassured her, “I know the way, my love.” Accompanied by capering musicians who played on reedy pipes, lutes, and drums, the couple led the Queen and her court into the Great Hall of Greenwich Palace.
Outside, the rain beat fiercely against the tall ornate windows, but inside, the great hearths burned cheerfully with enormous oak logs. The head table accommodated the bridal couple, the Queen, Lord Dudley, and Captain Sir Robert Small and his sister, who had acted as the orphaned bride’s parents. The rest of the Court knew their places, many from habit, and found them now either along the length of the T-shaped head table or at smaller tables set up along the walls.
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