By Slanderous Tongues

by Mercedes Lackey

  “As I have said more than once, you are a wonder and a marvel, Joseph.”

  The man of business laughed. “Not so wonderful and marvelous as you are, m’lord. I can sell and I have learned to think about how to please people, so I remembered that you were likely to go to Enfield tomorrow and brought home the extra furs, but I could not produce such a cargo …” His voice drifted away; he hesitated but then turned away. “A glass of wine would do you good before you go up, m’lord. Shall I bring you the malmsey or claret?”

  “Claret, I think.”

  Denoriel stared at nothing while Joseph went for the wine, thinking that Joseph surely knew he was not human and had decided not to pry or speak of it, even to Denoriel himself. Would it help if Joseph knew about the threat from Sir Thomas or Vidal? No. He already knew an attempt to kill had been made. Specifics were too dangerous.

  He drank his wine when Joseph brought it, although alcohol had little effect on Sidhe, nodded his thanks when Joseph said he would have the extra furs wrapped and disposed in a saddlebag, and finally made his way up the stairs to his bed. Leaving his soiled clothing in a heap on the floor to be cleaned or disposed of, he lay down, but not for long.

  If the Dark Sidhe were behind the attempt on his life, might they also try to attack Aleneil? He must warn her. Although he was shaking with fatigue, Denoriel drew on a bedrobe, stepped behind his cheval glass (which looked as if it were too close to the wall to permit anything behind it), and Gated to Llachar Lle. He felt better at once as the healing power of Underhill flowed into him.

  Denoriel and Aleneil spent a long night discussing the chances that it was Vidal who had set the ambush for him and what to do about it if it was. Nonetheless Denoriel was as good as his word to Queen Catherine and did arrive with her letter just before Elizabeth came from her bedchamber to break her fast.

  Kat Ashley had not been best pleased when Dunstan told her that Lord Denno had arrived so early; however, when he explained that Lord Denno had a letter for Elizabeth from Queen Catherine and that he was all smiles about it, she bade Dunstan bring him in at once.

  It was perhaps unfortunate that Elizabeth entered one door just as Denoriel came in the other. He had the letter out in his hand to give to Kat, but after a single look at his expression, Elizabeth shrieked with joy and flew across the room to take the letter from his hand. Breath held, she broke the seal and devoured the first few lines.

  “Oh, Denno,” she cried, “I am to go to Chelsea and live with Queen Catherine.”

  “Yes, indeed, that much I know already because the queen was kind enough to tell me, but—”

  “Oh, you promised I would!” Elizabeth breathed. “You promised and I didn’t believe you because I wanted it so much.” She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, not on the cheek but full on the lips.

  Denoriel froze, one arm was raised as if his hand still held the letter. The impact of her body with his as she flung herself forward to kiss him jerked that arm against her. For one instant it folded around her, and held her close.

  “Lady Elizabeth!” Kat exclaimed.

  “No, it must be there,” Lady Alana’s calm voice came from the bedchamber doorway. “Do look, all of you.”

  A sigh of relief caught in Denoriel’s throat when he realized that Aleneil had prevented Elizabeth’s “ladies” from seeing the embrace. The girls were still in the bedchamber looking for something.

  “I beg your pardon,” Elizabeth said, but her eyes were all golden and laughing, and her complexion showed not the faintest tinge of embarrassed pink.

  She and Denoriel had both withdrawn a step so there was a distance between them. He stepped back again and swallowed. “I was about to say, my lady, that I knew you were to live with the queen, but I could not help but wonder about your household. I guessed from the weight of the packet that it was a long letter and probably contained such information.”

  “Well, my part of the letter doesn’t.” She laughed, her eyes on his long, pointed ears, which only she could see through the illusion of human round ears. “The letter to me only says I am to come to her in Chelsea and sets the time for the day after my father’s—” her voice checked abruptly, amusement gone. Then she clearly forced herself to continue “—after my father’s funeral, which she is to attend.” Elizabeth bit her lip. “But I am not,” she went on, her voice harder.

  Denoriel had gritted his teeth when Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on his ears and he felt them get warmer and warmer. He was sure they had become red and hot enough to light a candle. Worse was that, despite knowing he could not really have felt the touch of her body against his through all the clothing, he still had a distinct impression of her high, young breasts pressed against his chest.

  “Oh, there it is.” A young girl’s voice came from beyond the doorway.

  “Thank you, my dear,” came in Lady Alana’s soothing coo, and Aleneil stepped into the parlor followed by the three girls who were Elizabeth’s maids of honor.

  “And thank you, Lady Alana,” Elizabeth said, holding out her hand into which Aleneil put a kerchief.

  Embarrassment and desire had both vanished when Elizabeth’s voice trembled over mention of Henry’s death and grew thin and angry over her exclusion from the obsequies. Both emotions were further diminished by Aleneil’s arrival with the maids of honor. Denoriel wondered whether Elizabeth had left the kerchief in her bedchamber. It had seemed to him that Aleneil had manufactured something to look for to keep the girls busy, but if so Elizabeth’s smooth reception of the square of silk showed a remarkable ability at deception.

  Aleneil dropped a brief curtsey and Elizabeth turned back to Denoriel to say, “I cannot see why I was not invited to see my father buried … to weep and say goodbye …”

  “Nor is King Edward, nor Lady Mary invited to attend,” Denoriel said hastily, and then with some deliberation, “I think that was meant as a kindness, not to exclude you but to shield you from so sharp a reminder of your loss.”

  “Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, and her eyes glittered. “But I will remember who managed these matters.”

  She turned then to Kat Ashley, who had come close, and handed her the several folded leaves that had made up the bulk of the packet. A single glance had showed Elizabeth that the folded sheets had not been written by Catherine herself but were in a secretary’s hand. They were, as she suspected, instructions about when to move and how many of her household to take with her. Kat would tell her later.

  Elizabeth saw the wary, anxious look on Denno’s face and she recalled her last words and tone of voice. With a shock she realized she had sounded as if she expected soon to have power to do something about being offended; she restrained a shiver. That was dangerous. Her brother, the king, was alive and well. Her sister, who would succeed him if any tragedy should end his reign, was also alive and well. Only a violent conspiracy that removed them both would bring her to power. In her joy over living with Catherine, she had forgotten caution. No wonder Denno looked anxious. Elizabeth touched her lips with the kerchief Alana had handed to her.

  “Have you broken your fast?” she asked Denoriel with ladylike civility.

  The use of the kerchief reminded Denoriel of Elizabeth’s eyes on his brightly glowing ears and he told himself that he would be a fool to linger and leave himself open to more of her mischief. But she had been so quiet, so oppressed since King Henry’s death, it was a delight even to be the butt of her lightheartedness; however she did not look lighthearted now; her expression was bland, but her eyes pleaded.

  “Yes,” he admitted, smiling, “but that was a long time ago. It was scarcely dawn when I set out for Enfield.”

  “Then come and join us,” Elizabeth said, gesturing toward a table covered with a cloth and arranged with one tall chair with back and arms in the center, two short benches at each end, and three stools each to the left and to the right of the chair.

  Elizabeth went toward the chair, which Dunstan, appearing suddenly from an inconspicuous
position against an inner wall, pulled out for her. As she sat she beckoned to Denoriel to take the stool immediately on her left. The stool on her right remained unoccupied as Aleneil sat down on the next stool, and the three young women distributed themselves on the benches and remaining stools.

  Dunstan had moved Elizabeth’s chair back to the table and was about to disappear again when Denoriel signaled discreetly for him to bring in the packages that had been left with him. Elizabeth had asked Denoriel politely whether it had been very cold when he started and he had begun to reply when Dunstan returned and laid the parcels on the table.

  He broke off that answer to say, “One of my ships had just come in before I received Queen Catherine’s message, so I was able to bring her a small token. And then, when her majesty gave me the good news that the Council had agreed you should live with her, I thought we should all celebrate.”

  He opened the largest parcel and handed two skins of vair to each of the girls who cooed and murmured with delight. The two marten skins, he laid near the vacant stool, on which he was sure Mistress Ashley would be seated. Elizabeth watched, her eyes brilliant, until he opened the last package and placed it before her. She caught her breath with delight.

  “Ermine! Oh, Denno! And the silver fox! Oh!” She stared for a moment and then smoothed the fox furs with gentle fingers. “Oh, thank you! You do spoil me!”

  “Not often,” he said, smiling at her. “It is not often that my ships carry any item in which you might take delight. But the furs were appropriate to the weather, and I thought you might need new clothing, or at least trimmings, because you would be living with the queen.”

  There was now a general murmur of agreement and then each girl uttered personal thanks and excitedly told the “old merchant,” who was by now so familiar as to be accepted as a confidant, what she planned to do with his gift. By then, Dunstan had reappeared at the head of several servants bearing platters of food, bowls for porridge, and trenchers of stale bread to hold meat.

  Kat Ashley now left the queen’s instructions on Elizabeth’s writing table and came to the table to seat herself. She hesitated at sight of the shining marten skins, but then after a glance at Elizabeth’s plunder and the gift each maid of honor had, sighed with resignation. There would be no way of wresting ermine and silver fox skins from Elizabeth and to demand refusal of the vair, to the maids of honor from financially straitened families, would be real cruelty. She sighed again.

  “You are too generous, Lord Denno,” she said, stroking the furs laid by her place. “We will all be in trouble if you continue to shower us with gifts.”

  Denoriel laughed. “I will be in trouble if I continue to shower you with gifts like these. I assure you, Mistress Ashley, this is a one-time thing. A special and rather unexpected cargo, and the news from the queen made me feel … ah … expansive.”

  Kat sighed once more. “Yes, you always have good reasons for your generosity, but I am sure I am supposed to prevent the presentation of such rich gifts, which might lead to the assertion of undue influence—”

  Elizabeth’s sharp giggle cut off Kat’s speech. “When,” the girl asked, “have you ever known Lord Denno to try to exert even the smallest influence on me? Have you ever heard him ask a favor? Or urge me to think about a particular subject or say or do anything special for him or another?”

  “No, no,” Kat agreed hastily. “I know Lord Denno is the soul of discretion, but if gossip about such gifts is spread to the Court, others might wonder what he expected in return for them. The queen—”

  “Had her own token from my cargo,” Denoriel said, grinning.

  Kat laughed. “I should have known. Well, I am glad that we will not need to hide our new riches. We would not have had much time to do so. Queen Catherine, from what her secretary writes, desires us to arrive at Chelsea on the seventeenth. She intends to go directly from Westminster Abbey to Chelsea Palace on the sixteenth after the funeral, and has put all in train for Lady Elizabeth’s apartments to be ready.”

  “The sooner the better,” Elizabeth said. “I am starving for some rational conversation.”

  “Elizabeth!” Kat exclaimed, flushing.

  Elizabeth flushed also. “Oh, forgive me,” she said, looking around the table. “I do not mean that what we talk about is not interesting, only that the queen is older and wiser and has had so much experience in the world at large. She also owes me nothing and can instruct me with freedom.”

  “That is very true,” Alana said softly and then chuckled gently, “and besides I do not think any of us will have much time for conversation before we leave Enfield. The queen’s instructions say that the apartment will be ready, but what does that mean? Is it furnished? What are we to bring with us? Beds? Chairs? Tables? Only clothing?”

  Kat nodded at her. “Lady Alana is always a fount of good sense. So, by the Grace of God, is the queen. The secretary writes that beds will be needed and that there will be room for any favorite item of furniture, but that there are tables and some chairs ready in the rooms.”

  “There are never enough chairs,” one of the girls said. “The queen is used to seeing all her ladies and gentlemen standing.”

  “And that is quite proper,” another girl said; she was sweet-faced but of considerable girth. “But we do not need to stand in our own private rooms. Besides that, what is left behind is often worn and not very sturdy.”

  “Also they never seem to leave small tables that can be set by a chair for a drink or a book,” the last maid pointed out.

  “But if we take chairs and tables and beds, we will need several wains,” Kat Ashley protested. “To buy wains when, if we move again, it is likely to be within the queen’s party is foolish.”

  “Yes, indeed, since I can supply wains,” Denoriel said. “Just tell me how many, where they should be and at what day and hour, and you will have them.”

  “You are always my savior,” Kat said, and laughed.

  “Yes, and you, Kat, are growing quite adroit at voicing problems in the right way at just the right moment. We could, I am sure, have rented wains.” Elizabeth laughed too.

  “Which Mistress Ashley knows would be ridiculous when I already own many such. And she is polite enough not to ask me outright, which might be awkward for me if the wains were in use or not in London on the seventeenth. Thus if use of my wains would be difficult for me, I simply did not need to offer.”

  Elizabeth sniffed. “But you would have offered anyway,” she murmured, leaning close so her voice would not carry to the others at the table. “I come first, do I not, my Denno?”

  “You were a noxious brat when you were three, but adorable … and nothing has changed.” Denoriel sighed. “Yes, my lady, you come first.”

  Rhoslyn sat with one hand touching the pendant portrait of King Henry that hung from her necklace and the other open on her lap. Her eyes were lowered, her face sad. Lady Mary was reading from one of the Fathers on the subject of life after death. Rhoslyn was really tempted to cast a spell that would strike Mary mute for an hour or two. That would cause some excitement.

  These readings, or the reading of prayers for the dead, or attending extra masses, had been constant since Mary had news of her father’s death. She was, Rhoslyn guessed, trying to save his soul. She had written to the pope and to every conservative bishop she knew to beg that prayers be said for Henry. She had pinched her household to wring a few extra coins to send as offerings with requests for prayers. Rhoslyn had gained even more favor by presenting her mistress with a pouch of gold as an offering for the late king’s salvation.

  Behind her modestly downcast eyes and her sad expression, Rhoslyn wondered, not for the first time, whether she should receive a message from her fictitious brother requesting her company. Hearing that her brother had had one of his spells and needed her would save her from death by boredom. On the other hand, leaving Mary would deprive her of the opportunity to learn whether the political settlement would affect Elizabeth.

&n
bsp; It was not likely to be a final settlement, she thought, trying to soothe her conscience so she could escape. And if Hertford took control, as looked to be likely, his wife was a good friend to Mary and would surely incline her husband in Mary’s favor. There would be some weeks, possibly even some months of quiet and possibly by the time she returned, Mary would have had her fill of praying. But …

  The lindys on Roslyn’s breast, clinging just below the miniature portrait of the late king gave a convulsive shiver. Rhoslyn uttered an involuntary cry of alarm and pressed her hand over the little construct. Pasgen was hurt or frightened or in danger! Rhoslyn half rose from her seat. The women on either side turned their heads to look at her. Rhoslyn sank back in her chair and clutched the lindys gently. Her lightly clenched hand seemed to rest over her heart.

  Whatever happened to Mary or Elizabeth or to England, Rhoslyn had to go to Pasgen immediately. In the moment she had to think—provided by all the ladies moving to look at her—she determined to use what had already happened. She cried out softly again and bent forward. So far the lindys had not convulsed again, as it would if Pasgen’s fear or danger had increased, but it did not relax either. Under her fingers the construct remained stiff, indicating a steady anxiety or discomfort. Rhoslyn moaned softly, but not so softly that Mary did not hear. She looked up, peered forward with her short-sighted eyes.

  “Rosamund! What ails you?”

  “I do not know,” Rhoslyn gasped. “A pain. Here.” Her fingers arched over the lindys.

  “I will summon my physician,” Mary cried.

  “No. No.” Rhoslyn pleaded. “No physician. I am too familiar with physicians. I have a tonic that will take away the pain. But it makes me sleep, my lady.”

  “Oh, my dear Rosamund, you are excused all service until you are fully recovered. Jane, Susan, help Rosamund to her chamber and call her maid to her.”