The question startled Thomas, who had after considerable thought decided to put aside the notions Otstargi had given him. That image of him and Elizabeth seated together under cloths of state … perhaps Otstargi had somehow picked up that idea from him, from an inadvertent comment about his hopes, before his brother had told him he would sooner see Thomas hanged than Elizabeth’s husband.
“You are still seeing me connected with that girl with red hair?”
“Yes. More than ever, but mostly I see her as still very young playing games with you, being teased and petted by you, and becoming more and more fond of you. Do you yet know who she is? I think she must be some great man’s daughter …”
“Great, indeed,” Thomas said. “She is Lady Elizabeth, the late King Henry’s daughter, and she is my wife’s guest. Are you suggesting that I court her … in my wife’s presence?”
Otstargi laughed again. “What could be safer? Surely no one will think ill of you or of her if your games include your wife?”
“Perhaps not, but what can be the point of attaching Lady Elizabeth? I am married already. Your vision of Elizabeth and myself seated under cloths of state must be false.”
Vidal/Otstargi almost gave away his satisfaction over the way that idea had fixed itself in Thomas Seymour’s rather limited mind. He said pointedly, “Images are neither true nor false. They depend on the actions of those who are imaged. I can tell you that that particular image will certainly be false if you do not fix yourself immovably in Lady Elizabeth’s affections. The road to my Vision will not be quick or smooth, but if she is bound hard enough to you …”
Now Thomas smiled slowly. “I am not inexperienced with women, and she is young. I think it should be possible for me to make her love me.”
“That would be very wise, and remember that the farther along that path you draw her, the harder she will fight to have you.”
“I am already married,” Thomas pointed out.
Vidal/Otstargi shrugged. “Now,” he replied. “Accidents happen—”
“No! I will not, nor will you harm my wife!”
“I will not, certainly,” Vidal agreed easily—and why not agree. Catherine was useful at this moment as hostess to Elizabeth, which gave Thomas free access to her. If later he felt Thomas needed to be free to seduce Elizabeth into marriage, he certainly would not be bound by anything he said to the fool.
“Besides,” Thomas added, “my brother says Elizabeth is beyond my touch. In fact he said he would sooner see me hanged than married to her.”
Otstargi/Vidal smiled with genuine pleasure at this confirmation that Elizabeth would be permanently disgraced by any relationship with Thomas.
“I would not take his words too seriously,” he said. “I agree that he would stop you from winning her regard if he could, but what he does not know, what is sheltered by your wife’s presence and approval …”
Thomas made an inarticulate sound and started to rise.
Otstargi held up a hand and said, “Wait.” He hesitated, frowned, and then added, “I feel I must warn you that I will not be here to help you further. It will be useless for you to write to me or come here. I must leave England for some time. However, I have told you already all I have seen that is of importance to you. Stay out of the coming war with Scotland and bind to you Lady Elizabeth.”
Vidal didn’t want Sir Thomas or any other client coming to Otstargi’s house. He had to be in Scotland very soon and would likely have to remain there for some time. A war was brewing and he needed to make sure the Scots yielded nothing to the English so the war would continue. But he had to warn his clients away because he had discovered that Pasgen had been in the house.
That had been a terrible shock. To learn what had happened in his absence, Vidal had stripped the servant’s mind as soon as he arrived. He nearly burst with rage when he discovered that Pasgen had been in the house several times. His fury was such that his mind blast had almost killed the servant, who dropped unconscious to the floor. Vidal had raised a hand with every intention of incinerating the useless hulk, but bethought himself of the nuisance of getting a new servant and wiping its mind, and kicked the prone body instead of killing it.
When his rage subsided enough for him to think, Vidal realized that he would have to warn away Otstargi’s clients and he had done so; Seymour was the last. He did not want Pasgen meddling with those under his influence. But even as that thought came to mind, he recalled the image the servant had given him. Pasgen had not disguised himself as Otstargi. He had retained his natural form and had spent his time talking to Albertus, Aurilia’s mortal healer.
Why? Pasgen was never interested in mortals. Why had he spent so much time with the healer Aurilia had sent to arrange the deaths of Denoriel and Aleneil? Vidal kicked the body near his feet again out of impotent fury as he guessed that Rhoslyn had convinced her indulgent brother to save their half brother and sister. Rhoslyn was softhearted and not too clever. Vidal ground his teeth.
Hearing the servant, who had taken two days to recover, return from seeing Seymour out recalled to Vidal the events of that first day back in London. Now he was angry again. Stupid mortal! Vidal regretted having sent Aurilia’s mortal healer back to her. He should have torn Albertus limb from limb. Doubtless the fool had told Pasgen his plans; likely enough that was why Albertus’ plans had miscarried.
Vidal stared into nothing across Otstargi’s table and vowed he would master Pasgen. He would! There must be some way … Then his tense body relaxed. Yes, there was. One of the cleverest and least trustworthy of his Dark Sidhe, Piteka, had questioned him on what reward he could have for finding Llanelli. Such a question meant that Piteka must have some information about her. Vidal nodded. It would be very useful to have that idiot Llanelli in his hands. Both Pasgen and Rhoslyn would dance to his tune when their mother would suffer for their intransigence.
For a moment more Vidal remained seated behind the table thinking about the taking of Llanelli. Then he rose and climbed the stairs to Otstargi’s bedchamber from where he Gated back to Caer Mordwyn.
Arrived in his own bedchamber in the palace, Vidal shook his head. He would need to warn Piteka that Llanelli must be kept in close confinement but not seriously harmed. Piteka could torment her and sup off her misery, but Piteka was often too enthusiastic about wringing life-force from his victims. And, Vidal thought, he would speak to Chenga too and remind her …
Vidal ground his teeth again. Reminding Chenga that she must pass as Bright Court Sidhe would be useless. Chenga was a weak reed on whom to rest a deception. She had done well to discover that Elizabeth would visit Elfhame Cymry, but Chenga loose in an elfhame full of fat and pampered mortals was an invitation to disaster. Vidal knew she would not be able to resist seizing and tormenting a few of the mortals, exposing herself as unfitted to live in Cymry. Likely she would not only be expelled but marked so she could not return.
Nor could he send his imp watchers to Cymry. They would be detected and driven out or killed. Yet Cymry was his best hope of being rid of Elizabeth. They held full many mortal balls and tournaments during which many non-Cymry Sidhe mingled. And they had little magic so Denoriel would be less watchful.
A fireball formed on Vidal’s fingers and burned a table near his hand. That Denoriel was sly as a kitsune and his mortal friend, who carried iron weapons, was fearless. When Vidal learned that Denoriel was bringing Elizabeth Underhill almost every mortal day, he thought one of his Sidhe would be able to touch her with poison or strike her with a levin bolt, but Denoriel’s movements were too erratic. Goeel had found them in Fur Hold but could not get near Elizabeth.
A flicker of black. Vidal howled and raised his fist over an arriving imp, but his lifted arm was caught and held midair. He broke the spell. Before he could smash the imp to relieve his frustration, he heard Aurilia say lazily, “Oh, there you are. Don’t squash that imp. I find it useful.”
Vidal turned on her, black/violet light flickered for a moment on the tips of
his fingers. Aurilia sent two little forked lights, one of which touched each of Vidal’s hands. He hissed and shook them, but the threatening light on his fingers died.
“And what has put you into such a fine humor?” Aurilia asked. “I thought you were only going to see that loud-mouth human who is only too eager to do what you suggest.”
“It is nothing to do with him; he is less than nothing. He will try and he might even succeed in making Elizabeth his mistress. Then I need only expose her. She will be disgraced and removed from the succession, but it is not sure enough. She must be dead.”
“Why?” Aurilia asked, lifting her brows. “Titania has a particular liking for the creature, and I am not too eager to incite Titania’s displeasure.”
Vidal shrugged. “Fortunately Titania is inconstant in her favor. We must take the chance. Elizabeth must be dead! As long as she is alive, she can be as easily restored to the succession as she was removed from it. Edward will die in a few years. The poison of the thorn that touched him is slowly eating at him. Then Mary should come to the throne. And we would have the Inquisition and the burnings. But those who rule for Edward will not want Mary to succeed Edward and bring back the old religion. They will restore Elizabeth and try to enthrone her to keep the new religion.”
“Yes,” Aurilia agreed, but she looked puzzled, “but Mary’s supporters will not yield tamely. A little civil war … that would be delicious. There will be looting and burning and rape. Let them fight, my lord. It will be a rich soup of pain and misery for us to feed upon.”
“Unless Elizabeth’s supporters win!” Vidal spat. “No, she must be dead. But as you say, she is Titania’s pet. She needs to die by accident in a Bright Court elfhame and if possible by a mortal mistake. I know she intends to visit Elfhame Cymry.” He explained why Elizabeth would be specially vulnerable in Cymry and then clenched his fist. “But I have no way of learning when she will be there.”
“I thought Chenga—”
Vidal shook his head vigorously and explained his thoughts about Chenga.
Aurilia nodded slowly; then her eyes grew intent. “Let Chenga go anyway,” she said, “and we will send Albertus with her. When she hurts their mortals, Cymry will drive her out. Then Albertus will beg sanctuary among them and be received with sympathy. Relying as they do upon mortals, they will be delighted to get a good healer. In a short time, he will be trusted and not watched.”
“But he cannot Gate. How will he bring us news?”
“Oh, my lord, an amulet will let him Gate, and will make sure he Gates only to where we wish him to go.” She smiled, showing her sharp pointed teeth. “Mortals do get ideas of their own.”
Considering the profit Otstargi’s past advice had provided for him, Thomas thought it only sensible to follow the advice about Elizabeth also. After all, since she was a member of Catherine’s household, he would not need to make his courtship of her obvious by visiting her openly. And whether or not that vision of him and Elizabeth under cloths of state came true, it could only do him good to have her in love with him. Catherine would only be amused by Elizabeth’s childish devotion.
He intended to show his particularity at once, but Elizabeth was out riding when he returned to Chelsea. He did ask Catherine where she had gone, but Catherine only replied that Elizabeth was safe, accompanied by two guardsmen and two well-armed grooms. She carefully did not mention that Lord Denno was probably also of the party. Thomas did not ask further; of a jealous nature himself, he did not want Catherine to suspect he was too interested in Elizabeth.
The next afternoon was too hot for riding and moreover threatened rain to end the sultriness. At dinner, Elizabeth and Catherine had a discussion about the morals in Plato’s work and how they proved that modern Christian teaching was eternal truth. Thomas was very bored and suggested that perhaps Elizabeth should take her lessons in the afternoon rather than the morning. That would leave the mornings, which were cooler for her expeditions ahorse.
“No, no,” Elizabeth protested, laughing. “Master Grindal would be most displeased if I came to him tired from riding and eating. As it is, even in the morning I can barely absorb the weighty subjects with which Plato deals.”
“And why should so lovely a young lady care for Plato’s weighty subjects?” Thomas asked archly.
“Well, for one reason, so that her mind should be as lovely as her face,” Catherine said with a laugh. “I have often regretted that my tutors did not press me to learn more than I did.”
“I am not sorry,” Thomas said, quick to catch the slight acidity in his wife’s voice. “You are perfect as you are.”
Catherine blushed with pleasure, but Thomas, not being completely a fool, did not again compliment Elizabeth’s beauty in Catherine’s hearing. He did, however, engage all the younger ladies of the household—of whom he insisted his wife was one—in a game of hide and seek.
Thomas was loud in comment and protest when he was tagged and made them all merry. But when he found Elizabeth he made just a moment to whisper a compliment on her figure and to pat her behind as he prodded her out of her hiding place. Catherine, he kissed for his tag. Catherine was as happy and merry as the youngest of the girls.
Thomas spent more time at Chelsea than usual and most of that time with the ladies of the household. Elizabeth was part amused, part flattered, and part irritated by Tom’s boisterous playfulness. One day he actually enlisted Catherine’s help to hold Elizabeth still, while he cut away her gown bit by bit.
Catherine thought it very funny, adding to the excitement by tickling Elizabeth. But although the fact that a man other than her Denno was removing her dress excited her, it also annoyed her. She knew she would not dare ask Catherine to pay for the gown—it would seem mean and selfish after all the teasing and laughter—but that meant she would herself have to pay for a new gown. Still she did not fight Thomas off, and it did send a thrill through her when her underdress exposed her to his eyes.
This time, however, Kat, who had watched the other games indulgently, scolded Elizabeth for allowing her gown to be cut up in public. That annoyed Elizabeth even more. Would it have been better to allow Thomas to undress her in private? She suspected that was what he intended to suggest—silly man. Denno did not roar with laughter at his own jests or poke her to bring his cleverness to her attention. Denno trusted her to be clever enough to understand his sly humor and made undressing a sensuous delight instead of a coarse joke.
All Elizabeth could say in her defense was that she could not stop Thomas because Queen Catherine was holding her, and she dared not wrench herself away. Nor could she long remain annoyed with Thomas. Compared with Denno, Thomas seemed to her like a very large, clumsy puppy who was trying to amuse her. She just accepted his advances and smiled brilliantly on him whenever they met.
Once in a while it occurred to Elizabeth that he was deliberately trying to arouse her but she dismissed the idea. He was Catherine’s husband and was only trying to keep Catherine’s guest happy in the only way he knew to make a female happy, by flirting with her. The proof of that to her was that he flirted with all the other ladies in the household too. She could not spend much thought on Thomas. Her other life, of which he knew nothing, was currently too sweet.
Most nights Denno took her Underhill. Sometimes they explored the markets or places like Fur Hold, where she had danced on a platform to Denno playing the lute for an audience impossible to describe. Da was with them that day and had fended off a rude Sidhe who had grabbed at her. They thought it was because of her dancing; Elizabeth dismissed it and forgot it when Da told her that he had performed on the same platform, recalling when he and Denno had arrived there by accident and he had sung “Maiden in the Moor.”
Sometimes with Da who was on rare occasions accompanied by Rhoslyn, sometimes with Aleneil and Ilar, but most often just she and Denno explored the safe holds and hames of Underhill. They ate in wonderful places, and Elizabeth wore costumes of such beauty and magnificence that they took her
breath away. But best of all, wherever they went, they came home to Denno’s rooms in Llachar Lle and to his wide bed and the ever-increasing pleasures he gave and took from her body.
Elizabeth felt that she was living two entirely separate lives. She did manage to concentrate on her lessons so that her tutor, Master Grindal, was satisfied with her progress, but Denno and Underhill held most of her attention.
She was aware only vaguely that whenever Thomas came to stay with Catherine, whether it was at Chelsea or at Hanworth out in the country, or in Seymour Place in London, he paid her more and more particular attention. She did not tell Denno; it was not important to her and likely Denno would tell her she must discourage Thomas. That would upset Catherine so Elizabeth kept Thomas’ behavior as a little amusing guilty secret. Perhaps she should have been colder, but she was flattered … and Catherine was always there.
Besides it was hard to think of how to stop it. The flirting always started innocently with Thomas amusing the whole company, mostly with physical games—hoodman-blind on a day that it rained too hard to go out; catch-as-catch-can on a day in autumn when running was welcome to warm the blood.
Moreover Thomas held every feminine captive against him in hoodman-blind, and touched her to make sure of her identity, not only Elizabeth. She thought he took a trace longer with her and often pressed a small kiss to her neck as he sniffed for her perfume. But she could not help being flattered, and she was sure Catherine never noticed.
Even when they played catch-as-catch-can, which was too wild for long fondling, Thomas would manage to seize her shoulder and, his body blocking Catherine’s view, was able to stroke her breast where it bulged above her gown and pinch the nipple. He was very crude compared with Denno, and that amused Elizabeth even when a guilty thrill went though her.
By Slanderous Tongues Page 39