“Llanelli,” he murmured, “there is nothing to fear. I swear that you will have all you want, forever. Why do you not come with me to Melusine?”
From the deep pit of despair in which she lay, Llanelli knew that voice, knew the filed teeth, knew the false promises, knew that Vidal had found her again. This was the final proof that no one and nothing could protect her, that he would pursue her for all the remaining years of her life until he caught her and held her hostage to make Pasgen and Rhoslyn his slaves.
She had nothing left to live for. She could not heal while she was drugged and she remembered too well the agonies of trying to recover from her addiction. She remembered how Rhoslyn and Pasgen had suffered with her. Not again. Never again. And in the pit of despair a viper of poisonous rage fed on long years of hatred stirred as an unhoped for vengeance became possible at last.
Vidal had been so sure of her, so sure she would, like the fool he believed her, fall into his trap. And so she had. But he had fallen into a trap too. All she needed to do was to cry out for help and her maids and Lliwglas would rush in and tear him apart. And be Removed.
A shining icy spear of grief pierced through the black despair as she remembered the tender care Rhoslyn’s servants had lavished on her. They were only constructs, but they had been her friends and companions when she had none, comforting her in her pain and listening to her troubles. She could not send them to whatever fate the market had reserved for those who were Removed.
“Llanelli!”
There was a hard note of impatience in the hated voice, the note that had always meant the withdrawal of the drug. Llanelli put her hand over the packet of oleander. “Pilar” laughed when he saw the gesture, showing those sharp teeth.
“You need not try to hold it. There is more, much more, in Melusine, enough to keep you happy forever.”
“In Melusine,” Llanelli repeated.
“Tell your servants to stay here and come with me. You will be safe in Melusine. You will not need them there.”
Then Llanelli knew the answer, and through the dark despair red flames of joy burst upward, lifting her spirit. She fought the withdrawal-induced pain and hopelessness. She had hope now!
She would bring “Pilar,” who did not realize he had exposed to her his true identity as Vidal, outside the market. Then she would scream that he was hurting her, that he had destroyed her, which was true she thought, tears filling her eyes, and the girls would rip him to pieces. Hope fought despair. With Vidal dead … she would be safe, free.
“They are not my servants,” she said to “Pilar.” “They have been bound by my daughter to watch me while I am in the market.” She found a shaky laugh. “Rhoslyn never thought I would leave it, but I am sure I will be safe with you … in Melusine. Only we must go to a Gate outside the market. Once past the warnings, I can tell them to come back here and wait for me.”
Piteka patted her shoulder gently, resisting the impulse to seize her arm. There was something in her voice, her manner, that he did not trust. However all he said was, “How clever you are.” And he went to the door. She followed him docilely, relieving most of his suspicions.
When she told the servants they were going out, the male brute stepped out first and looked around, then stepped aside for Llanelli; one of the brown-haired maids and the creature with spider-leg fingers and a blue ribbon around her neck followed them.
In the crowded market lanes, Piteka did take Llanelli’s arm to be sure she would not try to slip away. She shuddered, and he tightened his grip, but carefully, not so much as to hurt her. She walked beside him without protest then, but as they drew closer to the exit she began to walk faster. Piteka was surprised and almost drew back but then he thought she was thinking of endless oleander in Melusine and smiled.
He dodged right around the blank back of the buyer beware warning, holding tightly to her arm now, and then around the warning against violence. But the back of that was blank also and he did not see the threat of Removal for doing spells or violence in the market … until after he swung her around and said, “Send the servants away now, Llanelli.”
She laughed in his face and said, “You are dead now, Vidal. You will never threaten me or my children again.” And then shrieked “Help!”
As the constructs closed around them, Piteka saw the warning about Removal and realized with a shock that Llanelli had insisted on leaving the market so that her servants would not be Removed for harming him.
He cried “Wait” and dismissed the illusion of a Bright Court Sidhe that he had worn. “You fool! I am Piteka, not Vidal. You had better tell your servants not to harm me or Vidal will catch you and torture you forever. You and your stupid children too.”
Horror washed over Llanelli. Instinctively she tried to pull away. Equally instinctively Piteka tightened his grip on her arm, grinding the flesh into the bone beneath. Llanelli screamed in pain. The hand that had held her arm suddenly lost its grip and then fell to the ground.
Blood spurted from the wrist where Lliwglas had severed Piteka’s hand from his arm. The blood spattered Llanelli’s gown. She screamed again. The brute guard seized Piteka’s head and turned it all the way around. Llanelli’s eyes bulged with horror. Leaping forward, the brown-haired maid caught Llanelli in her arms before she could fall to the ground.
Llanelli was in her lodging, not in her healer’s chambers when she woke. One of the maids was instantly at her side, offering to help her sit up, asking if she wanted or needed anything. For a moment Llanelli could not remember how she had come to her rooms or why she felt as if the world had ended. Then she did remember and realized that, at least for her, the world had ended. Vidal was not dead and she was not free and never would be free.
She made her lips smile at the maid and said that she needed nothing, only to be alone for a while. The round, fresh face smiled at her and nodded. Since she had begun to heal, she had been allowed privacy if she wanted it. When the construct was gone, Llanelli rose and went to her writing desk. There would be paper and a marker that she used for writing down mixtures for medications. When she bent over the writing desk, her mist-thin white hair fell forward and brushed against her nearly transparent hand.
“My very beloved Pasgen and Rhoslyn,” she began, her hand steady despite the terror and despair that made it hard to breathe.
When she told them that Vidal had tried to take her again, they would understand that she could not live any longer in a state of constant terror and despair. They would understand that she no longer had the strength to begin a new fight to escape her need for the drug. They would be glad to know that she was at peace and they were free of needing to care for her.
Chapter 31
For Elizabeth the weeks of early summer slipped by in peace and gentle pleasure. She had not realized how overwrought she had become, balancing a love affair, her exacting lessons, the visitors to Queen Catherine’s palace, many of whom requested her company, and the constant if near-unconscious wariness about Thomas Seymour.
Slowly Elizabeth began to unwind. The pace at Cheshunt was slower—Sir Anthony and Lady Denny were no longer young and came to Cheshunt to escape the Court and the pressures of guiding the king and the nation. There were few visitors, and those who did come were of Sir Anthony’s and Lady Denny’s age. Sometimes they brought a political problem … but that was for Sir Anthony’s ears alone. And when they asked to meet with Elizabeth, it was only to ask playfully about her studies or to be sure she was well and content with her lodging. Her maidens, with no one to compete against in matters of dress and attracting the young men who accompanied the queen’s guests, became more placid, less shrill and intrusive.
Even Elizabeth’s love affair with Denno became more peaceful. Although neither of them realized it, Denno had been competing with Thomas for Elizabeth’s attention. He had been taking her with him to exciting places and doing exciting things and had been constantly finding places and excuses to make love so that his image would be as strong and
virile as that the boisterous Thomas projected.
After two weeks at Cheshunt, Elizabeth asked to be taken to the Shepherd’s Paradise. Da came along and they talked, mostly about the past at first but then about the possible future. Denoriel wondered where Vidal was and what he was doing. Harry advised Elizabeth about what she should do if she were invited to Court and what to say if proposals of marriage were presented to her. Elizabeth confessed that she would fight any suggestion of marriage. She did not wish to be married … ever.
Four weeks passed and then six and Elizabeth discovered that there was such a thing as too much peace. Restlessness, and a nervous energy that had always been a part of her began to plague her until even Sir Anthony and Lady Denny noticed. Denno asked Sir Anthony if he could invite a troupe of players to Cheshunt to amuse the whole party. The masque they performed was a great success, great enough that the players were asked to stay and present a second piece two days later. There was extra amusement in being allowed to watch the rehearsals. The masque looked so different without scenery or costumes that it was a double wonder to see it performed.
The next week Denno suggested a picnic in the woods near a small pond. Elizabeth rode as did Sir Anthony and Denno, but a small traveling cart carried Margaret, Frances, and Lady Denny, a second brought cushions, cloths, braziers, and baskets of food and wine. Somehow the food had more savor served in the open, and a remarkable number of animals came from the woods and showed themselves on the far side of the little pond.
Elizabeth suspected Denno’s Low Court servants had been sent to lead the creatures to where the picnic party could see them, but she could not speak of that … not that she would have if she could. She enjoyed it no less than any of the others, who held their breaths when a doe and fawn dipped their delicate muzzles into the water, and later allowed her maidens to cling to her when a bear shambled out and stood looking at them across the pond.
Denno drew his slender sword and Elizabeth’s guards came forward, unlimbering their weapons, but there was no need. The bear came to the edge of the pond, but only to slash a paw through the water with amazing speed and bring out a fish. Everyone laughed aloud in relief, and the big creature seemed startled by the sounds, as if it had not realized they were there, and hurried back into the wood.
Elizabeth noted that Denno’s usually soft lips had been drawn back hard, and she rose and patted his arm. “Don’t scold them,” she said. “Everyone was so thrilled.”
The picnic was a subject for lively conversation for several days, which was just as well because Sir Anthony disappeared and there were no visitors at all. A pall of dullness fell over Cheshunt.
When he came to take her Underhill that night Denno told Elizabeth that Sir Anthony had probably been called to London to discuss the situation with the Scots. Denno had news from William Cecil that the Scots parliament had resolved to send their little Princess Mary to France to remove any likelihood that she could be taken by English force of arms and married to Edward out of hand.
“Will the Protector bring an army into Scotland again?” Elizabeth asked.
“I do not think that is possible,” Denno said. “But now we will see if Seymour’s decision to send most of the naval vessels east will be vindicated. If they prevent the French from picking up the little princess, the depredations of the pirates will be forgotten.”
“And if they do not?”
Denoriel shrugged. “Of course Seymour has the excuse that his wife is near her term, and Lord High Admiral or not he cannot be with the fleet. But Cecil also hinted that there are rumors of collusion …”
“I hope they catch the little princess. She would have a very good husband in Edward. I know he seems cold now, but I remember how quick he was to love me when he was a little boy.”
“And it would save a world of trouble for Seymour, would it not?”
Elizabeth flung herself into Denoriel’s arms and kissed him. “It would save a world of grief for Catherine. If not for her, I would not care if they hung Thomas.”
But Thomas’ naval vessels did not manage to block the French ships, and at the beginning of August, William Cecil told Denoriel that Princess Mary had been carried to France at the end of July.
At about the same time Sir Anthony gave Denno permission to bring a different troupe of players who had a new kind of performance, a play. That was very exciting, for the story—of a forbidden love that caused two murders—was shown as it happened to real people without any fanciful wild men or interruptions of dancing and singing.
Elizabeth herself was hard pressed from time to time to keep from screaming in horror, and Margaret and Frances wept aloud and hid their faces. It was only when the “murdered” gentlemen reappeared on the platform to take their bows that the maidens would believe they had not been killed.
July and August. Elizabeth and Queen Catherine kept up a pleasant correspondence, aided and abetted by Thomas, who often wrote the letters because Catherine was by now finding it difficult to write. Elizabeth was careful, however, to have no personal communication with him; when she wrote it was asking Thomas to be diligent to give me knowledge from time to time how his busy child doth.
But she missed Catherine and responded warmly when Catherine wished me with you, till I were weary of that country. Your Highness were like to be cumbered if I should not depart till I were weary of being with you; although it were the worst soil in the world, your presence would make it pleasant.
Had Catherine lived alone, what Elizabeth wrote would have been the simple truth, but both knew they would not live together again, at best would only meet in the future for a few hours in a visit. Neither knew that they would never see each other again. Catherine survived the birth of a little daughter on the thirtieth of August, but by the fifth of September she was dead of the dreaded fever that attacked women after lying-in.
Chapter 32
The news of Catherine’s death was given to Elizabeth as gently as possible by Lady Denny in the second week of September.
But for Elizabeth, the news felt like the blow of an axe. “No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head, her mouth dry and her throat closing. “No, it is not possible! I feared so much for her, but she was safely delivered. She was. We had that news only a week past. I was so happy to hear it. How can she be dead?”
“It was the fever,” Lady Denny said, taking Elizabeth’s hand in hers. “I am so sorry, my dear. I know you cared for the queen.”
Elizabeth felt as if she was in a waking nightmare. “She took me in when no one else would give a home to me. She cared for my health and my education like a mother. I was never grateful enough. I—”
Elizabeth stopped speaking and swallowed hard. She had almost said that she had torn poor Catherine’s heart by aiding and abetting a flirtation with her husband. Lady Denny patted the hand she held.
“My dear, I am sure you did express your gratitude and that Queen Catherine knew you loved and respected her. When we lose someone, we always feel that we had not said what should have been said or done what we should have done to express to that lost one how precious she was to us. You must not flay your soul with regrets, which are not only vain now but very likely undeserved. Think instead of the happy times you spent together. Cherish her memory.”
“Yes, madam,” Elizabeth whispered, but she swallowed again and her gaze was fixed and unseeing. How could she ever think of Catherine without thinking of Thomas, of the hurt she had inflicted on the queen?
That night she refused to go Underhill with Denoriel. She did not wish to be distracted; it was wrong, when she had done Catherine so much ill. Denoriel said sharply it was Thomas who did the harm, not Elizabeth but she would not be comforted. She did not weep. She shivered as she had after her father died and she said that everyone she loved died and she had nowhere to go, no one to advise or protect her.
Denno shook her gently and then took her into his arms. “My very dear,” he said, “now you are being silly. I am still here. And you kn
ow Harry is not dead. If a need great enough comes, you can live with me in Llachar Lle.”
“No.” Her voice rose. “I cannot leave England. I cannot. No matter what the cost or danger, I must stay here.”
Both were silent for a moment and then Elizabeth shook her head. “Edward is alive and well. Long may he reign. But still, I cannot leave England.”
Denoriel nodded acceptance and he said, “You must live in England, but you are no longer a child who must have a keeper. You have your own houses, your own lands, left to you by your father. You can live—”
And the door opened, and Lady Denny’s voice called, “To whom are you speaking, Elizabeth? I told Frances—”
“Bod oergeulo!” Elizabeth whispered, pointing at the door.
Denoriel had disappeared from sight by the Don’t-see-me spell before the last syllable was pronounced. The door stood a quarter open, Lady Denny’s hand just visible on the edge, but it did not swing wider.
“Dihuno,” Elizabeth said, her eyes wide with fear that the shock Lady Denny had given her made her use too much power.
“—not to keep you awake with her chatter,” Lady Denny finished coming into the room, clearly unaware that there had been any interruption in her speech.
“It wasn’t Frances,” Elizabeth said, and hiccupped as if she had been crying. “I was just saying to myself that I cannot believe we have lost the queen. I did not realize I was speaking so loud.”
Lady Denny looked over at Frances Dodd, still solidly asleep. “It wasn’t loud,” she admitted softly. “I was just coming to look at you and make sure you were not weeping yourself sick and I heard … well, I could have sworn it was Lord Denno’s voice, but that is ridiculous.”
Elizabeth found a little tremulous smile. “I am very fond of Lord Denno, but I don’t think I want him in my bedchamber in the middle of the night.”
By Slanderous Tongues Page 49