“Do you love me, Skye?” he demanded softly.
“I love you, Geoffrey,” she answered, her bright blue eyes never wavering from his.
“And will you be my lady fair, sweetheart?”
“Yes! Oh, yes!”
He bent and kissed her lingeringly, lovingly. “I’ll send word when I can come this evening,” he said. Mounting his stallion again, he cantered off down the drive.
She entered the house dreamily.
“So you’re back, and looking as dewy-eyed as any foolish maid.”
“Good day to you, Robbie.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Come have a glass of wine with me.”
“Wine, is it?” he grumbled, following her upstairs to the little salon.
“Yes, wine! Wine to celebrate the fact that I’m in love! Oh, Robbie, I’m in love again! I never thought I would be able to love after I lost Khalid, but I love Geoffrey!”
Lord have mercy, thought the sea captain as Skye, humming a tuneless ditty, poured out generous portions of ruby-red wine for the two of them. Robbie sat slumped in a chair, his gaze on the floor. How can I tell her what de Grenville told me while in his cups last night? he thought. How can I tell her that Southwood seeks to make her his mistress in order to satisfy a bet? Now the bastard’s gone and captured her heart. Damn! I’d rather be in the middle of a South Atlantic hurricane! He raised his eyes slowly.
She raised her goblet high. ‘To my Lord Southwood! Long life!” she toasted.
Robbie raised his goblet lifelessly. “Aye,” he answered tone- lessly. Christ! She’s so happy! I haven’t seen her happy since Khalid died. Ah, hell! It’s too late for me to save her from him. Let her find out on her own. Let her be happy for now. He gulped down his wine and sat back against the velvet cushions.
“I’ve news too,” he said. “We’re to see the Queen and Cecil the day after Candlemas. We’d best have that first voyage mapped out by then.”
She was suddenly all business. “Have you decided where? And what?”
“Jewels and spices. In case of shipwreck,” he crossed himself, ”at least we can save half the cargo. We’ll go down and around the Horn into the Indian Ocean, across to the Spice Islands, for a cargo of pepper, clove, nutmeg, mace, and ginger. Then on to Burma for rubies, for the best rubies come down to Rangoon from Mogok in the central part of the country. In India we’ll take on cardamom, diamonds from the Golconda, and pearls. In Ceylon there’s cinna- mon and sapphires to be had.”
“Be sure,” said Skye, “to buy only the Kashmir blue sapphires. Khalid always believed their color was the best.”
“I know. It’s going to be a long voyage, lass. I may not be back for a year or even two, depending on conditions.”
She smiled at him affectionately. “You look forward to it, Robbie, don’t deny it. You’ve been landlocked for almost two years now and your feet itch to walk a deck. It’s all right, my dear, I understand, and it’s time for you to go. I am so grateful to you for your friendship, but I am myself again at last, and I must build my own life.”
“I know, lass, but I don’t want you hurt, or taken advantage of by anyone. That damned trick memory of yours worries me. In many ways you’re still an innocent.”
“I have Geoffrey now, Robbie.”
“Rely only on yourself, Skye! Love Southwood if you must, but put your trust in no man!”
“Robbie! How cynical you are!”
“Not cynical. Truthful.”
There was a scratching at the door, and Skye called out, “Enter.”
A footman brought in a piece of paper on a small silver tray. Skye took the folded parchment and opened it. “Damn!” she said.
“What is it?”
“Geoffrey has been called away.” She turned to the footman. ”How was this delivered?”
“One of the Earl’s grooms, mistress.”
“You may go.”
The servant turned and left.
“What does he say, Skye?”
“Very little,” she said, frowning. “Just that there’s a problem in Devon.”
“You could probably use a good night’s sleep,” remarked Robbie wryly, and she laughed at his irreverence.
“Considering your reputation as a swordsman, this is surely a case of the pot calling the saucepan black,” she teased.
He guffawed heartily.
The days sped by. She heard nothing from Geoffrey. And then came the day of her appointment with Cecil and the Queen. She dressed elegantly but soberly. William Cecil, Lord Burghley, Her Majesty’s chief advisor, was not a man to be swayed by a show of bosom. Her gown was dark-blue velvet, its severity relieved by a small white lace ruff at the neck. The sleeves were slashed and edged with gold, her white silk underblouse showing through the openings. She wore a gold chain interspersed at intervals with small flat plaques of carved white coral roses. Her shining hair was parted in the center and drawn into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck.
The river was frozen solid, so they went to Greenwich in Skye’s coach. Cecil awaited them in a book-lined room. He wasted no time but came directly to the point. “If we grant you a royal charter, what does Her Majesty gain?”
“A quarter share in the cargo, an accurate map of the area-for we’re carrying two cartographers on each vessel-and of course we’re available to do any errands Her Majesty may require along our route,” replied Robert Small.
“How many ships?”
“Eight.”
“That will be the number going. How many will you bring back?”
“Six at the minimum.”
“You overestimate, I think, Captain Small,” snapped Cecil.
“No, my lord. I don’t. Barring a typhoon, I will actually return with all eight. But a serious storm could lose me one or two.”
“What of pirates, or mutiny?”
“My lord, every captain in my fleet has been with me for several years, as have all my ships’ crews. These men are used to working together under both good and bad conditions. They are a loyal and disciplined lot, unlike most crews. They’ll bring their ships through Hell if necessary, but they’ll bring them home to England.”
Cecil smiled thinly. “Your confidence is commendable, sir. I shall look forward to being amazed.” He turned to Skye. “And where, madam, do you come into this?”
“I finance it,” said Skye quietly.
“You must have great confidence in Captain Small,” said Cecil drily.
“I do, sir. He was my husband’s partner for some years, and never failed him once.”
“And your husband was…?”
“Don Diego Indio Goya del Fuentes, a Spanish merchant of Al- giers.”
“The Spanish ambassador claims never to have heard of him, madam.”
“I would hardly think the Spanish ambassador to the English Court would be well acquainted with the residents of Algiers, my lord,” said Skye coolly.
“Perhaps not, madam. I merely mention it in passing. It is my duty to protect my Queen.”
“If you feel, my lord Cecil, that this venture is a danger to your Queen, or would bring some discredit upon her, then I shall withdraw my request for a charter, and you must rule against us with Her Majesty. However, to do so casts doubt upon not only my hon- or, but on Sir Robert’s as well. I am but newly come from Algiers, but Captain Small has always been a loyal and good servant of En- gland.”
“Madam, you misunderstand me. I merely said that King Phillip’s man knew not of your late husband’s family.”
“Why should he? My husband’s family came to Algiers several generations back. The original Goya del Fuentes was, I believe, a younger son. There is still a branch of the family in Spain-near Granada or Seville. I can never remember which.”