The Queen smiled quietly. “He loves you very much, Skye. I have not seen such true love and devotion in all my life. How I wish I might have such a love to help me sustain my great burdens.” “Why surely you can, madam!” said Skye. “There are any number of gentlemen willing to lay their hearts at your feet.” The Queen smiled again, sadly this time. How innocent the new Countess of Lynmouth was! How sheltered she must have been before coming to England. “There are many men willing to lay their hearts at my feet, Skye, but none really loves me. They seek my crown, or a part of it. They do not want Elizabeth. A queen who rules in her own right has no true love. She is wed to her country. That is the harshest to serve of all lords.”
“Oh, madam!” Skye’s eyes filled with tears.
The young Queen gently brushed a tear from the bride’s cheek. “Why, my lady Southwood, what a soft heart you have. But weep not for me. I knew my fate a long time ago. I accepted it, and I wanted it.” Then thoughtfully she said, “I think, my kind-hearted little Countess, that I shall call upon you to serve as one of my ladies. An honest, open heart is a rare thing at Court.” Skye shortly found out how right the Queen was. After the tiny cordial glasses of spiced hippocras wine and thin sugar wafers that officially ended a banquet were served, the dancing began at the other end of the hall. The bride danced first with her new husband, then with Lord Dudley. After that she was prey to all the gentlemen. Several were forward enough to suggest assignations while staring boldly down her dress. Skye was shocked. The morals of the Islamic world she remembered had been quite strict. Here at Greenwich they appeared to be lax indeed.
She soon found herself partnered by the scowling Lord Burke. Did the man never smile? “My felicitations, madam. You have done quite well for yourself.” His tone was most insulting, and she found herself once again infuriated by the man. She fixed him with a level gaze and asked, “Why, my lord, are you so hostile to me? Have I done you some injury of which I am not aware? Pray speak, sir, that I may correct whatever fault it is that offends you.” Wordlessly he drew her from the dance floor and led her to the table where refreshments were being served. His silver eyes probed her face, never looking away. Suddenly he asked, “Have you ever heard of the O’Malleys of Innisfana Island, madam?” She thought a moment, then replied, “I am sorry, Lord Burke, but I have not. Is it important to you?”
“No,” he said roughly. “It is of no account, madam.” But he appeared almost distraught. Why? she asked herself. Dame Cecily bustled up just then. “It’s time you got ready for bed, my dear. Here are Mistress Lettice and some of the Queen’s ladies to help you.”
“Lady Southwood.” Lord Burke bowed curtly over her hand.
Then he turned and walked away.
Skye and her female companions left the hall discreetly. “Her Majesty,” confided Lettice Knollys, “has given you an apartment in a quiet part of the palace. You’ll be quite private. How I envy you this night! Southwood is said to be a magnificent lover!” “Lettice!” scolded another of the Queen’s ladies, “if Her Majesty should hear such loose talk, you’ll be sent down to the country.” The Queen’s red-haired cousin tossed her beautiful head. “The Queen would sell her soul to be the bride this night if Lord Dudley were the groom.”
“Lettice!” cried several scandalized voices, “you speak treason!” but Lettice Knollys simply laughed. “Ah, here we are, Skye,” she announced as she paused before a door.
The guards flung open the door, and the chattering women entered into a prettily furnished bedchamber where Daisy awaited her mistress along with two palace maids.
The large oak bedstead held up ornately twisted bedposts which were hung with pink velvet hangings. To the left of the bed, casement windows looked out toward the rain-swept river. To the right of the bed was a large stone fireplace, now blazing with enough warmth to have removed all dampness from the room and rendered it cozy. Daisy and her two assistants set to work immediately disrobing the bride. Wearing only a single petticoat and her underblouse, Skye bathed in rosewater from a silver basin. Then her hair was taken down and brushed until it gleamed. The blue-gold lights were the envy of most of the women in the room. Now Daisy brought forth the nightgown, the two undermaids removed the last of the bride’s clothing, and the nightgown slid down and over her. The Queen’s ladies gasped in shock and envy, for the nightgown clung to Skye as if it had been painted on her. It was made of pure white silk, the bodice forming a deep V, the sleeves wide like butterfly wings, the skirt a mass of tiny pleats.
“God’s blood!” Lettice Knollys voiced all their thoughts. “That gown will not be long on you, my dear Skye.”
“But will he leave it in one piece?” murmured one woman. The rest of the ladies giggled.
Skye blushed and then laughed nervously. “It is said to be a copy of one worn by the Pope’s mistress.”
“Hurry,” called one of the women, “I can hear them coming.” They helped her into bed, plumping the fat lace-edged pillows behind her back and smoothing the down-filled satin coverlet. She felt very foolish, the center of all this attention in what should have been a private moment. She remembered how she and Khalid el Bey had slipped away from their guests on their wedding night to ride down the moonlit beach to the Pearl Kiosk. But she was not in Algeria, she was in England. It was not Khalid el Bey she eagerly awaited, but Geoffrey Southwood.
The door burst open, admitting a laughing crowd of men and women. Geoffrey Southwood was pushed forward. He was barechested, “We’ve half undressed him, madam,” said Lord Dudley with a drunken grin. His arm was around the Queen in a proprietary manner, and Elizabeth was flushed and looking very pretty. “I shall finish the job myself,” said Lord Southwood firmly. “For the Countess and myself, I bid you all a good night.” “Come, everyone,” the Queen called, throwing the newlyweds a sympathetic look. “I have not yet tired of dancing.” The courtiers and servants all filed out and the Earl shut the door behind them and threw the bolt hard. Wordlessly he stripped off the rest of his clothing and blew out the candles. The firelight played on his lean frame and golden hair. He turned and held out a hand to her. “Come to me, Skye.”
She rose from the bed and walked toward him. A slow smile lit his face. He took in the full effect of her gown and the grin grew. The tiny skirt pleats undulated to show her long legs, and when she stood before him he quietly hooked his hands on either side of the neckline and tore the gown away. Laughing, she flung her arms about him. He could feel his passion flame and, taking her face in his hands, he pressed a kiss upon her half-opened lips. “I love you, Skye,” he murmured huskily.