Grasso, Patricia (34 page)

"I refuse to be bothered by bickering bitches," Elizabeth said. "All of you get out."

The seven of them started to leave, but the queen changed her mind. "Lady Devereux, remain with me."

Six surprised expressions turned to Keely. No one felt more surprised than she.

"Sit here," Elizabeth ordered when the others had gone. "I would become acquainted with my dear Midas's wife."

Keely sat down, folded her hands in her lap, and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Never in her wildest imaginings had she ever thought she'd be sitting across from the Queen of England. Holy stones, what did one say to a queen?

"Lady Devereux, tell me about the spirit in my gallery," Elizabeth bade her.

"You may call me Keely, Your Majesty."

"Thank you,
Keely,"
the queen said dryly. "Now, about that spirit?"

"You believe me, Your Majesty?" Keely asked.

"Are you lying?" Elizabeth asked.

Frightened, Keely shook her head vigorously. "No, but my husband—"

"Piss on Devereux," Elizabeth interrupted. "Men are fools who think only with their pricks."

Keely crimsoned in embarrassment. This wasn't the way she'd imagined a queen would speak. However, she'd never actually spoken with a queen before now.

"The ghost in my gallery?" Elizabeth prodded.

"Did a Cat Howard once live here?" Keely asked.

"Cat Howard?"

Keely nodded. "You knew her?"

"My father's fifth wife," Elizabeth replied absently, staring off into space. She recalled the stories of her childhood. Cat Howard had been arrested in the Long Gallery and, screaming like a madwoman, had tried desperately to reach the king in the Chapel Royal. Poor beautiful Cat Howard, cut down in her youth.
Like my own mother.

" 'Tis an unpleasant memory?" Keely whispered.

Elizabeth looked at her and changed the subject. "So, Keely. Will you give Devereux his heir and send him to die in Ireland?"

"No, I carry a daughter," Keely answered.

"How do you know?"

"My mother told me."

"Cheshire?"
Elizabeth asked in disbelief. "Cheshire knows less than nothing about babies." Keely smiled. "I meant, my
real
mother."

The queen's gray gaze narrowed on her. "I understood that your mother was deceased."

Keely bit her bottom lip in nervousness, then lied, "Megan spoke to me in a dream."

"You believe in such premonitions?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well," Keely hedged. "I do if you do."

Queen Elizabeth burst out laughing. "You have inherited your father's courtier's wit."

Keely breathed a sigh of relief and smiled nervously. She wondered how long she'd be required to sit with the queen. Each minute seemed like an hour, and she longed to be safely away.

"Tell me why you are unhappy here," Elizabeth said.

"But how did you know?" Keely asked, surprised.

"I know everything about everyone at my court."

"I miss my brother," Keely told her. "I did write Rhys a letter but have received no reply yet."

"And?"

Keely fixed her gaze on the floor. "I feel conspicuously out of place whenever I am in the company of your courtiers. I can never be as the other ladies."

"Many a courtier has come and gone," the queen told her. "The ones who are the most successful develop an attitude and accentuate what makes them different in order to gain attention."

"I—I don't think my husband wants me to be different," Keely said, "but I cannot change what I am. Everyone at court knows my base origins, and I am too shy to mingle effectively."

"You are noble enough to have attracted Devereux," Elizabeth countered.

"I do not believe 'twas my nobility that attracted the earl," Keely replied. "However, 'tis kind of you to say so."

"I am never kind," Elizabeth said seriously. "If Devereux constantly worries about you, his mind will wander from my personal finances, and that inattention could cost me a great deal of gold."

"I would never want that to happen," Keely assured her.

"We are in accord," Elizabeth replied. "You shall make my dear Midas happy, and in turn, he shall make me happy by fattening my purse with gold. Take this sage advice: Whenever you feel especially vulnerable, imagine all those haughty nobles without any clothing."

"You mean, picture them naked in my mind?"

"Precisely."

Unconsciously, Keely dropped her gaze to the queen's body.

"Except me," Elizabeth qualified.

Keely snapped her gaze back to the queen's.

"Picturing them naked will give you the confidence you need to mingle successfully," Elizabeth said. "Many years ago, I gave your husband the same advice."

That surprised Keely. "My lord had trouble mingling?"

"Devereux was only a boy at the time," Elizabeth admitted. "He'd come to court one season to act as a page."

"Your advice helped him?"

Queen Elizabeth smiled with the remembrance. "More than a few ladies slapped his face. You see, Richard insisted on picturing only the females naked. To make matters worse, he told them what he was doing and even insisted that I'd ordered him to do so. Of course, when he grew up, the ladies dropped like ripened apples into his arms." Abruptly, the queen said, "I have work to do. 'Tis time for your departure."

Keely stood and curtsied, saying, "I am honored to have been invited to sit with you, Your Majesty."

"Run along, child."

Keely backed out of the chamber and closed the door behind her. Turning around, she realized she stood at the entrance to the Long Gallery. Holy stones, she'd forgotten about returning through it. She couldn't very well knock on the queen's door and ask permission to leap over that wall again.

Mustering her courage, Keely stepped into the gallery and stopped short. Her husband stood there.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Waiting for you," he answered, sauntering toward her.

"But why?"

"Cheshire told me you were alone with Elizabeth," he replied. "I knew walking through the Long Gallery would frighten you."

Richard held his hand out, and Keely accepted it. Without warning, he scooped her into his arms. "I run faster than you," he said.

Keely smiled and entwined her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes and hid her face against his chest as he sprinted through the chamber.

Two minutes later, Richard told her, "You can open your eyes, dearest. We've left the gallery."

Keely opened her eyes and looked at him, saying, "I can walk back to our chamber."

"Carrying you gives me pleasure." With his wife in his arms, Richard marched past dozens of amused courtiers and servants. He nodded at each one and ordered his giggling wife to give them the royal wave.

Reaching their chamber, Richard set Keely on her feet. Before she could turn away, he yanked her into his arms, and his lips captured hers in a lingering kiss.

Finally, Richard stepped back and said with a smile, "Now that we have the kiss out of the way"—his smile vanished—"what the bloody hell possessed you to climb the wall into the privy garden?"

" 'Tis as I said—"

"I don't give a blasted damn what your reason was," Richard snapped. "Do you realize you might have injured our babe?
Do you?
I'd just delivered good news to the queen—but what if Elizabeth had been suffering a foul mood? What would have happened then?"

"She did invite—"

"Elizabeth invited you to
walk
through the door!" Richard bellowed, his voice rising with his anger. His wife's foolishness frightened him, and that made him even angrier.

"There's no need to
shout!"
Keely shouted.

"Lower your voice to a respectful tone when you speak to me," Richard ordered. Then: "You promised you'd refrain from flaunting those stupid beliefs of yours."

"The queen believes me."

Suspicious, Richard cocked a copper brow at her. "What exactly did Elizabeth and you discuss?"

"The queen believes the ghost is Cat Howard."

"Elizabeth actually believes Cat Howard haunts the Long Gallery?" Richard echoed, shocked.

Keely nodded. She lifted her nose into the air and turned her back on him.

"Good Christ! You silly women are all alike," Richard exploded. He marched across the chamber but paused at the door. "I'm warning you, Keely," he threatened. "Keep quiet about what you believe. Or I promise, you will regret it." Richard stormed out of the chamber and slammed the door behind him.

Keely whirled around, lifted her tapestry bag, and threw it at the door. "Embroider your own handkerchiefs!" she shouted.

Marching across the chamber, Keely dropped into the chair in front of the hearth. Angry tears welled up in her eyes, but she brushed them away. She absolutely refused to shed tears for the insensitive lout she'd married.

Anger made her stomach churn. She took several deep calming breaths.

Extreme agitation could mark the babe, Keely told herself. Remaining placid was of utmost importance. She refused to chance injuring her daughter.

Keely leaned back, closed her eyes, and thought of her angry husband. Richard was a heretic who believed in the Here and Now and worshipped gold. Yet arrogance and ignorance had been bred in him—his attitude was not completely his fault.

And he feared for their daughter's safety.
That thought warmed her heart and made her more determined to hold her patience with him.

Slowly, Keely rose from the chair and retrieved her tapestry bag from the floor. She sat down again and began to embroider his handkerchiefs.

Dealing with simpletons or loved ones required patience, Keely concluded. The earl filled the bill on both accounts. A simpleminded heretic, Richard refused to see beyond the horizon, but she loved him in spite of that gigantic flaw.

She loved him.
An aching emotion welled up in Keely's breast. Holy stones, she'd fallen in love with her exasperating English husband.

Keely sighed, fighting back the raw regret that threatened to break her heart.
Too bad her husband didn't love her.

Chapter
15

Slipping out of her husband's embrace, Keely rose from the bed and stared down at him. Sleep softened his features and gave him a boyish appearance. That he hadn't harbored his anger surprised Keely and filled her with hope. She'd always assumed that all men cherished their grudges as her stepfather had, but Richard had returned to their chamber the previous evening and behaved as though they hadn't exchanged angry words.

Keely pulled the coverlet up to his shoulders and then padded on bare feet across the chamber to the window. The day had dawned dark and cheerless; a forbidding overcast threatened snow—usual fare for the twenty-first day of December.

Keely's heart hummed with the song of her Druid ancestors. Today marked the winter solstice, Alban Arthuan, the festival of light, when the sun vanquished the world's darkness and the days grew steadily longer.

Keely wished she could celebrate the holiday outside and search for the sacred mistletoe, but the earl had spoken wisely. If they caught her, the ignorant English would burn her at the stake for being a witch.

Glancing toward the bed, Keely considered awakening Richard but then thought better of it. Participating in a pagan ceremony would certainly never make her husband's daily list of things to do.

Keely pulled her white ceremonial robe over her night-shift. Then she collected the requisite holy items: magic stones, golden sickle, and Yule candle.

Keely chose eight white agates for spiritual guidance and one black obsidian for repelling dark magic. Using the agates, she made a circle in the middle area of the chamber and left only the western periphery open.

Entering from the west, Keely closed the circle with the last white agate and whispered, "All disturbing thoughts remain outside."

She set the black obsidian and the candle down in the soul of the circle, then fused its invisible periphery shut with her golden sickle. Returning to the circle's center, she turned clockwise three times until she faced the east.

Dropping to her knees, Keely closed her eyes and chanted into the silence, "The Old Ones are here, watching and waiting. Stars speak through stones, and light shines through the thickest oak. One realm is heaven and earth."

Keely reached for the candle and lifted it toward the east. "Hail, Great Mother Goddess, bringer of light out of darkness and rebirth out of death," she prayed. "I beg a favor: Guard my unborn child and keep her safe. And though he is a heretic, deliver my husband from the unseen evil I sense lurking near."

After snuffing the candle, Keely stood and walked to the circle's western periphery, then lifted the agate and broke the enchantment. She spared a glance toward the bed and froze.

Richard lay on his side and watched her. "How do you feel?" he asked in a voice husky with sleep.

"Fine." Keely could already hear the blistering lecture coming her way.

" 'Tis exceedingly strange how the queasiness strikes you only on Sunday morn as we dress for chapel," Richard remarked, the hint of a smile flirting with his lips.

Keely ignored his astute observation. She finished collecting her magic stones and put them away, then tossed her ceremonial robe aside and returned to the bed.

Richard lifted the coverlet in invitation, and Keely slid in beside him. He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head against his chest.

"You were worshipping, dearest," Richard said, his thumb caressing her silken cheek. "Thank you for remembering me in your prayers."

"You are very welcome." Then Keely complained in a rueful voice, "Worshipping inside does hinder my style."

Richard chuckled and then yawned. " 'Tis early," he said. "Let us return to sleep."

Keely closed her eyes and snuggled against her husband's body. She felt safe within the circle of his arms. Contented silence reigned for several moments.

"Richard?"

"Yes, dearest?"