The Highwayman (29 page)

“I’ll put another boy in you, so I will,” he said in her ear, and as he did Alex caught sight of the wedding band on her finger, the glint of gold almost lost in the golden mass of his hair.

She went limp and bit her lip.

Burke felt the change and looked down into her face. “What’s amiss?” he said.

Alex didn’t answer, but closed her eyes and turned her head away from him.

He sat up, dropping his legs over the side of the bed, his head bowed and his forearms propped on his thighs. She saw that his hands were shaking.

“I’ll not force you, Alex, no matter how much you might want me to,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He picked his cambric shirt and leather jerkin off the floor, shrugged into them, and then stood up, adjusting his pants. “I’ll be down in the tavern,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning and take you the rest of the way into London.”

He paused only to add a log to the dying fire before he closed the door behind him.

Alex pulled the sheet over her naked body and stared, dry-eyed, at the ceiling.

* * * *

Burke did not get drunk; he was sober and wordless and waiting for Alex when she arrived in the tavern the next morning. She had slept fitfully for the rest of the night after he had left her, but if he noticed her drawn, tight face he said nothing about it.

They conducted the rest of the trip in silence, entering south London in late morning. Alex took the lead since she knew the city. Burke observed the confusion and noise with awe; Southampton had been nothing by comparison with this, and before that he had known only Ireland.

They proceeded slowly up King Street, passing the stalls of fishmongers and herb sellers and bakers and sweetmeat vendors, all hawking their wares. Riders had to take care not to trample the children and dogs and beggars who threatened to run under their horses at any moment. The tidal smell of the river, the food offered for sale, and the press of unclean people was so overwhelming that Burke was tempted to cover his nose.

Alex turned north through Holbein Gate, passing the connecting route between Charing Cross and Westminster, and thereafter the passage grew wider and less congested until they reached Whitehall Gate, the entrance to the palace. She dismounted and signaled for Burke to do the same. She handed what looked like a letter to the guard, and after examining it he indicated that they should pass and walked over to take their mounts.

Burke hesitated. “I’m not handing over my horse to that dressed-up dummy,” he said to Alex in a low voice. It was the first sentence he had spoken to her that day.

“Dee will be perfectly all right. He’ll go to the palace stables, where he’ll be well tended. You can have him back when you leave.”

“I’m leaving now,” he said, holding her gaze.

“Oh, please, Kevin, not here, at least let me say a proper good-bye!”

“I said I would get you here, and I have,” he told her. “I’m done with this business, and with you.”

“Are you punishing me for last night?”

He was spared a reply by a commotion coming from the direction of the elaborate gardens that led down toward the river. They looked up to a see a woman in the distance, striding briskly toward them, followed by a group of four men who were hurrying to keep up with her.

“Oh, my God,” Alex whispered.

“What is it?” Burke asked.

“The queen.” The guard, who had joined them, answered his question, taking the horses and leading them back to his post.

“Listen to me,” Alex said quickly. “Bow low when she approaches and then just remain still. Say nothing unless she speaks directly to you, and then answer briefly and respectfully. Kevin, do you hear me?”

“I hear,” he replied dully, resisting an overpowering urge to flee. These people, all so recently his enemies—especially this old woman bearing down on him—made him feel as though he were voluntarily entering a prison camp. Everything in him rose up screaming, telling him not to take another step closer to the fire.

He drew a deep breath and stood his ground.

“My little Greek!” Elizabeth said, extending her hand for Alex to kiss. Alex sank to the ground in a curtsy and pressed her lips to the old lady’s long, slender fingers, glittering with rings. Burke stared, fascinated, and then remembered to bow.

The old lady was wearing a pale yellow gown with a deeper buttercup underskirt and a surcoat of amber velvet. A pair of cloth-of-gold slippers peeped from under her voluminous skirts and there were huge white pearls in her intricately designed wig.

“Your Majesty,” Alex murmured.

Elizabeth indicated they should rise and stood beaming at Alex while her councilors huddled in the background.

“Welcome back to court,” the queen said graciously. “And how is your son?”

“Thriving, ma’am.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. What think you of his gift?”

“Overwhelmingly generous, Your Majesty. I cannot compose a proper expression of gratitude.”

Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. “Master Cecil had a letter from your husband. His business goes well and he expects to return and give his report in a month’s time.”

“So I understand.”

“And who is this?” Elizabeth said, turning her sharp gaze on Burke, who stood uneasily a few paces behind Alex.

“My manservant,” Alex said, her heart racing. “He accompanied me from Surrey and will be returning there.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said, moving closer to Burke and looking him up and down. “He shall stay overnight at the palace and rest himself. Time enough to return tomorrow.”

“Most gracious, ma’am,” Alex said, despairing inwardly. She shot a meaningful glance at Burke, and he bowed again.

“A long lad,” the queen said, observing his height. “I like a long lad. Why have you been keeping this beauty hidden away in Surrey, Alexandra? He should be assisting you at court.”

“My husband’s manager is needful of his skill with horses on the estate, Your Majesty,” Alex said.

“Ah, well, I would not disturb your domestic harmony, Lady Selby,” the queen said. “But you will stay the night with us, even so,” she added, addressing Burke, “and attend upon us tomorrow morning before you leave.”

“I will, and thank you, ma’am,” Burke said in his best Inverary Castle accent.

“Done,” the queen said briskly. “Cantwell, see to his accommodations,” she said to one of her councilors. “Lady Alex, you will come with us.”

Alex followed the queen, casting one final glance over her shoulder at Burke, who looked after her longingly.

* * * *

Burke stared into the leaping flames of the fireplace in his assigned room at Whitehall, wondering at the fate that had led him to his present ridiculous circumstances. Here he was, sitting in the palace of the woman whose forces he had recently been fighting, waiting for an audience with that same lady, who had no idea who he really was.

What would his fellow Irishmen think of this? Rory would be yelling his head off, no doubt, and

Aidan would be laughing, holding his sides and crying with mirth at the sight of the great Kevin Burke, cavalier of Ireland, waiting for an audience with Elizabeth I of England like a lazy boy called before his tutor.

Burke got up and looked for a window to open. There was none. The fire was too high, and the room felt like an oven. He had noticed the servants lighting all the fires at dusk, even without being requested to do so. Well, old people felt the cold, and the queen doubtless suffered from the river damp.

But he was young, and sweating.

He looked at the door to the hall, trying to remember the route he had taken from the courtyard. He felt certain he could get away, simply slip out of the palace under cover of night, but then Alex would be left to explain his absence in the morning. He wasn’t sure the queen would notice it, but judging from the lively interest in her eyes when she had looked at him, he had a sinking feeling she might, which could leave Alex in a tight spot.

Alex. She said she still loved him, but more than that, he
knew
she did. He could see it in her face, her eyes, and had felt it in her touch the previous night at the inn. But she was as immovable as the Rock of Cashel when it came to her marriage, her duty to an old man he had never met. It maddened him, but at the same time he had to respect her tenacity. Adherence to a promise was a quality much admired by the Irish.

Burke stripped to the waist and moved his chair back from the fire, settling in to wait.

He had an idea this would be his second night in a row without sleep.

* * * *

In the morning Alex stood nervously next to Mary Howard in the presence chamber, waiting for the queen to appear. She had told Mary about recent events, and when Burke came in with a yeoman of the guard Alex felt Mary grow tense beside her.

When the queen came in there was rustle of garments as the people made their obeisances. The old lady was in deep green taffeta with a celadon silk underskirt, her ears and wrists and fingers hung with emeralds, her billowing sleeves and starched ruff white as alabaster. As the courtiers looked on she conducted interviews and dispensed with petty business matters, pausing to tally the company with her eyes, making sure that all who had been requested to appear were present. Finally she concluded with a flourish and said, “Now we will see Captain Markham of my navy, who has much to report to us.”

A naval commander in full regalia swept into the room. His eyes passed over the onlookers as he walked up to the throne, and then he stopped in his tracks when he saw Burke.

There was an awful, pregnant silence as the two men surveyed each other, and Alex felt her heart drop into her shoes.

“Seize him!” Markham cried, pointing to Burke.

Everyone stared at the two men, aghast.

“Captain Markham, what is the meaning of this?” the queen demanded.

“Your Majesty, I do beg your pardon for this insult to your presence, but he must be taken at once. He’s absent without leave from my ship, a foul traitor. This man is a deserter!”

Chapter 12

If all the world and love were young,
 

And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
 

These pretty pleasures might me move
 

To live with thee, and be thy love

—Walter Raleigh, “The Nymph’s Reply”

“Lady Selby, I demand
an explanation,” the queen said. “Is this man your servant, or is he not?” She pointed to Burke with one forefinger.
 

“I... ah .. . he is, Your Majesty,” Alex replied.
 

“Then what is this story of Captain Markham’s?” Elizabeth asked. “I do not enjoy being trifled with, and Markham has leveled a serious charge. It wants answering.”

“I can explain, ma’am,” Burke said, stepping forward.

Markham moved toward Burke, his hand on his sword hilt.

“I heartily wish someone would,” Elizabeth replied, tapping her foot.

“I went absent from the captain’s ship some days before I joined Lady Selby’s staff. I was hired by her horsemaster to work in the stables. No one at Hampden Manor knew anything at all of my previous life.”

Alex willed herself not to react visibly. She could see how this was going, Burke was planning to take responsibility on himself and keep her out of it.

“So you admit the desertion?” the queen asked.

“I left the ship as the captain says, but I did not regard my leaving as a desertion,” Burke said.

The queen waved her hand and guards from either side of the room moved in on Burke and took hold of him. He made no resistance, merely stood his ground, not looking at Alex.

“An insolent reply,” Elizabeth said to him. “I would like an account of it.”

“I was taken at sea and forced into service aboard the captain’s ship. Since my participation had not been rightly obtained, I felt it no crime to end it.”

The queen looked at Markham, who was shifting his feet uncomfortably. Everyone else was immobilized, spellbound by the unexpected drama taking place.

“Is this true, Markham?” the queen demanded.

“It is a common practice, ma’am,” Markham said.

“Have you not enough legitimate sailors to populate my navy?”

“This ingrate would have drowned had we not saved him!” Markham cried, losing his temper. “Demanding that he serve on board was little enough payment for his life, I’ll warrant.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Where is your home?” she asked Burke, her expression grim.

Alex closed her eyes.

“Ireland, ma’am.”

Elizabeth’s faint reddish eyebrows shot up toward her artificial hairline. “You speak English very well for an Irishman.”

Alex waited for Burke to make some acid reply, but he let it pass, for which she was grateful. Before the interchange could reach the subject of Burke’s involvement with the rebels, she stepped forward.