Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (77 page)

He spread out the discarded petticoat, then lifted her up and placed her on it; then he was beside her, pulling her into his arms, his hands sliding over her, caressing her flesh, learning about her body with an intimacy that even she'd been ignorant of.

His mouth was against her breasts, his tongue moving around the pink crest and taut nipple while his hands fondled her. His mouth moved over her body, leaving no part of her free of his touch. When she felt his hands spread her thighs, holding them wide for his entry, her nails were digging into his back, her hips already beginning to move sensuously against him. Her lips clung to his as
he kissed
her deeply, then she felt his hardness entering her, moving slowly inside of her, until she gasped with the sharp pain of his intrusion against the tender softness, untouched until now.

He paused, allowing her to learn the feel of him, of the throbbing that would soon turn to delight when he moved against her with increasing passion.

He felt her hands spreading against his back, moving lower to hold him closer against her as she began to feel the passion of his embrace increasing, and when she began to move her hips against him, he responded, carrying her with him as he felt her tightness holding him to her, caressing him in a way that left him unable to stop until he'd felt the climax of their lovemaking. He felt her thighs wrapped around him, then heard her moan of pleasure as her hips moved with his, and never before had a woman seemed so perfect for him, for his desires. They came together at the same time, her eyes so green with surprised pleasure that he felt the full measure of love by having pleased her as well as having received the ultimate gift from her body.

Their passion spent, Valentine continued to hold Lily close in his arms, his hands fondling her gently while they lay there, unwilling to break the contact between them. Lily drew a deep breath, her breasts pressing against his chest. She moved closer, molding her body to his trustingly, and with her head against his shoulder and the sound of the sea surrounding them, they drifted into sleep knowing a shared contentment that came of their love.

Lily awoke to find the cave empty. She sat up, glancing around nervously. She felt the coolness of the air against her bare
skin
and realized that she had been there lying naked. The shirt Valentine had placed over her had fallen off. Shivering, Lily struggled into her chemise and petticoat. Her breasts were sore from Valentine's caress, and she felt a tenderness between her thighs. But as she thought of the love they had found, she welcomed the pain of that first coupling.

Hurrying to the cave entrance, she carefully left the
concealing
darkness, blinking when the brightness of the sun struck her eyes. She stood on the path staring out to sea.

The Spanish galleon had gone. Her gaze searched the gentle curve of beach. Suddenly she saw his tall, lean figure walking along the sands, pausing now and again as he stared out to sea.

She stood for a moment watching him, remembering, and she felt her heart miss a beat as she stared down at him, knowing he was her lover.

"Lily!"

Lily waved back, hurrying down the path to the beach below. She followed the wandering trail of his footsteps across the sands, stopping once to pick a couple of fragrant, lush blossoms from the forest.

By the time she returned to the beach, he had come most of the distance and was standing watching her. Her arms were raised above her head, drawing her chemise tight across the firm, rounded breasts he'd suckled the night before. The breeze molded her petticoat to her hips and thighs, leaving little to the imagination, which he no longer needed, for he had tasted of her body, become a part of her, and, perhaps, he had even planted his seed deep inside that nurturing place.

"The galleon, it is gone, Valentine!"

"I know. I thought she would be. There was no reason for them to stay any longer, thinking we'd drowned in the cove."

"If
.
.
.
we ever return to England
-
-" Lily began, twirling around and around as she flirted with the waves, suddenly feeling shy with him as she caught that ardent glint in his eye.

"
When
we return to England," Valentine corrected her, his arms pulling her into his embrace. Her hair was fragrant with the exotic, deep red blossoms she'd woven into the long strands, and her skin smelled of the sea; he kissed her shoulder and wasn't surprised that it tasted of salt. "There is a cove, very
sheltered
, beneath the cliffs at Ravindzara. There is a sandy beach and the waters are as clear and warm as these. The winds are gentle, blowing in from the sea. You and I will go there often, Lily Francisca. And at sunset, when the sky is aflame, we will lie on a silken rug and make love throughout the night. No one will disturb us, for they will know that the master of Ravindzara and his beautiful bride, who may indeed be from the sea, are wrapped in each other's arms, lost to the world and-
-
"

"Valentine, please, you must listen," Lily protested.

"I do not want to listen," he said, his mouth finding hers and silencing her protest, and despite her intentions she found herself responding wildly to his caresses.

He knelt in the sand, pulling her down on top of him, his mouth never leaving hers while he kissed her, his hands moving over her rounded hips, holding her to him until she became aware of his intentions through the thin petticoat.

"Valentine, not here."

"Yes, here. There is no one to see, and I want you, my love," he warned.

"I have to speak with you. We shouldn't be doing this. What happened last night..." she began uncomfortably. "You don't have to feel you must marry me. I would understand. I'm not the kind of woman a man would wish for his wife. You should marry someone like
-
-like Honoria. She would make a far better wife than I ever could. She has all of the graces. I am not a proper person, Valentine. My life had been very unusual. I do not always act in a civilized manner, despite what Basil tried to teach me."

"I would be bored with anyone else, my love, my only love," Valentine murmured against her lips, laughing softly. "Always thinking of others rather than yourself. But I am astounded that you would sacrifice me for what you mistakenly think is right and proper. You will become my wife, Lily. Accept that fact, my dear. Indeed, you are already my lover and, to my mind, my wife. When you allowed me to become your lover, 'twas no dalliance
between
us. You and I will be lovers forever. Never doubt that. But to make certain you never leave me, we will say our vows for the world to hear. And the church bells shall ring in celebration of our marriage vows. No one will ever take you from me. I hold what is mine, Lily Francisca Christian. Love me now, Lily," he said, his lips devouring hers until she had no breath lift in a body that was no longer hers, for he had claimed it as his prize.

"You seem so very certain that we will return to England," she managed to say faintly when his lips parted from hers for an instant so she could draw breath. "I wish I had your faith, Valentine. The Madrigal is gone. She-she may have been
.
.
." Lily paused, unwilling even to think such a thought, especially since Simon was aboard Valentine's ship.

"Faith? Yes, I have faith, faith in my men," he said with a smile, his narrowed gaze searching the horizon almost impatiently until he felt Lily's hands caressing him boldly and realized that he would have her to himself in this paradise for a little while longer.

It wasn't until early the following day that his faith seemed justified and his search proved worthwhile, for just beyond the reefs, flying the red cross of St. George, was the
Madrigal
, her cannon firing a salute to her captain on shore.

He was a gentleman on whom I built

An absolute trust.

S
hakespeare

Chapter Twenty-Six

T
he
Madrigal
’s Sails
had seemed to sing, catching the wind and billowing with a thundering song. The curving sheets of canvas had been burnished by the sun from dawn till dusk, while shimmering sea had stretched as far as the eye could see.

Under press of canvas, all her sails set and drawing well, the
Madrigal
had held steady to her course with the westerlies keeping her sails rapping full. Leaving the warm waters of the Gulf Stream that had carried her north, she turned toward home with the wind off her quarter, the gilded figurehead of the sea maid riding the waves as the trim ship gave easily to the motion of sea and wind.

In the
Madrigal's
wake, each trying for the weather gage, were several of her sister ships, their captains crowding on in a friendly but competitive race. But the
Madrigal
remained apart, forging ahead, her captain setting every stitch of canvas as he raced with the wind, scattering the white horses cresting in foaming waves before her bow.

More than the others, he had reason to reach the shores of England.

The
Madrigal
made the crossing in less than a month, almost beating the twenty-three days it had taken Drake ten years earlier to cross the Atlantic after his successful raid on Nombre de Dios.

She was anchored now just below Greenwich, where her captain had gone ashore for a private audience with Elizabeth. Lord Burghley had received the news of her docking immediately upon the
Madrigal's
arrival and, on the strength of his own suspicions, had already alerted a troop of guardsmen to stand ready.

Valentine Whitelaw had been escorted into the palace through a back entrance, along a darkened corridor empty of courtiers or servants, with only the yeomen of the guard in full livery to guide him along its narrow length.

The captain of the guard allowed him entrance into the privy chamber. Elizabeth, as was often her custom, had dined alone. The wide assortment of dishes that had been offered for her selection had been tested for poisoning by her yeomen before being served to her. It was a ceremony Valentine had witnessed once before, when a lady-in-waiting had given a spoonful of the dish each yeoman had carried to that man to taste, lest he have been tempted to
poison
it along its route from the royal kitchens. The gilt plate was now being removed while stacks of
correspondence
and treatises which needed Elizabeth's perusal and response were being placed across the table in order of importance.

"Your Majesty." Valentine Whitelaw knelt on one knee before her, his head downbent.

"Rise, my captain."

Valentine Whitelaw rose before his queen. Elizabeth stood before her throne in royal splendor; her satin gown was of a brilliant shade of marigold and embroidered with brightly colored silks and encrusted with sparkling jewels; her red-gold curls were crowned by what appeared to be a sunburst of gold tipped with rubies and pearls; a high-standing ruff of the finest lace framed her head and shoulders, while the delicate layers of a lace collarette were starched to unfold like the petals of the flowers she loved to surround herself with. A fragrant rose was pinned to her breast and the scent of lavender floated from the silken folds of her gown when she gracefully took her seat, but she sat rigidly, despite the tall-backed support of her throne, and she ignored the sable rug that might have warmed her knees.

"Away! Leave us!" she said, gesturing impatiently for her maids of honor, ladies-in-waiting, and various officials flocking around to leave.

Valentine Whitelaw continued to stand alone before Elizabeth, oblivious of the rustling of silken skirts and petticoats and the curious glances being sent his way by those insulted officials not important enough to
remain
during his audience with Elizabeth. He felt her dark eyes on him and finally met her speculative gaze.

"You need say nothing. I can see form the graveness of your expression, Master Mariner, that your voyage has been successful," she spoke harshly, her long, slender fingers straying to the heavy ropes of pearls that dangled from her neck. Her ringed fingers moved nervously along the gleaming coils and were the only indication of her growing unease.

"Indeed, ma'am, although there is much sadness and little victory in finding that we have been betrayed by those we have placed an absolute trust in," Valentine spoke softly, his turquoise eyes shadowed by that betrayal.

The door to the chamber opened to allow Lord Burghley's dark-clad figure to enter, then it closed behind him, shutting off the sounds of laughter and music drifting from the great hall.

Valentine
Whitelaw
reached inside his doublet, where the leather-bound journal had been safely hidden from all eyes, and withdrew the book. He stepped forward and held it out to Elizabeth.

"My brother's journal."

By her wish, Lord Burghley carefully took the book, half expecting it to crumble to dust in his hand. "You have read it? It proves our suspicions?"

Valentine Whitelaw nodded. "Basil did a fine job. He left detailed descriptions of everything he saw and heard. Names, dates, places, his impressions of the people he met, the gossip he was privy to. It was while at the home of Don Rodrigo, Magdalena Christian's father, that Basil saw to Englishmen he knew well. They were traveling in the company of a priest and Don Pedro Villasandro, captain of the
Estrella D'Alba
. They had just arrived from Spain aboard his ship.

"He was, of course, suspicious of their presence in Santo Domingo. By bribing a fisherman, Basil managed to get aboard the
Estrella D'Alba
. From his vantage point on the balcony outside the captain's cabin, he overheard Sir Raymond Valchamps plotting an assassination-his queen's."

"And the other gentleman?" Elizabeth asked.

Lord Burghley had been quickly thumbing through the book, noting with some surprise the information revealed in Basil Whitelaw's neat hand. Now he held the journal open for his queen to read the name printed therein.

"I will have the warrants for their arrest drawn up immediately. As of the last report I received, Sir Raymond Valchamps had not yet left his townhouse. We may be able to apprehend him before he leaves the city and learns of Captain Whitelaw's return. Even should he try to flee to the coast, we have him in our grasp now," Lord Burghley stated. "We have said nothing of our suspicions of him. Of course, he knew you would have spoken to us concerning his attempted murder of Mistress Christian, but he would have known we had little proof; no more than her word against his. He has behaved as he always has-as if innocent of any wrongdoing. Indeed, I would have been surprised had he tried to flee the country. He would have wished to protect his good name had you not returned. And fleeing to France would have made him look very guilty indeed. However, I had thought him uncommonly calm considering the predicament he finds himself in. I realize now that he had every reason to believe that you would never return to England. He and his friends have been a step ahead of you since the beginning. You have my admiration, Captain, for having managed to escape the trap they surely set for you," Lord Burghley complimented him, a curious expression in his eye.

"With the cooperation of a few good friends, I set a trap of my own, my lord," Valentine Whitelaw responded, then glanced to where Elizabeth sat, lost in thought.

"With Your Majesty's permission, I would ask leave to accompany your guard when arresting this other
.
.
.
traitor."

Elizabeth nodded, rising to walk over to the window to stare out on the green banks sloping down to the river.

"I have resisted, until now, believing those allegations you brought to Lord Burghley. I could not believe such treachery could exist so close at hand, but time and time again it has been proven so," she said, remembering others she had trusted through the years who had betrayed her and tried to seize her crown.

Turning from the window, she was momentarily silhouetted against the light and Valentine Whitelaw realized how very frail Elizabeth suddenly seemed. So accustomed had he become through the years of her reign to seeing her raise a bold face to the world, to hear her damning oaths or rich laughter fill a room that he had forgotten that she was an aging woman. The thick white powder she covered her face with could not hide the lines spreading out from her eyes nor conceal the finely wrinkled and sagging skin of her neck, and the rouge pained unsparingly on her sunken cheeks could not replace the natural color of a young girl's blush. This was a woman who was growing tired of subterfuge, fearful of assassination plots, and of losing friends and companions to death. At this moment, with her usual bravado gone, her queenly duties weighing heavy on her thin shoulders, she looked no more than a weary woman faced with her own mortality.

"I believe Sir Raymond has been making preparations to attend a masque at Riverhurst this even and since both or our traitors are certain to be in attendance, we could, if we miss Sir Raymond here, apprehend Valchamps and
-
-"

"Never again mention either name while in my presence!" Elizabeth interrupted, her voice shaking now with a rage. "God's death, but I will hear nothing further concerning this matter until both traitors are lodged in the Tower!" she swore, and with her dark eyes burning with rekindled fire and her head of red-gold curls raised proudly, she left the chamber, her maids of honor, ladies-in-waiting, and flustered officials hurrying after her, each praying he or she would not draw her notice and anger Her Majesty further, for her voice was raised shrilly in oath after bloodcurdling oath.

Lord Burghley waited a few minutes longer, until the corridor beyond was almost empty. "Come, I will get you a horse. A moment, please, and I will see to the warrants," he said, guiding
Valentine
along the corridor.

"I will need three horses, my lord. Mustafa, my manservant and self-appointed bodyguard, will not allow me to leave without him. He would run behind my mount rather than be left behind. And my nephew, Simon Whitelaw, will of course wish to see his family at Riverhurst."

Lord Burghley nodded his agreement. "Of course. And Mistress Christian? She is well and in London?" he required politely.

"No," Valentine Whitelaw replied almost regretfully, his finger straying to touch the smoothness of the pearl he wore in his ear. "She is at Ravindzara."

"Your
home
in Cornwall? Ah, that is wise. Now, tell me how it is you escaped the trap I am certain was set for you. I have information that Don Pedro Villasandro sailed from Madrid within a few days of the
Madrigal's
sailing. there was a rumor, merely hearsay, of course, that he was going to rid the world of a bold Englishman called
El Tigre
. Anyone I know?" Lord Burghley asked softly, his curiosity as yet unsatisfied concerning that point as they walked along the corridor until their two figures disappeared from view.

Lily Christian stood looking out the windows of the great chamber. She could see the sea in the distance and she longed to spy the
Madrigal's
sails against the horizon and know that her captain had returned to Ravindzara.

How many days had it been
now
, she wondered, since the
Madrigal
's lookout had first sighted the shores of England? With every league that had passed while the
Madrigal
had closed the land, Lily had sensed Valentine's growing impatience. Lying along the land, the
Madrigal
had anchored and a boat had been sent ashore. Valentine had brought the
Madrigal
in close, to hug the shore, so the boat would not have to be rowed a great distance. It took a good crew to make it ashore through the rocky mouth of the small cove, but Valentine had not had the time to dock in Falmouth and travel by land to Ravindzara. But fortune had been smiling and the boat had been safely beached in the cove below the cliffs near Ravindzara. Valentine and Lily, the Turk and Simon, and several of the crew had climbed the narrow path to the cliffs above. They'd hurried across the wide stretch of lawns, traveling the short distance through the parkland to where the brick paths meandered through the terraced grounds surrounding Ravindzara.

It had been late afternoon, and through the coolness of the shadows deepening along the walled gardens they had reached the great hall of Ravindzara. This time, upon entering, Lily felt a welcoming warmth engulfing her, which contrasted sharply with the cold emptiness she'd felt when seeing Honoria Penmorley standing in the hall to greet them the last time she entered Valentine's home.

The hall was filled with voices raised in merriment. A cheerful fire was burning in the great hearth, where a large mastiff was stretched out before it warming himself against the afternoon chill. Mouthwatering aromas of a meal in full preparation drifted through the hall and the great table was being set with silver plate that gleamed invitingly in the firelight.

A trio of jesting footmen were lowering one of the circular chandeliers fro the beamed ceiling, their at times ribald comments spoken
loud enough
to cause a blush to color a comely maid's cheek and draw a disapproving glance from Quinta Whitelaw, who was arranging an elaborate centerpiece of a ship of sugar paste, with marchpane figures of animals, candied fruits, and confections surrounding it, in the center of the trestle table.