Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (82 page)

"Thank you, Quinta. I do love you," Lily said hugging her.

Quinta smiled, touched, for she had always like the child. "Now go to him. You have kept him waiting long enough."

Lily wasted no more time and hurried from the room, flying down the corridor toward the great chamber where Quinta had said he waited for her.

She paused just outside the door forcing herself to breathe more slowly, then she opened the door and entered the room.

Valentine Whitelaw stood staring out the windows where she had stood for so many long hours watching the horizon for the
Madrigal's
sails. He seemed more handsome than she remembered. He was dressed as she first saw him, in leather jerkin and breeches, his white shirt so startling against his sun-bronzed skin. The pearl he wore in his ear glinted trimmed beard made her want to touch the strong line of his jaw.

Suddenly Lily found herself staring into his eyes, and she felt the same sense of breathlessness she'd felt the first time when she'd opened her eyes to find his turquoise eyes watching her so intently, like her
tigre's
when he was hunting.

"Valentine!" Lily said, holding out her hands to him.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, staring at her as if at a stranger.

Lily frowned. "Valentine?"

"God's Light!" Valentine Whitelaw expostulated, his eyes narrowing in disbelief as he stared at her.

Suddenly his deep, rich laughter filled the room.

"What have you done to yourself?" he demanded, and in a stride he had come to stand before her.

Lily's cheeks paled. "I thought you would be pleased."

"Pleased? I come home to Ravindzara to find the most beautiful woman I have ever known racing along the cliffs, every step of that damned horse carrying my only love closer to the rocks below, then find that my flaming-haired darling has become a Puritan! Pleased? I have seldom known such despair," Valentine said, his lips twitching slightly as he stared at her crestfallen expression. "Would you mind explaining this-this attire?" he asked softly as he walked around her.

Dressed in a plain gray gown of a fine quality of silk, but with no trimming except for the simple linen collar and cuffs, Lily Christian looked quite somber. But in Valentine Whitelaw's eyes, the worst crime she'd perpetrated had been in confining the glorious thickness of her dark red hair in a tight braid which she'd tucked beneath a prim-looking headdress without benefit of even the
nearest
wisp of lace.

"I can see I have been away far too long," Valentine murmured thoughtfully.

Lily licked her dry lips. "I only wished to appear proper, Valentine. I thought I might be an
embarrassment
to you if I did not try to act more genteelly. I did it for you," she added faintly, for he had disappeared behind her back.

"Valentine!" she gasped, for he'd pulled her back against his chest and his hands were busy at her waist and bodice undoing the fastenings. "What are you doing?"

"I am going to free you of this shroud," he said against her ear, his breath warm, then she felt his tongue against the ring of Spanish gold, before his teeth bit her lobe gently.

She felt a rush of air against her bare shoulders when he took the bodice from her, then her skirt had fallen into a wrinkled heap at her feet, leaving her standing in the middle of the great chamber in her petticoat and smock.

But before she could reach down and retrieve her clothes, his hands had moved to the offending
attifet
, and pulling it loose from atop her head, his hands slid into the thickness of her coiled hair and loosened the dark red strands until they fell across her shoulders like a heavy silken veil.

Turning her around to face him, he stared at her for a long moment. "There is one thing missing," he murmured, his eyes half-closed as he gazed into her face, particularly at her lips.

"Prraaack!
Buss us a nice one, sweeting!"

Valentine glanced over at the parrot who'd just awakened from a nap and who was now strutting on his perch.

"Thank you, Cisco, that is just what I had in mind," Valentine said with a laugh.. Then his mouth had covered Lily's, his lips teasing hers for a long
moment
, touching them softly, then with more pressure until they parted and his kiss became more intimate under the gentle, persuasive probing of his tongue against hers.

His hands held her close in his embrace, until his warmth spread to her, burning her where he touched her.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he said against the reddened softness of her lips, "Now you look like a woman who has just been kissed by her lover. That was what was missing," he said with a smile.

Lily's arms had moved behind his neck during the embrace, and now her fingers caressed his nape, playing with the black
hair
that curled there.

"I've missed you so," she said, placing a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"Not as much as I have missed you," he said, breathing deeply of her fragrance. "You smell too delicious to be forgotten easily, and the mere thought of your sweet-scented flesh causes a man a great deal of discomfort," he said, his mouth finding hers for a long kiss before moving lower to caress the softness of her breasts.

"At least I did have this to remind me of you, and what I was missing by being away from you," he said, lifting his mouth from hers and smiling with pleasure as he reached beneath his leather jerkin, holding up a lacey, beribboned garter.

Lily stared in amazement at the garter. "That is mine!"

"I know," he said, keeping his prize out of her reach.

"Where did you find it?"

"On the island. I was walking along the sands and spied this priceless treasure. 'Tis a sweetly scented as its mistress," he said, breathing the delicate lavender scent that clung to the lace. "I have kept it against my heart," he told her, his turquoise eyes bright with love as Lily caressed his cheek, her fingers trailing along the roughness of his beard.

Lily jumped nervously when she heard footsteps beyond the door, her face flushed with embarrassment when she realized she stood in his arms in nothing more than her
petticoat
and smock, which left her little modesty under his roving hands as she felt his caress along her hip.

With a smile, he released her from his embrace and walked over to where his cloak lay across the window seat. He held it out and wrapped her within its concealing folds.

"We have much to discuss, Lily Francisca, and we have a lot of hours to make up for. Come," he said, holding out his hand to her
,”
'tis a fairly warm day for winter, and I have yet to show you that cove just below the cliffs. We will be undisturbed there," Valentine Whitelaw said, his fingers closing around hers when she placed her hand in his.

"You are certain we will not be disturbed?" she asked, wrapping the great folds of his cloak around her.

"If no one knows where we are, how can we be disturbed? It will be our secret," he said with a devilish glint in his eye as he pulled her after him out the door.

"Prraaack!
Buss us a nice one! Lift a leg, mate! Ooooh, where are we off to, my pretty one?
Prraaack!
The cove. No one knows! A secret!
Prraaack!"
Cisco chirped, his giggling laughter filling the room.

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

This other Eden, demi-paradise

This fortress built by Nature for herself
.
.
.

This precious stone set in the silver sea
.
.
.

This blessed plot, this
earth
, this realm, this England.

S
hakespeare

Epilogue

"
G
od bless Queen Elizabeth
!"

Dressed in a gown of cloth of gold, with a crimson cloak trimmed in ermine and a golden crown set regally on her red-gold curls, Elizabeth Regina rode in a chariot of gold through the streets of
London
. Elizabeth, who had been christened in a mantle of purple velvet and anointed with the holy oil entitled for royalty at Grey Friars Church on September 10, 1533, was now
celebrating
her fiftieth year of birth and the twenty-fifth year of her reign. The only child of King Henry VIII and his
ill-fated
queen, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth had been destined to rule the island kingdom and bring about a golden age that would give birth to an empire.

"God save Your Grace!"

Banners of silk, emblazoned with the
royal
arms, fluttered while trumpets and drums sounded. The Master of the Horse rode behind the queen, leading her white horse draped in gold. The captain of the guard and the royal horsemen came next, riding in close formation. Ladies-in-waiting and courtiers followed, their horses' bridles gleaming with jewels, while the Lord Mayor, churchmen, aldermen, dignitaries, and court officials completed the royal procession.

The narrow, cobbled streets of the city were crowded with the usual congestion of traffic and inhabitants, as well as the country folk who'd swarmed through the city gates from village and town to celebrate their queen's fiftieth anniversary. Footmen dressed in velvet liveries ran before the coaches of nobles to clear safe passage through the rabble, while plainly garbed drivers, with
daring
oaths and loudly cracking whips, sent their carts and drays into the narrowest of lanes with little regard for anyone's safety. From three-storied gabled houses, oak-framed with lath and plaster walls, bay-windowed shops with creaking signs swinging over the doorways, inns with taprooms and courtyards packed with drunken revelers and weary travelers, and the stately homes of the wealthy the people cheered Elizabeth Tudor's cavalcade as it would through the streets of London. Nosegays of delicate lavender and rosemary, marigolds, and red and white Tudor roses fluttered down from above to carpet her path.

"God bless you all, my good people!" Elizabeth called to her loyal subjects.

Sir Valentine Whitelaw, newly knighted by his queen, stood on a garland-draped balcony overlooking the street below.
His
lady stood beside him in a rich cloak of green velvet embroidered with gold and pearls, her dark red hair glinting like fire in the sunlight.

Lady Lily Francisca Whitelaw felt the warmth of her husband's hand caressing her waist. She glanced up, her eyes meeting his for a long moment before he lowered his lips to touch hers in a tender kiss that bound them together. He whispered something in her ear, his lips and words causing her to blush delicately, her pale green eyes glowing with love for him. Beneath her cloak she felt his hand
over
to rest protectively against her rounding stomach, where the child conceived of that love now moved with life. Lily glanced up in surprise. Meeting the startled look in his turquoise eyes, she knew he had felt the vigorous movement of his child within her. He smiled with delight, and with a sigh of contentment, Lily leaned back against Valentine's chest, feeling his gentle strength encompassing her while his arms held her close against his heart. Soon they would be returning to Ravindzara. The
Madrigal
was riding at anchor in the Thames, her crew ready to board once they'd
received
their captain's orders to sail.

Tristram Christian stood proudly beside his sister and her husband, dressed in his finest doublet and hose. He was Geoffrey Christian's son, and the world knew it, and he was the rightful master of the ancestral home-although, until of age, he would continue to live with Lily and Valentine at Ravindzara. Every so often, the young master of Highcross, unable to contain himself, would lean precariously close to the railing of the balcony, nearly tumbling over as he sought a better view of the procession passing beneath. His grinning face was beaming with mischief when he glanced back at his friends standing just behind him. The two men, one short and dark, the other tall and fair, each of whom was holding a bawling baby in their arms, shrugged helplessly in response, while Tillie Odell, the triplets' mother, stood between them, her only daughter sound asleep in her arms. She smiled complacently, knowing the Odell brothers would in future have little time or energy for mischievous pranks.

Dulcie Whitelaw stood between her brother and sister, her dark brown eyes glowing with excitement while she watched the celebration, her dainty feet, clad in brand-new silk slippers, never stilled as she stood on tiptoe to toss roses into the crowded street. Her laughter and squeals of delight brought amused grins from those around her, especially from Simon Whitelaw, who kept a firm grasp on his sister's slender shoulders to keep her from flying over the rail.

A look of sadness briefly shadowed his expression when he thought of his mother, and young Wilfred and Betsy, still in seclusion at Riverhurst. Soon, he vowed, he would escort them all to court, where they would walk proudly beside him. They did not bear the guilt or shame of Sir William's betrayal. They had been the innocent victims. Simon smiled. Elizabeth had personally extended to him her wish that his mother would return to court, where she would gladly
receive
her. He could hardly wait to tell his mother that when he visited Riverhurst.

The rest of the family and close friends stood surrounding them. Quinta Whitelaw, Sir Rodger, Artemis, and their daughter, Elizabeth Mary Rose, held between them,
would
be returning to Cornwall aboard the
Madrigal
. George Hargraves, overshadowed by the tall woman beside him, was grinning widely at some remark she'd just made. Standing to the right of Valentine Whitelaw, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his scimitar, the Turk watched the proceedings, a ghost of a smile softening his harsh countenance when his gaze shifted to his captain and his lady.

Soon, he thought, they would be sailing along the rocky coast of this island that had been shrouded in mists the first time he had gazed up it. A strange, cold land it had seemed then. But now
.
.
.
Soon, the Turk thought with longing, he and his captain and family, would return
home
to Ravindzara, where the sea winds blew warmly against the shore.

Rich pageantry met the eye on every street corner while the roar of cannon fire, commemorating the great occasion, sounded in the distance. But the
merrymaking
would not soon end, for with nightfall, the skies over
London
would be ablaze with a brilliant display of fireworks, of shooting rockets and showers of brightly colored stars. Bonfires would be lit in honor of the jubilee, while the revels continued throughout the night.

The bells of the city continued to peal. From every church steeple they rang out in joyous celebration of Elizabeth.