Written in the Stars (3 page)

They both stared at her reflection and Elizabeth admitted to herself that indeed the
sapphire gown scooping low across her breasts, hugging her arms, and flowing down
her thighs did cause the jewels of her girdle to sparkle with life.

As Alice had prophesied, no potion to enhance beauty could disguise the bluish shadows
beneath Elizabeth’s eyes from her restless night. She tried to mask the shadows with
a smile and stood very still as Alice rubbed red rose petals into her lips to darken
their color.

“Never seen you look more beautiful.” Alice sighed.

I wish I knew if Will finds me beautiful.

She blinked away the image of him smiling at her in admiration.

“You do your father proud,” Alice whispered, a catch in her voice.

Ruthlessly burying every other desire, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders. “I promise
I shall forever strive to do so.”

Her smile firmly in place, Elizabeth glided along the long corridor, guided by servants
leading her to the vast banqueting hall and Carlyle.

He awaited her at the entrance, the wide, thick, dark doors open behind him showing
a blur of moving bodies and exposing the strains of merry songs.

She refused to allow her smile to falter.

I shall remember all I have been taught. Remember Carlyle, too, has suffered losing
a beloved mother. Remember his kindness with Florea. Remember that I must marry him
for it has been decided by my father. It is my duty to obey and forget this madness
which consumes me for Will.

She stretched out her hand to allow Carlyle to escort her inside.

“Ah, Elizabeth, bewitching as always,” he murmured, stroking her wrist with his thumb.
“Let the merriment begin.”

She fought the shiver his touch sent along her skin as he led her into the banqueting
hall. Torches blazed bright, casting long patches of light onto the jugglers, musicians,
and dancers entertaining them. Through all the play of light and shadows, her gaze
unerringly found Will and their eyes locked. As it had each time they met, the desire
to go to him, to touch him consumed her. She fought it, deliberately looking away
and up into Carlyle’s face.

He smiled and with long, confident strides led her to the table and her place of honor
next to the duke.

Her thoughts racing, her heart pounding, Elizabeth moved as if in a dream. The jewels
worn by the many guests sparkled so brightly that they stung her eyes, and the musicians
seemed to be playing songs which echoed in her head over and over, while the jugglers
appeared to become bigger and then smaller before her. She blinked again and again,
trying to determine if this night was real or if she would awaken in her bed at Wharton
Keep, having dreamed it all

Even Will, the embodiment of all I have ever hoped to find in a man?

She felt the soft pillows at her back, tasted the wine cool on her parched throat,
soothing as she drank. She smelled the roasting meat before her as dozens and dozens
of main dishes were offered.

This was no dream, and she knew it. This was the future her father and the duke had
decided for her and there was naught she could do to change it.

The thought brought such rage she stared down at her hands, clenching them together
to keep from shaking with her feelings. Laurel’s laughter brought her back to her
duty. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth looked up.

“My lord, it is now time for merriment.” Laurel, radiant in silver, laughed up at
the duke. “A wholesome recreation of the mind and body.”

Smiling, the duke inclined his head toward the musicians who began playing the stately
cords of the pavane.

With the duke and Laurel, Elizabeth and Carlyle led other members of the court into
the center of the vast torch-lit hall.

As her dancing master at Wharton Keep had taught her, Elizabeth lightly touched fingers
with Carlyle to follow the duke’s lead, parading around the hall. The ladies of the
court were a riot of color and of scents as they passed one another, flaunting their
finery.

The advancing and retreating steps of the dance, curtsies, brushing her foot forward
to show a point of her jeweled slipper had been easily learned and practiced often
at Wharton Keep. Carlyle comported himself well as she tried to disregard the long
table where Will stood, watching the dancers.

She smiled at her betrothed and he back at her as it should be.

As it is destined to be.

When the music ended, Carlyle lifted her hand to his lips. “Are you disappointed?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You are indeed a master of the dance,” she said, speaking
the truth.

He laughed, torchlight in his dark eyes. “We shall discover your feelings after the
lively galliard, which usually follows and complements the pavane.”

Laurel clapped her hands. “The Lavolta!” she commanded.

A breath of surprise whispered through the crowd.

Flicking Elizabeth an amused glance, Carlyle leaned closer. “Our Laurel is in high
spirits this night.”

Truth to tell, Elizabeth felt a jolt of surprise at sweet Laurel commanding a dance
that had never completely been dignified since good Queen Bess performed it with the
Earl of Leicester years ago.

The duke raised one eyebrow. “I grant you all indulgences. If you must perform the
Lavolta, it needs be with the most accomplished dancer at court.”

Elizabeth glimpsed the slightest hesitation before Laurel nodded. “You are right in
all, my lord. My love of dance allows me to forgive your defection. Indeed, Carlyle
is the finest dancer at court. Then who shall partner Lady Elizabeth?”

“Will,” the duke commanded, motioning toward him.

The world spun blackly around her as the gods mocked her.

Hiding her trembling hands within the folds of her gown as she had done earlier in
her storm of feelings about this night, these men, Elizabeth watched Will, his face
utterly without expression, bow before the duke.

“Your Grace, I obey you in all ways. Yet I fear my talent is not for dancing. Lady
Elizabeth’s disappointment is assured.”

Yes, Will, I pray you stop this madness! Why are the gods playing with us?

Laughing, the duke clasped Will’s shoulder. “I fear for neither of you.” With a wave
of his large hand, the music began.

His eyes dark and his mouth a straight line, Carlyle gazed down at her. “I surrender
you but this one time, Elizabeth,” he murmured before taking Laurel’s hand.

With no excuse possible, Elizabeth stood before Will to begin the most suggestive
of all court dances.

Why have the gods decreed I shall soon be in his arms?

The thought of how she might feel, how she might falter, drove the blood from her
heart.

Avoiding his eyes during the lively steps of the galliard, always the beginning of
the Lavolta, gave her a moment to draw breath into her searing lungs.

Then Will’s hand was on her back and she placed hers on his shoulder. They faced one
another, both still refusing to make eye contact, as they turned slightly from side
to side.

The inevitable moment came as she knew it must. Breathless, she sprang into the air
and Will caught her, lifting her slowly up his body.

At last their eyes met and tears burned behind her lids.

This is as close as we shall ever be.

The feel of his hands on her body, his thigh against her thigh, made her softly sob
with longing. She gasped, praying he had not heard.

“Do not be afraid, Elizabeth.” His voice was strong, sure, and honeyed with kindness.
“Here at Dunham Castle you will find friends who know your worth. Long have your loving
ways to all at Wharton Keep been known to us.”

Lost in the brilliance of his cornflower-blue gaze as he placed her gently back on
the stone floor, she whispered the words beating in her heart and soul. “I wish you
to be my friend, Will.”

Mercifully, the dance separated them before he answered.

She knew not how she made it back to the table on trembling limbs, nor how she continued
to perform her duties. She knew only gratitude that Will sat too far away for her
to gaze at him with confusion and this fearful longing she must conquer.

The duke watched them all with the pride she’d often seen on her father’s face. “You
are pleased with all you find at Dunham Castle, Lady Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth thrust up her chin. “Yes, Your Grace. Very pleased indeed.”

“We must afford Lady Elizabeth every desire of her heart.” Carlyle smiled as he turned
her hand over and kissed her birthmark.

The witches’ mark at her wrist froze beneath his touch, the chill spreading through
her body.

Why does his touch bring fear to my heart?

“My son speaks true. What do you enjoy, Lady Elizabeth, so we may provide it?”

Elizabeth tried to still the shiver deep inside her as Carlyle continued to stroke
the birthmark at her wrist. She forced words from her tight throat.

“Riding is my greatest pleasure, Your Grace.”

“Mine also.” Smiling, Laurel looked around the duke. “We shall ride on the morrow.”

A deep crease cut between the duke’s wide eyes as he shook his head. “I must deny
you, Laurel. I fear it will sap your strength and make you again unwell.”

“My lord, Charles Grey urges me to breathe in the fresh air outside our castle walls.”
Laurel gave him a pleading expression and placed her hand on his arm.

Sighing, the duke covered her hand with his own wide palm. “So be it. Will, you must
accompany them.”

“I can accompany them, father,” Carlyle drawled beside her.

“We meet with the council tomorrow.” The duke nodded. “It must be Will.”

Down the long narrow table, Will rose. His black cloak worn over one shoulder and
gathered up over the arm secured by a sash was more somber than Carlyle’s embroidered
gold. And more striking for it.

She met Will’s eyes, and to Elizabeth, the flickering torches seemed to throw all
else into shadows except him. Again their gazes melded together, neither able to look
away this time.

He bowed. “It shall be as you wish.”

Will spoke the words for the duke, yet she sensed deep within her that he meant them
for her.

A profound sadness settled into her soul as she sent him the silent message he already
recognized.

My wish is not for friendship. My wish is for what we both know can never be granted.

Dunham Castle, 1601

The sun rose this day with laughter.

It came from Stephen, Will Grey’s motherless infant son.

Will’s face and body haunts me and now his tenderness with his son, and the babe himself,
has found a place in my heart. Both are beloved of Laurel and the duke. If only I
could be a part of such a band of happiness. I cannot.

The sun set with a strange fear.

At the banquet to celebrate my betrothal to Carlyle, the duke commanded much merriment.
I felt no joy but forbidden desire in the arms of Will as we danced.

And I sensed danger.

My shudders of fear come from my betrothed, Carlyle, despite the kindness I have seen
in him for Florea, his old nurse. My feelings make me yearn for my Cybil’s power to
pierce the mists of time to see what is true. Is this, too, a choice my beloved nursemaid
warned against? Because of being drawn to Will, am I choosing to poison all feelings
toward Carlyle so when he touches me, peering down at my birthmark and smiling, I
freeze with fear?

I know well the alliance between my father and the duke will bring much wealth and
power to Wharton Keep.

I promise you, I shall purge myself of these foolish forebodings of Carlyle and feelings
toward Will! My duty is to forge the right path for you who come after me.

Chapter Three

Since the day Will had been brought to Dunham Castle long ago, the duke had decreed
they begin and end each day together. Before dawn, Will entered the duke’s warm chambers
to find him pacing, a sheath of letters clasped in his hands.

“What has happened?” Will asked sharply, concerned at the heavy lines in the duke’s
face and the slumped shoulders of the man he admired above all others.

His eyes weary, the duke turned. “Pray give me pleasure, Will, not such a frown to
begin this day.”

Knowing what was needed, Will smiled. “It is a fine morning for riding with the wind,
your Grace.”

“Yes, thanks be to you.” The duke sighed, clasping Will’s shoulder. “In you I see
your mother’s smile. It is much needed this day.”

“Tell me what has happened?” Will asked again.

The duke spun on his heels to resume his pacing across the rich blue carpets until
he stood, legs wide apart, in front of the fire. The light cast by the blazing logs
threw into relief the strong bones of the duke’s face and his narrowed, worried eyes.

“In the good queen’s reign we have been called upon to wage war with Spain, in Ireland,
in France, and in the Netherlands. War costs money. The taxes levied in these last
years have increased threefold. Harvests have been poor. Prices high. All make for
desperate men.” He lifted his fists, clutching the papers even tighter so his fingers
whitened to their square tips. “The queen is old, unwell, and soon there will be new
players on the board. James of Scotland will surely soon be King of England. Some
say it will be a union of love between Englishmen and Scots. Others claim it shall
be Catholic against Protestant. I say we here on the border between both must be ready
and armed.”

A fearful thought lodged in Will’s mind and he became very still. “I know all of which
you speak. We have spoken many times of the need to fortify our position. Unless a
new play has been made to threaten us, why are you concerned now that the alliance
with the Earl of Wharton has been forged?”

There was a slight hesitation and Will, seeing the answer on the duke’s face, stiffened
his shoulders to confront it.

“Will, do you believe my eyes are too old, my memories too faded to recognize longing
and desire blazing as bright as the firmament? I tell you this again to remind us
of our duty and soothe my conscience for being unable to give you what before God
should be yours.”

“I have never asked more of you than you have offered,” Will answered in as unemotional
a voice as he could muster, considering the hot, tight feelings warring within him
since first his eyes met Elizabeth’s. “I ask but one question. Knowing, why insist
I ride with her this morning?”

In two strides his father reached him, the papers fluttering forgotten to the carpets
as he gripped Will’s shoulders with strong hands. “I would give my soul to have had
one more minute with your mother. Allow me to give you this day.”

Will lay caught within a net of pain and pleasure. He could cut himself free and
flee in self-preservation. Or he could stay and continue to suffer exquisite torment.

Outside dawn had come and in a few hours he could see Elizabeth, if he so chose.

With unguarded eyes he met his father’s steady gaze and nodded. “I promise I shall
not forfeit this day.”

…

The early morning autumn air tasted cold and crisp while the sun warmed Elizabeth’s
skin. Astride her horse, she galloped across the field, her long, cream-lined, crimson
cloak billowing about her. She craved this freedom to clear the cobwebs of doubt about
her future from her head and heart.

The wind carried the sound of Laurel’s laughter and the strong, steady hoof beats
of Will’s black stallion.

“Race you both to the stream,” Laurel called, her chestnut mare passing Elizabeth.

Taking the challenge, she urged her horse to lunge forward and the wind whipped her
hair loose from its ribbons to flow behind her.

The earth trembled beneath them, the air thundering with the power of their horses’
gallops. At the edge of the woods, the clear, wide stream stretched before them as
they halted next to it, the horses nose to nose.

Alive with laughter, the air sparked bright about them, filling Elizabeth with the
joy and contentment of this moment.

Snorting, their breaths a light mist in the chill, the horses pawed the earth as Will
pranced his black stallion around them.

The sun loved Will, kissing his strong cheekbones and lighting the blue of his eyes.
“You both are well matched. I fought to keep pace with you.”

A moment ago where contentment had blossomed, now arose an unstoppable primal urge,
a part of her as elemental as drawing breath, which pulled her toward him. So close
she saw herself reflected in his eyes, felt the heat of his body, she smiled up into
his face. “Yes, Will. I am your match in all ways. Do we both not know it to be true?”

The answer of matched longing and desire, transforming the strong bones of his face
and darkening his cornflower eyes to dark blue, terrified her with its power, yet
urged her to say more, to hold this forbidden moment for as long as possible.

Somehow she felt his plea for reason, to save them both from more pain.

Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, she forced her horse to turn away from him.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement in the woods.

Three horsemen with swords drawn burst out from between the large oaks and galloped
toward them. “Will!” she screamed.

Rapier drawn, he rode out in front of her, ready to attack the thieves before they
could reach her and Laurel. The clash of steel as his blade met the first rider echoed
in her ears.

Beside her, Laurel’s chestnut startled and reared. Unable to stop the horse from bolting,
Laurel screamed.

Her cry reached Will, and he wheeled toward them. “Go, Elizabeth! Help her,” he commanded.

Heart pounding, holding her breath, she watched Will thrusting and cutting with his
rapier, saw the second rider fall back before him. Only then did she obey.

Laurel’s chestnut raced wildly across the rough ground. Elizabeth urged her horse
to greater speed, felt grateful at being within reach of catching them at the bend
in the creek.

Without warning, Laurel’s mare again reared up, its eyes rolling in fear. Nearly there,
Elizabeth stretched out her hand to help. Her face pale with fear, Laurel reached
for her, missed, and tumbled off the bucking horse, striking her head on a rotting
tree trunk.

“No!” Elizabeth screamed as she slid from her horse. She stumbled over the rough ground
and fell to her knees at Laurel’s side.

“Laurel, I am here to help you. I am here,” she repeated over and over, stroking her
face where blood streamed over her still features.

Elizabeth gathered up the hem of her cloak, pressing it against the gushing wound
on Laurel’s forehead.

Blood soaked through the cloth, staining the cream velvet lining, turning it red.
Sobbing, she pressed harder, desperate to stop the flow which covered her hands and
wrists.

Laurel’s blood burned Elizabeth’s birthmark until it began to tingle.

The scalding tingling seeped through her skin, coursing through her veins, filling
her mind with images and words. Whispers of old ways and the pagan gods who had forged
her girdle to protect the women of her line.

Cybil had told her that someday she would understand the magic which lived within
her. Elizabeth had feared the moment, wished for it never to come. Yet now, it called
to her to help Laurel. Still fearful, still not understanding, she knew she must
follow the commands whispering through her. With trembling fingers, Elizabeth pressed
one of the jeweled crescents of her girdle against Laurel’s wound.

In my hands, please let it heal her.

Slowly the deep cut closed, leaving a moon-shaped scar. As it did, her birthmark blazed
hotter, glowing bright, until slowly it began to fade and cool.

The whispers told me true. In my hands the girdle has given me the magical power to
heal Laurel’s wounds.

Trembling with the knowledge, Elizabeth cradled Laurel in her arms, rocking her. Tears
nearly blinded her. “Now please wake up…please wake up…please wake up.”

Laurel’s fair lashes remained a fan beneath her closed eyes.

Sobbing, Elizabeth felt for Laurel’s heartbeat and the slow, soft breath coming from
between her parted lips. She lives!

Gasping for air between her sobs, Elizabeth rested her cheek against Laurel’s forehead.
Forgive me. My power is not great enough to awaken you.

Terror a living force inside her, Elizabeth looked up, seeking Will.

Are you safe? Please, please, come to me.

Instead she found two more rough-looking, bearded men rushing out of the woods toward
her.

Fear became a cold determination which gave her the strength to cradle Laurel in one
arm and pull the tiny dagger from her girdle.

She felt the hoof beats of a galloping horse before she saw Will, brandishing his
cutting sword, attack the men so very close to where she cradled Laurel in her arms.
Once he appeared, all fear fled. As the primal knowledge of how to help Laurel had
come to her, so did a deep certainty of Will’s power and desire to protect her.

Ferocious in battle, he felled the first rider and engaged the second.

She held her breath as they clashed swords again and again. Will’s great black horse
reared and with one bold downward cut of his blade, Will vanquished the last thief.

A moment later, blood splattered on his leather jerkin, his face red and bruised,
Will knelt beside her. His eyes searched her face and his hands roamed over her body
as they had when they danced. “Tell me, did they hurt you? Are you harmed?”

“No,” she swallowed a sob. “Laurel fell and struck her head. I cannot awaken her.”

“Can you ride?”

She nodded, scrabbling to her feet as Will swept Laurel up in his arms. Mounting his
horse, Laurel tight in front of him, he stared at Elizabeth, a question in his eyes.
“Do I ask too much of you?”

“No. I shall keep up with you, Will,” she promised.

Giving her no quarter, Will raced back to Dunham Castle and she stayed by his side.
The wind tore at her clothes and took away her breath. It hurt to draw air into her
lungs, so full was she of terror for Laurel and a fearful acceptance of her newly
discovered powers.

What am I and how should I use such enormous power and understand its limits and its
price?

Reaching the guardhouse, Will waved to a young man with locks gleaming fiery red in
the sunlight. “Tom, summon my grandfather!” he commanded.

“He is in the castle!” Tom shouted back, turning to follow orders.

Trailing Will through the long corridors, Elizabeth ran to keep up with his powerful
strides as they entered Laurel’s chamber.

Her maids gasped, their faces frightened.

“Loosen your mistress’s clothing,” he commanded and placed Laurel gently on the bed.

A wave of unfamiliar darkness swept over Elizabeth’s sight and she swayed, trying
desperately to stay erect.

Will caught her, his warm hand cupping her neck beneath her hair, fallen loose in
their mad ride. “Forgive me. I pushed you too hard.”

Once again so close to him, Elizabeth fell silent, only watching his eyes as he gently
seated her on the chair beside the bed.

What might my powers mean for the two of us?

The door burst open and Charles Grey, carrying a black leather box, hurried into the
room.

Will turned away to speak softly to his grandfather. “Laurel fell from her horse and
struck her head. She has not awakened.”

Elizabeth watched Charles Grey carefully examine Laurel, so still and pale upon the
bed. He paused, rubbing his fingertips slowly over and over the crescent scar on her
forehead. “This is new.”

Their eyes met, and she saw knowledge in his.

Somehow he knows the magic I performed.

The pounding feeling of being pulled down a path both welcome yet frightening weakened
her as she held his wise gaze.

“Stay here, Lady Elizabeth,” he said quietly. At last he looked away and up at his
grandson. “Will, it must be you who summons the duke to tell him I shall restore Laurel
to him. Then he will believe.”

With a nod, Will hurried from the room.

“Now, Lady Elizabeth, I will prepare an elixir. You must help me force Laurel to swallow
it.” From his black box he pulled out three bottles of different-colored liquids.
He mixed two into one until the fluid began to turn a light green and then bubbled
to the top of the vial.

Elizabeth rose, motioning the maid away. Taking her place, Elizabeth held Laurel’s
shoulders and head up so Will’s grandfather could slowly carefully spoon the thin
liquid between her pale lips.

“Yes. That shall do.” He sighed, placing the bottle back into his box. “Now we must
let her rest.”

His face ashen, the duke ran into the chamber and fell to his knees beside the bed.
“Laurel, my dear. I am here with you.” He grasped one of her small hands between his
wide palms.

Torn between giving the duke and Laurel privacy and her burning desire to stay in
this room to help in any way she could, Elizabeth waited for a sign to tell her what
to do.

She felt Will’s power and heat before he placed a goblet of wine on the table beside
her.

“Here, Elizabeth. Drink this for strength. You are pale and trembling. I sense you
wish to stay.”

“As you will stay,” she said softly, lifting the goblet still warm from his hands
to her lips.

Elizabeth ached at the firm set of Will’s jaw and the anguish in his eyes as he watched
the duke bending his head over Laurel, kissing her bruised brow.

“Yes,” Will said, “I will stay.”

“Then we shall stay together.” Their eyes met and again she saw the forbidden desire
which quickened her heart beat.