Chapter 7

Sabre awoke early with heightened anticipation that today might be the day she would meet him. She only knew that they were both here at Greenwich, that she could see him, and that when she did she must look beautiful. She took her cream gown from the cupboard and cut a heart-shaped neckline into the bodice. The knowledge that it had been intended for her wedding gown fanned the flames of her anger toward the man who had made a mockery of that occasion.

She missed breakfast so that she could finish altering the gown, then she went off to find Kate without taking time to try it on. Today Kate took Sabre into the queen's privy chamber and on through to her bedchamber.

"Her Majesty took a great deal of jewelry with her, and of course the lord chancellor has the keys to her jewels for state occasions, but that still leaves me with a heavy burden of responsibility for the rest of her jewels." She unlocked a large cabinet that contained dozens of drawers. Each one held a jeweled caul or neck whisk sewn all over with every gem under the sun. As well as diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and pearls, there were milky opals, purple garnets, green peridots, and incredible blue-green Ceylon sapphires.

The top drawer held a tray of loose jewels that had fallen from the queen's priceless gowns and cauls, and Kate set about affixing the missing gems into the intricate patterns on the stiffened cloth.

Sabre, using vinegar, a tiny brush, and a chamois cloth, cleaned the cauls and neck whisks and bejeweled ruffs and laid them out to dry. In the late afternoon Kate unlocked a large casket containing necklaces and brooches of semiprecious jewels. Their variety and color took Sabre's breath away. She ran her finger over coral, jade, topaz, jet, and crystal, and coveted every one of them.

"Give them all a quick once-over," her aunt instructed. "She seldom wears them anyway, and I'll be back to lock the casket when you're done. After that I think you deserve a little rest before tonight's festivities. My feet feel like two plates of meat the dogs have been gnawing. I'll have trays sent up to us instead of going to the dining hall."

As soon as Kate turned her back, Sabre lifted the necklaces from the casket and held them to her own neck in front of the mirror. Her eyes were as iridescent as the jewels she admired. How could one woman own so much? It wasn't fair!

She lifted a jade necklace studded with turquoise. One great pear-shaped turquoise as big as a pigeon's egg dangled from its center. She held it to her neck with reverence, her fingers caressing the large turquoise drop possessively. Why not? she asked herself as her pulses quickened with the danger. The colors looked so right on her, as if they had been especially designed to contrast with her flaming tresses and deepen the shade of her eyes. She'd return it tomorrow before anyone noticed it was gone.

Quickly, before her courage deserted her, she stuffed the necklace far down into her busk, wriggled about until it seated itself there with a minimum of discomfort, and set about cleaning the contents of the jewel casket with a vengeance.

Kate did a cursory inspection and nodded with satisfaction at the sparkling richness her niece's efforts had uncovered. Sabre refused to think about the specifics of how she would return the necklace on the morrow, for she felt confident that a way would be found.

Tonight she drew her drapes before she bathed. She shivered with excitement as she took the lovely cream gown from her cupboard. Her blood sang with the delicious anticipation of her first party at the palace. Kate had warned her about the men's advances and she had tasted a sample of such behavior firsthand. Tasted … the word brought a blush to her cheeks. The blush deepened as she saw how the rounded globes of her breasts thrust from the much-lowered neckline. The heart shape seemed to cup and push her breasts forward in a positively wanton show.

Her heartbeat quickened as her fingers fastened the jade necklace, and she gasped as the heavy turquoise dropped into the valley between the swells of her breasts. It was designed to draw every male eye. She took her brush and swept up her hair in the very latest fashion. It exposed her neck at the sides and back to show off the necklace to its full advantage.

She carefully counted out ten gold pieces to wager on cards and slipped them into the tiny change purse that dangled from her wrist. She picked up her fan and hurried down to the second-floor music gallery. Already the gathering numbered sixty or seventy, and it was yet early. Lady Mary Barow greeted her warmly with a kiss and whispered, "There are at least two males to every female, so I think we can claim success."

Sabre felt alarmingly self-conscious. The eyes of the men seemed to be fastened upon her breasts as if they were waiting for the moment when they would pop from the restraint of the low bodice. She kept glancing down with alarm, until she sternly chided herself for being a coward. After all, were not the tempting female fashions designed specifically to lure men's eyes?

She sat upon a low stool near a group of ladies who were showing off their skills with lutes, harps, and virginals. She loved the music and gave it her rapt attention. Anne Vasavour was singing a love song, her large expressive eyes giving added subtle meaning to the words. Sabre felt her cheeks warm and raised her fan to cool herself. As she did so she glanced about and saw at least a dozen men watching her with speculative eyes. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she saw Matthew come toward her. She arose and gave him her cheek to kiss, as was obviously the fashion.

"Oh, Matt, thank you for coming."

"Did you get my note?" he asked.

"Yes. Have you spoken with him yet?"

"Ah, yes. I've had my audience with His Lordship and managed to convey the impression that I had delivered his dutiful bride to Blackmoor."

"He didn't seem suspicious?" she asked.

"The thought didn't occur to him that anyone, least of all a woman, would disobey his orders." He frowned and said, "I'm off to Calais in the morning for a load of expensive French silks. Sabre, promise me you won't do anything foolish while I'm gone." His eyes kept lowering to her breasts; he didn't seem to even notice the magnificent necklace.

"Matt, would you be a darling and get me some wine?"

The moment he left her, half a dozen admirers joined him and asked for introductions to the voluptuous new quarry. At the same moment Philadelphia Carey joined Sabre. "Are you going to be selfish with that devastatingly handsome rogue or will you be generous enough to introduce me, Sabre?"

Matt brought her wine and the men formed a semicircle about her. "Sabre, I'd like you to meet a few people." He said the names one after another without stopping. "Lord Oxford, James Clinton, Sir John Heneage, Anthony Bacon, de Villiers the French ambassador, and William Herbert, who I believe is the earl of Pembroke's son. Gentlemen, may I present Mistress Sabre Wilde, niece of Lady Kate Ashford and newly arrived at court."

Each took his turn to press a lingering kiss upon her hand while she murmured, "M'lord," to each face she could not pin a name to. A little push from behind reminded her of Philadelphia. "Matt, I would like you to meet my friend Philadelphia Carey—this is Matthew Hawkhurst."

The girl's eyes widened in appreciation. "Are you brother to Lord Devonport?"

"No," said Matthew, teasing her, "he is brother to me! Would you ladies care for some cards?" asked Matthew, trying to draw them away from the other men; but as they moved off toward the card tables, the men tagged along to stand about and watch. He seated Sabre to his right and Philadelphia to his left. James Clinton quickly filled the fourth seat. Matt said smoothly, "Shall we play sant? I think it's a game the ladies particularly enjoy."

Sabre puzzled over how four could play when there wouldn't be enough cards, but of course Matt put into play two packs of thirty-two cards and her frown disappeared. Sabre lost every hand and her small supply of gold coins was soon gone. Finally she won money from James Clinton and suspected that he had let her win. She didn't mind if she won or lost because she was enjoying the challenge, the witty repartee, the laughter, and the admiring glances.

The wine flowed freely; she felt reckless and as a consequence lost the rest of her money. Philadelphia flirted openly with Matthew, accidentally touching his hands and his knees beneath the table. A look of alarm clouded Matthew's face as he gazed across the room.

"What is it?" asked Sabre softly, following his gaze.

"Trouble," said Matt. "Here comes—"

Sabre stiffened. "I know perfectly well who it is," she said coldly, "Her Majesty's darling Sea God."

Hawk jerked his head slightly and Matthew obeyed the silent order instantly, relinquishing his chair at the table.

Philadelphia stood when Matt stood, unwilling to be parted from him yet. When the lady stood, James Clinton politely got to his feet and Hawkhurst's bark of laughter mocked them. "That leaves just the lady to play with me," he said suggestively.

Sabre flashed him a glance as cold as green ice. "I'm afraid not; thankfully I've lost all my money," she said with relish, and started to rise.

A strong brown hand unceremoniously fell to her shoulder to prevent her from rising. "No matter, we'll play for this little bauble."

She gasped as she felt the jade-and-turquoise necklace lifted from her with deft fingers and placed on the table between them. Her mouth was dry; quickly she glanced about for Matt, but the young coward had abandoned her to the Sea God.

His face was stamped with strength and humor and male arrogance. He was dominating and unpredictable and dangerous. The last words she had said to him hovered between them. Go to hell! She wanted to shout it now but made an attempt to stifle the deep physical antagonism she felt at his nearness.

"I cannot play for such high stakes, my lord. You take advantage … I am only learning to play."

His eyes were cold, his mouth unsmiling. "Whenever we meet, you whine. First I'm taking advantage of your innocence, now I'm taking advantage of your ignorance."

She swallowed the bait instantly, anger flaming through her veins at the insulting words.

"For God's sake, 'tis only a game," he scoffed. But she knew it was a deadly game. She knew the outcome and so did he. It was as if he knew the necklace was not hers and he would deliberately and effectively relieve her of it.

"What stakes do you put up, m'lord?"

"What do you suggest?" he asked.

She looked deep into his eyes, although it was an effort for her to pretend calm. "You have nothing I want," she said slowly, emphasizing each word.

His predator's grin flashed her a promise that before he was finished with her, she would want something from him, beg something from him.

"Five hundred crowns, then; all women want money." The sum he named was outrageous, his manner boldly insolent.

She felt a need to be as bold as he. The odds were heavily against her, so she evened them to fifty-fifty. "Let's just cut for high card. I refuse to sit and play out this farce."

With a flourish he offered her the deck. She drew a ten; he drew a knave. "How apt," she snapped. Sabre snatched up her fan and almost overturned her chair in an effort to escape him, but he caught hold of her wrist and said low, "I have apartments on the fourth floor. If you play your cards right"—he dangled the necklace before her eyes—"I can be a very generous man."

Anger and hatred almost robbed her of speech. She pierced him with an icy green look of contempt. "Go to hell!" Her legs trembled as she swept across the room, putting as much distance as she could between them, and yet she knew she must not let that necklace out of her sight. She refused to think of the nightmare that awaited her if she could not get it back. She had no choice but to follow him. She would find out which were his apartments and somehow steal back the necklace. She surreptitiously watched him from the tail of her eye. Damn, every woman in the room approached him, laughed up at him with open invitation in her eyes. He attracted women as if he had a bloody magnet in his chest, she thought angrily.

At last he managed to extract himself and left the gallery. She didn't even murmur a polite excuse to the poor gallant who had wasted half an hour's compliments on her. She followed him at a discreet distance to the fourth floor of the palace and was surprised to see how close his apartment was to Matthew's room. She waited until he had been inside for a good five minutes, then crept along to Matt's door; but it was locked and no light came from beneath it. Suddenly she heard a door opening and barely had time to slip around a corner and press herself to the wall. She heard footsteps going the other way and let out a sigh of relief. She gathered enough courage to peep around the corner and was just in time to see a tall figure in a black cloak descend the stairs.

He had had just enough time to put the necklace away safely and leave again. She knew she must not hesitate. She must act now, for a chance like this was not likely to present itself again. She moved quickly down the corridor and slipped quietly into the room.

Her eyes widened. She was in a spacious, richly appointed bedroom, nothing like the small cell she occupied. Beyond this chamber, through an archway, was another, which she supposed was a sitting room where he could entertain.

The great bed, curtained in red velvet, dominated the room, and the pile of the thick carpet was so deep, the toes of her slippers disappeared. The room boasted a fireplace topped by a marble mantel and a mirror that ran up to the ceiling. She caught her reflection and tucked up an errant copper curl that had fallen to her shoulder. Her mind was going over places where the necklace was most likely to be. She stiffened as deep within the mirror's depth she caught his reflection watching her.

He leaned casually against the archway. Gone was the doublet and his white shirt was unlaced all the way to the tight waistband of his black breeches. Their eyes were locked in the mirror and she found she could not break their gaze. The mocking look was gone, replaced by one that was as tender as a caress. "I knew you'd come," he said softly.

She saw him move toward her and still she was rooted to the spot, so hypnotic was his effect upon her. As his hands closed over her shoulders to turn her to him, a great shiver ran through her. He was too close, too big, too male, too damnably, overpoweringly handsome.

"I came for the necklace," she confessed.

"Did you?" he asked honestly, forcing her to acknowledge that it was not only the necklace that had drawn her. As she looked up into the tanned face, his dark unruly mane of hair tempted her fingers. It was as if there were some strange bond between them, as if she had known him from the beginning of time. He bent his head and she knew he was going to kiss her. The moment he molded his mouth to hers everything was swept away— her anger, her fear, her resistance.

His fingers took the pins from her hair, then buried themselves in the coppery cascade. His hands left her hair and cupped her face tenderly, drawing her mouth up to his again. He whispered against her lips, "I'm half in love with you and I don't even know your name."

"Sabre," she whispered, "Sabre Wilde."

He buried his lips in hers again. His kiss was lingering and so compelling, she felt it all the way down to her knees. She melted against him, her breasts crushed against his hard, muscular chest. He whispered against her mouth, "Shane Hawkhurst."

Her heart stopped, then began to hammer wildly as a million sparks exploded inside her brain. Guided by pure instinct, her hands went to his waistband and sought the handle of the knife she had vaguely noticed earlier. She drew it forth and stepped back panting. "Bastard!"

He threw back his head and laughed wholeheartedly, for she had named him correctly. "Little wildcat, the dagger suits you. Look at its handle."

She was disconcerted that he wasn't afraid or even the slightest bit alarmed that she had his knife. She glanced down at the dagger and saw its handle was fashioned in the shape of a wildcat. From somewhere he had produced its mate. "Now we each have one … a matched pair … keep it."

As she faced him the full realization that he was her husband hit her. England's law, aye, and God's law, too, gave him the power of life and death over her. As she faced him she realized she was wearing what should have been her wedding gown and she was almost undone. Tears sprang to her eyes for what might have been, then a raging anger dried them instantly. This, then, was the enemy. This was the one man she would know intimately, the one she would enslave, the one she would destroy. How to begin? Instinctively she fell back on parry and thrust. She curled her lip. "I came only for the necklace. It is mine!"

The mockery was back in his eyes. "It is the queen's."

"Ha! Whatever gives you such a ridiculous notion?"

"I gave it to her. You must get it back from me and replace it before you are discovered." His words told her plainly her only alternative.

"In return for the necklace you actually expect me to become your mistress?" she demanded hotly.

"Mistress? By God's blood, there's arrogance for you. I had only one tumble in mind."

She was so stung by his words, she lunged at his gut with the knife. He set his teeth and almost crushed the bones in her wrist. The dagger slipped to the carpet and he swept her into his arms. His tongue flicked over her lips. "How do I know you'd be any good?" he teased. His lips traced a path up to the tempting little beauty mark and he tongued it sensually.

"Since I'm untouched … I'd be only as good as you made me."

Her words sent a surge of hot lust through his body. His hands held her captive against his hardness. He slanted an eyebrow at her. "Untouched? Unused? Unsullied?" He paused, then whispered maddeningly, "Untrue!"

She answered him in kind. "Unwilling! Unyielding!" She paused, then whispered her challenge: "Untamed!" She bit him.

He held her eyes with his. "Life is a game. This is a game between us, Sabre, but if you want to play, you'd better know all the rules. In every game there is risk. In every game there is a winner and a loser."

"If you think I'm not going to win this game between us you are mistaken; badly mistaken. I have resolved to win!" She hated him with a passion. Her breasts heaved with her agitation and the pink nipples became more visible with each deep breath she took.

"Take off your clothes and let's see how you show," he taunted.

She pulled from his embrace, angry enough to kill him if she'd had her sabre in her hand. "Take off your clothes, my Lord Devonport, and let's see if you measure up!"

Very deliberately he took off the shirt and slowly turned before her so she could inspect him. The impact of his body stunned her. The taut muscles rippled across his chest and back, and across one incredibly wide shoulder blade was a dragon tattoo. Desire rose up in her like a hot tide sweeping through her body. She knew a raging need to be pressed against his naked length in the great bed. Incredibly, she wanted to touch him, taste him. Slay the dragon … or be slain. Her legs would not support her; she slipped to the rug, burried her face in her hands, and sobbed out her misery.

He did not lift her up, but lay on the floor with her and gathered her to him. "Hush, sweeting, don't cry. I enjoy being a cruel bastard. Mayhap you spoke the truth. But your innocence will be fleeting at court, my little wildcat."

He smoothed the tumbled coppery tresses and shuddered at the feel of her hair beneath his fingers. He buried his face in it and groaned. "Let me be your protector, Sabre."

An easy conquest would bore him quickly. That she didn't want, couldn't afford. She knew he wished to seduce her that he might be the master; she wished to keep him desiring to seduce her, so she denied him. "I'll be no man's mistress! Only my husband will take my virginity," she vowed.

"We'll see about that," he taunted as he stood up. "I warn you, my efforts to change your mind will be relentless." Grinning wickedly, he offered his hands to her. She arose gracefully without his help, but not before he had been treated to a display of her exquisite breasts. Without a word he offered her the necklace and the dagger. She took both.

Alone in her room, she was exultant! She had won the first round and couldn't keep the smile from her face as she held the turquoise and jade to her neck and looked at her reflection in the mirror. "'Fore God, I almost had him begging!"

Next morning she awoke with a heightened anticipation that the day or the night would bring them face-to-face again. It was child's play to replace the necklace when Kate unlocked the jewel caskets. She hadn't felt this alive in her life.

When she learned that Hawkhurst had actually gone to join the queen's progress she was stunned like a bird flown into a wall. She voiced every curse and invocation she'd ever heard and hurled them at the queen. How could she be jealous of an aging virago? But she was!

She resigned herself to an uneventful summer. She furthered her female friendships, learned to love the fascinating city of London, and with cool disdain kept the men of the court at arm's length.

When Matt returned from Calais he let her pick a length of expensive French silk from his cargo, and she chose a watered silk of pale lemon shot through with silver. He took her to dine at Gunter's in London, very fashionable; but it was a most daring thing to dine alone with a man. Matthew told her he was going home to visit his mother. She had been alone since Sebastian had died, and since Hawk could not undertake the filial responsibility, he must.

By August the queen's wardrobe had been refurbished. Kate was pleased with Sabre and insisted she wouldn't have managed alone one tenth of what they had accomplished together.

Sabre had had a busy day. Kate asked for her assistance while she went into the city. They had, with the help of an armed guard, taken the queen's broken jewelry to the goldsmith's in Lombard Street and the broken fans to the fanmaker's in Eastcheap. Elizabeth seldom threw anything away, so everything had to be tallied on long descriptive lists and copies given to the craftsmen making the repairs.

She had still made time to exercise Sabbath, for she had begun to really enjoy her rides along the river. She didn't discourage gentlemen from joining her, but always made sure she accepted more than one escort.

Her small chamber felt airless, so before she climbed into bed, she opened the casement just a crack. Tomorrow she promised herself she would begin cutting the pattern for the new silk gown.

***

The farther from London the queen's progress traveled, the more Shane Hawkhurst's thoughts lingered on Greenwich. He cursed the time he must waste in useless social activities that had taken them all over East Anglia, ending up in Norwich. Bess kept him at her side, along with Robin Devereux, the young earl of Essex. He and Essex were not friends, yet they were not enemies either. Rather they were rivals for the queen's affection and patronage, and between them managed to manipulate her rather well. For if she gave a favor to one, then in fairness she would reward the other. Bess had made Essex her master of horse, since his stepfather, her beloved Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, was off commanding her troops in Holland. To prevent jealousy she had made Lord Devonport a gentleman pensioner, a member of the Queen's Own Guard.

Hawkhurst lay with his arms crossed behind his head, his body sated for the moment but his mind in turmoil. His companion was piqued at the fact that five minutes after he had made love to her, he was again a distant stranger. He hadn't even bothered to remove his shirt or breeches.

"You never kissed me, Lord Devonport," the queen's lady-in-waiting said, pouting prettily.

He turned absently toward her and was shocked to see how shopworn she looked. No wonder, he thought with disgust. Essex, Southampton, and I pass the queen's ladies around as casually as a shared bottle of wine. All to alleviate the boredom of cooling our heels, dancing attendance while Bess ignored impending threats from every direction. She had no foreign policy, but shifted with the wind and somehow survived, even flourished. She was assailed from the north by Scotland. France was going to dishonor its treaty with her to make a separate peace with Spain. That country's king, Philip, was at this moment building his great Invincible Armada, so it was no wonder the Irish intended to seize this time for rebellion to free themselves from the English yoke. Yet here they dallied night after night, filling their hours with fireworks and fornication!

Lady Mary Howard slipped from the bed and brought back two silken cords, which she held out to him. "Would you like to play a game, Lord Devonport?"

He cynically realized it was a new diversion Essex must have taught her. He noticed how brilliantly her eyes shone at the thought of being tied so he could have his way with her. Hell's fire, the wench was so willing, where was the thrill? After the erotic practices he had learned on his voyages to exotic lands, this was tame fare indeed. He stifled a yawn and prepared to enter the game. She regretted it later when he forgot to untie her before rolling over in a sound sleep.

The next day began badly for Hawkhurst when the earl of Southampton, having lost a vast sum to him dicing, kept drawling sarcastic barbs directed at his integrity. His irritating lisp exacerbated Hawk's temper. Southampton was the type of youth who could be vicious as a dog when the mood was upon him, or appealing as a playful puppy when everything was going his way.

Hawkhurst, always on a short fuse, had laid the youth out flat, all sprawling six feet of him. Then, to make matters worse, Bess had had petulant words with him and Essex about the stallions they rode. Essex had acquiesced and chosen a gelding, but Hawkhurst was damned if he would.

Before the sun began its afternoon descent into the western sky, he found himself booted and spurred and riding the hundred miles that separated him from Greenwich. Sabre Wilde … the punishing ride would be worth it when he sought release between her thighs. After Bess's close company for a month he needed his freedom, he needed to feel the powerful stallion beneath him, and the wind in his hair.

As he climbed to the third-floor balcony and swung his legs across the stone balustrade, he mocked himself for a fool. What if another warmed her bed? He had ridden most of the night hell-bent for leather, only to hesitate at the last moment. He slipped quietly into the room and crossed to the bed. The moonlight spilled across her, showing that she had twisted free from the coverlet and lay in a pristine lawn smock. He was aroused by the sight of her, but it was her innocence that sent desire flooding through his veins.

He searched the room for evidence of a lover. The cupboard held only three gowns, and her other possessions were quickly and thoroughly tallied—no gifts, no jewels, only a small store of coins. He knew a need to wake her, to see her green eyes widen at his presence. He ached to touch her, taste her, fill her with his great heat, but he crushed the raw cravings he felt rather than disturb one moment of her peaceful slumber.

He reached out thumb and forefinger and touched a tress of the sable fire, exulting in its silky texture. What an impulsive fool he had been to ride a hundred miles for just a glimpse. He sighed and, taking a small object from inside his doublet, placed it on her pillow.

As he left he pulled the casement tight to keep her safe. He promised himself there would be endless nights when he would come to her and enjoy the green eyes widening at his boldness. Always when he closed his eyes to conjure her image, the same picture rose up. It was the first moment his eyes had devoured the coppery, hip-length curls mingled with those between her legs.

He would not waste what was left of this night. Now that he was in London and all thought him at Norwich, it was a heaven-sent opportunity to execute a fine piece of business. He knew he must be back in Norwich before the evening's festivities, and by the time dawn found him riding north, six Irish political prisoners had escaped from the Devlin Tower, through the water gate, and by now were safely hidden aboard a Hawkhurst vessel crossing the Irish Sea.

When the governor of the Tower, and later Walsingham, questioned the guards, only one admitted seeing anything at all. He stuck to his story of seeing a "black shadow," and before the week was out London was rife with rumor and the Black Shadow was on the lips of every gossip.

When Sabre opened her eyes she snatched up the jewel lying on her pillow. The brooch was a wildcat fashioned from diamonds with large green emeralds for its eyes. There was no doubt whatsoever in her mind who had given her the priceless gift, but considering when and how he had done so sent shivers up her spine. The knave had been here under cover of night, watching her sleep, yet he was a hundred miles away, wasn't he?

She smiled a secret smile, the corners of her mouth turning up saucily. This was just the first of a vast array of jewels she intended to collect. Her days at court had already taught her that riches meant power. The Golden Rule had new meaning—those with the gold ruled.