CHAPTER TWELVE

L ONDON .

The city seemed huge.

Gwenyth reminded herself that she was quite accustomed to Paris, and London was not so different, merely very…

English.

Rowan's townhouse was near to Hampton Court, just down the river. A handsome barge sat out back, which could quickly bring them to an audience with the queen.

Although she had known that Catherine was English, Gwenyth had not realized just how welcomingly Rowan was received in his wife's country. As they moved about the city, they constantly met people who knew him and were glad to see him back in England, and who stared at her with ill-concealed curiosity.

Rowan took her to Westminster Cathedral so she might see the coronation church of the English royalty, and they were received, as well, by the warden at the Tower of London. At home, she was given her own wing, which included a parlor just behind the bedroom, with access to the floor above, where Annie had her room. Rowan's master's quarters included a room with a massive oak writing desk and chairs for his accountant and other business attendants.

Their first days in London seemed almost magical. They rowed upon the Thames, walked in the parks and visited the markets. He did so as her escort, and in public, they were entirely circumspect.

The nights, however, were hers.

At last the day came when they received a letter from Queen Elizabeth. She had set aside an evening to spend time with her "dearest Laird Rowan," and professed herself anxious for all and any messages from her "dearest cousin, Mary of Scotland."

"She sounds most genuine in her affection," Gwenyth told Rowan.

He arched a brow at her, amused. "Don't rely on ‘beloved cousin' for victory," he warned her. "Elizabeth is a crafty queen. And she is careful always," he added.

The steward of this house was a cheerful old fellow named Thomas, and Thomas—if he noticed the closeness of Laird Rowan and Lady Gwenyth—was careful not to comment upon it. Rowan had assured her that he had employed the penniless old soldier for his ability to keep a strict confidence, and he didn't seem at all alarmed by anything said or done in the man's presence, but for the sake of Gwenyth's honor, he was circumspect.

Thomas had brought the queen's letter to his master's quarters, and Rowan, though not completely dressed, had crossed the hall to Gwenyth's realm. She hadn't risen, but rather enjoyed the services of Annie and Thomas here; each morning, one or the other of them brought her a tray of coffee and pastries. She had never had coffee before, though Rowan told her it was a popular drink in Constantinople. It was far less popular in London, though, and most of the country had never so much as heard of it. But years before, when Rowan had been a lad, the elder laird had taken his young son on a long voyage that took them to the Continent and even to the East, where he had developed a taste for the bitter beverage. "All things can be obtained, my lady," Thomas had assured her, "when you know the right merchants. And, of course, can afford the price."

She didn't really understand all of Rowan's holding, nor did she really care about his property or wealth. With all her heart, she simply loved the man.

She couldn't, however, regret the fact that he could afford coffee. She loved it, especially when Thomas served it with rich cream and sugar, another commodity that was not always easy to purchase.

That morning, she had just set the tray aside when Rowan came in to show her Queen Elizabeth's letter. He'd handed it to her, and she had marveled at the fact that it had been handwritten and closed with the queen's seal. It had offered such a familiar tone of friendship.

"It sounds as if you know Queen Elizabeth better than Queen Mary," she told him a little primly.

He laughed. "I happened to be in England and was able to support the queen when things were not going in her direction."

"Oh?"

He sighed, stretching out upon the sheets of the bed he had left not long ago. "Now it seems that Elizabeth sits so comfortably upon her throne, while Mary is still gaining the support of her people, but it has not always been so easy for Elizabeth. Believe me, she understands Mary's dilemma well. And while there are others besides Mary with claims to the English throne, there are none so viable. And I believe that is Elizabeth's personal opinion, as well."

"Then she should simply sign her name to that," Gwenyth said, moving closer to his side.

He smiled. "Nothing is ever so easy and you know why. Mary has yet to sign the Treaty of Edinburgh."

"She can't sign the Treaty of Edinburgh, because as it is currently written, she would be giving away her claim to the throne of England."

"There's more," Rowan said with a shrug, smiling and slipping his arm around her. "Think of it this way—Elizabeth came to the throne at the age of twenty-five, young and beautiful. She was, beyond a doubt, the most outstanding marriage prize to be had."

"But she has turned down all those who have requested her hand."

"She has said many times that if she marries, it will be as queen."

"And that means?"

He gently touched a lock of her hair, smoothing it back from her face. "It means that she loves to be loved—she is still a striking woman in a man's world. She will not marry a Catholic prince and give power to any other country over her own, and she will not marry an English noble, because she will not give power to one family over another. If she marries, she intends to keep her title in reality, as well as in name. She will rule and no other. She has learned, however, the difficulties of being both a queen and a woman, with a woman's heart. Robert Dudley was one of her favorites, and many thought they were far too intimate, especially since Dudley had a wife. His wife died—her death was deemed an accident, but many believe it was suicide, that she was distraught over her husband's assumed infidelity with the queen. But she held her head high throughout the scandal, and she has made it clear that she will not marry Dudley. Indeed, there's been rumor that she's offered him as a potential bridegroom for Mary."

Gwenyth gasped. She was indignant. "Queen Elizabeth would suggest such a man, her… discard, to our queen?"

Rowan laughed, pulling her toward him. "Such pride! But, indeed, I am quite certain that Mary would never accept Elizabeth's discard, as you call the man. Actually, Elizabeth has a sense of humor and thinks that perhaps she should have married Dudley, as long as she had his promise that he would then marry the Queen of Scots if she should die. By marrying two queens, the man would have double the chance of fathering at least one royal heir."

Gwenyth studied him carefully. "She does not sound like such a virginal queen."

He shook his head. "Who ever knows what goes on in the heart or mind of another? But there was a scandal when she lived with her stepmother, Catherine Parr, and Somerset. The man would have loved to take her as his bride, rather than her father's widow. He tried too many times to climb too high, and he lost his head upon the scaffold. It is dangerous to be noble with royal aspirations."

She hesitated, studying him. "If rumor holds true…" she teased.

"It isn't rumor, m'lady, it is fact. My mother was the child of King James V of Scotland, recognized and loved, as he recognized his other children."

"And you have no royal aspirations?"

"I value my head, thank you. My claim would come behind more than a dozen others. And," he added, "my love is for Scotland. My own land. My own life."

The last was gently spoken, and his smile was tender.

She smiled, then regretfully rolled away from him and rose. "I have to dress, and carefully, my good laird."

Rowan shrugged and rose, as well.

"You will enjoy taking the barge down the river," he said, then left her.

They attended the queen at Hampton Court, and were invited into the Withdrawing Chambers, the queen's personal rooms, rather than the more public Privy Chamber or the Presence Chamber, where many were welcomed. One of the queen's retainers showed them into her presence. She wasn't in her bedroom but a parlor suite, with the bedroom just beyond. A small table was set for dinner; a servant was there to offer them wine or ale when they arrived; and the queen appeared from her bedchamber as they entered. Rowan bowed deeply, and Gwenyth knew that protocol demanded she sink into a low curtsy and await the queen's summons to rise, which she did.

Elizabeth was in her early thirties, and Gwenyth couldn't help but judge her quickly. She was fairly tall, her own height, nowhere near as statuesque as Mary. She had well-coifed golden hair with a touch of red, and dark eyes. She was decked in a gown of silk with a doublet in velvet, and her crown sat comfortably atop her head. She was not a great beauty, but she was certainly attractive.

"Ah, my dear Laird Rowan," Elizabeth greeted him, waving him near that she might bestow a kiss upon each of his cheeks. Her hands upon his shoulders, she stood back to survey him, then nodded, as if in approval of what she saw. There was a spark of mischief in her eyes.

"And," she murmured and turned, beckoning to Gwenyth, "my dear cousin's maiden, the Lady of Islington."

Gwenyth bowed her head low in acquiescence.

"Well, child, let me see you," Elizabeth said, and Gwenyth looked into the eyes of the English queen.

"You're tall."

"Not so tall," Gwenyth said.

Elizabeth laughed, pleased. "Careful—I'd say you're an inch above my own height, and I like to believe that I am tall."

"You are tall, Your Grace," Gwenyth said dutifully, bringing a smile of deep amusement to Elizabeth's face.

"You spent a year in France, I believe, so I have ordered a French wine in hopes that you will like it," Elizabeth told her.

"You are very kind."

"Actually, I am intrigued," Elizabeth said, but instead of elaborating, she turned to Rowan then. "I am so sorry for your loss," she told him. "Some time has passed, and I hope you are doing well."

"Aye, well enough, thank you."

"You were involved, I imagine, in your queen's battle with Huntly."

"Aye."

"A matter nicely solved. I was interested to hear all that transpired, and pleased to know that my cousin feels as I do on the matter of religion. Men do, and will, continue to die over their protestations of faith, though I try to minimize their opportunities."

"I swear, Your Grace," Gwenyth said earnestly, "Queen Mary does not intend to interfere with the Church of Scotland in any way."

Elizabeth looked at her. "Very well said. Of course, I had heard all about you. Mary has sent you as her most ardent enthusiast, and you are somehow to convince me that my good cousin is, as she claims, a proper heir to my throne."

Gwenyth felt her cheeks growing flushed. "She is indeed all that she claims," she said very softly.

"But I am not dead yet," the queen said, amused. "And do you know what I have decided, dear Rowan?"

He was wearing a half smile; the queen's attitude apparently amused him.

"What is that, Your Grace?"

"I don't need to name an heir to this throne. I have decided that I am quite unwilling to die."

"I don't think any of us intends to die, especially not so young," Gwenyth offered.

"Ah! The lady called me young. Well, I can see already that we shall be dear friends," Elizabeth said, and seeming even more amused. "Rowan, be off for a bit. My ladies will all be quite happy to see you, I'm certain," she added wryly.

Rowan stood, watching her without moving toward the door.

Elizabeth made a waving motion with her hand. "Rowan, do go on. I wish to speak to this delightful creature alone."

"As you wish," he said at last and, having no choice, left them alone.

Elizabeth wandered to the large chair in the center of the room, indicating a divan across from it. "You may sit." As Gwenyth did so, Elizabeth said, "Go on. Tell me of the wonders of your queen."

"She means to be a good queen, to be fair and just in all things. You don't know how it broke her heart to battle Huntly, a Catholic laird, but the kingdom, and the people, are most important in her heart. She would dearly love to ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh, but she feels that she cannot. She was grateful when you gave her safe conduct to Scotland, though it came when we had long sailed. She wishes nothing other than to be, in truth, your dearest cousin, your friend in all things."

"She will not be my friend," Elizabeth said sharply, "if she continues to negotiate any possible marriage contract with Don Carlos of Spain."

Gwenyth answered carefully, for there might still be secret negotiations taking place with Spain, even if she hadn't been entrusted with that information. "Mary is very aware that, like yourself, she must marry for her country."

"Is she?"

"She was promised to Francis as a child, and she be-friended him as a child. She was a loyal and tender wife to him in every way."

"Easy—when you are Queen of France," Elizabeth offered.

"Not so easy. He died slowly, and she never left his side," Gwenyth said.

"Ah, she is kindhearted."

"Very."

"Passionate?"

"Of course, especially when good government is involved."

Queen Elizabeth leaned forward slightly. "And in all else?"

"She…is kind to her friends. She loathes violence. She is well educated, and she loves her books, horses and hounds."

"I hear she is an excellent hunter."

"She is."

Elizabeth smiled, apparently having sensed something in Gwenyth's tone. "And you are not?"

"I am not fond of the hunt."

"You are honest, at least."

"Queen Mary is very honest."

"That, my dear, is not always an asset for a queen. She is lucky, though."

"Oh?"

"If all her subjects remain so earnestly assured of her goodness, she will have a long and prosperous reign," Elizabeth said.

"Would you consider acknowledging her as your heir?" Gwenyth asked hopefully.

Elizabeth leaned back. "No."

Troubled, surprised by the queen's bluntness, Gwenyth fell silent.

"I can't," Elizabeth said, smiling to take the sting out of the words. "I am not yet so firm upon my own throne that I can afford to make choices that may imperil my own rule. Perhaps, in time, I can do as your queen requests, but for now, I can't honor a Catholic princess. You must realize that. I will not acknowledge her, but neither will I acknowledge any other. I have said before that I consider her to have the clearest right to the throne at my death. But right does not always mean power. And even when power is granted to someone, it doesn't mean they were the right party to have it. Now, I am sure you have been charged to spend time at my Court. You are to speak highly of your queen daily, until I have had her name all but etched inside my mind, because I hear it daily from all sides. Therefore, you will most certainly spend time here, with my lords and ladies, and in my presence. You must see how we do things in England." She rose, ready to pace, and waved a hand that Gwenyth should remain seated, which left her feeling uncomfortably small. The queen stopped, staring at Gwenyth. "I believe I will live a long life. I will not fall prey to any man, because I have learned that caring too deeply creates havoc. I will be a queen in all things. England may one day take a husband, for the people clamour for an heir, but Elizabeth will not marry for passion. Perhaps, when I am completely convinced that your queen offers me no threat…but it is a waiting game we play. I can wait."

"Queen Mary has been a wife, and she will surely marry again," Gwenyth said. "She intends to leave an heir for Scotland."

Elizabeth smiled. "The woods are far too full of royalty now, so many would-be heirs to the throne. Perhaps the Scottish queen will make a choice that pleases me. Then we shall see."

She strode to the door that separated them from the outer chamber. When she opened it, Gwenyth saw that Rowan had obediently joined in a laughing discussion with several of Elizabeth's ladies. She couldn't help but feel a deep pang of jealousy, though she would not allow herself to show her feelings. If queens could be so cold, perhaps a lesser noble could be, as well.

"Rowan, we shall dine now," Elizabeth said.

"Your Grace," he acknowledged, and with a nod to the group, he returned to the room.

"He is very popular here," Elizabeth said to Gwenyth. "But then, you must see his excellent points. Tall, a well-built swordsman, extremely well-educated and well-traveled. Charming. A full head of hair. Strong teeth."

"He is not a horse, Your Grace," Gwenyth found herself saying. And then, of course, she was horrified at herself for having rebuked the English queen.

But Elizabeth only smiled. "Ah, a backbone. Thank God."

Rowan was followed into the room by what appeared to be a stream of servants, all carrying trays, and those trays all in silver. Gwenyth didn't believe that Elizabeth was attempting to impress her with English wealth; this was simply the way the queen dined when she held a private audience.

Elizabeth took the seat at the head of the table, then Gwenyth sat, followed by Rowan.

"A good solid English roast, Laird Rowan, though your Scottish cattle offer up tasty cuts. And there is fish, as well. Lady Islington, the onions are particularly sweet, and the greens are quite delicious. I hope you will enjoy the meal."

"In your presence, Your Grace, I would enjoy any meal," Gwenyth said.

"Rowan, she is quite a talented diplomat," Elizabeth said, then, holding a morsel of meat near her mouth, she paused. "Were you with Rowan, my dear, when Catherine breathed her last?"

"She was in my care, aye," Rowan said.

"Ah," the queen murmured.

"Mary had intended that Gwenyth travel south much earlier than has occurred," he said. "As it happened, I stayed at Castle Grey for some time, and my lady traveled on to her ancestral home."

"Were you sharing a bed at the time?" the queen asked bluntly.

Gwenyth gasped.

The question obviously didn't shock Rowan. He looked at the queen calmly. "Nay," he said flatly.

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "Yet some time has now passed," she pointed out.

Gwenyth wanted nothing more than to escape the table, the room and the queen's presence.

"Dear child, if you don't want people to know," Elizabeth said, "you will have to find a way not to follow the man's every movement with your eyes."

"I intend to ask for her hand," Rowan said.

Elizabeth smiled. "A love match. How charming."

After all the queen's words, Gwenyth was startled to hear something of envy in her voice.

"You could make a very advantageous marriage, you know, Rowan," Elizabeth said. "She is a beauty, your queen's own dear servant, but…Islington?"

" She is sitting right here," Gwenyth said, stunned that her sudden anger allowed her to speak.

"I am the queen. If I wish to speak as if you were not here, you must not notice," Elizabeth said, and there was amusement in her voice.

"Madam," Rowan said, "there are serious matters of state to dis—"

"Yes, and I am quite bored by all of them at this moment. I am far more interested in the two of you. Rowan, the Countess Mathilda is newly widowed. She is young, as well, and brings with her vast, rich lands. I have heard that she has mentioned a longing to speak with me about you as a possible new husband."

Gwenyth was stunned to see Rowan smile and shake his head slightly. "Your Grace, I hold English lands of you, and gratefully so. But I am a servant of the Scottish queen, and not to be bartered for a foreign country."

Gwenyth thought that Elizabeth would surely explode, and she did.

With laughter.

"Don't you want greater power, more and more land?" she demanded of Rowan.

"The thing about land…" he said thoughtfully. "Like a crown, one must always scramble to keep it. I am blessed. I have fine properties as it is. I have Catherine's inheritance, and it was Lady Gwenyth my wife turned to at the end, Gwenyth who watched over her lovingly when she did not even know my name. There was nothing between us then, and there has certainly been no shame in the behavior of the Lady of Islington. With my monarch's permission, I intend to marry the lady."

"Bravo!" Elizabeth told him.

He turned to Gwenyth then, "Believe in her temper, her anger and her demands. But she loves to bait a man, as well."

"I am sitting right here," Elizabeth said. "And I am the queen." Then she laughed, and Gwenyth was surprised when Elizabeth set a hand upon her own. "I am glad you gave comfort to Lady Catherine. She was a great beauty and a wonderful friend. You would have cared for her dearly, had you known her in better times."

"I came to care for her dearly as it was," Gwenyth said.

Elizabeth looked at Rowan. "I am well pleased. The lady is both lovely and well-spoken. Send for your things. I would have you both reside at court for a time. I believe I would enjoy a game of tennis tomorrow. Lord Rowan, you will be my partner. Lady Gwenyth, you will play with Lord Dudley. I think it's time I favored Lord Rowan above a few of the other nobility who are grown far too confident these days."

"As you wish," Rowan said.

"You do play tennis, Lady Gwenyth?" Elizabeth asked.

"Of course. Queen Mary is quite good at the sport. She loves to be out in the fresh air. Her gardens at Holyrood are lovely."

"I shall pray that you commend me to her so highly," Elizabeth said.

Gwenyth was silent.

"You are supposed to answer with an assurance that you can think of nothing but the most brilliant and marvelous words where I am concerned," Elizabeth said.

"I will certainly convey that you are exceedingly clever," Gwenyth said.

Elizabeth laughed. "And that is all?"

"I will tell her that you are every inch a queen."

"She is a quite a treasure, Rowan. I shall pray for the two of you, for life is never as simple as we would have it be. Now, Lady Islington, dinner is over and it is your turn to retire. There are matters I would discuss with Rowan."

W HEN THEY WERE ALONE , Elizabeth looked at him gravely. "Events are in an uproar in your homeland yet again, Rowan," she said.

He frowned. Matters in the Highlands had seemed quiet enough when they left, and he had assumed that he would hear any news quickly if the situation changed, for there were fresh horses kept at numerous stops along the long road from London to Edinburgh, so that riders could swiftly carry correspondence from one court to another.

"There was a man in Mary's party from the moment she left France for Scottish soil. A Frenchman, most avidly in love with his queen. He was sometimes with the Court and sometimes traveling on his own. It seems that he has been executed."

Convincing her French retainers and her Scottish court to speak as one had often been a difficulty for the queen, exacerbated by the fact that the Scots themselves had so many different agendas, sought such different rewards, and gave such different advice.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"Perhaps I should tell you all that I know has transpired since you left the queen's side. Sir John Gordon was tried for treason."

"Naturally," Rowan said. "Many in the Huntly party admitted there was a plan that our good queen should be abducted and forced into marriage with the fellow. He escaped justice, and he raised arms against her."

Elizabeth sat back in her great chair, delicate hands upon the upholstered arms. "I loathe an execution myself. Mary was in attendance when the Frenchman died. He cried out that he was ready to die for his great love for his queen. Apparently the execution was a sadly botched affair." She stared at Rowan. "It is exceedingly difficult to find an executioner who does not make a blundering mess of the process. So many people do not realize the tremendous kindness my father showed my mother when he sent to France so an excellent swordsman could do the grisly deed."

Rowan made no reply. Elizabeth was clearly deep in thought, and he did not care to tread upon the images that were occupying her mind.

"I barely knew my mother," she told him. "I had my own household at the time of her death, though I was but a toddling child. But there is something about blood, I suppose, because the stories I hear often tear at my heart. If you were to listen to my sister Mary's lords, she was a witch, a strumpet. If you listen to those who surrounded her at her death, she was innocent of all save her ability to continue to enthrall my father—and produce the son she left behind. She died well—all men say so. She was careful to beg my father's pardon at her death. It's amazing, is it not, that men and women go to their deaths begging pardon of those who wronged them—and paying the executioner well, so the torment will not be prolonged."

"I have seen those whose faith in the hereafter is so strong that they truly believe their travails on earth mean nothing," he told her.

She shook her head. "So many die so brutally—over the wording in the book meant to honor our most gentle Savior. But enough reminiscing. To return to my tale, at the Frenchman's death, Mary was so distraught that she took to her bed for several days. She was very ill."

Rowan asked quickly, "She is well now?"

"Well enough. Such emotion. Indeed, I've known illness, and I've known horror. But a queen cannot allow her emotions to rule her so completely. There has been more, you see. This courtier, a fellow name Pierre de Chatelard, apparently went a bit mad. He burst into the queen's chambers not once, but twice. The first was forgiven. On the second evening, Mary was quite distraught, screaming that her brother James, Earl of Moray, must run the man through with his sword. Moray acted with greater calm than the queen. The fellow was duly arrested, tried and executed."

Elizabeth was watching him; she was a very shrewd woman, he knew, one who read as much from the reactions of others as she did from their words.

"I can only say that I have ridden at her side, served her, sat in council with her, and I will swear by all that is holy that she is as chaste as a maiden never married, that she never encouraged the man in any way."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I do not think that she is me," she said.

"Your Grace, no one is you," he said simply.

"And you are smirking, despite your best resolve not to, Laird Rowan. My point here is that Mary must have a husband."

"Laird James Stewart is a fine advisor for her."

"He is her illegitimate half brother. He cannot take the place of a king consort."

"Like you, she intends to marry with grave care. Surely, Your Grace, you know yourself that men will do foolish things for love—especially love for a queen."

"Love for a crown," she said sharply.

"A crown is certainly a lovely treasure set before the eyes—but I think you are not a woman who lacks confidence in her own abilities."

"Flattery, Laird Rowan."

He shook his head. "I certainly try not to insult with my speech, but there is danger inherent in the fact that both you and Queen Mary are young and very attractive."

She laughed suddenly. "You have heard, certainly, how I teased her advisor, Maitland. Poor fellow, I did quite torture him, trying so hard to make him say that one of us was prettier than the other—I even tried to make him say that I was the taller. Alas, I failed in that."

"Maitland is a good man and a fine ambassador in Queen Mary's service," he said.

"You speak carefully, but you don't lie," Elizabeth mused. "And you are one of those Scots in a difficult position indeed, with loyalties to both England and your own beloved home. I tell you, Laird Rowan, there is truly nothing I love so much as peace. I seek good government and peace, which together bring prosperity. So know this," she said, her expression suddenly intense. "I will never accept a Catholic marriage that binds Mary to a foreign house. I will first accept the threat of war with Scotland and France, Sweden or Spain. If she wishes to remain in my good graces, she will take serious care with her plans for marriage."

"Your Grace," he said, puzzled, "I had thought that both my Lady Gwenyth and I—and Maitland, in his many discussions with you—had thoroughly convinced you that Mary intends most firmly to take the greatest care with her marriage. She knows that she is queen. She would not risk war among her own noblemen by her marriage, nor war with you, her much-loved cousin. Believe me, she knows the grave seriousness of her every move."

Elizabeth sat back. "I have no doubt that my cousin is kind, earnest and passionate, and that she intends to do the best she can with the power she wields. Whether she can prove herself worthy of navigating difficult emotional waters is something that frightens me."

He lowered his head. Word of Elizabeth's own temper tantrums had certainly spread.

"I am quick to anger, but I do not fall apart," she said, as if reading his thoughts.

"Queen Mary will not fall apart."

"Then I pray that we shall remain dearest cousins, " Elizabeth said.

"We all pray it will be so."

Elizabeth lifted a hand and grinned. "You know, of course, that I did not see you here alone only so that rumor would arise?"

"Perhaps not ‘only,' but certainly I am here at least in part so that your courtiers may whisper that you have shown me favor, and therefore they will not whisper about you and Dudley."

"Ah, but do you know that I gave Dudley the title Earl of Leicester that he might be a man of greater importance and riches, a more juicy tidbit for your queen?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Mary is very proud," he said at last.

"As a queen should be," Elizabeth said. "We shall see what the future holds."

She would see, he knew. Elizabeth was known for sitting back to watch and wait whenever she faced a difficult decision. That way, others were at fault when ventures went wrong.

"Whatever lies before us, I am delighted in your company, Rowan."

"Your Grace, you know I always enjoy an audience with such a powerful—and beautiful—young queen."

"You will cause much jealousy," she said, grinning.

"If that is your wish, I will do my best to oblige."

"Tell me, will the new love of your life be suspicious? Truly, Rowan, the lady impressed me. She will not veer from honoring Mary. And when I suggested that there might have been an affair between the two of you before Catherine's death, she was quite honestly horrified. You will face that rumor, of course."

"She is my love and my life," he said softly. "And no, I don't believe that she will suspect any evil—of either of us."

Elizabeth laughed. "If only you were a good English subject."

"None of us can help our birth, Your Grace."

"Ever the statesman. Go now, before the hour grows any later. I will enjoy forcing you both to remain with my court for some time."

He bowed deeply and left her, but he found one of the guards of the wardrobe, an elevated house valet, waiting outside the door to escort him to his chambers, where his possessions awaited him. When the queen wished, events occurred quickly.

Rowan wasn't pleased that they were moving into Hampton Court Palace; he would have preferred being in his own house on the river. The days that had passed while they had awaited the queen's pleasure had been ideal. But he knew Elizabeth. Even had he protested in any way, he still would have done what she wanted, and she would have found new ways to torment him, besides.

She considered him as much a friend as she could consider any man, he knew. And she had sincerely liked Gwenyth. She could be vain, but she also enjoyed having attractive women around her—just as long as none shone so brightly as she. But more than that, he knew that the queen dealt with so much flattery and cajolery that she was enjoying Gwenyth's honesty.

She was also amused by their affair. Very amused, it seemed, for when she had commanded them to leave his townhouse on the river, she had been playing at her own games, as well. He was somewhat familiar with the vast halls of Hampton Court, and he was quite familiar with the room he had been assigned. It had a false door built into the wall next to the mantel, one that led to the room next door.

To Gwenyth's room.

Perhaps Good Queen Bess had a more romantic heart than her familiars suspected, despite her own stern determination on how she intended to live.

Nor were they the only guests. The queen's court—with all her noble office holders, ladies, accountants, council, officials, servants and servants' servants—numbered nearly fifteen hundred souls, many of them housed here at the palace. Rowan knew that several hundred dined in the great hall at night. The Court was larger than many a village among his holdings. But that was of no consequence now, he thought, his mind returning to the possibilities the night offered.

Gwenyth did not know that the rooms connected.

Thomas and Annie had brought their travel cases and dutifully moved them in while he and Gwenyth had still been at dinner with the queen. He knew that their servants were now housed elsewhere in the vast tangle of chambers and rooms, leaving him free to open the door to Gwenyth's room and explore.

In the dim fire glow, he could see that her brushes and hair accessories were laid out on a dressing table, and that the wardrobe—the door ever so slightly ajar—held her clothes, everything neatly arranged for her use.

Gwenyth herself was asleep. He could imagine her ritual, the removal of all the paraphernalia she wore, which was exchanged for her more comfortable nightclothes, the time spent at the dressing table, brushing out her hair. Now she lay in the bed—that glorious hair strewn around her on the pillow, catching the firelight—looking like an angel.

As he slipped in beside her, she awoke and started to scream, so he quickly clamped his hand over her mouth.

"Good God, would you have me executed for an assault in the night?" he whispered to her.

Her eyes, wide in the firelight, met his and softened. He felt her lips curve into a smile beneath his palm as she slipped arms around him. "Never," she whispered as he removed his hand.

She asked him no questions about his private time with Elizabeth, only found his mouth with her own, then used her tongue to create an instantly simmering fire upon his lips, within his mouth.

In seconds, they were wildly entwined.

She was the love of his life, and surely that could only be a good thing. No evil lay between them, only the future, which promised to stretch out before them brilliantly, as brilliantly as the fires that raged between them.

Her arms were so fierce, her lips so passionate. And the way she moved….

It did not matter if they lay together in the woods of Scotland, a townhouse upon the Thames or in the quarters thoughtfully meted out to noble lovers at Court.

He held her tightly, when passion was spent. Held her as if…

As if he feared to lose her.

There was no reason for the fear, he told himself, but still he lay awake long into the night, pondering the strange haunting doubts in his own mind.

It was only at dawn that he left her, and he did so with the deepest regret.

They would be together again by night, he chastised himself as he forced himself to leave. She slept on, her hair a golden sunray on the pillows, face exquisite.

And still he was afraid, with no way to explain his fear.