CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T ENNIS WAS ALWAYS FUN , Gwenyth thought, and the grounds at Hampton Court were beautiful.

Robert Dudley was an exceedingly handsome man, tall and well versed in courtly manner. She wondered, however, if he was not stretching even his excessive charm and luck, for he strove to be close to Elizabeth at every turn.

Gwenyth noticed, too, that the queen seemed to enjoy tormenting those who thought they could sway her. She would laugh and be kind to Dudley one minute, then turn to Rowan the next. She enjoyed creating a certain jealousy among her courtiers. That, Gwenyth realized, and making certain that none would think himself too favored, too grand.

Elizabeth would indeed hold on to her own power.

When Dudley missed a ball that should have been an easy volley, Elizabeth accused him of attempting to let her win. Gwenyth, however, had no intention of allowing anyone to win easily. Losing by pretending to lack even the simplest skills did not seem like a way to flatter the English queen, nor like something that would be appreciated.

She was, in addition, Mary of Scotland's representative here. She owed it to her queen to represent both her rule and her country well, so she played for all she was worth, forcing Dudley to throw himself into the game.

At one point she crashed into him as they both went after the ball, and he eyed her speculatively—and appreciatively, she thought, stepping hurriedly away.

Here was a man who had flirted so outrageously with the queen that she had been touched by scandal. Then, whether in jest or with serious thought, the English queen had suggested him as a marriage partner for the Scottish queen. And now was he attempting a flirtation with her, as well?

She decided that she was not particularly fond of court life. And though she certainly could never tell Elizabeth so, she thought that Mary's court was by far the more virtuous.

"Take care," Dudley warned her, catching her arm and offering her a broad smile. "Elizabeth does not like to lose."

"Neither do I," she told him meaningfully.

"She is the queen," he said.

"But I serve another—who is also a queen," she told him.

"My future bride?" he taunted.

"I sincerely doubt it," she told him.

"Let's finish playing!" the queen called sharply, and they went back to the game.

At last, and thanks to Dudley's fawning determination, the game was lost.

It was true that Elizabeth was in high spirits, but when she shared her exuberance and joy, it was with her partner, Laird Rowan, and not Robert Dudley.

Gwenyth, longing for nothing more than to be quit of royal company at that point, managed to excuse herself, feigning a sore ankle, and made her way back through the long and confusing corridors of the palace and at last to her room, Annie was there, humming as she tended to her mistress's clothing.

"Are ye all right?" Annie asked, noticing the feigned limp Gwenyth had thought it wise to maintain, lest she be seen.

"I'm quite fine, merely aggravated. Such games they play here."

"You love tennis," Annie said.

"Never mind."

"Ah, you lost."

"I don't care that I lost," Gwenyth protested, then hesitated. "On the one hand, this English queen seems so intelligent and judicious, even kind. But she places far too much importance on games that can have no significance for her. I just wish that we were home."

"I thought that you were fascinated by London."

"I was. Annie, what are the chances that you could arrange for a bath for me now?"

The older woman went off in search of a tub and hot water to fill it, and soon she was helping Gwenyth from her clothing, clucking over the condition of her corset, the whale-bone bent and misshapen, and bemoaning the emptiness of Gwenyth's purse while they were in England.

Gwenyth didn't care, merely submerged herself in the water, leaned back, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, hoping that Annie would let her be.

When her maid finally left, Gwenyth opened her eyes and let her thoughts wander, wondering why she felt so irritated by the day's events. And then she knew.

She didn't trust Elizabeth.

There was no doubt that the woman was a clever and effective queen. But equally, there was no doubt that she would readily use whatever lesser human beings were at her disposal to further her own ends.

R OWAN DIDN'T LIKE R OBERT Dudley.

He never had, and he never would.

Dudley's father had lost his head for involving himself in royal intrigue, but that didn't seem to stop Dudley from daring a great deal. He was a tall, well-built man, and he seemed to think extremely highly of his own charms, something Elizabeth had certainly allowed.

Watching Dudley with Gwenyth across the court had not endeared the man to him in any way. He knew Dudley's mind. He was the queen's favorite, but there was no one who could swear that the queen had ever been genuinely intimate with the man, who considered himself free to indulge in petty affairs, while still maintaining his absolute devotion to his queen. Even if Elizabeth now teased him with the thought of a marriage to Mary of Scotland, Dudley would consider the queen's lady a succulent temptation and his by right. Too many men with a certain degree of rank and power felt they were allowed such indiscretions. But small though her lands and property might be, Gwenyth was a Scottish noble in her own right and not a prize for Dudley or others of his ilk to claim.

And Rowan was not beyond jealousy.

Despite her completely cordial and proper manner, he knew Gwenyth well and had seen that she was clearly seething when she left the tennis court. But he could not follow her at first, for Elizabeth demanded that he accompany her to the hall, and while they walked, she casually told him that she had given leave for Lord and Lady Lennox—previously stripped of their Scottish lands—to return to Scotland and reclaim their holdings. Watching her, Rowan was curious—and wary—for they were the parents of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley.

"Are you putting the son forward as a possible king consort for Mary?" he asked. He knew Darnley and liked him less than Dudley. At least Dudley made no pretense that he was anything other than a lascivious and ambitious man.

Darnley was but a boy, glorious and golden to look upon. He could hunt, dance and play the lute. He was also selfish and overly indulged. Rowan couldn't imagine him ever having to fight in battle, being able to rouse people to his cause or make a stand.

"No. I am allowing Lord and Lady Lennox to return to Scotland because it has been too long that they have been punished for old infractions." She shook her head. "I don't think that such a marriage would please me at all. Henry Stewart is a cousin of mine, as well. He has claims to both the English throne and the Scottish. I would not like to see the pair together. It is one thing for my nearest kin to seek the throne upon my demise, quite another to think they might want to grasp it while I live and breathe. I thought that you should know," she told him.

"I see." He bowed to her. "I thank you for so candidly sharing your thoughts."

"See that they are relayed, just as I spoke them," she told him. "I'm arranging for you to meet with Mary's fine Mr. Maitland, along with my own ambassador, Throgmorton." She linked arms with him. "They think I don't know that Maitland is secretly negotiating with Spain regarding Don Carlos as a contender for the Scottish crown."

He pulled back, staring at her. "Your Grace, it is public knowledge that you continue to entertain yourself with marriage negotiations with suitors from many places."

She smiled. "There is power in negotiation."

"I see. You wave the great carrot of England before the mules of the Continent, secure in the belief that you can quickly form an alliance should you need one."

"I can protect myself from my cousin's French connections and perhaps stir old animosities, if it becomes necessary," she told him.

"I will see that Queen Mary is duly warned. May I take my leave?"

Walking with the queen, looking around, he saw no sign of Robert Dudley, and misgiving filled him.

Elizabeth nodded regally. "We will see you and the Lady Gwenyth at dinner this evening."

"Aye, dear queen, as you wish."

"I do love those words— as I wish. "

"You are queen."

"But it wasn't always so. You know, of course, that I entered the Tower once through Traitor's Gate. I know, as few do, how lightly crowns sit upon royal heads. But I intend to keep my crown, and my head, at all costs. You may take your leave, Lord Rowan."

He was anxious to do so and strode quickly through the long halls of the court, nodding to acquaintances and even old friends but never stopping, so anxious was he to reach Gwenyth's chamber.

When he neared her room at last, he started to breathe a sigh of relief. But as he drew closer, he saw that her door was ajar and saw the figure of a man.

Someone was there!

His long strides became a run. He reached the door just before it could be closed against him and threw it open with a thunderous shove. Inside, he found a scene to send his temper soaring.

Gwenyth was in the bath, fingers tightly gripping the wooden rim. And Robert Dudley was there, on his way to the tub, but he stopped short at Rowan's arrival.

Rowan drew the knife at his calf, eyes narrowed.

Dudley, who was unarmed, drew back.

"Good God, Graham, what is in your head? I have merely come to see to Lady Gwenyth's ankle!" he exclaimed.

Rowan wasn't sure what he said, only that without thinking he swore in the ancient Gaelic tongue of his father. Whatever his words, his meaning was clear enough to Dudley, who backed even further away.

"Cause harm to me, Rowan, and Queen Elizabeth will have your head."

"When you were intent upon the rape of a lady within her court?" Rowan countered, seething.

Dudley pretended shock. His jaw set; his eyes became hooded. "Do you know my position, Laird Rowan?"

"Do you know mine?"

"I see that you are ready to wield a knife against an unarmed man."

To Rowan's distress, Dudley's words galvanized Gwenyth into action. She had been watching the confrontation, wide-eyed, but now she grabbed the linen towel that awaited her, drew it around herself and leapt toward him. "Rowan, you must drop the knife!"

He did so, casting it across the room toward the hearth.

"Let there be no weapons," he said in a deadly tone.

"Let there be no fight!" Gwenyth pleaded.

Rowan stared at her, certain his eyes were glazed with the fury that constricted his muscles.

"Let there be no fight," she pleaded again.

He didn't know if Dudley was right about his favor with Queen Elizabeth being so great that any lie he voiced to her would be believed. Elizabeth was far from stupid. But she would always have her way—even if that meant forgiving the gravest offense because she had a greater goal in mind.

God, how he loathed Dudley at that moment. He longed to strangle the man with his bare hands. But if he did so, he would hang.

And if he were to hang…

Gwenyth's life would be in grave danger.

"Rowan," she whispered, then walked away from him, her back sleek and bare, glistening from the heat and steam of the tub. She held her towel more tightly to her, walked up to Dudley and struck him hard across the face.

Dudley, shocked, rubbed his chin.

"You are the queen's favorite, not mine," she assured him. "And if you ever think to surprise me again, I promise you, you will not need to fear death at Laird Rowan's hands, because I will kill you myself. In Scotland we are not trained just to charm, we are trained, even lasses, to preserve our lives against foreign assault."

Dudley was far more stunned by her assault than he had been by any of Rowan's threats. Even so, Rowan felt the need to reinforce her words. "If you go near her again, Dudley, I will kill you," he promised.

Dudley laughed then, but it was a sham, there was no humor in him then. "I didn't know, Laird Rowan, that the lady was your mistress."

"My relationship with the lady is not your concern. She is one of Mary of Scotland's ladies-in-waiting, and as such, she should command your respect."

Dudley looked at Gwenyth. "You are seeking power in the wrong place. Laird Rowan is from a bastard branch of the royal family."

"I am not seeking power, Dudley. In fact, the more I see of power, the less I crave it. Now get out."

"What if I were to tell you that Queen Elizabeth sanctioned my visit here?" Dudley asked softly.

"I would call you a liar," Rowan told him. But his heart sank. Could Elizabeth be that duplicitous? "Get out," he said, echoing Gwenyth's words.

"Good lords, sweet lady! What on earth goes on here?" came a sudden demand.

Rowan spun around. The queen, followed by a number of her courtiers, was at the door. Whatever she was truly thinking was hidden by the tremendous shock on her face.

Dudley answered quickly. "We've both come to see that the Lady Gwenyth is quite all right, after she injured her foot this afternoon."

"Someone do be kind enough to offer the poor child a robe," Elizabeth said sharply. One of her ladies, the homely but very sweet Lady Erskine, raced past the rigid men. She found Gwenyth's favorite velvet robe and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I'm sure, my lords, that you meant the lady well. What else dare I think?" Elizabeth said. "But I suspect she would like her privacy, so perhaps you will leave her. Now. "

Dudley bowed to her deeply. "Indeed, my dearest queen. I meant to seek an audience with you immediately. There are pressing matters at hand."

Rowan didn't speak, only stared at Elizabeth, and was stunned when her eyes fell and it seemed that there was a slight flush upon her cheeks.

"Laird Rowan, you appear distressed. I am certain your good man Thomas has seen to it that there is a fine wine in your chambers. I suggest that you take your rest, as you are surely weary from the day. Dudley, you will accompany me."

Having been given no choice, Rowan strode down the hall to his door and, with a bow to the queen, entered the room and closed his door.

He waited, ready to explode, listening to her voice and Dudley's as they moved down the hall and out of earshot.

He was about to burst through the connecting door when Gwenyth did so first. Towel gone, she raced naked and shaking into his arms.

"She is horrible!" Gwenyth cried. "She made all that happen. She did it on purpose. She will not make any commitment to the man, yet she wants him at her beck and call, and she would offer up anyone to amuse him so that he stayed her patient dog."

"Shh, it's all right. It won't happen again," he told her tensely, privately recalling the expression on the queen's face. He didn't think she had manipulated that scene; she had been too genuinely appalled by what she saw. Still, this was probably not the time to convince Gwenyth of that.

She pulled away from him, her eyes huge. "Nay, don't say such a thing to me. You look as if you will go out and kill him…and then…oh, Rowan!" She threw herself back into his arms, still shaking.

Well, there it was. He longed to kill Dudley, but he could not. What promise could he make to her?

"I swear," he vowed aloud, "that I will never let him near you again."

"It would be better if…if…"

He lifted her chin, knowing she was thinking that it would be better if Dudley were dead.

"Don't even say it," he whispered, smoothing the damp hair back from her face. He suddenly found himself on his knees before her naked, trembling form and took her hand. "I swear, Gwenyth, that I will guard you with my life against all evil." He looked up at her. "That I will love you until my last breath."

She gasped softly then fell to her knees before him. His hands cupped her head, her eyes searched his with a shimmering of tears, and then her lips were on his. She kissed him with a sweet and aching tenderness that flooded his soul, as well as his senses.

He lifted her from the floor and into his arms, and laid her with infinite tenderness upon the great canopied bed, then stretched out beside her, and his whispers bathed her flesh with the softest breath while his words were impassioned steel. "By my honor, I vow that I will love you, come what may, through all the days of my life. With every drop of blood in my veins, with every fiber of my flesh, bone and being…"

"Rowan," she cried softly, and again her lips found his. When she had finished kissing him there, she proceeded to bathe his shoulders with the exquisite sweep of her teeth and tongue, as her hands, so delicate, so enticing, moved over the length of him. In his heart he felt a passion that needed to be sworn physically, just as he had sworn his devotion with words, and he caught her fiercely, rolling her beneath him. With volatile, rising passion, he made love to her in the most carnal manner, seducing, enticing, with the moist searing of his tongue, the stroking of his hands, fingers, lips. There had never been a time when he had made love to anyone so violently, so intently, so tenderly, all in one. The body, no matter what its fire, could not impart all that he meant with his soul. He would never grow tired of her; she enchanted him anew every time she rose to meet his desire, and in the end they both lay gasping, heaving, trembling…and locked with one another, arms and legs, his erection easing in her body. He did not want to pull away; he did not want to be parted from her.

"We're leaving," he said softly. "Tonight."

"Rowan, we cannot. We have been sent here by one queen and are the invited guests of another."

"By virtue of my holdings in England, I have rights," he told her vehemently.

She pulled away at last, stroking his face, a smile upon her lips. "Rowan! We spend so much time praying that her passions do not rule our queen. We must not take leave of this place in anger and without permission. I believe Elizabeth respects you very much. Speak with her again. We can't become her enemies."

Lying rigidly, he thought he did not care. Then he sighed at last. "I will summon Annie. You will not stay alone."

"Summon Annie, and beg an interview, alone, with Elizabeth. She wanted to create a stir. That I believe. But though I don't know her, the more I think upon it, I do not think she intended these events. I cannot believe she would cause an incident between two countries over something so…" She paused, biting her lip, shaking her head, "So trivial as one man coveting another's mistress."

He drew away from her, his frown rigid, his features taut. "Have you listened to nothing I have said?"

She smiled. "On the contrary, I have savored and trembled with every word. But to Dudley, if he knew anything, it was only that you are the great Laird Rowan, while I am a lady with far lesser holdings. You once married a great heiress, and I am hardly that. I am here as Queen Mary's champion, and that does not make me a great prize."

"There is no greater prize," he said hoarsely.

"I fear I am sleeping, that I will wake up, and this will all have been a dream," she told him.

He cradled her against him. "It is no dream." Quite suddenly he stood. "Stay in here until you hear Annie in the connecting chamber." He dressed quickly as he spoke, choosing his Highland regalia.

He left her, after first assuring himself that the hall was empty. At the end of it, he found Thomas, and he ordered the man to find Annie, and said that he expected both of them to stay by their chambers, watching over Lady Gwenyth. Thomas gravely and quickly obeyed, and Rowan went in search of the queen.

D ESPITE R OWAN'S DEMAND that she remain in his chamber, Gwenyth dared to return to her own room and begin dressing, slipping into a linen sheath and then awaiting Annie to help her with the stays, petticoats and grand array she intended to wear for the night. She would never allow herself, as Queen Mary's lady, to appear any less stylish than the women of Elizabeth's Court. She was angry, feeling terribly betrayed and, despite her insistence to Rowan a few minutes ago, not at all sure what had happened. Had Elizabeth released Rowan from her presence just in time to prevent a rape? Had it been a warning to Dudley that she would always pull the strings?

She didn't know. She knew only that she missed her home more with each passing moment.

"God rot all the offspring that can be traced back to that wretched Henry VII," she said aloud, then froze, because Rowan was the grandson of James V of Scotland, the grandson of Henry VII of England. "The wretched legal offspring," she muttered then. "And God rot Queen Elizabeth especially," she added, feeling that would suffice for the moment.

Annie arrived at last. "Good heavens, but ye are in a state this afternoon, m'lass," Annie tsked.

"Court life does not agree with me," Gwenyth said.

"I think 'tis wondrous here," Annie said.

Gwenyth stared fiercely at her maid. "Enough," she groaned in aggravation. "Come make me regal enough for this assembly. I just don't like being…manipulated," Gwenyth murmured.

"Welcome to the masses," Annie said drily.

Gwenyth drew away. "Am I difficult?"

Annie paused, her hands on her hips, then shook her head. "Y'er the Lady of Islington. I'm a servant. Y'er beneath the queens, and I am a pawn. And that be the world."

"A queen should never foolishly risk a pawn."

"Ah, but if a sacrifice is needed, surely it should be a pawn."

Gwenyth laughed suddenly. "I never knew you loved chess."

"It will come right, m'lady. I believe it will," Annie said gently.

Gwenyth turned around, letting Annie finish dressing her. The maid was setting the last pin into Gwenyth's hair when there was a tap at the door.

Gwenyth started.

"'Tis a knock and nae a death sentence," Annie said, striding to the door.

It was Rowan. He appeared exceptionally tall, shoulders broad beneath his tartan mantle. And he was smiling, wearing that wicked look of rueful amusement that had once so irritated her and now seemed to slip around her heart.

"We've an appointment," he told her.

"An appointment?" she queried.

"Come." He stretched out a hand to her.

She joined him slowly and suspiciously. He laughed. "You'll like this plan—at least, I think you will. Are you coming, Annie?"

"Me? The likes of me?" Annie said, aghast.

"Aye, Annie, come along."

Warily, Annie followed. They found Thomas, straight and very correct, waiting for them in the hall. "If I may, good woman?" he said, and offered Annie his arm.

"Good heavens, what is this nonsense?" Annie asked.

"No nonsense. You'll see," Rowan assured her gravely. "I need you, Annie, to perform a service for the Lady Gwenyth and me."

"A service, m'laird?"

He laughed and started down the hall, and beneath his breath, Gwenyth realized, he was humming. His eyes lit up each time they fell on her. She acknowledged, looking at him, that nothing in her life had ever meant as much to her as this man, that she had never known such happiness as she had known in his arms. She had never realized the true depth of love until she had met him.

"Where are we going?" she queried softly.

"You'll see soon enough."

They seemed to walk the halls forever. And then, Gwenyth realized, they had come to the chapel.

He opened the door, urging her in. There was a single occupant in the room, a black-clad minister with a white collar waiting at the altar.

"Come in here, my lady," the minister said, beckoning. "And you, good man, good woman," he continued, addressing Thomas and Annie. "No doubt this could have been accomplished with much more style and decorum, but…as it stands, I am a bit nervous, having no real blessing but rather the impatient nod of the sovereign that I may do this. I haven't the leisure of the entire night."

Gwenyth stared at Rowan.

He smiled. "My dearest Lady Gwenyth, for such a lovely creature, you're looking a bit like a fish. Do close your mouth. Reverend Ormsby, you may begin."

"But…?" Gwenyth said, still uncomprehending.

"Good heavens, my love." Rowan fell down upon one knee, taking her hand. "My dearest Lady Gwenyth MacLeod of Islington, will you do me the tremendous honor of becoming my wife?"

Tears stung her eyes. "But will this be legal?" she whispered.

"Before the eyes of God, no matter what prince of earth may not approve, I am pledging my heart to you."

"Will the couple please come before me?" the minister said, clearing his throat.

"That's us," Rowan told her.

"Oh, dear God," she choked, touching his face.

"Well?" he said. "Will you vow to be my wife?"

"With all my heart!"

He stood and drew her forward to stand before the altar, and the minister began to speak, though she barely heard his words.

At one point there was a sound from the rear of the chapel. Gwenyth turned to see that it came from Queen Elizabeth and Robert Dudley. Dudley appeared to have been dragged there. Elizabeth had set her hand upon his arm in a possessive manner. Oddly enough, the English queen had a very benign expression on her face and smiled at Gwenyth.

In the midst of her euphoria, Gwenyth knew that, once again, the Queen of England was playing her cards with room for a bluff. Undoubtedly Rowan had her permission for this hasty and secretive marriage to which she would not stand as official witness, though she would be a witness all the same, so that, when she chose, she could defend them…

Or back away.

Suddenly Gwenyth heard Rowan speak, words strong and sure as he promised to love her, honor her…she wasn't sure what else was said, for she still felt as if she were living in a dream.

The chapel was bare. There wasn't a flower to brighten the occasion. There were no players, no music. Yet she couldn't have been anywhere on earth more magical than the whitewashed chapel with its simple ornamentation. She could scarcely believe the woman she had been hating for treating her so lightly was standing there, the most powerful person in the country, granting their union.

Most of all, she couldn't believe that Rowan was by her side, and that he loved her. That he was taking her as his wife.

The room was spinning, but she fought it.

When it was her turn to say her vows, her voice quivered. She could not stop it. Her feelings were sure and true, but there was such a tremor in her voice….

It was certainly the most beautiful ceremony that had ever been, a beauty accomplished by the perfection of Rowan's vows alone.

And then Reverend Ormsby pronounced them man and wife.

"Do kiss your bride, Lord Rowan," he said.

And he kissed her. A kiss like so many others…

A kiss so different.

Remarkably, unbelievably, miraculously…she was his wife.