Chapter 1

"W hat the hell d'ye mean by ‘marry without delay,' Father?" Alexander Gordon glowered down from his great height upon his bedridden father, but the Earl of BrocCairn was not intimidated by his son's look. It was a look he'd often worn upon his own face in his younger days when someone more powerful than he was dictating to him. God, he thought, looking up at Alex, he looks just like I once did. He has the same height and lanky frame, a face that looks as if it was hewn from rock, and my black hair. Why, up until I had this damned accident, we were often taken for brothers.

Angus Gordon sighed deeply. He hated admitting his own weakness, but gritting his teeth, he said, "It should be clear to ye, Alex, that I will not survive to see the spring. Each day I find myself growing weaker, unable to do even the simplest things for myself. Hell, man! I can't even stand to piss! I don't want to live like this, and the physician from Aberdeen says I will get no better. I know I'm dying."

"Damnation!" The younger man shifted his feet, obviously made quite uncomfortable by his father's bluntness.

"I will be dead within a few weeks, Alex, and ye're my only male heir," continued the Earl of BrocCairn. "Wi' yer mother and brother, Nigel, gone in last year's epidemic, I have no one but ye and yer sister. I would rather not pass Dun Broc on to Annabella and her weak-willed husband who does not bear my name. Ye have a betrothed wife, Alex. Marry her! Get me a grandson on her body!"

"God's foot, Father! A little English girl I haven't seen in years? A child barely half grown, let alone capable of mothering a bairn of her own! Yer illness has addled yer wits!" Alexander Gordon's voice was full of pity.

"Aye," his father retorted sharply, "ye've not seen the lass since the day of yer betrothal. Whose fault was that, my son? Are ye aware of how long ago it took place? Almost ten years have passed, and de Marisco's lass is full grown now and ripe for wedding. Ye have but to claim her!"

"Is there another, perhaps, who has captured yer heart?" Angus Gordon went on suddenly. "If there is, I'd not force this match upon ye, for I want ye to be happy with yer wife, Alex, as I was with mine. Yer mother was the love of my life, and as sad as I am to be leaving ye, I'll be glad to be wi' her again. It's been a long year since my Isabelle left me." His voice trailed off sadly.

Alex could feel unbidden tears pricking the back of his eyelids, and he fought to prevent them from overflowing his eyes. "There's no lass, Father," he said quietly. "Ye know it."

"Then go to England and wed wi' the girl I chose for ye. She is yers for the asking, and both Adam de Marisco and I always hoped to unite our families by this marriage. It is my dying wish, Alex. I would not take ye from another, but if there is truly no other, then ye must honor this betrothal to my friend's daughter. Ye've never before objected to it. Do this final thing for me, my beloved son."

In the last of the icy, howling winds of winter that roared about the dull gray stone turrets of Dun Broc , Alexander Gordon heard again the voice of his dead father importuning his speedy marriage. Seated at the high board in the Great Hall of his castle, he looked at his brother-in-law, Ian Grant, and knew he had no other choice but to marry. He had but lately overheard one of his nephews saying to the other, "Papa says that one day this will all be mine. I will be the earl."

The innocent, yet prideful words spoken by his sister's eldest child had suddenly brought home to Alex his father's desperate dying wish. A Grant the next lord of BrocCairn? Never!

Alex understood why his father had made an English match for him. The English queen was, despite her age, a maiden, and no issue of hers would inherit the throne of England. It was her cousin, and his, young James Stewart, the king of Scotland, who would one day rule England.

Although Alex had spent as little time at the Scottish court as possible, even he could see Jamie Stewart's eagerness to have his inheritance and flee south to a more civilized clime. The English nobility were less fractious than their Scots counterparts. The English kings had the kind of longevity a royal Stewart could not seem to count upon. Not one Scots king since the time of the first James Stewart had lived longer than forty years, and not one had died a natural death. The current Jamie must wish as would any normal man for a long life, but Scotland was not the place for it. When he inherited the throne of England and went south to claim it, those who went with him, and those already married to good English connections, would be the ones to prosper. That was why Angus Gordon had made an English match for his son.

Alex sat back in his chair and watched Ian Grant through narrowed eyes. Ian was a nice-enough fellow, but it was high time he made his own way. He had grown soft living at Dun Broc with all its small comforts. It was past time for him to return to his own holding in the glen below—a holding that he badly neglected—and made something of it. Forced back there, Alex thought with a wicked smile, his sister Annabella would be sure to ride her spouse hard to improve her lot.

"I'll be leaving for England in a few weeks' time," Alex began.

"Why on earth are ye going there?" demanded his sister, stuffing a piece of pigeon pasty into her mouth. Bella had grown plump of late, Alex noted. Was she breeding again, or was it simply too much good living?

"I'm going to claim my bride, Bella. It's high time I married and started a family. It was our father's dying wish."

Annabella Grant choked on her mouthful of pasty, looking stunned at her elder brother's surprising revelation, but before she could swallow and speak, her husband was actually taking the initiative and speaking for them.

"Marry? Ye're near thirty, man! If ye must wed, then why not wi' a good Scots family? Why would ye blend yer blood with that of a damned Sassenach?"

"Because I was betrothed to the girl ten years ago, Ian, and there's no one in Scotland I care enough to wed. Honor demands that I keep my word. Besides, she is the daughter of one of Father's old friends."

"Who?" Annabella had finally recovered enough to ask.

"A man by the name of Adam de Marisco. Father, it seems, spent time in France as a youth. Although de Marisco had an English father, his mother was French. It was at the home of her second husband, a chateau called Archambault , that Father and Adam de Marisco met. They were both boys at the time, but there seems to have been a correspondence of many years' standing between them after that. Ten years ago—it was the summer that Ian was courting ye, Bella, and ye'd no time for anything else—Father and I went south to England for a short time. There I was formally betrothed to de Marisco's daughter who was then just a wee lass of five. I can barely remember the ceremony myself, and I remember less of the lass except that she was strong."

"Strong?" Bella looked puzzled.

"She was the littlest, yet she was the leader of all the bairns."

"So." Bella sniffed. "Because of a dying wish made by a sentimental old man, ye're going to get on yer horse and ride down to England to claim yer bride, are ye? Why this de Marisco man has probably forgotten all about ye and that silly betrothal! They'll set the dogs on ye!"

"Och, brother, marry if ye must, but marry a good highland lass," she went on. "Oh, I'll admit I thought to see my oldest laddie in yer place here at Dun Broc one day, Alex, but if that's not to be 'tis not to be. Just don't make a fool of yerself over something long forgot."

"Aye," put in Ian Grant. "Don't make a fool of yerself before the Sassenachs, brother."

Alex felt a bolt of irritation shoot through him. He loved his sister, but though Annabella was five years his junior, she had been born an old woman, and her husband was not much better. Neither he nor Bella had ever left the vicinity in which they had lived all their lives. They were two ingrown people who knew nothing of the outside world, and they were content to remain exactly as they had always been.

"Father has been in correspondence with Lord de Marisco without cease all these years, Bella," Alex explained patiently. "There are two boxes in the library. One contains the letters they wrote to each other. I have recently browsed through them. Their friendship remained strong, as was mine, with de Marisco's stepson, the Earl of Lynmouth, my betrothed's half brother. Remember, we studied together in Paris? The other box contains miniatures of the de Marisco lass, painted each year immediately after her birthday. The betrothal is quite secure, Bella, and now with Father gone I must marry without delay. I think it's time that ye take yer sons and go home, sister. Dun Broc will be very much unsettled while I am away for I have already given orders that it be cleaned and freshened from towers to dungeons. The countess's chambers will be redecorated for my bride. Yer own house must stand greatly in need of yer sure touch, Bella. Ye've not been there in over a year."

"Are ye sending me from my home?" His sister looked aggrieved.

"No, sister, I am sending ye to yer home. Dun Broc ceased to be yer home the day ye married Ian Grant, and my castle can only have one mistress: my wife. I am sure that yer husband misses his own house as well, eh, Ian?"

Ian Grant thought about the damp pile of dark gray stones in the glen that was called Grantholm , and he shuddered. There was never enough money to make all the repairs it needed, nor enough wood to heat it, and it had a ghost that wailed and threw crockery when annoyed. Ian thought that perhaps a bog would be preferable, but then he caught his brother-in-law's fierce look and stammered, "Oh, a-aye! 'Twill be good to get home a-a-again, Alex. I-indeed i-it w-will!"

Bella threw her husband a disgusted look. Ian was such a cowardly worm where Alex was concerned. Sometimes she questioned why she had ever married him, but immediately laughed inwardly, knowing the answer to that. No one! No one, she was certain, could love a woman the way her Ian did. It was his one talent.

She rounded on her brother. "So!" she snarled angrily. "I am no longer welcome in the house of my birth. I would have never guessed that ye felt that way, Alex, for ye hid it well from our parents. Our mother would shed bitter tears to see it, and our father would turn in his tomb if he but knew."

"Mother wouldn't let ye stay more than a week at a time before she died, Bella, and Father would have thrown ye out a month after that, but he was too ill to do so, and 'twas not my place then." Alex's voice was filled with amusement. Her guilt tactics might work well on Ian, but the new earl was made of stronger stuff. "Ye're always welcome as a guest to Dun Broc , but I'll not have ye moving in on me so that yer weak-willed husband and yer snot-nosed sons can lord it over my inheritance. Father would have lived a long life had it not been for that hunting accident, and I am a young man yet, sister. I'll have an heir within a year of the wedding ye can be sure, and another son for every year of the first five I'm wed. They'll be plenty of Gordons for Dun Broc! We've held this small scrap of Highland territory for over three hundred years, and we'll hold it another three hundred! The Grants will have to be content with Grantholm , unless, of course, Ian, ye're of a mind to go to court and serve Jamie Stewart."

Ian Grant looked mightily uncomfortable, as Alex had known he would. Alex often wondered what it was about him that bound his ambitious sister to this rather cowardly fellow. He shrugged.

Annabella glared at her brother, and he smiled back at her. She was a pretty woman with dark brown hair and sharp gray-blue eyes. In face, form, and coloring she reminded him of their mother though she had not their mother's sweetness of nature. "So," she said archly, "so yer off to claim yer bride. I can only hope the lass is willing, brother dear."

"Willing?" He looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "She's betrothed to me, Bella. Her father is willing, and that is the important thing. The lass has no choice in this matter."

His sister began to laugh softly. "Oh, Alex," she said to him, "how much ye've got to learn. How the lass feels is most important. This is the sixteenth century, brother! She may be betrothed to ye, but if she's nae willing …" Bella laughed again. "What's her name?" she asked.

"Velvet," he replied, still puzzled by his sister's laughter as well as her mocking words.

"Velvet," repeated Bella. " 'Tis a soft cloth, a most biddable fabric. I can only hope yer lass is the same, brother."

"What is it ye hint at, sister?" he demanded irritably.

"I don't hint, Alex, I say it plainly. Ye know nothing of women! Nothing at all!"

"Christ's bloody bones, woman!" he exploded at her, and Ian Grant sat back so hard he came near to tipping his chair over. "Christ! I bedded my first wench when I was barely twelve! Not know women, indeed! Ye're daft, Bella! Pure daft!"

"Oh, ye know how to bed a lass, 'tis true, Alex," she shouted back at him, "but bedding a woman and knowing how to love one are two very different things! I just hope that yer Velvet is a patient lass and can teach ye that!" Bella stood up, her dark skirts swirling about her legs. "Come, Ian! We've a great deal of packing to do over the next few days!" Then she strode from the room, her husband following quickly in her wake.

With an impatient snort, Alex got up and stamped from the hall. Behind him the servants smiled conspiratorily at each other. They could barely wait to spread the news that the young earl was going to get married at long, long last. Oh, they, too, might have wished the bride to be a good Scots lass, but then new blood was always good for an old family like the Gordons of Dun Broc. Still, there would be many a broken heart in the district, for Alexander Gordon had always been generous with his favors as the many bairns with Gordon features attested to. The servants wondered if he'd continue that custom or if he'd be true to his wife. Only time would tell, but none of them thought that the earl was the sort of man to confine himself to one woman.

Alex hurried to his library to open the box containing the miniatures. He was eager to see what the girl looked like. Though he had been bold in his speech to Annabella with regard to marrying the little English lass, what did he actually know about her? And whose fault was that, for he'd not given the child a thought in ten years' time. It discomfited him to realize that he was nervous. He hoped that the miniatures would give him some small advantage.

With clumsy fingers he yanked the lid open to reveal a tray lined in heavy black silk and fitted with oval indentations. Within each oval was a small miniature enclosed in a gilt frame. He picked up the first of the tiny paintings and, turning it over, saw written upon its back the words: Velvet de Marisco, aged 5, 1578 A.D. Turning the miniature back over, he stared at the child's face. It was an adorable one, still baby-round, with dimples at either corner of the mouth.

Alex smiled suddenly, remembering how the child had shyly hidden behind her beautiful mother's skirts until he had lured her out to sit upon his lap, his bait a fat sugarplum. She had thanked him in a soft, lisping voice, her eyes round and curious, before slipping from his knee and hurrying back to her mother. Later, however, he remembered seeing her playing with her cousins, ruling them all with a mixture of charm and temper, stamping her little kid-shod feet, her curls flying. A curious little minx, he had thought, amused.

Returning the miniature to its place, he picked up the next one in line and read the legend on the back. Velvet de Marisco, aged 6, 1579 A.D. The tiny paintings were obviously arranged by Velvet's age and the year. The last miniature in the top tray showed Velvet at age nine, and it was here he could note the beginning of a difference. The infant plumpness was fully gone from her face, and her hair, which had been so dark when she had been a wee girl, was somewhat lighter, as were her eyes.

Alex lifted the first tray out of the box, suddenly impatient to view the last miniature, painted almost a full year ago after the girl's fourteenth birthday. Seeing it, his mouth dropped open and he caught his breath, though not so much from surprise, for it had been obvious from the beginning that Velvet de Marisco would be a beauty. What he found so marvelous was the strong character in her face. It was a proud young face that clearly stated: I know who I am; and when her natural beauty was added—the fair skin with the wild-rose cheeks, the auburn hair, the clear, unwavering green eyes—the effect was somewhat overwhelming!

What kind of a lass was this? Alex wondered. He longed to hear her voice in speech and raised in laughter—and, he was startled to realize, in passion too. Was she educated? Was she a good rider? Did she enjoy music? He found he was anxious to know all these things and more, things that he could not even put into words yet. The correspondence between his father and Adam de Marisco had told him little, for once the two men had accomplished their goal of matching their children, they seemed to have lost interest in the entire situation. Here and there was a mention of Velvet, but not enough for Alex to learn the sort of person she might be.

He groaned to himself. Why had he not visited England since their betrothal? He might have taken the opportunity to get to know Velvet gradually, and she might even have fallen in love with him, or, at the very least, learned to like him.

Alex shook his head to clear it. The girl was betrothed to him and would be his wife whether they liked each other or not. It was proper that a father matched his daughter to suit himself, and that the daughter did her parent's bidding unquestioningly. Once she was his wife Velvet would bear his children uncomplainingly, and do his bidding without question as she had done her father's. That was a woman's lot. Women needed a tight rein or else they ran wild. God only knew his sister, Annabella, was proof of that. He need have no regrets that he had neglected Velvet. It was enough they were betrothed.

Oh, he had visited Italy and France where the men often made fools of themselves over the women they loved; but that was not a Scotsman's way. A woman was made for a man's comfort: to bear his bairns so that his name might not die, to give him pleasure, and to warm his backside on a frosty night. His own mother had been a sweet and biddable woman who had openly adored his father and willingly done all that Angus Gordon had asked. With such an example to follow Alex wondered why Bella was so headstrong, but then that was Ian Grant's fault. If his brother-in-law had taken a switch to Bella's backside at the beginning of their marriage, she'd not be so forward today.

Alex didn't intend to make that mistake with his young wife once they were wed. He didn't actually hold with beating a woman, for he considered himself a civilized man; but he fully intended to impress upon his bride immediately at the start of their union that it was he would be master here at Dun Broc, and in every other aspect of their married life. He would never be ruled by his woman.

His amber-gold eyes strayed to the miniature he now held in his hand. Damn, but she was a beauty! This latest portrait showed dark auburn curls tumbling about soft shoulders and a budding young bosom. He smiled to himself. Her beauty was just another advantage to be enjoyed. He would write to Adam de Marisco tonight and send the message south tomorrow with one of his own people. He would follow his own messenger within the next few weeks since there was no use in delaying. The lass would be fifteen on the first of May, and although at the time of the betrothal the wedding had been set for the summer of Velvet's sixteenth year, that would now have to be changed. His father's untimely death made it imperative that he marry immediately. He needed a son and heir now! It was past time to claim that which had been promised to him that sunny English summer of 1578. Alex smiled with self-satisfaction at the thought of the lovely girl who would soon grace his house, while about the towers of Dun Broc the last snowflakes of winter capered madly in the wild wind in silent celebration of what was to come.

The prospective bride was not nearly so welcoming of her proposed future. To begin with she could not even remember having a betrothed husband, since she had been so young when the match was formally made, the contracts signed, and the event celebrated. Staring at her beleaguered Uncle Conn, her mother's youngest brother, she angrily shouted her frustration with the topsy-turvy muddle her complacent life had suddenly become when the messenger from Dun Broc had arrived.

"Betrothed husband? What betrothed husband? I do not understand this at all, Uncle! I have no betrothed husband!" Velvet de Marisco looked furiously at Lord Bliss as if he were personally responsible for her high dudgeon.

Aiden St. Michael put a restraining hand on her husband's velvet-clad arm. "Let me, Conn," she pleaded softly.

He was openly relieved to have her take over. Velvet in a temper was far too much for him to handle.

"Velvet dearest," said Lady Bliss quietly, "perhaps you do not remember the incident, but I want you to think back. Think hard. When you were barely five years old, your parents betrothed you to the heir of the Earl of BrocCairn. The earl was an old friend of your papa's from his childhood, and the two of them thought it would be a wonderful thing if their families could be joined by blood. It was the summer that your grandparents came from France with practically all of your French relatives. Willow went into premature labor during the celebration and delivered your nephew, Henry, right here at Queen's Malvern. A few days later at the christening the Earl of BrocCairn was the baby's godfather, and you were allowed to carry the holy oil. Don't you remember? They say it was such a lovely family party!"

"Were you and Uncle Conn married then?" said Velvet. "Were you at this party?"

A shadow passed over Aiden's face for a moment, but then smiling, she said, "Yes, Velvet, Conn and I were married then, but we were not able to come to your betrothal party. Your mother often spoke of it, however. Try and remember."

Velvet furrowed her brow in genuine concentration. "I do remember Henry being born and carrying the oil, and that Grandmère and Grandpère were here. But, Aunt Aiden, I remember no betrothal! It cannot be true! Mama has always said that I should never marry without love!"

"I am quite sure the new earl will love you, Velvet," said her uncle helpfully, and his wife bit her lip to prevent her laughter.

"But I may not love him!" came the explosion. "Oh, why are Mama and Papa not here now? They have been gone over two years! They must come home soon, Uncle! I shall marry no one until they do! And even then I shall marry no one unless I am in love!" With a flounce of her silk skirts, Velvet stamped from the room.

"Oh, Lord." Aiden St. Michael sighed, "Your sister Skye would be away. What are we to do, Conn? I don't have to tell you what your niece is like when she sets her mind against something. Why did Adam and Skye plan such a long voyage, before Velvet was settled in her own home?"

"They didn't plan the trip, my love. They were asked by Her Majesty to undertake this voyage in order to ascertain the possibility of England's opening trade with the Grand Mughal. The Portuguese have a very strong grip on India right now, and its riches are beyond belief. Why should only the Portuguese, and the Spanish, who control them, profit? They are rich enough!"

"But why not send one of the large trading companies? Why the O'Malley-Small fleet?" Aiden was curious for she was descended from a family of London merchants.

"There were several reasons, I suspect," Conn replied. "For one thing the O'Malley-Small shipping company is small and wealthy, but holds no official position with Her Majesty, so they won't arouse the Portuguese's suspicions. Also, the fact that Skye is a member of the old faith may be an advantage since the Jesuits are strongly involved in the Portuguese colony in India and have even insinuated themselves in the Grand Mughal's court."

"I still don't understand why Skye and Adam had to go. Robbie Small has been doing all the voyaging for years now."

Conn smiled at his sweet wife. "Robbie is growing old, and my sister had been landlocked since her return to England," he said. "Up until they came home from France, Skye always lived near the sea, but a condition of her return was that she must live here in the heartland of England. The queen, wily wench that she is, would never again allow my sister to be a threat to her. Still, when this voyage was proposed, Her Majesty insisted that Skye go. Bess must have needed her badly," Conn chuckled.

"More than likely the queen felt such a voyage with a beautiful noblewoman in evidence wouldn't be considered threatening by the Portuguese, or even taken seriously," Aiden remarked wisely.

"By God, you could be right!" Conn said. "Ah, William Cecil and the queen are a clever pair. But then Skye probably knew their motives but cared not as long as she could feel a deck beneath her feet again and smell the salt breeze in her nostrils. Besides, my sister always loved a good adventure, O'Malley that she is."

"Her absence, however," noted Lady Bliss, "leaves us with the problem of her wayward daughter. What are we to do, Conn?"

"Go after Velvet, my love, while I think this thing out," Conn said, pouring himself a healthy dollop of good Archambault Burgundy, then lowering himself into a large comfortable chair by the fire so that he might consider this thorny new development. He didn't even hear Aiden close the door behind her as she hurried off to find Velvet.

Lord Bliss ran a big hand through his hair and sighed. When his sister, Skye, and her husband, Adam de Marisco, had asked him to keep an eye on their only beloved child more than two years ago, it had seemed a simple enough thing. He knew that although Velvet was spoilt and headstrong she would be safe here on her parents' estate. She had, in fact, spent most of her life at Queen's Malvern , except for several long summers in France at her father's chateau, Belle Fleurs. It hadn't even been necessary for Conn to bring Velvet into his own home, the lands of which bordered those of Queen's Malvern. The child had stayed on in her own house with Dame Cecily, Robbie Small's sister, her nursemaid, and all the servants who had known her since babyhood. Everything had run smoothly until that blasted letter had arrived!

Conn swallowed the remaining wine in his goblet, then absently twirled the bejeweled gilt cup in his hands as he puzzled out what to do next. He was a big, bluff man with midnight black hair and gray-green eyes. Born an O'Malley of Innisfana, he had come to England with his sister almost fifteen years ago. As the youngest O'Malley of them all, he had been wise enough to realize that there was nothing for him in Ireland. So with no more than his extraordinary good looks, his charm, and a quick wit to recommend him, he had arrived at Elizabeth Tudor's court. These small assets had been enough, however, to earn him the queen's favor, for Bess Tudor appreciated a handsome man with a silvery tongue. Conn had been appointed to the queen's own personal guard, the Gentlemen Pensioners , and from there he had begun his climb up the social ladder. The little share of gold he received from his elder brothers' privateering ventures was invested in his clever sister Skye's trading company. Soon he was a wealthy man.

Money and his position in the Gentlemen Pensioners overcame the drawback of his Irish heritage in the minds of the members of court. Conn held the queen's favor so strongly that even when he addressed her as "Bess" he was never reprimanded. He was charming and roguish without being unscrupulous. He was considered a very eligible fellow and actually had his pick of any number of lovely young ladies and restive matrons. But Conn, rather like a large bumblebee, spent a great deal of his time flitting from flower to flower rather than settling down.

Overconfidence, however, has brought many a man down, and suddenly Conn O'Malley found himself in the center of a rather naughty scandal involving a noble lady, her twin daughters, and an ambassador's wife. With the injured gentlemen involved both demanding the queen's justice, Elizabeth Tudor had no choice but to send "the handsomest man at court," as Conn was known, from her charmed circle. Before she did so, however, she tempered her judgment with a final kindness. She married Conn to a royal ward, Mistress Aiden St. Michael.

Aiden was at court as a maid of honor, having been placed in the queen's custody at her father's death. When Elizabeth Tudor wanted a bride for her favorite, she had remembered that Aiden's lands bordered those of Queen's Malvern , the estate to which she had exiled Conn's sister, Skye, and her husband, Adam.

The St. Michaels were not of the bluest blood, nor were they considered of first-class eligibility in the marriage market. Aiden's great-grandfather had been a wealthy London merchant who had done a great personal favor for Henry VII, and had been rewarded with a title and estate for his troubles. Three generations later Aiden St. Michael was all that was left of her family, and the one condition that her dying father, Lord Bliss, had begged of the queen was that the bridegroom she eventually chose for his daughter would take over his name. The queen had agreed, for it was not an unusual request, and as far as Conn O'Malley was concerned, it was a reasonable one. There were, after all, shiploads of O'Malleys. Conn would not be missed at all, and he would have a title in the bargain.

Aiden St. Michael was not a great beauty. She was taller than the average woman, and somewhat bigger boned. Her skin was fair, and she had copper-colored hair and gray eyes. She was educated far beyond most girls of her day, even more than her bridegroom. But Aiden was bright and amusing, and she loved Conn O'Malley with her whole heart. Their early years together had been difficult, but now they lived the kind of life Conn had always dreamed of living. They were wealthy and the parents of a fine family.

Life had gotten too comfortable for them, he thought somewhat wryly. So comfortable that when they had agreed to look after his niece, he had believed that it wouldn't disturb their peaceful existence. Conn grinned to himself. He really should have known better. Velvet was, after all, Skye's daughter, and hadn't his big sister been the hell-raiser of all time?

He shifted himself in the chair. The message addressed to Lord de Marisco had arrived only yesterday. Dame Cecily had brought it to him herself, for, having recognized the seal of BrocCairn, she suspected that it was an important communiqué. The old woman well remembered Velvet's betrothal ten years before and how worried Skye had been about it. Skye, remembering her own childhood betrothal, which had culminated in a disastrous first marriage for her, hadn't wanted to risk the chance that her daughter would suffer as she had. Still, Adam had wanted it so very much, and he had promised his wife that should Velvet and young Gordon not suit once she was grown, the match would be called off. Velvet was, he reminded his wife, his only child, his beloved daughter. Skye had at last agreed, for she loved her husband and knew he would never hurt Velvet.

Conn had debated about opening the missive addressed to his brother-in-law. Adam was probably still some months from returning, and the communiqué might be important. Conn felt that Adam would certainly understand. Breaking the seal Conn opened the parchment. Quickly scanning the message, he was shocked to learn that both the old earl, his wife, and his second son were all deceased. He was equally disconcerted to learn that Alexander Gordon, now twenty-eight, wished to marry Velvet as quickly as possible so that he might sire a male heir, there being no others in his family to carry on the Gordon of BrocCairn name. The letter was almost brusque in its tone.

Astounded by this turn of events, Conn nonetheless understood the gentleman's position. Still, he didn't feel he had the right to force Velvet into marriage with a virtual stranger. He was not her parent, and at that thought he heaved a mighty sigh of relief. He knew his sister's feelings on the subject, and he also knew that Adam would not want his only child married off willy-nilly despite the official betrothal agreement. It was not Conn's responsibility, and yet it was.

The earl would be arriving from Dun Broc within the next few weeks, but Adam and Skye were most inaccessible. The earl was within his rights to press for an immediate wedding, the betrothal having been officially celebrated. It was all very neat and quite legal. The only thing not considered or taken into account in the situation was Mistress Velvet de Marisco, a most unwilling bride.

"Uncle Conn?" Velvet had slipped quietly back into the room, and, coming across the floor, she settled herself into his lap as she had done so often when she was just a wee girl. He noted that she was no longer so wee, for she stood five feet nine inches tall in her stockinged feet.

"Ah, Velvet lass. Now don't go trying to wheedle me, poppet. I'm in a quandary about what to do as it is."

"But I don't want to get married, Uncle Conn! I want to stay at Queen's Malvern with Mama and Papa." Her reasoning still sounded like that of a protected child.

"All girls marry eventually, Velvet. You're going to be fifteen in a week, sweeting. Remember that your mama was first married at fifteen. 'Tis no great thing."

"Mama hated her first husband!" Velvet said explosively. "She says he was a horrible beast, and that is why I should never marry without love! Mama promised me, Uncle Conn! I will not marry without love, and I will not marry without my parents here!"

Conn shifted his niece in his lap so that he might look at her. God's bones! he thought, startled. Her logic was childish, but she certainly didn't look like a child! When had she gotten so beautiful? She had always been a pretty little girl, but the face now before him was incredible in its perfection. There was no sweetness about it as there was with his sister's face. Velvet's was elegant and oval in shape; her forehead and sharply sculpted cheekbones high; her nose her father's long Norman one; her well-spaced eyes almost almond-shaped and green. They were marvelous eyes with sooty lashes so thick that they tangled amongst themselves; eyes that threatened to snare any man foolish enough to gaze into them too deeply.

Velvet's chin was small and square, Conn noted. Her mouth was wide and sensual like her father's, but she had Skye's fair skin. He marveled at her hair, for though she had been dark as a child, it had become a deep rich auburn as she grew older. Her French grandmama allowed that her own mama had had auburn hair. Velvet's hair was a luxuriant mop full of long, silky tresses that was greatly admired and envied by her cousins. Conn decided that though she had the family features she frankly looked more like herself than like either of her parents. He was also suddenly very discomfited to notice that she had developed a rather lush female form for all he still thought of her as a child.

"I'm sure your mother never meant for you to marry without love, Velvet. As I remember the marriage agreement, you were not to wed until you were sixteen. But the earl, because of the deaths of his father and brother, must marry quickly now and beget heirs," Conn explained.

"Marry? Beget heirs? Uncle, I haven't even been to court yet! I know that Mama meant for me to have a little time at court before I married. I've never been anywhere or done anything in my entire life! My whole world has been here at Queen's Malvern , or at Belle Fleurs , or at my grandparents' chateau at Archambault. My whole social life has consisted of family parties. I've never been to London, nor have I even seen Paris! I will not be rushed willy-nilly into marriage before I have had a chance of doing these things! This wild Scotsman will not carry me off to that cold, wet land of his to imprison me in some damned dank castle simply to have babies! I won't go! I won't! You cannot let him take me! We must wait until Mama and Papa get back. It won't be long now, I'm sure!" Her young voice was edged with panic.

Conn understood her plea. She had been very sheltered by her parents who adored her so very much. Velvet's very birth had been a miracle, and until this trip neither Skye nor Adam had been content to let her out of their sight.

"We will explain everything to the earl when he comes to Queen's Malvern , Velvet. I'm sure he'll understand and be reasonable," Lord Bliss promised, silently hoping that he was right.

Velvet kissed her uncle's smooth cheek, then slipped from his lap. Though she led him to believe otherwise by her docile submission, she had no intention of sitting quietly and waiting for fate to sweep her up. She knew very well that if she allowed the earl to make the decision he would insist on celebrating the marriage immediately. She had seen how men looked at her of late, and it would be no different with this betrothed husband she had suddenly found she had. She was not that big a fool! Men thought they owned women.

"I am not getting married," she muttered mutinously to herself. "At least not yet, and not ever unless I love the man!" Then she smiled mischievously. Uncle Conn had seemed so very relieved, innocently believing that everything was settled. Sweet old Dame Cecily thought Velvet was an angel, and would never suspect that she could be devious. There was no one to bother or interfere with her for several days, of that she was certain. It was time enough to put into action the plan she had been thinking of ever since she had digested the news of the Earl of BrocCairn's impending arrival.

Although Velvet's sister, Deirdre, was six years her senior, they had always been very close. Deirdre and her husband, Lord Blackthorn, lived just a few miles away at Blackthorn Priory. On the first of May they would be entertaining the queen, who was beginning her annual summer's progress. Velvet had never met the queen that she could remember, although her mother said Elizabeth Tudor had seen her as a baby. The English queen was one of her two godmothers, the other being Queen Margot of France.

Deirdre had been half-promising for months that Velvet could come and get a peek at the queen when Elizabeth stopped overnight at Blackthorn Priory. Velvet's scheme involved meeting the queen and becoming one of her maids of honor. The Earl of BrocCairn could scarcely go against Elizabeth Tudor's wishes and take a royal maid of honor from court without the sovereign's permission, and Velvet knew the queen's attitude toward gentlemen stealing her maids away. She chuckled to herself, quite pleased with her own cleverness. In the queen's service she would be safe until her parents came home and the matter of this betrothal was straightened out.

"I'm going to ride over to Blackthorn Priory to get a glimpse of Her Majesty," Velvet told Dame Cecily on the morning of the first of May. She had just come in from gathering an armful of flowers, and they were still wet with the dew. "Perhaps I may be of help to my sister, for she is surely very busy right now."

"What a love you are, Velvet pet," returned the old lady, "but have your forgotten, child? It's your birthday. Do you want to spend it helping Deirdre with last-minute chores?"

"Deirdre is breeding again, Dame Cecily. She has been very tired of late, and I am sure she will welcome my help today. Besides, I really do want to see the queen. I never have, and here I am fifteen!"

Dame Cecily chuckled. "Run along then, child, and have your look at Bess Tudor," she said. "With your parents still away 'twill not be much of a birthday for you again this year, I fear."

Velvet almost shouted with joy as she rode the few miles between her home and her sister's. It was an incredibly lovely morning, a perfect May day, and her big chestnut stallion galloped along easily. She reached the hall without incident and, slipping down from her horse's back, tossed the reins carelessly to a waiting groom.

Inside, the priory was just as she had expected. Chaos reigned everywhere, and in its midst was Deirdre Blakeley, Lady Blackthorn, looking harassed and forlorn by turns, her fair skin flushed, her black hair half undone from its chignon.

Deirdre's blue eyes lit up at the sight of her youngest sister, and Velvet felt a twinge of sadness, for Deirdre looked so very much like their mother.

"Velvet poppet, thank goodness you've come! I'm at my wit's end, and the queen is due by two o'clock!" Deirdre exclaimed.

Velvet flung an arm about her older sister. "I came to help, sister. You have only to tell me what it is you need done and I will do it."

Deirdre lowered her slender form, with its very distended belly, into a chair. "I'm not sure where to begin, Velvet. I've never entertained the queen before. I don't even know how she knew of Blackthorn Priory , but her secretary wrote that she had heard of our fine gardens and wished to see them. How could she have heard of our gardens? We are not a part of the court and neither is anyone else in the family except for Robin, and he withdrew from it after Alison's death. I doubt Robin made any remarks to the queen about our gardens. Gardens are not our brother's métier."

"Don't fuss so, Deirdre. 'Tis a great honor the queen does you and John. She rarely ventures out of the home counties to come to Worcestershire."

"Better she hadn't decided to venture this far!" said Deirdre irritably. "Do you have any idea what it costs to entertain royalty? Nay, how could you? You're just a child!"

"I wish that Scots earl claiming to be my betrothed understood that," muttered Velvet, but her elder sister didn't hear her for she was too concerned with her own problems.

"It will cost us a small fortune to have the queen and her court here. Of course, John wrote to Her Majesty's household controller, Sir James Crofts, that we could not entertain the entire court. The priory is simply not big enough for all those people. Do you know what he wrote back? That Her Majesty would only expect us to put up fifty or so of her people within the house and that the rest would be housed in tents upon our lawns! Can you imagine what the lawns are going to look like after five hundred people, their horses, and baggage trains have trampled upon them? It will take us five years to restore them!" She shook her head in an agitated fashion. "I don't mean to sound inhospitable, Velvet, but what will we get out of all of this besides debts—and the privilege of saying that the queen stayed in the Rose Bedchamber, which of course will have to be renamed the Queen's Room now. She won't even be sleeping in the bed there since she travels with her own and will sleep in no other."

Velvet listened to her sister with a sense of growing amazement. She had never known Deirdre to be this way. Deirdre was the serene daughter. She had never fussed like Willow or Velvet herself.

"It's all too much," wailed Deirdre, "and I'm sure that we have neither enough food or drink for such a huge gathering. We shall be disgraced, I am certain."

"Tell me what's been done so far, Deirdre," Velvet said soothingly. She could see that her sister was growing more nervous by the minute.

"The whole house has been turned out," Deirdre began. "The Rose Bedchamber has been completely redone. Heaven only knows where I'm going to put the rest of her attendants! Thank the Lord they will only be here for one night. God's bones! I only hope I have enough food for the whole company!"

"What have you laid aside?"

Deirdre furrowed her brow in concentration. "There are six dozen barrels of oysters packed in ice, twenty-four suckling pigs, three wild boars, trout from the river, twelve legs of lamb, another dozen sides of beef, six roe deer, and six stags; two dozen hams, five hundred lark pastries for tonight, capons in ginger sauce, goose, at least three dozen, larded ducks, pigeon pies and rabbit pies, a hundred apiece. Every house in the neighborhood has baked for us." She stopped to draw a breath. "There will be bowls of new lettuce, cress, radishes, scallions, artichokes in white wine, carrots glazed in honey, and enough bread to feed an army! There are molded jellies; marzipan of every imaginable color; fruit tarts from dried apples, peaches, apricots, and plums; custards; and the first strawberries of the season with clotted cream!" she finished triumphantly. Then her brow puckered. "Will it be enough?" she fretted.

" 'Tis not elegant, but I suspect 'twill serve," Velvet teased. "You've not forgotten the wines?"

"Nay, there are a full two hundred casks each of both red and white from Archambault , bless your grandparents, as well as a hundred barrels of Devon cider, which Robin sent from Lynmouth. Then, too, we have our own October ale."

"Well," observed Velvet, "if they don't stuff themselves with all the foods you're offering, they will most certainly drown in the drink!"

"Oh, how I wish Mother were here instead of in the Indies!" Deirdre wailed.

"You don't need her, sister. You have done everything just as Mother would have if the queen were visiting her."

"Oh, Velvet! What would I do without you, little sister? You will stay overnight, won't you?"

Velvet's heart skipped a beat. "But where will you put me, Deirdre? I would love to see the queen, but let me just peek at her from among the servants and then be on my way home."

"No! You must stay with me Velvet! I can't get through this without you, especially in my present condition. You can sleep in my dressing room."

"Who is to sleep in your dressing room?" demanded John Blakeley as he came into the sunny morning room where the two sisters were seated.

"Velvet," replied his wife. "I want her to stay for the queen's visit, John."

"By all means, my dear," replied Lord Blackthorn as he bent to place a kiss upon Deirdre's brow. "The queen is Velvet's godmama as I recall, and it would not hurt for her to renew her acquaintance with her now." He walked over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine from a crystal decanter. "A friend at court cannot hurt a lass." He looked up and smiled at Velvet.

"Thank you, my lord, and I believe you are correct in your observations," Velvet answered demurely, curtsying to her brother-in-law. Lord Blackthorn grinned at her over his wife's head and winked conspiratorily. God's bones, thought Velvet, what does he suspect? He can't possibly know what I plan! He can't! Her brother-in-law's next words gave her cause for more worry.

"When is the earl arriving at Queen's Malvern , Velvet?"

"His letter only said he would arrive within a few weeks' time, my lord. It did not give a date. Most thoughtless."

"Well, I do not imagine it will be within the next day or so, little sister, so you are quite welcome at Blackthorn Priory for the queen's visit. It will do Deirdre good to have you with us." He turned his attention back to his wife. "Come, my dear, I want you to rest before we must greet our royal guest. I have personally inspected all of your arrangements and, as always, Deirdre, everything is perfection. You are a fine wife."

"You see!" Velvet crowed with delight. "Did I not tell you, silly goose?"

Deirdre blushed with pleasure at her husband's words, then said to her younger sister, "Send one of the grooms to Queen's Malvern to bring back proper clothes for you, Velvet." She stood up heavily, her seventh month of pregnancy weighing upon her. "I think I shall rest, John."

He escorted her from the room, and Velvet, after writing a hasty note to Dame Cecily, dispatched it with a Blackthorn groom. She then sat down to gloat quietly. She felt no remorse at using her sister to gain her way in this matter. Someone had to take the situation in hand, and her Uncle Conn was obviously not about to do so. Despite her logical protests against this marriage, she sensed she would still find herself wed to the arrogant-sounding Earl of BrocCairn before her parents returned from their voyage, by which time it would be too late. She needed a powerful protector, and there was none more powerful than England's own queen. She smiled at herself, a grin of smug satisfaction.

"Ah, I knew that you were planning some mischief," Lord Blackthorn said as he reentered the room.

"You imagine it, my lord," came her quick denial.

"Nay, Velvet lass, I do not imagine it. I hope you do not think to appeal to the queen in this matter of your marriage. Elizabeth Tudor is a firm believer in parental authority and the keeping of contracts." He looked closely at her, but Velvet's face was devoid of expression.

"John, you must think me appallingly ill-bred to believe that I should attempt to involve Her Majesty in a family matter," Velvet said tartly. "I have no intention of discussing my marriage with the queen. I came to Blackthorn today to help Deirdre if I could; and, if I may remind you, my sister promised me months ago that I could come to see the queen when she stopped here. If you think I seek to cause some sort of scandal, however, then I shall tell Deirdre that I have a headache and go home to Queen's Malvern."

Lord Blackthorn could not rid himself of the feeling that his young sister-in-law had some scheme in mind, but Velvet was not a liar, and if she said she would not discuss her marriage with the queen then he believed her.

"Nay, lass, I want you to stay. I simply don't want to find myself in the middle of a family argument. I don't want to endanger my position with your parents. You know that they worried at first that I was not right for Deirdre."

Velvet felt a small twinge of guilt at his words. Her family had come to Queen's Malvern when she was barely two years of age. Deirdre had been eight then, and John Blakeley twenty-eight. His first wife was still living and his life was a misery. Maria Blakeley was totally mad, and had been since the stillbirth of her only child ten months after her marriage. For the past eight years, she had been confined to her apartments where she raved and wept but showed no signs of either recovering or dying.

At first Lord Blackthorn was drawn to Deirdre because the child his wife had miscarried was a girl and would have been Deirdre's age. Deirdre's own life had been a rather topsy-turvy one, and though it had finally become settled, she who had been fatherless for most of her life suddenly discovered that she now had two father figures. Adam de Marisco was a loving stepfather, but he was unable to conceal that Velvet, his only child, was the light of his life. Had John Blakeley not been there for Deirdre, her life would have been a sadder one. When his love turned from paternal to passionate, and her love grew from a child's to a woman's, neither was ever sure.

Maria Blakeley escaped from her captivity and drowned herself in the estate lake at the priory when Deirdre was thirteen. A year and a day later, Lord Blackthorn asked Deirdre to be his wife and was joyously accepted by her.

Deirdre's mother and stepfather, however, were not pleased, and at first refused their permission. They felt John Blakeley was far too old for Deirdre Burke. Lord Blackthorn pleaded desperately, for he was a man in love. Deirdre pined away as more suitable suitors were paraded before her, only to be weepingly rejected. In the end the lovers' persistence won out, and they were married four months after the bride's sixteenth birthday. For a time afterwards Skye and Adam de Marisco worried that Deirdre might not be happy. Only just before they had sailed had they become convinced that John Blakeley was the perfect man for the gentle Deirdre.

"I swear to you, John, that I shall cause you no trouble," Velvet promised him now.

"Go along then, lass, and see to your sister. She's too excited to sleep, but she's lying down."

With great control, Velvet walked calmly from the room, then fled up the staircase to Deirdre's apartments. To her great relief, her sister had finally fallen asleep, and Velvet settled herself quietly in the dressing room. Mama and Papa weren't going to be angry at her for avoiding a quick marriage to the earl. They would understand why she had done what she was going to do. After all, she hadn't said she wasn't going to honor her betrothal. She simply wanted time to get to know the earl, and she wanted to wait until her parents returned from their voyage to make her decision. It wasn't a great deal to ask, despite what her uncle and her brother-in-law thought. Velvet closed her eyes and dozed.

She was awakened by a maidservant bringing her clothing into the room. "Is it time to dress?" she asked groggily.

"Aye, Mistress Velvet. Lodema has prepared baths for both you and m'lady." Lodema was Deirdre's fiercely protective tiring woman.

Velvet arose and the servant girl helped her to disrobe so that she might wash. Deirdre was already happily splashing in her oaken tub by the fire in the other room, while Lodema grumbled fussily at her.

"All this washing, and in your state. 'Tis unhealthy, I tell you, m'lady."

"Nonsense!" The nap had restored Deirdre's good humor and confidence. "Hurry, Velvet, or your water will be chilled," she called to her younger sister.

Velvet came shyly from the dressing room, somewhat embarrassed by her nudity. She quickly got into the tub, then wrinkled her nose in delight. "Gillyflowers! Oh, Deirdre, you remembered!"

"Hyacinth for me and gillyflowers for you. Of course I remember. I was twelve when Mama gave me my own scent, and you cried and cried until she chose one for you also, even though you were much too young for a fragrance."

Velvet giggled. "I remember," she said, "but I only wanted to be like my big sister, and you had a perfume and I didn't."

"Fiddlesticks!" replied Deirdre firmly. "You were a spoilt minx, Velvet, and you still are!" Then she chuckled. "But, damn me, little sister, if you don't have charm! I've never known anyone so able to get people to give you your way and yet never feel resentful about it."

"Are you planning to greet the queen in your shift, m'lady, because that's all you're going to have time to get into unless you get out of that tub!" Lodema grumbled at her mistress, and when Velvet giggled again, the tiring woman turned a baleful eye on the girl. "As for you, mistress, you'd best wash yourself quickly, or you'll be joining your sister in a chemise! Hurry along now, both of you!"

The two finished bathing quickly, then left their tubs to be dried and powdered by two waiting undermaids. Velvet dressed in her silken undergarments swiftly, not liking to be nude before unfamiliar servants. She glanced at her sister's protruding belly and thought that even so Deirdre was the most beautiful creature, almost their mother's mirror image.

Their gowns were brought; both sisters had chosen to wear velvet as the day was cool. Deirdre's dress was a rich ruby red with an underskirt of white satin embroidered in silver thread. Silver and white puffed and slashed sleeves also showed through the rich velvet. About her neck was a strand of marvelous pearls to which was fastened a heart carved from a single large ruby, and in her ears Deirdre wore pear-shaped pearls that dangled from small rubies. Her black hair was simply dressed in a French chignon at the nape of her neck and fastened with jeweled pins; upon her slender fingers were several beautiful rings.

Velvet's gown was similar to her sister's in design, with a charming bell skirt. It was a rich forest green in color, its satin underskirt a lighter green embroidered in gold thread; the chemisette showing through the sleeve slashes was a golden color. The dress was a birthday gift from her aunt and uncle, and was the only really fashionable one she possessed. Her lovely auburn hair fell in tempting ringlets about her shoulders, and around her neck she wore a gold chain from which dangled a carved and heart-shaped gold pendant that was actually a locket.

Deirdre loaned her little sister delicate little freshwater pearl earbobs, for Velvet, being considered too young, had little jewelry. Lodema, casting a critical eye upon her mistress's sibling, directed an undermaid to bring her two full-blown golden roses from a vase. She then twisted the flowers together with green ribbons and affixed them on one side of Velvet's head.

Standing back, she noted sharply, "There now! You'll not disgrace us."

Deirdre and Velvet hurried from the apartment and flew downstairs to where Lord Blackthorn awaited them. Velvet felt like an intruder upon an intimate moment as her elder sister brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her smiling husband's deep blue doublet. John was a very handsome man, Velvet thought, and obviously in his full prime. He stood just a head taller than his wife, and had a well-molded figure that was devoid of fat. If anything he was a bit on the slender side. He had a full head of deep brown hair that was well sprinkled with silver, and he kept it close-cropped. His eyes were of a much lighter blue than Deirdre's; his face was very narrow and aristocratic with a slim nose, well-spaced eyes, and thin lips. Despite his austere appearance, he was a man who smiled easily and appreciated a good jest better than most.

John Blakeley's family had owned Blackthorn Priory since the days of William the Conqueror. The priory and its lands had been given to the nobleman who had captured it for William from its inhabitants, rebellious Saxon monks. He was the Sieur Blakeley. The Blakeleys were loyal Englishmen who loved their land and protected it fiercely. They had fought for England alongside Richard I and Edward, the Black Prince, but never had they involved themselves in any court or its politics. It had been their salvation.

Never had an English monarch visited Blackthorn Priory until Elizabeth Tudor had learned—Heaven only knows how, thought John Blakeley—of Blackthorn Priory's beautiful gardens, which were justly famous throughout the countryside. The gardens, begun over two hundred years ago, had been lovingly tended and added to by each Lady Blackthorn right down to Deirdre, who, like her late grandmother O'Malley, was a lover and collector of rosebushes. The gardens, however, contained not only roses but every flower known to the English, including some beds of rare Persian and Turkish tulip bulbs smuggled in from the East by O'Malley ships. There was also a wonderfully clever boxwood maze, and the queen was known to enjoy mazes. At this moment, the gardens were colorfully ablaze with late tulips, narcissus, primroses, and columbine. Elizabeth should not be disappointed.

Suddenly, up the carefully raked gravel driveway of Blackthorn Priory raced the head gardener's barefoot son, crying out: "Her is coming! Her is coming!"

"Get off the drive, boy! Get off the drive!" shouted the priory's fussy majordomo, and the lad scooted onto the green lawn, making a rude noise in the direction of the majordomo as he went.

The younger maidservants, lined up in order of importance, giggled, only to be silenced by a severe look from the housekeeper. The entire staff of Blackthorn Priory , from highest servant to the lowly potboy, stood washed and waiting for a glimpse of the queen and her court.

For what seemed a long moment, there was no sound, not even the chirp of a bird, but then faintly on the wind came the sound of jingling bells and laughing voices. The servants tensed and strained their necks to get the first sighting of the court. At last, as if by magic, around the curve in the drive appeared Elizabeth Tudor and her court, and those waiting and watching let out a collective sigh of delight.

The first rider was mounted on a fine chestnut gelding and bore before him the ceremonial sword of state. Next came the queen riding upon a magnificent snow-white stallion with the Earl of Essex, her Master of the Horse, who rode a beautiful black gelding and held the queen's bridle as part of his duties. All around Elizabeth were members of her guard, who were followed by the lord treasurer, the lord chancellor, and other officers of the state: the household treasurer; Sir Francis Knollys, the queen's favorite cousin; Lord Hundston who was lord steward; Sir James Crofts, the household controller; the other household officials and menials; and of course the court.

The queen was attired in the most elegant fashion. Her overgown was of black velvet edged with tiny pearls along the hem and the sides of the gown separation. Interspersed along the rows of pearls were red silk bows tied with jet beads, alternating with black silk bows tied with garnet beads. Her shoulder rolls were similarly decorated, as was her stomacher, which was festooned at its point with a red silk bow from which hung a large teardrop-shaped pearl. Beneath the overgown was a white satin undergown edged in lace. The same white satin showed through the slashes in her black velvet sleeves. About the queen's neck was a small starched white lace neck ruff, beneath which hung eight rows of pearls that dripped down the black velvet gown front with its merry cherry-red bows. The queen wore a bright auburn wig that was topped by a soft, round black velvet cap from which bravely fluttered white feathers held down firmly by a bright red ruby clip. Her hands upon the reins of her mount were sheathed in perfumed white leather gloves embroidered with pearls, garnets, and jet.

Around Elizabeth Tudor, upon equally spirited and prancing horses, were her gentlemen and ladies, all clothed just as luxuriously and colorfully as if to complement their monarch. On either side of the queen rode gaily clad gentlemen, Sir Walter Ralegh and young Essex being nearest her. Ralegh was currently the captain of the Queen's Gentlemen Pensioners, her personal bodyguard. Essex, as her Master of the Horse, held the position once performed by his stepfather, the Earl of Leicester, Robert Dudley. Dudley, though still the queen's dear friend, had lost some of her favor on his marriage to her cousin, Lettice Knollys, though she still held a deep fondness for him.

As the horses came to a stop before the priory, Lord Blackthorn stepped forward to lift the queen from her mount and, having done so, knelt to pay his homage. Both Deirdre and Velvet curtsied low.

"As pretty a pair of pigeons as I've ever seen," murmured the Earl of Essex to Sir Walter. "Sisters, d'you think?"

Ralegh said nothing, seeing the queen's head stiffen as she caught Essex's words, but he did grin at the earl, his moustache waggling in appreciation.

"Welcome to Blackthorn Priory , Your Majesty," said John Blakeley. "We know not what we have done to deserve such honor, madame, but may your stay be a pleasant one." He signaled to his head groom, who immediately led forth an exquisite rare Arabian mare, pale gold in color. Upon the mare's back was a silver saddle bejeweled with pearls, topazes, blue zircons, rubies, and small diamonds. The horse's bridle was also silver. John Blakeley arose and said, "For you, madame, with devotion and great admiration. I count myself fortunate to be living in your reign."

The queen's eyes swept over the mare and her accoutrements, warming at this Midland lord's great generosity. His flattering tongue had also given her pleasure, for she believed his words to be from the heart. He had naught else to gain from her by them, not being a member of the court. Graciously, she held out her hand and said, "Our thanks for your most beautiful gift, my lord."

John Blakeley kissed the hand presented to him. "My wife has a way with animals, madame, and has schooled the beast herself. You'll find she has an excellent gait and is a fine jumper. She seems to have been created by almighty God Himself for the sole purpose of hunting. 'Twas why I chose her."

Elizabeth Tudor smiled, well pleased, for there was nothing she enjoyed better than the hunt. "Present me to your family, Lord Blackthorn!" she commanded him. "I would meet this lady who can school horses so well."

John Blakeley took Deirdre by the hand and led her forward to the queen. "My wife, Deirdre, Your Majesty."

Deirdre curtsied again.

"God's foot!" Elizabeth Tudor swore, staring hard at Deirdre. "You're Skye O'Malley's daughter, Lady Blackthorn, aren't you?"

"Her daughter, and Lord Burke's," said Deirdre, "but I remember not my father, madame. He died when I was quite young." She smiled. "I should like to present my youngest sister to you, Mistress Velvet de Marisco."

Velvet stepped forward and curtsied prettily, making sure to keep her eyes modestly lowered.

The queen reached out and gently raised Velvet's head up, cupping the girl's chin in her elegantly gloved hand. "Rise, dear child, and let me look upon you. What a pretty thing you are! I have not seen you since you were a tiny baby, but then you would have been too young to remember. How old are you now, Velvet de Marisco?"

"I am fifteen today, Your Majesty," said Velvet sweetly.

"Today?" the queen exclaimed. "This is your birthday?"

"Aye, Your Majesty, and I might have been May Queen in our village, but I far preferred to come to the priory to meet you." It was said with such a lack of guile that Elizabeth Tudor smiled.

"We must give you a gift then, child. I am your godmother, Velvet de Marisco. Before you were born in France I was much angered by your parents' behavior, for they had not obtained my permission to wed. Your clever mother made me your godmother in an effort to placate me, but I never knew your exact birthdate. Tell me, my dear, what can I give you?" The queen smiled more broadly at Velvet's wide eyes and little gasp.

Velvet was stunned. Here was incredible good fortune, and she could scarcely believe it was hers. Now she would not have to find a way to wheedle the queen, but she must still be quick and clever. Her hands flew to her cheeks in a gesture of innocent surprise. "Madame," she gasped, "Oh, dear Majesty, I cannot think!"

Elizabeth Tudor smiled once again and patted the girl in a kindly fashion. "Within reason," she teased gently. "Remember I am merely queen of England."

Velvet composed herself and looked adoringly at the queen. "Madame, I have everything I could possibly want in this life but one thing. My parents have always been more than generous with me and of material treasures I lack none; but all my life I have dreamed of serving you, Your Majesty, of being one of your Maids of Honor. Can you give me my dream, madame? If you would truly gift me, then gift me with the privilege of serving you."

Lord Blackthorn squeezed his wife's hand to prevent her from speaking. He was filled with genuine admiration for his young sister-in-law's astuteness. She had not broken her promise to him and yet she was going to get her own way nonetheless.

"Dear child!" The queen's face was wreathed in smiles.

By tradition Elizabeth Tudor had eighteen female attendants. There were four Gentlewomen of the Bedchamber, older, married women of rank; eight Gentlewomen of the Privy Chamber, also married women of noble birth; and six Maids of Honor, young girls of noble families whose ambitious parents believed that by serving the queen honorably they might increase their value on the marriage market. These eighteen saw to the queen's wardrobe and toilette, her food, and all of her creature comforts within her private apartments. They were her closest companions.

The position of Maid of Honor was greatly sought after, and under normal circumstances the queen would have been forced to turn her godchild away since there would have been no opening available. By merest chance, however, one of the queen's Maids of Honor had just given birth to a child in the Maiden's Chamber. Enraged, Elizabeth Tudor had clapped both mother and child into the Tower along with the unfortunate father. The fact that the young people had been secretly wed for over a year did nothing to improve the queen's temper, or ease her outrage. Both sets of parents were in equal disfavor with Her Majesty for having spawned and raised such disobedient offspring.

The valued post the girl had forfeited would have been swiftly filled, but the queen was so annoyed by this latest episode of what she considered rampant immorality amongst her ladies, that no one dared broach the subject. Now here was this sweet and unspoilt child begging her innocent birthday boon of the queen.

Elizabeth Tudor, of course, did not let her sentimentality override the humor she saw in the situation. This child was the daughter of Skye O'Malley. Skye O'Malley, that outrageous, prideful, rebellious, stubborn, haughty, and unsubmissive woman who had dared to do battle with England's queen. That impossible creature who had had the effrontery to bargain with Elizabeth Tudor! That damned woman who two years ago had turned down Elizabeth's offer to take her child under royal protection. The queen smiled, quite broadly this time. What a fine jest!

"Of course you may be one of my Maids, Velvet de Marisco!" she said. "When we leave here you will come with us. With your mama away I feel a moral duty to take you under my wing. Still, I would have you accept a small, tangible token of this our first meeting on your fifteenth birthday." The queen drew from an elegant finger an emerald ring, square-cut and flanked with diamonds on either side. The stones were set in red gold, and the setting was engraved both in the front and the back in a design of graceful filigree. "Wear it always in remembrance of Elizabeth Tudor, my dear girl," she said effusively. Then, taking Lord Blackthorn's proffered arm, she moved forward into the priory.

Velvet slipped the ring onto her little finger and gazed down at it wonderingly.

"It matches your eyes, sweetheart," came a deep, masculine voice, and she lifted her eyes to look directly at the speaker.

"We have not been introduced, sir," Velvet said primly, though thinking at the same time that with his curly red hair and sparkling bright black eyes he was a divinely handsome young man. He was tall and well formed with a long face ending in a slightly weak chin. That, however, did not detract from his overall good looks. He was dressed in deep blue velvet trimmed in silver lace.

The man laughed and, turning to his equally well appareled companion, said, "Introduce us, Wat."

The elegant gallant complied by making a leg to Velvet and saying, "Mistress de Marisco, may I present to you, Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex, Master of the Queen's Horse. My lord earl, Mistress Velvet de Marisco."

The Earl of Essex bowed gracefully to Velvet, his black eyes twinkling mischievously.

"But, sir," Velvet protested to the other gentleman, "I do not know you either!"

"That's easy," Robert Devereux said. "Since we have now been properly introduced, may I introduce to you, Mistress de Marisco, Sir Walter Ralegh, the captain of the queen's Gentlemen Pensioners. Wat, Mistress de Marisco. There! We've all been properly introduced and may now be friends."

"My lord," Velvet scolded Essex, "I am not such a country mouse that I don't know the queen dotes upon you. If you make her jealous, I shall be forbidden to accompany her, and then I shall have to …" She stopped herself just in time. "My lords, the queen will miss you shortly. You had best hurry into the hall." Then she moved to brush past them and catch up with her sister.

"Ah, fresh sweet meat," murmured the earl, blocking her path. "Perhaps the progress shall not be so dull this summer."

"Robin, you're mad! The maid is right, and well you know it." Ralegh admonished. "The queen does dote upon you, though why I cannot see when she has a far brighter fellow in me. Besides, I have heard the stories of this girl's mother and father. Either one of them could have you for supper, my lord earl, and not even belch daintily afterwards."

Velvet gazed at Ralegh with interest. He was older than the handsome earl, yet still a youngish man. Far more stylish than Robert Devereux, he wore a doublet of deep brown velvet richly embroidered with copper threads. It complemented his dark amber eyes and ginger-colored hair and beard. He was sturdier than Essex, but, though not as tall, he was even better proportioned with supremely elegant legs. She had never seen boots that fit so beautifully.

Suddenly mindful that her place was with Deirdre, Velvet boldly gave the earl a shove and hurried past him. Essex looked startled that she had laid hands upon him, but then he laughed.

"God's foot, the de Mariscos seem quite fierce, Wat! Perhaps 'twould be best if we were just friends with the maid. Besides, virgins are so emotional." He chuckled, and then, arm in arm, the two courtiers made their way through the crowd entering the priory, in order to regain their places by the queen's side.

Elizabeth Tudor was already in the Great Hall being offered refreshments by her host while the hostess had found her sister and was angrily reproaching her.

"How could you, Velvet!"

"How could I what , Deirdre?"

Deirdre sighed. "What are we to tell the Earl of BrocCairn when he arrives, Velvet? He is coming to marry you! You knew that!"

"Why is it," Velvet demanded, "that everyone is so concerned with the earl and his feelings, and no one thinks of me or mine? Mama and Papa made the match for me when I was just a child. I can't even remember the man! Mama has said I should not marry without love, and, Deirdre, I will not! You certainly refused to do so. I will also not marry without my parents by my side, and it is several months until they will return. Perhaps I shall fall in love with the earl, but then again perhaps I won't. Whether I do or not, I won't be hustled willy-nilly down the aisle before I have at least been to court. I shall have my time at court, Deirdre, and this wild man from Scotland will be forced to wait upon me until my parents return, for it is a well-known fact that the queen does not like gentlemen poaching among her maids. I shall be safe with my royal godmother!" She looked archly at her elder sibling.

"I am going to tell the queen, Velvet! You cannot embarrass us like this!"

"If you tell the queen, Deirdre, I shall flee to my grandparents in France and cause a great scandal! The betrothal will then be broken, and it will be all your fault! If my parents truly desire this match, they will not thank you for your meddling. I am as determined to have my way in this as you were to have yours in the matter of your marriage to John! We are sisters—with different fathers it is true—but the blood of our mother runs fiercely and hotly through both our veins. Why should I be any different in my desires than you were in yours?" Velvet look searchingly at Deirdre. "Wouldn't you rather I remained in England, safe with the queen?" she wheedled, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Damn you, you minx!" Deirdre muttered. "Oh, all right! The earl doesn't have to know that when you learned he was coming you practically begged the queen to become a Maid of Honor. Although you will give Uncle Conn a fit, sister!" Then she giggled. "I should not like to be our poor uncle and have to tell the earl that you are not at Queen's Malvern but rather with the queen, and therefore at the moment unavailable to wife. Lord, what a tangle!"

Conn St. Michael was, however, strangely unperturbed when he was told that evening of Velvet's tactics. "She'll be safe with Bess," he noted dryly. "Bless the little vixen for finding a way out of this herself."

"Why, Uncle, you sound as if you approve of Velvet's behavior," Deirdre replied, not a little shocked.

"Frankly, Deirdre lass, I didn't like the idea of giving our Velvet over to BrocCairn in marriage without Skye and Adam here. Velvet's actions have solved the problem for me. The queen will only give up her new Maid of Honor to her parents, certainly not to a Scots earl, especially with the maid objecting." The matter settled in his mind, Lord Bliss escorted his wife and niece down to the Great Hall for the feasting.

Elizabeth Tudor was just arriving as they hurried into the big room, which was lined with arch-shaped windows. The spring sunset turned the hall crimson, a brilliant hue echoed by the bright red flames in the four big fireplaces that took the chill from the room. Stepping forward, Conn knelt and raised the queen's hand to his lips to kiss it slowly. A warm light sprang into her gray-black eyes.

"Conn, you devil," she murmured, remembering a romantic evening they had spent several years back before he had married Aiden.

"Bess, you're as beautiful as ever," he said softly. "Still breaking hearts, lass?" He stood, relinquished her hand, and glanced at Essex and Ralegh.

Elizabeth Tudor shook her head wonderingly. "God's foot, Lord Bliss!" she said. "You're still an Irish rogue with a quicksilver tongue."

"And a quicker wit," he parried, to the queen's delight. "I hear my niece is to become one of your Maids of Honor."

"Ah, Velvet. A lovely child! I am delighted to have her."

"She has never been to any court, madame," he said softly. "She has never even been to London."

"Nor Paris either?" the queen queried him.

"Nor Paris either, madame. She is, despite her beauty, an innocent maid. She has been most sheltered."

"Is she betrothed?"

"Aye, to the son of a friend of Lord de Marisco's, but the wedding is not scheduled until after her sixteenth birthday."

"I will be most careful with Velvet, my lord," said the queen, understanding his fears. "I will treat her as I would my own child, and in a sense she is just that, being my goddaughter. Did I not take good care of your wife, Aiden, when she was in my charge?"

"Aye, and thank you, madame," Conn said quietly. He had now done all he could, and they would simply have to wait for his sister and Adam to come home from their voyage. The responsibility was no longer his, and he sighed almost audibly in his relief.

Across the hall, Velvet had suddenly found herself swept up in the society of the court. Her head whirled from all the outrageous compliments she was bombarded with from the gentlemen of the royal party, who were intrigued by this new Maid of Honor. She did not simper like the other girls, but was rather outspoken in her speech without being forward or suggestive. Add to this the fact that she was extravagantly beautiful and an heiress to boot, and the gentlemen were willing to brave the queen's wrath—at least as long as Elizabeth was across the room. Just when Velvet thought she could bear no more of the courtiers' silliness, Sir Walter Ralegh and the young Earl of Essex arrived to take her away from the noisy crowd.

"So sorry, gentlemen," Essex said, laughing, "but Wat and I have taken it upon ourselves to protect this maiden and her virtue from all of you. Be warned that we think of her as we do our own dear sisters and woe to any of you who should dare to trifle with her. Unless, of course," he amended to general laughter, "she wishes to be trifled with!" Taking Velvet firmly beneath the elbow, he hustled her off to sit with Ralegh before the fire.

"You're mad," she proclaimed.

"Aye, Mistress de Marisco, but admit that all those silly popinjays were boring you to death. I promise you that Wat and I shall be far more fun. Are you betrothed?"

"Why?" Velvet demanded, looking at him suspiciously.

"Because, you silly puss, I would like to know what my chances are of being called out."

"He's in Scotland, my lord, and for your information I haven't even the faintest idea of what he looks like, so to be overly discreet about you and Sir Walter would be a waste of my good time!" Velvet replied pertly.

The two gentlemen laughed delightedly, and then Ralegh, who was Essex's eider by some fifteen years, said, "Will you give us leave to call you Velvet? And you must call us Wat and Robin."

"I have a brother, Robin, so, my lords, I shall call you Wat, and you Scamp, for you my lord earl I suspect of being a wicked fellow." She pierced Robert Devereux with a sharp look, and he had the good grace to flush.

Ralegh chuckled. "You are young, Velvet, and I suspect far too innocent for this fast and sophisticated court of Elizabeth Tudor's; but you have a sharp eye to go with your quick mind. You are, I think, a survivor."

At that moment, two young women came hurrying up to them, one a sweet-faced girl with long, poker-straight dark blond hair and calm gray eyes; the other a glorious creature whose thick golden blond curls ran riot and who had incredible turquoise-colored eyes. The darker-haired girl smiled shyly at Velvet and curtsied politely.

"I am Elizabeth Throckmorton, called Bess, one of the queen's Maids of Honor. Her Majesty has put you in my charge, Mistress de Marisco. This is my friend, Angel Christman. We welcome you to court."

Velvet returned the curtsy, saying, "Please call me Velvet, and I hope we shall be friends."

"Lord, have mercy, what an innocent!" cried the beautiful blonde.

"Angel! You must not frighten Velvet, for this will be her first time away from home."

"Are you a Maid of Honor, too?" Velvet asked the blonde.

Angel laughed. "Nay," she said. "I am merely a royal ward. My father was the younger son of a fairly respectable noble family who married the younger daughter of an equally respectable noble family. Sadly, they had no money, and when Papa discovered my mama engaged in less than circumspect behavior with a wealthy farmer, he killed her and her lover, then killed himself. He provided for me by asking in his will that the queen take me under her protection. Of course she could not refuse, and so I have been raised very nicely at court, and I shall have a much better dowry than if my parents' families had taken me in. Positions such as you have obtained, Velvet de Marisco, are reserved for far nobler lasses than I."

"Ah, but you've a noble spirit, Angel love," murmured Essex, lecherously slipping an arm about her tiny waist.

Angel harrumphed and slapped his arm away. "Unhand me, you satyr, lest you destroy my chances for a decent marriage. Strange as it may seem to you, my lord earl, no respectable man wants your leavings!"

"Angel!" Bess Throckmorton looked shocked.

"Well, it's true, Bess. You've a powerful family to protect you, but I must guard my own virtue and good name!"

"No man wants a shrew with a sharp tongue," countered Essex, "and that, my dear Angel, is what you are in danger of becoming." He looked extremely put out by her words, and Velvet hid a smile.

In an effort to change the subject, Bess Throckmorton said, "The queen has asked us to accompany you to your home tomorrow so that we may aid you in packing what is necessary for court. Is it far?"

"Nay, just a few miles. Do you ride?"

"Aye," both girls chorused.

"Good! Let's start early then," said Velvet enthusiastically.

"We shall accompany you," Sir Walter promised. "Three maids riding alone is not wise."

A contradiction sprang to Velvet's lips, but then she considered how marvelous it would look to return to Queen's Malvern in the company of two elegant gentlemen of the court. "Are you used to getting up so early?" she teased them gently.

"Getting up? We shan't even go to bed, sweetheart! Sleep is something one catches when one can at court. You'll get used to it."

* * *

Dame Cecily, warned by a message from Deirdre of what Velvet had managed to gain from the queen, was waiting along with Velvet's nursemaid, both wearing a disapproving frown as Velvet rode up to Queen's Malvern in the company of the earl, Sir Walter, Bess, and Angel the next morning. Small and plump, Dame Cecily was a neat little soul, with sharp blue eyes and silvery curls. Still, she could be quite formidable and even now her foot tapped irritably.

"Your mama is going to be very angry at you, Velvet, and what are we to say to his lordship when he comes?" she scolded as the girl dismounted from her stallion.

"Nonsense, dearest Dame Cecily," returned Velvet. "Remember, she promised me that I should not marry without love."

"How can you know if you will love your betrothed or not if you are not here to get to know him? You were well aware of his impending arrival when you left for your sister's home. Now I hear of this business of going to court as a Maid of Honor!" Having helped to raise Velvet, as well as most of her siblings, Dame Cecily was looked upon as a grandmother by Skye's children. That, she felt, gave her the right to speak out and to interfere where she thought necessary.

"I could scarcely refuse the queen," said Velvet innocently.

"You asked the queen for it, and well I know it!" came the sharp reply. "You are a wicked lass, and your papa should have taken a switch to your bottom from the beginning. But no! Adam de Marisco simply dotes upon you, and look where it has led us!"

While she fussed on, Velvet's companions listened with interest until suddenly, realizing their presence, the old lady stopped in midsentence.

Velvet sweetly introduced them in a sugary voice. "The Earl of Essex, Sir Walter Ralegh, Mistress Bess Throckmorton, and Mistress Angel Christman; and this is Dame Cecily Small, the sister of Sir Robert. She is as a grandmother to me."

"You are all welcome to Queen's Malvern," said the dame politely, dropping a scant curtsy. "Come into the house for biscuits and wine, my lords, ladies." Turning, she led the way.

"Why, what is this, Velvet?" teased Ralegh. "You have not met your betrothed husband? How old-fashioned, an arranged marriage."

"It is not important," Velvet muttered, feeling reduced to a child once more by the old dame's scolding. "I was matched with the son of my father's friend when I was so little I cannot even remember the gentleman. Besides, my mama said I need not marry him if I do not love him."

"Yet," persisted Ralegh, "your Dame Cecily says he is coming shortly, and you won't be here to greet him, will you?" He began to chuckle. "You are rather a sly puss, aren't you, Velvet de Marisco?"

"I rather admire her spirit." Essex grinned. "Give me a lass with a mind of her own!"

"Give you a lass, period!" snapped Angel. "I never knew you to be particularly discriminating in your appetites, my lord earl!"

"My lords, Angel! Stop this instant," cried the gentle Bess. "Angel, you and I have come to help Velvet and to advise her what she will need at court. You gentlemen will sit quietly and have your wine while we do so," she finished firmly.

Both men smiled agreeably, and then followed the rapidly disappearing skirts of Dame Cecily down the hall. Elizabeth Throckmorton was one of the queen's favorite ladies, both well liked and respected. At twenty-four, she had been at court some years and was the oldest Maid of Honor. Now she turned to her new charge and said, "Will you take us to your room, Velvet?"

Velvet nodded, then led the way upstairs to her chambers.

Angel Christman slipped an arm through hers and said, "If Bess has decided to take you under her wing, you're a lucky lass. She is so very nice and most of the others aren't—but then you'll find out soon enough." Angel was only two years older than Velvet, but her life at court had given her a worldly-wise look that made her seem much more mature.

Velvet was soon to realize how fortunate indeed she was to have the friendship of Bess and Angel. Examining her wardrobe, they declared it outdated for the most part and much too countrified. She would, they said ruefully, be laughed out of court, and first impressions were so very important. She would have to stay behind when the court left Blackthorn Priory and then join them in a week after her wardrobe had been refurbished.

"No, I can't!" Velvet cried. "He might come in that time and then I would never get away! I would rather be laughed at by the court than …" She stopped as she realized that she had been close to disclosing her innermost fears.

"Well," said Bess, not one to pry though she was curious, "perhaps we can have your seamstress redo several of your gowns tonight. Then you can come with us tomorrow while she makes you some new gowns to send along after us. The seamstress will have to sew you several gowns all in white. The queen prefers her ladies in black and her Maids of Honor in white when they are on duty with her."

"Can the white gowns be trimmed with anything?" Velvet queried.

"Aye." Bess laughed. " 'Tis the only way we're able to avoid looking like little French nuns. Sometimes our gowns are white with another color in the underskirt or in a pattern with a white background. Don't fret, though, Velvet. You'll get to wear your most beautiful and colorful gowns at the fetes and the masques. It's just that Her Majesty sometimes has her moods."

"What Bess is too nice to say is that the queen is growing old, and resents it," said Angel astutely. "By keeping those attending her in either black or white, she can appear even more glorious than her legend makes her."

"She is a kind mistress!" defended Bess.

"To those who don't displease her, but she is jealous, too, Bess, and well you know it. She hates for any of her Maids to leave her to make happy marriages, for she will not marry herself. Woe to any girl fool enough to wish for a husband in the queen's presence."

"There are those who have married with her blessing," Bess said.

"Girls who came to her long betrothed by their families, like Velvet, but the lasses who have found love at court have been cruelly handled by the queen, and you know I speak the truth, Bess. Why else would you be so careful?"

"Angel!" Bess's face was anguished.

"Oh, very well, but 'tis right glad I am to be only a humble royal ward." Angel turned to Velvet with an impudent grin. "Are you excited to be leaving your country nest, little mouse, and coming with us?"

"Yes, yes," agreed Velvet, greatly relieved and more at ease now that the conversation was off marriage.

They entered Velvet's bedchamber, and, to her surprise, Daisy, her mother's tiring woman, was awaiting her there.

"You've already been in the dressing room, I can tell from the look on your faces," Daisy said.

"Oh, Daisy! Most of my things are so … so …"

"Old-fashioned and childish," supplied Daisy pertly. "Aye, and that's the truth, but don't you worry none, Mistress Velvet. Your mother's gowns are always in the height of fashion no matter that she doesn't go to court anymore. Since she's away and they're just hanging there in her wardrobe, I don't see any reason why we shouldn't refit some of them for you."

"A most sensible solution," remarked Bess. "Might we see the gowns you think would suit Mistress Velvet, Daisy?"

"I'll bring them in," came the reply. "No one is allowed in my lady's wardrobe but me." She hurried from the room.

"What an old dragon," Angel said. "I imagine she's been with your mother forever."

"Almost thirty years," Velvet supplied. "She was very annoyed because Mama wouldn't let her go along on her voyage this time, but then Daisy never really liked to travel with Mama anyway. She has an enormous family, for every time her husband, Bran Kelly, came home from the sea he used to give her another child before going off again." Velvet giggled.

"How many children do they have?" Bess queried.

"Ten. She's really an amazing woman, Daisy. All her babes lived, and all have grown up healthy and strong. There are seven sons and three daughters, whose names are Pansy, Marigold, and Clover."

Before Velvet could divulge any more, however, Daisy returned to the bedchamber carrying several gowns, a young girl following behind her with more. "Pansy and I have brought you five, Mistress Velvet," Daisy said. "These colors should suit you best. We'll see what bolts of fabric are in the storeroom later and you may choose several to be made into additional gowns."

The dresses drew gasps of admiration and not a touch of envy from both Bess and Angel. They were richly made, encrusted with gems, and embroidered with gold and silver threads. Three were jewel colors: sapphire blue, aquamarine, and amethyst; two were pastels: apple green and rose pink. It had not occurred to her new friends until this moment that Velvet de Marisco was a young heiress with the kind of wealth that is only fable in most cases. They had not associated her with that kind of wealth, for she was so unspoiled, innocent, and totally unpretentious.

Daisy quickly had the girl out of her riding clothes and into one of her mother's gowns. She eyed her charge critically, walking slowly about her, nodding and muttering to herself. "Pansy!" she said sharply to her daughter. "Pansy, fetch the seamstress this minute!"

"Aye, Ma!" The girl ran off.

"I'm going to send her with you as your maid," Daisy told Velvet. "I've taught her everything she knows, and she'll do a good job for you."

"But what of Violet?"

"Surely you wouldn't expect a nursemaid to be a good tiring woman, Mistress Velvet? Oh, she's been fine as long as you were here at Queen's Malvern or in France with your grandparents, but at the Tudor court? Nay! Besides, Violet is with child and is to finally marry."

"The assistant coachman!" Velvet exclaimed gleefully.

Bess Throckmorton and Angel Christman looked at each other and giggled. Each was thinking that country gossip was really no different from court gossip.

Daisy looked somewhat mortified. She didn't like feeling foolish before these two fine ladies. After all, she had been at court before either of them was ever born. "There now," she fussed at Velvet, "such things are not your concern. Your papa would have a fit if he thought you knew about them!"

Mercifully, Pansy had been quick and returned with Bonnie, the manor seamstress, who went to work at once to alter the gowns. Velvet was an inch taller than her beautiful mother, but each gown had a generous hem so that the length could be adjusted. The waist and bustline of the gowns, however, needed to be taken in as Velvet was more slender than Skye and far smaller in the bust. The seamstress marked the adjustments to be made on each gown, and then, gathering up the garments, took them away.

Daisy then dressed her charge in a silk chamber robe and led the way to the manor storeroom, where she displayed the many and exquisite fabrics kept there to the three girls.

"God's foot!" swore Angel. "You could outfit the entire court for a year and a day with all of this."

"Aye," Daisy noted proudly.

It did not take Velvet long to decide, for she knew exactly what she wanted. She did not fancy heavy velvet fabric for the summer and early autumn. She chose instead a marvelous silk in topaz gold and another in sea green. For her duty gowns she chose half a dozen whites of various fabrics. Some were plain, some designed with colored and metallic threads and jewels. Then, seeing the gorgeous Angel almost salivating over a turquoise silk and Bess looking longingly at a bolt the color of red poppies, Velvet said, "Take those two also, Daisy." She pointed at her friends' choices. "Have Bonnie measure both Mistress Throckmorton and Mistress Christman before they leave and make them gowns to send along with mine."

"Oh, no, Velvet!" Bess protested. " 'Tis much, much too generous of you."

"Don't be silly," Velvet replied. "There is, as Angel pointed out, enough fabric here to clothe the entire court. Please, Bess! You and Angel are the first friends I've made at court. I would so like to share my bounty with you."

Quick tears sprang to Bess Throckmorton's eyes. What a lovely child this was, she thought. She blinked the dampness away and said, "We thank you for your great kindness, Velvet de Marisco."

"Amen!" breathed Angel somewhat irreverently, and when Bess sent her a chiding look, the blond girl answered most matter-of-factly, "Well, I thought you weren't going to let us have them, Bess. That's all right for you with a family to aid you, but a royal ward has precious little!"

Bess Throckmorton shook her head. "Nay, Angel. Were I a maid of wealth I should have long been married, but my brother lost my dowry in a poor investment. I am no better off than you for all my high connections."

"Then thank God for the queen's court, which houses and clothes, though not too generously, us poor but well-connected church mice." Angel chuckled good-naturedly.

Mistress de Marisco soon found that though she might be a princess at Queen's Malvern , she was most lowly in rank in the hierarchy of the royal court. Among all the ladies and greater nobility, the heiress of Lundy, as she was known, was a very small fish indeed. Still, she was well liked by those who took the trouble to get to know her, for though Velvet was young, she was amusing and well read, and though she had a temper there was no meanness in her.

Because Velvet was the youngest and the newest of the queen's Maids, the simplest of tasks was assigned to her. It was her duty to see that the many-colored silks in the queen's workbasket were always in perfect order, untangled, and free of knots, the colors lined up as neatly as the colors in a rainbow. She had to be sure that the queen had the proper needles and that her cutting tools were sharpened. When Elizabeth Tudor wished to work on her tapestries or to embroider, the workbasket was quickly fetched by the heiress of Lundy, who was now totally responsible for it as once her Aunt Aiden had been when she was at court.

The pace of court life was quicker than she was used to, and Velvet was grateful for the friendship of Bess and Angel. She would have felt quite alone without them, for the other Maids of Honor were not as willing to be friendly. Some had great names but small funds to support them. Others of both wealthy and titled families were nowhere near as lovely as Velvet. Most were jealous of her.

"The queen's godchildren are a ha'penny a baker's dozen," said one high-born lady sneeringly.

"And most are of no account," put in another girl. "The queen is chosen by the parents in hopes of currying favor for an otherwise undistinguished child."

Velvet felt her cheeks burn with the insult. Her instinct was to fly at the girl and scratch her eyes from her ugly face, but feeling Bess Throckmorton's warning gaze upon her she held her temper.

"It is true that my mother's family were only humble Irish chieftains,

but my father, whose ancient name I bear, is a nobleman. My sister, Willow, is the Countess of Alcester; my brother, Robin, the Earl of Lynmouth; my sister, Deirdre, Lady Blackthorn; my brother, Padraic, Lord Burke, of whom you all seem so fond." She glanced demurely at them. "Padraic certainly speaks well of all of you," she finished, and then bent to her task again.

Bess Throckmorton stifled a giggle and sent her protégée an approving look. Velvet had neatly put them all in their place, without even raising her voice.

"Your brothers are Robert Southwood and Padraic Burke?" demanded one young woman.

"Aye."

"Lord Burke of Clearfields Manor and Robert Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth?"

"Aye."

There was a long silence as this piece of information was digested by the queen's Maids. Finally the girl who had spoken said, "We are going to Lynmouth Castle shortly."

"Are we?" Velvet replied. "Oh, it's so lovely in the summer. I do love Devon, don't you?"

"Your brother is a widower still?"

"Aye," said Velvet. "He felt very badly about Alison dying during her last lying-in. He swears he'll not remarry ever, but I think it's just a matter of meeting the right lady." Then Velvet turned her smile on those about her, a smile of such bland innocence that none would suspect the wicked thoughts that danced about her head as she gazed upon her companions of these last few weeks. What vain and shallow creatures they were for the most part. They would, she had not a doubt, begin a not-so-subtle currying of her friendship now that they knew she was the sister of two eligible gentlemen of wealth and land.

As she studied the other Maids of Honor from beneath her long lashes, Velvet decided that neither Robin nor Padraic would find even good sport among the queen's maidens. Bess was the best of them all, and of late Velvet had begun to suspect that her friend's heart was engaged by Sir Walter Ralegh, though neither Bess nor Wat showed the slightest interest in each other publicly.

The court left Blackthorn Priory and traveled south again toward London. The Spanish threat to English security was said to be most serious this year, and it was rumored that a large fleet was being assembled to attack England. The queen's councillors had insisted that she return to London where she might be properly protected, so the summer progress came to an abrupt halt.

The Earl of Lynmouth, upon learning that his royal guest would not be visiting Devon after all, raised a troop of men for her defense and came up to London to entertain her in his beautiful home, Lynmouth House, which was located on the Strand.

Velvet, hearing that her brother had arrived in London, begged time off from her duties so that she might go to see Robin. She was going to need all the allies she could get in the matter of her betrothal. She had no doubt that both Dame Cecily and Deirdre had already written to him.

Dressed soberly in black and white, the queen's colors, she hailed a common wherry from the landing of Whitehall Palace and was easily transported to Lynmouth House, which also sat on a bank of the river. A Southwood servant was there to help her from the little cockleshell and to pay the wherryman. Velvet hurried up through the vast gardens to the house and, seeing her brother on the terrace, called to him.

"Robin!"

Robert Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth, looked up, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. He was dressed casually, his silk shirt open to reveal a smooth expanse of chest. His lime-green eyes took in her long silk cloak of alternating black and white stripes with silver frog fastenings studded with black agates. The open cloak blew in the light breeze to show off her very fashionable gown of white silk with its silver lace ruff. The youngest of his mother's children, she was, next to his older sister, Willow, his favorite.

"Hallo, you minx!" he said, giving her a hug and a kiss.

"Oh, Robin, not you too?" Velvet wailed. "Are you going to lecture me also? Why doesn't anyone understand my point of view in this matter?"

The earl put an arm about his little sister and led her to a nearby bench beneath a late-flowering apple tree, where they both sat down.

"Suppose you tell me your side of the tangle you've woven, and then I shall judge whether or not to scold you. I have had two very frantic letters, one from Dame Cecily and the other from our Burke sister."

"I didn't know that I was betrothed," said Velvet miserably. "Then this letter came from Scotland from an earl."

"The Earl of BrocCairn," supplied Robin.

"Oh, yes, BrocCairn. It's such a funny name, I keep forgetting it. It was then that Uncle Conn told me of the betrothal, and he said that although the wedding wasn't supposed to be celebrated until after my sixteenth birthday, the earl suddenly found himself the only male in his direct line, and needed to marry now and beget heirs."

"Those things can happen, Velvet. It is not an unusual occurrence, and I can see BrocCairn's point."

"Robin, until a month ago I didn't even know that I was promised to this stranger! I don't want to go off to Scotland without knowing this man, and I am most certainly not ready to beget his heirs! I won't marry without love! That much our mother promised me, Robin. And I won't marry without my parents by my side when I finally decide to do so!"

"Couldn't you have told the earl this, my sister? He cannot be totally insensitive to a young girl's fears. I am sure he would have acceded to your request to wait until our mother and Adam return in a few months' time."

"Uncle Conn did not seem to think so, Robin, and what if I had waited to ask him and this earl refused me? By law I would have had to marry him. By becoming one of the queen's Maids of Honor I am protected until our mother returns. It is not so terrible a thing I've done, my lord brother. This Earl of BrocCairn can hardly be offended that his betrothed wife is one of the queen's honored maidens."

Robin shook his head. "You're far too clever for a maiden, Velvet," he said. He grinned at her. " 'Tis just the sort of thing our mother would have done when she was a girl, but never say I told you so! Tell me now, how do you like the court?"

"It's the most exciting place I've ever been, Robin! I never thought I could exist on so little sleep and so much hurly-burly, but I can, and I do! I have two best friends now. One is Bess Throckmorton, and she has been ever so kind to me, Robin. Not like all the others who are, for the most part, proud as peahens and very shallow. They wanted nothing to do with me until they discovered I had two very wealthy and eligible brothers."

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "And who is your other friend?"

"Her name is Angel Christman, and she is absolutely beautiful, Robin! She's a royal ward and as poor as a church mouse, as she puts it, but she, too, is ever so nice. When Bess and I can get away from our duties, we go with Angel, Wat, and Scamp into the city. I have been to the theater, Robin!"

He smiled again. "What play did you see performed?"

"It's a new one, called Tamburlaine the Great , by Master Christopher Marlowe. Wat says he is the finest playwright England has ever seen."

"Indeed," replied Robin, "and just who is this Wat who is such an authority on our drama?"

"Why, Sir Walter Ralegh, Robin. I think he is in love with Bess, although neither one of them ever dares to look at the other in the queen's presence. Scamp says the queen would clap them both in the Tower if she suspected there was anything between them."

"Again you mystify me, little sister," said Robin. "You have twice referred to ‘Scamp,' but I know not who you mean."

"The Earl of Essex, Robin. Everyone else calls him by your name, but I told him I would not, for there is only one Robin in my life."

Robert Southwood stiffened. The Earl of Essex had a reputation for womanizing similar to that of his stepfather, the Earl of Leicester. Robin knew how that gentleman had so sorely tried his mother after his father, Geoffrey Southwood, had died. "So, Velvet," he said, in what he hoped passed for a calm voice, "you have become friends with Essex, have you?"

"He's so very nice," she replied. "He says I am like his sister, Dorothy, and he and Wat warned all the gentlemen of the court that they were not to trifle with me. Oh, Robin! We have such good times together, Wat and Scamp, Bess and Angel, and me!"

"Then he has not been forward with you, Velvet?"

"Who?"

"Essex."

"No." She laughed. "He is far too busy courting the queen's favor to bother with me. Frankly, I'm rather disappointed, for I think I should like him to kiss me. One should always be kissed for the first time by someone one likes, don't you think?" She cocked her head at her brother.

"Yes," Robin answered his sister quietly, charmed by her genuine innocence and yet at the same time worried for her. How could their mother and Adam have raised her so unaware of the world? He stood up and, taking her hand, raised her to her feet. "Let's go into the house, Velvet. You have not seen Lynmouth House, never having been to London before. I want you to familiarize yourself with it, for you are to be my hostess when the queen comes in a few days' time."

" I am to be your hostess? Oh, Robin! I assumed that you would ask Willow."

"I would have, except that my charming youngest sister has just arrived in London and, being newly fledged, should have the experience of hostessing a large party for royalty. You may be called on to entertain King James one day, Velvet."

A small cloud of annoyance passed over Velvet's beautiful face, but its passage was so swift that he did not notice it at all.

"It's not certain that I will marry that Scot, Robin. Remember our mother's promise."

"I remember it, Velvet, but you must not be so unkind as to judge the Earl of BrocCairn before you have met him, and before you have had the opportunity to know him. You are now safe as a Maid of Honor, at least until your parents return home in a few months. You have won the first skirmish. Be generous in your victory, little sister."