Chapter 2

R obert Geoffrey James Henry Southwood, the Earl of Lynmouth, had held his title since before his third birthday. He had no real memory of the father whom he so startlingly resembled. By choice, he had gone to court at the age of six to be a personal page to Her Majesty, the queen, and he had taken to court life with an ease that was his birthright. When he was sixteen his mother had sent him to study at Oxford University. When he was eighteen he had been sent to the Sorbonne, and from there he had traveled throughout Europe. It was at the Sorbonne that he had met Alexander Gordon, the heir to the Scottish earldom of BrocCairn.

Alex was three years older than the blond English earl, but the two had taken to each other like long-lost brothers. They decided to pool their resources and share living quarters. Even that hadn't spoiled their friendship. They studied together, drank together, and even wenched together; sometimes, when their funds were low, they shared the same pretty whore who, far from being offended at being paid only once, was ecstatic at having two such virile lovers. Alex and Robin had known each other for well over a year when the matter of marriage came up.

Robin had explained to his friend that he had been betrothed since childhood to the daughter of a friend of the family, and when he finally returned home he would marry her. Alex admitted to a similar situation, but explained that the lass involved was younger than he by thirteen years, and the agreement between them did not allow him to wed her until she was sixteen. Still, he said, he was in no hurry to settle down. Mistress Velvet de Marisco could take her time growing up as far as he was concerned.

"Whom did you say?" Robin suddenly sat up on the bed where he say lounging. "What is the name of your betrothed wife?"

"Velvet. Velvet de Marisco," came the answer. "Good Lord! Velvet de Marisco!" Robin began to laugh.

"Do you know her?" Alex was now looking curiously at his friend. "Has she become pockmarked or has her nose grown overlong? I remember naught but that she was a pretty child."

"Aye, I know her! She's my sister, Alex! My half-sister, and she's outrageously fair. That's why you have always looked so familiar to me. We originally met several years ago at your betrothal feast at my mother and stepfather's estate of Queen's Malvern."

Now it was some six years later, and Robin had married his betrothed wife, Alison de Grenville, had sired three daughters with her, and had buried her almost two years past. He could still not think easily about Alison, that sweet, foolish, and headstrong young girl who had given him his first daughter, Elsbeth, nine months to the day after their wedding; Catherine, ten months later; and then against all advice died while birthing Cecily within a year of Catherine. Alison had been so proud of her children, but she had felt a strong, almost fanatical responsibility to give her husband sons. He had known that it was his responsibility to protect her, for his seed was strong and his wife very fertile. He had tried avoiding her after little Catherine's birth, but she had mischievously gotten him drunk one night, and in his wine-induced stupor he had thought one time could not hurt.

Robin had used his mourning as an excuse to withdraw from court life and from all social contact in his Devon neighborhood. After a year his sister Willow began to fuss at him to remarry, but he could not be moved. Logic told him he was not entirely responsible for his wife's death, but his emotions told him another tale. Had he been mature enough to control his baser nature, Alison would be alive today. He had not been in love with her, but they had been good friends.

Now Robin found himself drawn back into the world by a combination of events. The queen's proposed visit to Devon had necessitated an invitation on his part, for his father's hospitality had been famous, and as Geoffrey Southwood's son he could do no less. Then when it was decided that the queen should return to London because of the Spanish threat, he had felt duty-bound to travel to the capital with his troop of men for England's defense and to entertain the queen anyway. As he had told Velvet, Robin had also received several frantic communications from various members of his family complaining about his youngest sister's behavior. With their mother and stepfather away, Robin's siblings, older and younger, looked upon him as the head of the family by virtue of his high rank.

He had been in London just a short time when he received a rather droll letter from Alexander Gordon, now the Earl of BrocCairn. The earl had arrived at Queen's Malvern to find an apologetic Lord Bliss in place of the blushing bride he had expected. He would need an entrée to the court if he was to catch up with his reluctant betrothed. Would Robin help him?

Robin had answered immediately, telling his old friend to come directly to London to stay with him, and together they would work out the mess that Velvet had made. She wasn't really like their mother, Robin thought, but still there was enough of Skye in her to make her willful.

Alex had arrived quietly in London riding his own horse and accompanied only by his valet, a rather wicked-looking rogue named Dugald. With one smooth motion, he slid from his mount and turned to greet his host, who had hurried from his house, a smile upon his handsome countenance. Seeing Robin's face again reminded Alex that in Paris women had called the pair of them the Archangel and Lucifer , for the contrast between the tall, fair Englishman and the tanned, dark-haired Scot had been that sharp.

"Alex! Damn me, you look just the same. Welcome to London, my friend," Robin greeted him.

The Earl of BrocCairn grasped and shook the outstretched hand offered him. "I'm glad to be here, Robin. When can I meet yer sister?"

Robin grinned ruefully, remembering Alex's way of always coming directly to the point. He led his guest into the house, directing Dugald to follow the majordomo. After settling Lord BrocCairn in his library with a large silver goblet of strong Burgundy, he said, "It's not going to be as easy as all that, Alex. You cannot march into the queen's court, introduce yourself to Velvet, and carry her off to church."

"Why not?"

Robin had to laugh. He simply could not help it. Alex had always known how to wield his weapon well with the ladies, but he had absolutely no finesse or tact to use on the fair sex. He knew nothing of how to court a woman, for he assumed his prowess in bed would be enough. The problem, Robin decided, was that his friend had never known a virgin. He spoke carefully. "Alex, my sister is an independent wench by nature. She is very much her parents' child, and despite the betrothal made between you two, my mother has always promised her that she could marry for love."

"A damn fool promise, if ye ask me," came the surly reply. The Earl of BrocCairn cast Robin a black look.

Robin hid his smile. "Perhaps," he said, "but my mother's first marriage was arranged when she was in the cradle. They did not suit, and her life was a hell on earth until he died. My mother has never forgotten that. Velvet was born out of a great love and is extremely precious to both her parents. I know that they meant for you to come for Velvet's sixteenth birthday next year, to spend some months getting to know her, and letting her get to know you. She has been very sheltered her entire life and, in all likelihood, would have easily fallen in love with you. This sudden change in your life, your urgent desire to marry her has frightened her. She doesn't know you, Alex. You have never even been to see her since the day of your betrothal. With her parents away she felt almost hunted when your message came. Particularly since our Uncle Conn was at a loss as to what to do."

"I must marry, Robin! I am the last of my line, and the thought that my brother-in-law, poor weak-kneed idiot that he is, could inherit Dun Broc infuriates me. I cannot wait!"

The strain in his friend's face was apparent, and Robin's voice softened. "Listen to me, Alex. I inherited Lynmouth when I was barely out of the cradle. My father and my younger brother had died in a late-winter epidemic, and I was the last male of my line. Yet it was almost twenty years before I wed and had children.

"You must cultivate patience, Alex, because if you are to win my sister over, and you must if you want a happy married life, you, my old friend, are going to have to court her properly. My mother and stepfather will return to England in a few months' time, and I know they will espouse your cause. Unless, of course, Velvet takes a violent dislike to you."

"By ‘court' I suppose you mean I shall have to practice yer precious Sassenach ways with the lass."

Robin chuckled. "Don't grumble at me, Alex. I'm not the one who sent an abrupt note to Queen's Malvern demanding my bride. You're bloody lucky Velvet didn't ask to serve her other godmother. Queen Margot of France! Please, I beg of you, don't be a pig-headed Scot with me over this. Your King Jamie will one day be England's king, and then we shall all be united."

"Hell, Robin, I've never courted a woman properly in my life. When we were at the university in Paris and traveling in France and Italy, there was no need to court. There was only the need for ready coin to pay a wench for her favors. At Dun Broc I don't even have to bother with that. Because I was my father's son the wenches were willing, and now that I am the master they are even more so."

"Then it's time, nay, past time, that you learned how to court a respectable lass, Alex. 'Tisn't really hard, you know. Poetry and posies, clever little gifts and a quick wit, sweet words meant for her alone."

"She is so very beautiful," Lord BrocCairn said, almost to himself, as he slipped the miniature of Velvet from his doublet and gazed upon it.

"Aye, she's beautiful," Robin agreed, fighting to keep his mouth from breaking into a grin. "She's also extremely intelligent, independent, and totally spoilt."

"God's blood, man, ye're scaring me to death!" exploded Alex. "How the hell am I, a simple Highlander, supposed to handle that?"

"God almighty, man, don't let her know you're afraid of her," Robin fretted. "She's a lass, a virgin, an innocent. Court her gently but firmly. She's not been wooed before, for her mother and her father were most strict with her."

"I wish she didn't have to know who I was, Robin. Not at first. If only I could meet her without her knowing that I'm the Earl of BrocCairn."

Robin's lime-green eyes narrowed a moment, and then he said, "According to my uncle she didn't want to know anything about you, she was so panicked by the thought of a sudden marriage. She might remember BrocCairn, but I'll wager she doesn't know that BrocCairn is Alexander Gordon. Let me introduce you as Lord Gordon, and if she doesn't recognize the name, then you'll be safe to court her for a time. If Velvet doesn't know who you are, then perhaps she will feel comfortable with you and allow herself to get to know you."

"But if she doesn't know I'm BrocCairn, will she allow a man, not her betrothed, to court her?"

" 'Twill be nothing more than a harmless flirtation, Alex, and all maids enjoy a summer flirtation." Robin laughed lightly. " 'Tis good for them to think they are sowing wild oats before settling down. They are then more content in their marriages."

Now it was Alex Gordon's turn to laugh. "How in hell did ye get so knowledgeable these last few years?" he teased his friend. "I thought that I was the elder."

"Aye, you are my elder by three years, Alex, but I've been wed, a father, and a widower in the time we've been separated."

Robin sighed deeply. "Experience makes for knowledge."

"I was sorry to hear about Alison," Alex said quietly. "I wish I had known her, for she must have been quite a lass that ye mourn her so deeply, Robin."

"She was a good girl," his friend replied. "If you hadn't been in France when we wed, you might have met her."

"Aye, but my trip to France was for the crown, and I do precious little for the Stewarts as it is." He smiled encouragingly. "Ye'll find another lass someday, Robin."

"Nay, I'll not wed again," came the firm but quiet reply.

Alex did not press his friend further, but instead asked, "Are ye not going to show me this London town of yours, Robin?"

"Aye, I'll show you London, Alex, and once I've entertained the queen, you'll go to court too. In a few days' time I'm scheduled to give a huge fête. I don't believe there has been one in this house since my father's time. He always gave an enormous Twelfth Night celebration, a masque that every dressmaker in London both dreaded and delighted in, for the costumes were incredible to behold. Since his death, though, my mother has rarely used the house. She has one of her own next door that I suspect will go to Velvet one day."

"When will I meet Velvet?"

"She's coming to stay with me the day before the queen's fête. Courage, Alex! I've known Velvet to throw things and to shriek, but I've never known her to bite." While his friend glowered at him, Robin chortled mischievously.

Now, a few days later as he ushered his sister into Lynmouth House, Robin wondered if Alex could learn to court her and if Velvet would even give him the opportunity. She was so full of the delights of the court and of London, which was to be expected considering the quiet life she had led heretofore.

Velvet was enchanted by the elegance of her brother's ancestral house, and her open admiration brought many smiles to the faces of the staff she encountered, most of whom had been there in her mother's time.

"I have a guest staying with me, Velvet," Robin said casually.

"Who?"

"Alexander Gordon, my Scots friend from the Sorbonne. You may remember me speaking of him. We met at the university, shared quarters, and then went on through Europe together."

"Umm," said Velvet, not particularly interested in her brother's friend and far more concerned with the translucent porcelain bowls filled with red damask roses that adorned the main hall of the mansion.

"You will probably meet him tonight at dinner, Velvet."

"Who?" Velvet suddenly realized that she had not been attending to her brother's words closely enough.

"Alex Gordon, my friend."

"I am sorry, Robin. Your house is so beautiful that I cannot stop looking. I promise by tonight I shall be more attentive, and I shall certainly be polite to your friends. Did Pansy come from Whitehall yet?"

"I'll ask the housekeeper, and then I'll show you to your apartments." He led her into the library, poured her a light and fruity pale gold wine, and, ringing for a footman, sent him for the housekeeper. When she arrived a moment later, the housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and assured Mistress de Marisco that her tiring woman had indeed arrived safely with her mistress's wardrobe, and was even now preparing a bath for her lady.

Velvet arose and, kissing her brother, allowed herself to be led off by the beaming housekeeper who was already regaling Velvet with stories of when her mama was a young bride in this house.

Velvet's apartments were most spacious, consisting of an anteroom, a lovely light bedchamber that looked out over the river and the gardens, a dressing room, and even a small, separate, windowed room for Pansy. Pansy, though just fourteen, had been well trained by her mother. She was so clever with hair in fact that when her skill was discovered, Pansy became in great demand amongst the Maids of Honor. She would, to their annoyance, do none of them without her mistress's permission, which meant that those in Velvet's bad graces could expect no help from the loyal Pansy.

Velvet almost cried aloud in her delight at the sight of the steaming tub. Baths at court were few and far between. Even when she had a little time to herself, which wasn't often, there was the matter of bribing the queen's footmen to haul water, hopefully hot, to the tiny cubicle assigned to her when she was not on duty, or to the Maiden's Chamber.

The air in this bedchamber at Lynmouth House was redolent with the scent of gillyflowers, and Pansy was hanging two large, soft towels before the fire to warm.

"Oh, I wish I could live here at Robin's house whenever we were in London, Pansy! Just to be able to bathe every day again would be heaven."

"Aye," agreed Pansy. "I don't think much myself of those fine ladies at court who use perfume to cover the stink of their bodies instead of good honest soap and water. Come now, Mistress Velvet, and I'll help you to undress."

Velvet stood as her tiring woman quickly and efficiently stripped the clothes from her slender form. "Did you bring along the new sea-green gown, Pansy? I should like to wear it tonight. I want Robin to see how grown-up I've become." Velvet now stepped into her tub and sat down. "Umm," she murmured, closing her eyes as a blissful look spread over her face.

Pansy smiled merrily at her mistress and chattered on, "Aye, I've brought the sea-green and the topaz gold silk for the earl's fête when you'll be his hostess. Y'know, mistress, I will wager that his lordship would want you to make this fine house your home when you're in London with the court. Why don't you ask him? I've never known him to be ungenerous, and next to your sister, Lady Willow, you've always been his favorite."

Velvet nodded. Kneeling, Pansy took up a cake of hard-milled cream-colored soap and began to bathe her mistress. When she had finished, she washed Velvet's hair, dumping several buckets of warm water over her to rinse it. Velvet then stepped from her tub, to be wrapped in a large, hot towel. She sat down on a small wooden stool in front of the fire while Pansy dried her hair and perfumed it with her personal scent. Slipping into a rose silk chamber robe, Velvet lay down in the lovely big bed with its plump feather pillows to sleep until it was time for dinner.

When Pansy woke her, she felt more refreshed and relaxed than she had since she left Queen's Malvern. She put on her silken undergarments; outrageously extravagant pink silk stockings embroidered with heart-shaped leaves, with silver lace garters; several petticoats; a small farthingale; and finally her new sea-green gown. The tight bodice slipped over her torso like a second skin, its neckline coming just barely to the tops of her small, full breasts. Velvet stared, blushed, and then said in a hesitant voice, "Pansy, do you think this neckline too low?"

Pansy stepped back and viewed her mistress critically. "Nay, 'tis just as the fashion dictates. You're simply not used to it."

Velvet continued to stare into the glass for a minute longer. The gown really was lovely. The sleeves were embroidered in tiny paler green glass beads that formed ivy leaves and vines, as was the lighter green underskirt. The hem of the overskirt was decorated with small silver bows. She wore no jewelry except the large pearls in her ears that her parents had sent from the Indies for her last birthday. They had not arrived until recently, however, and had been sent down from Queen's Malvern by Dame Cecily.

Seating herself at the dressing table, Velvet silently watched as Pansy did her hair: parting it in the middle, wrapping it into a soft chignon at the nape of her neck, and teasing the little side curls about her beautiful face. Velvet then daubed on her perfume, enjoying its heady fragrance as she did so.

"His lordship will be amazed at you," Pansy said worshipfully as Velvet stood up and slipped her feet into her green silk shoes.

"I would not want Robin to be ashamed of having asked me to be his hostess for him tomorrow. He really is a very elegant gentleman. Tonight I shall try out my best manners on him and his friend, Lord Gordon. Perhaps I shall even attempt flirting with the gentleman."

"I would have thought you got enough of that at court," Pansy replied.

"Ha!" snapped Velvet. "With Wat and Scamp protecting my virtue so assiduously? Most of the gentlemen are afraid to come near me for fear of provoking a duel."

Pansy chuckled. " 'Tis just as well, mistress. You're a betrothed young lady, if you'll remember."

As she was leaving her apartment, Velvet turned and made a rude face at her tiring woman. Betrothed! God's blood, how she hated the very thought of it! She wondered if the wild Scotsman had arrived at Queen's Malvern yet and what his reaction to her absence had been. Well, he had his nerve thinking that a highborn young Englishwoman would just sit there waiting for him to marry her! Never since they had been betrothed those long years ago had he ever been to see her, or written to her. No small presents on her birthday or New Year's or Twelfth Night. And now! A cold, abrupt letter announcing his arrival a full year in advance of the pre-arranged date, saying that he desired an immediate marriage. It was not to be borne! He was obviously a rude clod, a bumpkin. The nerve of the fellow! He could damned well go to the devil!

Velvet had no idea how her silent outrage heightened her color as she descended the staircase, making her look even more beautiful this evening than she usually did. Watching her come down, Robin was stunned. Where was the charming little girl he had so loved? There was something about this Velvet, perhaps the tilt of her head, that reminded him of their mother once long ago when she was angered over something.

Alexander Gordon, seeing Velvet come nearer and nearer to him, felt his heart quicken with excitement. She was a thousand times lovelier than any painting, and seeing her he realized that he must have her. He could not allow any other man to possess her. Suddenly he wondered if he would be able to speak, for he felt his voice had disappeared. My God! Was he a green boy to be so affected by a little wench?

Stopping two steps from the bottom, Velvet focused her gaze on the two men and smiled. "Well, Robin," she teased, "do you look so surprised because I look most presentable or because I look most unpresentable?"

The Earl of Lynmouth laughed. "Dearest Velvet," he said, "you are more than presentable. You are outrageously fair, sister, and far more grown-up than I ever expected you to be."

"Twas time for me to grow up, was it not?" Velvet said softly.

"I cannot help but wonder whether our mother and Adam will agree to that, sister. You are their precious babe, and this change has come about in the time that they've been away."

For a moment brother and sister stood looking at each other in total silence, and then Velvet said quietly, "Will you not introduce me to your friend, Robin?"

Recalling his duties as a host, he replied, "Velvet de Marisco, may I present to you Alexander, Lord Gordon. Alex, my sister, Velvet."

From her place two steps up the staircase, Velvet regally stretched out her slender hand as she had seen the queen do. When Alex had kissed it and straightened up once more, Velvet was somewhat startled to find that he was at eye level with her. Then with a gentle pressure on her fingers he drew her down those last two steps, and she discovered that she had to look up at him despite her own height.

His amber eyes, gazing into her green ones, twinkled mischievously as he fully realized his advantage and felt the confidence flow back into his veins.

"Why, fie, my lord, do you seek to flirt with me?" Velvet inquired with equal mischief. She fluttered her thick eyelashes at him.

"It is impossible not to flirt with you, mistress," was his swift reply, and Velvet laughed.

"You will be a great success at court, my lord, for you are quick," she said, and then feeling Alex's grip relax she gracefully freed her hand.

Robin Southwood breathed a soft sigh of relief. Velvet had not recognized "Lord Gordon" as the Earl of BrocCairn, and she seemed to tolerate him. Moreover, it was immediately obvious that Alex was totally besotted with the minx, the Lord God help him.

When the rest of the evening went equally well, Robin could not believe his good fortune. They ate an excellent dinner, just the three of them, and the conversation around the table was amusing and witty.

Velvet flirted shamelessly with Alex. They played at cards, and she then went to bed early feeling quite satisfied that her female powers were potent and in excellent working order.

"Do you think we might tell her who I am?" Alex asked later as he and Robin sat before the library fire drinking some excellent peat whiskey that he had brought his host. "She is a sweet girl, not at all the formidable creature I envisioned."

"No," Robin replied. "If you tell her, she will feel trapped once more and flee you. You only met tonight. Give her time to know you."

"But she seemed to like me, Robin, and she is a most charming flirt."

"She is a young girl trying out her skill at seduction for the first time, Alex. I know you are enchanted with her, for I can see it in your eyes, but be patient, my old friend. She is so damned innocent and idealistic that she will feel terribly betrayed if you tell her now. Let her know you better first."

Alexander Gordon sighed, but nodded his agreement. It would not be easy to practice patience now, having met Velvet. Why, several times tonight, he had come perilously near to sweeping her into his arms and kissing her enticing mouth. He wondered what she would have done had he given in to his desires. Would she have melted into his embrace, or would she have grown angry at his apparent boldness? After all, she was his by virtue of their betrothal. She was his , and no other man could have her! Hot and irritable with sudden jealousy, he slept restlessly that night.

The following morning it seemed as if Lynmouth House was erupting. The footmen hurried purposefully about seeing that all the silver, gold, and crystal was polished and gleaming. Every candle from simple sticks to those that lit the great chandeliers were replaced with fresh beeswax tapers. Tables were carried out into the gardens where supper would be served to the court. There were maids running to and fro setting the tables, and others who were set to washing, sweeping, and polishing. The guests would start to arrive in the late afternoon, and all must be in readiness.

Robin wanted this great fête to be especially enjoyable for Elizabeth Tudor. She had been a great friend of his father's, and for Robin's whole life, despite the constant battles of will she waged with his mother, England's queen had been his friend and his patroness also.

These last months had been filled with personal tragedy and trauma for the queen. She had finally had to admit to herself that her cousin Mary Stewart meant her serious harm. She had been forced to end that threat by ending Mary's life. It had not been an easy decision, and it was one that still haunted her.

Now her brother-in-law, Philip of Spain, had amassed a monstrous naval armada and was preparing to send it against England. From all reports, Spain's position was impregnable and they stood a good chance of conquering England. Still, the queen was determined that no foreign power would prevail over her kingdom. Recently she had avoided several assassination plots thanks to Sir Francis Walsingham's excellent secret service, but the strain was beginning to show. Tonight at least, thought the young Earl of Lynmouth, the queen can feel she is safe among friends, and enjoy herself.

Robin smiled as he gazed over his exquisite riverside gardens hung with lanterns that by evening would be twinkling like golden fireflies. The trees were filled with silver cages containing songbirds of various species. The tables were covered in snow white damask cloths with bright green silk runners, the Tudor colors. There were silver bowls filled with pink damask roses up and down the board. A musicians' gallery painted silver had been built in the center of the gardens so that everyone could easily hear the music, and Robin had hired a company of players to act in scenes depicting the great moments in the queen's reign to date. Master Marlowe, London's current favorite playwright, had written the sketches and would also perform in them. Robin had arranged with an Italian fireworks maker for a magnificent display of fireworks to delight the queen and her court at midnight. It would be a perfect evening.

"Oh, Robin, how beautiful you are!"

The earl turned and smiled warmly at his young sister. "Then you approve of my garb, poppet?" He was dressed in cream-colored velvets and silks embroidered with gold threads, small diamonds, pearls, and pale blue zircons. His golden blond hair was like his late father's in its silken texture and its natural wave. He wore it neatly cropped, but one recalcitrant lock fell over his forehead.

"May I return the compliment, Mistress de Marisco? Your gown is exquisite!" Robin's lime-green eyes sparkled with approval.

Velvet pirouetted proudly for him. "The gown was made at Queen's Malvern after I left and then sent on to London. I chose this fabric from the storage room."

Robin smiled. "You chose well, my dear," he said, and Velvet preened beneath his approving gaze.

It was indeed the most grown-up dress she had ever worn, and she was no longer uncomfortable with the very low neckline that fashion seemed to dictate these days. The gown was entirely made of topaz gold silk, the underskirt embroidered with copper threads, small freshwater pearls, and tiny topazes in a pattern of flowers and butterflies. The full sleeves were trimmed with gold lace at the wrists, and small, gold cloth bows were scattered up and down their fullness. There were matching bows strewn over her bell-shaped skirt. Her beautiful auburn hair had been dressed in an elegant chignon, and there were tiny gold bows decorating it.

"You have no jewelry," Robin noted.

"Only the pearl earbobs Mama and Papa sent me for my birthday," Velvet answered.

Robin signaled to one of his footmen. "Find Master Browne," he said, "and tell him I wish a single rope of black pearls for Mistress de Marisco."

"Oh, Robin! How can I thank you for the loan of such pearls? They will make me perfect, and so I should be, standing by your side, my lord Earl of Lynmouth."

"They are not a loan, Velvet. They are a gift. I did not send you a gift this year, or last year either for that matter, and never before have I forgotten your birthday."

Velvet kissed her brother's cheek. "You were mourning Alison, Robin, and there was no room in your heart for anything else. I knew that. We all did." Then she threw her arms about him and hugged him hard. "Thank you, dearest brother! The pearls will be a most wonderful present!"

"There, Will, have I not told you? Offer a wench a pretty bauble and she'll reward you with a kiss, or perhaps even more," came a mocking drawl.

The earl and Velvet stepped back from each other and turned to see who it was that spoke. Robin's face crinkled with pleasure at the sight of one of the two men who stood there.

"Damn me, Kit Marlowe, you haven't changed, have you? Still totally disrespectful of your betters, aren't you?"

"Aye, Robin Southwood, for I don't hold any of the gentry to be my betters. Who's the lass?"

"My youngest sister, Velvet de Marisco. Velvet, this scoundrel is Master Christopher Marlowe. Do not believe a word he utters, for he is a playwright, and worse, he is an actor."

The gentleman before them flashed them a blinding smile, a smile that was ivory white against his rather swarthy face. His eyes were like black cherries and sparkled with irreverence. "This is the second sister of yours I've met, and both have been beauties." He made Velvet an elegant leg, sweeping off his small, soft black cap with its rather jaunty feather. "Your slave for life, Mistress de Marisco. Ask what you will, and I will obey."

Velvet giggled. "I think you are rather mad, Master Marlowe," she replied, and he grinned again.

"Totally," he agreed, "but 'tis where my genius comes from."

"Introduce us to your friend, Kit," the earl commanded gently, noting that Marlowe's companion was hanging back, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

Without even looking, Marlowe reached casually back and drew forward his hesitant friend, a tall, slender man with a serious and sensitive face. "These country bumpkins," he lamented. "When they first come to London, they are so shy and meek, but within a year he'll be as irascible as I am, I guarantee. This is Will Shakespeare, newly come from Stratford-upon-Avon. Like me, he has pretensions of being a writer, but, for the moment, he's but a simple actor."

"I hope you will find London everything you dreamed it would be Master Shakespeare," said Robin graciously.

Will Shakespeare bowed politely, replying, "Thank you, my lord."

"This is my first time in London, too, Master Shakespeare," said Velvet, following her brother's lead in attempting to set the actor at his ease. "I am one of the queen's Maids of Honor."

"Until your parents return from a voyage and help you to celebrate your forthcoming marriage," Robin reminded his sister.

"Oh, bother my unknown betrothed, Robin Southwood!" Velvet said irritably. "I will not marry without love!"

"My lord, you sent for these pearls?" Master Browne was at their side, a small red morocco case in his hands.

"We'll see you later, Rob," Kit Marlowe said. "I hope that you'll enjoy the scenes I've written for the queen. Mistress de Marisco, keep your sweet and honest ideals. Come, Will!" Then he strode off with his companion by his side.

Robin reached out and took the proferred jewel case. "Thank you, Master Browne." He opened the case and lifted out the rope of smoky dark pearls, then handed the box back to the waiting man. "Give the box to my sister's tiring woman. I am gifting Mistress de Marisco with these pearls."

"Very good, my lord," said Master Browne. He bowed and backed away.

Robin held out the pearls. "For you, poppet, with many happy returns."

Velvet's flash of temper had quickly cooled, and she took the jewels her brother proferred, her beautiful green eyes round with delight. She looped the rope about her neck once and let the rest of it fall. It reached two thirds of the way down her stomacher. "How do they look?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Perfect," said her brother.

"But not half as lovely as you are, Mistress de Marisco," said Alexander Gordon as he joined them. Dressed in black velvet, there was an almost severe elegance about him.

Velvet's eyes swung between her brother and his friend. "You look like an archangel and Lucifer standing here together," she said softly.

"A comparison that has been made many times before, Mistress de Marisco," said Alex as he took her hand up and pressed a warm kiss upon it. His eyes glowed with a warmth that was both flattering and frightening.

Velvet took her hand back with what she hoped was not unseemly haste. "I think you might call me by my name, if my brother thinks it not too forward."

"I think it would be permissible," Robin said quietly.

"My lord, the guests are beginning to arrive," the majordomo announced.

"We will greet them here on the terrace leading to the gardens," replied Robin, and, nodding, the man went about his duties. "Some will come by the river and others by coach," Robin explained to his sister. "This is the middle ground between the two. Besides, Her Majesty will be coming from Whitehall on her barge, and I would be prompt in welcoming her."

It was as if some secret signal that could be heard only by the favored had been sounded. Suddenly the guests were arriving, one party quickly followed by another, coming from both the river and the road in a seemingly never-ending procession of brilliantly colored gowns, doublets, and jewelry, and of fragrances that ranged from the simplest to the overpowering. Velvet thought that her face would crack from the strain of smiling, and her cheeks began finally to ache. Her hand felt both limp and permanently damp from all the kisses it had received. As she stood there receiving her brother's guests, she realized for the first time in her life the responsibilities that her beautiful mother had carried in the days before her discreet banishment from court. She also knew that as the wife of a great lord these same responsibilities would one day be hers. It was not a position for a child; that realization gave Velvet some pause for thought.

Finally a cry rose from the edge of the gardens as the queen's barge was sighted coming around the bend in the river heading in toward the Lynmouth House landing. Taking his sister's hand, Robin made his way through the gardens and past his guests down to the quay. Seeing the brother and sister waiting to greet her, Elizabeth Tudor had an incredible sense of déjà vu. The young earl was without a doubt his late father's mirror image, and, although she had known Robin his whole life, it was never more apparent to her than now. Dear little Velvet reminded the queen of Skye, although she really didn't look that much like her mother. Yet there was something there. Perhaps it was that arrogant tilt of her proud, young head. For a moment Elizabeth felt that time had stood still. Seeing them standing there brought back to the queen memories of well over twenty years past, when her dear Angel Earl , Geoffrey Southwood, and his beautiful countess, her one-time friend, Skye, had reigned at Lynmouth House.

"Do you see it, Rob?" she demanded of the aging Earl of Leicester who accompanied her.

He knew instantly what she meant. "Aye," he answered. "There is a likeness."

"We are growing old, Rob," said the queen.

He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. "Nay, Bess. I am growing old, but you never shall."

She looked at him with a faintly cynical gaze, but then her gray-black eyes softened. They had been together a very long time, since they were children. They even shared the same birthday. She patted the hand that still held hers. "Do you know what young Southwood wrote to me this morning? He said that tonight I should be safe among only those who loved me. That I need not fear Spain." She laughed softly. "He is every bit the courtier that his father was, but he is not quite as tough as my Angel Earl yet. Then, Rob, I opened the dispatches that my secretary had brought to me, and, lo, I learned that the Spanish fleet is preparing to sail." She laughed again, this time more harshly. "Is it not ironic, my lord? This could be the last fête I ever attend as England's queen if King Philip has his way."

"Nay!" Robert Dudley answered her fiercely. "The Spanish will not prevail over England, Bess. The only chance they had was in Mary Stewart, but they persisted in encouraging her in her treasons and her deviltry. Now that she is dead, Catholic Englishmen will rally to no one but you. Given a choice between Bess Tudor, who has ruled them so wisely and so well all these years, and Philip of Spain, there is no choice." He kissed her hand again. "Spain persists in making this a religious crusade, but there is no such thing in this day and age."

The queen's barge gently bumped against the landing and was made fast by a Lynmouth footman. Elizabeth Tudor stood up, shaking the folds from her bright crimson gown. Before her on the quay Velvet was curtsying and the earl bowing. As he straightened up, Robin held out his hand and helped the queen from her vessel.

Then he kissed her beautiful hand, saying as he did so, "Welcome to Lynmouth House, Your Majesty!"

The queen smiled and looked fondly about her. "It has been many years since I was entertained here by a Southwood," she said. "I don't believe I have been here since your father's time. Everything is as lovely as I remember."

Offering the queen his arm, the earl escorted her from the quay up into the gardens where all her courtiers awaited her. The Earl of Leicester climbed from the boat and offered his arm to Velvet. She took it coolly, avoiding his bold gaze.

"Ah," he murmured softly, "your mama has undoubtedly told you about me, my pet. I regret that I was not at court when you came. I am Dudley."

"I am aware of your identity, my lord. If I do not look directly at you, it is because your gaze is far too intimate for so short an acquaintance. My mother has never spoken of you in my presence."

Her tone was somewhat severe, but the earl was not offended. Rather, it amused him, for she was so very young. He was somewhat put out that Skye had never mentioned him to her, but then considering his relationship with Lady de Marisco that was to be expected. "Are your parents still away?" he asked, moving to what he hoped was a safer subject.

"Yes, my lord. They are expected back by the autumn."

"Pity," said the Earl of Leicester thoughtfully. "We could use your mother's ships now against the Spanish."

Velvet's eyes came up sharply. "O'Malleys," she said, "do not involve themselves in politics."

"Are O'Malleys not loyal to the queen?" he demanded softly.

"I, my lord, am not an O'Malley, so how could I possibly know the answer to such a question? I am loyal to my lady godmother, and my parents are certainly loyal to the crown, but other than that I cannot say. After all, my lord, I am just a maiden newly come to court. I do not know the way of the world, having been protected from it all of my life."

Robert Dudley laughed harshly, then, stopping, took Velvet's chin in his hand, forcing her head up. "I would say, my pet, that though you're newly come to court you are learning most quickly. There is, I can see, a great deal of your mother in you."

She pulled away, her eyes blazing. "Sir, you take liberties!"

Dudley laughed again. "My pet, you haven't, I can see, the faintest idea of what liberties can involve. Alas, I am too old and sick now to initiate you, but there was a time, Velvet de Marisco, ah, yes, there once was a time." His voice died away.

"Ah, Steppapa! I should have known you would snatch the fairest lass away this evening, but you cannot have Velvet all to yourself! I am afraid that Wat and I have a previous engagement with the lady." The Earl of Essex stood before them, and Velvet's scowl smoothed into a smile.

"Scamp! Where have you been? The queen is already here! You are insufferably rude to be so late," she scolded him.

"The queen has already forgiven me, Velvet darling, and I should not have been late but that Wat was unhappy with the way his doublet had been made, and nothing would do until it was fixed. He is such a damned popinjay!"

"Since when are you and Ralegh such bosom friends?" demanded the Earl of Leicester.

"The threat of war and a beautiful woman makes strange bedfellows, Steppapa. By the way, where is my mother?"

"Lettice? Humph! Look for your friend, Christopher Blount, and there I will wager you will find your mother, simpering like a girl of seventeen, though she be past fifty," replied Dudley sourly.

"Mille mercis , Steppapa," said Essex brightly, and, snatching Velvet's hand, he pulled her away. "Come on, Velvet! There is dancing to do, and I must pay my respects to your brother."

"Please enjoy our hospitality, my lord," Velvet said to Dudley as she moved away.

The Earl of Leicester stood watching her go, a world-weary smile on his face, then moved off himself to join the queen. Elizabeth was surrounded by all her favorites, both old and new. Sir Christopher Hatton was saying something that obviously amused her very much, and even old Lord Burghley had a faint smile upon his severe face. There was Burghley's second son, Robert Cecil, who was being trained to be his father's successor if the old gentleman ever died. Walsingham was there, too. Leicester wondered what news his vast network of spies had brought about the Spanish fleet. The Bacon brothers, Anthony and Francis, were in the group along with the foppish and impossible Earl of Oxford. Conspicuously missing at the moment were Dudley's stepson Essex and Sir Walter Ralegh whom he could see across the gardens speaking with Velvet and young Southwood. Dudley pushed through the group surrounding the queen and moved to her side. Wordlessly the queen reached out and stroked his hand.

The late afternoon slipped into evening, a clear one, and warm for an English July. In the trees, the caged birds sang on, oblivious to the twilight because of the bright lanterns that bobbed gently in the faint breeze. An incredible array of foods was served up for the guests, who did more than justice to the Earl of Lynmouth's board. There were several sides of beef that had been packed in rock salt to preserve their juices while they turned over open spits. There were one hundred legs of baby lamb dressed with garlic and rosemary; sixty suckling pigs prepared in a sauce of honey, oranges, and black cherries, each holding a green apple in its mouth. The pigs had been roasted to a fine, juicy turn, their skins crackly and crisp. There were ducks and capons in a lemon-ginger sauce; sweet pink hams flavored with rare cloves and sauced in malmsey; salmon and trout on beds of cress decorated with carved lemons; and prawns cooked with white wine and herbs in silver dishes. Three fine deer also cooked over open fires, and there were pasties containing rabbit and small game birds. There were many platters, quickly eaten, of small and succulent crabs with dishes of pounded mustard, garlic, and vinegar in which to dip them, as well as other platters containing quail, partridge, and larks roasted golden and set in nests of green watercress.

Then there were dishes of artichokes from France, delicately braised and served with olive oil and a tarragon-flavored vinegar; large bowls of peas, honey-glazed carrots, lettuces, radishes, and small green leeks. Breads were in plentiful supply, along with tubs of butter and wheels of sharp English cheddar and soft Brie imported from Normandy. There were fresh cherries, peaches, early pears, and apples along with small individual bowls of late strawberries. There was creamy egg custard dusted with grated nutmeg, next to tiny cakes soaked in claret or sherry. There were large tarts of peach, apple, rhubarb, and strawberry accompanied by bowls of clotted cream. Wines, both red and white, as well as claret and beer were available to quench the guests' thirst.

As the company began to grow bored with the eating, Master Marlowe and his players appeared to entertain them with the scenes he had written depicting the various triumphs of Elizabeth Tudor's reign. The queen was shown as a kind, benevolent, and wise monarch. She preened visibly beneath the lavish flattery. It was a soothing balm to her troubled mind and spirit. Kit Marlowe and his players were applauded with great approval when they finished.

The night sky was now black satin studded with bright stars as the dancing began. Elizabeth Tudor loved to dance, and so Robin had chosen talented and tireless musicians to play for her as she would wear out many partners before the evening was done. Her host was her first partner, and Robin acquitted himself well. Sir Christopher Hatton, her lord chancellor, was the second chosen. It was said by those less than charitable that Sir Christopher owed his position to his dancing feet. It was not true. He might originally have brought himself to the queen's attention by cutting a better caper than most, but he was competent and able in his position as England's lord chancellor.

Velvet did not lack for partners. She enjoyed dancing as much as her godmother, the queen, did. She was naturally skilled, quick, and light on her feet. Finally, however, she was able to slip off to catch her breath, and, seemingly unobserved, she walked slowly down to the riverbank where the graceful, green willows grew, teasing the water with their delicate branches. It was the most exciting party she could ever remember attending, and being her brother's hostess made her the second most important woman here tonight. It was a heady experience for a young girl newly entered into society. Leaning back against a tree, she listened to the music coming, faintly from the garden and watched the moonlight that was now playing on the Thames.

"Come live with me, and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove." came the sudden murmur of a deep, masculine voice by her ear.

Velvet jumped and, turning, saw Kit Marlowe. "God's foot, Master Playwright, how you startled me."

Marlowe reached out to steady the girl whose foot, he noted, was perilously close to slipping off the mossy bank. Gently he drew her into the circle of his arms, smiling winningly down at her. "Careful, my love, you are near to falling." His arms tightened slightly. There was an almost untamed gypsy look to him, she thought.

Velvet felt her heart accelerate. It was very exciting to be held in such a close embrace, but there was something about Master Marlowe that made her nervous. He was far too bold for a respectable girl to tolerate. That thought gave her courage. "My thanks for your timely rescue, sir," she said sternly, "but had you not startled me 'twould not have been necessary. You may release me now."

The actor-playwright laughed softly. "What a prim little puss you play at being, mistress, but I know all about the queen's Maids of Honor. You're a merry bunch of jades, and eager for loving, cooped up as you are with such a strict mistress. Do you think you're the first of the queen's ladies I've ever approached?" His mouth dipped toward hers, but Velvet managed to avoid his intent, turning her head so that his lips wetly brushed the side of her neck.

She had wanted to be kissed, but not in this manner, and certainly not by this man. She shuddered with revulsion, but he mistook her emotion for budding passion and urged his suit onward over her very vocal protests.

"Sir, unhand me this instant! I shall inform my brother of your outrageous behavior!" She pressed her palms against his chest and pushed at him.

Marlowe laughed, delighted by what he considered her feigned resistance. "Damn me, you adorable wench, if you don't make me hotter to possess you with all your protesting!"

His knowledgeable fingers were undoing the laces of her bodice.

Velvet gasped with surprise, never realizing that a man would be so very bold with a maid. She could feel the night air on her bared breasts, and in that moment Marlowe, seeing her shock, took complete advantage of the girl, burying his face in her cleavage, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of her perfume. Velvet shrieked, extremely frightened and equally outraged as she struggled unsuccessfully against her attacker. She felt tears of frustration beginning to slip helplessly down her cheeks. Maddened by his lust, he attempted to force her down to the mossy bank, but just as maddened with her fear and the realization of what could happen to her, Velvet fought him wildly, trying to fend him off with flailing fists and sharp nails. Drawing in a breath, she tried to scream, but, seeing it coming, Marlowe put his hand over her mouth. Infuriated, Velvet bit him as hard as she could, and was rewarded with his yelp of pain as he pulled his bleeding hand away.

"You bit me, you little bitch!" he exclaimed, outraged. " 'Tis my writing hand, too!" He held the injured digit away from him, looking at it dramatically, as if he had been mortally wounded, yet his other hand still firmly held her captive.

"Release me this instant!" Velvet sobbed indignantly. "The queen shall hear of this, Master Marlowe. Release me!"

"I think not, mistress, for you now owe me, having injured me so grievously." His grip tightened again. "I shall have a sweet forfeit from you!"

"Damn me, Marlowe," drawled the amused voice of Alex Gordon as he stepped into view. "I had heard you were a ladies' man, but I did not think you would stoop to rape, and especially the sister of your host. Loose the lass, or I'll be forced to really injure your precious writing hand, perhaps even remove it entirely." Outwardly, Lord Gordon appeared calm, but inwardly he raged at this low, roguish fellow who dared to lay his hands upon BrocCairn property. Still, he had interrupted Marlowe in time, and instigating a brawl, even in defense of Velvet's honor, would not aid his case with the English queen.

"The jade lured me down here and then turned coy," the playwright proclaimed, but his arm dropped from around Velvet's waist.

Angrily, she pulled away from him. " 'Tis not so!" she cried. "I left the gathering for a moment's peace, and he followed me."

Alexander Gordon's amber eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked at Christopher Marlowe. "Your reputation for debauchery and dueling is well known, sir, but I doubt your career could stand another scandal, particularly as the queen is present. I suggest you leave quietly. Now!"

Marlowe digested Lord Gordon's words, and then laughed. "You're wiser than I, m'lord. Ah, well, no wench is really worth all that trouble." His black eyes snapped boldly as he took a final look at Velvet's half-bared bosom. Then, with a mocking bow, he turned and walked away.

There was a long silence, then as Alex moved before her, Velvet cried out in a frightened voice, "What are you doing?" His hands were on her bodice.

"Relacing you, my dear. I think that is the first order of business, lest someone stumble upon us and your reputation be compromised." His fingers skillfully redid her gown as she watched him with big eyes. When he had finished, he quietly gathered her into his arms and said, "Now you may cry, Velvet," and she did so, sobbing softly into the fabric of his doublet.

"I d-didn't lure h-him," she said, weeping. "I didn't."

"I know that, lass," he said. "He's a brilliant writer, but basically a low fellow. He has a terrible temper that will one day be the undoing of him, and a worse reputation where women are concerned. I have not a doubt that, seeing you slip away, he followed to take advantage of your innocence."

"I've never even been kissed," Velvet whispered.

"He wanted more than a kiss, lass. You know that , don't you?"

"Aye." She looked up at him for a moment, and then, lowering her eyes, blushed, embarrassed by his meaning.

"Surely you've run into this problem before, Velvet. At court, perhaps? What did you do then?"

"I have never been accosted so boldly, and certainly not at court. The queen does not appreciate gentlemen who tamper with her ladies, though I know there are those, both men and women, who brave her wrath for a tryst, a kiss, and a cuddle. I am not, however, one of them, and, besides, none would dare approach me in such a manner knowing my parents' fierce reputation." She had begun to feel better now, snuggled as she was in this big man's arms. "I am better protected than the Spanish infanta herself, my two stern duennas being Sir Walter Ralegh and the Earl of Essex." She chuckled, a small, merry sound that delighted him. "They have warned off all who would approach me in any less than a respectful manner."

Now Alex understood, and he shook his head in admiration. Velvet had a way about her that appealed to the gallant knight hidden in most men whose paths she crossed. They wanted to protect her even as he was now protecting her, as she had been protected all her life by her family. She was much too innocent to be at court. Tonight she had been lucky. He had been out walking to escape the crush for a moment when he had heard her cry for help, then Marlowe's yelp of pain, followed by a smothered oath. He had known instantly what was afoot. What he had not known was that the lady in distress was Velvet. What if he was not there the next time to rescue her?

Before he could seriously digest this thought, however, she, now fully recovered from her fright, said woefully, "I'm fifteen years old, and no one has ever kissed me. No one."

"You are betrothed, or so your brother tells me," Alex said cautiously.

"Aye, I am betrothed!" Velvet said fiercely. "Betrothed at five years of age to a man who didn't bother to acknowledge my presence until just a few weeks ago. For ten years he has ignored me, but now he suddenly finds himself the only male in his line, and he has written to say he is coming to marry me so that he may immediately beget sons!"

"He obviously finds himself in a difficult position, Velvet," began Alex.

"He finds himself in a difficult position?" Her voice dripped scorn. "What of me? My parents promised me that I should never have to marry without love. But they are away! Will a man who has never had the delicacy to even remember my birthday consider that I do not want to marry a perfect stranger, and particularly not without my mother and father by my side? I strongly doubt it!"

"Is that why you came to court?" he asked, knowing the answer she would give; what her brother had dared not say to him.

"Aye! I'm safe from this unknown, unwanted betrothed of mine with the queen. When my parents return, the matter will then be settled for good and all."

"Yet the gentleman is within his rights wanting the marriage now, Velvet."

"I'll wed no one until my parents return, and I'll wed no man unless I love him!" she repeated firmly. Then she cocked her head and looked up at him. "Let us speak no longer about this unpleasant matter, but rather let us speak of how I may go about getting my first kiss. You are a man, Alex, and you are surely far more sophisticated than I am. Tell me, then, how does a maiden encourage a gentleman to kiss her?"

"Velvet, lass," he protested, " 'tis not a thing you should be discussing with a man."

"Why not?" she demanded. "Every one of the queen's maids has been kissed but me. Why does no one want to kiss me?" She stared up at him and he was hard put to answer her. It gave him secret pleasure to know that whether she realized it or not, she belonged to him. It delighted him to know that no man had yet tasted of her sweetness. But then, as he basked in his smugness, it occurred to him that she was suddenly very ripe for loving, and if he did not pluck her then someone else was going to brave Elizabeth Tudor, Walter Ralegh, and Robert Devereux to possess Velvet de Marisco.

"The first kiss is a very special one," he said reflectively. "It should be given by someone of experience."

"You are qualified, I am certain of it," she said softly.

"Are you asking me to kiss you, Velvet?"

"Should I have to?" she countered, then blushed again.

He laughed low, suddenly realizing that their entire conversation had taken place while she stood within the protective circle of his arms. Drawing her closer with one hand, he gently raised her chin with the other so that she looked him full in the face. "No, Velvet lass, you don't have to ask me to kiss you. 'Tis something I've been wanting to do ever since I first laid eyes upon you."

He lowered his head, and Velvet's heart seemed to leap from her chest as his golden gaze captured her emerald one. Slowly his mouth descended to meet with hers, and her stomach knotted and reknotted in a half-fearful, half-pleasured frenzy of excitement. Unbidden, her eyes closed, and she shivered with delight as his lips came down over hers in that first tender embrace. For a moment Velvet wasn't sure that she was breathing, almost certain that she was perishing as the strength drained from her limbs. Her arms reached up to cling to him, and he pulled her closer against him.

Alex had never known a woman's mouth to be so pliant, so tender. He had been gentle at first, but when she showed neither fright nor resistance his kiss deepened until finally her lips softened and parted beneath his. He shivered with his rising ardor and realized that it was his responsibility to cease their embrace now before it went any further. Reluctantly he drew his head back and looked down into her pale oval face. Slowly her eyes opened and she gazed up at him.

A smile lit his eyes, and he gently touched her cheek. "I hope it was a satisfactory first kiss, Velvet," he said quietly.

Struggling to stand on her own again, she nodded silently at him. It was not necessary to say anything, for he could see her eyes had darkened with her awakening passion. She took several deep breaths that seemed to clear her befuddled brain.

Noting that she was regaining her equilibrium, Alex said calmly, "When you are ready, I shall escort you back to the festivities, Velvet."

Finally she managed to find her voice again. "Is it always like that?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"So …" She struggled for the correct word. "So tempestuous!"

He was charmed by her honesty. "I cannot say what a female feels, Velvet, but for me our kiss was tempestuous also. You are a very sweet lass." Then, taking her hand, he began to draw her back through the gardens to where the others were still dancing.

"Will you want to kiss me again?" she surprised him by asking.

He stopped and, taking her by the shoulders, looked down at her, somewhat concerned. "Yes, I will kiss you again, Velvet, but you must promise me something in return."

"What?"

"I would prefer that you did not go about asking other gentlemen to kiss you also."

"Do you fear for my reputation, my lord, or is it that I am not expert enough in kissing yet?" she demanded saucily.

"Both." He grinned, amused by her pertness.

Velvet chuckled. "I like you, Alexander Gordon," she said. "Will you be my friend as well as Robin's?"

"Aye, lassie, I'll be your friend." He felt warmth suffuse through him at her words. Robin had been right in making him wait. Velvet liked him! Soon he would teach her to love him.

"I'll kiss no one else but you, Alex," she said softly. "At least not until I'm good at this kissing," she amended with a laugh.

Alex noted that Robert Devereux eyed him somewhat jealously as they returned to the gathering. The Earl of Essex saw with rising irritation that Velvet's cheeks were pinker than normal and that her mouth had a sudden lushness about it. Moving next to Lord Gordon, he murmured in a low voice, "You know that the queen frowns upon those who trifle with her ladies, my lord. Besides, the girl is betrothed."

"I am aware of all that, my lord earl," was Alex's calm reply. "Remember, I am a friend of Velvet's brother, and I would not strain that friendship by harming his sister. The lass is safe in my company."

"God's foot!" exploded Velvet. "You are worse than a parent, Scamp. Considering your own reputation with the ladies, this constant defense of my virtue becomes burdensome! I came to court to have some fun before I must settle down and become an old married woman! I will have no more of this watchdogging from you!"

"I only seek to protect you from those who would despoil your character and reputation," said Essex sulkily.

Velvet instantly felt contrite since she knew that the man she called Scamp, one of England's most powerful courtiers, was a true and good friend to her.

"I know that," she said, "but sometimes you are overly diligent, dear Scamp. Lord Gordon is to me as you and Wat are. He is my friend, and I am glad of it." She put her hand on Essex's arm. "Come now and let us find some refreshment. I am being a bad hostess, and Robin will be most put out with me."

Essex, immediately restored to his good humor by her gentle wheedling, allowed himself to be led off.

Walter Ralegh smiled at Alexander Gordon. "She is a most winning maid, isn't she, my lord earl?"

Alex stiffened. "Sir," he began, "I think you mistake me for someone else."

"Nay," replied Ralegh. "I have a memory for name and titles. You are the Earl of BrocCairn, Velvet's betrothed husband, and she doesn't know it, does she?"

Since denial would have been useless, Alex simply replied, "Nay, she does not. Her brother and I felt it would make things easier if we could become friends without the strain of our betrothal standing between us."

Ralegh nodded. "She had never met you, then?"

"She was five the last time I saw her."

Ralegh stared. "In ten years' time you have not seen the girl? I realize that you live in the north, Lord Gordon, but don't you think in all those years you could have spared some time to see Velvet? Now I understand her reluctance."

Alex flushed. "I spend a great deal of time in France and Italy; and then there were small errands to perform for my king; and my father needed me. The time seemed to slip by so quickly. My father's dying wish was that I marry Velvet and perpetuate our family."

"So," remarked Walter Ralegh dryly, "good son that you were, you hurried to do your father's bidding without so much as a thought for the maid's feelings in the matter. You've not a great deal of tact about you, have you my lord?"

"Nay." Alex grinned somewhat ruefully. "Robin has taken me greatly to task about it. I'm afraid I allowed my grief for my father to rule my common sense when I sent the message south demanding my bride. Now I shall have to work all the harder to win Velvet over before I dare to tell her who I am."

"I'm going to reveal your identity to the queen," Sir Walter said. "In order to woo Velvet, you will need her cooperation. She guards her maids jealously, but if she knows that your suit is an honorable one, and that you have the right, she will subtly aid you. You can have no better friend than Elizabeth Tudor, nor a worse enemy."

"What of Essex?"

"Robert Devereux is a young hothead," Ralegh said quietly. "Normally he and I have little to do with one another. There is no need for him to know who you really are, Lord Gordon. He could easily in a temper give you away and cause damage without meaning to do so. Robert is not deliberately thoughtless, but he is thoughtless nonetheless. Let me go and speak to the queen now, and then with her permission I shall introduce you to Her Majesty." Walter Ralegh moved off, and Alex went to find his host.

Ralegh slipped easily into the circle about the queen, working his way cautiously through the press until he was next to her. The queen was listening to a rather clever story being told by one of her favorite young men, Anthony Bacon, but, as always, she saw everything that went on about her. Quietly she slipped her arm through Ralegh's and gave him a smile without ever turning her attention from young Bacon.

"I need a moment in private," he said softly in her ear, and she nodded her assent.

When the storyteller had done with his tale, which was greeted with pleased laughter, the queen began to move off through the gardens still holding Ralegh's arm. Behind her the gentlemen followed until she turned and said coquettishly, "Keep your distance, sirs, for I wish to be alone with my Water." Then she walked on, the disappointed courtiers now well behind them and out of hearing.

"Thank you, madame," Sir Walter said.

"What is it you would beg of me this time, sir? I often ask myself if you will ever stop being the beggar," the queen teased him.

"I shall stop being a beggar when you stop being so generous, madame," he quickly riposted, and the queen laughed heartily.

"God's nightshirt, Wat-er, you are quick!" Then she grew serious again. " 'Tis not the Spanish threat, is it? Dear God, not another plot!"

"Nay, dearest lady," he hastened to reassure her. "What I have to tell you is a love story in which Your Majesty could play an important role toward arranging a happily-ever-after ending for the lovers involved." Then Ralegh explained the situation between Velvet and the Earl of BrocCairn, being very careful to ensure that the queen did not suspect that Velvet had begged for her position as a Maid of Honor only to escape Alex.

As he spoke, Elizabeth Tudor's face softened. She had grown extremely fond of Velvet in the few weeks she had known her. The child was bright, amusing, and generally loveable without being one of those sickly sweet misses who annoyed her so. The queen could understand Velvet's fright at being told that a stranger was coming to wed her and carry her off, especially with her beloved parents half a world away. She was young and eager for the joy of living, and she should have some pleasures before settling to become a man's charge for the rest of her life.

The queen knew that her own lot and the fates of the few independent women in her realm were rare. Most women belonged to their fathers until they were wed, and afterwards they belonged to their husbands. Elizabeth Tudor knew better than most what a man's power over a woman could be. She had seen her father destroy so many women. Only two of her stepmothers, Anne of Cleves and Catherine Parr had escaped Henry Tudor. The princess of Cleves had willingly agreed to a divorce, and thus avoided the fate of Elizabeth's own mother, Anne Boleyn. Queen Catherine Parr had only avoided an unhappy end by outliving Henry Tudor. Yes, Elizabeth understood well a woman's position in relation to the men of this world.

Still, as represented by Ralegh, the Earl of BrocCairn did not appear to be a bad fellow, and Velvet was eventually going to have to marry him. The betrothal was a firm agreement made many years prior and approved by Lord and Lady de Marisco. That the Scots earl had come to London to woo Velvet greatly weighed in his favor with the queen. There was, however, no reason why he could not wait until her parents returned to wed the bride. It would allow Velvet her interval at court while at the same time preserving the legalities of the situation, and that seemed a good solution to the queen.

"Let me meet this gentleman, Wat-er." The queen loved giving the broad Devonshire accent to Walter Ralegh's name. She called most of those close to her by pet names. Leicester was her Eyes; Hatton, Lids; Cecil, Spirit.

"I will fetch him directly to Your Majesty!"

"Nay, send one of the others. You stay with me," she commanded.

Ralegh turned to the other gentlemen who were following at a discreet distance. "Bacon," he called, "the queen requests that you fetch Lord Gordon. He is the Earl of Lynmouth's houseguest. A rather tall fellow with a craggy face."

"An interesting description," observed the queen. "Is he then so rocklike, this Scotsman?"

"He has a rather handsome face that appears to have been carved from the granite of the Highlands itself," replied Ralegh. "I've not a doubt the ladies of the court will all vie for his favor."

"Hmm," said Elizabeth Tudor.

"He knows nothing of fashion, however," Ralegh continued. "His garb is woefully plain."

The queen chuckled, then stepped back to let her eyes play over Sir Walter Ralegh's peacockish finery. His doublet was embroidered in so many gold beads, pearls, and topazes that the queen could barely see any fabric. Ralegh was indeed the fashion plate of her court, and it was said he would have made his tailor a wealthy man by now if only he would pay his bills.

"Wat-er," she said, "there is no one ever come to my court who could hold a candle to you for style. I doubt not your earl will well suit me, however, and all the shameless jades of my court, too. They will be mightily disappointed to find his attention is for my godchild, Velvet, alone."

They chatted lightly for the next few minutes with all the familiarity of old and good friends. Then suddenly the queen's attention was taken by the sight of Anthony Bacon returning in the company of a wonderfully attractive gentleman. The Scots earl, she thought, and had a moment's regret that she was not a simple maid like Velvet. How nice to be courted seriously for one's self. Bacon and his companion reached her, and Elizabeth Tudor shook off her self-pity to assess frankly the young man.

Her gaze was direct and frank, and she liked what she saw.

She was not impressed by his outward good looks, but rather by what she glimpsed in his serious amber eyes. There she saw steadiness, loyalty, and reliability. His big hands with their elegant, long fingers were the strong hands of a horseman, not of some soft fop. What she liked best, however, was the fact that he met her piercing gaze without flinching. Elizabeth Tudor instinctively trusted a man who could look her in the eye, and few could, or dared.

"Madame," said Ralegh, "may I present to you the Earl of BrocCairn, Alexander Gordon, the gentleman of whom I spoke."

"You are welcome to my court, my lord," said the queen quietly. "How is it with my young cousin, James of Scotland?"

"I cannot give you a firsthand account, madame," said Alex, "for I choose not to frequent the Stewart court. My family's business interests keep me at Dun Broc or in Aberdeen, but I have heard that the king is well." So this was the woman who had ordered Mary Stewart's death, thought Alex. How different the two women were, though he had never met the late Scots queen. His opinion stemmed only from what his father had told him.

Angus Gordon had been intensely loyal to his half sister, Mary Stewart, but he had thought her rash, a woman ruled by her emotions, not her intellect. When he had learned of her death just before his own, he had shaken his head wearily, saying, "It was bound to come to this in the end—but hold no grudges against England's queen, Alex, my son. Scotland will be the final victor, for 'tis Mary's son who will one day rule England."

Now, as Alex mouthed civilized words to Elizabeth Tudor, he realized that he harbored no ill feelings toward her. Rather he sensed a magnificent intelligence and a sharp wit housed within her frail body, and he knew he was going to like her very much.

The queen took his arm and they began to walk along a torchlit path. "Tell me, when were you betrothed to my godchild, my lord?" she said quietly.

"It was the summer of her fifth year, madame. I came with my late father down from Dun Broc to Queen's Malvern. My father and Adam de Marisco had been boyhood friends in France. It was their hope that this marriage would unite our families. When my father passed away, I found myself the sole surviving male in my family, and I realized that I must marry at once. I sent word to Lord de Marisco, but he was away. Lord Bliss opened my message and informed Velvet of her impending marriage. I'm afraid she was most put out."

The queen chuckled. "And fled to me," she remarked wryly.

"Aye, she fled me," he admitted. "I must admit to feeling extremely chagrined by her conduct, madame, and I can assure you that she has dealt my pride a hard blow. Nonetheless, I believe if Velvet could learn to know me, perhaps she would not fear our marriage so greatly. I do want her to be happy, madame."

"I think that my godchild will be fortunate in her husband, my lord," Elizabeth said quietly. "Very well, sirrah! You may court the maid with my permission, and I shall not reveal your secret to anyone. I see the wisdom in the plan devised by you and Robin Southwood. In the short time I have known Velvet, I have learned that she is indeed stubborn. It is better that she come to know Alexander Gordon for himself and not resist him merely because he is BrocCairn. I will, however, give Velvet one small advantage. I will not release her from my service until Lord and Lady de Marisco return. The latest news has them arriving some time in the autumn. I think you might wait until then to claim, and to bed, your bride."

Alex stopped, and, turning to face the queen, he caught her hand up and raised it to his lips. "I am grateful, madame," he said.

She smiled at him, and for a brief moment he saw the young girl inside the aging woman. Then, offering her his arm, they strolled in the beautiful midsummer gardens of Lynmouth, and he made Elizabeth Tudor forget for a few short minutes the terrible Spanish threat that hung not only over her beloved England, but over her own frail person.