Snow Raven (36 page)

Ran smiled at the memory of their far too few nights together. Merry was an innocent in many ways, but no husband could complain about her enthusiasm. If only he could love her as she deserved to be loved, Ran did not doubt his English rose would flourish beyond the dreams of the practical and poets alike.

* * *

MERRY REALIZED AFTER TWELFTH Night, she had little excuse to linger in London, but the thought of returning to Scotland and further humiliation at the hands of a man who did not, would not, ever love her was far more daunting. If there was one thing every Tanner had in ample measure, it was pride. Ran had promised to care for her, respect her, but suddenly it was not enough anymore. She watched true lovers at Court, heard the romantic tales again of Raleigh defying the queen for love of Bess Throckmorton, and Dudley for Lettice Knollys, and decided she deserved as much. In truth, the fear of rejection was just as daunting as the reality. She could not compete with a ghost, nor Ran’s sacrosanct memories of Blair. She did not even wish to try.

Her quiet dignity and single-minded devotion to the queen was oft remarked upon now, for Lady Lindsay was accounted uncommonly subdued. Formerly Merry had led the maids-of-honor in all sorts of mischievous outings and outrageous deeds, though always stopping short of serious consequences. Marriage had lent her a grave air in some fashion, this remarked upon with admiration by Elizabeth, and regret by her former companions.

Merry still danced upon occasion, but rarely, and preferred the position of onlooker to that of participant. She could not have explained herself why she withdrew from the festivities, except it offered ample excuse to avoid Sir Jasper and Lady Rich, the latter who seemed to have taken it upon herself to torture Merry whenever occasion arose. If Essex had been petty and cruel, his beautiful sister was crueler yet, her mocking smiles and dismissive looks calculated to humiliate Merry whenever their paths crossed. Lady Penelope had never forgiven Merry for snatching Gilbert Lindsay away from her predatory aims; she was unaccustomed to being denied anything, especially the company of any man she chose.

One evening, the queen specifically requested Merry’s presence at a minstrel and musical performance. Elizabeth Tudor was skilled upon the virginals, and oft accompanied her Court musicians. Previously Merry had served as Mistress of the Music, a position which entailed little more than turning pages for Her Grace and keeping the musical score in order. The queen expressed dissatisfaction with Merry’s replacement, and wished a competent hand for the critical performance. Given little chance to demur, Merry appeared in a simple but fine raiment, an emerald-green brocade gown embroidered with the figures of the nine Muses in gilt thread. She could hardly hope to compete with Elizabeth’s magnificence, for the queen had no less than three thousand robes, in every conceivable fashion and material ranging from cut velvets to butterfly-thin silks, all with requisite trim like exquisite ruffs and jeweled purpoints.

For her debut in the musical version of Spenser’s Faerie Queene, Elizabeth wore a gown of silver tissue trimmed with pearls, small diamonds sewn across the full skirts in a starburst pattern, a larger stone nestled on her bosom in a frill of silver lace. To complete the ethereal look, she fancied a white velvet cape which flowed fully a pace behind, trimmed with pale blue and silver braid and fastened with a sapphire clasp. When seated at the keyboard, her cape was so heavy several maids-of-honor were summoned to hold up the ends and relieve the burden of weight from the queen’s shoulders and effectively permit her full range of movement.

Courtiers and ladies politely gathered round for the performance. Among the flock was Sir Jasper, though Merry did not see Lady Rich at his side. After the musical, the queen retired to her throne, resting and listening to the minstrels sing, “The Silver Swan.” Elizabeth nodded off during the rendition, and Sir Jasper seized opportunity. Merry stiffened warily at his approach, but dared not make a public spectacle.

“Well met, milady Lindsay,” Sir Jasper began, lifting her hand and brushing it against his lips. Merry nodded but did not feign any warmth. He smiled and held her hand a moment longer than necessary. “I see you have not yet forgiven me for the little faux pas of Twelfth Night. Perforce my regrets must follow me forevermore.”

“There is no need for dramatics, Sir Jasper,” Merry coolly replied. “Lest you seek position among the queen’s fools, and then I should be pleased to recommend you.”

Sir Jasper inclined his head at her cut. “No less than deserved, my dear.” He had adopted a more masculine appearance of late, exchanging pastel satins for jewel-toned velvets and fur-trimmed surcoats and cloaks. His topaz outfit was trimmed with scrimshaw buttons, with a faintly naval flair. It was still fashionable to imitate the late Sir Francis Drake. A pouch and ornate dagger hung from his belt, and he struck an affected pose that might have awed any woman but Merry.

“Alas, I must inquire after Lord Lindsay,” Sir Jasper said. “Have you heard from your husband of late?”

Merry regarded him warily. “Why?”

“’Tis but a simple yea or nay I require, milady. Have you?”

She considered lying, but suspected Wickham had several well-placed spies. “Nay.”

“Ah, ’tis as I suspected. Doubtless he has been too busy … with other concerns.”

Something in his hesitant, yet suggestive manner provoked her curiosity. “What have you heard, Sir Jasper?”

He shook his head, stroked his pointed beard as if wrestling with his conscience. “Nasty gossip, no doubt. I should not have troubled you with it, m’dear. Besides, you are far from Scotland and such petty disputes now. ’Tis advisable you remain so.”

“What have you heard?”

His eyebrow arched at her emphatic demand. He sighed with dramatic flair. “You would force m’hand, I see. Very well. There has been trouble on my lands, in my absence. Someone has availed themselves not only of Braidwood cattle, but left outbuildings aflame, a parting blow.”

“You immediately assumed ’tis Ranald.” Merry regarded him with a challenging air.

“Not at first, nay. I truly believed our disagreement settled when I left Auchmull. I vowed to avoid your lord husband at all costs and have managed it admirably well, I believe. Nor am I the only one who has suffered at the hands of this mysterious villain. English strongholds up and down the border are reporting smash-and-grab assaults, though my properties appear hardest hit.

“This has been going on for nearly a fortnight, on a nightly basis. There are some who have reported glimpses of the man, though ’tis fleeting. Instead of a band of reivers, he operates alone, making it harder to track his movements, or trap him in the act of committing such crimes.”

Merry shook her head, denying the possibility, while at the same time her innards churned with fear. She had to admit, Ran had more than enough motive to hurt Sir Jasper. If his previous hatred was not enough, the proof she had flung at him during their confrontation was enough to engender the sort of burning resentment which might well explode into flames of vengeance now.

She looked at Sir Jasper levelly. “I fail to see what you expect me to do, sirrah. Ran has no obligation toward me, nor would he necessarily tell me the truth if I asked him.”

“Aye, I realized as much myself. That is why I did not care to trouble you. ’Tis but a word of warning you might pass on, if you should hear from Lord Lindsay, because such incidents must needs be reported to the queen very soon. I have abstained till now, for fear of incurring your further resentment when I have sought amends for previous wrongdoing.”

Merry was silent a moment. “You must do as you see fit,” she said at last.

“Aye, milady. I fear I must.”

Chapter Thirty-One

SHORTLY BEFORE CANDLEMAS, MERRY received urgent word from her Uncle Kit at Court. She had retired to Ambergate for the holiday, her first relief from serving the queen since she arrived. Her peaceful retreat was shattered with the news: a border warrant had been issued by Elizabeth against Ranald Lindsay. The raids had not ceased since Sir Jasper’s complaint, but rather increased in frequency and severity until other border lords began clamoring for royal justice. The evidence mounting against Ran was serious enough that his identity was no longer in question. The Wolf of Badanloch was legendary enough in the north; accusations of outlawry seemed less outrageous than the idea he had settled down peaceably for the winter.

Hearing this, Merry flew back to Court with the intent of pleading the queen’s ear, but Elizabeth was indisposed with her Privy Council and no immediate recess was in sight. While she was there, a message came from Lady Rich. Merry considered tossing it out, but curiosity got the better of her and she read it. It was an invitation, rather a plea couched in flowery language, asking “the honorable Lady Lindsay” to attend Essex House as soon as possible. Merry puzzled over the message, as she knew Lady Rich bore her no lost love. Perhaps it was another jest, a second chance to mock an abandoned wife?

In the end, reason prevailed over paranoia and Merry went to Essex House. Lady Rich had stayed in her brother’s residence during his Irish campaign, doubtless for its convenience to Court. Merry was admittedly impressed by the elegant residence, famed for its lavish entertainments. The powerful charm of the siblings who held sway over courtly events was based here, and she drank in the aura of the richly foiled hall while she waited for Penelope.

She was studying a Hilliard of the famous beauty herself when Lady Rich appeared. The two women greeted each other civilly, but Merry’s attention was immediately drawn to the greenish and purple tinges beneath the brunette’s exotic eyes. Lady Rich smiled wryly.

“Now y’see why I have not attended Court of late, Lady Lindsay.”

Merry was still reeling with shock. “Pray tell, who did this to you?” She was horrified by the bruises; though fading now, it was clear Penelope had been beaten recently, and quite severely.

“Wickham. ’Tis fortunate I did not lose more than a tooth, and that from a remote place which shall not permanently mar my looks.” Lady Rich gingerly touched her jaw. She understood Merry’s dazed state quite well. “Aye, I did not believe it myself at first, until he came at me in a sudden rage, and boxed me fiercely. Then he slammed me against a wall, struck me several times and later raped me on the floor.” She gestured casually to a Turkish carpet of forest green, crimson and white before the hearth, and Merry shuddered.

“I am so sorry. What triggered the rage, d’you know?”

“Yea. ’Twas the night of the masque. We came back here after you left. I was still garbed as the first Lady Lindsay.”

Merry gasped. “Blair! You looked like Blair …” It made a terrible, ironic sort of sense, even though Penelope did not deserve to suffer physical abuse at Sir Jasper’s hands.

“Aye, and Jasper was drunk. Fearfully so.” Lady Rich stroked her bruised cheek and shivered at the memory. “I remember, we were laughing. Jasper was pleased by the success of his cruel charade and I had found it amusing also; after all, you had rescued your innocent brother-in-law from my lusty clutches with great success.” She smiled with a trace of irony. “Anyhow, we kept drinking, and I proposed a playful romp, never suspecting my attire might rouse the beast in the man.”

Merry briefly closed her eyes, nodding. She feared she knew the rest of the story already. Lady Rich confirmed her suspicions that Sir Jasper and Blair had been lovers; the drunken man muttered filthy phrases during their rutting, alternately laughed at Ran for being a cuckold, and cursed “Blair” for her stupidity in getting her belly up again.

Apparently the two had been lovers before she wed Ran; there was mention of timely fortune in losing another babe. Sickened, Merry sank down into a chair as Lady Rich continued the tale. She trembled with indignation for Ran, felt disgusted and outraged over Blair’s actions.

“Why tell me this?” Merry asked the woman.

Lady Rich shrugged. “I do not know. At first I did not care; I bear the Lindsays no loyalty, and Jasper has been a generous benefactor. I even found the notion of him with another woman titillating. Alack, he started acting very oddly, threatening me. ’Twould seem Lady Blair was blackmailing him with her belly, doubtless saying she would go to her husband if he did not comply with her demands for more money and favors.”

Merry nodded; now it made sense why Blair had gone to Braidwood—she was determined to wrest something more from her wealthy lover. Darra was right, it was no coincidence at all. A saintly Blair was not innocently wandering the heather-clad hills, collecting herbs; the sly wench was meeting Wickham, demanding accounts due. Her death was still certainly suspect, judging by Lady Rich’s bruises, but Merry was sure Ran would have demanded further investigation if Blair’s body had shown any sign of abuse. Therefore, Sir Jasper was guilty of nothing at this juncture except adultery, and men were hardly held accountable as women were. Going to the queen was a mixed call.

Lady Rich saw Merry’s distress, and in a surprising gesture reached out and hugged the younger woman. “Count your blessings you did not marry Jasper, my dear,” she said. “Else I shudder at the image of your lovely face and body. He was quite thorough in his abuse.”

Merry returned the hug, sensing Penelope was sincere. She might never like the woman, or approve of her morals, but she knew Devereux’s sister was genuinely distressed by Wickham’s behavior. So was she. Whatever had led Blair to the villain’s bed, and kept her cuckolding Ran, was no excuse for Sir Jasper’s foul nature. The challenge yet remained, whether she should approach the queen. Or Ran. Not that the latter would believe her even now, for any who rocked Blair’s pedestal suffered the consequences … in spades.

* * *

MERRY NEVER FOUND OPPORTUNITY for confrontation. Nor did she need to, for Sir Jasper brought matters to a head within days. For some time, he had exceeded the queen’s Chancellor Sir Christopher Hatton in his obsequious fawning over the throne’s occupant, offering much amusement to the worldlier courtiers who saw through his disguise.