The Hawk and the Dove (7 page)

Hawkhurst and Drake sat on the balcony of the Grapes in Narrow Street. It jutted out over the Thames, affording them a clear view of the river and its traffic.

“I can confirm the rumors of Philip’s Great Armada. It is being built at Cadiz,” said Hawkhurst in low tones.

“Of course! Cadiz is so well hidden,” said Drake, his eyes flashing with the intensity of his feelings for the subject. “I scouted the Bay of Biscay from San Sebastian to La Coruña, then all down the coast of Portugal to Lisbon, and found nothing!”

“Philip is raping Mexico and Peru of silver and gold and is pouring it into ships to conquer England.”

“Have you told the queen?” asked Drake.

Hawkhurst shook his head. “Pointless, Francis. You know she has a woman’s fear of war and accuses us of inciting Philip’s hatred for our own glorification. Essex gets the full force of her wrath each time he brings up the subject of war. She disassociates herself from our pirating Spanish treasure, pretending ignorance of our actions, though she is quick enough to hold out her hand for the profits.”

Drake nodded his agreement. How many times had he argued with Elizabeth until he was blue in the face? All to little or no avail. “We’d do better to furnish the information to Walsingham and Cecil,” he said decisively.

Hawkhurst inwardly blanched at the mention of the queen’s secretary, Walsingham, then replied, “You see Walsingham and I’ll talk with Cecil.”

The two men operated quite differently. Hawkhurst believed you should always cloak your real desires, think twice before you spoke a word, and never ask directly for what you wanted, while Drake, the son of a country parson, was respectably married and honest and open to a fault. On the other hand, he was a genius at sea and Hawkhurst would choose his company over any other
when a Spanish man-of-war was firing cannonballs up your arse!

A Hawkhurst merchant ship arrived in London bringing messages from Georgiana and his brother Matthew, urging him to return to Devonport with all possible speed. He had accomplished so much in the quick trip to London that he felt he could afford to quit the court for a short time, and dusk that day saw him and the baron saddled up for the long ride to Devonport, almost two hundred miles across country.

They rested a few hours only after the first hundred miles was behind them and reached Devonport House in the middle of the night. He had arrived barely in time to see his father breathe his last labored breaths, and by the time the red fingers of dawn reached up from the sea toward the sky, he was the new Lord Devonport.

With his usual energy he saw to the details of the burial and the comforting of his mother, and made the myriad decisions concerning their shipping empire. Along with the title, he had inherited the queen’s lieutenantship for Devon, which meant he was responsible for supplying foodstuffs to the navy and overseeing musters of all able-bodied men between sixteen and sixty in case war broke out.

Shane knew the first thing he must do was appoint a deputy lieutenant in his stead and toyed with the idea of bestowing the honor upon Matthew, but finally he appointed a younger brother of his father’s, another Hawkhurst and one of his best captains. He had other tasks for Matthew at the moment, and the sooner he laid the plan before his brother the better, for the days were galloping toward June fifteenth.

He invited Matthew to dine with him in Devonport’s
east wing, and his younger brother was sorely disappointed that Larksong was nowhere in evidence. The two men had large appetites and Shane let Matthew enjoy the hearty food before broaching his subject. Then he settled his brother with a large brandy and deemed him to be in a pliant mood.

“I’m transferring ownership of the
Devon Rose
to you, Matt. You’ve had command of her for over a year, so now she’s yours.”

Matt’s eyebrows rose in surprise. His father would never have taken a ship from the family company and given outright ownership of it to a family member, son or no. Shane had had to purchase his ships (or steal them), for none had been given to him.

“It’s time you started making money for yourself as well as for the family.”

“How can I thank you?” asked Matt, delighted with his good fortune.

“Well, there is something I need you to do for me, Matt.”

“Name it!” offered Matt wholeheartedly.

“I’m to be married June fifteenth to a young woman from Cheltenham. I want you to go up there and take care of all the details for me.”

Matt let out a whoop. “God’s teeth, you’re a dark horse! When did you meet her? How long has this been going on? I’m honored to be your groomsman. When do we leave?”

“We don’t,” said Shane shortly. “I’m commanded back to court in a few days time. I want you to go up there and marry her by proxy.” He observed his brother’s reaction through half-closed eyes.

“You’re jesting!” said Matt with disbelief.

“Not for a moment,” said Shane smoothly. “The young woman I am to marry is Sara Bishop; her stepfather is a reverend of the English church. The legal marriage contracts have been drawn up by Jacob Goldman and signed by all parties. You will simply marry her in my name. All quite legal and binding, I assure you.”

Matt whistled through his teeth. “Christ Almighty, you’re being cool about this. Do you mean to say you’ve never even seen her?”

“Nor do I intend to. After the ceremony you will convey her to Blackmoor Hall, where she will reside, and I will have fulfilled my promise to Sebastian. It is a simple legal arrangement.”

“Blackmoor?” Matt gasped. “You’d send a young girl from the pretty Cotswolds to that bleak, lonely pile of stone near Exmoor Forest?”

“God’s teeth, boy, you don’t expect me to have her dangling round my bloody neck at Bess’s court, do you?” demanded Shane.

“Well, no—a bride is a secret you’ll have to guard well. But Blackmoor?” Matt protested. “That’s cruel, even for you,” he said bluntly.

“Damn it all, Matt, this marriage brings her wealth and a title. What more could she want? She’s a simple country girl who will be amenable to my wishes. Blackmoor needs a chatelaine; its been run solely by servants for too long. She’ll have a free hand to practice her housewifery and there will be enough to do managing the estate to keep her from mischief. I can’t bring her down here and palm her off onto Mother, for two women under one roof would be hell for both. I think it is a perfect solution.”

“But what will Sara think?” asked Matt with daring.

“I’m not in the habit of consulting a woman concerning my decisions,” said Shane curtly. “Matthew, the easiest for you will be to sail from Devonport into the Bristol Channel and anchor somewhere up the River Severn, then sail back, take Sara to Blackmoor Hall and see that she’s settled, then sail the
Devon Rose
up to London. I’ve a profitable cargo you can take from my warehouses across the pond to Calais.”

Matt shrugged. It was blackmail pure and simple, but when had his brother ever caviled at something so tame as blackmail? The scent of sandalwood incense emanated from the adjoining room, along with the whisper of silken garments. Matt licked his lips and began hesitantly, “I don’t suppose … you’d consider—”

“Don’t even ask,” said Shane, cutting short his young brother’s fantasy.

Sabre’s three brothers-in-law had each cornered her separately to test her reactions to what was happening. Each man had a corner of his heart reserved for Sabre. Each was convinced she had been his first love, and equally convinced she held a soft spot for him in her affections. Each knew the other two men had offered for her before settling for the wives they got, but there was no jealousy among them because each man was convinced Sabre preferred him in her heart of hearts.

Now everything would change. A stranger would have her, a wealthy, titled man from the queen’s court, and their jealousy ran very deep and very hot. David caught her in the vestry of the church where she had gone alone to give thanks for her deliverance and to pray to St. Jude for a husband who would love her. He pressed her against the thick oaken door. “Sabre, you’ll never know
how I always wanted you.” The moment he touched her, he almost lost control. Though it was impossible for anything to penetrate the velvet of his doublet, he could have sworn he felt the heat of her lovely breasts pressed against him.

“Take your hands from me, David. I am now private property,” she warned haughtily.

“Sabre, let me have you just once … let me initiate you.” He was panting heavily now that he was fully aroused, and his arms turned into bands of iron with his heightened passion. She could feel him full and hard against her and experience had taught her if she cried the alarm and someone came, she would receive the blame for being a teasing wanton. She had learned to rely upon her own devices, so quite deliberately she brought her knee up sharply between his legs. He doubled over and uttered a filthy obscenity.

“Initiation can be painful, David,” she whispered with relish.

“By Christ, I hope yours is, you wild little bitch. I hope Hawkhurst rapes you!”

The second encounter was in her very own chamber, where she had assumed no man would ever dare, but she had not reckoned on John’s daring. She was just leaving her room one morning as he happened to be passing her door. Without hesitation he pushed her back into the room and closed the door behind him. He knew she wouldn’t want to be found compromised a few days before her wedding and gambled that she would keep her mouth shut.

“Sweetheart, we have some unfinished business. You eluded me at the lake, but I’ve snared you well this time.”

“John, you’re a good-looking bastard, but you have a
yellow streak up your back a mile wide. I could have forgiven you for trying to swim nude with me—after all, you can’t help it if you’re ruled by your lust—but I’ll never forgive you for telling my stepfather. He punished me by taking Sabbath away.”

“I’ll let you ride me,” he said with a leer, and before she knew it he had her laid out flat upon the bed, her skirts lifted to expose her thighs. He undid his breeches quickly and was about to push them down. With a thankful prayer upon her lips Sabre felt beneath the bed and withdrew her father’s weapon; the one she had been named for. The long, curved blade touched his belly.

John was whispering frantically, “Sabre, for God’s sake, be careful. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Let me leave now unscathed and I promise I’ll not bother you again.” He was almost babbling, so great was his fear. She carefully pressed the tip into his belly so as to draw a drop of blood without really hurting him, before he fled.

Her third encounter was more subtle. Andrew found himself alone with her in the stables. It brought back to them both the earlier time when he had asked her to marry him and they had almost made love. Though he drew close, he made no effort to touch her. In fact, he knew if he did touch her, he would be undone. “Sara,” he said hoarsely, not teasing her by using her nickname. There was an awkward silence between them. “Please forgive me, Sara, I made a terrible mistake.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you know how much you hurt me, Andrew?”

“I’ve been punished a thousand times over. Beth is selfish, shallow, unbelievably spoiled … and useless in bed, like a little girl.”

“Damn it all, Andrew, she is a little girl. She’s only fifteen!”

“I cannot bear the thought of Hawkhurst having you. I love you, Sara … I still love you!” he said miserably. “My parents and Reverend Bishop were the authors of my marriage to Beth instead of to you.”

The scent of the stables—leather, hay, horses—made her nostrils flare as she remembered the sweet tenderness between them that other time. “I thought I loved you, too, Andrew, but I was wrong. You are hardly more than a boy … I need a man.” She saw Andrew’s weakness now and was glad she hadn’t married him, but still she felt the need to gloat a little. “By all accounts I’m marrying a man of strength. When he arrives, take a good look, Andrew. Take a good look at a real man!”

Actually, she had neither patience nor time to think of the previous men who had been in her life. The center of her being, of her very existence, was Hawkhurst. She daydreamed of the first words he would say to her and she practiced offering her hand for him to kiss. At night, when she did manage to fall asleep, she dreamed of a bridegroom who was beautiful, gallant, and who cherished her with every look and word.

The days ran together with such speed that suddenly it was the day before the wedding and she found herself with her nose glued to her chamber window for the first glimpse of his arrival. She prayed fervently, “Please, please, St. Jude, don’t let me be disappointed. This is to be the most important moment of my whole life. Please, please!”

One brief glimpse was enough to set her pulses racing. He was so tall! If her eyes weren’t playing tricks, he was handsome too!
Oh, thank you, thank you,
she kept whispering
under her breath. Suddenly she really felt like a bride, all fluttery and shy, and because she was letting her guard down a little to allow her feelings to show, she felt helplessly vulnerable. She flew to her mirror for the hundredth time. This time she wasn’t admiring the lovely pale green day dress, the first such flattering color she had ever owned, this time she was searching for a flaw in her dress or her face which might mar the first impression her bridegroom would have of her.

She was exultant that all four of her half sisters and two of her hateful female cousins were below to witness his arrival. She tried to be patient while she awaited her summons, but patience wasn’t in Sabre’s nature. She was breathless to race downstairs and come face-to-face with her future, her fate.

Matthew Hawkhurst found the situation disconcerting, to say the least. He managed his introductions well enough, but realized almost immediately that Jacob Goldman had not prepared them for a proxy wedding. The damned coward, thought Matthew with disgust, but he understood Goldman’s reluctance when he’d had a chance to size up Reverend Bishop.

As well as Mrs. Bishop there were six young women present and Matthew could not discern which one was the bride, for they all seemed avid for details of the unusual proxy arrangement. He explained firmly that circumstances made it impossible for his brother to be there in person to exchange vows, and he was acting as proxy. He glanced about the room, uncomfortable to be making excuses and explanations in front of the whole family, but to his surprise each girl looked suspiciously happy.