This Heart of Mine (35 page)

“Thank God that’s over and done with!” was Willow’s brisk reply. “The Spanish will think twice before they come at us again. I far prefer peace for my children. I should not like to think I was raising Henry, Francis, and Adam for cannon fodder! Then, too, if there continues to be all these wars there will be no suitable husbands for Cecily and Gabrielle.”

“Or for Elsbeth, Catherine, or Cecily,” replied Angel.

Willow’s amber eyes grew warm with her approval. “You like Robin’s girls, don’t you?” she said.

“How could I not like them!” Angel cried. “They are such adorable little creatures, and, Willow, you will never guess! They call me Mama!”

“It means that they’ve taken to you,” Willow replied. “They’ll never remember Alison as they were far too young when she died, though they’ll, of course, be told you’re only their stepmother. Yes, they’re young enough for you to train in your own ways, but remember to spare not the rod else they be spoilt.”

Velvet smiled to herself as she listened to her oldest sister who only a short while ago had been so suspicious of Angel’s motives for marrying Robin. And Angel! What had happened to that wordly-wise and impudent royal ward? Velvet’s smile broadened. Willow and Angel were two of a kind. They were family-oriented, loving, strong women who would always put husband and children first and foremost above all. Velvet admired them though she didn’t think that she would ever be like them. How strange, she thought, that she, the youngest of all her mother’s children, should be the most like her in spirit. She would have liked to have shared that new knowledge with Skye, too.

They finally reached Whitehall where, to their vast relief, Angel told them that she and Robin had a small apartment where they could go to refresh themselves and repair any damages done to their coifs and gowns. When they reached it, Jane, Angel’s tiring woman, hurried to fetch warm water so that they might bathe their hands and faces. Then she helped them to redo their hair and brushed their gowns free of wrinkles and dust.

Each woman was wearing a gown of velvet as it was far too cool to wear silk outdoors now. They looked like rare gems in their colorful dresses: Willow in a deep ruby red, Angel in a magnificent sapphire, and Velvet in a rich amethyst color. Refreshed by the pleasant golden wine that Jane offered them,
they refastened their fur-lined cloaks, which matched their gowns, and prepared to find their way to the tiltyard for the jousting. There they would meet their husbands, and all of them had been invited to sit near the queen.

To their intense embarrassment Elizabeth Tudor was already there when they arrived, but with a gracious wave of her hand she overlooked their tardiness. “The crowds were mighty,” she remarked, offering them the excuse, and they nodded and agreed with her. The queen gazed briefly at them, then noted, “You’re a pretty trio of jewels, I vow.”

“Your Majesty is too kind,” said Willow, smiling.

Elizabeth chuckled. “Willow,” she said, “if you were a man you’d be the perfect courtier. It amazes me each time I remember who your mother is.”

“My mother,” said Willow, “has ever been Your Majesty’s loyal servant.”

“Only, my dear, when it suited her,” said the queen, laughing, “but I have no quarrel with my dear Skye. Perhaps the reason we have always chafed at each other is that we are basically alike. What have you heard from her of late? When may we expect her back in England? I am anxious to learn if her voyage has been successful.”

“There has been no word of late, Your Majesty, which in itself is unusual, for Mama usually keeps a ready line of communication open between herself and London. We only know what she wrote last. From that letter we expect they will be home in the spring.”

The queen nodded, then said softly as if to herself, “It is vital that she succeed!” Then she fixed her glance on Angel. “Tell me, my lady Southwood, is married life all that you envisioned it would be? Are you happy?”

“Aye, madame! My lord husband is the kindest and most loving of men. I can never repay Your Majesty for allowing me to be his wife.” Angel’s beautiful face was radiant with her happiness.

“You are very fortunate then, my little Angel, for it is not always so. Is the rumor true that you’re already with child?”

“I believe it is so, madame.”

“In that, too, you are fortunate,” the queen remarked.

“We should name it after Your Majesty, but we already have an Elsbeth.”

The queen’s laughter was a sharp bark. “Nay, my lady Southwood! ’Twill be a boy, I am certain, and you should name it Geoffrey after your husband’s father! There was a man now! I hope your son will be his like!”

“I shall tell Robin that Your Majesty wishes it,” responded Angel sweetly.

The queen now turned her gaze to the tiltyard. The joust was one of her favorite forms of entertainment, as it had been her father’s. Greenwich, Hampton Court, and Whitehall all had tiltyards. There were three styles of jousting. The first was the Tilts, where horsemen used blunted spears. The second was called the Tourney in which they used swords. The third form of the joust was called the Barriers, and here the opponents fought on foot, alternating between pike and sword. Mock jousting was often the highlight of banquet entertainment and court masques.

Since jousting was the only other type of organized sport in Tudor England apart from archery contests, many came to watch the pageants. A seat in the stands could be had for twelve pence. A courtier not invited to the queen’s box had to fend for himself. Thus it was that many a nobleman and his lady found themselves sharing space with the London public.

The champions, each wearing his own distinctive color, brought their horses into the arena to the sound of trumpets, and the pageant was begun. The servants of those jousting were also dressed in colorful garb, some like savages, some like ancient Britons with long hair hanging to their girdles, and others wore horses’ manes. Some of the knights entered the arena first in carriages, their horses made to look like unicorns with finely wrought, twisted gold horns centered upon their foreheads. Others had their vehicles drawn by blackamoors garbed in balloonlike scarlet pantaloons and cloth-of-gold turbans. The proudest of the knights arrived already in full shining silver armor upon their own spirited and beautiful horses, proudly showing off their mounts’ skills.

Each knight with his servant, upon reaching the barrier, stopped at the foot of the staircase leading to the queen’s box. The servant, in pompous attire of his master’s special pattern would climb the steps and offer the queen a little speech in well-composed verse or a silly jest that would make her and her ladies and guests laugh. When the speech was ended, the queen was presented with a costly gift in the name of his lord, and Elizabeth then gave her permission for the knight to take part in the tournament. When all the knights had presented themselves thusly to the queen, the jousting began.

Among the knights this day was the Earl of Lynmouth, the Earl of BrocCairn, and the Earl of Alcester. Although Willow fussed noisily about her husband’s taking part in the sport—
“James must remember that he is no longer a boy!”—she was, in truth, very proud, for he carried her colors, midnight blue and silver silks. He was to ride with Lord Southwood while Alex had been paired with Sir Walter Ralegh.

The tournament began, and two by two the knights rode against each other, breaking their lances across a beam. Gradually the two hundred or so men taking part in the tilting were weeded out until only four were left. The Earl of Essex rode with the Earl of Oxford against the Earl of BrocCairn and Sir Walter Ralegh. Essex carried Elizabeth Tudor’s favor upon his lance, the bright green and white ribbons blowing in the wind. He looked supremely confident for he fully expected to win.

Alex carried Velvet’s favor, silver and scarlet ribbons. He was also confident, for he felt he rode for the honor of Scotland. He didn’t particularly like Robert Devereux, still suspecting him of taking more than a brotherly interest in Velvet. Essex and Ralegh, though companions during the Armada crisis, had once again become enemies, for each was jealous of the other’s influence with the queen. Alex decided that he could not have had a better tournament partner than Ralegh.

Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford, looked at his opponents and said to Essex, “That wild Scot fights well, and so does Ralegh. We will not have an easy victory, Robert.”

Essex looked down the field. “Strange,” he drawled, “I think we will. ’Tis only luck and Ralegh’s skill that have brought the Highland savage this far. They will be easy pickings, Ned. My word on it!”

A few minutes later the Earl of Essex’s handsome face registered pure surprise and shock as he saw that his lance was broken and the queen’s colors dumped rudely onto the ground. Oxford’s lance had also suffered an unkind fate due to Ralegh’s skill. The Earl of BrocCairn and Sir Walter Ralegh were declared the champions of the joust that day. They would present their shields adorned with their mottoed emblems to be hung in the Shield Gallery, which was situated by the Thames.

Alex and Sir Walter knelt before the queen to receive the victor’s prize, which this day turned out to be emeralds, one to each gentleman. “You may rise now, my brave gallants. ’Twas a battle well fought! Very well fought!”

“For you, madame,” replied Ralegh, and Elizabeth smiled.

“The cask of Malmsey is well appreciated, Wat-er,” she said, “but you, Lord Gordon! What a fine gift you have presented
me with. What breed are the dogs your wicked-looking servant gave me? I have not seen their like before.”

“They are dogs of my own breeding, madame. Good hunting setters. I have given ye a pair, male and female, should ye wish to breed them yerself. They are excellent in heavy cover and retrieve well, especially woodcock and grouse.”

“I like their coloring, the black and tan,” said the queen. “I have no others like them. If they do well in the hunt I shall expect you to send me another pair, for you owe me that, having stolen my godchild and compromised her honor.” She eyed him archly.

“They are yers, madame, and Velvet is well worth the price,” came his quick answer.

“Humph.” The queen snorted. “I do not know what I shall say to Lord and Lady de Marisco when they return home in the spring. I have failed in my duties as godmother, and all due to your impatience, my lord!”

“I shall accept full responsibility, madame, and ye need have no feelings of guilt, for did ye not send after us posthaste? Ye did yer duty as I see it.”

“But I was not quick enough, was I, my lord?”

“Madame, accept my apology,” Alex said sincerely. “I admit to allowing my temper to overrule my common sense and thereby placed Yer Majesty in a compromising position. For that I beg yer forgiveness, but I love Velvet so deeply that I could not wait …” He shrugged helplessly.

“Damn me, but you are an honest man, Alexander Gordon! You’ve spoken fairly and plainly to me, which few would do for fear of me. I like you! You have my forgiveness, but you must give me your word that after tomorrow’s ceremony with the archbishop you will remain in England until my godchild’s parents do return. I know that you long to return to your own home, but this I must insist upon. Skye O’Malley is protective, nay, she is a veritable lioness where her children are concerned. The last time I fought with her over a matter involving one of her children she pricked me sorely. Her sting is too sharp for me to tolerate at this time in my life.”

Alex laughed. “Strange,” he said. “I have met my mother-in-law only one time, at the time of my betrothal to Velvet. I remember her as a beautiful woman and a gracious hostess. Yet everything I have heard about her indicates that she is a warrior of the fiercest temperament. But ye have my word, madame. Neither Velvet nor I shall leave England until after we have been properly reunited with her parents in the spring.”

On the following day, November 18, 1588, Velvet and Alex were married one last time in the same chapel at Greenwich where Skye had married Geoffrey Southwood. When the queen had learned during the tournament at Whitehall that the gown the bride would wear was the same one in which Skye had wed the
Angel Earl
, nothing would do but that the ceremony be in the same place. This necessitated a quick move by the entire court downriver to Greenwich, which was the queen’s favorite palace. There at half past four o’clock in the afternoon Velvet and Alex stood before John Whitcliff, the archbishop of Canterbury, and were wed legally and lawfully for a fourth and final time.

Afterwards there was another wedding feast, this one with a wonderful wedding cake complete with a spun-sugar bride and groom atop it. Then there was a marvelous masque in which members of the court took part along with Christopher Marlowe and his company of players.

Afterwards Marlowe managed to corner Velvet, who eyed him warily. The actor-playwright laughed wickedly at her.

“Tell me, my beauty, have you kept your ideals of love, or did you marry him because you were forced to it? If it is the latter then I hope I may offer you a bit of comfort now.” He grinned at her.

“I love my husband, you arrogant buffoon!” she snapped back at him. “Now let me pass, or I swear I’ll set the dogs on you!”

Marlowe laughed uproariously. “Jesu, you’re a hot piece! I’m sorry you’ll not accept my offer, sweetheart. I’m sure both of us would benefit by the experience.” Nonetheless, he stepped aside to allow her by.

Velvet and Alex were now forced to remain at court, which, fortunately, due to the onset of winter stayed in the Greenwich and London area. Robin had turned over their mother’s house on the Strand to his sister and her new husband. Greenwood, he knew, was to have been part of Velvet’s wedding settlement, and although he would have been happy to have the newlyweds in Lynmouth House with him and Angel, he knew the couple needed their privacy. Besides, he and his own bride were far more compatible it seemed to him. Any slight thing was apt to set Velvet and her husband to battling. Robin, like his uncle, Lord Bliss, was a man who appreciated his quiet.

On December fifth Velvet and Alex gave their first small party, a family affair to celebrate Angel’s eighteenth birthday. The young countess of Lynmouth was now quite certain that
she was expecting a child in the springtime, and Robin treated his wife as if she were made of delicate crystal instead of flesh and blood.