This Heart of Mine (38 page)

“Have ye nothing for me, lass?”

“Oh, Lord!” she exclaimed. “I do!” She ran across the room. Flinging open a large chest by the door, she bent down and lifted out a muffled object. Pulling the cloth wrappings from the seemingly bulky lump, she triumphantly unveiled a small painting. Turning the carved and gilded wooden frame about, she revealed the subject, herself in her mother’s creamy silken wedding gown.

Alex stared in surprise, his jaw slack. “How?” he demanded. “How could this be? There hasn’t been time!” His eyes devoured the portrait delightedly.

Velvet smiled triumphantly. “It is by Master Hilliard,” she said proudly. “He did my miniature when I first came to court. It was to be a Christmas gift for my parents. When we returned to court from Scotland, I went to him and begged him to re-create from the miniature a larger painting that I might give you for Christmas. He doesn’t often do full portraits, Alex. ’Tis quite an honor. He copied the head from the original, and then I sat for him twice in the gown so that he might, as he put it, rough it all in. After that I simply left the garment and he copied the details from it. You never guessed, did you?” she crowed delightedly.

He turned from the painting a moment to look at her. “Nay, lass, I never suspected.”

It was a wonderful painting, he thought as he looked again upon his wife’s portrait. She stood flanked on one side by two of his setters, her slender hand resting on one of the dog’s heads. Her other hand was at waist level and held a small, ornate gold pomander ball. Velvet stared straight out from the canvas, her jeweled green eyes clear with the innocence of her youth, yet curious; in fact, very much as he remembered her when they had first met only several months ago. She was not really smiling, and yet the corners of her mouth were faintly turned up as if any minute she would burst into laughter. She seemed to be hugging some secret to herself that she had absolutely no intention of sharing with anyone, and her expression told the viewer that she delighted with her private knowledge. The background of the painting was a simple blue sky, but as Alex looked more closely at the picture he noticed in the lower left-hand corner, on the Turkey carpet that his wife stood upon, a badger wearing a bejeweled collar.

She saw his eyes widen and chuckled softly. “Am I not the badger’s wife, Alex?” she teased him.

“Badgers dinna have wives, they have mates, and ’tis a certainty that ye’re mine, Velvet,” came his reply.

“Aye,” she drawled, “I am yours, but you are also mine, my lord. Four times have I pledged my fidelity to you in various marriage ceremonies, but as I have pledged my faith and loyalty to you, so have you pledged yours to me. Remember it well should
you be tempted to stray from my bed, my lord. I will tolerate no slight upon my honor.”

He stared at her, astounded. “What in hell has made ye say a thing like that?” he demanded, outraged not only by her words, but by the threatening tone she seemed to use.

“Angel tells me that Robin has been forced to include Lord and Lady de Boult on his guest list for the Twelfth Night masque. Lord de Boult has recently done the queen some small but vital service and stands in her favor at the moment. To exclude them from the masque would be insulting.”

“Ye think I would accost the lady publicly?” His tone was dangerously low.

“She was once your mistress,” Velvet said sharply.

“Never!” He spat out the word with equal ire, his eyes dark with his outrage.

“Never?”
she looked doubtful.

“Never, madame! ’Twas done only to make ye jealous, but never did I bed that viper! How dare ye presume that I did, and how dare ye presume that now wed to ye I would renew such a liaison had there ever been one in the first place!”

“I will accept your word, Alex, that naught took place between you and Lady de Boult, but you must admit that you played the lover well before me, and as I recall our first marriage took place because I found you with your hands all over the bitch in the queen’s gardens! What was I supposed to think, pray, my lord? If I have offended you, I beg your pardon, but I could not know that you were not really involved with that creature!”

“Whether I was or not, for ye to dare to set conditions for my conduct is inexcusable, madame!” he shouted.

“Indeed, sir? Do you not attempt to set standards for my conduct?”

“Ye’re my wife!”

“You’re my husband!”

Suddenly the incongruity of the situation hit him and he began to laugh. “I think we’re back to horses and dogs again,” he chortled.

“Villain!” She laughed back. “Dear God, Alex, what a proud pair of peacocks we are! I wonder if there will ever be peace between us?”

“I dinna mind the little battles, lassie,” he murmured softly and, reaching out, drew her back into his arms. Nuzzling her fragrant hair, he kissed the top of her head and said, “I dinna mind the battles for I so enjoy the peace-making.”

Velvet felt her bones turning soft with his words. She felt warm and safe in the haven of his arms. Perhaps this marriage business
would work out after all. They loved each other, and she was wise enough to know that he was a good man for all his pigheaded ways. She smiled to herself. For all her pigheaded ways, too, for the truth of the matter was that she was no better than he. Slipping her arms about his neck, she murmured huskily, “ ’Tis cold in here, my lord. Shall we repair to our bed to negotiate this latest treaty?”

Wordlessly, he swept her up, walked across the bedchamber, and pulling back the covers, tucked her beneath them before joining her. They spent the night in heavy bargaining, but when the dawn finally came both the Earl of BrocCairn and his countess were well satisfied with the results of their dickering.

T
he new year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and eighty-nine was ushered in with relief in England. No longer did the threat of the Armada hang over Elizabeth Tudor’s realm.

The queen and her court looked forward eagerly to the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth’s Twelfth Night masque. It had been over twenty years since Lynmouth House on the Strand had opened its doors to the festivities made so famous by Robin’s late father, Geoffrey Southwood.

Angel, just beginning to thicken slightly at the waistline, had appealed to her sisters-in-law to help her with the many preparations. The young countess, having been raised at court, knew exactly what needed be be done, but such an enormous undertaking required several cool heads. Willow, whose approval of Angel grew daily, was delighted and threw herself into the melee with enthusiasm. Velvet, on the other hand, was as untried a hostess as Angel, and far more interested in what she would wear than all the many tasks to be done in order to entertain the queen and the other guests.

“You’d best pay attention to all of this,” the Countess of Alcester scolded her youngest sister. “After all, you may be called upon to entertain King James once you’re in Scotland.”

“Their court isn’t as formal,” responded Velvet.

“Does that mean you’ll forget your upbringing?” Willow looked shocked. “Mama may be Irish, but she never forgets that she bears an English title, and she behaves accordingly.”

“Mama behaves as it pleases her to behave.” Velvet laughed. “You can’t deny it, sister. Even the queen says it!”

Willow harrumphed, but the corners of her mouth twitched with private amusement. She always wondered how it was that she, the daughter of an Irish rebel and a Spanish nobleman, had turned into such a proper Englishwoman. Then she remembered her own upbringing, which had been overseen for the most part by Dame Cecily. Her poor mother with her adventurous life had had very little to do with Willow despite the fact that Skye adored her firstborn daughter. There had
been a strong bond between Dame Cecily and Willow from her birth, and Skye, loving her daughter enough to want what was best for her, had given Willow over to the childless Englishwoman who loved the girl as if she were her own.

Willow looked at her sister again. Sweet, spoilt Velvet, who had been so very much loved and so dearly cosseted by both her parents, was really far too young to be a wife. She had no real sense of responsibility, but there was no malice in her at all. Well, Willow thought, she’s not a stupid girl. She’ll learn quickly. Then she said, “Tell me about your costumes. You first, Angel, for you’re the hostess. Lord, how I remember Mama’s gowns and Geoffrey’s elegance. No one could ever learn what they were to wear in advance, and then the following year there would be at least half a dozen imitations of their previous year’s costumes.” She laughed at the memory.

Angel smiled. “Robin is to come as the sun, and I shall be his sky. My gown is the most exquisite shade of blue!”

Willow clapped her hands delightedly. “Perfect!” she said. “Blue is definitely your color, Angel.” She turned to her sister. “What of you, Velvet? What will be your costume?”

“Nay, you first,” countered Velvet. “I can well imagine how James feels about a costume masque, being more a country gentleman than a courtier.”

Willow nodded ruefully. “Aye, ’tis true, but I have managed to persuade him, and he has given in with good grace to me. I shall come as a perfect English spring day, and James will come as a perfect English spring night.”

“What does a perfect English spring night wear?” Velvet giggled.

“Black velvet,” came the practical reply. “James’s doublet, however, will be sewn with silver thread, pearls, and small diamonds in a design of stars and the moon.”

“How clever you are!” exclaimed Angel.

“Aye,” agreed Willow. “The very simplicity of the costume was what decided him. One has to know how to handle a man. It is all really quite easy.”

“Depending upon the man,” said Velvet. “Now your James and certainly our brother, Robin, are biddable men. But my lord Gordon is surely the most stubborn male ever created by our Lord God. He refuses to wear any silly folderol, as he has put it to me. He says he will wear his plaid instead, as he suspects that none of the queen’s court will have seen full Highland regalia. That is the best I can do with him. He is impossible.”

“What will you come as then, Velvet?” said Angel.

Velvet smiled mischievously. “I shall be fire,” she replied. “Blazing, furious fire! I have had it planned for weeks, of course, and knowing it, Alex presented me with the most marvelous necklace and earbobs of rubies for New Year’s. Every woman in court will envy me, my dears, perhaps even the queen herself!”

“He’s most generous, isn’t he?” noted Willow. “Diamonds and rubies for Christmas, and now more rubies for New Year’s. It would seem you’re a woman who inspires jewelry, like Mama.”

For a moment Velvet’s face grew somber. “I do miss Mama, Willow! Will this winter never end? How I look forward to the spring and the return of my parents! There is so much that has happened since they left for the Indies two years ago. There is so much I have to tell them, to share with them. Is it really so childish to love one’s parents as I do, Willow?”

Willow put a comforting arm about her sister. “Nay, Velvet. I suppose it seems strange to the rest of us because we never had both of our parents around for very long. Do you realize that you’re the only one of Skye O’Malley’s children to grow up with her always nearby? And you’re the only one who has grown up with both a mother and a father. If your devotion to your parents seems excessive to us, perhaps that’s the reason why. When we were growing up we were lucky to have Mama to ourselves for any period of time. You’ve had her your whole life. Of course you’re close to her, Velvet, and even if you’re Alex’s wife that closeness will remain, but you must accept the responsibilities of womanhood now. Why you could be a mother yourself within the year!” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “What color is your gown?”

“Colors, Willow, not color! ’Twill be all the colors of the fire. Scarlet and red and gold and orange! Wait until you see! ’Tis most original!”

It sounded rather vulgar to Willow. Scarlet and red and gold and orange? Even a gypsy wouldn’t dare such gaudiness, and with Velvet’s auburn hair, too! Still, it was the girl’s first elegant masque. If her costume wasn’t quite as marvelous as the others, then she would be disappointed for certain, but she was quick and would learn from her unfortunate experience, thought Willow.

On the night of the masque, however, Willow had to revise her opinion of her youngest sister’s taste.

The three women met in the main hall of Lynmouth to compare gowns. Angel was pure perfection in a sky blue silk creation: the skirt’s center panel was sewn with pearls and
moonstones to create the effect of puffy white clouds. Here and there, scattered across the blue silk, were small jeweled pins fashioned to represent birds in flight. Angel’s golden blond hair was hidden beneath a headdress of fluffy white lawn and lace that represented a large cloud that was topped by a multicolored jeweled rainbow glittering with rubies, emeralds, topazes, amethyst, and peridots. Since her neckline was high and no skin was exposed, it was not necessary that she wear a necklace.

By her side stood Robin, resplendent in a costume of cloth of gold and twinkling with golden beryls. Atop his head was a large headdress fashioned like a sunburst. Looking at him, Willow couldn’t ever remember her late stepfather, Geoffrey Southwood, looking more resplendent.