The Queen's Lady (26 page)

“Good lords, sweet lady! What on earth goes on here?” came a sudden demand.

Rowan spun around. The queen, followed by a number of her courtiers, was at the door. Whatever she was truly thinking was hidden by the tremendous shock on her face.

Dudley answered quickly. “We've both come to see that the Lady Gwenyth is quite all right, after she injured her foot this afternoon.”

“Someone do be kind enough to offer the poor child a robe,” Elizabeth said sharply. One of her ladies, the homely but very sweet Lady Erskine, raced past the rigid men. She found Gwenyth's favorite velvet robe and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I'm sure, my lords, that you meant the lady well. What else dare I think?” Elizabeth said. “But I suspect she would like her privacy, so perhaps you will leave her.
Now.
”

Dudley bowed to her deeply. “Indeed, my dearest queen. I meant to seek an audience with you immediately. There are pressing matters at hand.”

Rowan didn't speak, only stared at Elizabeth, and was stunned when her eyes fell and it seemed that there was a slight flush upon her cheeks.

“Laird Rowan, you appear distressed. I am certain your good man Thomas has seen to it that there is a fine wine in your chambers. I suggest that you take your rest, as you are surely weary from the day. Dudley, you will accompany me.”

Having been given no choice, Rowan strode down the hall to his door and, with a bow to the queen, entered the room and closed his door.

He waited, ready to explode, listening to her voice and Dudley's as they moved down the hall and out of earshot.

He was about to burst through the connecting door when Gwenyth did so first. Towel gone, she raced naked and shaking into his arms.

“She is horrible!” Gwenyth cried. “She made all that happen. She did it on purpose. She will not make any commitment to the man, yet she wants him at her beck and call, and she would offer up anyone to amuse him so that he stayed her patient dog.”

“Shh, it's all right. It won't happen again,” he told her tensely, privately recalling the expression on the queen's face. He didn't think she had manipulated that scene; she had been too genuinely appalled by what she saw. Still, this was probably not the time to convince Gwenyth of that.

She pulled away from him, her eyes huge. “Nay, don't say such a thing to me. You look as if you will go out and kill him…and then…oh, Rowan!” She threw herself back into his arms, still shaking.

Well, there it was. He longed to kill Dudley, but he could not. What promise
could
he make to her?

“I swear,” he vowed aloud, “that I will never let him near you again.”

“It would be better if…if…”

He lifted her chin, knowing she was thinking that it would be better if Dudley were dead.

“Don't even say it,” he whispered, smoothing the damp hair back from her face. He suddenly found himself on his knees before her naked, trembling form and took her hand. “I swear, Gwenyth, that I will guard you with my life against all evil.” He looked up at her. “That I will love you until my last breath.”

She gasped softly then fell to her knees before him. His hands cupped her head, her eyes searched his with a shimmering of tears, and then her lips were on his. She kissed him with a sweet and aching tenderness that flooded his soul, as well as his senses.

He lifted her from the floor and into his arms, and laid her with infinite tenderness upon the great canopied bed, then stretched out beside her, and his whispers bathed her flesh with the softest breath while his words were impassioned steel. “By my honor, I vow that I will love you, come what may, through all the days of my life. With every drop of blood in my veins, with every fiber of my flesh, bone and being…”

“Rowan,” she cried softly, and again her lips found his. When she had finished kissing him there, she proceeded to bathe his shoulders with the exquisite sweep of her teeth and tongue, as her hands, so delicate, so enticing, moved over the length of him. In his heart he felt a passion that needed to be sworn physically, just as he had sworn his devotion with words, and he caught her fiercely, rolling her beneath him. With volatile, rising passion, he made love to her in the most carnal manner, seducing, enticing, with the moist searing of his tongue, the stroking of his hands, fingers, lips. There had never been a time when he had made love to anyone so violently, so intently, so tenderly, all in one. The body, no matter what its fire, could not impart all that he meant with his soul. He would never grow tired of her; she enchanted him anew every time she rose to meet his desire, and in the end they both lay gasping, heaving, trembling…and locked with one another, arms and legs, his erection easing in her body. He did not want to pull away; he did not want to be parted from her.

“We're leaving,” he said softly. “Tonight.”

“Rowan, we cannot. We have been sent here by one queen and are the invited guests of another.”

“By virtue of my holdings in England, I have rights,” he told her vehemently.

She pulled away at last, stroking his face, a smile upon her lips. “Rowan! We spend so much time praying that her passions do not rule our queen. We must not take leave of this place in anger and without permission. I believe Elizabeth respects you very much. Speak with her again. We can't become her enemies.”

Lying rigidly, he thought he did not care. Then he sighed at last. “I will summon Annie. You will not stay alone.”

“Summon Annie, and beg an interview, alone, with Elizabeth. She wanted to create a stir. That I believe. But though I don't know her, the more I think upon it, I do not think she intended these events. I cannot believe she would cause an incident between two countries over something so…” She paused, biting her lip, shaking her head, “So trivial as one man coveting another's mistress.”

He drew away from her, his frown rigid, his features taut. “Have you listened to nothing I have said?”

She smiled. “On the contrary, I have savored and trembled with every word. But to Dudley, if he knew anything, it was only that you are the great Laird Rowan, while I am a lady with far lesser holdings. You once married a great heiress, and I am hardly that. I am here as Queen Mary's champion, and that does not make me a great prize.”

“There is no greater prize,” he said hoarsely.

“I fear I am sleeping, that I will wake up, and this will all have been a dream,” she told him.

He cradled her against him. “It is no dream.” Quite suddenly he stood. “Stay in here until you hear Annie in the connecting chamber.” He dressed quickly as he spoke, choosing his Highland regalia.

He left her, after first assuring himself that the hall was empty. At the end of it, he found Thomas, and he ordered the man to find Annie, and said that he expected both of them to stay by their chambers, watching over Lady Gwenyth. Thomas gravely and quickly obeyed, and Rowan went in search of the queen.

 

D
ESPITE
R
OWAN'S DEMAND
that she remain in his chamber, Gwenyth dared to return to her own room and begin dressing, slipping into a linen sheath and then awaiting Annie to help her with the stays, petticoats and grand array she intended to wear for the night. She would never allow herself, as Queen Mary's lady, to appear any less stylish than the women of Elizabeth's Court. She was angry, feeling terribly betrayed and, despite her insistence to Rowan a few minutes ago, not at all sure what had happened. Had Elizabeth released Rowan from her presence just in time to prevent a rape? Had it been a warning to Dudley that she would always pull the strings?

She didn't know. She knew only that she missed her home more with each passing moment.

“God rot all the offspring that can be traced back to that wretched Henry VII,” she said aloud, then froze, because Rowan was the grandson of James V of Scotland, the grandson of Henry VII of England. “The wretched legal offspring,” she muttered then. “And God rot Queen Elizabeth especially,” she added, feeling that would suffice for the moment.

Annie arrived at last. “Good heavens, but ye are in a state this afternoon, m'lass,” Annie tsked.

“Court life does not agree with me,” Gwenyth said.

“I think 'tis wondrous here,” Annie said.

Gwenyth stared fiercely at her maid. “Enough,” she groaned in aggravation. “Come make me regal enough for this assembly. I just don't like being…manipulated,” Gwenyth murmured.

“Welcome to the masses,” Annie said drily.

Gwenyth drew away. “Am I difficult?”

Annie paused, her hands on her hips, then shook her head. “Y'er the Lady of Islington. I'm a servant. Y'er beneath the queens, and I am a pawn. And that be the world.”

“A queen should never foolishly risk a pawn.”

“Ah, but if a sacrifice is needed, surely it should be a pawn.”

Gwenyth laughed suddenly. “I never knew you loved chess.”

“It will come right, m'lady. I believe it will,” Annie said gently.

Gwenyth turned around, letting Annie finish dressing her. The maid was setting the last pin into Gwenyth's hair when there was a tap at the door.

Gwenyth started.

“'Tis a knock and nae a death sentence,” Annie said, striding to the door.

It was Rowan. He appeared exceptionally tall, shoulders broad beneath his tartan mantle. And he was smiling, wearing that wicked look of rueful amusement that had once so irritated her and now seemed to slip around her heart.

“We've an appointment,” he told her.

“An appointment?” she queried.

“Come.” He stretched out a hand to her.

She joined him slowly and suspiciously. He laughed. “You'll like this plan—at least, I think you will. Are you coming, Annie?”

“Me? The likes of me?” Annie said, aghast.

“Aye, Annie, come along.”

Warily, Annie followed. They found Thomas, straight and very correct, waiting for them in the hall. “If I may, good woman?” he said, and offered Annie his arm.

“Good heavens, what is this nonsense?” Annie asked.

“No nonsense. You'll see,” Rowan assured her gravely. “I need you, Annie, to perform a service for the Lady Gwenyth and me.”

“A service, m'laird?”

He laughed and started down the hall, and beneath his breath, Gwenyth realized, he was humming. His eyes lit up each time they fell on her. She acknowledged, looking at him, that nothing in her life had ever meant as much to her as this man, that she had never known such happiness as she had known in his arms. She had never realized the true depth of love until she had met him.

“Where are we going?” she queried softly.

“You'll see soon enough.”

They seemed to walk the halls forever. And then, Gwenyth realized, they had come to the chapel.

He opened the door, urging her in. There was a single occupant in the room, a black-clad minister with a white collar waiting at the altar.

“Come in here, my lady,” the minister said, beckoning. “And you, good man, good woman,” he continued, addressing Thomas and Annie. “No doubt this could have been accomplished with much more style and decorum, but…as it stands, I am a bit nervous, having no real blessing but rather the impatient nod of the sovereign that I may do this. I haven't the leisure of the entire night.”

Gwenyth stared at Rowan.

He smiled. “My dearest Lady Gwenyth, for such a lovely creature, you're looking a bit like a fish. Do close your mouth. Reverend Ormsby, you may begin.”

“But…?” Gwenyth said, still uncomprehending.

“Good heavens, my love.” Rowan fell down upon one knee, taking her hand. “My dearest Lady Gwenyth MacLeod of Islington, will you do me the tremendous honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears stung her eyes. “But will this be legal?” she whispered.

“Before the eyes of God, no matter what prince of earth may not approve, I am pledging my heart to you.”

“Will the couple please come before me?” the minister said, clearing his throat.

“That's us,” Rowan told her.

“Oh, dear God,” she choked, touching his face.

“Well?” he said. “Will you vow to be my wife?”

“With all my heart!”

He stood and drew her forward to stand before the altar, and the minister began to speak, though she barely heard his words.

At one point there was a sound from the rear of the chapel. Gwenyth turned to see that it came from Queen Elizabeth and Robert Dudley. Dudley appeared to have been dragged there. Elizabeth had set her hand upon his arm in a possessive manner. Oddly enough, the English queen had a very benign expression on her face and smiled at Gwenyth.

In the midst of her euphoria, Gwenyth knew that, once again, the Queen of England was playing her cards with room for a bluff. Undoubtedly Rowan had her permission for this hasty and secretive marriage to which she would not stand as official witness, though she would be a witness all the same, so that, when she chose, she could defend them…