Knollys, the Queen, and Lord Dudley, who was rumored to be her lover. Even Lord and Lady Burke were there.
Geoffrey stood waiting before the altar, resplendent in huntergreen velvet. Matthew Parker, the archbishop of Canterbury, waited behind Geoffrey.
Slowly she and her beloved Robbie moved up the aisle. Skye felt as if her legs were encased in glue. Ahead of her, Geoffrey Southwood radiated approval of her attire. His eyes smiled encouragingly. They stopped, and Robbie firmly placed Skye’s hand into Geoffrey’s large paw. Geoffrey’s warmth transmitted itself to her. He gently squeezed her hand and she drew a deep breath of relief. It was going to be all right.
The archbishop droned through the service, and, as they knelt, their heads close together, Geoffrey whispered softly to her, “Courage, my love.” She felt a stab of love for him race through her. The unease she had felt at the sight of the hot, crowded candlelit chapel was slowly being dispelled by his love. Matthew Parker pronounced them man and wife and, turning them about, presented the newly wedded couple to the assembled congregation. They smiled happily into the sea of faces mat all smiled back at them… all but one. Why was Lord Burke’s face so dark with anger? He was such a strange man, and why was he here at all? She turned away and curtseyed low to Queen Elizabeth, who was magnificently attired in purest white silk sewn with gold thread, diamonds, and palest blue aquamarine. Her Majesty spoke graciously. “Rise my lady Southwood, Countess of Lynmouth. We are pleased to have you at Court, and welcome you right heartily.” “Majesty, how can I thank you for your kindness? It is all so much.”
“You may show your gratitude, my dear Skye, by being a good and faithful wife to your lord, and by cleaving to him only,” replied the young Queen primly.
“I shall, Majesty,” replied Skye, fervently kissing the hand Elizabeth extended.
“That will be a terrible blow to all the eager gallants,” murmured Lord Dudley softly to Lettice Knollys. She swallowed back her laughter with much effort.
“And now,” cried the Queen gaily, “let us away to the bridal feast! Let the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth lead the way to the Great Hall!”
Skye sent Geoffrey a startled look. Taking her arm, he reassured her, “I know the way, my love.” Accompanied by capering musicians who played on reedy pipes, lutes, and drums, the couple led the Queen and her court into the Great Hall of Greenwich Palace. Outside, the rain beat fiercely against the tall ornate windows, but inside, the great hearths burned cheerfully with enormous oak logs. The head table accommodated the bridal couple, the Queen, Lord Dudley, and Captain Sir Robert Small and his sister, who had acted as the orphaned bride’s parents. The rest of the Court knew their places, many from habit, and found them now either along the length of the T-shaped head table or at smaller tables set up along the walls.
The servants placed an enormous salt cellar upon the main table. Two standing winged silver griffons and two standing gold lions together held up a carved coral seashell filled with salt. The goblets were pale-pink blown Venetian glass, the Queen’s crest carved upon an oval piece of garnet and affixed to each. Golden plates were placed before those at the head table. The other guests seated above the salt had to be satisfied with silver, and those below the salt with simple crockery.
A parade of liveried servants began the circulation of an enormous feast. The first course consisted of the usual bowls of icy cold raw oysters, mussels and scallops broiled with herbs and butter, tiny prawns in white wine, thinly sliced salmon on a bed of young watercress, whole sea trout, and great loaves of both brown and white bread. The next course offered sides of beef, whole roast red roe deer, legs of lamb. A whole great boar with wicked curved tusks rested upon a huge silver platter which had to be carried in by four footmen. There were small, sweet roast suckling pigs with apples in their mouths, gingered capons, big pink hams, swans stuffed with fruit, geese, roast pheasants and peacocks served with their full colorful plumage, larded ducks, steaming pies made with lark, pigeon, dove, sparrow, and rabbit. There were bowls of new lettuce, scallions, radishes, and artichokes. The servants kept everyone’s goblets full to the brim with a deep red heady Burgundy. Skye ate little, disliking huge feasts where the menus were far too heavy. A few oysters, a capon wing, a thin slice of suckling pig, and some lettuce satisfied her. She noted thankfully that Geoffrey was as abstemious as she, choosing oysters, a small slice each of the beef and the goose, an artichoke, and some bread and butter. The last course of sweets and subtleties arrived with a profusion of colorful molded jellies, fruit pies, plum cakes, early strawberries with bowls of clotted cream, early cherries from France, oranges from Spain, and wheels of Cheshire cheese. There was, of course, an enormous sugar-iced wedding cake. To Skye’s great relief, the cake did not have the usual marzipan bride and groom figures with their overly endowed sexual organs and breasts. Instead, the cake top was decorated by a small bouquet of tiny white roses and blue forget-me-nots, all tied with silver ribbons. Somehow Skye knew this was the Queen’s touch, and she leaned across Lord Dudley and thanked her.
The Queen smiled quietly. “He loves you very much, Skye. I have not seen such true love and devotion in all my life. How I wish I might have such a love to help me sustain my great burdens.” “Why surely you can, madam!” said Skye. “There are any number of gentlemen willing to lay their hearts at your feet.” The Queen smiled again, sadly this time. How innocent the new Countess of Lynmouth was! How sheltered she must have been before coming to England. “There are many men willing to lay their hearts at my feet, Skye, but none really loves me. They seek my crown, or a part of it. They do not want Elizabeth. A queen who rules in her own right has no true love. She is wed to her country. That is the harshest to serve of all lords.”
“Oh, madam!” Skye’s eyes filled with tears.
The young Queen gently brushed a tear from the bride’s cheek. “Why, my lady Southwood, what a soft heart you have. But weep not for me. I knew my fate a long time ago. I accepted it, and I wanted it.” Then thoughtfully she said, “I think, my kind-hearted little Countess, that I shall call upon you to serve as one of my ladies. An honest, open heart is a rare thing at Court.” Skye shortly found out how right the Queen was. After the tiny cordial glasses of spiced hippocras wine and thin sugar wafers that officially ended a banquet were served, the dancing began at the other end of the hall. The bride danced first with her new husband, then with Lord Dudley. After that she was prey to all the gentlemen. Several were forward enough to suggest assignations while staring boldly down her dress. Skye was shocked. The morals of the Islamic world she remembered had been quite strict. Here at Greenwich they appeared to be lax indeed.
She soon found herself partnered by the scowling Lord Burke. Did the man never smile? “My felicitations, madam. You have done quite well for yourself.” His tone was most insulting, and she found herself once again infuriated by the man. She fixed him with a level gaze and asked, “Why, my lord, are you so hostile to me? Have I done you some injury of which I am not aware? Pray speak, sir, that I may correct whatever fault it is that offends you.” Wordlessly he drew her from the dance floor and led her to the table where refreshments were being served. His silver eyes probed her face, never looking away. Suddenly he asked, “Have you ever heard of the O’Malleys of Innisfana Island, madam?” She thought a moment, then replied, “I am sorry, Lord Burke, but I have not. Is it important to you?”
“No,” he said roughly. “It is of no account, madam.” But he appeared almost distraught.
“Lady Southwood.” Lord Burke bowed curtly over her hand.
Then he turned and walked away.
Skye and her female companions left the hall discreetly. “Her Majesty,” confided Lettice Knollys, “has given you an apartment in a quiet part of the palace. You’ll be quite private. How I envy you this night! Southwood is said to be a magnificent lover!” “Lettice!” scolded another of the Queen’s ladies, “if Her Majesty should hear such loose talk, you’ll be sent down to the country.” The Queen’s red-haired cousin tossed her beautiful head. “The Queen would sell her soul to be the bride this night if Lord Dudley were the groom.”
“Lettice!” cried several scandalized voices, “you speak treason!” but Lettice Knollys simply laughed. “Ah, here we are, Skye,” she announced as she paused before a door.
The guards flung open the door, and the chattering women entered into a prettily furnished bedchamber where Daisy awaited her mistress along with two palace maids.
The large oak bedstead held up ornately twisted bedposts which were hung with pink velvet hangings. To the left of the bed, casement windows looked out toward the rain-swept river. To the right of the bed was a large stone fireplace, now blazing with enough warmth to have removed all dampness from the room and rendered it cozy. Daisy and her two assistants set to work immediately disrobing the bride. Wearing only a single petticoat and her underblouse, Skye bathed in rosewater from a silver basin. Then her hair was taken down and brushed until it gleamed. The blue-gold lights were the envy of most of the women in the room. Now Daisy brought forth the
