become weapons in his hands.
Below her, she could hear the thudding of the horses’ hooves as they passed over the wooden drawbridge, then clattered into the castle courtyard. Gathering her cloak about her, she left the ramparts and hurried to her own apartment to await word from her majordomo that Lord Dudley had arrived. When the announcement came she calmly smoothed her skirts and descended to the Great Hall to greet her unwelcome guest.
As she entered the room Robert Dudley felt a momentary stab of compassion. She had grown thinner and looked tired. Yet despite the changes, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her black silk mourning gown was enormously becoming and the jet-edged cap framed her heart-shaped face in an outrageously flattering way. Widowhood became her, thought Robert Dudley. “Welcome to Lynmouth, my lord.” Her voice held no warmth. “Am I truly welcome, my dear Skye?” he inquired playfully, kissing her hand.
“The Queen’s majesty is always welcome in this house, my lord Dudley, and you represent the Queen. I trust your men have been suitably cared for by my people?”
“Thank you, madam, yes.”
… “You will wish to see the Earl,” she said. “At the moment, however, his lordship is asleep. I shall send him to you in the morning when he awakens. I apologize for our being unable to entertain you, Lord Dudley, but this house is in deepest mourning. You will excuse me now, sir.”
Dudley felt a surge of quick anger. He was being dismissed like a servant. “No, madam, I will not excuse you,” he snapped. “My lord!” Skye looked outraged. “I would pray for my husband!
You have no right to deny me the solace of prayer.” “Would not a flesh-and-blood man be a better solace, sweet Skye?” Her beautiful blue eyes widened.
He flushed a dull red color. “You try my patience, madam!” “And you try mine,” she snapped. “How dare you come into my house and suggest what you suggest? It was bad enough that you attacked my virtue when Geoffrey was alive, but to continue to assault me in my grief is despicable!”
“Madam, I will have you.” There it was. Blunt and open.
“Never.”
“Let me remind you that I am your son’s governor.”
“But not mine!”
“I can have the boy removed from here at any time. And unless you cooperate, I shall.”
“I shall appeal to the Queen!”
“On what grounds, sweet Skye? I have only to tell Bess that you are suffering from acute melancholia brought on by Southwood’s death. That I think your moods are bad for the children. Better yet, the children shall remain here at Lynmouth, but I shall remove you to London! What will you tell the Queen, and which one of us will she believe?”
“No!” She was helpless until the Queen replied to her last letter and she was free of Dudley. She dare not take the chance of being separated from Robin and Willow. Dudley smiled, knowing that she had assessed the situation intelligently and knew she had no choice. “You will have supper with me, and afterward I will have you,” he crowed triumphantly.
“I pray that you excuse me from supper. What you force me to is distasteful, and I find I have no appetite. I will come to you, for I will not take you into the bed I shared with my husband. Give me a few hours to compose myself.”
He nodded. “Very well, sweet Skye. I will excuse you from supper. I shall eat in my rooms, and you will come to me at ten o’clock tonight. Is it agreed?”
“Yes, my lord.” She turned from him and quickly left the room. If it had not been for the children she would have thrown herself from the castle heights. No! She would have plunged a dagger into his chest, and thrown his body into the sea! Why should she suffer because of that revolting man?
Daisy waited for her in Skye’s bedroom. “From the look on your face I’d say Lord Dudley’s not changed his tune.” Skye had taken her tiring woman into her confidence because she believed she might need Daisy’s aid.
Skye explained wearily, “He has threatened to send me from the children unless I yield myself. I must, of course, especially since I don’t believe he knows yet that the five older children are gone. When he learns of that all hell is apt to break loose around us, Daisy.”
“Unless, of course, you please him. He’ll be more amenable if he thinks he’s won you over,” observed Daisy.
“If the Queen agrees to my suggestion for Robin’s future, then the fine Lord Dudley will have nothing to blackmail me with at all.”
“But in the meantime you’ve got to warm his bed, and he’ll not be happy if you are aloof with him.”
“How can I receive him warmly, Daisy? I despise the man! How could I take a ridiculous popinjay like that for a lover after my darling Geoffrey?”
“Alas, madam, it’s not a matter of what you want. The Earl would want you to protect little Robin’s inheritance,” said the everpractical Daisy. “Lord Dudley has the power now. Men always do.” “Not always,” said Skye softly. For the first time in several years she was experiencing her youth again, in her memory. Safe in Geoffrey’s love, she had almost forgotten that she was the O’Malley of Innisfana. Now she was trapped, for Robin was an English peer, and she could not steal his ancient heritage in order to return to her own. But there might be a way out of this, if only the Queen agreed to her plan. For tonight, however, there was no escaping Lord Dudley. She shuddered.
“I’ve had the girls draw your bath, my lady,” said Daisy quietly. “There’ll be breast of capon, salad, and fresh strawberries with cream for your supper after your bath.”
Skye nodded absently. Undressing automatically, she stepped into her tub. The warm water was fragrant with her favorite scent, roses. Daisy carefully pinned up her hair, and Skye sank deep into the water. She did not think Dudley meant to flaunt her before the world. Elizabeth Tudor could not be used that way. Too, it had been less than two years since Dudley had finally received his earldom. Therefore, he would plan to leave Skye in Devon, taking his pleasure of her on occasional trips down to see to the “welfare” of his godson, the Queen’s ward. He would have to be very careful lest he rouse the suspicions of the Queen regarding his true motives. Taking the soap from a small porcelain dish, she chuckled to herself, realizing that her daily bathing was a habit picked up in Algiers. Many of the English Court ladies were just as shy of soap and water as their kitchen help. She rose from the tub, and Daisy wrapped a warmed towel about her. Stepping from the tub, Skye sat down on a bench by her fire. Two little undermaids carefully rubbed the beads of moisture from Skye’s shoulders and then, kneeling, dried her feet. Skye stood up, dropping her towel, her slender arms raised above her head. Daisy, armed with a thick lamb’s wool puff, liberally dusted her mistress with rose powder, muttering all the while, “Indecent is what it is! In her middle twenties, five babes, and she still has the figure of a young girl!”
Skye laughed. Though Daisy was younger than she was by a good five years, she was, in the manner of a beloved servant, maternal in her feelings toward her mistress. Still smiling, Skye took up the crystal flacon of attar of roses and daubed the scent on herself, suddenly remembering Yasmin and the women in the House of Felicity. /
Daisy held out the gown, and Skye slipped into it. Of coral silk, it had wide flowing sleeves, a very low, scooped neckline, and a full skirt that fell in graceful folds. There was no waistline. The gown fastened beneath the breasts, molding them. How Geoffrey would have loved this gown, she thought, blinking back tears. She had had it made in London last winter, and had not had a chance to wear it before he died. For a moment she considered tearing it off rather than wear it before Robert Dudley. But she realized that nearly everything she touched would hold memories of Geoffrey. “You may all leave me now,” Skye said. “Good night, girls.” The door closed behind the three, and she glanced toward the mantel clock. An hour to go. She nibbled on a bit of supper, surprised to find that she had an appetite. The strawberries tasted particularly good, and it came to her that she hadn’t really tasted food since Geoffrey had died. She had eaten because she had to, but she might have been eating dried leaves.
She paced the room nervously, wishing that her monthly courses were upon her so she might have refused Dudley. Oh, good God! Why had she not told him that? It would have mattered very little. He would simply have waited until she could receive him. Better to get it over with now.
She thought for a moment on the man who awaited her, seeking to find something about him that would make her ordeal less terrible. She could not deny that he was handsome. Tall and well formed, his complexion fair, his
