“My mother loves me,” he replied, “and ye will, too, Mag, when ye get to know me.”
“That,
Master
O’Malley, remains to be seen,” she replied.
“Mag,” said Robin, “come and have a tankard of ale with me,” and before the tiring woman might protest he drew her out the open door, and pulled it shut so the betrothed pair might be alone.
Conn stepped past the bed that took most of the room’s floor space into the little bit of open room. Before him, her back to the tiny window, stood a girl. She was far taller than most women, and bigger boned than his sister Skye. Her face was oval, her chin dimpled as was his. He could not tell the color of her eyes, or her hair which was hidden beneath her cap, but he noted that she had pretty hands that plucked nervously at the amber velvet of her gown. She was no beauty, this bride the queen had picked for him, but he thought she might be pretty if she would only smile. Still in all it wasn’t as bad as he had thought it might be. She could have been pockmarked. He looked closely at the girl again. There was something familiar about her. Where had he seen her before?
“Twelfth Night,” said Aidan recognizing his predicament.
The sound startled him, but he decided, he liked her voice. It was moderate in tone, and sweet. “Twelfth Night?” he questioned.
“Ye played Blind Man’s Bluff with us, and ye caught me.”
“Of course!” Now he remembered! “I kissed ye, and ye trembled. Ye don’t know how to kiss. I thought to myself that ye’d never been kissed before, and ’twas strange for yer not a very young lass like the others.”
Aidan laughed, and it was a somewhat rueful sound. “Nay, I’m not as young as the others,” she agreed. “I will be twenty-four on the nineteenth of August next.”
“I will be twenty-three on the twenty-third of June,” he answered.
They were silent again neither one of them sure where to take this awkward conversation from there. Then Conn said, “Yer very pretty when ye smile, Mistress St. Michael.”
“I think ye had best call me Aidan, Conn O’Malley, as we will very shortly be man and wife.” She was surprised by her daring speech.
“Do ye know what it means in the Gaelic?” he asked her.
“I do not know Gaelic.”
“It means ‘Fiery One.’ Are ye fiery, Aidan?” His eyes were studying her, noting suddenly the slender waist, the full bosom, her straight carriage.
“I do not believe so, Conn O’Malley,” she answered, and she blushed at his scrutiny.
He was suddenly very curious to see the color of her hair. “Take off yer cap, Aidan,” he said, and when she hesitated, shy, of his request, Conn stepped forward, and gently pulled the small linen cap that was heart-shaped in the front, but draped baglike in the back to conceal her hair, from her head. Then his hands moved expertly to undo the gold and tortoise hairpins that held her hair so neatly in place. To his surprise the hair suddenly came undone, falling in a silken swath to just below her hips. “God’s nightshirt!” he swore softly, “ye have hair like pale molten copper, lass! ’Tis lovely. Why do ye conceal it beneath that damned cap?” His hands slid through the perfumed tangle of it.
“M-my father said my hair was a funny color. He preferred my mother’s hair, and so after she died I kept my hair beneath a cap so as not to annoy him.” She felt rooted to the floor as his fingers gently caressed her long tresses.
He had never seen hair like this, Conn thought. It was the most beautiful color, and so wonderfully soft to his touch, yet it had texture. For some reason he could not fathom her hair aroused him in the most incredible way. “I think,” he said softly, his own voice sounding thick in his ears, “I think it is time, Aidan St. Michael, that we seal this betrothal the queen has made between us with a kiss,” and without waiting for her answer he cupped her head with one hand, and found her lips.
For a moment she felt as if all the blood had drained from her veins to be swiftly replaced by boiling, thick, and sweet, hot honey. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move. The pressure of his lips on hers roused in her mind that most lascivious of thoughts. She wanted to tear the clothes from her body,
and from his.
She wanted to lie with him, and touch him, and have him touch her. She felt his other arm slip about her waist, and to her mortification she found herself falling back against that arm while his lips trailed down her arched throat leaving a path of burning kisses. She felt a hand move to cup her breast, heard his voice, heavy with passion groan her name, “Ahh, Aidan,” and in that moment sanity returned to her. She was as bad as those silly women who were forever chasing him. She was as bad as any damned drab who so easily lifted her skirts here at court. She didn’t know this man, and yet here she was locked in passionate embrace with him, allowing him to fondle her! Why in another minute or two he’d have her on the bed, and what was left of her virtue would be gone! He’d be bored with her before the wedding!
With a grim burst of determination Aidan stamped down hard on Conn’s booted foot, and using all her strength pulled herself from his delicious embrace. “Master O’Malley!” she tried to make her voice sound stern and scandalized. “Master O’Malley! We are not wed yet, sir!”
His head was spinning, and he felt like a schoolboy. What bewitchment was this that she had ensnared him with? One look at her coppery hair, and he had desired her. It was unbelievable, and even he was surprised by his own actions. What was worse he wasn’t certain what he could say to her. “Aidan . . .” God’s foot! Where were the proper words?
Aidan’s head was beginning to clear, and with several swift motions she had her hair pinned up, albeit untidily, and was replacing her linen cap upon her head again. She drew a deep breath, and said in what she hoped sounded like a no-nonsense tone of voice, “Master O’Malley, I think it is best that we not see each other again until the wedding lest we cause gossip. It could draw attention to our match which is not what the queen desires at this time.”
He was finally able to find his voice, and he almost stammered his agreement, feeling like a bumbling fool as he did so. Hastily making her a leg, he hurried from the little room. What the hell was the matter with him? he frantically questioned himself. He had never behaved like such a lackwit with a pretty female in his entire life. She was simply a girl!
As the door closed behind him Aidan sank to the bed, finding to her great surprise that she was shaking. What was the matter with her? He was only a man! She was suddenly terribly aware of how little she actually knew about the more intimate relationship between a wife and her husband. What was worse there was no one she could ask, and she felt like a total fool. She wanted to be his wife, but she suddenly knew that until they had grown to know one another better their marriage could be one in name only. She didn’t dare allow him any more intimacies lest she be tempted into further wanton behavior. His kisses, his embraces, were like heady sweet wine, and she wanted to drink until she was blind drunk. It shocked her to face that truth, but what surprised her more was the realization that she, Aidan St. Michael, wanted her husband, Conn O’Malley, to love her; to
really
love her!
He was not, she knew, impressed by her monetary wealth for he had wealth of his own. He gained lands, and of course, her father’s title by their marriage, but it was not a marriage he had sought; and he was far too honest, she hoped, to court her unless he actually cared for her. She wondered what would happen if he ever learned that it was she who had suggested their marriage. He must never know! The clock on the mantel chimed four o’clock of this February afternoon, and a log dissolved into a shower of red-gold sparks in the fireplace grate.
Aidan stood up, and turning to look into the small mirror that Mag had hung near the fireplace she stared into it. Did she look any different now that she had been well and truly kissed? She didn’t think so, and she smiled at her foolishness as she was sure Linnet Talbot would have smiled if she but knew; but then perhaps not. Was it not Linnet who had insisted that they follow the strict conditions for St. Agnes Eve just this last month? She smiled again at the memory, amused now that she had allowed the younger girl to bully her into so silly a superstition, and yet she had.
St. Agnes Eve fell on the night of January 20–21. It had been a snowy, cold night, Aidan recalled. It was the night that a maiden, if she followed a strict set of rules dreamt of her future husband. None of them had been on duty with the queen that night, and it was this coincidence of scheduling that had given Linnet the idea that they must all celebrate according to tradition. Each had gone separately to the chapel. First Cathy, who was the youngest, and then Dorothy, Jane Anne, Linnet, Mary, and finally Aidan. She wondered if the others had prayed as hard as she had. After all, they were so very young, and she was facing her twenty-fourth birthday. Leaving the chapel, looking neither to the left nor to the right, and most certainly not behind her, each girl had gone supperless to her bed, never speaking to a soul. That part had been the easiest for Aidan with her little chamber, and Mag, warned in advance, had humored her mistress. Once asleep the maiden was supposed to dream of the man she would marry. Aidan had dreamt of Conn O’Malley to her intense discomfort for she was, or so she thought, a practical girl, and Conn O’Malley was not a practical dream. He had never paid her the least attention, and other than his kiss on Twelfth Night he had had nothing to do with her.
“Who did ye dream of? Who?” each girl demanded of the others in the morning, but Aidan had lied, and said she had dreamt of no one, and must therefore be condemned to spinsterhood. The others had sympathized, but she had seen the knowing looks that passed between them. Poor Aidan, the looks had plainly said. If she were meant to marry it would have happened long since.
Aidan’s smile suddenly broadened. “I wonder,” she said softly to herself, “I wonder what ye will all think when ye learn that I have married the Handsomest Man at Court! Aidan St. Michael, Lady Bliss! Mistress of
Pearroc Royal
!” and then she laughed. It was such a wonderful joke, and she had no friend with whom to share the humor. It would be so wonderful if her husband became that friend.
The next day she was excused from her duties, and she and Mag worked very hard to pack all of their possessions. They would be making the journey in the young Earl of Lynmouth’s traveling coach, he had informed them when he had come with his liveried footmen to take away her trunks. The other girls had come to bid her farewell for they had already been told she would go early.
“This is sudden,” pried Linnet Talbot. “If ye were anyone else I would say ye were with child.”
“Linnet! Where is yer modesty,” shrieked Cathy, but the other girls laughed.
“It was not meant that I remain at court,” said Aidan quietly. “I really only came so the queen could get a good look at me. Being allowed to serve her majesty was a privilege and a treat for me, but I cannot remain off my lands for too much longer. I had actually hoped to be home by Twelfth Night.”
“Is there a man involved? I mean back at yer
Pearroc Royal
?” demanded Linnet.
Aidan laughed. “If there were, Linnet, I should have been home long since! Now come, ye silly child, and kiss me good-bye!”
Each girl had stepped forward and pecked Aidan upon her cheeks, and then without further ado they trooped out of the room. As the door closed behind them Aidan felt a funny sort of sadness. They had not really been her friends for they were far too young, and much too feather-headed, but they had all been companions in the queen’s service, and they had been kind to her. She must remember in the spring to send each of them a dress length for none came of wealth, and they would appreciate her practical thought.
“I want a bath,” she said to Mag. “Go and bribe some of the footmen to bring enough hot water to fill my little tub before it must be packed. I will be so glad to get home where I may bathe again each day.”
The footmen who had served this part of Greenwich Palace thought Mistress St. Michael’s concern with her own personal cleanliness a great eccentricity, but they liked the piece of silver her tiring woman tipped them each time to bring up the hot water. They were sorry to learn that this would be the last time the silver would be theirs. After the tub was filled Mag shooed them out, and poured a goodly dollop of bath oil into the steaming water. Instantly the room was perfumed with the scent of lavender, and Aidan smiled.
“It may not be as elegant a fragrance as some I’ve smelt here, Mag, but it reminds me of home, and it makes me happy,” she said.
“Aye,” said the tiring woman helping her to disrobe, and sit down in the little tub, “and glad I’ll be to see
Pearroc Royal
again, m’lady.”
“M’lady?”
“Well, ye will be in a few short hours!” Mag pinned Aidan’s long hair atop her head. “And high time ye were getting married! Ye should have been wed years ago but neither ye nor yer father could see it. It’s a mercy he went when he did lest ye end up an old maid like the queen! I’ve saved two buckets of water for yer hair. I’ll not have ye louse-ridden like so many of these
fine
ladies!”
She was bathed, and her hair was washed, and then as she dried it by the fire Mag went to the kitchens to fetch her a bit of supper, but she found her normally good appetite gone, and when she went to bed she could not sleep although Mag snored comfortably next to her. She finally slipped into a restless doze only to have Mag shaking her awake. Already a bright fire burnt in the grate, but the room was chill with winter, and she dressed in her undergarments and stockings while still beneath her down coverlet. Mag had thoughtfully warmed them before the fire, but once out of bed it didn’t help.
“Brrrr,” she shivered.
“Ye’ll be warmer when ye put yer dress on,” Mag promised, and she helped her mistress into the gown. “I’d always hoped to see ye wed in yer mother’s satin wedding finery, but there was no time to send for it. I’m not certain I approve of this kiss-me-quick ceremony the queen has planned for ye.”