All the Sweet Tomorrows (95 page)

“Don’t they know that while their ancestors were still painting themselves blue for battle, and living in tree shelters, we Irish had universities and great poets?” Conn demanded irritably.

“No, Conn darlin’, they don’t know. They believe that the sun rises and sets on England, and nothing you can say will alter their ignorance. Don’t even try, Conn. You need only have faith in yourself to succeed. If you do, none of the stupid insults thrown at you will matter. Remember what Da always taught me. The survival of the family is paramount, Conn. Nothing else matters.”

“Do you think the Queen will see us fairly soon?”

“Oh, yes! Elizabeth Tudor will be curious to meet you. Oh, Conn, you’ve such an advantage! You’re young, handsome, clever, well mannered, and fairly well educated. In short, just the kind of young man the Queen adores. Use that advantage. Pay her court. Flirt with her. Remember, though, that ’tis only a game with the Queen. You will be a success, I promise you, and then you will get the letters of marque that the O’Malleys need.”

“Is she attractive? I mean,
really?
I know that all the gossips praise her, but what is she really like, Skye?”

“She’ll be forty this year, Conn. She’s old enough to be your mother, but she’s a handsome woman. She has marvelous white, white skin, and golden red hair. Her eyes are a gray-black and they see everything. She is very educated, and enjoys quick repartee. She’s a brilliant and clever woman. She likes to dance, so there you’ll shine. You’ll like her, but beware, little brother. She can be stronger and harsher than any man I’ve ever met if the occasion warrants it.”

“You intrigue me, sister,” Conn replied. “I am more anxious than ever now to meet this paragon of womanhood.”

Conn O’Malley arrived at court two days before Christmas of 1574. He wore dark green velvet, and his trunk hose was striped in green velvet and gold silk. His doublet was embroidered with gold threads, pearls, turquoises, and small diamonds in a seascape pattern. The buttons on the doublet were gold, and at the wrists and neck of the garment the finest lace showed. He wore a short Spanish cape lined in beaver with a half-erect collar lined in cloth of gold. On his feet he wore tight-fitting leather boots with cuffs that turned upward, and about his neck was a heavy
gold chain and a red-gold medallion with the O’Malley sea dragon carved upon it, its ruby eyes most real.

At the last moment Skye had convinced her brother to shave his beard and mustache off entirely, and, as she had suspected, beneath the black hair there was an outrageously handsome face.

“God’s blood,” Adam swore, looking at the younger man. “You could be your sister’s twin!”

“Considering I’m fifteen years older than he is that’s quite a compliment, my darling,” Skye laughed, “but I knew there was a handsome devil lurking beneath all that growth. Dear Lord, Conn, the women will be throwing themselves at you. You’ll have your pick of the entire court!”

“Poor lasses,” Conn mourned with a long face. “ ’Tis only Bess Tudor I’ll court.”

Both Skye and Adam laughed, and then leading the way, they left the house. Embarking upon their barge, they moved downriver to Greenwich. Adam sat silent watching the landscape go by as Skye instructed her brother in last-minute details. God, how beautiful she was, Adam thought as he watched her. She was dressed in crimson velvet, her cloak lined and edged in ermine, her jewels—rubies and diamonds—sparkling in the torchlight. She carried an ermine muff embroidered with diamonds and pearls, and framed within the hood of the cloak, her face was radiant. She scented victory, he thought, and he was glad. Once this matter of the O’Malleys was settled, he intended to take her away and never again share her with anyone but their large and loving family.

The towers of Greenwich Palace came into view, and Adam reached out to take his wife’s small hand in his own big one. She never turned her head, but she squeezed him, and he squeezed back. The barge took its place in the line of barges heading for the royal landing.

“Skye! Oh, Skye!” A lovely red-haired woman in the barge ahead of them waved her lace handkerchief frantically.

Skye nodded an acknowledgment as Conn noted, “A prime piece of goods, sister. You will introduce me?”

“To Lettice Knollys? She’s the Countess of Essex, Conn, and much too rich for your blood. Besides, I suspect she is involved with Lord Dudley, though if the Queen knew it she’d have her cousin Lettice’s pretty head.”

“Behind us,” Conn said. “Who is that overly fashionable gentleman?”

“Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford. He’s Burghley’s son-in-law, though he’s a bad one, I’m told.”

Their barge bumped the landing, and the Queen’s footmen made it fast so its occupants might disembark. They stood a moment upon the quai landing, Skye shaking her skirts to be sure all the wrinkles were out when Lettice Knollys approached them.

“Skye darling! You’re back! Who are these two handsome gentlemen escorting you?” she demanded playfully.

“Lettice, my husband, Adam, Lord de Marisco.” Adam smiled, and kissed the Countess of Essex’s beringed hand while she assessed him with frankly admiring eyes. “And my youngest brother, Conn O’Malley. Conn, this is the Countess of Essex.”

Conn slowly lifted Lettice’s hand up to his lips while his gray-green eyes caught her amber ones in a passionate gaze. With equal slowness he pressed a long, warm kiss upon the milk-white back of her hand. “Madam,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers, “I have been told you are but a pale imitation of your cousin, the Queen, but the beauty I see before me blinds me.”

The Countess of Essex was stunned by this incredible compliment, and for a moment she could not draw her breath. She felt nearer to fainting than she had ever been in her entire life.

A slow smile lit Conn O’Malley’s face, turning up the corners of his sensuous mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. Firmly he tucked Lettice Knollys’s hand into his arm. “Allow me to escort you into the palace, madam,” he said smoothly, and then moved off at a sedate pace, taking the still stunned countess with him.

Skye bit her lip to keep back the laughter, and didn’t even dare to look at her husband whom, she guessed, was in the same state of amusement as she. Quietly she took Adam’s arm and allowed him to lead her away. When she believed she had regained her control she said softly, “Conn has made an important first conquest. I only pray that Dudley doesn’t see him hovering over Lettice like a bee over a particularly fragrant flower.”

“Dudley doesn’t dare to publicly lust after Lettice,” Adam replied. “He’ll find himself in the Tower again if he does. No, I think if Conn manages to be discreet it will be all right.”

They had no sooner entered the palace when Lord Burghley’s secretary was at their side, begging them to please follow him. Skye detached her brother from Lettice Knollys and drew him off with them.

“So, madam, you have returned,” Cecil greeted them as they
entered his cabinet. “I hope the news you bring Her Majesty is good news.”

“It may be, Lord Burghley,” Skye replied.

“May be?
Come, madam, I will accept nothing but success!”

“You may have it, my lord, but only in exchange for something of equal value.”

“What, madam?!
We have already given you lands for your son, Lord Burke, recognized your marriage to Lord de Marisco, returned Lundy Isle to him, and presented him with lands in Worcestershire with a fine manor house. The Queen has graciously consented to the marriage of your daughter, Willow Small, with the Earl of Alcester. What more could you possibly want?”

“Everything you have said is true, my lord Burghley, but please to note that all that the Queen has given has been for others; for my husband and my children, but there is nothing for me. What I want is very little, but it is for the O’Malleys. My lord, allow me to present to you my youngest brother, Conn O’Malley. Conn, this is William Cecil, Lord Burghley, the Queen’s Secretary of State.”

Conn made a respectful bow to Cecil, instinctively understanding that this was a man he could not play with but must be totally honest toward. The Queen’s secretary looked the young man over carefully, and then said, “He looks like an O’Malley, that is for certain.” Then he smiled a small, sour smile. “Well, young Master O’Malley, what is it the O’Malleys desire from the Queen?”

“Letters of marque, my lord. We are the finest sailors alive, we O’Malleys, and ’Tis only natural that we harass our natural enemies, the English. My sister, Lady de Marisco, however, has assured me of our demise should we not cease our boyish activities, and so she suggested we channel our energies into a little privateering in the New World. We might simply go, but we feel we’ll be safer sailing under the Queen’s flag. And,” here he grinned broadly, “a great deal more successful, too!”

William Cecil’s eyes never betrayed his thoughts, but once more he was admiring of Skye. He had wondered how she would stop her now grown brothers from their rebellious activities against England. Once again she had been extremely clever. If only she were a man, he thought. He could have used that intelligence of hers for England’s good. Of course, they would give the O’Malley brothers the letters of marque, but ’twas best to keep them on tenterhooks for a bit.

“I shall have to speak to the Queen about this, Master O’Malley,” he said. “You are asking for something of great value from England.”

“I offer England something of equal value,” Conn replied pleasantly, but Burghley saw the hard look that had come into his eyes. The boy might be young, but he was his sister’s brother, Lord Burghley had not a doubt.

“We shall see, we shall see,” he murmured, and then turned back to Adam and Skye. “Lord de Marisco, I have here from the Queen the papers that will make you the new resident of Queen’s Malvern, a royal estate outside of Worcester. Her Majesty understands that it will not make up for your beloved Lundy, but she knows you understand her reasons for forbidding you residence on your island.”

Adam nodded. “I understand, but please tell Her Majesty that anyplace Skye and I are together is home for me. I will thank Her Majesty myself this evening for her generosity.”

“Ah, yes, the Christmas revels,” Burghley said. “Go and enjoy yourselves. I am happy to tell you that your children do quite well here at court. The Queen is most pleased with Mistress Willow, whom she is constantly holding up as a model of all the feminine virtues.”

“Poor Willow!” Skye said without thinking. “How hard that must be on her.”

“On the contrary, madam. She is much envied by her peers, yet at the same time both admired and loved by them. A fine young woman, madam! A fine young woman!”

“Meaning, my lord, that you wonder how I could have ever raised such a dutiful daughter,” Skye gently teased Cecil.

The Secretary of State was not beyond humor, and he chuckled with dry mirth. “Quite so, madam. Quite so!”

“Be patient, my lord, I have two others. One should hopefully prove to be more like her mother.”

“We can but wait, madam,” he replied.

Skye swept Cecil a generous curtsey, dipping low enough to offer him a fine view of her bosom which, she noted, he was not loath to admire, for all his talk of virtue. Men, she thought, were ever thus. “I shall save a dance for you, m’lord,” she said mischievously, and then taking her husband’s arm, Skye, Adam, and Conn exited the room.

The Queen was sitting down to dinner in the banqueting hall, and though it was crowded, they quickly found places with Lettice
Knollys, who couldn’t wait to make room for Conn O’Malley.

“D’you think she’ll devour him whole?” Skye whispered to Adam.

“Nay, Lettice may be greedy, but she’s wise. She’ll eat Conn up in little bites,” he chuckled.

The hall was decorated with garlands of greenery, the fireplaces banked above with masses of pine and holly that gave the room an unusually fragrant scent. The tables were laid with white damask linen cloths, and by each place was that rarity invented in Florence only a few years before, the fork. It was gold as were the spoons and graceful knives with their Sheffield blades. The plates used to set Her Majesty’s table were silver, as were the goblets, each one engraved with Elizabeth Tudor’s own crest. Conn never batted an eye. His sister had taught him to use forks, explaining that the high nobility, and royalty in particular, no longer liked to see daggers at their tables. There was always the chance that the dagger could be turned on one’s own self or one’s guests instead of the meat.

A servant hurried up to fill his goblet with a heady red wine. Conn raised the goblet, sniffed appreciatively, and took a healthy draught. Skye had warned him not to swill his wine lest his manners be considered boorish, for the Queen prized exquisite manners. The food was bounteous, including shellfish and every other kind of fish he’d ever heard of; poultry and game birds; beef, lamb, boar, ham, venison, pies with flaky crusts containing lark, sparrow, and rabbit, bowls of carrots and cabbage, artichokes in wine, cress, breads and tubs of butter. He was unable to resist such delights, but although he ate heartily, he ate with delicacy.

“I like a man who enjoys his food,” Lettice murmured, and her hand strayed beneath the cloth to squeeze his thigh.

“One healthy appetite is merely indication of another,” he grinned lazily at her.

“Meet me after the banquet,” Lettice suggested eagerly.

“Madam, you tempt me sorely,” Conn replied with honest regret in both his gray-green eyes and on his handsome face, “but you must remember that I need your royal cousin’s favor. Were we caught, my fortunes would be destroyed. Surely you wouldn’t want that?”

Lettice pouted. “You men newly come to court are all so serious in your intent to please Bess.”

“She is the sun which rises and sets upon our world, my beauty.”

“My God,” Lettice said drily, “with a silver tongue like yours, Conn O’Malley, you’ll have Bess behaving like a schoolgirl!”

“I can only hope,” Conn murmured softly, and Lettice Knollys laughed in genuine amusement.

“Tell me, Conn O’Malley,” she asked, “do you make love as well as you talk?”

“Better!” he grinned, “for it takes me less effort and thought.”