Once Upon A Time (Historical Romance) (16 page)

"How long will it take us to reach Falcon Bruine?"

"With a fair wind, within the week."

Cassandra lay on her pallet, wondering how her mother would greet them when they arrived in Falcon Bruine. Would she be repentant, beg to be forgiven, or deny that she had helped the enemy? And how would her mother accept Jilliana? Henry would have made certain that she knew about Ruyen's marriage.

Cassandra had never met anyone like her sister-in-law, and the more she came to know Jilliana, the more she admired her. She was not quite certain how Ruyen felt about Jilliana though. Could he not see that his wife was worth three of Lady Katharine Highclere?

The young girl's mind moved to the Talshamarian knight, Sir Edward. Today she had watched him as he stood on board ship. He was like a golden god with golden hair and skin. She was sure that she would love him until the day she died, even if he hardly noticed her. If only he would look at her once the way he looked at Jilliana. But then, every man stared at Jilliana in awe. She was so beautiful that no woman could hope to be noticed when she was about.

Netta was plumping Jilliana's pallet to make certain there were no lumps, when the curtain moved aside and Jilliana entered, holding her hand over her mouth.

The maid rushed to her. "Your Majesty, you look pale. What is amiss?"

Jilliana unfastened her cloak and the maid took it from her. "I have been feeling sick since stepping on board, Netta. I did not want Humphrey to know because he worries so."

Jilliana dropped down to her pallet and closed her eyes. "Truth to tell, I feel extremely ill."

Netta touched Jilliana's forehead and was relieved that she had no fever. "It could be merely seasickness, Your Majesty, or it could be something quite different."

Jilliana sat up, running a trembling hand across her face. "What do you mean?"

Cassandra moved nearer, taking Jilliana's hand. "I have heard that one symptom a woman has when she is expecting a child is nausea."

Jilliana's hand tightened on Cassandra's and she looked at Netta for guidance.

"Ohhh," she suddenly cried, clamping her hand over her mouth. "I am going to be ill. Secure the curtains—I cannot allow the others to see me thus."

Netta had been kneeling beside her worriedly. "Can you wait until I return?" she asked, jumping to her feet and hurrying past the curtains.

Jilliana was sure this was what it felt like to die. Just when she thought she could hold back no longer, Netta was beside her, pressing a damp cloth against her forehead and placing a wooden pail beside her.

Jilliana retched until she was limp and then fell back on the pallet, groaning. Cassandra held her hand and talked to her encouragingly.

At last Jilliana smiled. "I believe the sickness has passed. I am sure it was nothing more than seasickness. There is no need to tell anyone that I was ill."

Cassandra and Netta exchanged doubtful looks.

"Jilliana," Cassandra said at last, "since I was raised on an island, I know much about seasickness. I have never known it to pass so quickly."

Jilliana sat up slowly. "I know so little about many things, Netta. Can it be that 1 am with child?"

"I cannot say for certain, Your Majesty. But if you are, the sickness will come again on the morrow."

18

The voyage stretched into nine days. Each morning, Jilliana was ill, a fact that was difficult to hide from anyone on board the small ship.

The men merely thought she had come down with bouts of seasickness, while Netta became convinced that the queen was with child. She prayed that it was so, for then they could return to Talshamar, where perhaps the queen would be happy.

It had not escaped Netta's notice that Prince Ruyen paid little attention to the queen. Even on board this ship with its limited space, he managed to avoid her.

The maid's loyal heart beat with anger. To her thinking, no prince of some small insignificant island was good enough for the queen of Talshamar. Her dear, sweet queen deserved someone to cherish her and love her. Not once had Prince Ruyen inquired about Queen Jilliana's health.

*                                          *                                          *

Humphrey was watching the rocky shoreline of the island rise out of the mist. He had never been to Falcon Bruine, and were it not for the circumstances of this voyage, he might have looked forward to exploring the island.

Ruyen stood beside him, his eyes dark and brooding, his jaw clamped together tightly. He thought of the morning he had sailed away with his troops to defend Falcon Bruine. He had not known that before he could return he would suffer the death of his father and the betrayal of his mother.

"I can see a tower in the distance, be that the castle?" Humphrey asked.

"Aye. That is my home."

The ship's captain lowered the billowing sails and the craft caught the tide, drifting toward the shore. Dropping the anchor in deep water, the captain ordered the small boats lowered over the sides.

Jilliana came forward, looking at the island with misgiving. There was a long pier jutting seaward, and in the distance she could see a road winding its way through a dense forest.

She felt Ruyen's hand on her shoulder and turned to him. "Falcon Bruine is lovely. You must be delighted to be home."

He did not answer her inquiry because he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. "I knew you were ill," he said with a frown, "and I was concerned, but I assumed you would not welcome my company."

She would have welcomed him, but she did not say so. "I believe men are of little use when a woman is ill. Cassandra and Netta proved to be admirable nurses."

He smiled faintly. "If you will allow it, I will assist you to the boat."

Jilliana nodded, looking down in trepidation at the small craft bobbing in the turbulent water.

Ruyen easily lifted her into his arms and descended the rope ladder. Once in the boat, he seated her on a cushion. Before she could thank him, he had climbed up the ladder to aid his sister.

With rowers plying the oars, four boats caught the current and made their way toward land.

Queen Melesant descended the narrow stone steps, her splendid purple robe trailing behind her. Her headdress was a stark black, and the golden crown of Falcon Bruine sat atop her head. As regent she had no right to the crown, but little she cared; it was within her grasp and she would wear it.

She entered her private chamber to find her minister, Escobar Hernandez, waiting for her. Escobar had been her father's steward and had come to the Isle of Falcon Bruine with the wedding party thirty-five years ago. On Melesant's request, he had remained, gradually making himself indispensable to her through the years.

Escobar was not a tall man, but he was lean and carried himself straight. His skin was olive in color, and he had a great hooked nose and slightly irregular features—a plain man, who no one would ordinarily take notice of, and he often used that to his advantage.

A year after Melesant gave birth to Ruyen, she discovered that Escobar was a skillful lover who knew exactly how to set her body on fire. He had made himself useful to her in other ways, as well. She had made him her adviser after her husband's death, and where once he had crept into her chamber late at night, he was now free to come to her whenever she summoned him.

Melesant had made it clear to him, however, that when he was not in her bedchamber, he must treat her with the proper decorum her rank required.

"What news have you, Escobar? Is it true? Have the ships landed?" she asked, swirling her long robe aside and ascending the throne.

"Aye, Majesty, but there is only one ship."

Queen Melesant frowned. "I was told they left London with nigh a hundred Talshamarian knights. Can there be some trickery?"

"Nay, Majesty, my informant tells me that the queen of Talshamar travels with but twelve armed guards."

Melesant felt the tension that had been coiled within her slowly ease. She had been dreading her son's arrival. By now, he must know that she had aided King Henry, and she had expected him to return with a large fighting force.

"Does my son believe he can unseat me with a mere dozen soldiers?" she sneered. "How pitiful he will be against my Castilian knights."

Escobar bowed slightly. Everyone, even he, was hesitant to speak the truth, fearing it would throw the queen into a rage if she disagreed.

"It was wise of you to send for troops from Castile since most of the populace of Falcon Bruine remains loyal to your late husband. I have heard rumblings of dissent, for many of them believe that Prince Ruyen should be king."

Melesant's eyes narrowed, catlike, and her long fingernails dug into Escobar's arms.

"Ferret out the names of any who support my son against me, and I will have them thrown in the dungeon and beaten like curs."

Escobar watched as blood shaped from the gashes left by her claw like fingernails. "It is not always easy to find traitors. While the people talk among themselves, they protect each other from outsiders. But we shall watch them more closely in the future. For now, they seem to fear our Castilians, and that alone should keep them from aiding the prince."

"Imbecile, you trust too easily. Set spies in the village and discover who incites trouble. Must I think of everything? Can you not take this situation in hand?"

Escobar knew that when the queen was in this mood it was best to humor her. He might be her lover at night, but in the daylight hours, she scorned and ridiculed him. He knew her moods better than anyone, and would endure what he must to be near her—she was like wine to his blood.

"Majesty," he said placatingly, "1 will see to it at once."

"Do you think she is beautiful?"

"Pardon, Madame, of whom do you speak?"

"Ruyen's wife, of course. God, Escobar, you have only just returned from England ahead of them. You should be able to tell me something."

"I did not see her or talk to anyone who could give me a description of her."

"What you mean is, that you were merely a messenger. I should have sent someone else."

He bowed. "I did my best."

"I recall her mother," Melesant said thoughtfully. "All the men thought her beautiful, but I did not. She was too tall for a woman. Men do not like tall women."

Escobar knew when to flatter Melesant and when to keep his own counsel. This was one of those times when she needed reassurance that only he could give her. She had always been preoccupied with her appearance—it was her only feminine weakness, as he saw it.

"No one could compare with you, Majesty. You are most comely."

She looked pleased. "I was once reputed to be a beauty. 1 met my husband when my father took me to Paris. Papa was a diplomat and my husband was a guest of King Louis at some court function in honor of Falcon Bruine. I made certain that Broderick saw me to my best advantage. I wore my only decent gown and acted the coy maiden with him. Men always seem to fall for simpering innocence, and I played it well. He was so taken with me that he made me his queen, even though I had not a drop of royal blood in my veins." Suddenly her voice hardened. "But that is the past. Once I turned men's heads and they would do anything I asked of them, now it seems I must obtain their loyalty with force."

"You have always had my loyalty, Madame." His dark eyes held a hidden meaning. "You also have my heart and body."

Melesant recognized the passion that still raged between them.

"Yes, throughout the years you have been constant and loyal. But like everyone else, the day will come when you will betray me—they all do."

"Not I, Majesty." He reached out and clamped her arm and then allowed his hand to drift sensuously upward, then softly across her breasts. "I have been away from you for too long and my body burns for you."

Melesant closed her eyes—she had missed the feel of his hands on her body. She had often wondered why she was so infatuated by him. He was not appealing to look at—ugly really. She did not love him, and had never given her heart to any man. She had nothing to give because her body and heart were ruled by a strong ambitious mind. But she was possessive of Escobar and had warned him many times that if he ever touched another woman, he would breathe his last.

She did not object when he kicked the door closed with his foot, his hands still occupied with stroking her rounded breasts. She quaked when one hand plunged down the front of her gown, and she moaned, her breath coming out in gasps. He made her feel weak, and she wanted to strip her clothing off here and now and have him take her right here on the floor.

He pushed her gown aside and bent his head, sucking on one breast while fondling the other. She threw back her head, groaning and twisting until his wet, hot lips closed over her, draining her of all other thoughts.

He roughly lifted her gown, and undid the laces on his britches. They both knew that no one would dare enter a room when the two of them were together and the door was closed.

Backing her against a wall, he lifted her up past his waist, his eyes hard with passion. Slowly he eased her down, entering her and driving upward. He cushioned her head and plunged inside her while she groaned and clung to him.

Escobar felt a rush of triumph, knowing he could so easily control Melesant by using her passion against her. She had not realized, or perhaps did not care, that he had this power over her.

"Beautiful, beautiful," he muttered in her ear. Then his mouth clamped onto hers and he thrust his tongue in and out, keeping rhythm with his body movements.

She was mindless, she clung to him, whimpering, his movements now driving her into a frenzy.

When at last he had satisfied her needs, she lay limp against him and he guided her feet to the floor.

She stepped back, straightening her gown while he retrieved her crown and headdress and handed them to her.

Her manner was distant as she arranged her headdress and crown. "Escobar," she said, walking to the door, "when our visitors arrive, escort them to me in the throne room."

Unlike her, he could not so easily turn off his emotions. "Shall I come to you tonight?" he asked hopefully.

She gave him a disdainful smile which was meant to remind him that he was little more than her sycophant, and to demonstrate how easily she could put him from her thoughts.

Over the years he had become adept at hiding his feelings. "I shall greet your guests and bring them to you."

"Wait," she called, when he would have left. "Go at once to Lord Highclere's estate. Tell him I want him and Katharine to come at once."

"Do you think that's wise, since your son is bringing a new wife?"

Melesant's eyes narrowed and she purred, catlike. "Aye, I believe it is wise."

"Very well, Majesty," he said, turning away and leaving the room.

Melesant listened to his footsteps echoing down the corridor, and then the castle was silent. Her son loved Katharine Highclere, and she wanted to make this evening interesting, when the woman he loved met the woman Henry had forced him to marry.

With a malevolent smile, she hurried into her dressing room, where her maid was waiting. Melesant pushed the woman aside and flung open the lid of one of her trunks. Rummaging through her gowns, and tossing most of them aside, she finally found the creation she wanted.

Holding the heavily beaded black gown before her, she nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, Betty," she said to the maid, "this will do nicely."

The maid curtsied nervously. "Shall I help you dress now, Your Majesty?"

"Who else but you would perform that duty?" the queen asked in a harsh voice.

Betty had only recently been sent from the village to wait upon Queen Melesant. Everyone knew that the queen was not easily pleased and rarely kept a personal maid more than a few months.

"It is to be hoped," Melesant said, tossing the gown at the woman, "that you are better able to fill my needs than your predecessor was."

Betty's hands trembled. "I will strive to serve you, Your Majesty."

"Then, woman, bring me water, and help me bathe—I must look my best. Hurry—do it now!"

A short time later Melesant had bathed, and with the servant's help, she was trying to wriggle into the gown that she had not worn since before Cassandra was born.