Wild Hearts (28 page)

"What happened to the dresses?" asked Tabrizia, fascinated.

"Ah, when Anne discovered most of the gowns were encrusted with precious jewels, she soon took them into her treasury."

The food had been designed to appeal to the eye rather than the palate, with jellies dyed every hue of the rainbow. By the time it reached the guests, it was cold and congealed, though most people had imbibed so much wine by this time, they hardly noticed. The young men on the King's dais had drunk so deep that the horseplay was getting out of hand. They were riding around on each other's backs, waging a mock battle of pushing and shoving. Then a food fight broke out, and they pelted each other with buns and cakes. Magnus was disgusted with the antics and looked toward the doors to see if they could push through the throng and make their escape, when all of a sudden the main doors to the banqueting hall were thrown open and a dozen pipers skirled a rousing lament to announce some guests of paramount importance. A swarthy young man of about thirty years, with smoldering good looks, entered the hall and paused dramatically. He had a long black mustache, and steel gray, level eyes. He was dressed in old-fashioned, sober black velvet with a Tartan banner across his chest. At his back were seven brothers, made in his image, ranging between the ages of twelve and his thirty years. At their heels was a pack of a dozen stag hounds that went everywhere with them. He walked in now, utterly assured, as if Whitehall and the world belonged to him.

"Whoever is it?" asked Stephen, completely impressed.

"It is Patrick Stewart. He is Earl of the Orkney Islands and Lord of Zetland. I once met him at Court in Edinburgh," Magnus informed them.

Tabrizia sighed. "That is what a King should look like."

Magnus chuckled. "Ye've almost hit the nail on the head, lass. Patrick is the son of James V. He would be our king except for the fact that he is illegitimate. He lives like a king, anyway. The Orkney Islands and Zetland are his kingdom, and he rules there, make no mistake."

As Patrick Stewart made his way to the King's dais, the guests ceased their antics to gaze wide-eyed at the authoritative figure. When he spoke, one could have heard a pin drop in the great hall. "Ye are in the presence of your monarch, King of Scotland, England, Ireland and France. Don't ever forget it! Sit down and behave with decorum."

The young men sat down and looked to James for his reaction.

"Aye, Patrick has the right of it. You laddies take too much for granted. I am over soft wi' ye, and ye take advantage." There was no love lost between the King and Patrick Stewart. The King knew well, when he was compared physically to Patrick, that he came off the loser, but never by word or deed had Patrick ever given him cause to think that he coveted his crown. From time to time the King had trumped up charges against Patrick such as witchcraft, but when Patrick left for his Orkney Islands, the charges were dropped because the truth of it was that the long arm of the King's justice could not reach into Patrick's kingdom. The Earl of Orkney bowed low before the Queen, then he took her hands and brought them to his lips. Anne was all smiles. She had a great fondness for this dark, virile man.

In spite of the exhausting state ceremony and the tiring banquet, Anne took her ladies and retired to her own Court to dance, flirt and gossip the night away. Frances Howard had a laugh that tinkled like silver bells. She was never at a loss for a partner. She confided to Tabrizia, "I take my pleasure where I find it. Nevertheless, being a Howard, I am expected to make a great marriage. I am betrothed to Northumberland, which will unite the great house of Howard with the great house of Percy. I am just a political pawn and shall do as I'm told, but in the meantime...in the meantime!"

The following evening when Pembroke arrived and walked a direct path to Tabrizia, she was flattered and had to admit to herself that she was pleased to see him.

"Tabrizia, walk with me. We are ever in a crowd."

"There is safety in numbers, milord." She smiled.

"Let me give you a tour of Denmark House. There are rooms you've never even seen, I wager. Did you know, for instance, that there is a chapel deep below ground, under the reception rooms?"

She laughed. "I did not realize you were religious, sir!"

"Stop teasing me. I'm living the life of a monk, and you know damned well you are to blame." His look became intense.

"Did you not tell the I was a refreshing change? Unique, in fact?"

"You are lovely, my darling, but I want you."

"Ah, you wish to marry me?" she teased, eyes sparkling.

"I don't want a wife, I want a mistress. It's my brother who is taking a wife tomorrow,"

She looked puzzled for a moment. "If Sir Philip Herbert is your brother, why don't you have the same name?"

"My dear, I'm the Earl of Pembroke. Herbert is our family name."

"Forgive me, milord, my ignorance is truly appalling," she said, blushing.

"You enchant me when you blush. If you won't spend tonight with me, be with me at the wedding tomorrow?"

"If your brother is one of the King's favorites, why is he allowing him to wed tomorrow?"

Pembroke hugged her to him. "Little innocent. The King isn't jealous of his favorite's women, especially if they regale him with all the intimate details, but they must not enjoy other men."

"I see," she said faintly.

The wedding of Sir Philip Herbert and Lady Susan Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, though it was supposed to be a private ceremony for relatives and close intimates of the King, was one of the social highlights of the festive season. Once more the whole of Anne's Court would make the journey along the Strand to Whitehall. The ceremony was to take place in the royal chapel, and the wedding feast would be celebrated in the banqueting hall.

Queen Anne and her ladies seemed so determined to dress ostentatiously, they were bound to outdo the bride. Today the Queen wore a deep royal blue gown, which had a mantle of cloth of gold that stood up in a fan shape behind her head and fell to the ground in heavy folds. It necessitated the aid of two maids-of-honor if she moved a distance greater than three feet. Once again Tabrizia noted the colors that dominated were gold, red and purple. By contrast, she stood out from the crowd. She wore a pale green tissue gown edged with silver ribbons. It set off her beautiful hair to perfection and allowed the roses to bloom in her delicate complexion. Though she knew it was neither spectacular nor regal, she was aware that she was the prettiest female at Court. The other ladies seemed unaware that their choice of colors was too harsh for them.

Tabrizia had never attended a wedding before, and the religious ceremony held all her attention. Much of it was in Latin, since King James had a passion for the language. Nevertheless, she found the altar, vestments, the incense and the music stirred deep feelings within her. As the couple were given the sacrament, exchanged vows, and she received his ring, Tabrizia felt tears come to her eyes for the beauty and sanctity of the ceremony.

In the banqueting hall the Queen's players put on a tableau purporting to be an allegory about wedded bliss. It was filled with angels with large golden keys, which were supposed to be the keys to Paradise. Naked children with bows and arrows were supposed to be cupids and cherubs, but the damage they were intent on inflicting upon each other with the deadly weapons forced the tableau to come to a rapid climax.

The food, for a change, was still warm. There was never a shortage of meats and game birds, for the King and his gentlemen hunted every morning of their lives. When the food was cleared away, the tables were pushed back to make room for dancing. Although Tabrizia had had very little practice, she did not lack partners. Even some of the King's favorites sought her out, and she came to the conclusion that they enjoyed female company more than they dared admit to James. Pembroke spent as much time as he could with her, although his duties as groomsman to his brother kept him busy.

The finale of the day of course was the "bedding." As the hour grew late, the jests more ribald and the bets more ridiculous, the whole assembly accompanied the bride and groom to their nuptial chamber. The King had his arm around Philip as they maneuvered the stairs, and none knew just who supported whom, so flown with wine were they.

Tabrizia stood wide-eyed as the gentlemen of the bedchamber stripped Philip naked and the maids-of-honor did the same with Lady Susan. No blushes covered this bride—she needed no urging to climb upon the bed. As two of the King's favorites lifted the groom onto the bed, King James cried, "Remember our bet--- twice you said, you young ram.
Facta non verba."
He chortled. "Deeds speak louder than words!"

Tabrizia, a flaming blush upon her cheeks, spun on her heel to flee the coarseness of the chamber. A dark figure standing just inside the door reached out a strong hand to stay her flight, and a deeply pleasant voice asked with concern, "What is it, mistress?"

She raised her head and gazed into the steady, unblinking gray eyes of Patrick Stewart. She faltered over her words. "They are... they are actually..." She could go no further, as the words caught in her throat and the crimson blush spread down her throat.

He said slowly, drinking in her delicate beauty, "Modesty in a Court lady is indeed a rarity."

"I... I have not been long at Court, milord," she whispered, lowering her lashes to her cheeks. "Please let me pass."

"Nay, I will escort you wherever you wish to go," he told her firmly.

"I am returning to Denmark House, milord. I thank you for your offer, but I have been at Court long enough to know I must never be alone with a gentleman."

"I shall take you in my carriage. You will be safe with me." He spoke with such authority, she believed him when he promised she would be safe.

A great black coach pulled up at the entrance the moment the Earl of Orkney emerged from the building; its driver was flanked by a pair of stag hounds. As he assisted her up into the vehicle, her hand rested on his arm, and she felt the strong, corded muscle flex beneath the black velvet of his sleeve. Effortlessly, he swung into the coach and took the seat opposite her, so that he could gaze his fill of this fragile enchantress who had dropped into his hands. The lantern cast a pale glow over her, picking out the highlights of the silken mass that caressed her bare shoulders. She cast her eyes down and concentrated on bracing herself against the sway of the coach. A shiver escaped her, and he immediately leaned forward to wrap her in a thick fur rug, his eyes daring her to object. Her heavy lashes fluttered downward as he continued to stare at her. He admired the creamy skin and the soft pink mouth that seemed fashioned for kissing. As the silent tension stretched between them almost to the breaking point, the coach drew to a stop before the blazing lights of Denmark House.

She sprang forward quickly. "Thank you, milord."

He let her get no farther. "I shall provide safe escort to your door, mistress."

Warily, she watched him leave the coach first; then, utterly assured, he reached up and lifted her down beside him. She saw that a small scar upon his cheek lifted one corner of his mouth in a permanent smile, and he wore his mustache long to conceal it.

In that instant she knew that she liked him. In spite of his commanding ways and air of total authority, she felt that he was sensitive, perhaps even vulnerable. They walked along silently, side by side, up the main staircase and along the narrow corridor that took them to Tabrizia's small chamber. As he brought her hand to his lips in a gallant gesture, she murmured breathlessly, "Thank you, milord, you have been very kind."

He looked down into the dark, violet pools and said, "I could be kinder." That was all. He did not even ask her name.

The next morning Tabrizia visited her father and found him in fine fettle. He had been enjoying the rare sport of hare hunting at the King's new estate of Royston. There, he had heard that word had quickly spread that the Earl of Ormistan had a daughter who was in the market for a husband, and that as well as being an heiress to her father's estate, she was wealthy in her own right, from a previous marriage.

"I hope you are able to stay for a few days. I've had offers for you, and we must sit down and seriously consider them. Sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak."

Tabrizia was startled. "Who has offered so quickly?"

"Ha, they know they have to be quick or the prize will be snatched from under their noses." Magnus laughed. "Let's see, there's Lord Mounteagle, and Charles Percy, both English; and Sir Harry Lindsay, master of the Queen's household, a worthy Scot like myself." She was disappointed that Pembroke had not offered for her, but he had warned her fairly that he did not seek a wife. "None of these gentlemen has approached me. I don't even know who they are."

"I should think not, and none will until I give them leave to court you."

"Then how can I decide?" she asked, perplexed.

"We shall do some entertaining so that you can meet and consider these men, and if you allow me to guide you, how can you go wrong?"

She smiled and knew he was back to playing his favorite role of leader. "Who is Lord Mounteagle?"

"A wealthy English peer and landowner. The only drawback is he's Catholic. Still, he's definitely worth considering. Then there's Sir Charles Percy. He's brother to Northumberland. The Percys are one of England's oldest, richest and most powerful families."