“Jewels and spices. In case of shipwreck,” he crossed himself, “at least we can save half the cargo. We’ll go down and around the Horn into the Indian Ocean, across to the Spice Islands, for a cargo of pepper, clove, nutmeg, mace, and ginger. Then on to Burma for rubies, for the best rubies come down to Rangoon from Mogok in the central part of the country. In India we’ll take on cardamom, diamonds from the Golconda, and pearls. In Ceylon there’s cinnamon and sapphires to be had.”
“Be sure,” said Skye, “to buy only the Kashmir blue sapphires. Khalid always believed their color was the best.”
“I know. It’s going to be a long voyage, lass. I may not be back for a year or even two, depending on conditions.”
She smiled at him affectionately. “You look forward to it, Robbie, don’t deny it. You’ve been landlocked for almost two years now and your feet itch to walk a deck. It’s all right, my dear, I understand, and it’s time for you to go. I am so grateful to you for your friendship, but I am myself again at last, and I must build my own life.”
“I know, lass, but I don’t want you hurt, or taken advantage of by anyone. That damned trick memory of yours worries me. In many ways you’re still an innocent.”
“I have Geoffrey now, Robbie.”
“Rely only on yourself, Skye! Love Southwood if you must, but put your trust in no man!”
“Robbie! How cynical you are!”
“Not cynical. Truthful.”
There was a scratching at the door, and Skye called out, “Enter.”
A footman brought in a piece of paper on a small silver tray. Skye took the folded parchment and opened it. “Damn!” she said.
“What is it?”
“Geoffrey has been called away.” She turned to the footman. “How was this delivered?”
“One of the Earl’s grooms, mistress.”
“You may go.”
The servant turned and left.
“What does he say, Skye?”
“Very little,” she said, frowning. “Just that there’s a problem in Devon.”
“You could probably use a good night’s sleep,” remarked Robbie wryly, and she laughed at his irreverence.
“Considering your reputation as a swordsman, this is surely a case of the pot calling the saucepan black,” she teased.
He guffawed heartily.
The days sped by. She heard nothing from Geoffrey. And then came the day of her appointment with Cecil and the Queen. She dressed elegantly but soberly. William Cecil, Lord Burghley, Her Majesty’s chief advisor, was not a man to be swayed by a show of bosom. Her gown was dark-blue velvet, its severity relieved by a small white lace ruff at the neck. The sleeves were slashed and edged with gold, her white silk underblouse showing through the openings. She wore a gold chain interspersed at intervals with small flat plaques ofcarved white coral roses. Her shining hair was parted in the center and drawn into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck.
The river was frozen solid, so they went to Greenwich in Skye’s coach. Cecil awaited them in a book-lined room. He wasted no time but came directly to the point. “If we grant you a royal charter, what does Her Majesty gain?”
“A quarter share in the cargo, an accurate map of the area—for we’re carrying two cartographers on each vessel—and of course we’re available to do any errands Her Majesty may require along our route,” replied Robert Small.
“How many ships?”
“Eight.”
“That will be the number going. How many will you bring back?”
“Six at the minimum.”
“You overestimate, I think, Captain Small,” snapped Cecil.
“No, my lord. I don’t. Barring a typhoon, I will actually return with all eight. But a serious storm could lose me one or two.”
