“I never sulk!” she snapped, sitting up. “I simply dislike having my life settled for me by other people. Do I have no choice in this?!”
“No, lass, not this time. You’re angry with Southwood, and so you seek to spite him by making his son a bastard. Yes, I do believe it’s a boy you carry. But the Earl has suffered enough, being caught in a loveless marriage, having his heir die. Without even knowing that his potent seed has already taken root in your fertile womb, he offers you marriage. It’s hardly an insult, my dear.”
“And what of my wealth? Is it to be poured into the Lynmouth coffers along with that of his first two wives? No! No! I won’t be left helpless and dependent like poor Mary!”
Robert Small smiled a slow smile. “So that’s what’s bothering you, lass.”
“Part of it,” she admitted.
“Don’t fret, Skye lass, I’m not about to leave you helpless. The Earl directed me to have a marriage contract drawn up tonight, which he’ll sign in the morning. You’ll have to give him a good dowry, Skye, but the bulk of your wealth will remain in your hands. This house will remain in your hands, and I’ve made you my heiress, providing that if anything happens to me you’ll care for Cecily. That way you’ll have plenty for Willow.”
“Robbie! Oh, Robbie!” she began to weep softly.
Embarrassed, he clumsily put his arms about her. “Give over, lass,” he muttered gruffly. “For pity’s sake don’t cry all over me. I like it better when you scream. Who else could I leave Wren Court to, Skye? You’re the daughter I never had, lass, and you’re as dear to me as if you were my own.”
“Thank you, Robbie. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” She wiped her eyes and Robbie tried to muffle a sniff.
“Now listen to me, Skye. We’re giving Southwood twenty-five thousand gold crowns for dowry, and of course you come with your clothing, plate, and jewelry. All the rest of your wealth, the money Khalid left, the shares in our partnership, this house, andWren Court remain exclusively yours. He can’t take them, so you are free and independent.”
“Will he sign such a contract, Robbie?”
“He’ll sign, lass. The Queen would have his head if he refused, for Young Bess is very much her own woman, like you.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s very late, Skye, well past midnight. Rest now, my dear. I will see you in the morning.”
“Which gown did you choose, Robbie?”
“The creamy satin with the pearl and diamond embroidery,” he answered, smiling.
“It’s the one I’d choose, were I interested in this marriage.”
He chuckled. “Sleep well, Mistress Goya del Fuentes. Tomorrow night you’ll be Lady Southwood, Countess of Lynmouth. Not bad for such an ugly wench.” He ducked the pillow she threw at him as he strode from the room, laughing merrily.
CHAPTER 17
SKYE’S WEDDING MORNING WAS A RAINY SPRING DAY. SHEstretched in a leisurely fashion, dimly aware of activity about her, then suddenly sat straight up in bed. She was being married in a few hours, and there was so much to be done! A steaming tub was already waiting before the fireplace.
“Good morning, m’lady,” chorused Daisy and the two undermaids, bobbing curtseys.
“Not ‘my lady’ yet, Daisy,” said Skye sharply. The two maidservants giggled, then gasped, their faces reddening as Skye rose from her bed, drew off her gown, and walked naked across the room. Daisy, who was used to her mistress’s eccentricities with regard to nudity in the bath, smirked smugly at the red-faced underlings and helped Skye up the two steps and into the big tub.
Skye sunk gratefully into the bath. The sweet-smelling oily water caressed her skin and lapped about her shoulders. Daisy drew a screen about the tub, leaving her mistress to a few moments of privacy, while she guided the undermaids in the laying out of the bride’s clothing.
So, thought Skye,today is my wedding day. How different it is from the joyous day that I wed you, Khalid. Oh, my dearest lord, how I loved you. But you are gone, Khalid, and this strange English lord has caught at my heart. I may be wealthy, dear Khalid, but the honest truth is that the widow of an Algerian “merchant” is scarcely on a social footing with a belted Earl. Yet, he would make me his Countess. It’s not simply to get me in his bed, for I have already been there. He claims to love me, yet he left me without a word for weeks. Dare I trust him? Or will he break my heart? Oh, God, I wish I could know. I want to be loved, but even more I want to be safe again.
“Mistress,” scolded Daisy, “you’ve not yet begun to wash.” Daisy took up the soft cloth herself and began to scrub her mistress. Skye continued to muse silently as Daisy moved on to wash her mistress’s hair. Daisy’s chatter caused Skye to lose her train of thought and she exploded. Relenting at the hurt look on Daisy’s face, Skye confided, “I’ve wakened with a terrible headache, Daisy, and I don’t want it later on at Greenwich.”
Daisy became concerned. “Ah, m’lady, I’ll have an herbal draught made up at once. Hawise,” she turned to one of the serving maids, “ask Dame Cecily to please make up an herbal tea for m’lady’s headache.”
Skye left her tub wrapped in a large warmed bathsheet and, seated by the fire, endured Daisy’s further ministrations. Her hair was rubbed free of excess water, brushed and brushed and brushed again until it was dry, then rubbed with a piece of silk until it shone with deep blue-gold lights. Meanwhile, the second of the undermaids knelt paring her mistress’s toenails.
“What I really need is something to eat,” declared Skye. “Bring me bread, meat, and wine. I’m starving. See to it, Daisy. Jane, either the Earl will like my feet or he won’t.” She stood up and the bathsheet dropped. Daisy wrapped her mistress in a loose pink silk robe, then hurried off to see to the food. Picking up her pedicure equipment, Jane departed as well. Skye sighed with open relief. It was so lovely to be alone. But the sound of chuckling spun her around.
“Geoffrey!”
“Good morrow, wife.” He stood before the tapestry that hid the secret passage door.
“Not quite yet, my lord,” she answered sharply. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to be reminded what a magnificent creature you are, madam,” he drawled lazily, his green eyes sweeping boldly over her.
