“Oh, you’d be surprised, m’lady, what I heard from the other servants when we was at court. They’re a chattery bunch.”
Velvet laughed. Pansy could always put her in a good mood. “Has Captain O’Flaherty broken his fast yet?”
“Nay, m’lady.”
“Then ask him to break it with me in my dayroom and see that the food is brought quickly, for he did say he had to leave by half after seven o’clock.”
“Yes, m’lady,” came Pansy’s answer, and the servant hurried off.
Within a very few moments both Murrough and the meal arrived. Murrough was dressed for travel in well-made, serviceable but expensive garments. He had but recently celebrated his thirty-second birthday and was a fine figure of a man who looked very much like his mother with his dark hair and his Kerry-blue eyes. The only thing of his sire about him seemed to be his squared jawline, which, though it had been weak in the long-dead but never lamented Dom O’Flaherty, had a firm strength in his younger son.
Smiling, Murrough greeted his youngest sister with a kiss and then sat down. “I still can’t believe that you’re a properly settled matron,” he said with fond indulgence. “I can’t wait to see the look on Mother’s face when I tell her, not to mention Adam’s.”
“Don’t tell them!” begged Velvet. “I want to surprise them with a grandchild when they return. Can you imagine Papa if I greet him at the docks with a baby in my arms?”
Murrough howled with delight as he pictured the scene. Adam de Marisco absolutely doted on his daughter, his beloved only child. It had never bothered him one whit that Alex Gordon had ignored Velvet from the day of their betrothal, for Adam had preferred to be the most important man in his daughter’s life, only barely tolerating her half brothers who were equally enamored of her because she was so like their adored mother in character. Willow had been a prim and proper English miss from the start, always mother-henning them, and Deirdre had been a shy and insecure little mouse of a girl. It had always been Velvet who was the imp.
Murrough wiped his eyes, for he had laughed so hard that he’d begun to cry. “I should like to indulge you, poppet, but Mother, having been penned up these many months in a hot city, will be anxious for the open sea and might decide to go adventuring once more unless I can offer her an incentive to return home. Your marriage will be just the incentive. I’ll wager that when Mother hears you’re already a wife, even possibly with child, she will wish our ships had wings. You’re very dear to her, Velvet.”
“And she to me, Murrough. Aye, you had best tell them. It will give Papa time to calm his famous temper. ’Twill no doubt be winter once again when you return to England, dearest brother. You’ll send a messenger by the fastest horses, won’t you? I will feel so much better just knowing that Mama and Papa are safely home again.”
“Aye, dear one,” he answered her, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.
“How are Joan and the children?” she inquired as she served him a large plate of eggs poached in marsala and cream, which had been placed on a thick slice of pink ham. “It was thoughtless of me not to ask you last night.” She poured a tankard of brown ale and handed it to him.
“They are fine, but I left Henry angry at me for leaving him behind this time. Joan, however, is grateful. We promised the boy he could go off with the O’Malley uncles this spring, which has mollified him somewhat. He’ll not find the Spanish Indies too tame, I’ll warrant, although I will admit I made it sound safer to Joan than it actually is. Still, the O’Malleys will see that he comes to no harm, and the lad has to learn if he’s to make the sea his life. He has no great love for book learning like our brother Ewan.”
Velvet nodded and attacked her own plate with vigor. For several minutes they ate in silence, for neither were considered poor trenchermen by those who knew them. They ate with enjoyment and an obvious appreciation for the subtlety of the sauce that covered the eggs. Both were therefore surprised when the door to the room burst open and Padraic stumbled in, white and drawn.
Velvet looked at Lord Burke and then her hand went to her throat as she spoke but one word. “Alex?”
“An accident,” burst out Lord Burke. “Oh, God! It was awful!”
The room dimmed before her eyes, but with a monumental burst of willpower Velvet refused to faint. Her voice, when she managed to find it, was ragged with fear. “What happened, Padraic? For God’s good mercy, tell us!”
“We arrived at Brightwaters just as Lord de Boult did. Essex was already there with the queen’s physician. The doctor said the queen had told him to go with Robert Devereux that morning. God’s nightshirt! Is there nothing she doesn’t know?”
Velvet’s eyes were round with shock.
“What happened, Padraic?” repeated Murrough tensely. “Get on with it, laddie!”
“Both Alex and Lord de Boult agreed to Essex’s suggestion that the swords be tipped with wax balls. The duel began, and both men fought well, but soon Lord de Boult began to tire. Suddenly the wax ball flew from his blade tip, and he stumbled. There was no time for Alex to get clear. It was an accident, but the blade pierced him. Oh, God! I’ve never seen so much blood! Essex cried out, ‘Jesu, man, you’ve killed him!’ When they carried him from the field, I rode back to tell you, Velvet. I couldn’t let them bring him home to you like that … not without warning you.” He began to weep. “Oh, God, littlest one, I am so sorry!”
Velvet sat very still in her chair, her beautiful face devoid of both expression and color. Neither of her brothers spoke, and the only thing that could be heard in the silence was the slow and reassuring tick of the mantel clock. Then suddenly, without warning, she began to weep wildly. The tears surged down her face in an abundant and fast flow. Within moments her eyes were swollen with her unassuaged grief. “Mama,” she wept piteously. “I want my mother!”
For a moment Murrough was shocked. Was Velvet still just a child that she called for their mother? Then it hit him. She was no child but a woman finally grown. Alex was dead, and she had already accepted it. Now she called for someone she loved as deeply to comfort her in her unbearable grief. He was quickly at her side, and she cried into his shoulder as he murmured soft, unintelligible sounds in an effort to comfort her.
After a few minutes her tears ceased, and, looking up at him, she whispered brokenly, “Take me with you, Murrough. Please take me with you!”
“Velvet!” Padraic Burke was finally coming to his senses.
“Have you no respect for Alex? You must bury your husband, Velvet. You can’t leave him!”
She turned her head to look at him, and he saw the terrible grief in her green eyes.
“Why can I not leave him, Padraic?” she said bitterly. “He left me! I pleaded with him not to involve himself in this meaningless duel with Lord de Boult, but no! Honor must be served, which I could not possibly understand being but a simple woman.” Her voice was thick with pain and scorn. “Well, this much I do understand, Padraic. I am widowed three months after my marriage, and for what? Because two grown men could not admit either to themselves or to each other that a whoring jade had lied?” She began to weep once more.
“You must bury him, Velvet,” Padraic repeated helplessly.
