And Hawke was engulfed with red-hot jealousy.
They did not speak again. Instead, careful not to look at her, not even once, he escorted her into the house so she could visit with his wife. But he could not stop thinking of her in Simon Hunt’s arms, as Simon Hunt’s beautiful wife.
Elizabeth’s favorite summer residence was Whitehall, and with the cheerful advent of spring, she had moved her court there. Outside, trees budded along the Thames, daffodils bloomed. Inside, Elizabeth paced her Presence Chamber. It was time to deal with the issue that lay unresolved and hanging over her like a shroud.
She turned to face those closeted with her, whom she had summoned to aid her in making what could be a horribly painful decision—her cousin, Tom Butler; the earl of Leicester; and William Cecil. She said without ceremony, “I must try O’Neill or pardon him. I cannot allow him to rot in the dungeons of the Tower indefinitely.”
Everyone began to speak at once, offering their fervent opinions upon the controversial subject. Clearly Ormond was aghast at the thought of a pardon, but Leicester was suddenly speaking against a trial when so far he had been for one. Cecil did not utter a single word. Elizabeth cried out, silencing the two younger men. “If he claims he can deliver FitzMaurice, should I not free him?”
Ormond was incredulous. “Surely you do not think to trust him!”
The queen regarded her cousin. “If he would bring me FitzMaurice, his pardon would be worth it.”
Ormond was angry. “He will not bring you FitzMaurice. He dissembles and lies. He is the papist’s ally! Andyouwould trust him now, Bess? You are allowing his handsome demeanor and manliness to interfere with your judgment!”
Elizabeth paled.How close to the mark was Tom?She was frightened to think that he was right. No matter how often she brooded upon hanging Liam, her heart always rebelled at the thought.
Ormond continued, a tirade. “You forget he is Shane O’Neill’s son. Yet how you could forgetthatwhen my sister arrived at your court, swollen with his child, God’s blood, I do not know! You were there, Bess, not too many years ago when poor Mary Stanley came to court, carrying Shane’s son! It is ironic, it is not, that Mary’s son has now inflicted the same grievous crime upon Katherine as his father inflicted upon his mother? You are mad to think to trust O’Neill.”
Leicester remarked, “Are you accusing O’Neill of rape, Ormond? I hate to say it, but Katherine did not appear hate-filled toward the pirate when I last saw her.”
Ormond had no chance to respond. Elizabeth moved in front of Leicester. “And when was that, Robin?”
He started. “I beg your pardon, Bess?”
Elizabeth did not repeat the question. A gossip had told her of a strange rendezvous a week ago in the Privy Gardens of Richmond. A rendezvous at the midnight hour.The witness swore that the woman was Katherine. The spy had not glimpsed the man’s face, but swore he was very tall, broad-shouldered, and very dark. Elizabeth stared at Robin, wondering if he betrayed her with Katherine FitzGerald. She shook even to think of them together. Was it not enough that the slut had worked her wiles upon O’Neill? Was it not enough that Elizabeth had exiled her to Cornwall?
Leicester spoke, as if Elizabeth had never questioned him. “If O’Neill can deliver FitzMaurice, he should be freed.”
Elizabeth raised her brow. “You have changed your tune, dear Robin. Why, just the other day you were advising me to try him swiftly—and hang him just as swiftly.”
Leicester smiled. “We can not afford these Irish wars. FitzMaurice is too capable a leader. If O’Neill can bring him down, it is far better to free him than to hang him. No one else is capable of capturing the papist and you know it, Bess.”
Elizabeth stared coldly. Something was going on—she was certain of it. Dudley had changed his mind too quickly—and too fervently. Now he was an advocate for the pirate’s freedom. The girl was behind it. Elizabeth sensed it—just as she sensed that removing the girl from court was not enough to dull Leicester’s desire to have her. It flashed through Elizabeth’s mind that she could have the girl hanged as a traitor alongside her pirate lover.
“Your Majesty, please,” Cecil intervened. Elizabeth turned to him with relief. “We must give up on Sir John Perrot. He cannot catch the wily papist. The best he could do was to challenge him to a duel, and make an utter fool of himself.”
Elizabeth met Cecil’s direct brown gaze. “I have already given up on Sir John,” she said. “Since hearing that most incredible tale.”
Both Leicester and Ormond snickered, unable to help themselves.
Elizabeth sent them both a quelling glance. “Clearly he has gone mad,” she said. “To challenge FitzMaurice tomeet him in a duel! Dear God! Sir John must have lost his wits if he thought a private duel would end a public war.”
Leicester still grinned. “At his age, and bulk, too.”
Ormond also chortled. “And FitzMaurice, the fox, failed to show up, making Sir John twice the fool.”
“Thrice,” Leicester said, and both men erupted into laughter.
“Cease this at once,” Elizabeth cried. “How cruel you are to make fun of a man who has served Us well, then loses his mind in Our cause!”
“’Tis a difficult land,” Cecil said softly, an apology for Perrot’s failure and apparent madness.
“Should I trust the pirate?” Elizabeth asked him.
Cecil smiled slightly and when he spoke, it was only to her. “If O’Neill can deliver the papist, we are indeed very fortunate. Of course, that leaves us with a whole new rotten carcass.”
“What mean you by that?” Leicester demanded.
