34
Whitehall
Many hours had passed since the FitzGerald girl had tried to murder her, but Elizabeth was still terribly shaken, and terribly enraged. There had been numerous plots against her since she had ascended the throne in 1558. But never had she been faced with an assassin’s blade. And never had she dreamed an assassin would be a woman she knew, a woman she had befriended.
“Please, Bess, pacing like a caged tiger will get you nowhere.”
Elizabeth jerked as Leicester entered her bedchamber as if he shared it with her. She ran to him, heedless of her women, who huddled together by her bed, having given up trying to calm her when she had slapped Anne Hastings for her efforts. Elizabeth rushed into Leicester’s arms, clinging to him. “Have they caught her? Have they caught that treacherous slattern?”
“Ssh, dear, sssh. I think some brandywine is in order.” Leicester smiled at her, stroking her back. His regard grew sharp and imperious as he looked over her shoulder at her ladies. Understanding his silent command, they all ran from the room. With one velvet-tipped toe, Leicester slid the door closed.
“Did they catch her?” Elizabeth cried. “Did they catch Katherine FitzGerald?”
“No.”
Elizabeth gasped. “How stupid can everyone be. To allow a mere girl—and one maddened at that—to escape after such an attempt at murder.”
Leicester had moved to a sideboard to pour his queen the brandy she so needed, and now he handed it to her. “Drink,” he ordered.
Her gaze riveted upon him, Elizabeth obeyed.
Leicester waited until she had taken a healthy dose of the liquor. “As you have said, she is mad. Who knows where she would go?”
“Undoubtedly she has gone to her rascal father.”
“Hawke was at St. Leger House. She is not there.”
Elizabeth jerked on his doublet. “And you, Robin? Did you get a good look at her? Caked with mud and slime, her hair like a bird’s nest? Did you see her eyes? The mad, wild light therein?”
“Elizabeth,” Leicester began softly.
“Answer me!” she cried.
“Yes.”
“And do you still wish to bed her?”
His stare was unwavering. “Do you truly expect me to be a monk when it is you who denies me what I really want?”
Elizabeth flung her glass to the floor, unmindful of the splinters which sprayed about them. “She has probably run to him! To O’Neill! Now I will never capture her! Even now, they are probably in one another’s arm! When I told the rogue that he could not ever have her!”
Leicester said sharply, “Who is it you really love, Bess? Him, or me?”
Elizabeth’s jaw clamped down hard. She said not a word.
He sighed. “O’Neill was spotted at sea. Katherine is undoubtedly still near London. They cannot possibly be together.”
“I want her caught and hanged,” Elizabeth cried.
“Dear, you are not thinking clearly. The girl was in great distress. She was mad with grief—she knew not what she did. She—”
“Stop. Do not dare take up her defense, Robin—I warn you.”
Leicester became still.
Elizabeth faced her window, looked out at the gray, sluggish Thames, dotted with rowboats and barges. “She will be tried for treason, Robin. I want her hanged and it will be so.”
“She tried to kill the queen. She cannot stay here!”
