The Countess of Essex was stunned by this incredible compliment, and for a moment she could not draw her breath. She felt nearer to fainting than she had ever been in her entire life.

A slow smile lit Conn O'Malley's face, turning up the corners of his sensuous mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. Firmly he tucked Lettice Knollys's hand into his arm. "Allow me to escort you into the palace, madam," he said smoothly, and then moved off at a sedate pace, taking the still stunned countess with him.

Skye bit her lip to keep back the laughter, and didn't even dare to look at her husband whom, she guessed, was in the same state of amusement as she. Quietly she took Adam's arm and allowed him to lead her away. When she beheved she had regained her control she said softly, "Conn has made an important first conquest. I only pray that Dudley doesn't see him hovering over Lettice like a bee over a particularly fragrant flower."

"Dudley doesn't dare to publicly lust after Lettice," Adam replied. "He'll find himself in the Tower again if he does. No, I think if Conn manages to be discreet it will be all right."

They had no sooner entered the palace when Lord Burghleys secretary was at their side, begging them to please follow him. Skye detached her brother from Lettice Knollys and drew him off with them.

"So, madam, you have returned," Cecil greeted them as they entered his cabinet. "I hope the news you bring Her Majesty is good news."

"It may be, Lord Burghley," Skye replied.

"May be? Come, madam, I will accept nothing but success!"

"You may have it, my lord, but only in exchange for something of equal value."

"What, maaam?! We have already given you lands for your son, Lord Burke, recognized your marriage to Lord de Marisco, returned Lundy Isle to him, and presented him with lands in Worcestershire with a fine manor house. The Queen has graciously consented to the marriage of your daughter, Willow Small, with the Earl of Alcester. What more could you possibly want?"

"Everything you have said is true, my lord Burghley, but please to note that all that the Queen has given has been for others; for my husband and my children, but there is nothing for me. What I want is very little, but it is for the O'Malleys. My lord, allow me to present to you my youngest brother, Conn O'Malley. Conn, this is William Cecil, Lord Burghley, the Queen's Secretary of State."

Conn made a respectful bow to Cecil, instinctively understanding that this was a man he could not play with but must be totally honest toward. The Queen's secretary looked the young man over carefully, and then said, "He looks like an O'Malley, that is for certain." Then he smiled a small, sour smile. "Well, young Master O'Malley, what is it the O'Malleys desire from the Queen?"

"Letters of marque, my lord. We are the finest sailors alive, we O'Malleys, and 'tis only natural that we harass our natural enemies, the English. My sister, Lady de Marisco, however, has assured me of our demise should we not cease our boyish activities, and so she suggested we channel our energies into a little privateering in the New World. We might simply go, but we feel we'll be safer sailing under the Queen's flag. And," here he grinned broadly, "a great deal more successful, too!"

William Cecil's eyes never betrayed his thoughts, but once more he was admiring of Skye. He had wondered how she would stop her now grown brothers from their rebellious activities against England. Once again she had been extremely clever. If only she were a man, he thought. He could have used that intelligence of hers for England's good. Of course, they would give the O'Malley brothers the letters of marque, but 'twas best to keep them on tenterhooks for a bit.

"I shall have to speak to the Queen about this, Master O'Malley," he said. "You are asking for something of great value from England."

"I offer England something of equal value," Conn replied pleasantly, but Burghley saw the hard look that had come into his eyes. The boy might be young, but he was his sister's brother, Lord Burghley had not a doubt.

"We shall see, we shall see," he murmured, and then turned back to Adam and Skye. "Lord de Marisco, I have here from the Queen the papers that will make you the new resident of Queen's Malvern, a royal estate outside of Worcester. Her Majesty understands that it will not make up for your beloved Lundy, but she knows you understand her reasons for forbidding you residence on your island."

Adam nodded. "I understand, but please tell Her Majesty that anyplace Skye and I are together is home for me. I will thank Her Majesty myself this evening for her generosity."

"Ah, yes, the Christmas revels," Burghley said. "Go and enjoy yourselves. I am happy to tell you that your children do quite well here at court. The Queen is most pleased with Mistress Willow, whom she is constantly holding up as a model of all the feminine virtues."

"Poor Willow!" Skye said without thinking. "How hard that must be on her."

"On the contrary, madam. She is much envied by her peers, yet at the same time both admired and loved by them. A fine young woman, madam! A fine young woman!"

"Meaning, my lord, that you wonder how I could have ever raised such a dutiful daughter," Skye gently teased Cecil.

The Secretary of State was not beyond humor, and he chuckled with dry mirth. "Quite so, madam. Quite so!"

"Be patient, my lord, I have two others. One should hopefully prove to be more like her mother."

"We can but wait, madam," he replied.

Skye swept Cecil a generous curtsey, dipping low enough to offer him a fine view of her bosom which, she noted, he was not loath to admire, for all his talk of virtue. Men, she thought, were ever thus. "I shall save a dance for you, m'lord," she said mischievously, and then taking her husband's arm, Skye, Adam, and Conn exited the room.

The Queen was sitting down to dinner in the banqueting hall, and though it was crowded, they quickly found places with Lettice Knollys, who couldn't wait to make room for Conn O'Malley.

"D'you think she'll devour him whole?" Skye whispered to Adam.

"Nay, Lettice may be greedy, but she's wise. She'll eat Conn up in little bites," he chuckled.

The hall was decorated with garlands of greenery, the fireplaces banked above with masses of pine and holly that gave the room an unusually fragrant scent. The tables were laid with white damask linen cloths, and by each place was that rarity invented in Florence only a few years before, the fork. It was gold as were the spoons and graceful knives with their Sheffield blades. The plates used to set Her Majesty's table were silver, as were the goblets, each one engraved with Elizabeth Tudor's own crest. Conn never batted an eye. His sister had taught him to use forks, explaining that the high nobility, and royalty in particular, no longer liked to see daggers at their tables. There was always the chance that the dagger could be turned on one's own self or one's guests instead of the meat.

A servant hurried up to fill his goblet with a heady red wine. Conn raised the goblet, sniffed appreciatively, and took a healthy draught. Skye had warned him not to swill his wine lest his manners be considered boorish, for the Queen prized exquisite manners. The food was bounteous, including shellfish and every other kind of fish he'd ever heard of; poultry and game birds; beef, lamb, boar, ham, venison, pies with flaky crusts containing lark, sparrow, and rabbit, bowls of carrots and cabbage, artichokes in wine, cress, breads and tubs of butter. He was unable to resist such delights, but although he ate heartily, he ate with delicacy.

"I like a man who enjoys his food," Lettice murmured, and her hand strayed beneath the cloth to squeeze his thigh.

"One healthy appetite is merely indication of another," he grinned lazily at her.

"Meet me after the banquet," Lettice suggested eagerly.

"Madam, you tempt me sorely," Conn replied with honest regret in both his gray-green eyes and on his handsome face, "but you must remember that I need your royal cousin's favor. Were we caught, my fortunes would be destroyed. Surely you wouldn't want that?"

Lettice pouted. "You men newly come to court are all so serious in your intent to please Bess."

"She is the sun which rises and sets upon our world, my beauty."

"My God," Lettice said drily, "with a silver tongue like yours, Conn O'Malley, you'll have Bess behaving like a schoolgirl!"

"I can only hope," Conn murmured softly, and Lettice Knollys laughed in genuine amusement.

“Tell me, Conn O'Malley," she asked, "do you make love as well as you talk?"

"Better!" he grinned, "for it takes me less effort and thought."

Lettice Knollys's amber eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Methinks you know well the ways of a man and woman, Conn O'Malley, but I suspect that you need some schooling in the refinements. Come and see me when you've gotten what you want from my cousin, the Queen. It would be my pleasure to instruct you thoroughly in les arts d'amour."

"M'lady will never have a more willing pupil, I can assure you," Conn proclaimed, and then he let his eyes drop to her bosom. Slowly he feasted himself upon the lush display of ripe flesh, and then taking her hand, he kissed the palm and the pulse.

Lettice shivered with delight. "Devil!" she hissed.

"Conn!" Skye pulled her brother away from his amorous dalliance. "The Queen has finished eating, and 'tis time for us to present ourselves."

Elizabeth Tudor had indeed finished her meal, and left the table to sit in a comfortable chair that gave her a full view of the room. In the minstrels' gallery above, the musicians were beginning to tune their instruments, and many of the guests had also left the tables to stroll about the floor greeting each other while the servants cleared the tables and moved them away.

Lord and Lady de Marisco, Conn O'Malley safely in tow, moved across the floor and stood before Elizabeth Tudor, awaiting her acknowledgment. The Queen did not keep them standing long. With a quick word to the courtier to whom she had been speaking, she turned and smiled brilliantly at Skye and Adam. Her sharp gaze flicked to Conn, and obviously liking what she saw, she favored him with a smile also.

"Majesty," Adam said, "may I present to you my wife's brother, Master Conn O'Malley."

Elizabeth nodded to Conn pleasantly. "You are most welcome at our court, Master O'Malley," she said.

Conn's look was one of intense admiration. Kneeling, he caught at the hem of the Queen's skirt and kissed it. "In Ireland," he said in his soft, lilting voice, "they say ye are the Divil's own daughter, madam, but having seen yer Majesty I must disagree. Thou art Gloriana herself, and I worship willingly at yer feet."

Elizabeth's mouth twitched at the corners with suppressed mirth. She was not so foolish as to believe his outrageous compliment was totally sincere and from the heart, but nonetheless she was flattered. "Rise, Conn O'Malley," she said. "I want a better look at you." He rose gracefully, and the Queen assessed him frankly. A very handsome lad, she thought, pleased, and quite eager to be in her good graces. A sharp Irish wit and tongue, she had not a doubt. Ah, how she loved such rogues! "Do you dance, Conn O'Malley?"

"Aye, Gloriana," he answered her boldly.

"Then you'll open the ball with me this night, Conn O'Malley," Elizabeth Tudor said, standing up and taking his quickly offered arm as at once the musicians began to play.

Sir Christopher Hatton looked crestfallen, for he had fully expected to dance the first dance with the Queen. The lad was no clod on his feet either, he observed, although he was not worried about losing his place to this young Irish upstart.

"They come and they go, the dancing masters," murmured a satisfied voice in his ear. "I wonder how long the bog trotter will last."

"It's been a while since she's confined all her attention to you also, Dudley," Sir Christopher returned. "The Queen, being a woman of intellect and refinement, likes choice and variety in those about her. You bored her to death long ago."

“They're worse than jealous women," Adam said low to Skye.

"She plays them off against each other so none will ever gain ascendancy over her," Skye said softly.

"An astute judgment, madam," said William Cecil, who without their knowing it had come up behind them.

"Dammit, m'lord, you walk like a cat!" Skye said irritably.

Lord Burghley gave a dry chuckle. "A talent that has stood me in good stead on many an occasion. You need have no fear, madam, as long as your intentions toward England are honorable." He gently took her arm. "Will you both come with me?" he asked. "I have something to say to you that requires privacy."