“I don’t own a barge.”

“Why, sir,” she said scathingly, “did you not win de Grenville’s
barge? I understood the wager was his barge against your stallion.
He is quite distressed by the loss of the animal.”

“Damn de Grenville for a fool!” swore the Earl. “Sweetheart,
listen to me! The bet was made when you snubbed me, on the first
day we ever met. I had no intention of collecting on it. It had nothing
to do with our falling in love later on. I intended to tell Dickon so,
but I forgot it when I was summoned to Devon. That worthless bitch
I married had brought my son, Henry, home when there was smallpox
in the village. He came home only to die! That she and four of her
girls perished as well is only God’s judgment. Then it was touch
and go with the three youngest. I stayed on until they were well.
I am not entirely heartless, Skye. They’re but four and five.”

“You might have written me!”“Frankly it did not occur to me. I am not a man of words, Skye.
The pox swept through my estates like wildfire, and I was kept
damned busy. My bailiff died, among others, and until I could
replace him I did his work.”

“You’ve been back at Court for a while, my lord! You might
have sent me a message. A posy of flowers. Something! But you
were too busy finding an heiress to replace your dead wife! I hate
you, Geoffrey! I will never forgive you! You used me like a common
trollop! You lied to me!” Angrily she turned away so he might not
see the tears springing into her eyes. “I was warned that you were
the biggest bastard in London, but God help me I would not believe
it!”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I have spent the time since my
return to Court arranging my next marriage.” Her shoulders shook,
and his ears caught a muffled sob. “The lady I wish to make the
next Countess of Lynmouth is one of the most beautiful women in
London. She is wealthy, so I need not fear that she seeks my money.
Her manners are flawless and she is an excellent hostess, able to
deal graciously with those of high and low estate. She is the perfect
mate for me.”

His voice was filled with such love and admiration that each word
he spoke was like a great knife thrust in to her heart.

“There was only one problem that might have prevented the
match,” he continued, “so it was necessary that I convince the Queen
that, despite this impediment, I would have no other woman to
wife.”

“I-I-I am not interested, my lord Earl.” Turning, she tried to push
past him, but he held her fast. Her face was pressed against the
velvet of his doublet. “I must return to my guests,” she pleaded.

He ignored her. “The lady in question is not English. She claims
to be an Irish orphan who wed a Spanish merchant and was then
widowed. So I have represented her to the Queen. I know, however,
that the story is not true. She was a captive slave of unknown
background who was fortunate enough to catch the eye of the great
Whoremaster of Algiers. He took her under his protection, and when
he was murdered she fled Algiers with his wealth. But I love her,
and I want her for my wife. I have convinced the Queen of the
wisdom of my choice. She has given me her permission for us to
wed.”

Skye pulled away from the Earl, and when she looked up at him
her eyes were blazing blue fire.

“I do not know how you have obtained your information. Though
your facts are correct you know nothing at all! Yes, I was brought
as a captive to Khalid el Bey-that was his name, my lord Earl. I
had no memory of who I was or where I had come from, but he
didn’t care. He might have made me a whore in one of his houses,
or he might have made me his concubine. He did neither. I was
indeed under his protection. But, my lord Earl, I was also his wife!
Are you so narrow-minded that you believe a marriage doesn’t exist
unless it is celebrated by a Christian priest? The chief mullah of
Algiers wed me to my lord Khalid! I was well and truly married!”

She was pacing back and forth now, her burgundy silk skirts
swishing angrily. Her hair had come loose, and as she turned to face
him again it swung fiercely with her. “My daughter, sir, bears her
father’s Christian surname, for he was a Spaniard by birth, driven
from that cursed land by the cruelty of the Inquisition. I expect, my
lord, that even you can understand that! You will find in the baptis-
mal registry of St. Mary’s Church in Bideford the name of Mary
Willow Goya del Fuentes!

“I could not wed with you, my lord! It would be grossly unfair
to mingle my unknown blood and tainted body with such as yours.
I fully understand the great honor you do me, but no!” And pushing
past him, she fled the room.

Geoffrey Southwood stood stunned and disbelieving as Robert
Small entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“What the hell did you do to her?” growled the little captain.

“I asked her to marry me.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her!” shouted the Earl. “I told her I knew the
truth of her past, and it mattered not. I even have the Queen’s
permission.”

“Laddie, laddie, you’re a fool. Did she tell you that she has no
memory prior to her life in Algiers?”

“Yes.”

“Listen to me, my lord. I am old enough to be your father, and
I’ll speak to you as one. Her husband was my best friend in all this
world. He was bom the second son of an old and noble family, but
fate decreed that he live a life far different than that for which he
believed himself intended. Whatever his profession, he was a true
gentleman in every sense.

“You love Skye. So did he, with all his heart. She was his joy,
his pride, and he wanted nothing more than to spend his life with
her and the children they wanted to have. He had just learned, before;
he was murdered, that he was to be a father, and his happiness came j
close to making me weep.” Robbie breathed deeply and turned to
sit. Southwood sat across from him. “I invented Skye’s background
in order to protect her and the child. Now, Geoffrey lad, I will help
you to bring Skye around, for the stubborn wench loves you and
has sighed and wept enough over you these last few months. I don’t
suppose she told you she’s with child?”

“Oh my God!” the Earl whispered.

“No?” said Robbie drily. “Well, she is angry with you. Well, we
must be firm then. I have just the way to settle this, but you must
go along with me in all I say. Agreed?” Southwood slowly nodded.
”Come along then, lad, and I’ll show you how to neatly trap a
vixen.”

They came back out to the large salon where Skye and the Queen
were holding court together, surrounded by a laughing group of
courtiers. They worked their way forward carefully until they were
next to the young Queen. Elizabeth was looking especially lovely,
her glorious red-gold hair a mass of long, loose ringlets, her smoky
eyes sparkling. Her gown was of apple-green silk embroidered heav-
ily with gold, small pearls, and topaz.

“Is the guest of honor finally among us?” said the Queen, laugh-
ing. “Pray, sir, where have you and my lord Southwood been?”

“Settling the details of the match that’s so dear to your kind
Majesty’s heart. As Mistress Goya del Fuentes’ parentis in absentia,
it was my duty. Now, madam, with your gracious permission I shall
delay my departure by one day in order to give the bride away. Can your Majesty persuade the archbishop to waive the banns and wed
the happy couple tomorrow?”

Stunned, Skye began to speak, but the Queen clapped her hands
with delight. “Sir Robert, it’s an excellent idea! Yes! Yes! The
wedding shall be tomorrow at Greenwich. You shall give the bride
away, and I shall hostess the wedding party!”

“Majesty, we are honored,” said the Earl, placing a firm arm
about Skye. “Are we not, sweetheart?”

“Aye, my lord,” said Skye loudly and sweetly. Then, while every-
one chattered excitedly about them, she hissed, “I’d sooner have the
pox than marry you!”

“Come, everyone,” cried the Queen. “If Mistress Goya del
Fuentes is to be ready to wed at one o’clock tomorrow then we must
leave her now. Away to Greenwich!” She turned to Skye. “My dear,
you’re a delightful hostess. We have enjoyed ourselves so much.
You shall be a credit to the Southwood family, I know. Lynmouth
will escort me home. Hie yourself to bed and rest. I should imagine
you’ll get little sleep tomorrow night if your betrothed’s reputation
is fairly earned.” Chuckling, the Queen departed for her barge.

Skye rounded on Robbie furiously. “I’ll not marry him, do you
hear? I’ll not marry him!”

“Indeed you will, Skye lass,” said Robert Small with infuriating
calm. “Be sensible, my dear. He knows the truth of your past, and
yet he loves you and wants to marry you. Think, Skye! You’ll be
the Countess of Lynmouth. And think of the child you’re carrying.
Refuse Lynmouth and no one will believe the baby is his, for what
woman in her right mind would not marry her child’s father? Then
the question will be asked whose child is it. And since you have not
socialized with anyone it will be aasumed that you coupled with a
groom or a footman. The child is lowborn, people will say. Then
what will happen to Willow?” With every word he uttered she felt
more and more trapped. “I’ll go happily off to sea now, knowing
you’re safe, loved, and cared for, Skye.” he finished.

“Damn you, Robbie! If Khalid knew what you’d done-“

“He’d fully approve, Skye, and you know it,” snapped the gruff
little man. “Come along now. The Queen is right, and you need
your sleep tonight. Tell Daisy what gown you’d wear tomorrow so
the maids may freshen it.”

“I will chose nothing!” she said stubbornly.

“Then I will, my dear. Come along now, lass.” He took her hand
and walked her upstairs to her apartment. “Daisy, girl, to me,” he
called, and the buxom maid appeared.

“Sir?”

“Your mistress is to be wed at one tomorrow to the Earl of Lynmouth. What in her wardrobe is suitable for a wedding gown?”

Daisy’s brown eyes grew round with awe and delight. “Oh, sir!

Oh, ma’am! How wonderful!”

Skye turned away sulkily and stamped into her bedchamber, where she threw herself on the bed. Daisy looked questioningly at Robert Small.

“Don’t fret, girl,” the captain reassured her. “Your mistress is simply in a mood. Let’s have a look at her wardrobe.” Daisy led the way to Skye’s dressing room. Robert Small’s mouth fell open. “Sweet Jesus!” he exclaimed, “I’ve never seen so many fine feathers in my entire life.”

Daisy giggled. “These are only the ones suitable for a wedding, sir. The simpler things are hung in another room.” Robert Small shook his head, then began to study the gowns. White was ruled out, for Skye was a widow. And somehow a bright color seemed inappropriate. Then his eye was caught by a rich, heavy, candlelight-colored satin. “Let’s see that one.” Daisy drew the gown forth and held it out for his inspection. The simple bodice was cut low and embroidered in seed pearls. The puffed sleeves, which ended just below the elbow, were slashed and the openings filled in with a fine cream-colored lace. Below the elbow the sleeves hugged the arm in alternating bands of satin and lace. The wrists were ruffled by a wide band of lace. The underskirt was embroidered with delicate seed pearls and tiny diamond flowers. The dress had a small, starched, heart-shaped lace collar edged in tiny diamonds that rose up behind the neck. The underskirt was a graceful bell shape.

“Aye, Daisy, my girl! This will more than do! See it’s pressed and ready by ten in the morning. Your mistress is being married in the Queen’s own chapel at Greenwich, and the Queen is giving the bridal feast afterward. They’ll also be spending the night there.” “Oh… sweet Mary, sir! Will I be allowed to go? My mistress will be needing me, I’m sure.”

“Aye, girl, you’ll go.”

The little maid nearly swooned in her ecstasy. “Lord, sir! Wait till me old mother hears that I’m maid to the Countess of Lynmouth! She’ll be so proud! Oh, sir! You don’t think Mistress Skye will want someone else, do you? I’m nothing but a simple Devon girl.” “Your mistress will want you, Daisy, never fear. See to the dress now, and have a scented bath ready for your lady at dawn. Wash her hair, too.”

“Yes, sir.” Gathering up the beautiful gown, Daisy left Robert alone. He walked back to the bedroom.

“Are you finished sulking, lass?” he asked.

“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!”