Skye sat down and, lifting the cover on the largest dish, found two perfectly poached eggs in a light cream sauce of sherry and dill. A small platter held several thin slices of pink ham, and wrapped inside a napkin set in a basket were several slices of steaming hot bread. Two crocks held butter and honey, and there was a carafe of deep red wine. She was suddenly ravenous.

“Tell Cook she is to be commended on the menu, Hawise. I shall eat it all! Daisy, my jewel case, please. I must pick out my jewelry while eating. Jane, find the gown I had made up for Dame Cecily and bring it to her. Then fetch Willow and her nurse.” The two undermaids hurried off and Daisy brought Skye’s huge jewel box. Skye pursed her red lips, considering. Simple pearls were too dull, diamonds too harsh. What was needed was some color! Her fingers sifted impatiently through the many necklaces until she located what she sought. She smiled, quite satisfied with the turquoise necklace. Each polished oval turquoise was surrounded by alternating translucent pearls and fiery diamonds. There were matching earbobs, and two hair ornaments shaped like butterflies. “These,” she said, handing them to Daisy. “Now for rings… a turquoise for luck, a pink pearl for constancy, and a sapphire to match my bonnie blue eyes.”

Daisy giggled. Setting aside the chosen pieces, she removed the large case. “I’ve a message for you from Captain Small, m’lady. He says though the river’s calm, it would be best to go to Greenwich in the carriage. The rain is quite heavy.”

“Very well, Daisy. Ah, here’s my little love,” cried Skye happily as her bedchamber door opened to admit Willow and her nurse. “Mama! Mama!” the child cried, running into Skye’s open arms. “Smell good! Willow likes,” she said, burying her little face in her mother’s neck.

Skye swept the baby up and cuddled her in her lap. ‘Today, my poppet,” she said, “I have a fine present for you. I shall bring you home a papa. Would you like that, Willow?”

“No!” said the baby stoutly. “No new papa! Want Uncle Robbie!” Skye chuckled. “So it’s Uncle Robbie who has captured your heart, my darling. You’ve good taste. But you’ll soon love your new papa too and he’ll love you.”

Willow pouted, her little rosebud mouth set in disapproval. The thick dark lashes that fringed her golden eyes-eyes like her father’s-swept down to brush her pink cheeks, then swept upward in such a flirtatious adult manner that Skye caught her breath with surprise.

“Will my new papa bring Willow presents?” she asked slyly.

“Indeed he will, greedy one,” replied her mother, amused.

“What?” The question was an imperious demand. “I don’t know, my pet. Perhaps a new gown, or a necklace, or a wee basket of sweetmeats.”

“Maybe I’ll like my new papa,” said Willow thoughtfully. “Do you like him, Mama?”

Skye laughed. “Yes, poppet, I like him very much. Now give Mama a kiss and run off to play with Maudie. If you are very good I’ll bring you something from Greenwich Palace.” Willow kissed her mother and then trotted happily off with her nurse. Skye finished up the last of her meal as the mantel clock struck half past eleven.

“Oh, Lord! You must leave here by noon if you’re to reach Greenwich on time,” exclaimed Daisy. “You, Jane, Hawise! Bring the mistress’s clothes.” She handed Skye a pair of cream-colored stockings so finely knitted they seemed spun of cobwebs. Skye slid them on carefully. Beaming, Daisy handed her the garters with silver lace rosettes, each flower center a tiny freshwater pearl. Skye’s undergarments were pure silk. A small-boned corset made her small waist even tinier. Her farthingale was a modified one, for Skye had no wish to look like a merchant ship under sail. Before putting it on, she sat quietly while Daisy did her hair.

It was brushed once again, then parted in the center and drawn back over her ears. Daisy fashioned the thick, silken mass into an elegant and graceful chignon that centered on the nape of Skye’s neck. The butterfly ornaments were secured, one in the front, one on the right side of her head. As a finishing touch Daisy carefully set two perfect pink rosebuds into the chignon.

Skye sat and stared at her image. A flawless-faced woman stared back at her. Is that me? she thought. And for the first time in many months she began to wonder who she really was. Who had she been before Khalid el Bey had found her? Suddenly she desperately wanted her own identity back.

“Madam,” Daisy’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We must hurry!”

Skye nodded and stood. On went the farthingale, and then it was time for the gown. Chattering excitedly, Jane and Hawise fastened it up. Skye smoothed the skirt and stepped in front of her pier glass. A slow smile lit her features. She was well satisfied. She looked every inch the Countess of Lynmouth. Geoffrey would have every reason to be proud of her.

“Oh, my lady,” breathed Daisy reverently, “you’re beautiful!”

“Thank you, Daisy. Now my cloak, lest the rain spoil my gown.” A deep-blue velvet cape was draped about her shoulders, and Skye left her apartments to descend the staircase. Robbie and Dame Cecily awaited her and she swept them both a low curtsey. “How magnificent you both look!” Truly she’d never seen either of them looking better.

Dame Cecily’s gown was of elegant black silk with an underskirt of cloth of silver. She had a white lace ruff at her neck and lace ruffles at her wrists. On her silver hair she wore a peaked cap of stiff black silk edged in silver lace. Upon her ample bosom rested a silver chain with a heart-shaped pendant cut from turquoise. Dame Cecily’s light-blue eyes twinkled with pleasure. “My dear Skye, how can I thank you for this beautiful gown? And an ermine cloak! I was despairing over what to wear to Greenwich, and on such short of notice too!”

Skye was pleased by the older woman’s evident delight. “I had the ensemble made for your birthday next month,” she confessed. “Now I must find you another gift.”

“Dear child! This is more than enough, and what matter that you’ve presented it to me a wee bit early? This is the perfect occasion to wear such a fine gown.”

“Nevertheless you’ll have a gift on your birthday too,” vowed Skye.

“Is there no compliment for me then, lass?” complained the little captain.

“Why Robbie, you know you’re the prettiest of us all,” teased Skye.

“Hummph!” said Robbie, but a small smile played about his mouth, and he preened without knowing he did so. Skye hadn’t seen him so magnificently attired since the night she had first met him. Like his sister, he was garbed in black, but where she wore silk he wore velvet, the doublet heavily embroidered with gold thread, aquamarines, pearls, and rubies. The sword at his side had a goldfiligreed hilt with a large ruby knob. “Let us go, lass,” said Robbie as he heard the coach draw up before the house. When the front door was opened the wind blew their capes wildly about them and rain thrust its way into the house, wetting the marble floor. Without a word the tallest of the footmen swept Skye up and carried her out through the tempest to the safety of her carriage. A flustered Dame Cecily and blushing Daisy were also deposited carefully. Robert Small climbed in under his own steam.

The trip to Greenwich was a relatively easy one, for the roads had been emptied by the ferocity of the storm. The rain drove against the brightly painted coach, pouring down the windows in sheets. It was impossible to see out. Skye felt a surge of pity for her coachman, high up on the box, muffled against the weather but still prey to it. Even worse off were the footmen who clung behind the vehicle, the rain pouring down over them.

Inside the coach, Skye clung to Robert Small’s hand. She had not been frightened when she married Khalid el Bey, but now she was a little afraid. Added to her trepidation was the realization that she would soon have to tell Geoffrey of the child. She could well imagine his joy, but then what if it was not a son? Would he one day attempt to banish her, as he had poor Mary Bowen? She felt her spine stiffen. She would never allow him to treat her in such a fashion. And if he ever tried, she would appeal to the Queen. The coach slowed to a clattering halt at Greenwich, and the ladies were carried into the palace by the Queen’s own guards. Greenwich Palace, much beloved of Henry VIII, was built along the river for a seemingly endless distance and stood three stories tall. A palace official escorted them to a small room next to the chapel where they might freshen themselves and repair any damage to their clothing. Daisy helped Skye and Dame Cecily off with their cloaks. The hood of Skye’s cloak had protected her head, so there was little to do. Dame Cecily drew a small lace-edged square from a hidden pocket in her gown and pressed it upon Skye. “For luck, my dear, and I wish you great happiness,” she said tearfully, kissing the younger woman. Then Dame Cecily disappeared into the chapel, Daisy following behind.

Suddenly everything was moving too quickly. Robbie was there, leading her through the door, into the chapel, and up the aisle. The room was packed. Skye didn’t know most of them, although she spied de Grenville, Lettice Knollys, the Queen, and Lord Dudley, who was rumored to be her lover. Even Lord and Lady Burke were there.

Geoffrey stood waiting before the altar, resplendent in huntergreen velvet. Matthew Parker, the archbishop of Canterbury, waited behind Geoffrey.

Slowly she and her beloved Robbie moved up the aisle. Skye felt as if her legs were encased in glue. Ahead of her, Geoffrey Southwood radiated approval of her attire. His eyes smiled encouragingly. They stopped, and Robbie firmly placed Skye’s hand into Geoffrey’s large paw. Geoffrey’s warmth transmitted itself to her. He gently squeezed her hand and she drew a deep breath of relief. It was going to be all right.

The archbishop droned through the service, and, as they knelt, their heads close together, Geoffrey whispered softly to her, “Courage, my love.” She felt a stab of love for him race through her. The unease she had felt at the sight of the hot, crowded candlelit chapel was slowly being dispelled by his love. Matthew Parker pronounced them man and wife and, turning them about, presented the newly wedded couple to the assembled congregation. They smiled happily into the sea of faces mat all smiled back at them… all but one. Why was Lord Burke’s face so dark with anger? He was such a strange man, and why was he here at all? She turned away and curtseyed low to Queen Elizabeth, who was magnificently attired in purest white silk sewn with gold thread, diamonds, and palest blue aquamarine. Her Majesty spoke graciously. “Rise my lady Southwood, Countess of Lynmouth. We are pleased to have you at Court, and welcome you right heartily.” “Majesty, how can I thank you for your kindness? It is all so much.”

“You may show your gratitude, my dear Skye, by being a good and faithful wife to your lord, and by cleaving to him only,” replied the young Queen primly.

“I shall, Majesty,” replied Skye, fervently kissing the hand Elizabeth extended.

“That will be a terrible blow to all the eager gallants,” murmured Lord Dudley softly to Lettice Knollys. She swallowed back her laughter with much effort.

“And now,” cried the Queen gaily, “let us away to the bridal feast! Let the Earl and Countess of Lynmouth lead the way to the Great Hall!”

Skye sent Geoffrey a startled look. Taking her arm, he reassured her, “I know the way, my love.” Accompanied by capering musicians who played on reedy pipes, lutes, and drums, the couple led the Queen and her court into the Great Hall of Greenwich Palace. Outside, the rain beat fiercely against the tall ornate windows, but inside, the great hearths burned cheerfully with enormous oak logs. The head table accommodated the bridal couple, the Queen, Lord Dudley, and Captain Sir Robert Small and his sister, who had acted as the orphaned bride’s parents. The rest of the Court knew their places, many from habit, and found them now either along the length of the T-shaped head table or at smaller tables set up along the walls.

The servants placed an enormous salt cellar upon the main table. Two standing winged silver griffons and two standing gold lions together held up a carved coral seashell filled with salt. The goblets were pale-pink blown Venetian glass, the Queen’s crest carved upon an oval piece of garnet and affixed to each. Golden plates were placed before those at the head table. The other guests seated above the salt had to be satisfied with silver, and those below the salt with simple crockery.

A parade of liveried servants began the circulation of an enormous feast. The first course consisted of the usual bowls of icy cold raw oysters, mussels and scallops broiled with herbs and butter, tiny prawns in white wine, thinly sliced salmon on a bed of young watercress, whole sea trout, and great loaves of both brown and white bread. The next course offered sides of beef, whole roast red roe deer, legs of lamb. A whole great boar with wicked curved tusks rested upon a huge silver platter which had to be carried in by four footmen. There were small, sweet roast suckling pigs with apples in their mouths, gingered capons, big pink hams, swans stuffed with fruit, geese, roast pheasants and peacocks served with their full colorful plumage, larded ducks, steaming pies made with lark, pigeon, dove, sparrow, and rabbit. There were bowls of new lettuce, scallions, radishes, and artichokes. The servants kept everyone’s goblets full to the brim with a deep red heady Burgundy. Skye ate little, disliking huge feasts where the menus were far too heavy. A few oysters, a capon wing, a thin slice of suckling pig, and some lettuce satisfied her. She noted thankfully that Geoffrey was as abstemious as she, choosing oysters, a small slice each of the beef and the goose, an artichoke, and some bread and butter. The last course of sweets and subtleties arrived with a profusion of colorful molded jellies, fruit pies, plum cakes, early strawberries with bowls of clotted cream, early cherries from France, oranges from Spain, and wheels of Cheshire cheese. There was, of course, an enormous sugar-iced wedding cake. To Skye’s great relief, the cake did not have the usual marzipan bride and groom figures with their overly endowed sexual organs and breasts. Instead, the cake top was decorated by a small bouquet of tiny white roses and blue forget-me-nots, all tied with silver ribbons. Somehow Skye knew this was the Queen’s touch, and she leaned across Lord Dudley and thanked her.