Angrily she pulled away from him, looking at him with distaste. Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, was as handsome and elegant as ever, but she still found his manner offensive and overbearing. "Unhand me this instant, Dudley! I am here because the Queen has special plans for me, and if you should attempt to attack me again I shall make the most outrageous scene this court has ever seen! Lord Burghley will protect me this time, you swine!" She tore his arm from about her waist. "You will crush my gown!"
"And what special plans has Bess for you, sweet Skye?" He was completely unperturbed by her anger.
"I am sure that you shall know that shortly, my lord. Now you will excuse me. I am expected in the Queen's chambers."
"I will escort you," he said, taking her arm. She did not deny him that courtesy for she knew that once her betrothal became public knowledge, Dudley would be forced to leave her be. Silently they made their way to Elizabeth Tudor's privy chamber, where the doors were flung wide at their approach by the Queen's own guardsmen. As they entered, Skye recognized only two faces among the women in the Queen's rooms, Lettice Knollys, and Lady Elizabeth Clinton, born a FitzGerald. Lady Clinton was the Countess of Lincoln in whose household Skye's second son, Murrough, was a page.
Suddenly a small blond boy dressed in pale blue velvet and silver lace stepped forward. "Good evening, mother," he said.
"Good evening, Robin," Skye answered, her eyes devouring her son. She wanted to hug him, but knew she could not do so publicly.
"Skye!" Lettice Knollys came forward smiling. "How good to see you again." Her eyes nicked to Dudley.
So that’s how it is now, Skye thought amused. "Lettice dear, it is good to see you also." She turned slightly. "Beth, how are you?"
Lady Clinton nodded. "I am well, and your Murrough is a delight, Skye. Never have I had such a gracious, well-mannered page in my household. I hope you will let me keep him for a while longer."
"He writes me that he is happy," Skye replied. "I see no reason to remove him from your care, Beth. He is a lucky little boy to be in such a fine house. I hope, however, I may see him while I am here at court. My visit is not to be a long one."
"Send word whenever you want him," Elizabeth Clinton replied graciously.
"Dearest Skye!” Every head in the room turned at the sound of Elizabeth Tudor's voice, and Skye swept the Queen a low and graceful curtsey. "We welcome you back to court, dearest Skye," the Queen said.
"I am grateful that you have let me come, Majesty," returned Skye, rising as she spoke, and thinking Bess Tudor had aged little. She was still a handsome and elegant young woman.
"Come into my privy chamber, Skye," Elizabeth said. "The rest of you are to wait here at my pleasure."
The two women entered into the Queen's small private library, and Elizabeth Tudor sat down, motioning Skye into a chair opposite her.
"You know why I am here, Majesty," Skye began.
"Aye, I know. You wish me to confirm little Lord Padraic Burke's rights so that the English in Dublin Pale will not seize Burke lands now that there is no adult male Burke to defend them."
Skye nodded.
"You are willing to aid me in return?" the Queen demanded.
"I have ever been Your Majesty's most loyal servant," was the reply.
"Even when pirating my treasure ships," Elizabeth said drily.
"That was never proven," Skye replied quickly.
"Ha!" the Queen chuckled. "That handsome brute de Marisco saved your pretty neck that time, Skye, but I know it was you! It had a woman's fine hand about it. It was subtle, yet hurtful. Men are more blunt, dearest Skye." She fixed Skye a piercing look. "You are willing to go to Beaumont de Jaspre as the duc's bride?"
"I am not willing, Majesty, but I will go. If you will guarantee my son's rights, I will go."
"You understand that we will also expect you to listen, and pass on to us any interesting and pertinent tidbits you learn with regard to France, Spain, the Papal States, and the Holy Roman Empire?"
"I understand, Majesty."
The Queen nodded. "Then I will confirm your son's rights, madam. Cecil tells me that you wish your uncle, the old Bishop of Connaught, to be the boy's governor."
"Aye, Majesty. He is a good man, and a wise one as well."
"Very well," the Queen said. "I can find no reason to object. The Duc de Beaumont will be quite surprised to see the beauty that I am sending him. Too many state brides are a disappointment to the grooms."
"Too many grooms are an equal disappointment to the brides," came the pert reply.
The Queen chuckled again. "I remember when poor Anne of Cleves arrived as fourth wife to my father," she reminisced. "Anne was far plumper than her portrait would have had you believe, and nervousness had caused her fair skin to blotch. It was instant dislike on both parts, and my father was furious with his artist, Hans Holbein, who had painted the Princess of Cleves' portrait. Of course my father was no prize either, having grown fat and middle-aged, but he didn't see himself as such. He was plagued with gout in his right foot, and could be very irritable, especially when his foot hurt, which unfortunately it did on her arrival. She graciously gave him a quick divorce." The Queen smiled again at the memory, and then she said, "It is time for us to begin the dancing, dearest Skye. We will introduce you this evening to the duc's nephew, Edmond de Beaumont. He has come to escort you back to Beaumont de Jaspre. You will find him an interesting man."
"I cannot leave London until Sir Robert Small has returned, Majesty. He is due back sometime this month from a most successful voyage. His advance ship is already in Plymouth, and I have had word that the spices he carries will enrich Your Majesty's coffers greatly."
Elizabeth Tudor smiled. "You do not have to leave us until Sir Robert has returned, and you have had time to make your arrangements with him. I know the businesswoman that you are." She took Skye's arm in her own, and together they strolled from the Queen's privy chamber. "Come, ladies! Come, Dudley! My feet itch to dance, and it grows late."
The Queen's party made their way through the corridors of Whitehall Palace to a large room with walls of linenfold paneling and a fine parquet floor. The musicians were already set up in a corner of the room upon a small raised platform. Elizabeth and her party passed through a line of bowing courtiers as they walked to a gilt throne set up at the end of the room. The Queen sat gracefully upon the red velvet cushion set upon the throne, and motioned Skye to one of the low maid-of-honor chairs by her side. The other women quickly found their seats, one being forced to stand behind the Queen's chair; and the courtiers began to come forward to pay their respects to the Queen. Some faces were familiar to Skye, others were not, and she paid little attention to the pageant about her. It bored her. Court usually bored her. Only when most of the courtiers had paid homage to the Queen and the majordomo called out, "Edmond, Petit Sieur de Beaumont," was her interest revived, and she looked up.
Although her Kerry-blue eyes widened slightly, Skye gave no other sign of her surprise and shock, for the man coming toward her was one of the handsomest she had ever seen. He was also a dwarf. He was not misshapen like so many dwarfs, but rather well formed, and he was certainly dressed in the height of fashion. His doublet was made from cloth of gold, sewn all over with tiny golden brilliants and edged in gold lace at the neck and the sleeves. His short, round cloth-of-gold breeches were lined in stiff horsehair in order to puff them out fashionably. His stockings were gold silk, embroidered in gold brilliants and tiny black jet beads, and his flat-soled shoes were of gold leather with black rosettes. His short cape was of black velvet, lined in cloth of gold and trimmed in silver fox. At his waist hung a gold sword, proportioned to his size, and twinkling with rubies and diamonds.