Skye O'Malley.

A Love for All Time.

Bertrice Small.

THE PLAYERS.

In England.

Aidan St. Michael-The heiress of Pearroc Royal.

Payton St. Michael-Her father, the third Lord Bliss Conn O'Malley, later Conn St. Michael, Lord Bliss-The youngest brother of Skye O'Malley, and a favorite of the queen Elizabeth Tudor-Queen of England, I558 to I603.

William Cecil, Lord Burghley-The queen's Secretary of State, and her greatest confidant Elizabeth Clinton-Aidan's cousin, the Countess of Lincoln Edward Clinton-Her husband, the queen's Lord Admiral Robert Southwood-The Earl of Lynmouth, a son of Lady de Marisco, the queen's favorite page Robert Dudley-The Earl of Leicester, the queen's favorite Lettice Knollys-The queen's cousin.

Skye O'Malley de Marisco-Conn's famous elder sister Adam de Marisco-Her husband Sir Robert Small-Their business partner in a trading house Dame Cecily-His elder sister Mag Feeney and Cluny-The servants of Aidan and Conn Wenda and Nan-Nurse maids.

Lady Glytha Holden-A lady of the court Grace and Faith-Her twin daughters Master Norton-The queen's chief dungeon master Peter-His a.s.sistant.

Miguel de Guaras--A Spanish agent In Ireland Brian, Shane & Shamus O'Malley-Conn's elder brothers, buccaneer captains Rogan FitzGerald-Aidan's grandfather Cavan FitzGerald-His b.a.s.t.a.r.d nephew Eamon FitzGerald-His son and heir Henry Sturminster-Lord Glin of Glinshannon.

In the East Murad III-The Turkish sultan Nur-U-Banu-His mother, the sultan valideh Safiye Kadin-His first wife, the mother of his heir.

llban Bey-The agha kislar Osman Bey-A famed Algerian astrologer The Dey of Algiers-The sultan's governor in Algiers William Harborne-First English amba.s.sador to the Sublime Porte Prince Javid Khan-The Crimean amba.s.sador to the Sublime Porte.

Esther Kira-The head of the House of Kira, a family of bankers and merchants Jinji-Aidan's eunuch Marta-Aidan's waiting woman Iris & Fern-Her daughters.

Sadira-English favorite of the dey Zora-An ikbal of the sultan Rosamund & Pipere-Captive English sisters.

Tulip-Aidan's cat.

PROLOGUE.

AUGUST.

I577.

Lord Bliss was dying. It had been a slow though painless process, but now as the summer was waning in a burst of apple-scented air and Michaelmas daisies he knew he had not much time left. If he had any regrets at all it was that he was leaving behind but one descendant, his daughter, Aidan. Even now she sat by his bedside, her fingers busy with her needle, his dear and dutiful daughter, a silent reproach to the selfishness of his deep love for her, for Aidan should have been married long ago. He, however, had been unable to part with her, the child he loved above all people.

He had waited so long for her birth. She had been everything that he could have hoped for in a child, and more. It was easy to forgive Aidan her female gender for her mother would give him other children, strong sons to match the healthy daughter. When she did not, it didn't matter, for he had already given that part of his heart that wasn't his wife's to his daughter. Now she would be alone, and what would become of her? he fretted to himself.

Would the queen to whom he was entrusting the wardship of his precious child really see to Aidan's happiness? When he had been, able to clearly face his fate he had written to the sovereign placing Aidan's keeping in her charge, askirig that Elizabeth Tudor see his daughter safely married to a good man of at least equal rank. He had only recently received a reply that impersonally agreed to his dying requests. Nonetheless, he had been enormously relieved.

He was leaving his daughter an heiress of great wealth both in lands and in monies. That wealth, however, had not been able to overcome the stigma of his less-than-n.o.ble name. Most good matches were made in the cradle, and he found to his regret that great names married great names. Then there was his daughter herself. Aidan was no great beauty. Oh, she was pretty enough when she worked at it, but most of the time her hair flew about in a hoydenish manner, and more often than not her face was dirty. When he remonstrated with her about it she always laughed, and replied, "I cannot oversee these vast tracts of lands that you and my grandfather persisted in ama.s.sing without riding about them, and riding is a dusty business, father."

He protested more often than not. "Leave it to the bailiff, my child. It is his duty to see to such things, and his family was on these lands before we were."

"The bailiff," replied Lord Bliss' daughter wisely, "responds best to a light rein, father, but nonetheless he must feel that rein. Besides, it does our people good to see me riding about. I know them all. Their names, their children, their problems, their aches and pains." She smiled at him. "They can only be loyal to the master they see, father."

When she smiled it was as if the sun had come from behind a cloud. Aidan was not the true and pure beauty that her mother had been, but beneath the tangles and smudges the prettiness was there. His own mouth formed itself into a little smile as he remembered his second wife, Bevin FitzGerald.

He never set eyes upon her until the day that she arrived from Ireland to wed with him. She had only been sixteen, and she was alone but for her servant, a suspicious creature named Mag. Most young women would have been frightened crossing the wild seas to another land and marrying a stranger, but Bevin had not been. She was as curious as a magpie, and as brave as the brace of wolfhounds that she had brought with her as her wedding gift to him.

A distant cousin of Elizabeth FitzGerald Clinton, the Countess of Lincoln, Bevin had, like her elegant kinswoman, a tall, and graceful carriage. She also had ma.s.ses of warm reddish-chestnut hair, and light blue eyes that reminded him of the pale skies at dawn. Her expression was so incredibly sweet, her manner so pleasing that he was, to his surprise, very anxious to make her happy. When he had undressed her on their wedding night her skin had seemed wondrously fair to his experienced and jaded eyes. She had stood proudly before him in the flickering golden candlelight, confident in her youthful nudity, totally unashamed of her magnificent body. He had marveled that he had been so lucky as to have obtained such a great prize for his bride.

Lord Bliss' family, the St. Michaels, had been London merchants of wealth and good reputation. They had gained their t.i.tles and lands when Lord Bliss' grandfather had rescued Henry VII's eldest son, Prince Arthur, from serious financial difficulties with several less-than-reputable goldsmiths. It was only by chance that he had learned of the prince's misfortunes, and had cleverly Knight the royal offspring's notes from the goldsmiths who were not wise enough to see the advantage in holding them as did Cedric St. Michael. Once in possession of the prince's notes, the clever merchant had generously forgiven him the debt.

The king, a miserly man in his old age, had been grateful. Not grateful enough to offer a royal appointment to the St. Michaels' trading houses which Cedric St. Michael had been hoping for, but grateful enough to bestow upon the merchant a small, somewhat run-down, royal estate in Worcestershire, and confer upon him the hereditary t.i.tle of Baron Bliss. Lord Bliss' grandfather had graciously accepted the royal token which had cost the king not a copper pennypiece. Then he had quietly rebuilt his family's fortune.

Over the years as the lands bordering on the estate, which was known as Pearroc Royal, had become available due to the death or foolishness of their owners, the St. Michael family had bought them up. In this present generation what had once been a small estate was an enormous one, but despite their n.o.bility each succeeding heir had learned his father's trade for sloth was as foreign to the St. Michaels as would have been a red Indian from the New World had they chanced to come across one.

The St. Michaels seemed to thrive almost magically, their ventures prospering far more than their fellows'. They never forgot their origins, but in the midst of all this good fortune they had one lack. Sons. There had been but one per generation until now when all that was left of the family was one daughter who seemed doomed to spinsterhood unless the queen kept her promise and found Aidan St. Michael a-worthy husband.

The dying Lord Bliss had been wed twice. His first wife, the youngest daughter of a north country baron, had lived to celebrate thirty-four anniversaries with him. For twenty-five of those years she had struggled in vain to produce an heir for her patient and kindly husband. There had been miscarriages, and stillbirths, and even three children, a frail boy, and two little girls who had lived anywhere from several months to almost two years. Finally there were no more babies, and no hope of any. The first Lady Bliss fell into a melancholy that lasted nine years until her merciful release to death. Lord Bliss had felt some guilt at his relief that she had died while he still had the opportunity to remarry and sire children, but he understood King Harry's desperation at last.

He had been fifty-two years of age when his first wife died, and he dutifully mourned her for a full year for she had been a good woman. It was at the end of that time that he had had the very good fortune to be of financial a.s.sistance to Lord Edward Clinton and his wife who had been in need of additional monies to keep up with the court. Like many of the n.o.bility, their credit was not particularly good. Lord Bliss had loaned them the amount requested, waiving any interest in a gesture of goodwill, though why he had done that he could never remember, except that he still grieved for his wife, and was not thinking clearly.

Lord and Lady Clinton were surprisingly grateful, and Lady Clinton in a burst of generosity said, "If there ever be anything that we might do for ye, m'lord, ye need not hesitate to ask it of us."

Suddenly Lord Bliss heard himself say, "I am a widower, madame, and I seek a wife. Would ye know of a suitable and healthy young woman not previously contracted?"

"It is just possible that I may be able to help ye, m'lord," came the reply. "Give me but a few days to think upon it," said Elizabeth FitzGerald Clinton graciously.

Afterward Lord Clinton had said gruffly to his wife, "What cheek the man has. His merchant antecedents yet show. I am glad that ye put him off, Beth."

"Nay," his spouse replied thoughtfully. "I do have someone in mind for Lord Bliss, Ned. My cousin Rogan FitzGerald in Munster has a young daughter, and no dowry for her. Not even a convent will have the girl without a dowry of some sort, but I will wager that Lord Bliss would be delighted to wed with the cousin of the Lord Admiral's wife."

"And becoming a family connection would not press us for repayment of the loan!" said her husband slapping his knee. "By G.o.d, Beth, yer a smart woman. I'm glad I married ye!"

Elizabeth Clinton smiled at her husband. "We are both well served in this," she said. "Lord Bliss' reputation is that of a decent man, and despite his origins he has certainly shown himself to be a gentleman. Having us as a connection will give his family greater legitimacy. My cousin Rogan's daughter is a big, healthy girl who will undoubtedly give her husband many children, and that is, after all, why Lord Bliss seeks to remarry."

The Lord Admiral's wife had been quite honest with Lord Bliss about her cousin's daughter. There was no dowry for the girl, for these FitzGeralds had no wealth. Bevin FitzGerald would come to her husband with no more than the clothes upon her back, but she was young, and she was healthy, and she was of good and n.o.ble stock. The inference was plain, and Lord Bliss was not a stupid man. Lady Clinton did not have to outline the advantages of this marriage point by point. He knew that his loan was now no more than a down payment on a n.o.ble young wife; but the match was made nonetheless for Lord Bliss was a practical man. Along with the marriage contracts sent to Rogan FitzGerald in Ireland went a purse heavy with gold for the bride to outfit herself with the finest materials for gowns and cloaks. Bevin FitzGerald, however, arrived with a small wardrobe for her father knew that the bridegroom would not begrudge such a beautiful bride anything, and, besides, Bevin's family had a greater need for the bridal gold than to waste it on clothing.

In the end it had turned out to be a love match, for Bevin FitzGerald St. Michael was a caring, sweet-natured young woman, and Lord Bliss was a gentle, lonely man, quite ready to love and be loved. Aidan had been born in the first year of their marriage. Her father was fifty-four, and her mother seventeen. She had been a big, strong, healthy baby from the beginning to her father's great delight. Her mother's easy confinement and birth pangs gave favorable portent of more children to come.

Lady Bliss spent the next few years of her short life gamely attempting to give her husband the desperately sought-for son and heir. The best she had been able to do was to produce but a set of healthy twin girls who had died with their mother in a spring epidemic when they were just past three, and Aidan was ten years of age. After that Lord Bliss had no one but his beloved only child. He might have married again as many men of his cla.s.s did, but he did not believe he would ever again find the happiness he had found with Bevin, and he had reached an age where he could settle for no less. Aidan became her father's heiress, and her continued good health only convinced him that it was G.o.d's will he have but a daughter.

The years had pa.s.sed too quickly, and now to his surprise, for he had always been robust, he found himself close to death; and Aidan was no longer a child. She was a young woman of twenty-three years. Bent over her embroidery frame she was totally unaware that her father was studying her with great concern. She had not her mother's looks, he thought regretfully as he had thought so many times before. Where Bevin's hair had been a full, luxuriant ma.s.s of tumbling chestnut curls, Aidan's hair was an odd reddish color, a mixture, he supposed, of his once blond hair and his wife's reddish-chestnut. It was also long and poker straight. Bevin had had eyes the soft blue of an April dawn, but Aidan's eyes were plain gray. He sighed softly. Why had Aidan not gotten her mother's perfect heart-shaped face, instead of the common oval that was hers? In only two ways did their daughter resemble her mother, thought Lord Bliss. She had Bevin's lovely fair and creamy skin, and she was big and tall for a woman, as her mother had been.

Quietly he sighed again. He had done his best by his child. While Bevin had lived she had seen to it that their daughter learned all the housewifely arts such as the salting of meats and fish; the preserving of game; the making of jams and jellies and conserves; the varied and many duties of the brewhouse and the stillroom; baking; sewing; mending; cookery; care of both the herb and the kitchen gardens; the making of salves and ointments; smoking and curing; candle and soap and perfume making; the knowledge of how to lay in stores for the winter, or an emergency; the overseeing of the maids.

When Bevin and the twins had died Lord Bliss had taken upon himself the formal education of his surviving child as an antidote to his sorrow. To his total amazement, Aidan turned out to be a brilliant pupil, so much so that he had hired a retired scholar from Oxford to tutor her. She had learned languages, both modern and ancient, and was able to converse as easily in Greek and Latin as she could speak in English or French. She was taught mathematics and how to keep accounts; reading and writing; and histories both ancient and current. She had an ear for music and performed well upon the virginals, and upon the lute. The dancing master came to instruct her four times each week.

Far more important to Lord Bliss was her wit which was uncommonly sharp, and Aidan could repartee most cleverly with the quickest mind. He only wished she had entered society as other girls of her station did, but Aidan appeared not to be interested in such things. She constantly reminded him that she far preferred remaining home at Pearroc Royal with him, and it had pleased him to hear her words.

Lord Clinton had become the Earl of Lincoln in I569, and Lord Bliss now realized that he might have pressed the connection between them for his daughter's sake, but he had been too selfish not wanting to lose her. Besides, he was a proud man, and after his marriage to Bevin FitzGerald he had seen precious little of Clinton and his wife, famed now thanks to the poetry of the Earl of Surrey, as The Fair Geraldine.

Knowing that he was dying, he had left the wardship of his daughter not with the Clintons to whom she was related, for he knew that the powerful Earl of Lincoln would have simply absorbed Aidan into his household where she would have been lost; but rather with the queen herself. Hopefully she would find Aidan a place at court where she might be seen by eligible gentlemen, and sought after for her good character, as well as her wealth. The Tudors had advanced men of less-than-n.o.ble families than his, and they had been accepted by the old n.o.bility. Perhaps his daughter would have her chance at happiness once she was at court. It was the best that he could do now.

"Father?" Her voice cut into his thoughts. "Would ye like some soup?" Aidan had risen from her embroidery frame and was looking questioningly down at him.

Suddenly he was terribly exhausted, and he felt every day of his seventy-six years. "Nay, my dear," he said weakly.

"Father?"

He saw the look upon her face. A look that told him she was torn by her concern for him, and by what she felt she must say.

He was unable to resist the wan smile that creased his face, and his voice when he spoke was warm with his love for her, and faintly teasing. "Say what ye must, Aidan. I can tell that ye will have no peace unless ye do."

"Father!" The words came in a rush. "I wish ye would reconsider yer plans for me. I am far too old to be placed in wardship! I will be sent to court, and I will hate it! I am not a social animal by nature, father. I will be pursued for my wealth, and eventually the queen will marry me off to suit her purposes alone. There will be no thought for my happiness. Please do not do this to me!"

"A woman must be wed," he said stubbornly. "She is not capable of managing her wealth without the help of a man. Yer an intelligent la.s.s, Aidan, but a husband is a necessity for every decent woman of good breeding. Ye must accept my decision in this matter. I know yer reluctance to leave Pearroc Royal, but these are maiden fears. In yer whole life, my daughter, ye have never been anywhere past Worcester. This is my fault, but ye've trusted me before, and have I not always done the right thing for ye? The court is an exciting place, Aidan, and as the queen's ward the best of it will be open to ye. Yer no simpering maid to be gulled by the insincerity of a fortune hunter. Yer a survivor, Aidan. Ye always have been."

She sighed deeply. There was no arguing with him now. She would have to try again tomorrow. "Yes, father," she said obediently, and he smiled weakly up at her, exhausted with the effort their argument had cost him, and knowing she had not really accepted his will in this matter even if she was willing to let it rest for tonight.

"Yer a good girl, Aidan," he whispered huskily. He was so tired now. So very, very tired.

She stood up, kissing him gently upon the forehead, rearranged his coverlet so that it was once again smooth, and wrinkle-free. "It is late, father, and I am weary. We made both lavender and rose potpourri today after the linens were washed. The laundress has two new girls, and they need constant overseeing, as they are not yet skilled enough." She gave him a small smile that pierced his heart. "I will see ye in the morning, father. G.o.d grant ye a peaceful night."

"And ye also, my daughter," came the loving reply, and he had watched her as she left the room, tears for some unknown reason springing to his tired eyes.

When Aidan went to wake her father in the morning, Payton St. Michael, Lord Bliss, had gone to his maker, and his daughter, to her great dismay, found herself an undisputed, if unwilling, ward of the crown.

PART 1.

THE QUEEN'S WARD.

I577-I578.

Chapter 1.

"Incompetents!" shouted the queen, and she threw her workbasket across the room. "I am surrounded by incompetents!" A movement by the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned to see her favorite page, the thirteen-year-old Earl of Lynmouth, waiting patiently for the royal storm to subside. "What is it, Robin?" she demanded in harsh tones, but young Robin Southwood knew that she was not angry at him, and so he gave her a dazzling smile.

"The newest royal ward has just arrived from the country, madame," he said.

"G.o.d's foot! Another one? Well, tell me, lad! Is my newest charge male or female? Yet in nappies, or out of them? Give me a name. Some hint or clue as to this latest in my long line of royal responsibilities." Her lips were now twitching with amus.e.m.e.nt seeing the laughter in the boy's lime-green eyes.

"It is a young lady, madame. She is Aidan St. Michael, the heiress and only living child of Payton St. Michael, Baron Bliss. Her home is near Worcester. The baron's estates border on my mother's home."

The queen thought a moment, and then nodded. "Lord Bliss' family is originally of good London stock," she said. "The family has always supported the ruling monarch, and stayed free of court entanglements to my knowledge. Well, Robin Southwood, fetch her in to me. I would see this orphaned heiress."

The boy bowed himself from her presence, and Elizabeth Tudor smiled to herself watching him go. He grew more like his late father every day, although he had greater warmth than Geoffrey had had at that age. That was due to his mother, that Irish vixen, Skye O'Malley, now married to Adam de Marisco, and exiled from court with her husband to the royal estate of Queens Malvern.

I miss her, thought the queen. Our whole relationship has been difficult, and yet I miss the excitement that always surrounds dear Skye. Her glance took in the other women in the room, and she snorted softly to herself. With few exceptions they were a bunch of silly cows who giggled and minced their way through her court seeking husbands. Most of them had the barest of educations, and could converse on nothing but men and fashions, and the latest gossip. She knew that behind her back they mocked her, and made fun of her despite her sovereignty over them. They did not dare to do it to her face, for even they understood her power, the power of life and death that she held over them all. Still, she had few real friends among her women. They but served her to advance either themselves or their families.

The door to the queen's dayroom opened to re-admit young Robin, and two other women, one young, one in her late middle years. The younger woman was attired in a high-necked black velvet gown of dated design, but excellent quality. Upon her head was a white linen cap edged in lace. Immediately the queen's women ceased their chatter, and looked bright-eyed at the visitors.

"Madame, this is Mistress St. Michael," Robin said.

Aidan curtsied prettily as did her companion. The older woman, however, was obviously stiff in her joints, and needed her mistress' help to arise. This caused the queen's ladies to giggle, and Aidan's cheeks flushed, embarra.s.sed.

The queen shot the women an angry look for she disliked such un-kindness. "You are welcome to court, Mistress St. Michael," she said. "I did not know yer father, but yer family's good reputation precedes ye."

"Yer majesty is most gracious," Aidan replied.

"Now," said the queen, "the question is what are we do to with ye."

"If I might serve yer majesty," Aidan said sincerely, "I should count myself content."

There was a sharp giggle at Aidan's words which caused her to flush once more, and eyes narrowing the queen sought out the culprit, a dainty girl with a rosebud mouth and sunshine-yellow hair. "Ye find Mistress St. Michael's desire to serve me amusing, Mistress Tailleboys?" the queen purred, and the Countess of Lincoln, who was the queen's close friend, suddenly looked up and across the room at the newcomer.

Now it was Mistress Tailleboys who reddened, and stammering she attempted to excuse her rude behavior. "N-nay, madame, 'twas just that her gown is so old-fashioned."

"Fashion," said the queen archly, "is something I will admit to yer knowing. Fashion and loose behavior, Mistress Tailleboys."

Now the miscreant paled. Did the queen know about her recent a.s.signations with Lord Bolton? How could she know? It was not possible, and yet sometimes it seemed as if the queen knew everything. She hit her lower lip in vexation. What could she say to her mistress?

Seeing the fourteen-year-old maid of honor hesitate, the queen knew she had hit upon something. So the wench is lifting her skirts behind my back, is she? Elizabeth hated it when her women played the wanton, and far too many of them did these days. "Are ye not responsible for my work-basket, Mistress Tailleboys?" she demanded.

"A-aye, yer majesty," came the nervous reply.

"And yet just minutes ago I sought to find something within that very basket, and it was a jumble with nothing in its proper place. It would appear, Mistress Tailleboys, that yer interests lay in other directions than serving yer queen. Since that is so, ye are dismissed from my service, and ye will return home immediately, this very day."

With a shriek of dismay Althea Tailleboys flung herself across the queen's dayroom, and at the queen's feet. "Oh, please, yer majesty," she cried, "do not send me home in disgrace! What will my parents say? How can I explain to them?"

"Ye will not need to," came the terrifying reply. "I will send a letter along with ye explaining my reasons for yer dismissal; expressing my displeasure at yer lack of manners, yer unkind heart, and yer lewd behavior with a member of my court who shall remain nameless."

Mistress Tailleboys swooned at the queen's feet with a sound that was somewhere between a cry and a moan.

"Remove that baggage!" snapped Elizabeth to the other maids of honor who had watched wide-eyed as one of their privileged number was lashed by the queen's sharp tongue. Each of the others was grateful that it was not she who was the queen's victim, and in unison they hurried to do their mistress' bidding, lest they incur her further wrath, lifting the dainty Althea Tailleboys between them, and stumbling from the room with her p.r.o.ne form.

"Mistress St. Michael," said the queen, her voice more kindly now. "Ye will take Mistress Tailleboys' place amongst my maids of honor, and my workbasket is now in yer charge."

"They will not like me for it," Aidan heard herself saying.