A Love for All Time (10 page)

“My marriage is to be a secret, madame?”

“Not from Master O’Malley’s family, Aidan, but it would be wise if the court were kept in the dark for the present. It would be somewhat difficult for me to explain to San Lorenzo’s ambassador and to Lord Holden that I am punishing Conn O’Malley by marrying him off to an heiress, and creating him Lord Bliss.” The queen chuckled, and even Lord Burghley smiled slightly.

“May I ask one favor of ye, madame?” said Aidan.

“Of course, child!”

“Please, madame, please do not tell Master O’Malley that it was I who suggested he be my husband. I do not know him except by sight, and he does not know me, but I would be most mortified if he believed me to be like the other silly women who chase after him. I know that ye will understand that, madame.”

The queen nodded her head. “Aye, Aidan St. Michael. There is no need for Conn O’Malley to believe he has any more advantage over ye than any husband has over his wife. Ye may put yer mind at rest that what has happened here between us today will remain our secret. Ye have my word on the matter.”

Aidan curtsied to her majesty, and then almost ran from the royal chamber. She couldn’t believe it! She was to be married in less than two days’ time! She was to be married to Conn O’Malley, the Handsomest Man at Court! She was going home to
Pearroc Royal
! Then suddenly she stopped, and her hand flew to her mouth.
What had she done?
She didn’t even know Conn O’Malley except by his rather colorful and scandalous reputation. What if he didn’t like her? She had boldly planned her future with a man she didn’t know, and all based upon one kiss! Had she lost what few wits she had? She was, after all, no better than those foolish women who were always attempting to gain Master O’Malley’s attention. Suddenly shocked by her own daring actions she stumbled in her flight, and bumped into someone.

“Aidan? Aidan St. Michael, are ye all right?” The young Earl of Lynmouth was taking her by the hand.

Slowly her eyes focused upon his boyish face. “I am to be married, Robin,” she whispered. “The queen is marrying me to yer uncle Conn, and it is to be a secret.”

“What?”
he said astounded. “What is this ye say to me?”

“Go to the queen,” Aidan said pulling away from him, and hurrying off down the hallway.

Robin followed her advice, and was admitted to the queen’s presence. He bowed, and then quickly coming to the point said, “I have just seen Aidan St. Michael in the hallway. Is what she says true, madame? Is she indeed to be married to my uncle?”

“Conn O’Malley has caused a scandal of possible international implications to this court unless I can remove him from our presence, Lord Southwood,” said the queen formally. “My lord Burghley has suggested that a wife might curb your uncle’s high spirits. I agree. Mistress St. Michael’s late father requested of me on his deathbed that I find a good husband for his daughter. Aidan is an excellent match for Conn. He will take her family name for his own according to another last request by Payton St. Michael, and thereby become Lord Bliss of
Pearroc Royal.
He is banished for at least a year from court for his somewhat outrageous behavior not only with Eudora di Carlo, but also with Lady Glytha Holden,
and
her twin daughters. Baron Marston has already been to see me with his complaints. Do ye now understand the seriousness of this matter, Robin?”

“Aye, madame, but why Aidan? Aidan is special. She is gentle and loving, and I do not know if my uncle is worthy of her.”

Lord Burghley turned away so that young Lord Southwood would not see his smile. The boy was obviously in the throes of puppy love for Mistress St. Michael. William Cecil tried to remember back that far in his own life, and suddenly recalled an older female cousin with whom he had shared the pangs of growing up. For a moment he fought back the prickling sensation of tears that threatened to push forward. His cousin had married at seventeen, and died in childbirth at twenty when he had been but fourteen.

“Perhaps ye are right, my Robin,” said Elizabeth Tudor. “Perhaps Conn O’Malley is not worthy of Aidan St. Michael at this time, but he will be one day; and Aidan will help him to grow into the fine man that I see beneath the surface veneer of the gay rogue he so loves to play. Aidan will not suffer by the marriage, believe me. Now, my lad, I have other news. Ye are to be a witness at this wedding which will be celebrated early on the morning of the fourteenth, two days hence. Then I want ye to travel with Aidan and Conn as far as
Queen’s Malvern
to personally bring yer mother and stepfather word of the nuptials. Visit with yer family for a few weeks, my Robin, and then come back to court.”

The decision had been made, and Robin Southwood, the fourteen-year-old Earl of Lynmouth, was too skilled a courtier to argue with, or question further his sovereign. Instead he made a most elegant bow, and said, “Your majesty could not make an incorrect decision, and I shall be delighted to welcome Aidan into our family as my aunt.”

The queen appreciated the boy’s manners. How like his father he is, she thought remembering Geoffrey Southwood, the Angel Earl, as he had been called. “Now, Robin,” she said briskly lest sentiment overtake her, “I will send ye with a message to the warden of the Tower, and he will release yer uncle to ye. Bring Conn O’Malley back to me with all possible haste. It is only fair he be prepared for his fate,” and she chuckled. “I cannot wait to hear what he will say to my clever proposal.”

“No!”
said Conn O’Malley. “No, Bess! And no again! Marry some wench I don’t even know?”

“I did not ask ye
if
ye wished to marry, Master O’Malley,” snapped the queen. “I am telling ye that yer to be wed on the fourteenth to Mistress Aidan St. Michael, and then ye and yer bride will depart for her estates. Ye’ve caused a terrible scandal, Conn!”

“For Christ’s sake, Bess, all I did was kiss and fondle the woman. We were not caught
in flagrante delicto
!”

“Only because there was not enough time!” the queen shouted. “Tell me about Lady Glytha Holden,
and
her twin daughters, Grace and Faith, I believe they are called! Did ye take the sisters together, ye bloody lecher? Ohh, I know all about yer conduct with those three drabs! Baron Marston was here earlier today with his list of complaints regarding your
seductions
of his wife and daughters!”

“Seduced! Those three? Nay, Bess, there was no seduction.”

“But ye’ll not deny yer involvement with them, Conn, will ye?”

He flushed and mumbled, “Nay.”

“I could have left ye in the Tower, Conn. Left ye there until hell froze over, but instead I am supplying ye with an heiress for a wife, a fat dowry, a rich estate,
and
a title. There are those who would say I was less than harsh with ye.”

“A title?” Conn was suddenly intrigued, and Lord Burghley was unable to refrain from chuckling at the big Irishman.

“Payton St. Michael was the last of his line. His family had only been ennobled in my grandfather’s time, and although they prospered in many ways there was one place where they lacked. There was but one son in each generation until this present generation when the only St. Michael born to survive was a daughter. It was Lord Bliss’ dying request of me that the man I chose for his daughter take his family name, and with it the family title.”

“Change my name?” Conn looked outraged. “I’m an O’Malley!”

“Ye’ve got four elder brothers, three of whom are fathers of how many sons, Conn?”

“Eleven,” he answered her honestly.

“I think judging from that number, my Adonis, that there will always be plenty of O’Malleys upon this earth. Think on it, Conn. Yer the youngest child of yer father who was to all intents and purposes a pirate,” said the queen. “Ye’ve one brother who is a priest, but the others are privateers who will probably not live to grow old. Why did ye come to England if not to seek yer fortune? Ye’ve grown rich with yer sister’s trading company, and ye have my favor and friendship. Now I seek to take ye a step farther in yer climb up the social ladder. Why are ye fighting me?”

“Dammit, Bess, what will I do in the country? Ye tell me that Mistress St. Michael is the possessor of much land. I know nothing of how to manage a great estate. I’m a courtier by nature, and by inclination.”

“If yer to marry a woman with lands then ye had best learn how to manage them lest ye lose those lands for yer son,” said the queen quietly.

“My son?”
he said softly.

“Aye, Conn, yer son. It is to be hoped that during yer period of exile in the country that ye will sire an heir upon yer wife. Is that not what all men want?”

“I had not intended to wed for many years to come, Bess. I planned to choose my own wife.”

He was a strong opponent, thought Lord Burghley. Every bit as tough as his beautiful sister had been when dealing with Elizabeth Tudor. He would, however, capitulate to the queen as his sister had been forced to do.

“Ye could not, my Adonis, find a more suitable wife than Aidan St. Michael. Her mother was a FitzGerald, a cousin of the Countess of Lincoln. She is wealthy, educated, and what’s more, she has wit and a clever tongue. She will be a far more interesting wife than any ye might choose. Yer taste, I have noted, runs to the bovine, or the obvious.”

Conn chuckled. He could not help it. What was worse, the queen was correct. He had never seriously looked at a woman, his main concern being how quickly he might get them on their backs. Hardly a fit attitude when wife-hunting. He sighed. “Yer determined that I marry this girl then, Bess?”

“I am,” replied the queen sternly, but he thought that he detected a faint smile for a brief moment.

“Well, then, Bess, I will obey ye in this matter for ye’ve yet to do me a bad turn, but if I had the choice, I’d tell ye nay.”

“But ye have not the choice, Conn O’Malley. It is my wish that on the morning of the fourteenth of February fifteen hundred and seventy-eight, ye take to wife Aidan St. Michael. Now pour us some wine, my Adonis, and we will toast yer happiness, and that of yer bride.”

Walking to the sideboard where the delicate crystal goblets, and the decanters of wine were set, Conn chose a fruity golden vintage, and poured three goblets which he then distributed to the queen and Lord Burghley.

“To yer future, my Adonis,” said the queen raising her goblet.

“To prosperity and many sons,” said Lord Burghley raising his.

“To the bride,” said Conn. “God help us both,” and he drank his wine down in three quick gulps. “Now, Bess, with yer permission I shall withdraw from yer presence in order that I may meet with my betrothed. Will ye tell me where I may find her?”

“Robin is waiting outside,” said Elizabeth Tudor. “He will take ye to Aidan, and ye have our permission to retire.”

Placing his goblet back upon the sideboard Conn bowed to the queen, and walked from the room with the air of a man condemned while behind him both William Cecil and Elizabeth smiled conspiratorially at one another. Outside the queen’s private closet Robin Southwood stood talking with Mistress Talbot, but seeing his uncle he quickly excused himself, and hurried up to him.

“Bess says ye’ll take me to Mistress St. Michael,” said Conn.

“Keep yer voice down, uncle,” Robin chided him. “This matter is a private one. Follow me.”

“Ye don’t sound very happy, Robin,” said Conn O’Malley as he followed his nephew. “Do ye then agree with me that this marriage is foolish?”

Robin said nothing at first, but once they had gained the outside corridor, and he saw that there was no one about he turned on his uncle. In anger, he said fiercely, “She is the most wonderful girl I have ever met, Uncle Conn! Hurt her, and ye will have me to answer to! Do ye understand?”

Conn’s first urge was to laugh, but then he saw that his nephew was in deadly earnest with his threat, and so swallowing his mirth he said quietly, “She must be a fine girl, Robin, to have so won ye over. I am counting upon ye to help us both bridge the gap of awkwardness that is certain to be between us in the beginning. Will ye help me?”

“Aye,” the boy said, “but be warned that I am Aidan’s knight first and foremost.”

Conn nodded seriously, asking, “Where the hell are ye taking me, lad? I’ve not been this way before.”

“Aidan’s room is one the Countess of Lincoln was able to spare, but it is in the attics. At least she has had her privacy which is more than most of the girls have.” Having reached Aidan’s door at this point Robin rapped sharply upon it, and it was opened almost instantaneously by Mag.

“Good day, yer lordship.”

“Good day, Mag. Is Mistress St. Michael here? I have brought my uncle Conn O’ Malley to meet her.”

“Aye,” said the tiring woman, “he looks like an O’Malley. Skirt-chasing pirates every one of them, I’ve heard!”

Conn gently pushed Robin aside, and stood before the open doorway looking down on the small, plump woman who glowered up at him with snapping brown eyes, her hands balled into fists and set upon her ample hips. “Indeed,” he said, “and where does yer knowledge stem from, little woman?”

“ ’Tis common gossip in Ballycoille, and am I not Mag Feeney of Ballycoille?”

Conn laughed. “Well, Mag Feeney of Ballycoille, I’ll not say yer wrong for there are many O’Malleys who seek their living from the sea, and there are just as many who enjoy a pretty girl, but I’ve one brother who’s a priest, and not as likely soon to be a bishop, and a sister who’s a holy nun known for her skill at doctoring, and four other sisters who disapprove of me just as much as ye seem to, and one magnificent sister who’s one of the wealthiest women in England. We’re hardly an ordinary lot. Now be a good soul, and tell yer mistress that I’ve come calling.”

Mag shut the door firmly, and Conn and Robin waited. Finally the door opened again, and stepping aside Mag said, “Ye may come in,
Master
O’Malley,” and then she gave a little shriek as passing her by he reached down, and gave her bottom a small pat. “Ohh, ’tis a bold one ye are!” she scolded him. “Yer mother has, I’ve not a doubt, wept bitter tears over ye!”