Geoffrey Southwood’s death had been a terrible shock to the Queen and the entire Court, for the Angel Earl had been very well liked. True, he and his lovely Irish wife had not been to Court for two years, but they always came up to London to give their Twelfth Night masque, always the best party of the year. Only a few short months ago they had astounded everyone once more by the marvelous originality of their costumes, coming to their last masque as “The New World.” The beauteous young Countess had been gowned in cloth of gold trimmed lavishly in rich dark beaver and set off by Colombian emeralds, while Lord Southwood had been equally resplendent in his cloth-of-silver suit trimmed in fox, and sewn all over with Mexican turquoise.

So much for earthly glories, thought Robert Dudley wryly. Southwood, so lively and virile in January, was quite dead and buried on this glorious June day. Now perhaps his wife would be more amenable. And if she was not, there were means through which he could persuade her to be more cooperative. So pleased with himself was the Earl of Leicester as he came in sight of Lynmouth Castle in early evening that he burst into a currently popular and very bawdy song, much to the grinning delight of his soldiers.

Watching his approach from the open ramparts of the castle, the widowed Countess of Lynmouth was filled with trepidation. It had taken the Queen several weeks to answer Skye’s letter announcing Geoffrey’s death. When she did, Elizabeth had confirmed little Robin’s inheritance. But she had also appointed Robert Dudley the child’s guardian. Skye had protested, pointing out as diplomatically as possible that Geoffrey’s will had made her the sole guardian of all their children. But the Queen was adamant. Skye had full control over the others, but the little Earl of Lynmouth was to be under royal protection from that time on.

Skye was most unhappy. She did not trust Dudley. To be sure, his behavior had been most circumspect since the incident of the Twelfth Night masque two years before. But she knew he would not give up easily. And in her widowed state she was unprotected and easy prey. He would not hesitate to use the young ones to force her hand, and so Skye had quickly done what she could to protect herself and the children.

Ewan and Murrough O’Flaherty had been sent home to Ireland, along with the twins, Gwyneth and Joan Southwood. Over a year previously, Skye and Geoffrey had betrothed these children to each. The twins had expressed the desire to remain together, and the boys were quite fond of them. The four would all be safe in Anne O’Malley’s care and would marry in a few more years. The twins’ nine-year-old sister, Susan Southwood, was sent to the household of Lord Trevenyan in Cornwall to learn the housewifely arts from his wife. She would be wed to the Trevenyan heir, an excellent match for both young people.

Only Willow and Robin remained with their mother. Skye had plans for the little Earl, but she would need the Queen’s permission to carry them out. She had therefore waited to approach Elizabeth until she knew Lord Dudley was away from Court. Willow could easily be removed from Lynmouth. In case of danger the Smalls at Wren Court would protect her. If Skye had to fight Robert Dudley, it would be on her terms, not ins: the children would not become weapons in his hands.

Below her, she could hear the thudding of the horses’ hooves as they passed over the wooden drawbridge, then clattered into the castle courtyard. Gathering her cloak about her, she left the ramparts and hurried to her own apartment to await word from her majordomo that Lord Dudley had arrived. When the announcement came she calmly smoothed her skirts and descended to the Great Hall to greet her unwelcome guest.

As she entered the room Robert Dudley felt a momentary stab of compassion. She had grown thinner and looked tired. Yet despite the changes, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her black silk mourning gown was enormously becoming and the jet-edged cap framed her heart-shaped face in an outrageously flattering way. Widowhood became her, thought Robert Dudley. “Welcome to Lynmouth, my lord.” Her voice held no warmth. “Am I truly welcome, my dear Skye?” he inquired playfully, kissing her hand.

“The Queen’s majesty is always welcome in this house, my lord Dudley, and you represent the Queen. I trust your men have been suitably cared for by my people?”

“Thank you, madam, yes.”

… “You will wish to see the Earl,” she said. “At the moment, however, his lordship is asleep. I shall send him to you in the morning when he awakens. I apologize for our being unable to entertain you, Lord Dudley, but this house is in deepest mourning. You will excuse me now, sir.”

Dudley felt a surge of quick anger. He was being dismissed like a servant. “No, madam, I will not excuse you,” he snapped. “My lord!” Skye looked outraged. “I would pray for my husband!

You have no right to deny me the solace of prayer.” “Would not a flesh-and-blood man be a better solace, sweet Skye?” Her beautiful blue eyes widened. “You? After Southwood? Oh, Dudley!” she laughed harshly. “If you seek to amuse me, sir, you have certainly succeeded, and I thank you. I have not laughed once since my Geoffrey died.”

He flushed a dull red color. “You try my patience, madam!” “And you try mine,” she snapped. “How dare you come into my house and suggest what you suggest? It was bad enough that you attacked my virtue when Geoffrey was alive, but to continue to assault me in my grief is despicable!”

“Madam, I will have you.” There it was. Blunt and open.

“Never.”

“Let me remind you that I am your son’s governor.”

“But not mine!”

“I can have the boy removed from here at any time. And unless you cooperate, I shall.”

“I shall appeal to the Queen!”

“On what grounds, sweet Skye? I have only to tell Bess that you are suffering from acute melancholia brought on by Southwood’s death. That I think your moods are bad for the children. Better yet, the children shall remain here at Lynmouth, but I shall remove you to London! What will you tell the Queen, and which one of us will she believe?”

“No!” She was helpless until the Queen replied to her last letter and she was free of Dudley. She dare not take the chance of being separated from Robin and Willow. Dudley smiled, knowing that she had assessed the situation intelligently and knew she had no choice. “You will have supper with me, and afterward I will have you,” he crowed triumphantly.

“I pray that you excuse me from supper. What you force me to is distasteful, and I find I have no appetite. I will come to you, for I will not take you into the bed I shared with my husband. Give me a few hours to compose myself.”

He nodded. “Very well, sweet Skye. I will excuse you from supper. I shall eat in my rooms, and you will come to me at ten o’clock tonight. Is it agreed?”

“Yes, my lord.” She turned from him and quickly left the room. If it had not been for the children she would have thrown herself from the castle heights. No! She would have plunged a dagger into his chest, and thrown his body into the sea! Why should she suffer because of that revolting man?

Daisy waited for her in Skye’s bedroom. “From the look on your face I’d say Lord Dudley’s not changed his tune.” Skye had taken her tiring woman into her confidence because she believed she might need Daisy’s aid.

Skye explained wearily, “He has threatened to send me from the children unless I yield myself. I must, of course, especially since I don’t believe he knows yet that the five older children are gone. When he learns of that all hell is apt to break loose around us, Daisy.”

“Unless, of course, you please him. He’ll be more amenable if he thinks he’s won you over,” observed Daisy.

“If the Queen agrees to my suggestion for Robin’s future, then the fine Lord Dudley will have nothing to blackmail me with at all.”

“But in the meantime you’ve got to warm his bed, and he’ll not be happy if you are aloof with him.”

“How can I receive him warmly, Daisy? I despise the man! How could I take a ridiculous popinjay like that for a lover after my darling Geoffrey?”

“Alas, madam, it’s not a matter of what you want. The Earl would want you to protect little Robin’s inheritance,” said the everpractical Daisy. “Lord Dudley has the power now. Men always do.” “Not always,” said Skye softly. For the first time in several years she was experiencing her youth again, in her memory. Safe in Geoffrey’s love, she had almost forgotten that she was the O’Malley of Innisfana. Now she was trapped, for Robin was an English peer, and she could not steal his ancient heritage in order to return to her own. But there might be a way out of this, if only the Queen agreed to her plan. For tonight, however, there was no escaping Lord Dudley. She shuddered.

“I’ve had the girls draw your bath, my lady,” said Daisy quietly. “There’ll be breast of capon, salad, and fresh strawberries with cream for your supper after your bath.”

Skye nodded absently. Undressing automatically, she stepped into her tub. The warm water was fragrant with her favorite scent, roses. Daisy carefully pinned up her hair, and Skye sank deep into the water. She did not think Dudley meant to flaunt her before the world. Elizabeth Tudor could not be used that way. Too, it had been less than two years since Dudley had finally received his earldom. Therefore, he would plan to leave Skye in Devon, taking his pleasure of her on occasional trips down to see to the “welfare” of his godson, the Queen’s ward. He would have to be very careful lest he rouse the suspicions of the Queen regarding his true motives. Taking the soap from a small porcelain dish, she chuckled to herself, realizing that her daily bathing was a habit picked up in Algiers. Many of the English Court ladies were just as shy of soap and water as their kitchen help. She rose from the tub, and Daisy wrapped a warmed towel about her. Stepping from the tub, Skye sat down on a bench by her fire. Two little undermaids carefully rubbed the beads of moisture from Skye’s shoulders and then, kneeling, dried her feet. Skye stood up, dropping her towel, her slender arms raised above her head. Daisy, armed with a thick lamb’s wool puff, liberally dusted her mistress with rose powder, muttering all the while, “Indecent is what it is! In her middle twenties, five babes, and she still has the figure of a young girl!”