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Authors: Karen Harper
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that fan,” Cecil said, his voice coaxing rather than contrary now.
“Say on, and then we’d best go out and put on a happy, brave face.”
“Drake didn’t break Barnstable as I had thought he would.”
“Which argues against your argument, my lord, that he is a hothead,” she cut him off before he could say more. “He didn’t lose his temper, didn’t beat him to a pulp, though he admitted he would have liked to.”
“Just a word to the wise, and that is you, Your Majesty. After all, Francis Drake arrived here with dress armor as if he planned some parade for himself, some grand show, when he had been summoned to simply explain about that disastrous battle. Now if running off in the heat of battle isn’t a hot—”
“You’ll not call him that again! He ran to fight another day and has learned his lesson well. I believe he will not desert me, my lord! Besides,” she said, lowering her voice, “we’re all hotheads with this sticky, warm weather tonight.” She made for the door so fast he had to hustle to keep up with her and open it. “Besides, dear Cecil, perhaps it will be cooler tomorrow, for we will soon be staying in a solid castle with a host I can trust.”
“But deeper into Hampshire, a wilder land,” he said, as he opened the door nearly in Robin’s face.
He must have been going to knock, she thought. Or was he trying to make her jealous by all this laughter without her? Was he endeavoring to punish her again—to make her fearful and to admit she needed his protection? After all, when that bolt hit Fenton, it was Robin who was there to take over, to protect her and give orders to the courtiers just the way she’d always feared
he would if she should wed him. She desperately wanted to trust Robin of all people, but she had seen too often and too well that even those dearest and closest could be corrupted by the passion for power. No, surely her Robin hadn’t known beforehand of that bolt so that he could rescue and comfort her.
The queen flipped her fan open and waved it in his face with a little laugh as if she had not one care in all of England or the vast, wide world.
Chapter the Sixth
A fter the sabbath church service and a midmorn meal at Loseley House, the queen and her entourage processed farther southwest toward Farnham. She was much relieved to put Sir William More behind her, though her burden for the deaths of two stalwart men seemed to ride apace with her coach. Each time she glimpsed the Naseby boys during the day, guilt shook her as hard as the rutted road, for she had failed to solve what must surely have been their father’s murder. She wondered if that killer—or the one who had well paid such a demon—was along on this journey, too.
Even the sporadic cheers of her subjects did not lift her heart today. Yet Elizabeth of England smiled and waved gaily at the drovers of wagons loaded with wheat as they pulled off to the sides of the roads to permit her entourage to pass.
“Wheat from Hampshire for flour and bread in London,” Robin leaned down from his horse to tell her. Not only did she have him and Norfolk riding abreast of her coach for protection, but she had again donned Drake’s armor under her cloak. Cecil had wanted her to close her leather curtains, too, but she must show them all she feared naught—though she feared greatly.
“I can recognize wheat, my lord. Shall I give you a lesson on the geography of my realm, then? Farnham is the crossroads of this area, and,” she added, turning to him and lowering her
voice so that Norfolk would not mark her next words in the din of the cheers, “I know well enough that Farnham Castle was the place my sister Mary stayed en route to wed King Philip of Spain at Winchester, so never mind a lesson on that. At least this district is now firmly in my loyal Protestant bishop’s hands. I dare say, it will be refreshing to have a host who does not have his love and loyalty fixed elsewhere.”
“Your sister should
“Say on, and then we’d best go out and put on a happy, brave face.”
“Drake didn’t break Barnstable as I had thought he would.”
“Which argues against your argument, my lord, that he is a hothead,” she cut him off before he could say more. “He didn’t lose his temper, didn’t beat him to a pulp, though he admitted he would have liked to.”
“Just a word to the wise, and that is you, Your Majesty. After all, Francis Drake arrived here with dress armor as if he planned some parade for himself, some grand show, when he had been summoned to simply explain about that disastrous battle. Now if running off in the heat of battle isn’t a hot—”
“You’ll not call him that again! He ran to fight another day and has learned his lesson well. I believe he will not desert me, my lord! Besides,” she said, lowering her voice, “we’re all hotheads with this sticky, warm weather tonight.” She made for the door so fast he had to hustle to keep up with her and open it. “Besides, dear Cecil, perhaps it will be cooler tomorrow, for we will soon be staying in a solid castle with a host I can trust.”
“But deeper into Hampshire, a wilder land,” he said, as he opened the door nearly in Robin’s face.
He must have been going to knock, she thought. Or was he trying to make her jealous by all this laughter without her? Was he endeavoring to punish her again—to make her fearful and to admit she needed his protection? After all, when that bolt hit Fenton, it was Robin who was there to take over, to protect her and give orders to the courtiers just the way she’d always feared
he would if she should wed him. She desperately wanted to trust Robin of all people, but she had seen too often and too well that even those dearest and closest could be corrupted by the passion for power. No, surely her Robin hadn’t known beforehand of that bolt so that he could rescue and comfort her.
The queen flipped her fan open and waved it in his face with a little laugh as if she had not one care in all of England or the vast, wide world.
Chapter the Sixth
A fter the sabbath church service and a midmorn meal at Loseley House, the queen and her entourage processed farther southwest toward Farnham. She was much relieved to put Sir William More behind her, though her burden for the deaths of two stalwart men seemed to ride apace with her coach. Each time she glimpsed the Naseby boys during the day, guilt shook her as hard as the rutted road, for she had failed to solve what must surely have been their father’s murder. She wondered if that killer—or the one who had well paid such a demon—was along on this journey, too.
Even the sporadic cheers of her subjects did not lift her heart today. Yet Elizabeth of England smiled and waved gaily at the drovers of wagons loaded with wheat as they pulled off to the sides of the roads to permit her entourage to pass.
“Wheat from Hampshire for flour and bread in London,” Robin leaned down from his horse to tell her. Not only did she have him and Norfolk riding abreast of her coach for protection, but she had again donned Drake’s armor under her cloak. Cecil had wanted her to close her leather curtains, too, but she must show them all she feared naught—though she feared greatly.
“I can recognize wheat, my lord. Shall I give you a lesson on the geography of my realm, then? Farnham is the crossroads of this area, and,” she added, turning to him and lowering her
voice so that Norfolk would not mark her next words in the din of the cheers, “I know well enough that Farnham Castle was the place my sister Mary stayed en route to wed King Philip of Spain at Winchester, so never mind a lesson on that. At least this district is now firmly in my loyal Protestant bishop’s hands. I dare say, it will be refreshing to have a host who does not have his love and loyalty fixed elsewhere.”
“Your sister should
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