Love's Labyrinth (7 page)

“We’ll stay out of sight,” Olivia said quickly.

“Thank you.” He looked at Alison. “I’m sorry for any trouble I may have caused you, mistress. Such was never my intent. But unless you can tell me that lives hang in the balance in your time, I’m afraid my brother’s needs must take precedence over yours.” Without waiting for a response, he bowed out of the room, firmly shutting the door as he went.

“Well, that’s just great.” Alison strode over to the door and opened it, peering out into the hall. “At least he didn’t lock us in here. This is the room that’s supposed to be haunted, according to the tour guide.”

Olivia let out a loud sigh and sank down into one of the chairs. It felt stiff and cold and alien, and she shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable spot.

“What are we going to do?” Alison asked, turning back to face Olivia. She closed the door carefully. “How long do you think this revel is going to last?”

Olivia shrugged. “At least ’til dark. It doesn’t sound as if the Queen is staying here—she just came for dinner.”

“Oh, that’s even more great.” Alison rolled her eyes. “And what time was the bus leaving?”

“I think we were supposed to be back in London by eleven, so I guess the group would leave around nine.”

“Nine o’clock.” Alison shook her head. “What time do you suppose it is now?”

There was a long silence. Finally Olivia met her friend’s eyes. “I don’t think it matters.”

Alison strode over to the other chair and sat down. “What—what do you mean?” For the first time, Olivia heard the little catch in her friend’s throat that meant that she was upset.

She drew a deep breath. “I don’t think it matters what time it is right now.” She spoke very gently. “I’m afraid it might not be quite so easy to get home.”

Alison bent her head, and the short fall of her strawberry-blond curls hid her face. For a long moment, she was silent. Finally, her shoulders heaved as she drew a deep breath. “What are we going to do?”

Olivia shrugged. She leaned over and patted Alison’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find a way to get back somehow. If it worked one way, it’s got to be able to work the other. It’s a pattern—it can’t be that difficult to reverse it. It’s just that while we’re here—” she broke off and bit her lip, trying desperately to remember all she knew about the middle years of the reign of Elizabeth I. But at the moment, it was all a jumbled mess—of new religions and usurping Tudors and imprisoned Scottish queens. But Shakespeare had begun to write his great plays, and Marlowe and Jonson—she raised her head with a start. Somewhere in this time, a man named William Shakespeare had just made his way from a little town in Warwickshire to London. His greatest works probably weren’t even glimmers in the writer’s eye. Had he even appeared in London yet, or was he still in Stratford? For one minute, she tried to remember, and then dismissed all thoughts of Shakespeare, London, and the Globe Theater. She really was every bit as undisciplined and unfocused as her father used to say. Deliberately, she forced herself to think about the matter at hand.

Alison was watching her. “What do you mean, while we’re here?”

Olivia sighed. “This is a very difficult time in Elizabeth’s reign. Mary, Queen of Scots, had become a focal point for anti-Elizabethan and anti-Protestant sentiment. There’s evidence of plots and treason—all aimed to get Mary on the throne of England and restore Catholicism as the true religion. If this is fifteen eighty-seven—let’s say for the sake of argument, it’s August fifteen eighty-seven—Mary was executed in February of this year. But even after Mary died—which was something Elizabeth eventually had to order because of the threat to her own life—Spain vowed retaliation, which was really just an excuse to plan an invasion of England. Remember the Spanish Armada?”

Alison nodded slowly.

“I imagine in the shipyards of Spain, even as we sit here, the ships are being built.” A little shiver rippled down her spine. What would her father have given to spend even five minutes in this time and place? A wave of sadness came over her as she realized that whatever knowledge she’d managed to acquire from him was going to have enormous importance until they could return.

“But, but,” Alison was saying, “but what about our families? If we don’t get back soon….” She broke off and dropped her eyes. They both knew that the only family Olivia had left was a seventy-seven-year-old aunt in a nursing home in New Jersey. Following her last stroke, the woman didn’t even recognize her niece. Except for Alison and her own family, Olivia was truly alone.

“I’m sorry, Liv, you know what I mean. My family’s going to be just as worried about you. Mom’s probably going to think it was all my fault. She’s always saying I get you into trouble. And what about our friends? Our jobs? What about poor Mrs. Higgins? She’s probably all in a tizzy by now at least. She must be frantic.”

Olivia gave another deep sigh and, rising, walked to the window. Her ersatz costume swished around her legs. She peered out, but could see little through the leafy green branches of the great trees that hugged the walls of the manor. She strained her ears and, faintly, through the thick leaded glass, thought she could hear the sound of high-pitched piping and the deeper drone of something that sounded like a bagpipe.

“I can’t imagine what they’ll do,” Olivia said. “And yeah, I agree. Your mom’s going to give new meaning to the word
upset.
I wouldn’t want to be whoever she’s going to talk to from the travel agency.”

“How long do you think this will take?”

“Hopefully, if the Queen is only staying for dinner they’ll be gone before it gets dark. And then maybe after that we can try—or first thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Alison squeaked. “Sleep here?”

Olivia looked at the huge bed. “I think there’s room enough for two.”

“It’s not that, Liv.” Alison got to her feet and began to pace restlessly. “That older brother gave me the creeps, the way he was looking at us, but especially at you, and the younger one—

that Geoffrey—I guess every century has its nerds. And this room gives me the creeps.”

“Well, it’s probably not haunted yet,” Olivia said lightly, trying to inject some humor. “Most likely any ghosts haven’t even been born.”

“I’m not talking about a ghost!” Alison threw herself into one of the chairs. She picked up the glove the Queen had given her and spread it on the table. “And what about this thing? What are we supposed to do with it?”

“This is actually a very valuable gift.” Olivia sank down into the opposite chair and smoothed both gloves out side by side. “Look at the workmanship on the beading—and feel the quality of the leather? Things must be looking up for Lord Nicholas,” she murmured as she picked up one of the gloves and peered at it closely. The white leather was soft and supple. Each stitch was tiny and precisely placed. The back of each glove was embroidered with intricate knots and headwork, lavishly worked with pearls. “Look at this,” she murmured as she ran a fingertip over the exquisite stitches. “Can you believe how beautifully it’s done? I mean, it seems weird to us, Allie, but this is actually worth a very great deal now. This gift means—”

“Good grief, Liv, stop mooning over that—that artifact and let’s think about—”

Suddenly the door opened. Both women jumped to their feet. Framed by the dark wood, Lord Nicholas Talcott stepped into the room, his broad shoulders rigid, his chiseled mouth tight.

“You—Mistress Lindsay—come with me.”

Olivia exchanged glances with Alison. “My name is Lindsley, Lord Nicholas. And where do you expect me to go?”

“The Queen commands your presence.” He glanced over his shoulder, took another step into the room, and pulled the door shut. He clenched and unclenched his hands with suppressed tension and, fleetingly, Olivia was frightened. The man was like a coiled spring, every fiber of his being held in uneasy check. “Come here and let me look at you.”

Startled, the women exchanged another glance, and Olivia had the uncomfortable feeling she was being scrutinized with the same detachment as the man might give to the once-over of a mare.

“Come here.” He made an impatient gesture. “Her Majesty is not the most patient of women these days, and your dress is—most odd.” He seemed to understand exactly who they were, however, and Olivia surmised he must’ve seized a few private words with his brother. You had to give him credit, she thought. For someone who’d never even heard of Einstein, he was taking the idea of time travel with remarkable aplomb. Or maybe it was simply his survival instincts. He was clearly determined to make the best of the situation at the moment.

Olivia edged forward a couple of steps. Alison held her ground, and Olivia noticed that Alison was nearly as tall as Nicholas. Beside the two of them, she felt unexpectedly dwarfed.
Thank God Alison is here,
she thought suddenly as his eyes raked over her. She pulled herself to her full height of five feet, three inches, and squared her shoulders as his gaze lingered on her bosom. “Well, sir?”

It was his turn to look startled. “Mistress?”

“Am I to your liking? Do I satisfy?” She hoped she sounded more authentic than she looked.

“Your costume is outlandish, mistress. Were it not for the fact that my brother has been spinning a tale even more outrageous than the truth for Her Majesty’s entertainment, I’ve no doubt we’d all be clapped in irons by now.”

“Then why not let her just stay here?” put in Alison. “I don’t want to go out there any more than you want us to. Surely it’s safer if we both stay put.”

He gave Alison a look that bordered on disgust. “Do you not understand, mistress? The Queen commands her presence. And no one gainsays the Queen’s commands.”

“Well, just tell her Olivia’s indisposed or something. Tell her she’s sick.”

At that he shook his head and made an impatient gesture. “Good God, mistress, if you do not understand what you have been brought to, by God’s grace, hold your tongue.”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” murmured Olivia. She reached for Alison’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “And when in Rome…”

“…Do as the Romans do?” Alison finished.

Nicholas listened to this exchange with a furrowed brow. “Our lives hang in the balance, mistresses. You, mistress.” He paused and his intense blue eyes fastened on Olivia. “Have managed to captivate our Queen. And thus she wishes another song. I hope you have one ready.”

Olivia drew a quick breath, searching through her remembered repertoire of Elizabethan and Jacobean music. “I can sing another, if Her Majesty wishes.”

“Her Majesty does assuredly so desire, mistress. Believe me, if I thought there was a way to keep you from her presence, I would’ve employed it.” He put his hands on his hips, and Olivia could not help but notice how the doublet and hose emphasized the slimness of his waist and the breadth of his shoulders. And the codpiece… She dropped her eyes, feeling a telltale warmth rise in her face. It appeared to be merely decorative.

She glanced at Alison from beneath her lowered lashes. She wasn’t sure how much her friend knew about sixteenth-century clothing, but this would be good for a giggle later. And God knew they’d need to find some way to break the tension. Alison’s cheeks were pale, but her mouth was pinched tight, and her brows were drawn together in the way that told Olivia her friend had reached her limit. Nicholas took another long look at both of them and finally shook his head.

“There’s no time to find you anything else to wear. Those clothes—she’s remarked three times about the colors—” He shut his eyes and Olivia had the distinct impression that his head ached. Suddenly she felt sorry for him. This mess was not of his making. “Come along now.”

He opened the door and stepped aside, allowing her to precede him from the room. In the hall, he took her firmly by the arm and led her back down the stairs, out of the house, and back into the gardens, muttering instructions all the while.

Finally, just as the top of the tent—or the pavilion, or whatever they called it—came into view, Olivia paused. “Lord Nicholas,” she began.

“What is it?” He tapped his foot impatiently.

She raised her chin once more and stared right into his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that they were the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “My friend and I—we want you to know that this wasn’t our idea. We certainly had no intention of crashing—of intruding into your party or your life, and we apologize if our presence here creates any awkwardness for you. We are both aware of how tenuous your situation—and ours—is at the moment. And we are not quite the doddering bumpkins you apparently think us to be. We understand, sir, that lives hang in the balance here. And we will certainly do our best to follow the necessary cues in order to bring this off to our mutual satisfaction.”

Nicholas’s face softened an infinitesimal amount. He raised his head and looked at the colored flags flying from the corners of the pavilion and at the great red and gold crest that announced Elizabeth’s presence. “If we all yet live by dawn tomorrow, mistress, I will be well satisfied.”

Olivia raised her chin and squared her shoulders with an assurance she didn’t feel, hoping to defuse the tension.

Elizabeth was no fool. If they didn’t act as naturally as possible, she would sense that something was afoot. Olivia forced herself to meet his eyes with a smile and, momentarily, the stern look he wore softened. Well, she thought, hadn’t she always wanted to be an actress? This was going to be the greatest performance of her fledgling career. “Then lead on, Lord Nicholas. Even in my time, Her Majesty is known as the most impatient of women.”

OLIVIA’S HEART POUNDED in her chest, and she found herself clutching Nicholas’s arm with a grip like a vise. A few of the faces that turned to look at them as they rounded the corner into view of the pavilion seemed friendly—some men raised their goblets as Nicholas passed, and smiled or bowed, and one or two even offered cheerful jests or toasts to his health. But most of the courtiers only stared silently as they went by, and Olivia sensed Nicholas’ anxiety rise to an even higher level. So much depended upon both their performances, she reflected. She forced herself to smile and nod graciously to even the most suspiciously hostile of faces, as though she, too, were to the manor born and had every right to be here, on the arm of this admittedly good-looking hunk of a guy, who happened to be an English lord to boot. They reached the open space before Elizabeth’s dais, and sank into low obeisances. Olivia looked up to see the dour-faced Puritan in Elizabeth’s train staring at her, his expression one of disgust mixed with something that in another man she would have thought blatant desire. She suppressed a shudder and fixed her eyes on Elizabeth, who was watching her with a bright, dark-eyed stare.