The Hawk and the Dove (35 page)

“Robin?” she whispered.

“You know he’s a fickle young devil, and I don’t suppose
his heart will be involved for five minutes now that he’s actually wed her.”

“Wed … Robin?” she questioned, fear seeping into her pores and creeping along her veins.

“Never let it be said that a little chit like Frances Walsingham can make our Gloriana jealous,” he coaxed.

Wildly she clawed the air. Her own darling Essex wed to Frances Walsingham! The corridors of Greenwich were filled with the bloodcurdling scream that tore from her throat before she collapsed. Leicester gathered her up from the floor and carried her to her bed. It took all his strength, and he was quite winded by the time he laid her down and summoned her closest attendants. He was getting too old for all this nonsense.

Hawkhurst, bathed, bejeweled, and arrayed in his finest garments, paced the queen’s privy chamber awaiting his chastisement. The small room caged him, imprisoning the essence of him. If anyone had entered the room they would have been able to taste and smell the male recklessness of him. When he had returned to Thames View and found that Sabre had packed and left, he drank himself to insensibility. Now he was in a savage, drink-sodden temper and his three-hour wait for the queen was blackening it minute by minute. A clock ticked on the mantelpiece of the marble fireplace and very deliberately he opened the glass face and plucked off the small pendulum.

One of Elizabeth’s favorite tricks to bring a man to heel was to summon him, then keep him waiting for hours. Hawkhurst was in no mood for such games. He debated what he should do. He wavered between summoning her household chancellor or going through the
anteroom of the privy chamber, up the short staircase, and straight into her private apartment. Finally he did neither. He muttered, “A pox on her!” turned upon his heel, and quit the palace. For all he cared at this moment, she could add the offense to his other transgressions; he would just as soon be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb!

Back at Thames View the ordered silence of the house inflamed his temper further. “Where the hell is Mason?” he demanded when a housemaid answered his summons. Her eyes widened to saucers at the master’s tone, and her voice deserted her altogether. “Don’t stand there bobbing up and down like a damned jack-in-the-box, girl.”

The poor maid threw her apron over her head and ran to the kitchen sobbing. Within minutes he was confronted by the ample figure of the cook. “If it please your lordship, I’m shorthanded enough with Mason gone and Meg also, for you to render my servants overwrought.” She was empress of the kitchen and had been so entrenched for so many years, she dared to speak her mind.

“And just where has Mason gone?” he thundered.

“I’m sure there is no need to take that tone with me, your lordship. They are gone with Mistress Sabre, and I’m sure I don’t blame her for going if this is the way she’s been spoken to lately.”

“If you’d spend less time listening at doors and more time tending your kitchen, this house would be less like Bedlam!”

“I shan’t cater to your temper, my lord, because the mistress has up and left you. In my book you pick what you plant, so I’ll leave you to your own conscience!”

“By God, woman, next you’ll threaten to complain to the baron if I don’t watch my tongue!”

“And so I shall, my lord,” she said firmly.

Shane threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Go on, Mrs. Creeth, I know when I’m bested.”

Shane told the baron of the harrowing night he’d put in at the Fleet and then in the grave at St. Bride’s, and they shared the macabre humor of it, but then they talked long of what was on their minds, aye, and what was in their hearts. The truth of it was they almost thought alike. Their hearts were no longer wholely given to Ireland and her eternal call to freedom. They had grown weary of risking life and limb for ignorant ingrates, yet they were cloaked in sadness that there would never be an Irish peace, not while there were at least two clans remaining to murder each other in their beds.

Shane wanted a more settled life, and he wanted to share that life with Sabre. He found himself wandering about the rooms, completely lost without her. His need for her was so acute, he felt mutilated, for she had become a part of him. The house and everything in it reminded him of Sabre. She haunted every room, filling up his senses until he thought he would go mad from loneliness. She’d been gone only days, yet it already seemed forever. One thing was certain; he must get her back and he must bind her to him so that she could never leave him again, ever. He would get Jacob Goldman to draw up the legal papers that would allow him to divorce Sara Bishop.

Even in Goldman’s chambers Shane paced the room, revealing his impatience to be done with the whole business.

“Are you sure about this matter of divorce, my lord? Forgive my question, but less than a year ago you were positive you wanted a marriage with Sara Bishop.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. A year ago it seemed important
that I acquire certain Irish lands, but now I am considering ending my ties with Ireland.”

“I see. Have you thought of annulment, my lord? If the marriage was never consummated, perhaps a legal divorce is not necessary.”

“Nay, if I sought an annulment, it would be a religious matter depending on the whim of the church. They love nothing better than to drag these things out for years. I want it quick and I want it legal and binding.”

Goldman fixed him with a serious look. “It’s a delicate matter. You must have grounds for divorce and prove them.”

“She has the grounds—adultery. She must divorce me,” Shane insisted.

“My lord, forgive me for being crass, but you are giving her an opportunity to take a considerable chunk of your wealth.”

“I don’t give a damn what it costs me, Jacob. I want that divorce. She deserves to be well compensated for what I’ve put her through. In all conscience I must leave her a wealthy woman to save her face. Draw up the settlement papers and get them to Blackmoor quickly.”

“There must be no hint of collusion, my lord. The settlement must be a private thing between yourself and Sara, and I cannot involve myself in that process. You must go yourself and get her signature on whatever settlement you both agree upon. Then we will submit the divorce to the law courts. Your friend Sir Edward Coke can expedite things for you, but I cannot.”

“Damnation!” said Shane, frustrated by all the red tape.

Jacob Goldman smiled at his impatience. Shane Hawkhurst would never have been suited to the law, with
its minutiae of detail that ignored tide and time. “I’ll draw up a legal document for you and leave blank what properties you will deed her, what monies and jewels she is to receive, and you can fill them in when you reach an agreement. In return I think you should keep the land in Ireland, since you went to such inordinate lengths to acquire it,” said Jacob in an amused tone.

“Ah, Jacob, to be Irish is to know the world will break your heart before you are thirty.”

Jacob’s lips twitched. “I believe we have a similar saying in Hebrew.” They grinned ruefully at each other.

When Shane returned to Thames View, the baron had an urgent message for him from Ireland. The O’Neill had written a curt note of the rumored transfer of hostages from Dublin Castle to the Tower of London. These hostages of the important O’Hara and O’Donnell clans had been in Dublin Castle as insurance against the two great clans joining the rebellion. Shane was aware that O’Hara and O’Donnell were in the thick of it and were O’Neill’s staunchest allies, but he resented the curt note ordering him to ferret out when they would be transferred and to free them from the Tower of London. The O’Neill never asked; he took it for granted, as his due.

Shane, his nerve ends rubbed raw by the queen and Sabre and his recent picnic at the Fleet, sat down and sent off an equally curt reply to O’Neill.

Before dispatching the note he showed it to the baron, who nodded his silent agreement. Then he put the matter from his mind and changed the subject. “I’m going to Blackmoor on personal business. I don’t know where the hell Sabre has gone, but at least she has a maid with her, and Mason, who is a sensible man. Probably Matthew knows where she is and I suppose I could wring it out of him, but she won’t return until I straighten out the mess at Blackmoor. I know her only too well. So, the sooner I leave, the sooner she will be back home where she belongs.”

The baron gave him a long look, which he found hard to define. It was a mixture of omniscience, perception, and sympathy, and yet it was a droll look, as if he possessed information Shane did not. He shrugged and packed his saddlebags for the journey to Blackmoor.

When Sabre’s small party arrived at the remote property of Blackmoor, the dogs of the estate, unused to strangers, would not let them past the gates. They were extremely territorial animals who had been allowed to roam freely, so that no human guard was necessary. When Travis, the head groundsman, came to investigate the hullaballoo the dogs were causing, he had to whip them off before the horses and carriage could enter the estate and move up to the house.

Meg was terrified and actually shook in her corner of the carriage. It was not merely the dogs, but the remote wildness of the place. Mason, used to London’s sophistications, was determined to take everything in his stride. Whenever he felt apprehensive he looked at Sabre’s serenity and was immediately reassured. Blackmoor had no butler but was maintained by a housekeeper-cum-cook who went by the picturesque name of Mrs. Mole. Mason saw that he would have to establish a pecking order immediately, and Meg busied herself unpacking Sabre’s trunks, determined not to stray from the safety of the master bedchamber.

Sabre went straight to the kitchens, took a quantity of meat from the pantry, and went in search of the groundsman. “Ah, Travis, there you are. I want you to pen most of these dogs up. They terrify my servants and, I admit, make me a little nervous. I want freedom to roam about without fear of dog fangs sinking into my throat.”

“Beg pardon, missus, but they do protect us from danger,
an’ I don’t mean humankind, for we seldom gets strangers lurking about.”

“What danger?” asked Sabre uncertainly.

“Over yon’ is Exmoor Forest, teeming with beasts. There’s wild boars and wild bulls, there’s wolves and wildcats too. Some so bold they’d come for our sheep and goats, aye, an’ the horses in the stables too.”

“I see,” said Sabre. “Then pen half the dogs by the sheep and goats and put the others in the stable. They may run freely for an hour each day.” She surveyed the pack of dogs that gathered when they smelled the meat she was carrying, and only Travis’s whip kept them at bay.

“Those two shaggy gray creatures as big as donkeys … are they wolfhounds?”

“Yes, missus, Irish wolfhounds.”

“I want to make friends with them. Fasten up all the others and leave those two with me,” she directed. She quickly threw the meat to them, It disappeared down their throats instantly. Then she held out a tentative hand and said, “Here, boy, good boy!” They allowed her to pat their matted coats, all the while sniffing loudly about her person to see if she had more meat concealed. Taking all her courage in her hands she turned her back to them and walked slowly toward the house. They followed her instinctively, sensing she was lady bountiful, and as she glanced back quickly, she saw one of the pair actually wagging his tail. Within twenty-four hours the pair of shabby wolfhounds had formed a bond with Sabre and followed her everywhere. When night fell they even lay across the threshold to the bedchamber, and she felt quite secure.

Blackmoor was such a quiet place after London and
the court of Queen Elizabeth, that for once Sabre had lots of time to think. At last she was going to take the revenge she had plotted for so long. She tried not to let her mind go beyond that point. She would tell him who she was and demand her divorce, and there was an end to it! But her treacherous mind kept straying across the boundaries she had set for it. There was
not
an end to it, a small voice kept telling her, for she was carrying his child. The last thing she needed was a divorce. She clung stubbornly to her goal and clamped her mind closed on all thoughts of the future. Sometimes her imagination took flight and she feared that the queen had thrown him in the Tower and he would not come. Other times she feared that he would never divorce Sara Bishop to marry Sabre Wilde; men simply did not marry their mistresses. That night she dreamed of Shane and it was so vivid, she awoke shaking. When he had seen that he had been married to a woman he had taken as a mistress, he recoiled from her in horror. He insisted upon a divorce immediately and returned her to Reverend Bishop, who was determined to spend the rest of his days heaping scorn upon her.

The brilliant sunshine of the May morning dispelled the terrifying dream, and she chose her favorite outfit to lift her spirits higher. It was the fashionable white velvet riding dress with the deeply cut black silk vest. She was just brushing out her burnished copper tresses when the dogs set up such a racket, it sounded as if pandemonium had broken loose. Her two wolf hounds joined the excited chorus of barking and ran through the rooms to the front door of Blackmoor.

She dropped the hairbrush and snatched up the dog whip she carried when she ventured outside, and followed the two great dogs. They were standing on hind
legs clawing the front door and she had to order them back before she could open it. They sprang through the entranceway with fangs bared and drooling, and she thought, God help whatever they are after.

She ran like the wind after the wolfhounds, who bounded to the gates of Blackmoor. They saw each other in the same instant. Clad in white velvet, her copper hair flying madly in disarray, she lifted the dog whip high in the air.

Hawkhurst, on Neptune, was having a devil of a time controlling the terrified horse, which reared and screamed as the two giant dogs flung themselves upon horse and rider. He stared at her in stunned disbelief, shouting out over the animals’ racket, “Sabre, what the hell are you doing here?”