withdraw his amiable companionship if I declined, and he was well aware of how much I desired that companionship.
“But if David becomes my secretary, who will sing the high countertenor parts? No one else at my court can sing so sweetly, or so high.”
“I can both sing and write letters, I assure you,” David Riccio said smoothly. “I am at your service at all hours.”
I thought I saw the two men exchange smiles, and I suddenly felt left out.
“Let me speak to Lord Darnley alone about this,” I said. Immediately Henry shifted his tone, ordering David to leave the room in his haughtiest manner.
What had just happened? Why did I feel so worried and uncomfortable, so confused?
Presently I tried to find my way back to familiar ground.
“It is good of you to be so concerned for a man who is so far beneath you, and a foreigner at that,” I began when we were alone. “I have had some dealings with Italians,” I added, thinking of my former mother-in-law. “They can be slippery.”
“Davie is a good fellow, and honest enough.”
“He worships you. He is as enamored of you as any girl,” I said, laughing, “even though he is old enough to be your father.”
When Henry made no reply to this I went on.
“I imagine that you are pursued by many girls and women. Yet you remain unwed. Surely you don’t shun the admiration of women?” I smiled flirtatiously.
“I find both men and women to be delightful companions,” was Henry’s neutral response.
“They say David sings so beautifully because he became a castrato as a boy in Italy,” I said after a time. It was well known that Italian boy singers were caponized—a word I preferred to “castrated”—so that their voices did not change, but remained high and pure.
“Indeed,” was all Henry had to say.
“He is really not a man at all. He will forever be a boy.”
I searched Henry’s face, to gauge his reaction, but his features remained blandly composed.
“It must be a cruel fate for a man, to be deprived of the pleasures of manhood,” I ventured.
“But if, as you say, he remains a boy, then he must not miss what he has never known,” Henry said at length with a wan smile. “Now, about the vacant post of secretary—”
“Yes, yes. He can have it, if it would mean that much to you. You have never pressed me so hard on anything before this afternoon.”
“Perhaps we are on a new footing.”
I pricked up my ears at this. Did he mean what I hoped he meant?
But he seemed eager to change the subject.
“Do you know, Your Highness, I believe you and I share the same birthday. The seventh of December.” He was suddenly all smiles and charm, his tone bright and open.
“Why, yes.”
“It must be fate,” he said. “Our fates are linked.”
Michel de Notredame came into my mind, with his pronouncements about the inescapability of fate and my own baleful destiny. Was Henry, Lord Darnley to be a part of my future? I hoped so. I wanted him to be. I had never wanted anything more. But why oh why was it taking so long to happen?
EIGHTEEN
I was ready to burst.
I thought, if I have to endure one more endless afternoon with Henry, watching him smile at me, hearing him hint that our fates are linked, trying not to shout aloud my feelings for him, I will surely go mad.
Then I heard a clatter in the courtyard below, and saw, from my bedchamber window, that a ruddy-faced, bearded man was riding in on a limping roan, scattering the grooms and chickens that lay in his path. He reined the horse in, and one of the grooms came forward swiftly to hold the bridle while he dismounted.
It was Jamie! I looked in my pier glass, smoothed my hair and adjusted my bodice and skirt. I waited for him to come to me.
But he did not come. After half an hour I sent Margaret to inquire where he was.
“The Earl of Bothwell is with the Lord of Faskally,” Margaret said primly when she returned.
“And where is the Lord of Faskally?”
“He has been taken to
“But if David becomes my secretary, who will sing the high countertenor parts? No one else at my court can sing so sweetly, or so high.”
“I can both sing and write letters, I assure you,” David Riccio said smoothly. “I am at your service at all hours.”
I thought I saw the two men exchange smiles, and I suddenly felt left out.
“Let me speak to Lord Darnley alone about this,” I said. Immediately Henry shifted his tone, ordering David to leave the room in his haughtiest manner.
What had just happened? Why did I feel so worried and uncomfortable, so confused?
Presently I tried to find my way back to familiar ground.
“It is good of you to be so concerned for a man who is so far beneath you, and a foreigner at that,” I began when we were alone. “I have had some dealings with Italians,” I added, thinking of my former mother-in-law. “They can be slippery.”
“Davie is a good fellow, and honest enough.”
“He worships you. He is as enamored of you as any girl,” I said, laughing, “even though he is old enough to be your father.”
When Henry made no reply to this I went on.
“I imagine that you are pursued by many girls and women. Yet you remain unwed. Surely you don’t shun the admiration of women?” I smiled flirtatiously.
“I find both men and women to be delightful companions,” was Henry’s neutral response.
“They say David sings so beautifully because he became a castrato as a boy in Italy,” I said after a time. It was well known that Italian boy singers were caponized—a word I preferred to “castrated”—so that their voices did not change, but remained high and pure.
“Indeed,” was all Henry had to say.
“He is really not a man at all. He will forever be a boy.”
I searched Henry’s face, to gauge his reaction, but his features remained blandly composed.
“It must be a cruel fate for a man, to be deprived of the pleasures of manhood,” I ventured.
“But if, as you say, he remains a boy, then he must not miss what he has never known,” Henry said at length with a wan smile. “Now, about the vacant post of secretary—”
“Yes, yes. He can have it, if it would mean that much to you. You have never pressed me so hard on anything before this afternoon.”
“Perhaps we are on a new footing.”
I pricked up my ears at this. Did he mean what I hoped he meant?
But he seemed eager to change the subject.
“Do you know, Your Highness, I believe you and I share the same birthday. The seventh of December.” He was suddenly all smiles and charm, his tone bright and open.
“Why, yes.”
“It must be fate,” he said. “Our fates are linked.”
Michel de Notredame came into my mind, with his pronouncements about the inescapability of fate and my own baleful destiny. Was Henry, Lord Darnley to be a part of my future? I hoped so. I wanted him to be. I had never wanted anything more. But why oh why was it taking so long to happen?
EIGHTEEN
I was ready to burst.
I thought, if I have to endure one more endless afternoon with Henry, watching him smile at me, hearing him hint that our fates are linked, trying not to shout aloud my feelings for him, I will surely go mad.
Then I heard a clatter in the courtyard below, and saw, from my bedchamber window, that a ruddy-faced, bearded man was riding in on a limping roan, scattering the grooms and chickens that lay in his path. He reined the horse in, and one of the grooms came forward swiftly to hold the bridle while he dismounted.
It was Jamie! I looked in my pier glass, smoothed my hair and adjusted my bodice and skirt. I waited for him to come to me.
But he did not come. After half an hour I sent Margaret to inquire where he was.
“The Earl of Bothwell is with the Lord of Faskally,” Margaret said primly when she returned.
“And where is the Lord of Faskally?”
“He has been taken to
Similar Books
