The proclamation of Mary as queen that Albertus had witnessed in London was very soon duplicated in town after town throughout England. By the twenty-second of July, Elizabeth had written to her sister congratulating her on her accession and naming herself Mary's very humble and loving servant.
Elizabeth did not ask whether she should come to meet Mary—boldly assuming that Mary's accession meant that Henry VIII's will and the Act of Succession were in force and she was heir presumptive. What she asked was whether she should wear mourning because Edward was dead or colors for the joy of her sister becoming queen.
Elizabeth had also sent out summonses to her dependents, tenants, and supporters to accompany her to meet the queen, and all that week they rode in haste to gather at Hatfield. They came arrayed in the Tudor colors—green guarded with white, in fabrics graded by their rank: velvet for the lords, satin for the knights, and taffeta for the simpler gentlemen. By the twenty-eighth of July, all who would come had gathered and were making ready to leave for London early the next day.
Denoriel did not accompany Elizabeth when she went out into the camp to greet her supporters. Some of them knew of the "old" merchant who had long been a favorite in Elizabeth's household; all the more did Elizabeth and Denoriel feel it unwise for him to appear with her, possibly to be thought to have influence, when Elizabeth was about to establish herself as her sister's heir. It made Elizabeth very nervous to go into the crowd of men without her Denno beside her, but it was necessary and she straightened her back and lifted her head and went, smiling.
She did not go unguarded, of course. Sir Edward walked to her right, Shaylor to her left. Gerrit walked ahead opening a path and scanning the crowd, Nyle and Dickson behind to guard her back. Elizabeth smiled and nodded to all impartially, stopping to offer a few personal words and thanks to those she actually knew and to ask the names of their companions. One man, stepping back out of the way, caught her eye. There was something familiar about his spare body shape and black hair.
She cocked her head and smiled her enchanting smile, holding out her beautiful, long-fingered hand. Sir Edward closed in on one side of him and Gerrit on the other.
"I feel I know you, sir," Elizabeth said, "but to my shame I cannot bring your name to mind."
Francis Howard swallowed hard as he bowed to kiss her hand. When Sir Edward stepped to one side and Gerrit to the other, he was sure he had been recognized as leading the attack against her. He expected to be taken prisoner. Lady Elizabeth's words were a temporary reprieve, but he had to give her a reason to find him familiar that was not the glimpses she had had of him on the road to London.
"No fault to you, madam," Francis said, releasing her hand and bowing low. "We have never met, but my name is Francis Howard. It is a large family so you may have met some relation of mine."
"Howard?" Elizabeth repeated. When her father was king, she would have turned her back on the man and walked away. Now she did not need to do that, and she had certainly met Howards in plenty. Her uncle, the duke of Norfolk was a Howard; he too was spare of body and when young had black hair. Elizabeth smiled again. "Then perhaps I may call you cousin. My grandmother was a Howard."
Her eyes were bright, her face alive with interest. Interest in him. Not as a man, as a person. Francis Howard was enchanted. But that was no safe feeling. He had no idea what "John Smith," he of the message-boy status who nonetheless handed out purses filled with gold, wanted him to do about Elizabeth. His first order had been to take her prisoner; his next might be worse. He must not be tempted into liking. He bowed again.
"My lady, I wish it were so, with all my heart I wish it could be so, but I . . . I have no legal right to that name."
Elizabeth had been called bastard since her father declared her illegitimate at the age of three. She understood what his honesty had cost Francis Howard. Her smile disappeared.
"That does not change the blood, Francis Howard," she said, her voice firm, her nostrils pinched with distaste—but not distaste for him, "or make you less a cousin." She reached out and touched Francis gently on the shoulder before she walked on.
He looked after her with a sense of despair and then smiled at the men who now approached him with much warmer welcomes than he had first received. Some may have heard her call him cousin; they would trust him now. He had better get on with his work.
"A wonder, is she not?" Francis said.
"You do not know the half of it," an older man replied. "I can only wish that it was she who had been proclaimed."
"Shush!" another man urged sharply. "The law is the law and the Act of Succession names Queen Mary. We were called together to honor and do service for Queen Mary. Our lady is her loyal subject, and so are we."
Elizabeth was exhausted by the time she managed to greet, individually and en masse, those who had responded to her summons. She hoped she had made clear that not all would actually go with her to meet the queen, that she did not dare bring with her a force of armed men larger than that accompanying Mary. Men of her household, Thomas Parry, Sir Edward, Master Dunstan, and others would pass through those assembled and ask whether they would rather endure the expense of lodging in London until Queen Mary arrived—because Elizabeth confessed frankly, she simply did not have the money to defray their expenses—or return home.
Perhaps she should have waited to talk over with Parry and Sir Edward what she should do if not enough wished to stay or to go, but Elizabeth's nerves were in tatters. It was not so much dealing with her supporters that had shaken her—although the enthusiasm of some of those supporters was very dangerous—as the continual reminder of what she would have to face once she had joined Mary's Court. Now it all ran through her head again as she sat and waited for Denoriel to come for her.
"Denno," she cried and jumped up from Blanche's bed as he came through the Gate. "Why are you so late?"
He took her into his arms and kissed her hair before he looked at Blanche. "Am I late?"
"No, m'lord," Blanche said. "Just she was tired with talkin' to all the men who are here and she went to bed early. Then a'course she couldn' sleep so it seems she was waitin' forever."
"I sent the messenger," Elizabeth said plaintively.
She referred to the air spirit that was bound to her, Denoriel understood, not a human messenger. But air spirits were happy and simple minded; they did not understand crises of nerves. Danger had to be more direct or at least caused by some immediate threat before the air spirit would become alarmed. So when Elizabeth sent it, it looked for Denoriel, but not frantically; and when it found him, it communicated that Elizabeth wanted him but not any sense of urgency.
Elizabeth knew that, but she was cold and shivering so Denoriel did not bother to explain it to her again. He nodded to Blanche and steered Elizabeth into the Gate and when they arrived in Logres, only said, "I am sorry, love. It took it a while to find me. I went with Harry to Alhambra. Something very strange has happened there. No one knows what to make of it."
"You never took me to Alhambra," she said accusingly, as he pulled her up into the rear saddle on Miralys, who had been waiting for them.
"I didn't dare." He twisted around to look at her since there was no need for him to direct Miralys. "There is . . . was . . . an Evil there that reached out to any who came to Alhambra. It offered . . . whatever was your innermost desire. The temptation is . . . dangerous."
"But Harry goes all the time, and Mechain and Elidir and some of the other elder Sidhe."
Denoriel shook his head. "Harry cannot be tempted by Evil. I have no idea why. He was a perfectly ordinary little boy and got into ordinary little-boy mischief. And when he was a young man, he sinned his sins in a perfectly ordinary way. Well, perhaps with less enthusiasm than others of his age with his wealth and power, but that was because he'd been Underhill and found our vices more to his taste than mortal vices. The elder Sidhe only go there shielded to within an inch of being able to breathe."
"I have good shields," Elizabeth said pettishly.
"Elizabeth," Denoriel said softly, "you are too precious to be risked. If you should be touched with that Evil . . . it makes me sick to think of the ill you could visit on your whole realm, perhaps even on all of Europe. No, there is enough nastiness in you just as you are. You do not need to be stained with Evil."
She laughed when he said there was enough nastiness in her; she had spent much of her youth deliberately bedeviling her Denno. Then they were at the foot of the white marble steps leading up to the portico surrounding Llachar Lle. Elizabeth was silent while they climbed the stairs and went through the person-sized door alongside the huge brass doors, large enough for the Cerne Abbas Giant to pass through. A few steps through the broad corridor and a short walk down the more normal-sized passageway to the right took them to Denoriel's door. Elizabeth, still smiling faintly, looked at the scene beyond the doorway.
"It changes all the time now. Are there people on the terrace of the manor house?" she asked, peering intently at the scene.
"Only a table and chairs, no people." Denoriel smiled too. "A stranger who does not know me would think the people are real. People on the terrace might frighten away anyone who wants to enter without letting me know they are here. And I would not want any who wish me ill—who else would try to enter without touching the knocker that would signal they had come?—to go away before my doorway lessons them."
Elizabeth turned suddenly and clutched at him. "Who wishes you ill Denno? Is it because of me?"
"No, love, of course not," he soothed, prodded her gently to go through the doorway, and then stood in the square entryway with his arms around her so she was sheltered against his body.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned against him. She knew she should talk over what she had learned from and about the men who responded to her summons. She also knew she should ask Denno to send for her Da who could best interpret what the men said. But she was achingly conscious that this was likely the last time she could be with her lover until Mary released her from attendance at Court. He bent over her, his breath warm on her ear, and when she turned her head toward him he kissed her.
Still, conscience warred with the need of her body, with the tautness of her breasts which brought her upstanding nipples into suggestive contact with her night rail, with the unmistakable sensation that her nether mouth was hot and wet. Her arms dropped down Denno's back, pressed on his buttocks so that his hips were driven forward. Unfortunately he was too tall and the pressure came against her belly. She rose on tiptoe to rub against him.
At the same time, conscience won enough for her to say, "I think I need to talk to Da about those who answered my summons."
Denoriel laughed softly. "And so you shall, beloved, when you can give more than a small part of your attention to what he will have to say. We are Underhill, love. I shall spread the hours so that we have all the time we need." And he picked her up and carried her up the stairs to the wide, soft bed that—because Sidhe did not sleep—was only used for making love.
The bed was well used that mortal night. With all the time Elizabeth and Denoriel had for love, it was nearly not enough. Each time they were done loving and resting and made to rise, one or the other would remember this would be the last time for love for neither knew how long.
Fear drove Elizabeth as much as passion. She had no real idea of how Mary would greet her, whether she was going to be acknowledged as her sister's heir or seized to be executed as a danger to the peace of the realm. Oddly the fear did not diminish her lust; it lent so special a savor to her Denno's caresses that, even sated, just dozing in his arms woke her appetite for more.
Denoriel was storing in his body, in his memory, every sigh, every breath, every murmur of her need and her desire. He had always hated when she went to Court because she loved it so. She said she missed him and that she thought of him . . . but that was after she had left the Court. The glories and wonders of Underhill had never drawn her as they had drawn Harry. The English Court might be coarse and crude and dirty by comparison, but to Elizabeth it was real and important.
Although he was no FarSeer, Denoriel knew that some day Elizabeth herself would be the Court and he only a small part of her life, a distant, pleasant dream of the past. And each time he thought of losing her, he made love to her again, determined that no human would ever rival his skill at bringing her pleasure.
It was fortunate that a cheerful whistling from below and a shout for wine roused them from a brief rest and warned them that Harry had come home. Elizabeth was ashamed to linger longer abed. She laughed, gave Denoriel a large smacking kiss on the cheek, and slid from under the light cover. Denoriel laughed too, curbing the desire to pull her back. He knew it was necessary to return to the mortal world very soon or the twist he would need to give time might have unfortunate side effects.
Thus Denoriel quickly gestured them both into clothing, and they hurried out onto the stair landing to see Harry, still in the square entrance hall talking to the air.
"Nectar too," he said, then hearing some sound looked up and saw them. "Drinks?"
"I'll have whatever wine you are drinking," Denoriel said, smiling. "It's all very good. I know. I import it."
Harry laughed.
"Ale for me," Elizabeth said. "I'm thirsty but I want to keep a clear head." She saw the gun holstered at Harry's waist and the silver sword too. "Whatever have you been doing?" she asked.
Harry gestured toward the parlor and Elizabeth went in. Elidir and Mechain were standing near the fireplace where multicolored flames danced over crystal logs. Elizabeth smiled at the fire, remembering that it had once irritated her to have a fire Underhill where the temperature suited itself to each person and the clothing that person wore. Now it was a familiar thing, designed only to be beautiful—as so much of Underhill was—and dear to her as everything related to her Denno was dear.
Elidir and Mechain greeted her with cries of joy, commenting on how long it had been since they saw her. Elizabeth sighed.
"Life has been very fraught. My poor brother is dead—"
The two elder Sidhe nodded sadly but without surprise.
"And the duke of Northumberland tried to set aside my sister and myself and put Jane Gray on the throne."
Elizabeth shivered and both the Sidhe came to her. Mechain stroked her hair and Elidir put an arm around her shoulders. "You can always come here," Mechain said.
"No, she cannot," Elidir snapped. "She has a great purpose to fulfill."
His hand dropped as if to touch his sword hilt and Elizabeth suddenly noticed that he carried not only his sword but a strange looking whip with a thick handle and a lash that was more like a coiled ribbon than a punishing strip of leather. Mechain was also armed. Elizabeth looked more closely at the Sidhe, but they did not have the fragile transparency that spoke of much use of magic.
"It appears that your lives as well as mine have been busy and dangerous," Elizabeth said.
There was a wavering in the air and suddenly a small table stood beside the elder Sidhe with flasks and cups for the nectar and the wine and a substantial mug with ale. Mechain, Elidir, and Elizabeth helped themselves to drink and to a few of the tiny sweets from a gold plate.
"Busy, yes. Dangerous, no," Harry said, coming in and taking a cup of wine before settling down on the short sofa that faced the fireplace. "Denno is going down to his workroom to bespell some amulets. Didn't he tell you that something very, very strange has happened in Alhambra?"
"What does he want the amulets to do?" Mechain asked.
"Locators for opening Gates into the mortal world," Harry said. "It is possible that Elizabeth will be away from her own houses for a time and Denno wants to be sure that he can reach her if there is a need."
"Oh, we know a trick or two to make the Gates open easily," Elidir said. "Will Denoriel mind if we go to his workroom?"
"I'm sure not," Harry said. "He left the stair open. Likely he would welcome any help. He's only started to study magic seriously in the last few mortal years."
The elder Sidhe took themselves out of the parlor carrying their nectar to where a stairway going down now yawned in the middle of the entrance hall. Elizabeth sat down beside Harry and raised her brows.
"All right, Da, what is it about Alhambra that Mechain and Elidir don't want to talk about?"
"I'm not sure I want to talk about it either. It makes me damned uncomfortable. I'm surprised Denno . . . No, it's true that I've hardly seen him since . . ." He put an arm around Elizabeth. "I'm sorry, love, I know you cared for Edward."
Tears suddenly filled Elizabeth's eyes. "I should have guarded him better. I tried, but my shield wasn't enough. I should have covered him instead of myself—"
"No! Absolutely not! And you are not at fault. It is Vidal Dhu who sent an assassin to kill you my love. That an accident caused him to touch Edward instead is not your fault."
"I suppose so," Elizabeth sighed, "but I miss Edward. Even though we did not see each other often, we wrote to each other. I miss his letters. He was always interested in what I was studying . . ." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "The gun and your sword . . . and you are trying to divert me from Alhambra. What has happened there?"
"The Evil is gone! The iron sigils we placed to control Its creatures are missing. But there is not a sniff of them or of It. Now we must search more carefully."
"Oh, Da, be careful," Elizabeth said, clinging to him for a moment.
He kissed her again and freed himself, smiling. "Now, now, there is nothing to worry about. You know that the Evil has never tried to force me—It only offers silly temptations—and Elidir and Mechain are ready with shielding if It should change Its mind."
"It has pretended to be gone before, and then sent out a new plague when you were less prepared."
Harry shook his head. "I think It is really gone this time, and that is what troubles me. We thought, since It did not flee when we destroyed Its minions, that It was somehow fixed in Alhambra. We hoped to bind It with a spell . . . but Sawel has not yet perfected a binding strong enough. We hoped to send It to the Void. And now It is gone." He sighed. "There are so many places It could go and when we are not watching grow strong again."
"How can you find It? Oh Da, I don't like the idea of you hunting for that Evil." Elizabeth clutched at him again.
He stroked her hair. "It was my idea to drive It out of Alhambra, so it is my responsibility to see It does no harm. The elder Sidhe and I will search. If we have any suspicion of where It is—Its creatures will surely try to attack us—Hafwen will be able to sense It. The last time she came to Alhambra, none of us could feel It much, but Hafwen showed us where it laired before she nearly fainted and Pasgen had to carry her to the Gate."
"Can you not wait until matters are settled in England, please?" Elizabeth begged. "If I am afraid for you as well as for myself, I will go mad."
"What?" Harry sat upright, hands going to the weapons he bore, but even as he touched them he realized that weapons would be of no help and he embraced Elizabeth again. "Why should you be afraid for yourself?" He leaned back to look into her face.
"Because to Mary I am Ann Boleyn's daughter."
"That is true," Harry said, "but Mary has mixed feeling about you. She wants to have a sister to love. No, Mary would not harm you for that. And Rhoslyn is with her. Rhoslyn will warn us if the queen threatens to turn on you. But why should she?"
"Because she will try to make this realm Catholic again and subject to the pope. I am not only my mother's daughter but also known to favor the reformist rite. Those of that persuasion might prefer to see me on the throne. Thus Mary or her advisors might decide I am a danger to her and to the stability of her reign."
Harry made an exasperated noise. "This business of Alhambra distracted me. Once Mary was proclaimed on the strength of being our father's daughter and the Act of Succession, I put England temporarily out of my mind, thinking Mary would reign as long as she lasted and then you would be crowned. There was no Protestant faction in my time. Hmmm. No. No, it will not be so easy."
"Mary is now on her way to London."
Harry sat silent for a long moment, obviously considering alternatives. Finally he said, "Yes, and you must meet her."
"You do not think she is likely simply to seize me?"
"No." He frowned then added slowly, thinking as he spoke, "I do not believe there is any reason to be afraid. From what Rhoslyn has said, Mary is too happy just now to do anyone any harm. After all, she has not even condemned Northumberland and she has freed Courtenay. True, he is not named in the Act of Succession, but he is male and has a good claim to the throne. Still," his frown deepened, "be careful, my love. Be very careful that you give no sign of planning any act against her."
"I almost wish I could stay on my own lands."
"No, you must not do that. When the glow of being chosen queen fades, Mary will remember that you could be a danger to her. Others may speak against you and Mary will be quick to believe that you are hiding so that you may foment plots against her. You must show Mary and the Court that you are a dutiful subject and a loving sister."
"She will press me to convert to Catholicism."
Harry was silent, biting his lower lip gently. "I think you will need to agree to that and go to Mass. Just do it as privately as possible or in the presence of those who are already Catholics—and I do not mean those who have converted to keep their offices. I mean those closest to Mary and those who you are sure clung to the old rite even while they attended reformist churches."
Elizabeth shuddered and tears glittered in her eyes. "I always loved being at Court. Even when Somerset glared at me and tried to make me unwelcome, Edward and I would manage to exchange a few words and laugh with our eyes. Now, I dread it. There will be no one to laugh with."
"No, love, I fear there will not. At least, not anyone safe. And if Mary is determined to make England Catholic again, I greatly fear there will be nothing to laugh about."
"I am frightened," Elizabeth whispered.
Harry shook his head. "Do not let yourself be frightened. Fear will drive you into making mistakes, into hiding yourself when you should be standing boldly beside the queen so the Court and the people see you as her heir. Think of the fact that Mary's nature was always gentle and kind, and she remembers how much you loved her when you were a child."
"Let me at least know you are safe, Da, not chasing Evil."
"No, no. Do not trouble your head about me. And remember that you are never really alone. Aleneil will bind an air spirit to you that can summon us if you face any real threat. Denno is making amulets so that we can come to you, wherever you are." Harry touched the gun and the sword, his good-natured face suddenly hard and grim. "You have nothing to fear. Da will protect you."