George and Hal sat on the long settle. Hal had been a baby when George married his love, Judith; in his growing years his older brother had been raising his family and frequently away in Elizabeth Tudor’s court. As George began to spend less time in the royal residences, Hal had completed his training, received his silver spurs and duly been taken up by the Queen. He and George saw little of each other, but were very good friends.
“So, little brother,” George said now. “How is it with you? You look fit.” It was an understatement, he thought wryly, for he had never seen such an example of fair and handsome youth.
“I am,” agreed Hal. “You look fine yourself, George. I am sorry not to see Anne here tonight. Is she well, do you think?”
“I know she is.” George and Anne were twins—the one always knew the other’s feelings and state. “I think if she could speak to you now, she would say: I wish I could be at Maiden Court, but my beloved husband and children need me.”
Hal glanced at him; he would not argue with one who knew what he was talking about. “Yes…well. What think you of our visitors?”
“Katherine Monterey and her handmaiden? I think Katherine a very beautiful girl.”
Hal turned to him. “So do I! She is lovely, is she not? And also sweet.”
George considered. He knew Katherine, of course—as the niece of one of the greatest friends of his youth, Tom Monterey, he had taken an interest in her. He knew his parents had been asked to present her when she was old enough. He also had known her father—Ralph—a court favourite and dead these long years. Ralph had sued for Anne Latimar’s hand and George had been greatly relieved when the projected match had foundered for he had had no liking for the attractive unscrupulous courtier. Was his only daughter like him, George wondered, or like her grandfather, who had been as fine an example of stalwart English gentleman as could be found? He said, “Piers seems to share your enthusiasm.” Piers had drawn up a chair close to Katherine’s and was holding earnest conversation with her. Hal frowned.
“I think I have made it clear this night, even after knowing her so short a time, my regard for Katherine,” he added stiffly, “Piers is my friend.”
“Friendship is the first thing cast overboard when a woman gets between two men,” George said mildly. There was a short silence, during which Hal’s fair face darkened. Piers was certainly doing all he could to charm Katherine, he thought cynically, with the kind of performance he only usually put on for a lady who might advance his static career. Obviously he had registered the name of Monterey—He rose abruptly. “Excuse me, brother.” As he moved purposely across the floor, his mother touched his sleeve.
“Hal, my dear, I was speaking to Rachel earlier of our small innovation here at Maiden Court. The Queen’s Rest, you know. She expressed a wish to see it, and I thought we would go now. Come with us, won’t you?” Hal looked down at her blankly. “I need a little air,” Bess went on.
For a moment she thought he would refuse, but he smiled and said, “Very well, Mother. I will ask Piers and Katherine to join us.” He bowed before Katherine and leaned to offer his invitation. She shook her curls and protested how comfortable she was. Hal looked at Piers. “You will escort us, won’t you, Piers?”
“Thank you, but no, my friend. I would not leave such a charming lady unattended.” Katherine gave Hal a mischievous look, then fixed her marvellous eyes once again on Piers. Hal turned on his heel.
Chapter Three
In the cool night air Rachel dropped behind the others until Bess turned and offered her arm. “Perhaps we should have brought our cloaks, Rachel. It is not as warm as I expected.”
“Would you like to go back in?” Hal asked immediately. He resented being pressganged for this expedition; who knew what progress Piers—so adept with women—would make in his absence?
Rachel looked at him. If he was reluctant to be out in the moonlight, it certainly admired him. Inside the manor, by soft candlelight, he was almost too handsome: so much coin-bright hair, vividly blue black-lashed eyes and classically modelled face gave the impression of delicacy. In this pure cold light the strong bones of his face, allied to the athletic shape of his body beneath the rich clothes, conveyed uncompromising masculinity. When Bess shook her head decisively in answer to his question, he passed a hand over his hair resignedly.
Rachel had particularly noticed his hands at the supper table. They were unusual in their length of sensitive square-tipped fingers and a beautiful example of the human bone structure. She thought, quite impersonally, that she had never seen quite so lovely a feature on a man’s body before.
The innovation Bess had mentioned to Rachel and called the Queen’s Rest was a little stone house built on a space of land just before the formal house gardens became the pasture land. It was solidly built, its apertures glazed. From the front could be seen the manor, surrounded by its protective trees, from the back the open fields of the estate, patchworked in this white light. It was furnished very simply with two wooden, cushioned settles and warm and faded rugs underfoot.
It had come into being because the Queen enjoyed walking outside in all weathers but was becoming older now and needed to rest after even short walks. Maiden Court had, for many years, been somewhere she could go to relax in informal congenial company. Her long-time love, the Earl of Leicester, was very attached to George Latimar and liked to visit his friend—Elizabeth often came with him. Recently she had said to Bess that she found it difficult to remain mobile for even short periods, and so the stone building, known as the Queen’s Rest, had been established.
“Oh, I like it!” Rachel said now, sitting down and looking back towards the lighted house. Bess sat, too, but did not reply. After a moment, Rachel’s eyes were drawn to the sweep of rolling countryside. She did not see it, however, for her mind’s eye produced the very different view which she remembered from her grandmother’s casa in Spain. If I were there now, she thought wistfully, I would be looking at the tangled groves of olive trees, and listening to the cicadas which would surely be active on this June night. Later would come the traditional Andalucian singing until dawn— “I beg your pardon, my lady.” She started as Bess spoke to her.
“I was saying that it is positioned just right to see two views, but sheltered from the worst of the weather.”
“Indeed, my lady,” Rachel agreed.
“Now you have seen it,” Hal, who had propped his shoulder against the stout doorway, spoke impatiently, “shall we go back to the house?” Each moment, he felt, away from Katherine was a wasted moment. Who knew what advances Piers was making in his absence? As he thought this, he experienced a shock to realise how close he was coming to being seriously at odds with his best friend. Dangerously so, given Piers’s reputation—no insult, fancied or real, was allowed to pass by Roxburgh. It must not come to that, Hal resolved…but if it should, then so be it. Tonight he had met the girl, the one girl, he wished to marry. No one, not even Piers, could change his mind on that.
“If I could pay a short visit to the stables,” Rachel said, getting up.
“The stables?” groaned Hal.
“Why, yes,” Rachel said resolutely. “I rode here on a very…old, but valiant, mount. I would see she is quite happy before retiring myself.”
As they walked the path to the stable yard, Hal asked, “If she is so old, Rachel, why is she still in commission?”
“You should ask my cousin that question,” Rachel said quietly. “Where I am come from, such a horse, with years of faithful service behind it, would be out to pasture. Katherine feels differently.”
In the stables, filled with the warm breath of its