Written in the Stars Read online

  Now seeing Will and Stephen cheek to cheek, Elizabeth recognized the man in the babe. She couldn’t take her eyes from them as they left the room.

  “Do not look so sad, Elizabeth. Their loss is a year past.” Laurel’s kind voice gave Elizabeth courage to ask the question burning through her heart and mind. A question which to her finely edged nerves did not feel like a betrayal of honor to ask.

  “Will still mourns his wife?”

  Laurel’s moonbeam-fair, silky hair swung against her cheek. “Margaret was a sweet girl from a fine family but not a match of his making. The duke wished it for Will, and Will agreed out of love for him.”

  She fought to understand why her world was spinning out of control since her eyes had met Will’s. Why is my duty no longer as important as knowing more about Will Grey?

  Her eyes widening, Laurel patted the soft pillows, indicating for Elizabeth to slip down beside her.

  “I see by your expression and your words that you are curious about Will. Here at Dunham Castle you shall hear many tales concerning him. Few are truly privy to the truth. If fortune smiles on you and you win Will’s friendship, he may reveal himself to you. ’Tis not mine or any other’s to tell.”

  Smiling, Laurel rose and pulled Elizabeth to her feet. “Come. I have a gift for you.”

  Feeling more unsettled about Will than when she had entered Laurel’s chamber, Elizabeth waited, hiding her trembling hands in the folds of her gown.

  A servant appeared from behind a heavy, crimson-colored curtain. Across her arms was draped a sapphire velvet gown with long, pointed sleeves and round décolletage edged with a thick ruffle of gold lace.

  “Here at Dunham Castle we have heard many tales of the rich beauty of your celestial girdle. This gown matches the jewels. It will bring me great pleasure if you wear it tonight to the banquet to celebrate your betrothal to Carlyle.”

  At mention of her betrothal and all tonight meant, an icy chill spread from a deep coldness inside her. Again she fought it.

  I shall not falter in my duty. I must forget Will Grey and remember I have seen kindness in Carlyle.

  She clasped Laurel’s hand and smiled. “This gown is as beautiful as you are generous. I shall wear it with pleasure tonight.”

  As promised, Alice had marshaled as many of the duke’s servants as were needed to install an enormous copper tub in Elizabeth’s new chambers. There, before the roaring fire, they heated buckets of water to fill the tub to half its depth. Above the imposing, steaming tub, placed neatly in a row on the mantle, were crystal jars of lavender, herbs, flower petals, fresh cream, and an odd-colored mixture which Alice breathed, “is known only as Granny Cybil’s elixir of youth.”

  The duke’s servants studied all the preparations with eyes round with either awe or curious speculation.

  “Now off with all of you! I’ll be attending Lady Elizabeth myself.”

  Amidst little gasps and shrieks of surprise, the other servants scattered away like dust in the wind.

  Once alone with Alice, Elizabeth dropped her robe and stepped into the deep tub. Sighing with pleasure, she lay back, allowing the hot water to soothe her knotted muscles.

  “Well, now, that’s the bit. Relax while I wash your hair with Granny Cybil’s formula.” Alice frowned while mixing into a silver-rimmed bowl the proper parts lavender and her granny’s magic elixir.

  The concoction delighted the senses, a riot of floral scents that smelled like sunshine in the meadow, a fragrance Alice’s nimble fingers picked up while massaging Elizabeth’s scalp. Alice then poured cup after cup of water over Elizabeth’s head until both were satisfied her hair was indeed clean and shining.

  Her long, dark curls wrapped snugly in warm flannel and Alice scrubbing her body with rose petals and cream, Elizabeth at last allowed herself to reflect more calmly on her duty and the banquet ahead of her.

  “Tonight will be a great celebration. I hope I do not disappoint the court,” she murmured, gazing at Alice through hooded eyes.

  “I have seen none at this court to compare to you. Even before I finish with you,” Alice added with a grin.

  Fatigued in body and spirit, Elizabeth gave herself over to Alice to scent her every curve and hollow. At last, she rose from the cooling water and dried in front of the fire. As she stared into the flames, her mind wandered to the duties she must perform tonight and how she must forget all else. Obediently, she allowed Alice to help her dress, standing before the long mirror as Alice patiently and skillfully wove sapphire velvet ribbons through her hair and coiled the famed celestial girdle around her hips.

  They both stared at her reflection and Elizabeth admitted to herself that indeed the sapphire gown scooping low across her breasts, hugging her arms, and flowing down her thighs did cause the jewels of her girdle to sparkle with life.

  As Alice had prophesied, no potion to enhance beauty could disguise the bluish shadows beneath Elizabeth’s eyes from her restless night. She tried to mask the shadows with a smile and stood very still as Alice rubbed red rose petals into her lips to darken their color.

  “Never seen you look more beautiful.” Alice sighed.

  I wish I knew if Will finds me beautiful.

  She blinked away the image of him smiling at her in admiration.

  “You do your father proud,” Alice whispered, a catch in her voice.

  Ruthlessly burying every other desire, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders. “I promise I shall forever strive to do so.”

  Her smile firmly in place, Elizabeth glided along the long corridor, guided by servants leading her to the vast banqueting hall and Carlyle.

  He awaited her at the entrance, the wide, thick, dark doors open behind him showing a blur of moving bodies and exposing the strains of merry songs.

  She refused to allow her smile to falter.

  I shall remember all I have been taught. Remember Carlyle, too, has suffered losing a beloved mother. Remember his kindness with Florea. Remember that I must marry him for it has been decided by my father. It is my duty to obey and forget this madness which consumes me for Will.

  She stretched out her hand to allow Carlyle to escort her inside.

  “Ah, Elizabeth, bewitching as always,” he murmured, stroking her wrist with his thumb. “Let the merriment begin.”

  She fought the shiver his touch sent along her skin as he led her into the banqueting hall. Torches blazed bright, casting long patches of light onto the jugglers, musicians, and dancers entertaining them. Through all the play of light and shadows, her gaze unerringly found Will and their eyes locked. As it had each time they met, the desire to go to him, to touch him consumed her. She fought it, deliberately looking away and up into Carlyle’s face.

  He smiled and with long, confident strides led her to the table and her place of honor next to the duke.

  Her thoughts racing, her heart pounding, Elizabeth moved as if in a dream. The jewels worn by the many guests sparkled so brightly that they stung her eyes, and the musicians seemed to be playing songs which echoed in her head over and over, while the jugglers appeared to become bigger and then smaller before her. She blinked again and again, trying to determine if this night was real or if she would awaken in her bed at Wharton Keep, having dreamed it all

  Even Will, the embodiment of all I have ever hoped to find in a man?

  She felt the soft pillows at her back, tasted the wine cool on her parched throat, soothing as she drank. She smelled the roasting meat before her as dozens and dozens of main dishes were offered.

  This was no dream, and she knew it. This was the future her father and the duke had decided for her and there was naught she could do to change it.

  The thought brought such rage she stared down at her hands, clenching them together to keep from shaking with her feelings. Laurel’s laughter brought her back to
her duty. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth looked up.

  “My lord, it is now time for merriment.” Laurel, radiant in silver, laughed up at the duke. “A wholesome recreation of the mind and body.”

  Smiling, the duke inclined his head toward the musicians who began playing the stately cords of the pavane.

  With the duke and Laurel, Elizabeth and Carlyle led other members of the court into the center of the vast torch-lit hall.

  As her dancing master at Wharton Keep had taught her, Elizabeth lightly touched fingers with Carlyle to follow the duke’s lead, parading around the hall. The ladies of the court were a riot of color and of scents as they passed one another, flaunting their finery.

  The advancing and retreating steps of the dance, curtsies, brushing her foot forward to show a point of her jeweled slipper had been easily learned and practiced often at Wharton Keep. Carlyle comported himself well as she tried to disregard the long table where Will stood, watching the dancers.

  She smiled at her betrothed and he back at her as it should be.

  As it is destined to be.

  When the music ended, Carlyle lifted her hand to his lips. “Are you disappointed?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You are indeed a master of the dance,” she said, speaking the truth.

  He laughed, torchlight in his dark eyes. “We shall discover your feelings after the lively galliard, which usually follows and complements the pavane.”

  Laurel clapped her hands. “The Lavolta!” she commanded.

  A breath of surprise whispered through the crowd.

  Flicking Elizabeth an amused glance, Carlyle leaned closer. “Our Laurel is in high spirits this night.”

  Truth to tell, Elizabeth felt a jolt of surprise at sweet Laurel commanding a dance that had never completely been dignified since good Queen Bess performed it with the Earl of Leicester years ago.

  The duke raised one eyebrow. “I grant you all indulgences. If you must perform the Lavolta, it needs be with the most accomplished dancer at court.”

  Elizabeth glimpsed the slightest hesitation before Laurel nodded. “You are right in all, my lord. My love of dance allows me to forgive your defection. Indeed, Carlyle is the finest dancer at court. Then who shall partner Lady Elizabeth?”

  “Will,” the duke commanded, motioning toward him.

  The world spun blackly around her as the gods mocked her.

  Hiding her trembling hands within the folds of her gown as she had done earlier in her storm of feelings about this night, these men, Elizabeth watched Will, his face utterly without expression, bow before the duke.

  “Your Grace, I obey you in all ways. Yet I fear my talent is not for dancing. Lady Elizabeth’s disappointment is assured.”

  Yes, Will, I pray you stop this madness! Why are the gods playing with us?

  Laughing, the duke clasped Will’s shoulder. “I fear for neither of you.” With a wave of his large hand, the music began.

  His eyes dark and his mouth a straight line, Carlyle gazed down at her. “I surrender you but this one time, Elizabeth,” he murmured before taking Laurel’s hand.

  With no excuse possible, Elizabeth stood before Will to begin the most suggestive of all court dances.

  Why have the gods decreed I shall soon be in his arms?

  The thought of how she might feel, how she might falter, drove the blood from her heart.

  Avoiding his eyes during the lively steps of the galliard, always the beginning of the Lavolta, gave her a moment to draw breath into her searing lungs.

  Then Will’s hand was on her back and she placed hers on his shoulder. They faced one another, both still refusing to make eye contact, as they turned slightly from side to side.

  The inevitable moment came as she knew it must. Breathless, she sprang into the air and Will caught her, lifting her slowly up his body.

  At last their eyes met and tears burned behind her lids.

  This is as close as we shall ever be.

  The feel of his hands on her body, his thigh against her thigh, made her softly sob with longing. She gasped, praying he had not heard.

  “Do not be afraid, Elizabeth.” His voice was strong, sure, and honeyed with kindness. “Here at Dunham Castle you will find friends who know your worth. Long have your loving ways to all at Wharton Keep been known to us.”

  Lost in the brilliance of his cornflower-blue gaze as he placed her gently back on the stone floor, she whispered the words beating in her heart and soul. “I wish you to be my friend, Will.”

  Mercifully, the dance separated them before he answered.

  She knew not how she made it back to the table on trembling limbs, nor how she continued to perform her duties. She knew only gratitude that Will sat too far away for her to gaze at him with confusion and this fearful longing she must conquer.

  The duke watched them all with the pride she’d often seen on her father’s face. “You are pleased with all you find at Dunham Castle, Lady Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth thrust up her chin. “Yes, Your Grace. Very pleased indeed.”

  “We must afford Lady Elizabeth every desire of her heart.” Carlyle smiled as he turned her hand over and kissed her birthmark.

  The witches’ mark at her wrist froze beneath his touch, the chill spreading through her body.

  Why does his touch bring fear to my heart?

  “My son speaks true. What do you enjoy, Lady Elizabeth, so we may provide it?”

  Elizabeth tried to still the shiver deep inside her as Carlyle continued to stroke the birthmark at her wrist. She forced words from her tight throat.

  “Riding is my greatest pleasure, Your Grace.”

  “Mine also.” Smiling, Laurel looked around the duke. “We shall ride on the morrow.”

  A deep crease cut between the duke’s wide eyes as he shook his head. “I must deny you, Laurel. I fear it will sap your strength and make you again unwell.”

  “My lord, Charles Grey urges me to breathe in the fresh air outside our castle walls.” Laurel gave him a pleading expression and placed her hand on his arm.

  Sighing, the duke covered her hand with his own wide palm. “So be it. Will, you must accompany them.”

  “I can accompany them, father,” Carlyle drawled beside her.

  “We meet with the council tomorrow.” The duke nodded. “It must be Will.”

  Down the long narrow table, Will rose. His black cloak worn over one shoulder and gathered up over the arm secured by a sash was more somber than Carlyle’s embroidered gold. And more striking for it.

  She met Will’s eyes, and to Elizabeth, the flickering torches seemed to throw all else into shadows except him. Again their gazes melded together, neither able to look away this time.

  He bowed. “It shall be as you wish.”

  Will spoke the words for the duke, yet she sensed deep within her that he meant them for her.

  A profound sadness settled into her soul as she sent him the silent message he already recognized.

  My wish is not for friendship. My wish is for what we both know can never be granted.

  Dunham Castle, 1601

  The sun rose this day with laughter.

  It came from Stephen, Will Grey’s motherless infant son.

  Will’s face and body haunts me and now his tenderness with his son, and the babe himself, has found a place in my heart. Both are beloved of Laurel and the duke. If only I could be a part of such a band of happiness. I cannot.

  The sun set with a strange fear.

  At the banquet to celebrate my betrothal to Carlyle, the duke commanded much merriment. I felt no joy but forbidden desire in the arms of Will as we danced.

  And I sensed danger.

  My shudders of fear come from my betrothed, Carlyle, despite the kindness
I have seen in him for Florea, his old nurse. My feelings make me yearn for my Cybil’s power to pierce the mists of time to see what is true. Is this, too, a choice my beloved nursemaid warned against? Because of being drawn to Will, am I choosing to poison all feelings toward Carlyle so when he touches me, peering down at my birthmark and smiling, I freeze with fear?

  I know well the alliance between my father and the duke will bring much wealth and power to Wharton Keep.

  I promise you, I shall purge myself of these foolish forebodings of Carlyle and feelings toward Will! My duty is to forge the right path for you who come after me.

  Chapter Three

  Since the day Will had been brought to Dunham Castle long ago, the duke had decreed they begin and end each day together. Before dawn, Will entered the duke’s warm chambers to find him pacing, a sheath of letters clasped in his hands.

  “What has happened?” Will asked sharply, concerned at the heavy lines in the duke’s face and the slumped shoulders of the man he admired above all others.

  His eyes weary, the duke turned. “Pray give me pleasure, Will, not such a frown to begin this day.”

  Knowing what was needed, Will smiled. “It is a fine morning for riding with the wind, your Grace.”

  “Yes, thanks be to you.” The duke sighed, clasping Will’s shoulder. “In you I see your mother’s smile. It is much needed this day.”

  “Tell me what has happened?” Will asked again.

  The duke spun on his heels to resume his pacing across the rich blue carpets until he stood, legs wide apart, in front of the fire. The light cast by the blazing logs threw into relief the strong bones of the duke’s face and his narrowed, worried eyes.

  “In the good queen’s reign we have been called upon to wage war with Spain, in Ireland, in France, and in the Netherlands. War costs money. The taxes levied in these last years have increased threefold. Harvests have been poor. Prices high. All make for desperate men.” He lifted his fists, clutching the papers even tighter so his fingers whitened to their square tips. “The queen is old, unwell, and soon there will be new players on the board. James of Scotland will surely soon be King of England. Some say it will be a union of love between Englishmen and Scots. Others claim it shall be Catholic against Protestant. I say we here on the border between both must be ready and armed.”