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Against the wall, Aodh straightened. Katarina caught her breath. “We will hold it for you, Your Majesty, I swear it.”
“And those who joined your rebellion?” the queen demanded.
“Some joined a rebellion, Your Majesty, but most joined Aodh. He might have suggested holding a fête and then that is what they would be doing.”
“A fête,” Aodh mused from the wall. “Why did I not think of that?”
The women ignored him.
“And what do I make of you, Katarina?” the queen asked almost gently, coming forward to cup Katarina’s chin in her hand. “After all your promises and oaths, to see you suchly?’
“Do not ever think it was done lightly, my lady. But if one truly has her sovereign’s interests at heart, my queen, then must she not speak the truth, and change her mind, no matter the consequences, however inconvenient or…perilous they may be to her personally?”
“And that is what you are doing now?” the queen said archly. “Safeguarding me, by claiming Mac Con?”
“Indeed I am,” Katarina said. “For nothing, and no one, can serve you better out on the marches than the son of Rardove.”
“Not even you?” the queen asked softly.
Katarina shook her head. “Not even I.”
In the back of the room, Aodh stood, hand on his sword hilt, watching the scene between his queen and his love.
“And if I send you back, and not Aodh?”
“I will…die.”
The room was silent. From downstairs came the distant sounds of courtiers at their merrymaking. Low and soft, through the room, came Aodh’s rough whisper: “Katy.”
“You will not die,” the queen scoffed, but there was a quaver in her voice.
“I will wish to, Your Majesty. That is something you cannot understand, of course, being so great. But in my heart, I will wish to die.”
The queen stared at the tapestry on the wall, a moment, then said irritably, “Well we cannot have the chatelaines of our baronies dying off.”
Katarina held her breath.
The queen looked over. “Fine, take him. There had better be no problems,” she warned with a sharp look.
Katarina shook her head, too stunned to be glad. “No, Your Majesty. Never again.”
Elizabeth touched her hand, then moved away, toward Aodh. He knelt before her, but then rose and took her hands, kissed their backs, then turned them over and kissed the palms, then, devil that he was, leaned in and kissed her cheek, all the familiarities Bess so craved.
“I will miss you, Irish,” she whispered.
“I am your man, Bess, as ever I was,” he said, his voice low.
Her throat worked as she touched his face.
“There is always a place for you in Rardove. You must come visit.”
“Maybe I will one day. Be prepared,” she said in warning.
He laughed, then said, even more softly yet, “The only reason you did not have this”—he gestured to Katy—“was because you chose not. You chose not to have it all, because England needed all of you. All of your greatness.”
“There have been compensations,” she admitted, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Then she straightened and became regal and magnificent again. “Now, go, both of you. I have papers to sign and people to see.” She swung the door open.
Servants started up out of their chairs, and Ludthorpe, who’d appeared in the waiting chamber, lurched to his feet.
