Highland Heather - Highland Heather Part 75
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Highland Heather Part 75

"If we cannot hunt, at least we can join in the feasting and celebration." With a flourish she affixed her signature to the scroll and handed it to Morgan.

At the far end of the table, Lord Windham watched the queen's reaction with great interest. He had come here for one reason--to find the right moment to do the deed for which he had been recruited. There had been a good chance that at some time during their hunt, he would find the queen unescorted. After all, he reasoned, Morgan Grey could not spend every minute at the queen's side, guarding her royal flank. It would take but a minute to aim and shoot the arrow into her heart, then to hide himself in the forest. No one would ever learn the identity of her executioner. And the one who would ascend the throne would owe Windham a great debt.

The weather was forcing him to change his plans. He would simply have to find some other way to get the queen alone. Alone. Aye, that was the problem. He must find a way to eliminate Morgan Grey. And, he thought with a sense of elation, he had come up with the perfect plan.

It was not riches alone that Windham coveted; it was the power. No longer would Morgan Grey hold sway over the throne of England. It would be Lord Windham to whom the new monarch would turn in times of crisis. And it would be Windham who would be admired throughout the land.

"The thought of a village feast does not please you. Lord Windham?"

He composed his features and chose his words carefully.

"I came here to Grey stone Abbey for one reason--to bask in the glow of your radiance, Majesty. But of course I had hoped to join you in the hunt."

"Aye. It is what I promised you." Elizabeth gave him a happy smile.

"But the people wish to show me how much they love me." She shrugged.

"How can I deprive them of their pleasure?"

As always he ingratiated himself with the queen.

"I can understand their devotion. Majesty. It pleases me as it pleases all your subjects to convey our love and devotion to our beautiful queen."

From his place at the table Morgan listened to this exchange with a sense of disgust. Could the queen not see through Windham's shallow flattery?

He thought of Elizabeth's words at court. Even a woman as powerful as the Queen of England desired honeyed words at times. Even if they masked the truth.

"Then it is decided."

At the queen's nod, Morgan rang for Mistress Leems, who directed the servants to begin serving the queen and her company.

"After the noon Angelus chimes we will leave for the village."

The villagers of Greystone Abbey were fiercely proud of their legacy of devotion to the Crown. In preparation for the visit of their monarch, the village square was hung with flags and buntings and banners proclaiming this the queen's day. A feast had been prepared by the village -women. Tables set with fine linen and crystal had been placed in the village square beneath tents to protect them from the rain.

A gift was hurriedly prepared. A tax had been collected to fill a wooden coffer with gold. When Morgan had heard, he'd insisted upon adding to the gift, so that the villagers would not be forced to sacrifice their meager funds. He had also donated several deer from his larder to round out the feast.

When the carriages from Greystone Abbey arrived in the village, the inhabitants crowded around for their first glimpse of the queen. Many in the crowd held their children aloft. When Elizabeth stepped from her fine carriage, arrayed in a royal velvet gown and matching cape lined with ermine, and wearing a diamond tiara in her hair, there were shouts and cries of joy. The church bells rang out, filling the air with their happy sounds for nearly ten minutes.

Then, as the queen stood, proud and haughty before them, the assembled crowd grew abruptly silent as they bowed and curtsied, awaiting her benediction.

The queen studied the silent, respectful crowd. The men and women were dressed in their finest clothes. The children, plump and pink-cheeked, were on their best behavior as they stared unblinking at the red-haired woman who looked every inch the queen.

"Majesty." The village elder was led forward, pale and trembling in the presence of his queen.

"Words cannot express the love your people feel for you. Unworthy though we be, we are grateful for your visit to our humble village."

Seeing the way his hands shook, the queen blessed him with her sweetest smile.

"It is I who am grateful." Her voice rose above the crying babies and the sighing of the wind in the trees.

"Grateful for the love and loyalty of good people like you."

As she began to move among the villagers, Morgan stayed close by her side. His men, having been carefully instructed, mingled with the people, watching to see that no one who came near the queen could be concealing a weapon. Though Morgan knew the perils, he had been unwilling to deny his villagers this chance to see their ruler. Yet he also knew that he would not relax his guard until this day was ended, and the queen was safely at his home.

The village elder led the queen to the green, where the feast awaited her. As she took her place at the head of the table, Elizabeth knew from experience that she would have to endure endless speeches before she was allowed to enjoy the food. Lord Quigley sat alone, already tasting every morsel that the queen would be permitted to eat.

When everyone had taken their places at the rows of crude tables, the lord mayor of the village bowed low before the queen and began his prepared speech. His voice quavered in a most unbecoming fashion. His knees trembled. His beard shook. But though he appeared terrified, he continued speaking until the queen was forced to stifle a yawn.

After the lord mayor came the sheriff, who proved to be a fine orator.

So fine that he talked until he spied the village elder's head nodding.

Reluctantly he turned to the village recorder, who would also make a speech before presenting the queen with the village gift.

When at last Elizabeth was presented with the coffer of gold, she stood regally and declared, "I am most grateful. But all that I have ever desired were the hearts and true allegiance of my good people."

Then, handing the gift to Morgan, she asked that the feasting begin.

Seated beside her, Morgan swallowed his laughter. Despite all her denials, he noted, the queen did not return the gift of gold. Nor would she when the feasting was done. She may desire their hearts and allegiance, but she enjoyed their gold as well.

When the last morsel had been consumed, the queen and her guests were treated to a great pageant. Thespians performed a play in which the queen was likened to the Greek gods. Musicians from the village played while young maidens, clad in their finest gowns, performed ancient dances. And finally, the brightest young lad was brought forth to recite a poem praising the queen's beauty and integrity.

When darkness fell there were fireworks. And when at last the queen and her company were assisted into their carriages, the church bells tolled, filling the night air with the sound of celebration.

"What think you, Morgan?" the queen asked as the carriage rolled along the road toward Greystone Abbey.

"I think. Majesty, that the villagers will speak of this for generations to come. Mothers will tell their daughters, and they will speak of it proudly to their children, until this grand visit of yours has become a legend."

"Aye," Brenna said with a sigh.

"Tis the stuff of legends, Majesty.

Never have I seen such an outpouring of love. "

The queen leaned her head back and closed her eyes. What need had she of a consort? This love was what fed her soul. With love like this, how could she have ever believed for a moment that her life was in any danger?

Brenna awoke from a deep sleep and listened to the insistent tapping on the door of the sitting chamber. For a moment a chill passed through her as she was reminded of her nighttime attack.

The tapping continued. She chose to ignore the sound. If one of the servants desired entrance, they would have to come back in the morning.

Morgan lay against her back, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

Their legs were tangled in the bed linens. They had spent a long, leisurely night of lovemaking. Her body still hummed from his caresses.

The tapping sounded again. Her lids opened. Judging by the darkness of the room, Brenna knew that it would be hours until dawn. Who would seek her out at such a time? Certainly not her attacker.

Her heart skipped a beat. Perhaps Madeline. Or an emissary from the queen. Could one of them be ill?