Queen's Man (Closed for Graybread)

[Why]

The beginning of a small story of adventure and "swordplay" by Graybread and myself, hope all that read, enjoy

Imagine yourself in London of the 1590’s Good Queen Bess is on the throne; the Spanish Armada has been defeated. One of Shakespeare’s plays is now at this moment being preformed at the Rose Theatre.

If you turn left past the Rose Theatre, down the third narrow, bustling street on your right, you will see a large building some four floors high. The bottom floor is the Inn called the “Royal Anne,” after the Queen’s late mother, second wife to Buff King Hal. This is a meeting place for gentlemen of wit and birth in search of a good evening. The second floor is occupied by rooms used by various “ladies” employed by the inn keeper and his wife.

The third and fourth floors are reached by a separate entrance on the side of the building. The third floor overhangs the narrow street. Running its length are large leaded windows, which dabble the smooth wooden expanse of floor of the large single room, with the last of the afternoon sun. This is Hardcastle’s School of Defence. The room is lined with benches and racks of swords, daggers and other weapons, suitable for a gentleman to study.

The fourth floor is smaller; it is comprised of the family quarters and study of the family of the late Sir John Hardcastle, founder of the school and Queen’s man.

Here our story begins;

A figure is standing by the fireplace a booted foot on the heath, a slender hand on the mantel. Features are finely drawn; hair jet black, shoulder length tired back by a twist of leather, lowered eyes a deep shade of brown. Lips, red, gently bowed.

A small middle-aged gentleman smiles and hands the figure a cup hilted rapier and matching long dagger, the designs on the cups of the blades winking in the fading light. Both walk down the twisting stairs and into the teeming school below, pushing through the crowd of expectant on lookers. A duel is about to be fought.


“Hardcastle,” Masterson bows as the owner and his opponent walks into the light.

“Masterson, so you have not slunk off on your belly.” Hardcastle replied, slashing the air with the rapier.

“I have no reason too?” Masterson answers.

“Gentle…. Errr... Shall we begin?” Lord Tranmere, judge and peer of the realm waves a scrap of lace edged silk.

“Let’s have at it.” Hardcastle snapped and took up a guard. Masterson nodded and the event began.

For nearly 20 minutes they fought. Circling seeking an entrance, warding, lunging, parrying, the wooden floor was getting greasy with sweat and blood from minor wounds both had received.

Hardcastle tapped there rapier point on the floor, waving Masterson on with their long dagger. Masterson lunged; Hardcastle side stepped, sweeping the long dagger in their left hand up; catching Masterson’s blade on the quillions of the long dagger before forcing him back. At the same time Hardcastle’s own sword cut in seeking Masterson’s heart; but Masterson’s own dagger came across deflecting the steel.

Hardcastle felt their arm forced back and against their chest. “Shit!” Hardcastle swore under her breath, what was attached to her chest, under the linen shirt got in the way of her arm as she sort to lift and break free. Damn; whose idea was this anyway Katherine Hardcastle thought, mine I think? I must have been drunk. Most likely, I can’t remember how the argument started anyway, only that Masterson had annoyed the hell out of me again .

Both circled again, Katherine ran her rapier tip round in a gentle circle on the floor, tap, tap; it was her trade mark… four taps five… She bounced on her heels; dancing backward, leaving a trail of smeared blood, from a slash on her right thigh, on the floor. Masterson’s eyes widened and locked on her chest area as she retreated. So, there was some advantage to being woman, Katherine chuckled to herself and jiggled again, hearing a ripple of laughter run round the audience. For a moment she wondered how many Giles had managed to pack into the school. A half of the gate was hers anyway, if she managed to survive.

She charged forward slashing, weaving a web of steel, Masterson sort to guard and avoid, slipped on Hardcastle’s blood and went down on one knee. Her sword was in running him through the upper right shoulder. Masterson bellowed in pain, Katherine grunted as she twisted the blade and pulled it sharply out. The crowd roared and so did she; at Masterson’s second. “Honour settled?”

The man blanched and looked first at Katherine’s heaving breasts under her sweat stained shirt then at her dripping sword. Then he nodded. “Good.” Katherine bowed to the prone Masterson and walked, no limped to the corner where Giles was standing. She laid her blades down carefully on the bench and shrugged herself into the cloak a grinning Giles was holding.

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle

The morning sun was barely risen; yet the wooden floor of Hardcastle’s school of defence vibrated to the pounding of feet. Katherine Hardcastle was practicing the art of the sword. She shadow fenced, going through the motions, her breathing hard, brow lined with sweat. She winced as the half healed wound in her right thigh pulled in protest at the exercise. The wound slowed her and was taking its time to heal.

Katherine was tall 5ft 9in taller in her booted heels. Well built, with a mane of black hair cut short at the shoulders, brown eyed and tanned. Dressed as she was, in slashed doublet and hose she could be taken as a man; in fact Katherine often wished she was. She was no fashionable pale skinned, doe-eyed lady of the Queen’s court, she was, what she was, raised by her father the same as her two brothers, to be a true Englishman!

Now at 20, she, while her surviving brother sailed with Drake, ran their late father’s school of defence in London, teaching Gentleman, the art of the sword. She was known for her skills, her temper, and her boorish manners, though the later was not mentioned to her face, by any that were wise.

“Not bad,” a voice said from the shadows.

Katherine spun; her rapier whipping round, pointing at the figure as it emerged from the gloom. The blade lowered as she caught sight of the man’s face. It was Lord Throthmore, her father’s old friend and member of the Queen’s privy-council.

“To what do I owe the pleasure sir?” She asked, slipping her sword into its scabbard.

Lord Throthmore crossed his arms and smiled. “You were lucky last week.”

“You mean Masterson was.” Katherine laughed.

“No I mean you, if he had not slipped, if you had killed him, if he had killed you.” Lord Throthmore listed the facts coldly.

“It was not luck, I would have had him anyway.” Katherine placed her right hand on her hip, cocky and sure.

“And most likely killed him, possible, then you would not be in France, exiled, or in the tower, the Queen does not approve of duelling nor the killing of the Gentleman of her court. And if Masterson had killed you, his fate would have been the same. A waste; a packet of foolishness over nothing.” Throthmore snapped.

“A waste of me, yes, but Masterson…” Katherine snorted. “That cold faced, gentleman.” The last word was said with scorn.

“He is a gentleman, one of the Queen’s own,” came the Lord’s brittle answer.

“And I am not,” Katherine snapped now, she had, had enough of Throthmore’s word games.

“A gentleman, no, mores the pity. Can you use that,” Throthmore gestured to the blade at her side. “Wearing a skirt, indeed do you own a decent dress at all?”

“I can if I have to, and yes I own one or two dresses.” Katherine’s dark eyes narrowed, what game was Throthmore trying to draw her into?

“Good, then get yourself into one; make yourself look like a lady at least and be at my chambers just after noon.” Throthmore faded back into the shadows.

“If I say no?” Katherine shouted after his vanishing figure.

“It is not to me that you will answer.” Came back the reply. Katherine swore under her breath, the game was afoot all right, the game of politics and the service of the Queen.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

“Lord Masterson,” Masterson’s second, John Lankston said as he knelt beside Masterson, taking him by the shoulder.

“Hold,” Masterson said through clenched jaw.

Slowly Devon Masterson pushed himself to a kneeling position, his blood staining the white linen shirt he wore. He stared at Hardcastle’s back, the word ‘foul’ laying on the tip of his tongue.No, that would be accusing her of using some trickery, and she hadn’t. Unless being a woman was trick enough. It was her being a woman that had distracted him, if indeed a woman she could be called. A wench in man’s clothes was a better description. He pushed up to a standing position, turned and walked from the hall, Lankston at his heels.

“Get me home,” he said once out of sight of the hall, his arm going around Lankston’s shoulder, “before I bleed to death.”

The carriage ride back to Masterson’s residence was excruciatingly painful, it seemed that Lankston was prone to hit every missing cobble in the road. Once they arrived Lankston got him to his bed and called for clean linen to dress the wound.

“Bring me rum also,” Masterson demanded.

“Sir,” Lankston inquired.

“For the wound….for both the wounds.”

Masterson took the bottle and drank heartily from it before handing it back to Lankston.

“Wash it with this,” he said looking at the bloody wound, “then lay red hot iron to it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Masterson woke two days later to the sound of his housemistress going about her duties. His shoulder ached but he felt no fever in it, the rum, and hot iron had worked.

“What day is it,” he asked.

“Tis two days past Sir, and time for you to be eaten sump’thin,” she replied, turning to leave the room.

She returned shortly with a bowl of thick broth and a half loaf of dark bread. She sat at the edge of the bed and fed him the bread dipped in the broth, washing it down with weak ale. Wiping his chin clean she rose and placed the empty bowl on the tray.

“Aye Devon, how do you feel,” Lankston said entering the room.

“Like I need a rum and to get out of this bloody bed,” Masterson said trying to rise.

He collapsed back on the bed, wincing, grasping at his shoulder. Lankston poured two rums, handing one to Devon and sitting in the chair vacated by the housemistress.

“How goes it at the Palace, John,” Devon inquired.

“The usual….Drake is the hero of the day, with his pirating ….beg pardon sir….privateering,” Lankston chuckled.

“And Elizabeth?”

“Something foul is on the wind, but I fear I have not caught the scent as of yet.”

“Well…keep me informed….and thanks for stopping in, but I fear I am in need of rest again.”

“I shall,” Lankston said emptying his glass and rising, “I’ll stop again tomorrow.”

For the next few days Masterson rested, walked in the courtyard, and exercised his shoulder. Slowly at first, with easy movements, feints, parries, and short jabs. Lankston came by daily with no news of the court happenings. On the bright and sunny morning of the sixth day Masterson’s housemistress appeared in the courtyard.

“Sir, you have a visitor, Lord Throthmore, is here to see you.”

“And what does that cunning badger want with me,” he replied, his rapier slashing through the air.

“Tis not this cunning badger that wishes to see you Lord Masterson, t’would be the other cunning badger that wishes your presence.” Lord Throthmore said from the doorway.

“Lord Throthmore,” Devon said turning, holding his rapier in front of him in salute. “And why does her Majesty request my presence?”

“That I am not at large to divulge, Lord Masterson….merely that she requires your presence.”

“I’ll prepare you clothing sir,” the housemistress said, slinking past Lord Throthmore and back into the house.

“Tea, Lord Throthmore, while you wait,” Devon asked eyeing Throthmore.

“Thank you, no, Lord Masterson….I am needed at the Palace,” he said, turning and exiting back through the house.

“I’ll bet you are Lord Badger,” Devon commented quietly, as he made his way into the house to dress.

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle.

Katherine muttered as Giles fussed with the wide skirts of her dress, checking the drop.

“Hold still” The dapper man said as she shifted from one foot to another.

“I can’t breathe.” She retorted.

“Yes you can, you are not laced that tight.” He replied and checked that the curled and jewel studded wig she was wearing was firmly in place.

“Not tight! My bust is overflowing”. Katherine said and looked down at the swell of her breasts half peeking over the low cut lace and silk neckline.

“It is the fashion, the neck low cut and the fine stiffened ruff round your neck.” Giles continued with his checking of her apparel.

“Which feels like a hangman’s noose, and do I have to have that stuff on my face?” She eyed the white powder sitting on the table with loathing.

“Your colour is too healthy, too brown.” Giles remarked and picked up the small piece of sheep’s wool and dabbed it in the powder, dusting her face, exposed chest and the top of her breasts. Katherine coughed and spluttered. Giles ignored her and asked her to tighten her lips as he applied a red lip colouring. The man then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Katherine felt like a painted doll. On her head was a jet black wig, curled and pinned with maze of diamond tipped pins linked with fine gold chains. The height of fashion but it was making her head hot already. Her face was whitened, the lips reddened, making her dark eyes look even darker.

Round Katherine’s neck was a fine linen ruff. Lying on her chest was a triple row of pearls her brother Richard had brought back from his last adventure aboard the “Golden Hind” with Drake.

Her overdress was an emerald green silk run through with a cream pattern. The bodice was tightly laced sleeveless and split open at the front to show her fine cream silk under-dress. The sleeves of which were full, pulled tight at the wrists. She had a fine gold chain belt from which hung a silk fan and a small eating knife in a soft silk sheath.

“This is not me...” she said is disgust at her reflection in the long mirror in front of her. Giles sighed and helped her slip on a matching cloak, pulling up the hood, before he escorted her to the carriage waiting outside.

~~~~~~~~~

“Well,” Lord Throthmore said as he helped her remove her cloak. “You look the part at least.” Katherine narrowed her eyes and fiddled with her fan, feeling very uncomfortable. Her head itched under the wig, she was having to breathe in short gasps and the small court shoes pinched her toes. “Now can you act the part?” Throthmore continued. “The Queen is holding open court this afternoon. She wants to see how you behave in the company of your peers, whether you can hold your tongue and at least try to be a lady, converse with others and play the game of the court. After that she wishes to have speech with you privately.”

Katherine swallowed hard and blurted “No…”

“No…..” Throthmore repeated as he made to take her arm to escort her down to the formal rooms were the court was being held.

“I don’t want to be one of her majesties ladies in waiting, I couldn’t do it. Anything else I am the Queen’s to command.”

Lord Throthmore’s eyes hardened. “You, Lady Katherine Hardcastle, will serve the Queen in what ever position she requires of you. Whether it is with your sword, as a scented painted court lady or if needs be on your back. You can leave now; her majesty will understand I am sure. But she like I had hopes for your future in her service.”

Katherine gulped, this is what her father had called the heart of being a “Queen’s man”. It was the game and it was for the Queen and England. Katherine brought her chin up and laid her hand on Throthmore’s offered arm and allowed him to lead her away.

Katherine found herself one of many painted and adorned women, sprinkled among the gentlemen and ambassadors of the court. The group of ladies with which she was placed tittered and blushed as romantic assignments were made, commented about the shape of this or that lord’s leg and his skill as a lover. They sharpened their claws on the backs of their fellow ladies, remarking on dress, skin and hair.

After the first hour Katherine felt she had nearly bitten her tongue through in the effort not to comment on the foolishness of her fellows. It was then the Queen arrived, sailing into the room, like a grand ship of the line. Her face pure white, her hair a mass of auburn curls, pinned with jewels of all kind. But it was the Queen’s eyes that drew Katherine’s own gaze. The Queen’s orbs were all seeing and all knowing, full of power, the power to command and know that command would be obeyed.

Katherine curtsied as Elizabeth approached her. The Queen merely nodded her head in acknowledgement and moved on; speaking to the gentleman by her right hand. It was Masterson.

God’s bollocks Katherine swore under her breath hoping he would not recognise her. She would never live it down if he did. It would be like handing him a sword to run her through with. He would take delight in the whole thing.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

Devon’s housemistress had laid out his best suit by the time he reentered the house. It consisted of a deep maroon colored doublet, with matching jerkin, worn over his long white linen undershirt. Devon preferred the more natural looking doublet as apposed to the heavily padded, peascod doublet of the previous years. The sleeves were fitted, with buttons up the back of the arm near the cuff, with a wing at the shoulder junction of the sleeve and body. The basic upper hose were short trunk hose with canions, or gallygaskins, as they were called, and were the same maroon color. They would be worn with over-the-knee length, pale white stockings, tucked inside the breeches that were held up by simple banded garters. Since Lord Throthmore had been dispatched for him, Devon decided to wear both ruffed and falling band collars together, as it seemed more appropriate for the court style of the day. At his wrists where more ruffs or cuffs made of lace.

Devon stood in front of the mirror, adjusting a ruff here or a cuff there before strapping on his sword belt. He jutted out his chin, wondering if he needed to trim his square beard. His eye caught the housemistress in the mirror.

“What do you think Agnes,” he asked her.

“You look very handsome Sir,” she replied handing him his flat beret, with the large ostrich plume along with matching clock. “The courtesans shall be swooning today Sir,” she added suggestively.

Ignoring her comment, he donned the beret before attaching the clock to one shoulder leaving his sword arm free.

“Is my carriage waiting,” he asked.

“Yes Sir.”

Masterson made his way to the carriage and was off to the palace wondering why it was the Queen had called him. He waited outside her antechamber nearly twenty minutes before she appeared.

“Masterson,” she said as way of acknowledgement coming through the doors.

“Your majesty,” he answered going to one knee and bowing his head.

“Walk with me,” she said extending her arm.

Devon rose and extended his arm for her to lay hers on.

“You’re looking very beautiful as usually,” he said, noticing the pox scars under the white lead paint on her face.

“Flattery will get you nothing Devon,” she said using his first name.

He cringed at the use of the name. She only used it when she wanted him to do something unpleasant or distasteful. He would have to wait and see.

The entered the court through the wide double doors and everyone went to one knee automatically. The Queen started down the line of people along the center of the room, nodding to each as they passed.

“By all the saints in heaven,” Devon spoke quietly, spying Hardcastle farther down the line.

“Masterson,” the Queen replied by way of a question.

“Nothing you’re majesty, I just noticed the court has added a new whore,” he replied whispering quietly to her.

"Even strumpets have there place….and I’ll beg you to watch your words Sir.” She said, the corners of her mouth turning up just a fraction.

“Your grace,” he apologized.

They made there way down the line and then Devon escorted her to the throne, taking his place among the other lords and ladies. His eyes were riveted on Hardcastle though, but his thoughts calculating, wondering just what the cunning badger had in mind. He smirked at Hardcastle, when he caught her eye.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth, Queen of England.

OCC this post is from Elizabeth I, POV, to help the plot along.



Elizabeth sat on her throne, watching her court as they watched her. Ambassadors bent the knee before her, mumbling words, which she acknowledged with a faint smile and an odd word of her own.

Plots, within plots, the never ending game. she thought. Sometimes, like now, Elizabeth’s conscience nagged her. In the game of survival for England and herself she would use, abuse, and destroy people in her service. Even those she liked and at such times Elizabeth’s sentimental side sometimes would seek to act. She was after all a woman.

A woman with power; a woman that had ruled England alone since 1558. For over 30 years she had steered this country through the dangerous politics of Europe and the now “New world” Kept it safe, even from invasion. The defeat of the Spanish Armada was still fresh in her people’s mind. She was Gloriana, the ever young, Virgin Queen.

Elizabeth had never married, for to marry was to submit herself to her husband’s authority, which would mean England would be her husband’s to command. Such was Elizabeth’s nature, that she could not trust England in the hands of another. Branded a bastard by her own father before she was 3 years old, imprisoned by her sister in the tower. Then brought by God’s good grace to the throne, Elizabeth knew in her heart to survive, for England to survive, she must rule alone.

This, though, had one problem. She had no heir of her own body. Of those of her blood only one did Elizabeth deem suitable, JamesVI of Scotland. His ascension to her throne after her death would join the two countries at the hip, true the old differences would linger for generations, the love, hate relationship would continue. But together perhaps both would be stronger. It was the only course for England Elizabeth could see. Yet publicly she admitted nothing, she was forever young, Gloriana, not a tired woman in her late 50’s

It was here her enemies now sort to strike.

Elizabeth summoned Lord Throthmore to her side, the man bowed and came and stood close to her, his head bowed as Elizabeth spoke softly to him, her mouth covered by her fan.

“Well, at least the girl can wear the clothes and hasn’t challenged anyone to duel all afternoon.” Elizabeth said.

“There is still time to chose another, more suitable.” Lord Throthmore replied.

“Any woman can lie on her back Throthmore,” The Queen answered her dark eyes sparkling. “But is this we need one that has other skills, one who can watch Masterson’s back in a tight corner, not huddle sobbing in a corner.” Elizabeth smiled at her play on words. “Besides they will get along famously we am sure.”

“You mean they might not kill each other before they have completed their mission?” Throthmore tartly commented. Elizabeth burst out laughing at this, causing heads to turn and more than one courier to look concerned.

“Bring the girl to us,” Elizabeth said and stood, again walking through her court, the picture of serenity

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle.

Katherine put her shoulders back and lifted her head. She had never been frightened of anything in her life, not until now. She had been summoned to the Queen, privately. Her mouth was dry and she could not get her breath, though that might be more to do with the corset she was wearing.

Trothmore showed her into the Queen’s private chambers and Katherine sank to the floor in a low curtsey.

“Up, girl, up…” Elizabeth said. “Let us have a good look at you?” Elizabeth strode round Katherine “Passable, passable, can you fight it that?”

The question came out of the blue. Katherine gulped and tried not to think of how badly her head itched under her wig and replied “If I have too your majesty.”

“Good, Good, you have your mother’s eyes “Elizabeth said as she ended her tour round Katherine right in front of her, "Katherine Hardcastle, for the good of the country and in the service of the Queen, you are going to be married and packed off to Spain.”

“What, No, God’s bollocks?” Katherine blurted, totally forgetting to whom she was speaking, she didn’t know which word shocked her more, married or Spain.

“What?” Elizabeth repeated then laughed, addressing Throthmore where he lingered in the corner, “By the saints, Trothmore, she is a wench after our own heart.” Elizabeth became serious. “Marriage in name only child, We am sending a gentleman of our court to Spain. We have already sown some seeds, spreading rumours of his disliking our policies and his leaning towards the catholic faith. His taking of a wife, with out our permission and our temporarily confiscating of some of his lands because of this, will be enough to send him aboard seeking safety in the Spanish court. His new wife would of course go with him.”

Elizabeth drew breath, but Katherine found she could not, the thought of what was being asked of her rattled round her head making her dizzy. But what was the reason behind this, why would Elizabeth send this gentleman.

Elizabeth continued: “Our enemies seek to strike at us, we, have decided whom out heir shall be, to whom we intend to leave England. Our enemies mean to kill, both my heir and myself, leaving England to be torn apart in civil war as those with lesser blood squabble among themselves. But we need proof, names of those here at court that are part of this devil’s brew. The Spanish court is the heart of this plot. This is your task child, aid the gentleman, serve him and you serve us.”

Katherine did not know what to say, how to answer so she merely dropped again into a low curtsey. Elizabeth was entrusting her with so much, she felt humbled. True she was not alone in this, but she felt the gentleman Elizabeth would have chosen was more than equal to the task.

Elizabeth accepted the curtsey as a yes and dismissed Katherine. As Katherine reached the door, now being held open Throthmore, Elizabeth spoke again. “You have not asked who the gentleman is child, be assured we am not sending you with a stranger, tis Milord Devon Masterson.

“No….” Katherine gasped as the door shut behind her, “No… No him… anybody but that jumped up popinjay, cockscomb, sycophant ” The feeling of pride at being chosen was now sinking amid the horror of having to pretend to actually like the one man who had been a thorn in her side for as long as she could remember.

Could she actually do this without cutting his throat? More the point could she actually stand being alone with him in the same room? She would have too, the Queen and England commanded it, but she as hell did not have to like it one bit and if he so much at tried to touch her?

The itch under her wig became unbearable, she tore it from her head and threw it across the small anti chamber then realised she was not alone, someone else was waiting there.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

Masterson had tried to argue with the Queen. He understood the need to infiltrate the Spanish court and root out theses spies and would be assassins. The future of England was on the block, the life of his beloved Queen, but wed him to Hardcastle, if in name only. His sensibilities had been wounded.

Majesty, she is a strumpet, a common whore. he had tried to argue.

Here say, do you know that for fact….or merely personal dislike for the wench? The Queen replied.

Devon had no answer, he had no proof Katherine Hardcastle was anything more than what she presented herself to be. It was her arrogance, a woman running a School of Defence that irritated him more than anything did. He had learned much of his skill with the sword from her father, a man he admired, but when he died, and his daughter took over the school he had felt a resentment. It should have been a son.

But she is no ‘Lady,’ majesty….how will it look if I am wed to someone beneath my station. Is there no other?

The Queens hands were on her chair, gripping the curved arm piece, her eyes steely as she looked at Masterson.

What was it that Shakespeare fellow said;

“Let me have men about me that are fat;
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights:
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.
Would he were fatter! But I fear him not:
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid.
Something, something, something…..” She added with a wave of her hand.

Aye my Queen, “Beware the ides of March are come.” Devon replied, bowing to her. I shall do as you command.

Treat her as a wife Devon, if only in public. It is her sword I need and yours as well. She is good with her sword I understand.

Masterson bowed once more, his hand going to his stiff shoulder, before turning and leaving the Queen. He waited in the antechamber while Hardcastle took audience with Elizabeth. She did not seem pleased when she entered the antechamber where he waited.

“It seems are displeasure at our coming marriage is mutual,” he said to her as he leaned against the wall.

She started, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him, her hand going to the missing sword at her hip.

“If you so much as lay a hand on me,….I’ll…I’ll…..”She stuttered.

“Fear not…my bride, the only thing I wish to touch you with is the tip of my rapier,” he said pushing off the wall and walking to her. “But the wheels are set in motion and we will do as we are bid…do you understand.”

“Yes I understand, but why us…was there no others.”

“Because I…we,” he struggled with the word, “are the best. The realm is at stake, the Queens very life, and we must not fail. Now put your wig back on and take my arm, at least act the part of a Lady.”

She glared at him again, standing off defiant. Slowly she walked over and picked the wig up, adjusting it on her head. He glared back at her, extending his arm once more. Finally she took it, wrapping her arm around his and laying her hand on his forearm.

“Trothmore has had a trousseau prepared for you. It seems this has been in the making for a while…..now smile,” he said as he pushed open the doors to the court.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth, Queen of England.

Well Throthmore, how much is this costing us?” Elizabeth snapped, the two interviews had not only tried her patience, but brought the matter at hand to the forefront of her mind. Here; and only here did Elizabeth let the veil of power slip from her. Here she was just a woman, concerned for the only child she had, England.

“It was necessary to provide Lady Hardcastle…”Throthmore began. Elizabeth’s brows shot up and he corrected himself. “Lady Masterson with sufficient, the jewels in her trousseau though have a double purpose, easier to use as a bribe, less to carry than gold.

“We see…” Elizabeth slapped her fan across her open palm again and again. “A ship as well, waiting at Plymouth we suspect to ferry them to Spain as soon as possible.”

“Yes,.” Throthmore coughed.

“God’s teeth!” Elizabeth swore. “We best be to our court and make it plain or displeasure at Lord Masterson’s choice of bride, perhaps I shall hint that I had promised her elsewhere.” Elizabeth laughed.

“But to whom?” Throthmore asked as he bowed to his Queen and prepared to follow.

“You,” Queen Elizabeth answered an evil gleam in her eye as she reached the door.

“Me…. I… since my wife died I have had no….”Throthmore blathered.

“Rubbish, you had a soft spot for her mother and the lass has her looks, pity she has her father’s height, too much of her.” Elizabeth replied as she swept down the corridor.

“I think Masterson might be thinking the same at this point” Throthmore said, thinking hard on the matter that he might have to play the affronted suitor.

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle.

Katherine ground her teeth as she laid her hand on Masterson’s arm. She would rather have both hands round his neck; no she thought a rapier, in her hand, and that through his neck. She ground her teeth more; Masterson glared at her out of the corner of his eye as they walked back among the throng of Elizabeth’s court.

This whole thing was trying her temper beyond anything. She was a" Queen's man" in her heart, yet having to pretend to be "in love" "married" to the man she would rather see on the end of her blade and he, well Masterson had made it plain more than once how he thought her.

The manner of their being summoned to see the Queen and their return arm in arm gave credence to the rumors already planted by Throthmore’s agents. The fawning looks and the knowing smiles made Katherine shake with anger, though perhaps with luck most would think it was fear from having faced the Queen.

“Smile” Devon said. Katherine tried and felt sure it was more of a death’s head grin than a happy bride.

“I don’t want too.” She hissed, as Devon Masterson led her across the polished floor, nodding and exchanging words with the men and women that flocked round them. Katherine clamped her mouth shut, better say nothing, she thought, be the biddable bride. If she opened her mouth now, the Lord knew what she would say, her anger was making her neck and chest red.

“This is a disappointment.” A silky female voice said as its owner approached. The woman was small, well formed and blonde, The hair curled and bejeweled was her own; Katherine could see that.

“Disappointment?” Katherine heard herself answer and felt Devon’s other hand close over hers on his arm.

“Yes, you blush like an innocent child, not the woman I had heard you to be, perhaps we have all been mislead by your now husband's stories of you. Was it a ruse, Devon, my dear? Oh I am Lady Rotherman by the way. Lady Masterson, does it sound good to your ears, your new title.”

“No different than my old one.” Katherine replied realizing this woman was challenging her. Katherine wished the small eating knife on her belt was her long dagger, better yet her rapier, then she would show this court whore the true meaning of a duel.

“Yes but your position is completely changed now, you will have too…” Lady Rotherman said no more. Queen Elizabeth had rejoined her court. Before she had entered, sailing serenely, now she was a privateer, with cannon loaded to bear.

“You still grace my court, after what you have done.” Elizabeth rounded on Masterson and Katherine. Katherine’s eyes widened and she took one step back, automatically recoiling at her Queen’s anger. Masterson’s grip tightened on her hand and she swore under her breath, he was finding the fact amusing.

“Did you say something Madam?” Elizabeth thundered at Katherine.

“No your majesty.” Katherine gulped.

“No your majesty,” Elizabeth repeated parrot fashion, mocking Katherine. Masterson then did something that set the seal on the matter he turned his back of the Queen and led Katherine from the hall.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

“This is a disappointment.” Devon heard the silky voice say, before he saw her.

Let’s see how you handle this dual, my bride, he thought. He placed his free hand over Katherine’s on his arm, not sure why, perhaps to reassure her, perhaps to keep her from ripping Lady Rotherman throat out.

“Disappointment?” Katherine said in response.

“Yes, you blush like an innocent child, not the woman I had heard you to be, perhaps we have all been mislead by your now husband’s stories of you. Was it a ruse, Devon, my dear? Oh I am Lady Rotherman by the way. Lady Masterson, does it sound good to your ears, your new title.”

Devon ignored the statement, this was not his fight, this was Katherine’s, her first encounter with the court, he would see how well she faired in this dual. It would be the first of many and harder ones to come. He also knew he would have to answer to his stories later.

“No different than my old one.” Katherine replied, to the comment.

“Yes but your position is completely changed now, you will have too…” Lady Rotherman said no more. Queen Elizabeth had rejoined her court. Before she had entered, sailing serenely, now she was a privateer, with cannon loaded to bear.

“You still grace my court, after what you have done.” Elizabeth rounded on Masterson and Katherine. Katherine’s eyes widened and she took one step back, automatically recoiling at her Queen’s anger. Masterson’s grip tightened on her hand and she swore under her breath, he was finding the fact amusing.

“Did you say something Madam?” Elizabeth thundered at Katherine.

“No your majesty.” Katherine gulped.

“No your majesty,” Elizabeth repeated parrot fashion, mocking Katherine. Masterson then did something that set the seal on the matter he turned his back of the Queen and led Katherine from the hall.

Masterson gave the Queen a look, a twinkle in his eye, and with a slight nod turned his back on her. An audible gasp went up from the court. It was unheard of to turn your back on the Queen.

“You did quite well my dear,” he said to Katherine as he led her through the doors at the end of the court, “very well indeed.”

He led her down the hall and out the front of the Palace to his awaiting carriage.

“So…shall we consummate our marriage my dear,” he said in all seriousness to her.

Inside he was laughing, laughing at her discomfort with the Queen, with her dual with Lady Rotherman. However, he had to admit, she had handled herself well, maybe, just maybe with a little luck they could pull this entire ruse off. They would need to, for all their sake.

“You did well Hardcastle,” he said looking at her, “and I jest about consummating our marriage.”

He was somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, disappointed with the last statement. She was after all, a very handsome woman in her gown. He tried to push the gnawing thought away, before it could grow into something he dared not ponder. But still it lingered like a gnat, unseen, buzzing about his head.

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle.

Katherine felt her face flush as Masterson led her from the court. She cursed under her breath and tried not to shake his hand free.

“You did quite well my dear,” Masterson said to Katherine as he led her through the doors at the end of the court, “very well indeed.” Katherine swore even more, Masterson’s words were dripping with sarcasm.

As they walked down the steps towards the carriage Masterson’s tone of voice changed, he was deadly serious. “So…shall we consummate our marriage my dear,”

This was too much Katherine’s fears about the court and mission turned to anger. This is what she had feared, fight for the Queen yes, spy yes, even at a pinch wiggle her rear at some Spaniard, but take this popinjay Masterson to her bed? It was a marriage in name only and it was going to stay that way. Katherine stopped and faced him, hissing like a snake. “Do you want the other shoulder pierced? I can oblige your Sirrrrrrr.” She slurred the last word and strode forward as if in her man’s garb and caught her heel on the wide shirt of her under-dress. Her wounded leg gave way, the fabric ripped. “God’s teeth,” Katherine swore.

You did well Hardcastle,” Masterson said looking at her as his hand steadied her and prevented her falling, “and I jest about consummating our marriage.”

Katherine bit back her retort and got in the carriage, struggling to subdue the mound of fabric she was wearing. She tugged first at her wig, then fiddled down the front of her bodice in the vain effort that she could ease the vise of a corset she was wearing.
She glanced across at Masterson, he was wearing a smirk on his face, then he sighed and shook his head.

“I am uncomfortable; I don’t know how those women like Lady Rotherman wear these things day in and day out. She has her claws out for you, or me, least she is here not in Spain.”

Katherine rambled. Masterson’s left eyebrow went up as she said Spain in regards to Lady Rotherman. “Oh wonderful, she is one of those that flits between the courts?” Spanish, French, English?” Masterson gave a small nod.

“I thought we were at war with Spain?” Katherine huffed.

“Sort of, matter of opinion, depends on the day and the Queen’s mood.” Masterson answered.

“Look, why don’t you go to Spain, find out who it is and I will kill them, a lot simpler.” Katherine sighed. Though she knew it couldn’t be that way. She, in her position would be able to mingle with the ladies of the Spanish court, especially the “English” in residence there. “When do we leave or do we have to brave her majesty again?” Masterson gave her a strange look, Katherine winced; she was rambling away like a fool. She tried to arrange her skirts again and the fabric ripped more. The carriage by this time had rolled up outside Masterson’s London home.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

“No, we don’t have to brave her majesty again….As of now, we…you and I, are black listed from the English court….We’re outcasts,” he said, pausing to watch her reaction, “we’re Catholics, Hardcastle…Once the word gets out…Spain will welcome us with open arms….Well, me anyway…I don’t know how they’ll react to you.”

Her eyes narrowed and filled with anger. She reached for the rapier that wasn’t there. He opened the carriage door and stepped out, holding it for her.

“We’ll leave for Spain soon, there’s a galleon waiting at Plymouth. Come my lovely bride, we have preparations to make.”

Agnes was waiting at the door, beaming with the aspect of serving her masters new intended, but quickly faded as she spied Hardcastle’s face.

“Sir, the Queens guards have delivered trunks, for the lady,” she said, her eyes lifting again to Hardcastle.

“Thank you Agnes, I’ll need to make ready to travel as well. We’ll be leaving for Plymouth as soon as all is ready.” He answered her.

He held the door as Hardcastle entered his house.

“So, when are we to be married Masterson,” she snipped as she walked by him.

“Expedience is our primary goal right now. We shall be married by the ships captain as we sail to Spain.”

His thoughts were, that a marriage preformed at sea, would be easier annulled, rather than a full Catholic Mass.

The household bustled with activity as preparations were made for the sea voyage. Masterson had one trunk compared to Hardcastle’s six. Devon went to one of Hardcastle’s trunks and opened it, lifting out one of the gowns. It sparkled with rubies around the bodice and down the length of the arm. He handed it to Hardcastle as he lifted out another, this one, blue, was encrusted with sapphires. Katherine’s jaw dropped as she gaped at the gown.

“Don’t get attached to them,” he said to her. “How do you think this mission was to be funded,” he smirked, dropping the gown back into the trunk. “Now close your mouth before you catch a fly.”

“Well of course,” Katherine said, disgustedly, tossing the ruby gown back to him.

Within the hour the trunks were loaded on a covered wagon, Masterson and Hardcastle were in the carriage and on the road to Plymouth. They needed to travel fast to make it to Plymouth in time to sail with the morning tide. Katherine dozed, leaning against the inside of the carriage. Devon watched her sleeping in the dimly lit interior of the carriage.

So much of this missions success depended on her, her ability to fit. He shook his head as he pondered the rest of his life in a Spanish prison. She might be able to pull it off, he thought. If she could keep her temper under control, she certainly had the beauty to woo the court. He shook his head again, looking out the window at the passing darkness.

They arrived at Plymouth just before sunrise, and everything was quickly loaded on the ship. He and Hardcastle were taken to the captains’ quarters, it would be theirs for the duration of the weeklong voyage to the port in Lisbon. The captain wasn’t happy about it, but the orders had come directly from the Queen. He also knew they were to be married aboard ship, a Catholic priest had been summoned from the local church to perform the ceremony before they sailed. He was waiting in the captains’ quarter as well. The captain, being a stouthearted Catholic himself, was not about to allow Masterson and Hardcastle to share his bed without the benefit of matrimony.

As the ship was made ready to set sail, the priest preformed the ceremony, without the usual mass that occupancies Catholic weddings. It was over in fifteen minutes, and the priest quickly departed the ship, blessing them and the ship for a safe voyage.

“Well, I suppose I should kiss the bride,” Devon said looking at Katherine, a devilish grin on his face.

“Ha,” she scowled at him, “it’s bad enough I must share a bed with you for the next week, and now you want a kiss?”

“We’ll be sharing a bed from this day forward Hardcastle,” he said looking at her seriously. “I don’t like it any better than you, but you better get used to the idea…and yes, it should take us about a week to get to Lisbon, then another three days of overland to Madrid. That should give you time to warm to the idea.”

They could hear the men yelling above deck as they felt the movement of the ship moving away from the dock.

Devon turned and headed for the cabin door to go above, but paused, turning back to her.

“Think of it as an adventure Hardcastle, a deadly one but an adventure nonetheless.”

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle

Katherine stood in the cabin trying to take stock of events.

“Think of it as an adventure Hardcastle, a deadly one but an adventure nonetheless.” Katherine mimicked Masterson’s tones as she rubbed her left hand; it was still warm from his touch, where he had slipped the wedding ring on her finger. She turned the plain gold band and muttered under her breath.

She was still in the court dress she had worn the day before. God’s bones she thought. I can’t think laced up in this corset. She forgot she had actually dozed asleep in the thing, as that smacked of weakness, but part of her worried that Masterson had been granted the sight of her being so weak, she wasn’t. It had been the lack of breath that had made her sleep nothing more

Katherine struggled, unlaced and eventually threw dress and corset onto the floor, standing now only in her linen shift. Her lungs expanded and she rubbed her chest, sides and breasts, “That feels better.” She rolled her shoulders and began to look through the chests for something suitable to wear on board ship.

Lace, velvet, dripping with jewels, jewels that could be removed to bribe and buy information, Katherine knew that, but Masterson had lectured her like a child. “Damn him.” He swore and pulled at another case, a familiar looking one, long, and the wooden lid scratched. Katherine smiled. Her rapier and matching long dagger, least Throthmore had, had some sense.

Katherine fumbled with the locks and opened the case, revealing the weapons lying on her own clothes, her “male garb” She grinned and reached out for the hilt of the elegant rapier.

The blade leapt up, sweeping up and down as Katherine took it out and stepped forward, going through the motions of a hanging guard, then lunge, then cross parry. She smiled, glad to feel the weapon in her hand again. “The other shoulder Masterson?” She said as she again lunged and laughed. So wrapped up in finding her weapons, Katherine did not hear the knock on the door and only became aware of someone seeking entrance when it began to open. She swept the sword behind her back and said “yes,” as she sidled away from the opening.

“Begging your pardon, milady,” A sailor said as he came in laden with a tray of fruit. “Compliments of the captain.”

“Yes, I see, very well. Thank you...” Katherine blathered waving her free hand towards the small table.

The sailor paced the fruit down. One apple rolled off and he caught it, placing it back with its fellow, before he gave a short bow and left.

Katherine found herself staring after the man, and then she frowned as it struck her. His hand? His nails? “God’s bones” she swore and grabbed her traveling cloak, pulling it tight around her as she went out on deck.

The fresh sea breeze hit her as she began to move across the deck, she fought to keep the cloak shut, perhaps she should have dressed but, no time she thought, Masterson must know though it rankled a little she could not deal with it herself, go after… she sighed and muttered as she came along side her ‘new husband.”

“Nice of you to join me, my dear.” Masterson said, never taking his eyes of the fast fading coastline of England.

“We need to speak…” Katherine hissed softly. Masterson turned and caught sight of her shift as the cloak blew open for a second, Katherine cursing as she snapped it shut.

“And you madam need to realize you must dress when on deck.” Masterson sarcastically answered shaking his head.

Katherine began to fume. “A sailor brought fruit to the cabin.”

“How nice and you thought you would come and tell me.” Masterson’s words, slashed at her, his eyes were now narrow with anger.

“God’s teeth and damn you, his nails, his hands.”

“He had both.” Masterson quipped, but there was no amusement on his voice as his hand closed on her arm, squeezing it tight and he began to mover her back towards the cabin.

“Listen, you jumped up court fool… A sailor doesn’t have manicured nails; they are blackened by the tar on the ropes and broken.” Katherine hissed as she fought against his hold. “Some one on this ship is either on to us or watching us.”

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

Masterson stopped as the words sank in. She was right, he had to admit, he quickly scanned the sailors about them.

“Why yes, I would enjoy some fruit,” he said, the grip on her arm lessening, turning her back toward their cabin. “Did you get a good look at him,” he asked leaning close to her.

“No, I didn’t pay attention to his face, he was just another sailor then,” she answered, pulling her cloak tighter. “But I did get a good look at his hands. ‘They will not be hard to recognize, especially amongst this rabble.”

Masterson lead her down the stairs and back into the cabin.

“Speaking of rabble,” he started, a touch of anger in his voice, but curbed by the realization she had gained important information, “you come dressed as a harlot above deck. Are you trying to start a riot?

Her dark eyes darted to the rapier lying on the table. He stepped in front of her, stopping her from doing something they would both regret. He took hold of her uppers arms again, more gently this time.

“I only mean….it’s probably been a long time since these men,” he paused looking for the right words.

“Had a harlot,” she answered for him, her words dripping with disgust. “You think me a harlot Masterson?”

His thoughts were on the tip of his tongue but he knew he dared not speak it.

“No, of course not…you are…a Lady of the court,” he said trying to soothe her anger.

She shook herself free of his grasp stepping away from him.

“And what of our well manicured spy Masterson?” She asked glaring at him. “Have you a plan to deal with him?”

Devon leaned against the table his arms folded across his chest, thinking.

“Perhaps,” he said picking up an apple and tossing it to her. “We will be a sea for two weeks, if the weather favors us, before we make port at Lisbon. If we let it be known that you enjoy the fresh fruit, we may be able to lure him back. He will be watching us anyway, but if you can get him back in this cabin, we might be able to glean some information. If not…well, we will simple dispatch him. You should enjoy that. You can always say he attacked you.” His eyes sliding down the front of her open clock.

He ducked in time as the apple went sailing past his head, bouncing off the bulkhead.

“Hold thy temper Hardcastle,” he said in anger response. “You…we will use whatever is necessary to complete this mission. I will not have the Queens life put in jeopardy because of your childish outbursts. And get used to the idea of using your…charms to gain whatever is needed. A man’s tongue loosens as his eyes ogle the naked breast,” he added stepping closer to her, staring down at her cleavage. “Get used to it Hardcastle, and use it, it may save my life, as well as yours. Now dress appropriately and come to me above deck like the dutiful loving wife.”

With that, Devon stepped through the cabin door and went above deck to find the Captain. Her temper will be the death of us all. he thought as he ascended the stairs. His eyes would now be checking the hands of those men about him. His own hand checking the dagger in his belt.

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle

“Harlot! Temper! I don’t have a temper! God’s teeth have I got to drag that lot on again…” Katherine cursed and picked up her corset, after much heaving, cursing, and rummaging through the chests. Katherine was attired in a traveling gown or overdress of fine blue wool, her under kirtle a matching light silk and a jaunty muffin cap on her head secured by a long, long hat pin. Which as she had japed it into her hair she had wished it had been Masterson’s rear.

She also had on her person something no normal lady would have. Under the wide folds of her overdress suspended from a ribbon was her long dagger. It bulged a little but under her cloak it did not show.

Katherine muttered and fiddled with her breasts, they seemed to be higher in this gown or was the front lower; the lace on the top of shift barely seemed to cover the swell of them. She then sighed slipped her cloak and went out again to find her husband. The word rankled.

She made her way down the narrow passage. With each step Katherine felt something slipping down her leg. “By our lady!” She swore as the ribbon keeping her right stocking above her knee came adrift and tumbled down. With great difficulty, and swinging her skirts and farthingale to one side she managed to bend over and pull up the offending garment and retie the ribbon.

As Katherine made to lower her skirts she became aware she was being watched. Masterson you….. She thought and opened her mouth to inform him of nature of his parentage. Only it wasn’t Masterson it was the sailor, his manicured hands clasped before him.

“Good day milady.” He said softly.

“Good, day sir…” Katherine replied and made a show of lowering her skirts, lifting them two or three times to the knee again to ensure the drop. Then she let her fingers flutter over the swell of her breasts. The man’s eyes darted from the legs now vanished under the gown to the half exposed breasts.

“Is there anything I can get you, me being the captain’s steward an all?” The man said as he licked his lips.

Katherine pouted her own lips and swayed towards him.

“There you are. Where have you been? I have checked….” Masterson’s voice sounded behind the sailor. The sailor tugged at his forelock and pushed past Katherine.

“God’s bones, of all the time.” Katherine swore and snatched at the dagger under her overdress. “It’s him.” The last words were screamed as she launched herself at the after now running sailor, her heel caught on the gown and she fell, as she hit the deck she was aware of Masterson, jumping over her. “Damn stupid clothes, why can’t I…..” she heaved herself up looking this way and that, but her husband and the sailor had vanished.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

Masterson pursued the steward down the passageway, pulling his dagger as he went.

“Wait,” he yelled, “I only want to talk to you.”

The steward continued to run, his shoes rapping on the wooden deck boards. Quickly he slid down the stairwell to the gun deck. Masterson could hear his heels hit the deck, as he followed him down, catching sight of him as he turned the corner and down the next stairwell. Then there was silence, no sound coming from the cargo hold at all. Slowly Devon made his way below, searching the dim light for any sign of the steward.

The cargo hold was full of barrels and crates, the steward could be, and probably was hiding behind any one of them. There was no place else to go, this was the bottom of the ship. His ears straining for any sound, but his own breathing was all he heard. Slowly he crept around the barrels and crates, staring into the dimness, listening for any sound.

Then, suddenly he heard a sound, a gasp. He spun on his heels, crouching, his dagger low and at the ready. The steward had crept up behind him silently. The gasp had come from the steward, his mouth was open, his eyes wide with pain. The dagger fell from his hand and clattered on the deck. Slowly he fell forward, toward Masterson. Devon stepped back as the man fell toward him. Behind him stood Hardcastle, her bloody dagger in her hand.

Masterson looked at her then at the widening bloodstain on the steward’s linen shirt.

“He was going to kill you,” Katherine said dispassionately. “I had too….”

Devon stared at Hardcastle with mixed emotion. She had indeed saved his life, and she had done it with quiet efficiency. She could have called out, but she didn’t, she merely did what needed to be done. Masterson would like to have had the steward alive, for questioning, but not at the expense of injury.

“We need to search him,…..maybe he has papers or something that will tell us who he is, or who he is working for.”

Masterson knelt beside the dead man, quickly patted the body. Hardcastle knelt beside him as well, wiping her blade across the man’s shirt.

“Thanks,” he said looking at her, “you.....you saved my life.”

It was genuine gratitude he felt, and a sense that she protect him in any situation. His feelings of animosity toward her were slipping away.

“What’s this,” he said, feeling a lump in the man’s pocket.

He slipped his fingers into the pocket and pulled out a ring.

“It has a signet on it,” he said holding it up in the dim light so they both could see.

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle.

Katherine had charged after the two men. She caught a glimpse of her husband as he vanished into the cargo hold. Katherine pulled loose the dagger and balanced it in her hand. She scanned the dim hold, seeking what? Shapes, man sized.

One, yes Masterson. Katherine grinned, she recognised the way he shuffled his feet, he used that movement when seeking an opening with a blade. And a blade was seeking to make an opening in Masterson. The steward. As the man moved forward Devon spun but Katherine was there first.

Coldly she plunged the dagger into the man's back. she didn't enjoy the killing, it didn't have the thrill of matching blades with another. But it had to be done. Her breath hitched and she supressed a shudder and the man flopped forward.

Katherine tried to ignore the look in Masterson's eyes as he looked at her bloodied blade. "He was going to kill you, I had too….” Part of her crowed that Devon owed her, but the rest was more concerned with the strange mixture of emotions on his face. she could not begin to fathom them and it worried her, his dislike she understood. God's bones if he actually began to like her, she didn't know how to react to that.

“We need to search him,…..maybe he has papers or something that will tell us who he is, or who he is working for.” Masterson said as he knelt beside the dead man, quickly patted the body. Katherine knelt beside him as well, wiping her blade across the man’s shirt.

“Thanks,you.....you saved my life.”

Katherine's mouth began to turn up in a smile as he admitted that, maybe he realised now she would do what she had too as well as he.


“What’s this,” Devon added He slipped his fingers into the pocket and pulled out a ring.“It has a signet on it.”

Katherine peered at the ring "Scallop shell? Whose coat of arms has one?"

"Half the nobility of England "Devon said almost lecturing. " A lot adopted it if at some point an ancestor made a a pilgrimage to the holy land been a Crusader..... " Devon stopped, his eyes brightening "Or to the shrine of St. James, Compostella, Spain."

Katherine tried not to snap, "So it could just be a symbol of group who want England under Sapin or it could be part of the coat of arms of a contact or leader? Used to prove who you are. Well we could use it couldn't we? Once we get to Spain?" The thought of Aprian brough up the thought that she would have to share a cabin with Devon. Why did that make her sweat a little, killing a man hadn't

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

The captain was none to pleased to find that his steward was dead, no matter the circumstances. He and he alone also knew that Masterson and Hardcastle were on the Queens business, the ships crew did not. Although the steward was new to the crew, he was a crewmember nonetheless and his death would be viewed with suspicion under any circumstances.

“I think it best if ya remain to the cabin,” the captain had told them, “or limit your visits topside for fresh air to night. T’is only a weeklong voyage to the port in Lisbon, and the windows do open,” he added.

Both Katherine and Devon agreed with him, the rumors were going to spread quickly. They also agreed that if it were to come up, that it was Masterson that had killed the steward, in a long battle of daggers. Not Hardcastle with a dagger to the mans back.

“Well,” Devon chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “This will give us time to think things over before we arrive in Spain.”

He didn’t relish the thought of spending the next six days cooped up with Hardcastle but with this first clue, maybe they could formulate some kind of plan. He flipped a chair around backwards and sat down, laying the ring on the table, staring at it for a time.

“This is what I know of St James,” he began. “He was, of course, one of the apostles, one of the first four to be exact, and one of the closest three to Jesus. Legend has it that after the transfiguration, the Apostles divided the known world into missionary zones, the Iberian peninsula fell to James, which might explain his absence from the apocryphal gospels. He spent a number of years preaching in Spain before returning to Jerusalem, and martyrdom. When died, legend also has it that his followers carried his body down to the coast and put it into a stone boat, which was carried by angels and the wind beyond the Pillars of Hercules.” He looked up at Katherine to make sure she was following him. “The Pillars of Hercules are also know as the straits of Gibraltar.”

She looked at him as if he was a moron.

“I’m not a total imbecile,” she said sarcastically, “but please, do go on….the sound of your voice may lull me to sleep.”

Devon cleared his voice as he continued, “Anyway, legend says that he was carried around to land near Finisterre, at Padrón, on the Atlantic coast of northern Spain. There the local Queen, Lupa, or something like that, provided the team of oxen used to draw the body from Padrón to the site of the marble tomb, called Arca Marmorica, a little way inland, which she had also provided. The saint was believed to have been buried with two of his own disciples, Athanasius and Theodore. But the site of his tomb was forgotten for nearly eight hundred years.”

Masterson rose from the chair and poured them both a goblet of wine, sitting hers in front of her before continuing with his train of thought.

“Now here’s where it gets interesting,” he said rising his goblet to her. “Jerusalem fell to the armies of Islam in 636, and less than a century later, in 711, Spain was also invaded and conquered. When the Moors invaded Spain, Spain needed a new champion or focus to inspire Christendom to fight against them. Early in the ninth century, some old hermit, was led by a vision to the spot were St. James was buried. and the tomb was rediscovered. St. James became the martyr to rally around, and the beginning of the crusades.”

“Well thank you for the history lesson,” Katherine said sipping her wine, “but tell me something I don’t already know.”

“I’m getting to that,” Devon said frowning at her, “I’m just refreshing my own mind as well.”

He sipped his own wine and picked up the ring.

“Jerusalem fell to the armies of the first crusade in 1099 and the idea of a re-conquest of Spain by Christians took root,” he continued with the history lesson.

He stood again and started to pace, thinking, his thoughts fragmented.

“The crusades were sanctioned by holy Rome…..the Pope….the crusaders were Holy Roman Catholics. The Queen is……Protestant.” He stopped and looked at Hardcastle, his eyes hard. “A re-conquest perhaps, and perhaps a pilgrimage to the Shrine of St. James. Your thoughts Katherine, I need to hear your thoughts on this.”

 

[Why]

Thoughts. Katherine found it hard to form her thoughts on the matter. The thought of being imprisoned with Devon, almost day and night for the next few days seemed to take over.

She would run him though before tomorrow evening, she knew it. He patronised her, thought her nothing more than a whore with a sword, no matter what he said. And after lecturing he had asked her, her thoughts.

Katherine sat on the bed, it looked rather narrow. She hummed her lips vibrating.

"Well," Devon prompted.

"It seems that these that threaten the Queen see themselves on a holy quest. Or at least some do. Some will be in it for profit and position and a chance to settle old scores."

"Agreed..." Devon's fingers ran along the edge of the top of the chair. He then inspected them and looked hard at her.

"A Pilgrimage to the Shrine of St. James, while not approved of for good loyal members of the Queen's court, would not be frowned on totally. The Queen wants loyalty to England and her first. She does not want "windows in men's souls"..."

"Go on..."

"Well we go to Compostella, then, and you wear that ring and make known your disillusionment the Queen. Do you think we might meet someone we know?"

“Good, been a busy day we best get some rest.”

“I……” Katherine stuttered then blurted. “The bed is narrow.

“Managed on worse.” Devon commented and stood, beginning to undress. Katherine felt the colour rise in her face and moved; no shot from the bed, followed by Devon’s chuckle. She busied herself in the chests, looking for another cloak, she decided to wrap herself in a couple and sleep on the deck.

What are you doing?” Devon’s voice came from the bed. He had undressed, all save for his shirt. Laid his clothes neatly aside and slipped between the sheets.

“Finding a cloak too…” The words died on her lips, it would look very suspicious for a one of a newly married couple to be found asleep on the floor. She struggled out of her clothes again and stood in her shift eying the bed. Devon shook his head and huff turning his back on her. Katherine slipped in and did the same turning her back on him and balancing on the edge.

For a while she did not sleep, but the events of the day finally caught up with her and she slipped into a fitful sleep. She woke to a hand on her bottom. She stiffened, feeling the warmth of the touch seep through her shift and make her skin tingle. Devon gave a half grunt and turned onto his side the hand moving, no, more flopping over her hip and down onto her stomach.

He is a wake? No.. Yes… Katherine felt her anger boil she balled her fist and began to turn. Devon shifted again and his hand pressed hard on her stomach. Then it slid upwards brushing her breasts as it moved off her as he turned away from her again.

Katherine’s stomach was awash with knots on anger and something else. She could feel herself shaking. Her nipples had hardened at the soft brush of Devon’s hand and her breath had quickened. Stupid she thought it was Devon, she would rather… God’s teeth she had five more nights of this.

As it to underline it Devon shifted in his sleep again and now pressed his front hard to her back.. “For the Queen…” Katherine hissed through clenched teeth and tried not allow the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach to take command of her.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

For the next four days, and long torturous nights Hardcastle and Masterson stayed cooped up in the ever-shrinking cabin. Their food was brought by the captains ‘new’ steward, a lad of perhaps twelve or so. He had been the captain’s cabin boy, but since the cabin was not occupied by the captain, he had taken on this new duty. It was in the dark of night that they where allowed above deck for fresh air, and then only under the supervision of the captains eye.

It was on the morning of the fifth day that tensions came to a head. Devon’s chest had a permanent bruise from Katherine elbowing him in his sleep, apparently out of spite he assumed.

“Stop it,” he heard her hiss through clenched teeth as the elbow found its mark again.

“Damnit Hardcastle,” he hissed back, removing his hand from her hard breast to rub the tender area on his chest.

“You wallow like a swine, and……..and smell like a goat,” she quipped quickly.

Devon pushed down on her shoulder and he climbed over her as he got out of the small bed they shared. He stretched then put on his trousers, going to the aft windows pushing them open to let in some fresh morning air. The sky was pink off to his right, the sun still well below the horizon, the cool salt air washing over him.

Port or starboard, he wondered, he could never remember which was which, as he watched the morning light dance on the crest of the waves.

“Swine wallow together Hardcastle,” he said over his shoulder, “and how is it that you know about the stink of goats. I take it you have spent much time with them.”

“I would rather spend my time with them, than you,” she replied. “At least they don’t grope and scratch and make obscene noises in their sleep,” she said sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting her shift.

“Ah, the voice of experience,” he chuckled taking in a deep breath of clean air.

He didn’t see the cloud of anger wash over her, nor the anger flash in her eyes as she stood, staring at his back. Those same eyes quickly looking for her rapier or at least her dagger.

A knock on the cabin door interrupted their debate about farm animals. Devon turned and walked to the door, opening it to let the cabin boy in. He had a platter of fresh fruit, apples, and lemons mostly, and a few slices of bread. But it was the pot of steaming tea that Devon was most interested in. The lads tired not to look, but his eyes kept glancing at Hardcastle as she stood there in her shift, her hands defiantly on her hips.

Devon smiled as he caught the lad’s quick glances.

“Sit it here on the table,” he said. “And pour me a cup of tea lad.”

His intent was to keep the lad glancing as long as possible.

“And one for the lady,” the young boy asked, glancing once again at Hardcastle, his eyes taking in the full length of her body. His face reddening as he poured the tea.

“The lady,” Masterson asked, “Oh you mean my wife. Yes, of course, one for her as well.”

They both heard the quite anger growl the welled deep from Hardcastle’s core.

“That’ll be all lad,” Devon said hurrying the boy out of the cabin, and shutting the door.

“You are a bastard pig,” she spate at him.

Masterson turned at stared at her, any sense of humor he may have had faded.

“Had your father kept you in petticoats rather than let you play with swords I might think…..”

“Play….play with swords,” she interrupted him, her anger no longer able to be contained. “I’ll show you play with swords. Defend yourself you stinking goat,” she spate, turning and reaching for her rapier.

The sound of the singing steel sliding out of the scabbard told Devon he might have gone to far.

“Hardcastle…wait, I merely jest…”

“Defend yourself, I said,” spinning on him, her left hand on her hip the rapier held in an offensive position.

She glared at him as she watched him move around the table to find his own rapier. She could have taken him at any time, she could have had him dangling from the tip of her rapier had she wanted. As soon as his sword cleared the scabbard she lunged at him. He parried quickly left and then again to the right. He moved around the table to find more room in the cramped cabin to maneuver. The tip of her rapier scraped across the low ceiling of the cabin giving him a chance to move toward the door. As he stepped through he saw her moving quickly around the table. He was half way up the ladder when she came through the door. He had to turn and parry again as he climbed the ladder backwards. He needed room to swing, to maneuver properly, but she kept coming at him.

Backwards he moved up the ladder, thankful that the captain’s cabin was only one deck down. Finally he was in open space on the deck of the ship. They stood staring at each other for a moment before she lunged again. This time he had room to parry correctly, and to make his own offensive move. She parried in turn, returning with three quick offensive moves, backing Masterson the gunwales. He spun to the left as her sword came down on him, missing him by inches.

The sound of the ringing steel brought the ships crew running. They yelled and jeered, encouraging the combatants on, some yelling below to bring their shipmates up for the entertainment.

“Aye mate, methinks the honeymoon is over,” Masterson heard someone say, but he dared not look.

The sun rose above the horizon in a blast of light throwing ship and crew into full color. Masterson squinted as the rays of the sun washed over him.

The sun, he thought. Most of her fighting had been done inside, would she realize, he asked himself.

He spun to his right and with two quick steps had his back to the rising sun. Hardcastle squinted as the sun hit her full in the eyes. Devon’s rapier came down and in one quick movement split the front of her shift from her crotch down, exposing her inner thighs and womanhood to the crew.

Whoops and catcalls went up from the crew.

She quickly looked down at herself, pausing for a moment in disbelief. Deftly, Masterson slipped his rapier between her shoulder and the strap holding the shift on her body. With a quick movement he parted the fabric of the strap. With the blazing sun still in her eyes she felt the cold steel against her flesh. She looked in time to see the glint of steel pass in front of her face as it slipped under the other strap of her shift, severing it as well. The top half of her shift crumpled to her waist, exposing her nakedness to the crew.

The cacophony of cheers and catcalls rose to a peak, even the seagulls overhead seemed to join in.

“Enough………enough of this nonsense,” Devon heard the captain yell over the jeering. “Enough or I’ll throw you both in the hold. I mean it……….stop it now.”

Devon dared not take his eyes off Hardcastle, least he feel the cold steel of her rapier in him again, once had been enough. He felt the tinge in his shoulder at the thought. She raised her head and looked at him, twin suns reflected in her angry eyes.

Masterson had to make a quick decision, if not, one of them would surely die and the mission as well. He tossed his rapier at her feet and went to one knee raising his arms in concession.

“Enough,” he said looking up at her, exposing his own naked chest to her.

It was a gamble he had to take. She would either except his concession or he would die an unarmed man. He hoped that her father had instilled the chivalry of swordplay in her as well as the ability with the weapon.

 

[Why]

Katherine Hardcastle.

Katherine was blind with anger. Devon had touched the rawest of spots. She was as good as any man with a blade, better than most if the truth be told.

The last few days had been a trip into hell, even though they were for Queen and country.

Devon had been a thorn in her side for as long as she could remember, he was her father's favourite, special pupil, he was one of the "Queen's favourites" He was a Queen's man, one trusted, chosen to serve. He was everything Katherine admired, but hated as well, because he was free to be that.

As she pushed Devon back across the deck, she was deaf to the calls of the sailors, unaware of her dress or lack of it, save for the fact that the baggy shift allowed her to move.

Then the sun caught her eyes, she swore under her breath and heard the sound of steel slitting fabric. She did not believe it, Katherine glanced down, her anger exploding further. Before she could move and get out of the sun's glare and parry again she felt the cold steel against the flesh of her shoulder.

Then the tip of Devon's blade seemed to taunt her as it whipped under her nose and slash at her other strap.

Katherine was half naked, her shift a jumble of fabric at her waist and slashed from there down. Bastard! her thoughts screamed and she forced her body to start to move, ignoring the catcalls and jeers all around.

“Enough………enough of this nonsense,” The catpain's bellow rose above the noise on the deck “Enough or I’ll throw you both in the hold. I mean it……….stop it now.”

Katherine locked eyes with the man before her, hoping he saw his death in her eyes, for Queen or no, he was a corpse.

Then Devon did the unthinkable, he tossed his rapier at her feet and went to one knee, raising his arms in concession.

“Enough,” he said looking up at her.

Katherine went suddenly cold, as if she had plunged into the sea. Her anger stripped from her by Devon's action. She shuddered and muttered, "Think, woman, think...." She glanced round her eyes narrowing. One agent they had killed, another could be among the crew. If she killed Devon, as much as she wanted too, then, then. No stupid, she had let her temper get the better of her.

She could just turn and walk away, storm away, but that would set tongues wagging about the nature of the "marriage" She knew she would not be a natural choice of a bride for such as Devon and the union would be doubted.

So Katherine lowered her blade and forced herself not to clasp her torn shift to her breasts. She then bent forward and kissed Devon full on the mouth. He spluttered, started to return it. Then Katherine broke away, gathered her shift up round her breasts and turned away. As she walked back to their cabin she stopped and looked back, hoping her look was the same as the one she had seen whores give their mark.

The hoots and calls from the crew that followed here into the shadow of the doorway, told her that at least the men of the crew had seen the "come on" look. Had Devon and did he know it was just an act.

Well it was Katherine thought, even though the taste of his lips on hers made her feel very differently.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

Devon dropped his head in relief when Katherine went through the doorway. What he had done was beyond recompense. He had humiliated Hardcastle in two ways. He had only crossed swords with her in self-defense, but he should not have stripped her in front of the crew. The second was throwing his rapier at her feet. He should have disarmed her, as any good swordsman would have, but he wasn’t sure that he could. That was probably the biggest humiliation. The honorable thing was for one of them to die, it was the way of the sword.

But the kiss he didn’t understand at all, and the look she had given him.

Was she putting him on, to save face perhaps?

He had even tried to kiss her back, which was even a bigger mystery to him. He ignored the jests and jeering from the crew, picked up his tossed rapier and made his way down the gangway. He paused at the cabin door, unsure what to expect on the other side. Perhaps the taste of cold steel yet awaited him. He took a deep breath, the taste of Katherine’s lips still on his, and pushed the door open.

He found her about to remove her tattered shift. She turned to him, facing him fully, breasts exposed. The steel in her eyes steel hard as the steel in her rapier, as she stared at him. His hand tighten on the hilt of his own, seeing hers lying on the bunk.

Devon found himself thinking how beautiful she was in her anger, in her nakedness. He had wanted to apologize to her, to beg for some kind of forgiveness. But he found himself becoming aroused as he looked at her.

“I….I’m….,” he stuttered, searching for the right words, as he rounded the table.

He had never been at a loss for words, never in the Queens court, why couldn’t he find them now.

“Hardcastle, I didn’t mean….,” once again not finding the words he wanted.

He came nearer to her as she continued to stare him down. He stood in front of her now, not looking down at her nakedness, but into her stormy eyes. He tossed his rapier onto the bunk, the blade crossing hers. He grabbed her by her bare shoulders and pressed his mouth to hers.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Hardcastle

Katherine swore and tried to eas the remains of her shift over her hips. She felt the chill air as the door opened and knew Devon had entered. She turned and glared at him. Saw his fingers tighten on the hilt of his sword.

So it is like that Katherine thought and her anger rose. I tried I really tried. This was doomed from the start. I should never have agreed


“I….I’m….,” he stuttered. Devon stuttering he never was a loss for words. What game now?

“Hardcastle, I didn’t mean….,” Katherine felt her eyes widen in surprise but she quickly controlled her self as his half mumbled words and renewed her glare.

Devon was now standing before her. He trew his sword on the bed and gripped her shoulders. she could feel his finger tips biting into the flesh on her back. if he starts to shake me he will regret it she thought.

But he didn't. He kissed her, hard. Pressing his lips firmly to hers. What game is this? Why? Katherine balled her fists then her hands opened, came up and reac hed out to hold Devon's sides.

Her mouth parted in surprise under his and the kiss deepened. She tried to swallow. Skilled she was in the art of the sword, but in that of the bedroom she was a novice, totally unskilled.

Part of her was cursing the man that was kissing her. Part of her wanted him to do more than that.

 

[Graybread]

Devon Masterson

As Devon held Katherine’s shoulders, his mouth pressed to her, he felt no resistance. Something he had expected from her. Still holding her tight, he pulled back from her, looking into her eyes. Although not as angry as she had been, he could see the embers burning deep inside her. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly when he realized it was that anger, that passion she had, that had made him kiss her in the first place.

He pressed his mouth to hers again, releasing her shoulders and moving his hands up her naked back. Very gently he bent her toward the bunk, like a reed bowing in the wind. He expected her to snap back at any minute, to resist the pressure of the wind. Slowly he lowered her onto the bunk, pushing the crossed rapiers onto the cabin’s deck in a clatter of steel.

He was sure she was still a maiden, so knew he would have guide her. He moved his mouth to under her chin, kissing and sucking gently on the soft skin there. His hand moving up to just under her exposed breast. Slowly he kissed his way down her throat, feeling the tension in her body, like the tightening of a bow string being drawn. He moved his mouth further down her chest, his hand now cupping her breast. He held her breast as his lips descended around the nipple. He heard her quick inhale of breath as her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders.

Again he expected the reed to snap, the bow string to release and her to explode in a fury, and throw him to the floor, but she did not. He kissed and sucked on her nipple feeling it handed under his tongue.

Is it time to consummate this faux marriage? The thought floating through his mind.

He released her breast, his hand moving down across her stomach. He could feel the hardness of her muscles under her firm skin. It was not the kind of woman he was used to touching, the soft, near flaccid bodies of the ladies in the court. Katherine’s body was strong and muscular.

The more Devon touched her, the more aroused he became. He slid his hand over the rag of her shift and down the top of her thigh. He felt the muscles tighten in her leg as she pressed it into his hand. He moved back up to press his mouth to hers once again, her arms going around his neck, as she kissed him back. He moved his hand between her legs, holding her inner thigh, and moving slowly toward the pubis triangle of soft hair. He intentionally moved slowly, letting her know where his hand was headed, giving her a moment of realization and the opportunity to stop him if she wished.

Again she did not. He pressed his hand against her mons, his finger slipping between the dewy lips, searching for her maidenhead. He would not take it with a finger, but wanted to see if she was ready for the deflowering. He certainly was, his hardness pressed against the inside of his breeches.

He released her and rolled to the side of the bunk to remove his breeches. As he fumbled in the confines of the small bed, he felt like the lad in a hayloft of his youth. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, somewhere off the French coast, on a mission most dire, that neither may return from, about to consummate an arranged marriage with the daughter of a lifelong friend. He hadn’t felt so young, so lustful in years.

He tossed the breeches to the floor and looked back to Hardcastle. He took her hand and slowly slid it down his stomach until she touched him. He let her fingers curl around the stiff member. She held him firmly, as if she held the hilt of her rapier.