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yer interests lay in other directions than serving yer queen. Since that is so, ye are dismissed from my service, and ye will return home immediately, this very day.”
    With a shriek of dismay Althea Tailleboys flung herself across the queen’s dayroom, and at the queen’s feet. “Oh, please, yer majesty,” she cried, “do not send me home in disgrace! What will my parents say? How can I explain to them?”
    “Ye will not need to,” came the terrifying reply. “I will send a letter along with ye explaining my reasons for yer dismissal; expressing my displeasure at yer lack of manners, yer unkind heart, and yer lewd behavior with a member of my court who shall remain nameless.”
    Mistress Tailleboys swooned at the queen’s feet with a sound that was somewhere between a cry and a moan.
    “Remove that baggage!” snapped Elizabeth to the other maids of honor who had watched wide-eyed as one of their privileged number was lashed by the queen’s sharp tongue. Each of the others was grateful that it was not she who was the queen’s victim, and in unison they hurried to do their mistress’ bidding, lest they incure her further wrath, lifting the dainty Althea Tailleboys between them, and stumbling from the room with her prone form.
    “Mistress St. Michael,” said the queen, her voice more kindly now. “Ye will take Mistress Tailleboys’ place amongst my maids of honor, and my workbasket is now in yer charge.”
    “They will not like me for it,” Aidan heard herself saying.
    The queen chuckled. “No,” she replied, “they will not, but they will tolerate ye because I have favored ye.”
    The Countess of Lincoln now moved forward. “Forgive me, madame,” she said, “but I believe I am related to Mistress St. Michael. Are ye not the daughter of Payton St. Michael, and Bevin FitzGerald, my girl?”
    “Aye, m’lady, I am,” Aidan replied.
    The countess turned her attention to the queen. “Bevin FitzGerald was my cousin, madame. It was I who arranged her marriage to Lord Bliss many years ago.” She looked again at Aidan. “ Both yer parents are dead?”
    “Aye, m’lady. My mother and twin sisters when I was ten. My father just a month ago.”
    “Are ye impoverished?” came the next question as the Countess of Lincoln wondered whether the queen would make the Clintons financially responsible for the girl. She was relieved when Aidan said,
    “Nay, m’lady. I am not impoverished.”
    Interesting, thought the queen. She does not wish to discuss her financial status with her relative. “All but Mistress St. Michael, and Robin are to leave me now,” she said, and the Countess of Lincoln, and the two other ladies in the room curtsied themselves out of her presence. “Bring us some wine and biscuits, Robin,” the queen commanded. “Ye may be seated, Mistress St. Michael. Take that high-backed stool there. I want to know about ye.
    “Now,” said Elizabeth Tudor, “who is this lady who guards ye?”
    “She is Mag, my tiring woman. She came from Ireland with my mother, and served her until she died.”
    “And why were ye so reluctant to tell Lady Clinton of yer finances?” Aidan looked to Robin, but the queen said, “He has heard far more sensitive information than ye will divulge to me, my dear, and has always been most discreet. He will say nothing of what passes between us.”
    “Lady Clinton knows little about my family other than the fact she arranged my parents’ marriage, madame. She did it in gratitude for a loan my father made to her husband many years ago. A loan arranged at no interest to Lord Clinton. My father had been widowed after many years of marriage, and no surviving children. When Lady Clinton offered him a favor in return for his favor he asked her if she knew of a woman he might wed. My mother was the daughter of Lady Clinton’s cousin, and had no dowry to offer either a husband or a convent. Lady Clinton knew my father would be pleased to be related to her family despite my