Kathryn Kramer Read Free

Instead , he did not even offer her a cursory glance.  He had not even noticed her.  Had she really expected that he would?  Yes. Disappointed, she pursed her lips.
    "What is the matter with you, you bold strumpet?  Bow your head.  Are you so busy ogling that you do not see the queen is near?"  A sharp-featured noblewoman elbowed the plainly garbed stage-master's daughter out of her way.  "You should be with the other servants in the kitchen, not mingling with your betters!" she hissed in Alandra's ear. 
    Heeding the rebuke, Alandra ducked into the shadows, watching as the lords and ladies streamed into the hall to view the masque.
    She was such a fool, she thought.  A simpleton to have let herself dream even for an instant.  Alandra stared down at the fabric of her skirt that she clutched in her hand.  The drab linen was a reminder of what she was not.  She would never be one of them.  There was no use in letting such an illusion take flight.   She was as out of place here as a chicken among peacocks, and yet for just a moment......
    Quickly , she put such a thought from her mind.  It was not wise to flit into such imaginings.  She was what she was and she was proud of that.  She was Alandra Thatcher, Murray's daughter.  It was enough.  She would never give the nobleman another thought.  Squaring her shoulders, holding up her head, she walked through the door, firm in her determination.
     

Chapter Two
     
     
    The air was pungent with the fragranc e of spices and perfume as the lords and ladies moved from the great hall to the banquet room. From the tip of her red bewigged head to the hem of her voluminous skirt, Elizabeth Tudor looked every inch the royal personage as she swept by the others.
    "Your Majesty!"  Each man and woman she passed was cautious to show the utmost deference.
    The Queen enjoyed perennial adulation; in truth she insatiably savored it, surrounding herself with handsome men who vied with each other to be her favorite.  Thus the position of queen's favorite was often a tenuous one, for Elizabeth was quick to anger and glaringly surly when crossed.  Was it any wonder then that Nicholas Leighton felt the prick of apprehension as he followed the tall, thin, red-haired monarch into the hall?  She had berated him because of Morgana and he could not risk angering her again. 
    The q ueen's procession passed through the line of groveling courtiers, reminding him anew of the perilous position he found himself in, all because Elizabeth had looked upon him with a favorable eye.  The court was filled with ambition, jealousy and intrigue, and even now he could feel eyes appraising him, wondering what must be done to send this latest favorite toppling from his lofty perch.  Well, he would fool them, he thought.  He would not give these vultures reason to rejoice.  He was ever Her Majesty's faithful subject.  He would not fall from grace!  The climb had been too arduous for him to slip now.
    It seemed to be a never-ending march past doublets and gowns , but at last Elizabeth reached the far side of the room and seated herself gracefully upon her high-backed chair despite the hindrance of the wheeled farthingale beneath her gown.  Motioning to the place beside her, she said but one word, "Nicholas!" 
    The cloud of momentary disfavor had been lifted and Nicholas once again enjoyed the sunshine of Elizabeth's attentions.  How like the Queen , he thought.  She often lost her temper but soon regained control of herself and replaced frowns with smiles.
    "I am honored, your Majesty," he murmured, and he was.  Nor did the honor go unnoticed by those assembled , he noted. 
    But , the taste of victory was as bitter as ashes in Nicholas's mouth.  There was another whose company he sought, but being by Elizabeth’s side would keep him from seeking Morgana out.  Still, one could not say no to a queen, especially after the anger she had openly displayed only a few moments ago toward the woman