Kathryn Kramer Read Free Page A

she considered her utmost rival.  Nicholas reminded himself again and again that he must be wary despite his desires.
    "I can still bedazzle them even after all these years as queen, Nicholas," Elizabeth stated proudly.               
    Quickly his eyes appraised her,  and he thought how she looked undeniably awesome dressed in all her finery.  She seemed at that moment to personify the glory of England.  Though she was in her sixties, her face sprinkled with wrinkles, the bloom of her skin long since gone, he could still see a hint of the woman she had been in her youth--Gloriana.
    Eli zabeth read her young gallant's thoughts as his eyes swept over her, and she wished with all her heart that she were that younger woman again.  She was old and knew it well, though she buffered the truth by pretending.  If just for a little while she could fulfill her dreams by sitting at this handsome young man's side, then she would be content and could make believe that she was beautiful once again.               
    "Ah, Nicholas," she sighed, wondering what might have passed between them if she were still in the bloom of her years.
    Brushing wistfully at her ruff, her gaze swept over him with the keen eye of a connoisseur. Nicholas Leighton was just the kind of man she was always drawn to. He was tall, six feet in height with a strong, well-muscled body that bespoke of a man used to exercise.  His wine-colored doublet and trunk hose emphasized the strength of his frame, his oyster-hued nether hosen clung tightly to his well-formed legs.  The stark white of his ruff contrasted sharply with the blue black of his hair, hair that was thick and had just a hint of natural curl.  As was the fashion, Nicholas Leighton wore a mustache and a small light beard, but even this facial covering could not hide the chiseled perfection of his face nor the strong chin which told the queen that this was a man who was not easily bested.
    Nicholas was the antithesis of her other curr ent favorite, Owen Stafford, who was as fair as Nicholas was dark..  They were a study in contrasts in temperament as well, as different as day from night, the sun from the moon, the light from the darkness.  Nicholas was a bold man, an adventurer who relished action. Owen Stafford was a courtier who was more prone to wield a pen than a sword.  Right from the first Stafford had been jealous of Leighton's manliness and bravado, and it had made for a very amusing game.   Even now Elizabeth could see Stafford's eyes flashing fire at his opponent, and her mouth curved up in a smile, cherishing the rivalry.  It made her feel omnipotent, furthered her longing to be desired.  To fuel the competition between two handsome gallants, Elizabeth gestured to the golden-haired Lord Stafford.
    "Come closer....."
    "Yes, Your Majesty."
    Nicholas watched as the haughty, lithe-framed, elegantly dressed nobleman hastened to the Queen's side as soon as he was beckoned, sweeping low in a graceful bow.  For just a moment he felt a prick to his self-esteem, felt threatened by the gloating smile upon his rival's lips.  How he loathed the man.  His dislike of the vain, arrogant popinjay was intense and all for good reason.  From the moment Nicholas had set foot in Elizabeth's court, Owen Stafford had made it obvious that he was to be an enemy.  He had babbled vicious rumors, made Nicholas the butt of a hundred jests, and in all ways tried to have Nicholas banished from court.  Only by his intellect and a reasonable measure of good luck had Nicholas survived. Now Nicholas was seated on the Queen's right side while Owen Stafford took a position on her left. 
    "I believe your Majesty will be pleased by my litt le masque," Nicholas heard Stafford say.  As Nicholas turned his gaze to Stafford, the smile upon the blonde lord's lips gave him sudden cause for alarm.  Why was he grinning like the cat that ate the sparrow?  What mischief had been planned? 
    "I hope