I did what I thought best to protect my family from the shame of hearing from others what I had become.’
‘But why did you…?’ She searched his face for the truth. ‘Why were you ever a part of that crew, Justin? You have told me that you were shanghaied and something of the mutiny, but not why you were about to board a ship in the first place?’
‘I was leaving England under a cloud of suspicion. Queen Mary had sent to arrest me for treason, though I was not guilty. My father thought I should spend time with my cousin in France, but on the waterfront I was knocked on the head from behind as I fought other ruffians. When I regained my senses we were at sea and I was forced to serve behind the mast—but not until I had been given more than fifty lashes to bring me into line. Had it not been for Higgins I should probably have died after the beating. I survived and the crew came to respect me. When a young lad was beaten near to death the crew would not go on with Captain Smythe. I was asked to join the mutiny. Had I refused, they would probably have marooned the officers on a deserted island or simply hanged us. I decided that I would lead them and in that way I saved the lives of Captain Smythe and his officers.’
‘So you never wished for a life at sea?’ Maribel arched her fine brows. ‘I am glad you have told me this, Justin—but you make a bold pirate.’
‘I did what I had to do.’
‘If you had not, we should not have met. I should now be wed to Lord Roberts, or, worse, I could have been his cousin’s whore.’ Maribel shuddered. ‘I should prefer to lie in my grave than submit to either man.’ She reached out to touch his hand. ‘I love you, Justin. Please remember that I would rather wed a pirate than live without you as a fine lady.’
Justin gazed down at her, his eyes seeming to search her face. ‘You must not be anxious for my sake. When we landed in England I asked questions of men on the waterfront and I learned that Elizabeth is now England’s queen. I shall speak to my father and then ride to London to beg an audience with her Majesty.’
‘Will she grant it?’
‘I have every hope that she will.’ He reached out to touch her face. ‘Do not fear for me, my love. I shall return to you and all will be well.’
‘I shall pray that it is so.’ Tears misted her eyes as he helped her to remount. He had reassured her on many counts, but her apprehension grew as they neared their journey’s end.
The house of Sir Henry Fildene sat just above the cliffs some thirty-odd miles on the coast road from Dover. It was a large old house, built of stone in the last century with an undercroft, small-paned windows and a sloping thatched roof. The approach was across an expanse of grass and rock, for it faced square to the ocean and a sandy cove set at the foot of steep cliffs. The house looked slightly forbidding and Maribel guessed that it had once been a fortress or look-out station in case of attack from the sea. In the event of a force of ships sent to invade England, a beacon would be lit on these cliffs, where it could clearly be seen for miles around. Other beacons would then be lit so that the news could swiftly be passed to London.
A stout wall surrounded the house, but at the approach from the land side there was a large iron gate, a moat and a wooden drawbridge, which was down, as if the occupants were expecting visitors. The small party of Justin, Higgins, Anna and Maribel rode over the bridge, their horses’ hooves clattering on the thick boards.
‘I believe we are expected,’ Justin said as he saw a group of men and women gathered in the courtyard. He smiled at her. ‘Have courage, Madonna.’
Maribel felt as if her face were frozen though the day was mild enough. She attempted a smile as he dismounted and came to lift her down, but found that she was trembling with nerves.
‘Remember you are a lady and my betrothed.’
Maribel’s head went up at the reminder. A tall man with greying hair and a lined face moved towards them. He stared at her for a moment and then inclined his head.
‘You are Marguerite’s daughter. I can see her in you. Indeed, you are very like your mother, my child.’
‘Thank you. Forgive me, I do not know you.’
‘How should you?’ He held out his hand to her. ‘I am your Uncle Henry. My sister and I were close when we were young, but my father made a match for her with Don Miguel Sabatini and I lost contact with her. I wrote to her often, but she replied only a few times before she died—and your father wrote only twice to tell me of your birth and her death. I was grieved that she died so young. I would have come to visit, but duty kept me here. My father died and I was forced to repair our fortunes before thinking of my own wishes—but I thought of you often and I am so pleased that you have chosen to come to us until you marry.’ His steady gaze went to Justin’s face. ‘Captain Devere. I believe I once met your father, sir. It was years ago, but he spoke then of his son as being a fine young man.’
‘I thank you for your welcome, Sir Henry. Perhaps we may talk again later? I am hoping that you will take my lady into your home while I perform some necessary duties. I shall return for her as soon as I have visited the court.’
‘You wish to pay your respects to the new Queen.’ Sir Henry nodded. If he wondered why Justin did not wish to take his betrothed with him, he did not ask. ‘Please leave your horses to my grooms, sir. My wife is most anxious to greet Maribel. We have sons, but no daughters, and she hath always wished for one.’ His gaze returned to Maribel. ‘Come and meet Lady Fildene—she is anxious to welcome you to her home.’
Maribel’s nerves abated a little as she moved with him to meet the rather small, plump lady waiting to greet her. Lady Fildene smiled and embraced her warmly, clasping her to her ample bosom.
‘How beautiful you are, my dearest child. We are so glad to have you with us if only for a time. I know my husband wrote to your father asking that you might come to us for a while, but he received no answer to his letters.’
‘My father was not always kind, ma’am,’ Maribel said. ‘I think his marriage to my mother was not as happy as it might have been—for either of them.’
‘Henry told me that she did not wish to wed him,’ the lady said, placing a hand on Maribel’s arm and drawing her into the entrance hall of what was clearly a grand house. The ceilings were high; the walls were of stone, but covered with rich tapestries that gave the rooms a warmth and colour not always seen in older homes. ‘Your maid will be shown to your apartments, my dear. Everything is being prepared, though we had little notice of your coming.’
‘I think it was not possible to let you know sooner,’ Maribel told her. She was very conscious of the fact that it had been some time since she had left her home in Spain, and she was most certainly not the same girl. Her skin was no longer the pale olive it had been when she protected it by staying out of the midday sun. On the island she had become careless, allowing her skin to be kissed by the sun to a pale gold, a little freckling appearing across her nose. She was wearing gloves, but she knew her hands had not yet become as soft and smooth as they had once been. ‘I am sorry to be a trouble to you.’
‘You could never be a trouble to us, dearest girl. We are delighted to have you with us, even if only for a short time.’
‘I am happy to be here,’ Maribel replied, her fears falling away as she saw the genuine welcome in the lady’s eyes. ‘I shall enjoy getting to know my mother’s family.’
‘My sons Beavis and William are married and living in London,’ Lady Fildene said. ‘However, my
