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LENGTH: Epic Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy/Carnal

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2006
ISBN 1-58608-858-0
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"Tell me, what do you want from me Lord Clare." Sauda stood her ground, preparing to do battle for the sake of her heart.

"Everything and more." Ethan pressed his body against hers, refusing to accept defeat. "Do you think you can overcome me, dark maiden?"

The proposal intrigued her. "Unsheathe your sword, milord."

Sauda Mauri and Ethan Clare find themselves thrown together on a mission to halt the Knights of Darkness from terrorizing Queen Elizabeth's royal subjects. During their search for the leader of the marauders, they fall into a forbidden and passionate love affair, igniting a chain of perilous events...hurtling them into the path of a madman.…

THE LORD AND THE SCORPION

By

Shiree McCarver

© copyright March 2006, Shiree McCarver
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright March 2006
ISBN 1-58608-858-0
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

PROLOGUE

June 1578

Richmond Palace, Surrey England

"Walsingham, soon the Court will be buzzing with activities. All the lords and their ladies will be arriving at Hampton Court for my birthday celebration!" Queen Elizabeth suppressed a childish giggle. She loved celebrating her birthdays as well as watching all her suitors try to surpass one another with their gifts to her.

"Remember the year those two piglets were given to you?" Sir Francis Walsingham chuckled at the happy memory.

"Aye. I tied ribbons heavy with rings from my fingers around their necks and declared whoever could catch them, won the rings! It was so entertaining watching all those richly clothed royals, rolling about the floor."

"Aye it was a sight indeed." Sir Francis agreed. They continued to walk in companionable silence.

Queen Elizabeth's step slowed as she pondered and continued.

"Lord Ethan Clare is betrothed to one of my ladies-in-waiting, Lizabetha my god-daughter. The Clare citizens have been most loyal and profitable people of England."

"Aye, Your Grace, may I add Lord Ethan is also a superb captain of the sea." Sir Walsingham offered with a gleam of admiration in his gray eyes. "As you are aware, the young man has helped us from time to time on his foreign journeys and of late with some most important security information."

Elizabeth walked over to the seat by the window of her private salon. With quiet poise, she settled onto the deep red cushion, arranging her skirts about her.

"I took note of him because he is a wealthy man by his own right and add this to the wealth of his father he is a most excellent match." Elizabeth motioned him to take a seat.

"Indeed he is, Your Grace."

"Now attend me to the more grave matters Walsingham, such as the latest news on this silent tyranny that hovers over my pending celebrations."

Walsingham felt deep admiration and fondness for the woman before him. It was his duty as Secretary of State to assure her safety and he took his duties seriously. However, this matter had begun to age him in an expeditious manner.

"Well, Walsingham," Elizabeth voiced louder, patience not being her strongest virtue. "So what say you of this new commerce of hooded men dressed in black armor kidnapping and holding members of my court for ransom?" She leaned toward him, her eyes cold. "Who would dare be so bold?"

The tensing of his jaw betrayed his frustrations. "Your Majesty, we have found nigh all, except the one who started this subversion. He remains elusive and one step ahead. Not even the men who cohorts with him claim to know him."

A probing query came into her eyes. "Any of these cohorts members of my court?"

"Indeed, there are members of the royal court involved. They are using the ill gains to acquire foreign supporters to aid in removing Mary, Queen of Scot from your prison and placing her Catholic presence in your place of power."

Elizabeth leaned back, suppressing a sigh. Unspoken pain was alive and flaming in her eyes.

"I grow weary of this constant state of unrest," she supposed matter-of-factly.

"Heed my words. Mary of Scotland should lose her head once and for all." Sir Walsingham commented as if the answer was obvious.

Raising finely painted arched eyebrows, she protested.

"I do not wish to put my cousin Mary Stuart of Scotland's head on the block. She is a guest not a prisoner. It takes a strong will and great sacrifice for a woman to run a country."

"However, Your Majesty--"

"Sir Francis Walsingham, if you wish to introduce this subject with me once again, I pray you have conclusive evidence of her part in these reprehensible plots," she demanded in a penetrating voice.

"I will, one day, bring you what you need, Your Majesty." He bowed his dark head with proper regard.

"And on that day I shall do what must be done for the good of England," her eyes flashed imperiously. Elizabeth flicked her fan open and began to slowly fan herself.

The piquant scent of pungent roses wafted in the stilted air, yet Sir Francis Walsingham would not be so ill kept in manners to comment on the aging queen's hygiene, but there was hope with the celebration of her birth nearing the periodical bath would come hence.

"So what shall we do about these wayward lords who commit treason?"

Stroking his well-groomed bearded chin, he chose his words carefully. "I thought it not wise to arrest them and go through public trials. We are speaking mostly of young sons of influential loyal families. So it would be difficult to get full cooperation of the Privy Council."

She paused in fanning.

Thank God.

"So, they are free to continue kidnapping, plotting and causing fear amongst my dominion."

"I believed if we made this outcry public and send them to the block, it would create even more martyrs for the Catholic people who support them," he waited to discern her train of thought.

Once more, her fanning began again earnestly.

God please, have mercy on me.

Her tiny cream-colored silk-covered heel tapped nervously against the polished floor. "Your suggestion sir and I beg you be quick about it."

Moreover, I beg you, to stop fanning.

Sir Walsingham cleared his throat and blotted his face with the perfumed handkerchief that was pinned in the wrist of his doublet.

"I have already taken leave to deal with the matter discreetly and quietly."

"Are you saying what I think you are saying?"

"It's the only way, I most assure you." Walsingham stated, his eyes flashed a familiar display of impatience.

"My good man, it is not your assurances I need. Be advised, the only way, is the way of my choosing, not yours."

"My most humble apologies, Your Grace," he once again bowed his head penitently.

Elizabeth watched him with a critical squint trying to decide if she should continue to reprimand him for not speaking to her first. Instead, she decided to ponder the essentials. These young royals seem bolder than the rest. They were foolish to think they could accomplish what many had tried over the years.

"Walsingham, if only young heads take example of the ancient," she let out a long, audible breath.

"Your Grace, I did as I saw suitable. Your welfare is my only concern and, for the good of England, I would die!"

His voice was passionate and it excited her more than the flesh of a man ever could.

"Oh, Walsingham, they have brought this anarchy upon themselves."

"Aye, Your Majesty."

"Unbridled persons whose mouths are never snuffled by the rider will rashly continue to ride." Elizabeth announced before turning the full impact of her shrewd gaze on Sir Walsingham. "So tell me does the Moor woman still watch over your daughter, Frances?"

"Aye, Your Grace and she will service as needed for the freedom we allowed her."

She remained motionless for a moment her thoughts scampered vaguely around before she made her decision.

"Continue to ascend your dark hand of justice and heed from this day on I know nothing of what you do." She conceded.

Walsingham stared at her face full of strength, shining with a steadfast and serene peace.

"Of course, Your Grace."

Requisite to his duties, he stood gazing at her ivory painted face with blood red, bow-shaped lips pursed in deep thought. The wig she chose today was crimson. He knew her well enough to know she had more to say.

"Walsingham?"

"Aye, Your Grace?"

"Is Captain Clare on the list?

"Of course not, Your Majesty. He is one few I know I can trust."

"Trust no one!" She slapped her fan shut on her regal silk cream-colored taffeta gown. Long illustrious pearls gently tossed together from the gentle breeze of her movements.

"Trust and love got several of my father's wives head on the block," she reminded. "Thus England is my lover and I am England, thus I trust only myself."

"As it should be, Your Grace. I assure you if for some reason the young Clare or any member of his family name arises to the list, I will take care of it discreetly," he vowed as he captured her gloved hand and gently touched it to his lips ever so thankful she wore perfumed gloves.

"Also, Walsingham, make sure you seize the purses of all the young lords who commit treason against me, " she reminded.

"You are most wise, Your Grace." Walsingham bowed with flourish, his hand over his heart. "Thus, to do so would mean visibly bringing their crimes to light upon the remaining citizens of the Privy Council and as you have agreed the less you know of this matter, the better."

"So not only do the thieves' purses become full by their treachery, you are saying my hands are bound from seizing it back?" Elizabeth arched a finely painted brow.

"Unfortunate news indeed." Sir Francis pursed his lips awaiting the possible royal temper tantrum to follow.

"Walsingham, I want you to make sure this situation is in hand, and I mean soon." She commanded and to his relief no tantrums followed.

"Of course, Your Majesty." He went down gallantly on his knee touching his forehead to her gloved hand before standing and gracefully backed out the room.

CHAPTER ONE

To everything, there is a season.

A time for every purpose under heaven.

1 John 4:18

Late August 1578

Hampton Court, Surrey England

Queen Elizabeth's birthday was September 7, and Hampton Court was a throng of activity, preparing for the continuous stream of royal and elite guests from all regions. Allies and enemies called armistice as a show of respect and hopefully, future political favors.

It was a beautiful summer day; lines of elegant coaches adorned with family colors and insignia clattered and threaded along both major roadways and down narrow tracks that led through a large gateway with imposing wrought iron gates.

On up the driveway they traveled past lush green lawns, cloistered trees and acres of gardens. The aromatic perfume from thousands of multihued flowers floated on the breeze tantalizing the crowd's already hyperactive senses.

Lord Ethan Clare and his childhood friend Sir Lucian Gilbert rode patiently in their hired coach.

"Each year it becomes more like a spectacle. I wished I stayed out to sea till all this was over," Ethan spoke freely about what he was thinking. It was easy to do so with Lucian; they told each other everything.

Lucian gave him a sidelong glance of utter disbelief.

"How can you possibly say such? Do you not get to see the lovely Lady Lizabetha during your stay at Hampton Court?"

"That is another thing which galls me to no end!" sudden anger lit Ethan's bluish-green eyes. "I hardly know her, Lucian, yet I have been betrothed to her since she was thirteen."

"It's a worthy match. She has grown in to a fine beauty of seventeen with golden hair to match your own. She has the bluest of blood in her veins," Lucian remarked, his dark eyebrows arched mischievously. "You are to marry in the spring so take this time to get to know her … better, if you know what I mean."

Ethan's mouth dipped into an even deeper frown.

"I do not befoul the innocent. Beside I am nine and twenty, Lucian, and have no desire to marry again." He leaned back in the black leather seat and closed his eyes with a deep sigh.

Time passed in companionable silence while each man rocked gently to and fro from the motion of the coach. It was Ethan to break the silence once more.

"They should have betrothed her to my younger brother, Thomas. I lost one wife to childbirth. What if Lizabetha gets with child and I have to go through that nightmare again? I can't hazard another loss of child and mother."

Leaning forward in his seat Lucian touched his friend's hand in silent understanding. He remembered Ethan's pain. Ethan and his first wife were young and fortunate to have administered a love match that had the approval of all.

Now, with Lizabetha, it would not be so and there wasn't much Lucian could say to change the facts. Of course Ethan had titles to go along with his wealth, which made him a more acceptable match. Still, Queen Elizabeth predestined all men and women of wealth to be her human pawns forced to marry and breed into resilient powers she could call on in times of war. Ethan was one of those pawns and unfortunately his choices were no longer his own.

Their coach came to a halt and both men released deep sighs of relief for they would finally be able to ease their full bladders and stretch out their long legs. A brandy to soothe the day's dust from their tongues would also be most welcomed.

"This heat is unbearable," Lucian complained as he stepped down from the coach, adjusting his pease-porrige-tawny, brownish-green, colored paned slops from the sweating cheeks of his backside. "You know dressing as a gentleman is no easy achievement during this time of year."

Lucian stepped aside for Ethan to step down from the carriage as he continued to straiten his attire. The matching garters on his knitted silk hosen had nearly slid to his ankles and he figured he looked very foolish as he bent to tug them in place, but what was one to do at times such as this? He knocked the dust from his pleated tall hat with emerald brooch trim and two white ostrich feathers and placed it on his head to rest in a jaunty tilt.

Ethan stood by staring at Lucian in amazement. "I don't see how you do it. I would go mad if I had to worry with that hat and those garters." Ethan's mouth quirked with humor as he touched his forehead slightly in a mock salute. "You have my utmost admiration, my friend; though, I prefer my garters on a pair of well-formed feminine legs. Preferably thick of thighs."

"You only wish you could look so pleasing, my friend." Lucian rolled his eyes.

"And I bet on days like this you wished you hadn't taken the road of fashionable apple-john," Ethan said mockingly.

"Go to hell." Lucian smiled politely and punched Ethan playfully in the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards.

"Ouch, you idle-headed idiot! It's hot, crowed, and I don't need you nearly ripping my clothes off!" The shrill cry came from a woman as she fought to keep her balance.

Ethan turned to see a dark-skinned woman of medium stature tugging at the silken red train of the foreign garb she wore and, to his amazement, his cock hardened.

"Well?" Sauda looked up at Ethan--the golden giant of a man, as if he were dimwitted. She boldly scrutinized his face, as he seemed to be doing hers. From his blond hair to the laugh lines bracketing his eyes, over his square, indomitable clean-shaven jaw with its deeply cleft chin, down his muscular body, all the way to his dust-covered leather boots with spur straps.

She gazed back up into his greenish blue eyes and placed her fist on her hips looking as if she was ready to knock him on his ass.

He held her gaze in silent amusement.

"I am waiting." Sauda muttered, her patience growing thin.

"Waiting," he repeated thinking he indeed sounded like an idiot. Silently he cursed himself for acting so dense. "Forgive me. I apologize for bumping into you milady." Ethan inclined his head

Sauda rolled her eyes, wondering how anyone who looked this good could not have a smidgen of sense. "I'm not looking for your apology, milord; I am looking for you to move your oversized foot from the train of my skirt."

Ethan looked down, saw he indeed had her trapped, his face flushed, and he hurriedly removed his foot. She rushed away without another word or looking back. For some reason he felt disappointed by her rebuff.

"My friend, what or who are you staring at?" Lucian sidled up next to Ethan looking into the crowd of people--yet not seeing anyone in particular.

"Huh?" Ethan mumbled trying to not lose the woman in the throng of people. "Nothing I … I stumbled into a Moor woman."

"Here? A Moor's woman you say." Lucian dark eyebrows lifted in question. "Where? I don't see her."

"That's because I lost her while conversing with you," Ethan scowled.

"Don't get your hosen in your crack," Lucian chuckled noting it had been some time since his best friend had taken a genuine interest in any woman since what happened to him five years ago. "You got her name, so she should be easy to find once we get in the palace, probably some servant or one of the queen's pet entertainers for her birthday."

Ethan scowl deepened as Lucian continued chattering. At this moment he felt like an idiot. I didn't ask her name! He had her trapped and he should have questioned her before he set her free.

Seeing the look on Ethan's face, Lucian halted abruptly. This was no big feat seeing how the crowd only allowed them to move so far with each step before the lines stopped moving.

"Ethan, you did get her name." Lucian let out a long, audible breath. "Tell me you got a name, so you won't have me searching for a nameless Moor wench the entire time we are here."

"Lucian…."

The underlying tone in his voice spoke volumes to Lucian and he groaned and held up his hand. "I will say this once … I have ladies at court that are in dire need of my … my attention.…"

Ethan snorted and rolled his eyes.

Lucian continued. "I do not have time to aid you in looking for this woman. Besides it is unseemly for you, the son of an earl, to dally with a Moor."

Ethan's eyes darkened dangerously. "I grow weary of being reminded of my station in life every time I choose to be myself."

"Well, obviously you need your friends and family to remind you when you have no problems risking all. Like now, for instance, you are already obsessing over this woman, knowing how important this visit is for your family, seeing how the banners will be posted for your spring wedding to Lizabetha."

Ethan ran a hand through his hair with building frustration. It wasn't the first time he'd heard this from Lucian. How could he disagree? Since his ordeal in that Turkish prison, he was no longer the same man. He longed for freedom and being under his parents' dominating hands left him no room to breathe. Having his best friend Lucian on their side only irritated him more so he lashed out in anger.

"It's easy for you to say. You have been free to pursue everything you'd wished in your life. No one has mapped out your every movement before you could walk," Ethan ranted in hushed tones as they began to gain curious glances.

"So I don't need my best friend doing the same. What I don't understand is you have been reared by an uncle who makes his living from peddling flesh and you do not know who your real father is … so who are you to judge me?"

As soon as Ethan brought up Lucian's family situation, he regretted it. He had no right to take out his frustrations on his friend by reminding him of his own painful situation.

"I apologize, Lucian. I had no right…."

"Nay," Lucian picked at unseen lint from his sleeve refusing to allow the hurt to show on his face. "You have every right because, unlike me, you were born with all the trappings of one entitled and that gives you the right to speak to me like the orphaned bastard I am."

The silken thread of warning in Lucian's voice let Ethan know that he had indeed overstepped.

"Forgive me. I know you don't know of your past, so who can say if that is a true statement since we have yet to find your mother." Ethan stated soothingly.

"It also doesn't change the fact that your mother's father was well respected and so are your other uncles, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, and his brothers Walter and Carew Raleigh who are even now exploring the Americas for Queen Elizabeth." Ethan touched Lucian's arm.

"Leave it to my mother to ship me off to the black sheep uncle of the family," Lucian chuckled.

"She sent you to your grandfather who died and left you to the only uncle that was wealthy enough to make sure you got an education and wouldn't squander your trust on his own dreams before you were old enough to inherit."

Lucian laughed aloud

"True. My uncles would happily kiss all of the queen's men codpieces, for ships. Aye, they would have used my money and called it an investment in future shares of worldwide explorations. As if some heathenish wild country would be worth something some day."

Ethan smiled, "Don't be too hasty. Every country is wild until it's tamed. I, too, have made such investments, towards an island not too far from hence your uncles explore. I hope to someday cultivate it into a home for my family and me."

"You truly are mad. What makes you think Lady Lizabetha will allow you to move her to some island and away from court? It will be eventful enough traveling between England and your marriage properties in France. I don't know when you will find the time, my friend."

"I will get back there eventually even if I have to request myself to be buried upon its grounds," Ethan vowed.

"Of course you will," Lucian appeased with a smiled as he placed a companionable arm around Ethan's shoulder. "Come let us find this woman of yours and rejoice that you are finally getting the stiffness back in your fizzled codpiece."

"I don't think they heard you across the courtyard you goatish base-court lout," Ethan said tersely.

"Takes one to know one," Lucian chuckled--all the anger between them forgotten.