Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [14]
“Oh yes!” But where to, I could not say. “Tell me about your voyages, Master Ralegh.”
“Twice I sailed for North America with my kinsman Sir Humfrey Gilbert. On last year’s voyage we were unlucky. A contagion swept through my crew and I was forced to turn my ship back. Humfrey continued, but foul weather and mists kept him from making landfall, and on his return, a tempest in the Azores sank his vessel and drowned him.”
“Why do you want to go back, if it is so dangerous?” I asked.
“The promise of riches!” He whispered near my ear, making the skin on my neck tingle. Then he laughed and drew back. “While I was yet a student of the law, one Martin Frobisher sailed northwest in search of a passage to the Indies. He did not find it, but he returned with barrels of black stone said to contain great wealth. Then the refiners could not extract the gold. It is my belief that they stole the riches.”
“Perhaps he was deceived and the rocks did not contain gold,” I suggested.
Ralegh shook his head. “Others have returned with pieces of gold this size.” He made a fist. “The Spanish strike their coins from gold hewed from mountains in the Americas. If they can do it, so can we.” His eyes blazed with passion.
I felt a shiver of excitement. “But don’t the Spanish rule the seas and capture any vessel that crosses their path?”
“My ships have outrun their galleons, boarded them, and brought home prizes,” he boasted. “Her Majesty turns a blind eye to such lawbreaking, and so it flourishes. When Francis Drake returned from sailing around the world, he had nearly a million pounds of booty. Most of it he kept,” he added.
I saw the hunger in his eyes at the thought of such wealth.
“What kind of people did the explorers find?” I asked, my coyness now driven away by curiosity.
“Frobisher brought back some natives called Eskimo. I saw one with these very eyes. In the harbor at Bristol he showed his skills, handling a boat made out of a single hollow tree and spearing ducks as they flew through the air.”
“What did this … Eskimo … look like?” I asked, struggling with the unfamiliar word.
“His face was round with narrow black eyes. He wore a garment of skin and fur down to his feet.”
My eyes followed the downward sweep of Ralegh’s hands, noticing his well-turned legs in their fitted canions and stockings.
“What became of him?”
“He suffered an excess of phlegm in the blood, which gave his skin a sallow hue. He died, like the others.”
“Perhaps he was overcome with grief at being taken from his land, then watching his fellows die,” I said, hearing my voice catch. It was hard to quell that sadness for my father.
Ralegh seemed to read my thoughts. “Your father was a true and courageous servant of the queen,” he said in a low voice. “I did enjoy his company, and I find his daughter even more engaging.”
I blinked and a tear fell onto my sleeve. Ralegh handed me a handkerchief edged in lace. It carried his scent, manly but sweet. I thought of the cloak he had spread at the queen’s feet.
“How attentive you are … to mop the waters that … hinder ladies.” Even as I spoke, I knew that my attempt at wit had failed.
“I miss your meaning, Lady Catherine.”
So I shook out the handkerchief, laid it on the book, and walked my fingers over it. Ralegh threw back his head and laughed. His mirth was like a gust of wind. I tightened my fingers around the handkerchief.
Then I felt his hand cover mine. His palm was hot. He separated my fingers with his own, then drew out the soft folds of cambric between them. I glanced up and his eyes, light brown in hue, held mine. A flush suffused my throat and rose to my face. I shifted my eyes to the pearl gleaming at his ear.
“I didn’t mean to keep it,” I said, releasing the handkerchief.
“But I mean for you to have it,” he said. He began to feed it into my sleeve, beginning at my wrist. His fingers played against the skin of my forearm as the handkerchief disappeared. I was too startled