Nell (12 page)

History
has
a
great
deal
to
report
on
Henry
Tudor
and
the
kind
of
man
he
was,
Jillian explained.
One
thing
historians
agree
on
unanimously
is
that
he
was
a
man
with
a
tremendous
ego.

“What is that?”

Jillian slipped her shoe off and relieved the itch on her heel with her big toe.
It
means
that
he
thinks
very
highly
of
himself
and
wants
others
to
feel
the
same
way.

“I don't see why that would help me.”

Have
you
ever
heard
of
psychology?

Nell shook her head.

Jillian shrugged impatiently.
Never
mind. All you need to know is that there are men and women who study the reasons people behave the way they do. By understanding behavior, we can change it.

“Are you saying that I can change the king's mind, that he won't want me for his mistress?”

Jillian nodded.
It's possible. Just listen
…

Despite the chants she'd recited for the purpose of bringing on a sense of detachment, Nell was desperately afraid. Her hands were blocks of ice, and her glass reflected a face completely leached of color. The intimacies she'd experienced with Donal O'Flaherty had been an awakening, a bonding of body and spirit, a union of the kind she'd always imagined. Sharing Henry Tudor's bed would be something entirely different. She would be fortunate if she made it through the night without losing her dinner.

If it were Thomas instead of Gerald whose life was at stake, or if Gerald were a grown man—but he was not. He was a boy, a boy with a hint of childish sweetness lingering in the bones of his face and in the curve of his smile. She could not stand by and see Gerald harmed.

The king's amused voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you a virgin, Nell?”

“No.”

Henry chuckled, and the entire bed vibrated. “I am glad of it. Deflowering a virgin is more work than a man of my age desires. 'Tis far more pleasurable to sleep with a woman of experience.”

Nell could hardly manage the words. “I am not so very experienced, Henry, but I shall try to please you.”

He patted the empty space beside him. “Come, Nell. Lie beside me, and we shall know each other better.”

She crossed the room and sat down on the bed. Again, the odor of decaying flesh assailed her nostrils. Her stomach churned. Perhaps she would faint, he would have his way with her, and she would feel nothing at all. “Shall I dim the candles, your grace?”

He pulled her down into his shoulder where a hollow should have been. “Henry,” he muttered. “Call me Henry.” Pawing at the laces of her gown, he managed to untie them.

“Henry,” she gasped, closing her eyes against the sight of his passion-flushed face and the feel of his hands heavy against her skin.

“I would see you, Nell.”

The voice came from above her. Through her lashes, she could see him looming over her. Dear God, let it be over soon. What was it that Jillian had told her?

Laugh, Nell.
Jillian's voice penetrated the haze fogging her brain.
Henry's pride is easily hurt. Do as I say and laugh.

Summoning her last reserves, Nell opened her eyes, forced herself to glance at the massive shoulders and sagging belly hovering over her, and laughed contemptuously.

Immediately, his hands stopped their movement. Nell laughed again, and he sat up and frowned. “You are amused, my lady?”

Again, the voice assailed her.
Tell
him
that
he
is
working
so
very
hard. Ask him if he is enjoying himself.

Nell swallowed. She couldn't possibly use those words. He would have her head. “'Tis just that you seem so very urgent, Henry,” she stammered. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Quite,” he said sarcastically. “Shall we return to it?”

“Of course.”

His hand slid up her bare leg. He groaned deep in his throat and lowered his head to her breast.

Laugh
again.

Desperation gave her courage. Nell laughed.

Annoyed, Henry lifted his head. “What is it now, Nell?”

Tell
him
that
you've never had so desperate a lover. Ask him how long he's been celibate.

Nell's eyes danced. That she could say. “I've never had quite so desperate a lover,” she repeated. “Has it been a long time since a woman has shared your bed?”

She felt him wither against her leg. He shifted away from her and crossed his arms behind his head. Her spirits lifted.

“Have you entertained many men, Nell?” he asked casually.

This time, she needed no prompting to play her part. “A few, although none in your—” She swallowed and searched for the words that would suggest without offending. “None in the prime of his life, as you are, Henry.”

“I see.” He was silent for a long time. Then he threw back the covers and pulled on his dressing gown. “It appears that I am tired after all,” he said coldly. “We shall have to postpone our coupling.”

“Of course, your grace.” She sat up and retied the laces of her gown. “Your reputation for virility is unparalleled. Every woman who has shared your bed considers herself most fortunate. I am honored that you chose me. Still”—she looked puzzled—“is it something I've done that has put you off? Perhaps I should ask the Lady Anne if she knows why you couldn't—” She hesitated, apparently searching for a delicate way to describe what had not happened between them.

Arrested, Henry stared at her. Lady Anne Thomlin had been his latest interest. She was also a notorious gossip. He had no desire to have rumors of his impotence spread throughout the court. He tested the waters. “You have learned a great deal in the short time you've spent in my court, Nell.”

She hid a smile. “Women are fond of gossip.”

“Are you prone to gossip, Nell?”

She shook her head. “I am a solitary person. I prefer my own company and have little discourse with other women.”

He sighed. She really was too young for him, little more than a child. “I'm glad to hear it, cousin.”

“May I retire, your majesty?”

Henry nodded and waved her away. She forced herself to walk slowly to the door, closing it softly behind her.

The fire had gone out in her chamber. Nell shivered and bolted the door. Jillian was sitting on the bed, awake. “It's cold,” Nell admonished her. “Why didn't you add more wood to the fire?”

I
didn't notice. I haven't been cold or hot, hungry or tired since I got here.

Nell's warm heart ached. “I'm so sorry, Jilly,” she said softly, walking to the bed to sit beside her. “I wish I could help you.”

What
did
you
call
me?
Jillian's eyes were enormous in her freckled face.

The intensity of her expression puzzled Nell. She frowned. “I believe I called your name.”

You
said
Jilly. No one uses that name anymore. It was my childhood name. Only people who knew me then call me Jilly.

“I don't understand.”

Jillian sat up on her knees on the bed, trembling with excitement.
You
do
remember, Nell, not all of it yet. But it's there, and someday you'll remember.

Nell's eyes softened. “I hope so. But Jilly isn't such a far cry from Jillian. It might have been a natural shortening of your name, a gesture of affection.”

Are
you
feeling
affectionate?

“Yes.” Nell smiled. “You were right. Henry Tudor is a man with an ego.”

Jillian slid off the bed to stretch her legs.
I'm pleased for you, Nell,
she said after taking a turn around the room.
What
will
happen
now?

Nell looked surprised. “I don't know.”

Is
your
brother
out
of
danger?

“For the moment, until Henry's child is born. He won't risk upsetting the queen with another execution. Apparently she has grown fond of Gerald. After that, I don't know.”

Leaning against the mantel, Jillian crossed her arms against her chest.
Would
you
care
for
some
advice?

Nell looked thoughtfully at the leggy girl standing there in her man's breeks and a shirt the color of her eyes. The material was something Nell had never seen or felt before. It was thin and warm and wonderfully soft. Jillian was very attractive despite her shorn head and mannish ways. Thick brown-gold hair curled against her shoulders, framing a high-boned, striking face. Although she was tall for a Geraldine, her lines were slender, almost delicate, and her small waist and full breasts would catch the attention of any man with eyes in his head. Her skin was darker than most women preferred, and dotted with freckles, a testament to long hours spent in the sun. But it was her eyes that revealed her lineage. They were Fitzgerald eyes. Thickly lashed and large, with prominent lids, they shone sage green, sometimes smoky blue, with striking gold lights running through the centers. She looked quite familiar, but then the Fitzgerald bloodline always bred strong. “Your advice has been helpful, Jilly. Tell me what you think I should do.”

You
need
protection
for
yourself
and
your
child. Find someone who can give it to you.

“Do you have someone in mind?”

History
is
fact, Nell. Robert Montgomery will be your husband. Why not accept the inevitable and make the best of it?

Nell's hand moved protectively to her stomach. It was an O'Flaherty that she carried. Donal would not thank her for raising his child a Montgomery. “Have you ever been in love, Jilly?”

The moment passed when Jillian could have denied it. Now she would have to explain.
I
don't think so.
Her hands twisted in her lap.
No. Not really.

Nell laughed. “Tell me about him.”

There
was
never
a
him.
I
was
thirteen
years
old. He was seventeen, the son of my father's kennel keeper. He
— Jillian bit her lip.
He
was
accused
and
most
likely
convicted
of
a
crime
he
didn't commit. I don't really know what happened to him. No one would tell me.

“I'm sorry.”

Jillian looked away.
It
doesn't matter anymore. It was impossible.

Nell sighed. “Aye. A servant lad and the daughter of a noble would be an impossible match.”

Frankie
wasn't a servant
, Jillian said quickly.
He
was
going
to
be
a
veterinarian.

Nell looked puzzled.

It's an animal doctor,
she explained,
and
it
isn't impossible for men and women of different stations to marry.

“If that's so, then why wouldn't they tell you what happened to him?”

Because
of
what
they
thought
he
did.
Jillian rubbed her arms and walked to the window. The world, shrouded in fog without streetlights, was a deep, unrelieved black where the hills and sky blended together.
There's more. My mother was worried about him for a long time. Frankie was Catholic and the Fitzgeralds Protestant. It's a long story, Nell, but between my time and yours, the battle between the two has been one long bloodbath. Ireland is divided now. The North belongs to England and the South, the Republic, is an independent nation. In the North, the majority is Protestant. We own the land and take the jobs. The Catholics are poor and unemployed. It's dreadful, and I'm very ashamed, but those are the facts. Frankie was one of the poor and unemployed. My family never looked beyond that to see his potential. When my brother was killed and Frankie was accused, they never spoke of him again.

Nell nodded. “I see.” She really didn't. She was Protestant, and Donal was Catholic. Her mother had been Catholic, her father turned Protestant by order of the king. As far as Nell could see, the two religions were identical. Everyone did not agree, of course. Many remained loyal to the Church and lost their heads when Henry split with Rome. The Fitzgeralds were God-fearing, but the Church never held great influence over them. Nell wondered what her father, the great Gerald Og, would have made of the strange world to which his descendant belonged. “Religion can be difficult at times.”

Jillian brushed aside her comment.
Religion
no
longer
has
anything
at
all
to
do
with
it. The conflict comes from people like the Fitzgeralds who wish to keep what they have at the expense of people who have nothing at all.

“You sound very bitter.”

I
have
nothing
to
be
bitter
about. I'm one of those who has more of everything she can possibly need.

“Except Frankie Maguire.”

At first the slip didn't register, but when it did, Jillian's eyes blazed with light.
How
did
you
know
his
name?

“You told me.”

Only
his
first
name, only Frankie, not Maguire.

Nell thought. “I'm sure—”

No
, said Jillian, shaking her head emphatically.
You
knew
his
name. It came from you. Somewhere inside you are memories from when you came to me.

“What good are they if I can't remember?”

You
will
, said Jillian.
The
more
we
talk, the more you'll remember.