Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (17 page)

“Well met, now spill.” I lifted my arms for her to begin dressing me and thought she might make me wait long insufferable minutes—nearly thirty of them—before she would tell me what she knew.

“He has arrived with a sweet little present for you.”
Mrs. Helen’s voice was muffled with all the pins she held between her lips, as she tucked them each in place, connecting my sleeves to my bodice.

“A present?”

“I shan’t tell you what, but you will know that Lord Edward holds you in high regard—and that he knows your mind well.”

“What ever did I do to deserve a present?” Was it a
gift of apology for our last encounter?

“
I know not, love, but it is obvious he has…feelings for you.”

“Feelings,” I muttered, rolling the idea of it around in my mind. So I had not been completely on my own in coming to that wondrous conclusion.

I looked over my shoulder at Mrs. Helen’s progress and hurried her along as she finished pinning my gown together in the back. She placated me with simple murmurings and started pulling my golden puffed sleeves through the slashes of red.

I ran my hand over the
silken threads on my stomacher and twisted from right to left to watch the garnets glitter along the center of each golden whirl. The rust-red skirt opened to reveal the satiny gold kirtle, also dimpled with garnets, a gift from Her Majesty. Mrs. Helen slipped red velvet shoes upon my feet and bade me sit so she could fuss with my hair.

As she stroked a brush through my hair, I shifted uncomfortably.

“Almost finished, my lady,” she muttered softly as she placed my cloth of gold hood trimmed with pearls and lace upon my head. Next came jewelry, of which I wore relatively little—a garnet-studded gilded velvet choker and matching roses in my ears, the tips of the petals made with tiny garnets. “There now, you are a vision of beauty.”

I alighted from the bench, twirled once in a circle, and then snapping my fingers for Arabel and
Rex to follow, made my way down the stone stairs to the great hall. The dogs ran ahead, ostensibly to seek relief in the courtyard and then to raid Cook’s kitchen for scraps.

Disappointment flooded me as I entered the well-lit great hall. Summer sunlight filtered through the windows, creating shafts of bright light—so brilliant in fact
that tiny sparkles of dust danced within the beams. But it wasn’t the luminescent vision that disenchanted me—it was that I would not be alone with Ned.

The
duchess stood beside her son, as did Jane, Lady Katherine and…Master William Cecil?

Excitement at seeing my
step-grandmother superseded my disappointment in a way, but I blanched at the last guest, not having expected him at all. Was he here to take me back to court? Had Mrs. Helen been misleading me? It was not like her to pull such trickery. Mayhap she was irritated that I chose to sleep in and thought the only way to get me out of bed was to offer up a surprise?

“’Tis good of you to join us, Kat,” Lady Katherine said familiarly, despite the company.

I was glad to see her as well and worried over her visage. Her skin was pale, beneath her eyes purple, and the bones of her face jutted out as if she
’d lost much weight recently. I was surprised to see her—although her groomsman husband was not in attendance. They had fled England for a time to Poland. What had brought her back? Was it a secret? Mary would certainly persecute her for returning. The queen burned anyone with an inclination to Protestantism. What suffering did Katherine undergo to appear so haggard? Did she grieve much at the remembrance of her sons? It was nearly the seventh anniversary of their deaths. There was so much I wished to speak with her about.

I curtsied to the group and mumbled an apology, citing a headache as the cause of my tardiness. Ned
’s eyes twinkled as I met his gaze, and a smile tugged at my mouth.

Lady Anne glanced between Ned and
me, and then stepped into my line of sight. “I believe you are familiar with Master Cecil?”

“Yes, of course.
’Tis a pleasure to see you at Hanworth, Master Cecil.”

“Always a delight, my lady,” he said, stroking his long
, thin beard. He always gave the appearance of seeing through to your very soul, of taking each thought in your mind and dissecting it. I suppose that was why he was such a good ally for the queen to have on her side. But I also knew him to be a man in Princess Elizabeth’s circle as well—indeed, he was her surveyor of estates, and so much more. It was well known that Cecil was a spy.

How many sides did the man work
for? And what was he doing here?

“You have missed morning
Mass, Lady Katherine. We could not wait,” Lady Anne said, almost accusingly.

My
eyes widened, and I panicked with Sir William standing there. Would he report to the queen that I had shirked my duties as a good Catholic woman of her court?

“Indeed, I was not well enough to attend this morning, but I did say my prayers upon my
prie-dieu
.” Having my own small altar in my chamber was my saving grace…else I’d have been seen as completely without morals.

Lady Anne smiled, as if she had hope
d I would pass the test. The woman caused me such confusion. I could not discern between moments whether she genuinely liked me or despised me altogether.

“Come the
n, let us break our fast. Cook was anticipating your arrival, Sir William, and has prepared the honey cakes you so enjoy.”

Master
Cecil chuckled and offered Lady Anne his arm. Ned offered his left arm to me and his right to Lady Katherine.

“Ladies, I would be honored to escort you to the table.”

“And we gladly accept, my lord,” said Lady Katherine.

I slipped my arm through Ned
’s, resting my hand upon the inside of his elbow, and felt the heat of his body seep through my fingertips, up my arm and into my chest.

“Oh, but I nearly forgot. We shall have one more companion for the morning meal,” Ned said with a smile in my direction.

I raised a brow in confusion. Whoever could he mean?

A servant stepped from a darkened corner—perhaps the only darkened corner—with a small
, squirming bundle in his arms.

My heart
leaped as I took in the sight of the white pup, thin of back, sharp of snout, gorgeous blue eyes, and curling black lashes. “Oh, he is darling! A white greyhound. How gorgeous! What have you named him?” I gushed, reaching out my arms and taking the warm body of the puppy into them, holding him close to my chest and burying my nose against his soft neck. He smelled so sweet, so innocent.

“I have not named him, my lady,” Ned said softly. He walked Lady Katherine to the table and pulled
out her chair for her, waiting for her to sit before he returned to me.

“Why ever not?”
I turned to face Lady Anne, who looked on us wistfully. I wish I could have read her mind. But I feared I would never understand. She had a multifaceted brain, careful compartments like cabinets and filing drawers filled to the brim with knowledge I did not think—no, I
knew
—I would never be able to touch.

“He is not mine to name.”

My head swiveled back to Ned, excitement trilling in my veins. “For me?” I nuzzled the pup’s ears with my nose. “Ned… He is so sweet.”

“He is yours, my lady. Think of him as a peace offering.” Ned
’s fingers brushed over the silky soft coat of the puppy’s back, and in so doing, stroked my hand as well.

I closed my eyes for a brief second, taking in this perfectly splendid moment in time.

“I shall name him Beau. For he is perfectly sweet, just like you, my lord.”

From
the corner of my eye, I saw both duchesses nod and Cecil smile. I was glad for their approval and felt that part of my plans to gain their support for a union between Ned and me had been won. My eyes connected with Ned’s, faces only a breath away. I was arrested by his gaze. A passion fired like I’d never experienced before. No speech nor action came to me, but my thoughts were a whirl of secret stolen moments yet to come. All I could do was drink in his face and the vibrant sensations that washed over me. I wished the room would disappear, and it could be just us. My lips burned to feel his on mine.

His speech broke the momentary silent spell, but his whispered words only warmed me more.
“Perhaps I should find him a mate and name her Kat, so that we might both have sweetness by our sides.”

I nodded, at a loss for words, but let my hand drift over his for a second or two as we stroked the puppy
’s velvet-soft belly.

Chapter
Eight

Which long this Knight and Lady felt,

at home in country soil.

And somewhat of the cares abroad,

that he perforce did taste:

I mean to write so that as truth,

my verses be embraced.

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan
soldier and poet

The air surrounding Hanworth was crisp as I stepped into the dawn the following morning. The sun crested over the hill
, and just beyond that would be the orchard—my destination. Unable to sleep any longer, and the house yet abed, I had responded when the sweet scents and peace of the orchard called to me.

My slippers pressed into the dewy grass of the morning, soaking some of the essence through their thin fabric, chilling my toes. I wrapped my shawl closer around my shoulders and hurried my steps, eager to reach
the orchard without completely ruining my shoes.

Hidden beneath the folds of my shawl was a book I
’d seen in Her Grace’s library and impatiently wanted to read.
Le Morte d’Arthur
. While at court some of the ladies had whispered of the great love story, how tragic it was, and how it moved their hearts. But I’d yet to come across it myself and never before had I cared so much for reading.

But today was different.

My slippers crunched along the gravel path in the garden, and finally at my journey’s end, the orchard opened up before me. I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, and sighed.

Peace stole over me. Something about being outside, being one with nature filled my soul.

“My lady, what brings you here so early in the morning?”

I gasped, jumped
, and my eyes popped open. “Ned, you startled me.” My hands come up to my heart as if they could still the erratic beating by touching it. In so doing, the book fell to the ground, pages fluttering until finally settling.

Ned bent to retrieve it. I swallowed hard. Would he think me shameful for reading such tales or did he take pleasure in Arthurian legends?

“
And there she welcomed him fair, and either halsed other in arms, and so she let put up his horse in the best wise, and then she unarmed him. And so they supped lightly, and went to bed with great joy and pleasaunce; and so in his raging he took no keep of his green wound that King Mark had given him.
” Ned broke out into a smile, his twinkling eyes catching my mortified gaze.

My face had flamed red at the words he
’d read of pleasure. Lovers.

“
Le Morte d’Arthur
. ’Tis a good tale,” he said.

I silently pleaded with my body to stop trembling and licked my lips nervously before speaking. “I have heard.”

“You have not started to read it yet?”

I cleared my throat,
which suddenly felt dry and tight. “Not as yet.”

“Come, let us find a bench
, and I shall enchant you with the tale until it is time for morning Mass.”

How ironic we would read such scandalous tales together—followed by
Mass to cleanse our souls.

Ned held out his arm to me, and I took it reluctantly. It was not at all proper to sit with him alone, with no chaperone. But it was not as if he would ravage me in the orchard. And if he tried to kiss me… I would let him. Oh, dear…
I would definitely have to say a few more Acts of Contrition at Mass.