Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

For
the very first time since I’d met her, Bess proved wrong.

John
disappeared from the Queen’s Presence Chamber. He kept to the King’s chambers
performing his duties as page, but I never saw him. Two days passed. The ladies
gave me wondering looks. Then Anne took notice.

“We
have not seen Lord John in some time, Mistress Shelton.”

I
hid my face as I bowed. “No, madam.”

Anne
sighed. “Perhaps we will invite him to attend us this evening.”

“I-I
do
not think I—that is I am sure the King keeps
him much occupied of late, madam.”

Anne
set her sewing down in her lap. Her scrutiny carved me into tiny indelectable
morsels. I shivered.

“A
shame then,” she said. “His company was a delight. Did you not find it so,
Mariah?”

Mariah
looked up from her perch at Anne’s feet. “No more than Mistress Shelton,
madam.”

Anne
frowned at her then waved me away. I felt myself sinking back into
insignificance with each shaky step away from her.

Joan
waved at me to join she and Bess in the sewing circle. I shuffled to the empty
stool beside Joan. She handed me a shirt and whispered, “Lord John’s name is
still on the
geist
for Progress.
You’ll have two whole months to win him back.”

I
sprang off the stool.

“Mary,
wait!” Joan cried behind me.

I
rushed to the gallery and Madge came out of nowhere, caught my arm and pulled
me aside.

“You’ve
lost him. Why did you do it?”

“I
did nothing,” I said, hoping she couldn’t hear my heart flapping like a pennant
in a strong wind.

Madge
put her face in mine. “You cut him. Purposely. Everyone’s heard the tale.”

“I
did not. He—he lost interest in the game.”

“Then
win him back,” she snapped.

There’s
nothing to win back! I almost shouted.

No
matter how Madge bullied, my action required no explanation. It was part of the
game—the wondering. Most must assume I preferred Weston’s company since I’d
shared it every day since cutting Lord John. In truth, Weston’s attentions set
my teeth on edge. I now saw their artifice too clearly. But the game demanded I
play as if I did not.

On
and on it would go until another gentleman presented himself as a rival.
Til Domesday perhaps.

“Get
back in there,” Madge snapped. “Sit yourself, sew, and for God’s sake, when he
enters the chamber, smile. You look like someone hanged your dog.” She stormed
away from me for the Privy Chamber.

I
laid my head against the wall. I needed more than air. I needed a way to excise
him from my brain and heart. I needed a way to forget. And if I forgot, so
would everyone else.

A
philter must exist for removing love just as there was one for inciting it.
Bess might know of such a thing.

Did
I dare resort to actual witchcraft? How sinful could it be? My purpose was not
to make another love me, but to erase my own memory of love for another. How
could God disapprove that?

Mightily. Witchery is witchery.

“They
say there will be a duel today.”

Just
as on my first day at court, Jane Seymour crept upon me silent as a morning
mist across the river.

“W-what
has that to do with me?” I cringed at giving her proof she’d caught me
unawares.

Seymour’s
eyelids sank tortoise slow. “Why, everything. You’re the cause.”

“Me?
How so?”

“Lord
John de Vere has called out Sir Francis Weston. They meet behind Duke
Humphrey’s Tower at noon,” she murmured. “You should attend, since it is done
for you.”

I
licked my lips thrice before the moisture took.

“I
have naught to do with it, Mistress Seymour. Their quarrel is none of my
affair.” My heart raced, denying it.

Seymour’s
pale eyes flickered. “A waste then,” she sighed. “When the King learns of it he
may only exile them from court…if they’re fortunate.”

“Fortunate?
What is worse than leaving court?”

Seymour
squinted as though she’d caught something in her eye. “Don’t you know? Duelling
at court is forbidden. The penalty is to lose your hand.”

________________

I
had to offer Joan Dyngley a whole silver penny to finish Urian’s walk through
the Privy Garden in her stead. And she would only take it if I admitted it had
to do with Lord John.

“Best
hurry,” she said, tossing my penny in the air and catching it in a tight little
fist. “Weston will make short work of Lord John. He’s the best swordsman at
court,” her coy smile broadened to coarseness, “in bed and out.”

I
jogged Urian through the south gate and up the path to the Duke’s Tower. The
smothering heat and exertion winded me before we’d reached the top. I let Urian
half-drag me the rest of the way.

This is dangerous.

However
the thing fell out, my name would be attached to scandal. But being here made
me an actual party to it and that was a far worse thing.

Mother will have me whipped
.

And
that would be the least of it.

Urian
dragged me over the hillcrest, and a welcome shadow fell on me. The relentless
noon sun had molded my kirtle to my back. More sweat poured under my arms and
hair.

I
glanced back at the palace. Anyone—and there would be at least Seymour and
Dyngley—watching from the Queen’s Presence Chamber could spot me. My
scarlet dress blazed against the greenery.

I
tugged Urian’s head away from the trees and walked to the back of the Tower.
The small open space stood empty and peaceful. I looked for signs of a fight,
but the grass lay undisturbed.

“Thank
God,” I breathed. “They changed their minds.”

I
pulled a handkerchief from my sleeve, daubed my face and neck.

“Come
along, Urian,” I said. “There’s nothing here to see.”

“I
hope that is not true, mistress.”

Urian’s
yelp covered my own.

Lord
John emerged from behind an ancient oak. A breeze lifted the hair from his
forehead. He wore dark brown riding leathers and a black coat—the best
costume for a secret duel and, if need be, a quick escape after.

Urian
growled, hackles rising, as John came near.

“I
will not vouch for him, sir,” I said, heart pounding in my ears. “He’s slipped
the lead before.”

John
raised his hands, and stopped a few feet away.

“Thank
you for the warning.”

His
conflicted smile flashed and almost cured my anger. “Well, here is a second,” I
snapped. “Stop your mischief with Weston before you lose your sword hand. Where
is he? Does he lie dead under the trees?”

John
ducked his head, kicked a tuft of grass with his boot. “Well, as to that…I must
confess my deception.”

I
blinked. “It’s a lie? You never challenged Weston?”

“What
else would have brought you here?” he asked. “You cut me—broke with me so
cruelly.”

“I
am cruel?” Astonishment loosened my grip. Urian sensed it and lunged. The leash
tore through my hands burning my palms.

“Urian!”
I cried as he sprinted headlong down the hill and into the forest. I hiked my
skirt and ran after him.

The
chill air under the trees instantly cooled my skin, but not my temper. John
crashed through the underbrush behind me and within three strides caught me up.
He grabbed my arm, yanking me to a halt.

“Why
did you not keep our
rendez-vous
?” he
demanded.

I
tore my arm out of his grasp.

“I
was there, my lord,” I said, panting. “I came in good time to hear you speak
the truth to your father. I was a dalliance, you said—just a girl who
admired your poetry—you said. Take yourself back to the Queen’s chambers
and you’ll find a dozen girls like me waiting to do the same.”

I
lifted my skirts and started after Urian again at a slower jog.

“Mary,
wait!” John cried. “Please hear me out. I—“

“I’ve
heard enough from you, my lord,” I shouted.

John
caught up with me again, but this time made no move to stop me. He matched his
pace to mine.

“I
said what I had to—I said what my father wanted to hear,” he said.
“Haven’t you ever done the same?”

My
belly fluttered. Of course I had. But it changed nothing.

“You
were so convincing, my lord,” I said, voice sharp as winter’s bite. “No one
could mistake you.”

“It
is a mistake,” he groaned.

“Like
Dorothy Neville?”

John
hesitated then softly asked, “What of her?”

“I
hear you’re going to marry her.”

John
grimaced. “Then you’re the first.”

“So
it’s untrue?” I prodded. “It is a rumor then?”

“It
is…undecided.”

A
snake bared its fangs inside my belly.

“Do
you have anything to say in the matter?”

John
flung his hands to heaven. “It’s my father’s plan. The girl’s ten years old for
pity’s sake.”

Anger
pushed my tongue past recklessness. “And would that stop you from bedding her?”

John’s
laugh near crippled me. “Jealous of a ten year old?”

“Only
if she’s your wife,” I snapped. “The King’s own grandmother was wed at ten. It
is not unheard of!”

“Well,
I—

A
panicked squeal ended what John meant to say. Something large and heavy crashed
through the trees ahead.
 

“Come
on!” John shouted, running headlong toward the massive noise.

We
tumbled out of the forest onto a wide cart track. A dozen paces away, Urian
crouched over the prone body of a black spotted cow. The thing’s udder spilled
milk all over the road. Urian’s jaw worked at the cow’s still pumping throat.
Pink froth flecked his coat, the grass.

“Jesus,”
John swore.

“Urian,
no!” I yelled, and ran for him.

A
man came running up the track a crude cudgel in one hand, a long knife in the
other.

“Hold!”
I screamed as the farmer went for Urian’s unprotected hindquarters. “’Tis the
Queen’s hound!”

“Mary,
don’t!” John shouted.

I
reached for Urian’s collar. His head swung at me, teeth first. They caught my
left hand, smearing warm blood and bits of hide across my skin.

John
shoved the farmer aside, ripped the cudgel out of his hands. He came up behind
Urian and delivered a sharp blow above his tail.

Urian
yelped, and turned on his attacker.

John
put the cudgel out, holding his ground. “Down, Urian! Down!”

Urian
bared slick, crimson teeth. A murderous growl shook his chest.

John’s
hand crept toward his sword.

“Urian!
Arret
é
!” I clapped my
hands as Anne did in sharp, staccato bursts. “Arrete!”

Urian’s
left ear twitched.

“Say
it again!” John shouted. “Louder!”

I
slapped my hands together so hard my bones throbbed.
“Arret
é
!
Mon petite ours.
S’assesoir chien! Maintenant!”

Urian’s
ears cocked toward my voice. His growling slowed.

“
É
tendes-tu, Urian!”

All
at once, Urian relented. He settled back on his haunches then lay down in the
blood stained grass, panting.

John,
cudgel still raised, stared at the hound. “Is he done?”

I
threw my hands up. John took a small step back, then another. Urian remained
where he was.

John
dropped the cudgel and came to me.

“Are
you unhurt?” He grabbed my hands, searching for bite marks.

I
shook my head. “I’m fine. He did not break the skin.”

“My
poor Alice.” The farmer stood over the remains of his cow. “My best milker.”
His red face glared at us. “That dog needs t’be put down!”

John
glared back. “That’s for the Queen to say.” He pulled his purse from his belt
and shook out a handful of groats. “That’s for the cow.” He pulled out a gold
sovereign. “And that’s from the Queen for your trouble.”

“My
trouble?” The farmer snatched the coins from John’s palm. “She owes me and most
more than that for the trouble she’s brought.” He hawked and spat too close to
John’s boots.