Rose Bride (5 page)

Jane Seymour was staring at them across the dancing chamber. Her quiet voice was authoritative, as though she already felt the weight of a crown on her head. ‘What is the matter you discuss so earnestly, ladies? Is one of you unwell that you cannot join the rest of us in learning this dance?’

‘No, Mistress Seymour,’ Margerie said at once, and hurried to take her place in the row of ladies waiting to dance, holding out her hand to Kate as they both slipped into line.

It was a much-coveted privilege to be allowed to learn these dances alongside the foremost ladies of the land, and she did not want her only friend to get into trouble through her foolish behaviour.

‘You must forgive me, Mistress Seymour,’ she added, not quite lifting her eyes to Jane’s watchful face, and pinned an apologetic smile to her lips. ‘It was a moment’s dizziness. I am well again now.’

Lord Wolf was a man, that was all. He had pursued her once as the Devil would pursue a soul that had been promised to him. But she had shrugged off that madness long ago. Wolf was married now and seemed intent on his new bride. There was no reason to be afraid of him.

There were other men at court she should fear more.

Margerie became aware that it was dark and someone was shaking her violently.

‘Wake up!’ a voice hissed urgently in her ear. ‘Margerie, if you love me, wake up!’

A torch came close, dispelling the darkness and with it the dreams that had been haunting her all night. Its flames burnt brightly above her head, acrid and smoking.

Slowly, her eyes widened, focusing on the face before her. Where was she? What had happened?

The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in the stuffy warmth of the women’s chamber, listening to the snores of those sleeping around her. Now she was on her feet and shivering, yet it was still night and she could not recall having left her bed.

‘Kate?’

‘Thank God,’ her friend breathed, a look of relief on her face. Then she turned to the tight huddle of women about them, all clad in nightshifts and caps, staring at Margerie by the light of a flickering torch as though she were mad. ‘As you can see, Mistress Croft is awake now, so you may all go back to bed. Go, I will tend her.’

‘We do not answer to you, Mistress Langley,’ one of the women said sourly, looking her up and down in a contemptuous manner. It was Mistress Lew, one of the chief seamstresses to the royal wardrobe and thrice widowed before she was even forty years of age. ‘I wish to ask this silly fool what she was thinking, frightening us out of our wits like that.’

‘And how exactly did she frighten you, Mistress Lew?’ Kate demanded.

‘Why, screaming so we thought she was murdered, then moaning and stumbling about in the darkness like a soul in torment.’

‘Aye,’ said another of the seamstresses, plump Mistress Carew, nudging closer to examine Margerie with round-eyed curiosity, ‘and refusing to answer to her name, though her eyes were open and she seemed awake. Why would any decent woman do that?’

Margerie frowned at these descriptions, shaking her head. ‘I was . . .
what?
’ She stared from one woman’s face to another. Her voice grew husky. ‘I pray you forgive me, ladies, I have no memory of these events.’

‘She lies!’ one of the younger exclaimed, then turned back to her bed. ‘And she ought to be whipped for disturbing our peace at such an hour.’

‘Come, let us all get back to sleep,’ said Mistress Lew, her thin lips pursed. ‘It will be dawn soon.’

Margerie tried to explain again that she could not remember what she had done, stuttering a little in her anxiety, but the women were already moving away, back to the warmth of their mattresses. Then someone carried the torch back outside, replacing it in its high sconce in the corridor. The chamber was left in smoky darkness, only a thin and flickering stream of light falling across the women’s beds from the open door.

‘Come with me,’ Kate muttered, sounding angry, and led Margerie out of the women’s chamber.

Alone together in the smoky corridor, Kate took her by the shoulders and peered closely into her face. ‘Truly, you remember nothing?’

‘Not a moment.’

‘When they could not rouse you, Mistress Lew sent for me, knowing us to be fast friends. I took it for a jest at first, and was angry myself, for I had only just climbed into bed with my husband. But then I saw you pacing up and down, muttering and wringing your hands, and knew it was no trick. I thought you must be bewitched – or else sick. So I sent one of the guards to fetch a physician.’

‘
A physician?
’

‘I was afraid for you, Margerie. What else could I have done?’

Margerie stared at her friend, beginning to feel sick indeed at the thought of all the fuss she had caused. ‘The last thing I remember is closing my eyes in bed. Now you say I was wandering in my sleep? Talking to myself? My mother used to say I wandered in my sleep as a child, yet I never had any memory of doing so. What is happening to me?’

‘We will wait for the doctor and see what he says.’ Kate laid a hand on her forehead. ‘You are not feverish though. Do you feel unwell?’

‘Perhaps. I cannot tell.’ Margerie wrapped her arms about herself, shivering. ‘Which doctor did you call?’

‘Whichever would answer the summons.’

She bit her lip. ‘I am so cold.’

‘Well, that is no surprise,’ Kate commented impatiently, rubbing up and down her arms to warm them, ‘for you are clad in nothing but your shift.’

Suddenly aware of her lack of decent covering, Margerie glanced down at the thin material clinging to her breasts and belly. She wore nothing beneath, and could only imagine how she would appear to any respectable gentleman, standing out here in the corridor in such scanty attire, her red hair loose and uncovered.

‘Let me fetch a robe,’ she muttered, turning away, but it was too late.

Torchlight suddenly danced on the walls, long shadows leaping and shifting. She heard brisk footsteps along the corridor, and saw the guard returning with the physician.

Margerie shrank back into the shadows as the men approached, wishing she was as decorously robed and slippered as her friend. Instead she must look like the lewdest of creatures, barefoot and with her shift shamelessly outlining the curves beneath.

It was Doctor Elton, of course.

He came out of the darkness, looking straight at her. The guard was saying something but she could not hear him. The doctor examined her, his dark gaze pausing on her bare feet and ankles before moving up to the swell of her hips and breasts. Oh for a robe to cover them! Worse still, chilled by the cool night air, her nipples had stiffened and were pressing uncomfortably against the simple bodice of her shift.

His eyes narrowed as though noting the response of her body, and the wanton manner in which her loose hair was tumbling over her shoulders and throat, and his mouth tightened.

‘Mistress Croft,’ he murmured, and bowed his head to both women. ‘Mistress Langley.’

When he looked up, she read disapproval in his face and could have screamed in frustration. Though what had she expected? The doctor already thought her a whore. It should not matter to her what he thought, yet it did. Now he had found her out of bed in the middle of the night, her body on show to every passer-by, with only the flimsy excuse that she had suffered a nightmare.

Doctor Elton was not in his physician’s robe tonight. Instead he wore a dark doublet and hose, his codpiece drawing her eye, his thighs strong and muscular in tight black hose. He had a way of holding himself that told her how confident he was in himself, and how little he feared the dangers of court life. It was rare for a man below the rank of lord to show no fear at the royal court, and she wondered again how he had been so cool and calm in the king’s quarters when he had neither wealth nor status to protect him.

‘Sir,’ Margerie began, then met those serious eyes and found herself floundering, her breath suddenly stolen away, ‘I regret that . . . that you were roused from your bed for no good reason.’

‘I would call you an excellent reason to be roused from my bed, Mistress Croft,’ he countered, watching her.

His words resonated in her head, taunting her with sexual meaning, and for a moment she did not know where to look.

Her mouth became suddenly dry, her breathing short, and Margerie knew herself possessed by lust for this man.
Hot shameless lust
. Yet while she felt sure the doctor would not resist her advances if she were to offer herself to him, the thought of becoming this man’s mistress, a whore by any other name, felt wrong. As though his attentions would shame her more than any other man’s.

Kate had been holding her hand, but she dropped it now, curtseying to the doctor. ‘Sir, my friend was found wandering in her sleep tonight, in a state of some distress, and could not be roused when spoken to. I was able to wake her in the end, but she could not remember anything except going to bed. I fear she has some malady of the brain.’

A malady of the brain?

Margerie glared at Kate. ‘No, I am sure it is nothing of the kind.’

She turned to the doctor, wishing fervently that he would go away before he caught the raw desire she was feeling, her voice sharper than she had intended.

‘I suffered a nightmare, that is all,’ Margerie told him firmly. ‘It seems my nightmares are powerful and fool me into behaving as though I were awake. But now you see me perfectly well, with no ill effects from my bad dreams, so we can all go back to bed.’

He was undeterred by this explanation, taking her wrist between finger and thumb, his face unreadable as he felt for her pulse. ‘You often have these nightmares?’

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘Is it a new thing for you to wander while asleep, then?’

Kate answered for her, a knowing smile on her lips as she took in Margerie’s nervous reaction to his presence. ‘It is, sir, and it worries me greatly. Should Mistress Croft take a sleeping draught before retiring each night, do you think? Or perhaps you know of some infusion of herbs that would calm her spirits?’

His gaze flicked to her face, then returned to Margerie’s. ‘Are your spirits upset?’

‘No.’

‘Yet Mistress Langley has described you as being in a state of distress.’

‘Since I cannot recall what happened, I am not able to confirm that.’

‘Forgive me,’ Master Elton said, inclining his head, but she saw an ironic gleam in his eyes. ‘So you do not recall the dream that caused you to wander from your bed tonight?’

She had been dreaming, yes. But her memories were so confused. It had been dark in her dream, she remembered that. She had been running down an unlit corridor. Hands had grabbed her from behind, pushing her to the floor. She had struggled, then someone had been kissing and crushing her, suffocating her . . .

She put her hand to her throat. ‘No,’ she managed, then saw that the guard holding the torch aloft was staring at her meagre nightgown.

‘Might I return to bed now?’ she demanded of the doctor. ‘I am recovered from my nightmare, Master Elton, and have no need of your . . . services.’

Kate stirred at this. ‘No, you must not be so foolish.’ She lowered her voice to an urgent whisper as Margerie turned away. ‘Margerie, you were
screaming
in your sleep. Trust me, you looked half-demented. Let the doctor examine you.’

‘You have a wise friend there, Mistress Croft,’ Master Elton murmured, watching her.

‘I am perfectly well, thank you, and need no examination.’

‘Go with him,’ Kate urged her softly. ‘He is a doctor, there will be no impropriety.’

No, she would not be bullied into betraying herself with this man. To be alone in a room with him would be madness indeed, for she knew how hotly her blood beat for him. It would be but a small step between letting this doctor examine her and slipping into his bed, as willing for his hard body as any wanton.

‘You may leave us, Master Elton,’ she told him steadily, looking him in the eye. ‘Thank you.’

She had expected to see anger in his face, for she had spoken curtly. Yet Master Elton did not seem offended by her dismissal, nor did he protest. His smile was fleeting but she was sure she had not imagined it. The doctor was amused by her refusal, not angered.

He bowed, taking a step backwards. ‘If you do suffer more of this night wandering, Mistress Croft, there is a sleeping draught I could make up for you,’ he told her calmly. ‘My workshop and private quarters are on the second floor of the tower above the rose gardens. You can find me there most days, though occasionally I am called away to attend a patient.’

‘I will bring her to you, sir,’ Kate promised him, ignoring her stifled gasp.

But Master Elton was already gone, the guard accompanying him back to his rooms with the torch.

Margerie glared at her friend. ‘Why did you say that? Now he will expect me to visit him.’

‘You find him handsome,’ Kate pointed out, her smile broad now, ‘and he is not married. Why should you not visit him?’

‘You are not that naïve.’

Smiling, Kate kissed her on the cheek. ‘So what if you end up sleeping with him? You have no virginity to lose, and if you are discreet, no one will chide you for it. Not at this court. And why should you not pursue a little pleasure while you are still young and unwed?’