Rose Bride (9 page)

‘Mistress Croft,’ he said coolly, almost as though he had been expecting her. He raked down his untidy hair, then stepped aside for her to enter his room. ‘I take it your supply of my sleeping draught has run out?’

‘Forgive me,’ Margerie said as soon as he had shut the door behind her. ‘I should not have come. The hour is very late, I know.’

His smile was dry as he turned to reach down a bottle from one of his high shelves. ‘There is not a doctor in the land who has not had his sleep disturbed by a patient. And for far less urgent a cause than yours. Please,’ he said, indicating a seat, ‘it will only take a few moments to prepare the medicament you require, then I shall escort you back to your chamber.’ He hesitated, looking round at her from under his lashes. There was something about his stillness that alarmed her. ‘If that is what you desire?’

What she desired was to have his mouth against hers, Margerie thought longingly. But although she felt sure he was interested in her as a woman, Master Elton was nonetheless an honourable gentleman and not someone she would ever wish to drag into disgrace.

‘Yes,’ she told him firmly, and tried hard not to look at his mouth. ‘That is what I
desire
, sir.’

CHAPTER SIX

Greenwich Palace, Summer 1536

The courtiers had been gathered in the Great Hall at Greenwich Palace for almost an hour after the feast had finished, still with no sign of the royal couple and their entourage. The courtiers whispered to each other, fanning themselves in the heat, while the musicians stood bored and idle too, for they could not play until the king and his new queen had arrived.

Another feast, Margerie thought wearily, uncomfortably warm in her heavy gown, and yet more festivities to celebrate the king’s recent nuptials. When would it end?

The dark-clad seneschal, entering in great pomp and followed by a line of noble young knights and squires in royal livery, banged his staff of office on the ground three times.

The Great Hall hushed with expectation.

The king and queen were formally announced, before their courtly procession through the hall began, the royal company heading for the high dais at the far end.

Dropping to her knees in a rustling whisper of silks and satins, along with the rest of the court, Margerie kept her head lowered as the royal couple approached, her hands clasped before her. She wished hard, prayed to heaven, willed it not to happen . . .

But it appeared God was not listening.

A pair of shoes stopped in front of her, shining and new-made for the precious feet they shod, richly buckled, undeniably his. Fear possessed her. Her breathing quickened and her nails bit into the flesh of her palms.

Control yourself
.

Then he spoke her name and she had no choice but to look up, schooling herself to appear demure and submissive, not to give away by so much as a flicker of her eyelids how much she loathed him.

‘Your Majesty,’ she breathed, and bowed her head again in token of her utter obedience to his will.

‘Tell me, how is old Master Croft?’ King Henry demanded, staring down at her.

Was he remembering how she had refused his invitation to become his mistress? Or had he forgotten? The king had been very drunk that night. But capable of sending his keenest hounds after her, bent on revenge.

‘I was told,’ he continued in tones of concern, ‘that he had been taken ill a little after Christmastide.’

Heads turned, faces bright with malice and curiosity. One of the king’s councillors cleared his throat. A young boy muttered something in the throng of courtiers behind her and was hushed.

Everyone was listening to this exchange. Especially the new queen.

Margerie struggled to keep her voice level. ‘I thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. My grandfather Thomas is much improved since the spring. Indeed, we have good hope that he may yet make a recovery.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’ Henry turned to the fair-haired lady on his arm, his fresh new queen, almost as new as his shoes, and his tone was light and indulgent. For Queen Jane had not yet displeased him, and he was clearly in good spirits. ‘Do you know Mistress Croft, my lady?’

‘I do, Your Majesty,’ the queen replied in a muted tone. ‘She serves in the royal wardrobe.’

Margerie stared woodenly at the king’s legs, stoutly clad in white silk stockings. She resisted the urge to look up at her new queen.

Queen Jane thinks me a whore.

Well, and why should she not think it? Everyone at court had been whispering as much from the moment Margerie returned from the country and took up her new post repairing and caring for the queen’s gowns and other royal vestments. Why should the king’s new consort be any different from all the rest at court?

‘My father, Henry Tudor, owed this throne to men like this woman’s grandfather, Jane.’ The king raised his voice, and it rang about the high rafters of the Great Hall. ‘Master Croft is no great lord, of course. But he was a fine soldier in his prime and an obedient courtier in old age. I remember him well from my youth.’

King Henry looked down at her again; Margerie could feel his eyes boring into her skull.

‘I was pleased to agree your return to court, Mistress Croft, for your grandfather’s sake. Let it not be said we forget those who have given the Tudors good service in the past.’ He lowered his voice and his pale, thick-fingered hand, clustered with gleaming rings. ‘And those who may serve us well in the future.’

Margerie kissed his hand. She bowed her head again. ‘You are most gracious to your humblest servant, Your Majesty. I shall endeavour to deserve your generosity.’

When the king and queen had finally moved on to the high dais, Margerie rose from her knees and reminded herself to breathe properly again.

Glancing down at the reddening half-moons on her palm, where her nails had dug into her flesh, she shuddered. The king’s lechery was so present in her mind it had been hard not to let the horror show on her face. She had not forgotten that night . . .

But at least she was safer as a woman who had roused the king’s lust once or twice than as his mistress or – God forbid – his wife.

Margerie watched the king’s new consort pass through the crowd of courtiers, and wondered how long it would be before Queen Jane too was cast aside for another woman.

Perhaps never, if she could manage to bear him a son.

At her side, Kate Langley rose from her knees and shook her head. There was a rueful smile on her handsome face. ‘Margerie, oh my dearest Margerie.’

‘What?’

Kate took her arm and squeezed it comfortingly, whispering in her ear, ‘The king himself shows you a great mark of favour before the whole court, yet you tremble and your face turns as white as a ghost’s.’ Her friend sighed. ‘I will never understand you. Why come back to court when you are so ill at ease here?’

‘It makes my grandfather happy to know that I am at court again and in the king’s favour,’ Margerie whispered back, watching with a forced smile as the musicians struck up and dancing began before the royal dais. ‘He pays no heed to my lost reputation, for he still has hopes that I will make a good marriage.’

Margerie thought of how her grandfather had kissed her on the cheek the day she left, pressing a bag of coins into her hand. ‘Towards your dowry,’ he had managed hoarsely.

She closed her eyes in pain.

Margerie had told the king that he was much improved, but in truth it was clear now that her grandfather was dying. ‘A wasting disease,’ the physician had called it, shrugging as he packed away his instruments, then suggested Master Croft had less than a year to live – as carelessly as though discussing the fate of a sick hound, not a man who had once ridden at the king’s side and still commanded a large estate in Devonshire. Then the country doctor had taken his fat fee and ridden away, leaving them with a few grim-smelling draughts and little hope that her grandfather would see another winter.

‘I wish you well with that mission.’ Kate sighed, gathering her skirts. ‘I must leave you, alas. My husband is suffering from a head cold and refuses to leave his chamber until his strength is restored.’

‘Give Master Langley my sympathies,’ Margerie murmured, still watching the courtiers as they danced. She rarely danced these days, for it would only lead to more talk, but she did miss the lifts and turns, the natural sway of her hips to the music. There were few things as exhilarating for a woman as to dance to the beat of the tabor.

‘Perhaps I should take him to see the handsome Master Elton.’ Her friend grinned, pinching her arm as though to mock her, then whispered unrelentingly, ‘Your condition has troubled you less this past month, has it not? I cannot help but think the courtly physician’s ministrations have something to do with that.’

Margerie frowned. ‘My condition?’

‘Your nightmares. And your night wanderings, where nothing wakes you and you wander the palace in nothing but your shift.’

‘Oh, those.’

Margerie shrugged, pretending it was nothing, though she felt her insides clench at the thought of another long night ahead. How could she trust herself to sleep when at any moment she might wake in some dark place, not knowing where she was – nor what she might have done in her sleep?

‘I told you, I am homesick. And Master Elton knows his business, that is all.’

‘Aye.’ Her friend laughed crudely. ‘And would gladly make you his business, if you would allow it.’

‘Master Elton is not that kind of man.’

‘He seems very much that kind to me,’ Kate remarked. ‘Or do you have some other view of this miraculous physician?’

Margerie hesitated, but could not find the right words to describe the quiet-spoken court physician who had not laughed at her problem but tried gently and patiently to solve it.

Master Elton was as different from Lord Wolf as any man could be, and she could not hide from either Kate or herself that she found him attractive. He found her desirable too, the way his eyes caught hers whenever they were alone together, his voice husky, and the humming of strange energy between them, her body on fire for his just from being in the same room. And yet he had never laid a finger on her in passion.

‘He is a gentleman,’ she managed in the end, for she could not think of any other reason why he would have held back from seducing her when the flame burnt so brightly between them.

‘A gentleman?’ Kate’s lips twitched. She was looking over Margerie’s shoulder, a sudden frown on her face. ‘Best be careful then. If Master Elton is too much of a gentleman, you may fall in love with him. And then where will you be? For you will never make a doctor’s wife, Margerie, I can promise you that.’

With another quick warning glance over her shoulder, her friend left her, and Margerie stood in silence, her skin prickling, knowing herself to be observed.

‘Mistress Croft.’

Alarmed, Margerie turned and found herself face-to-face with a fair young man, handsome and well built, his blue eyes sharp with admiration as he looked her up and down.

It was Lord Munro, one of the rowdy pack of young lords fresh come to court from the university at Oxford, who had been carousing the night before and had kept the whole palace awake with their youthful antics.

He was also one of the young nobles who had cornered her in the king’s antechamber after she had first arrived at court and refused to become the king’s mistress.

This was the second time he had singled her out for attention. What could he want with her?

The answer was clear. And horrifying. He wanted her in his bed.

Her heart thudded painfully. ‘Lord Munro,’ she murmured, curtseying low, wondering how to escape this time without offending him.

The young nobleman seemed surprisingly unsure of himself, given the way he flaunted himself like a peacock, an abundance of jewels on his coat and a prominent red leather codpiece that drew her eye.

Lord Munro hesitated, then held out his hand. ‘Would you care to dance, mistress?’

She recalled then that this nobleman had slipped away before the other courtiers laid hands on her, protesting that she was unwilling. But refusing to participate did not mean he could be trusted.

One of his friends had turned to watch them, an older nobleman, his eyes narrowed on Munro’s face. She sensed some hostility there and at once felt uneasy. What was this? Some kind of trap into which Munro hoped she would tumble unawares? If so, he had mistaken his prey.

‘Forgive me, my lord, I . . . I am not well tonight,’ she lied, then gave another curtsey and all but ran away, pretending not to hear him call after her.

Outside the Great Hall, Margerie stopped and leaned back against the wall to catch her breath, closing her eyes. There would surely came a day when she would have to say yes, and allow one of these noblemen to take her under their protection.

But she prayed God it would not be soon. Not before she had been given a chance to spend more time with Master Elton. There was something about his gentle hands and intent eyes that drew her more than any other man, more even than Lord Wolf; her skin reacted with heat whenever their hands brushed . . .