The Boleyn Reckoning (34 page)

“He wants you to be careful with your person.”

“I will not sit here and wait. Do you not think me as honourable as my husband?”

Carrie stepped between the two of them, so small and so fierce. “We knew what you would do. The horses are ready. I have packed the necessities. Is there anything else?”

Suddenly choked, Minuette handed Carrie the linen bag with her most precious possessions. “I am ready.”

She could not keep back the tears when Fidelis rose from his customary spot outside the front door. The wolfhound clearly expected to go with her, as he always had this winter, and Minuette’s sobs escaped despite herself. “Not this time,” she whispered to the hound. “You must stay here.”

He must have sensed her distress, for he did not go easily. In the end, Harrington had to use his full strength to draw Fidelis into the stables and shut him in one of the stalls. His howls echoed in Minuette’s ears as she mounted Winterfall and rode out of her home.

With Harrington leading the way, Carrie riding pillion behind him, Minuette schooled her thoughts with each passing mile to calmness. She would need to be perfect when she came to the royal camp. Not just for William’s sake, or Dominic’s, but her own. The only way to do this was without looking back and without letting herself think twice. It shouldn’t be so hard: she had spent
months, if not years, playing a part at court. Now she would call upon all her skill to give her courage as she submitted herself to the will of a scorned king.

The royal camp was in motion; she could hear the clatter of men and horses as they drew near. But they had not set off just yet, so it was hard to tell which men would be headed to Wynfield. It didn’t matter—there were only two men in the world she had ever cared for, and every inch of her was alert knowing how near they both were.

They were met by forward guards, who received her with cold hostility. She was wary, knowing the sorts of things that had once been shouted at Anne Boleyn. It would not have shocked her to have names thrown at her, but these men were disciplined enough. They asked the three of them to dismount and searched Harrington for weapons before proceeding on foot.

She spotted the royal tent, not yet taken down, and her heart skipped several beats when the flaps were thrown back and a familiar, long-legged figure appeared. The ground was soggy and the air heavy with the threat of rain, but weak sunlight filtered through the clouds here and there, one beam casting a sheen on William’s dark hair. He’d let it grow since she’d seen him last; it curled down to his collar and she had a startlingly clear memory of her hands tangled in those curls at Hever so long ago.

William did not falter, but she saw the tension in the set of his shoulders as he came forward and then halted, waiting for her to take the last steps. She stopped a few paces from him and tried to remember how to breathe normally. His gaze swept her from head to toe, taking in the subdued cut of her riding gown, the lack of adornment, her hair plaited and pinned at the nape of her neck.

A greedy silence spread through the camp as word passed of what was happening. She moved to curtsey, and William stopped her. “Hold,” he commanded. “Your audience is not complete.”

So she held her ground and waited for Dominic to be led out. The look on her husband’s face was not betrayal, at least, but a deep despair that rocked her nonetheless. His hands were chained together in front and Robert Dudley stood at his side. She stared at her husband, hoping he could read her devotion and love whatever came next.

“So.” William’s voice carried in the heavy air. “Have you come to beg my forgiveness?”

She tore her gaze away from Dominic. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Their eyes locked. “Then beg,” he commanded, vicious.

She knelt as gracefully as she could, feeling the uneven ground through the layers of her skirts. With her head bowed low, she said, “I beg pardon for all my offenses, Your Majesty. It was done thoughtlessly, but not with malice. I could never wish you other than well, and I will never forgive myself for the injuries I have caused.”

“The only lasting injuries have been to yourself. Now you must pay.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

William circled her, and she could feel his eyes burning into her bowed head. He stopped in front of her—his boots near enough that she could have kissed them if she’d bent farther—and suddenly she was being jerked to her feet, William’s hands like a vise around her upper arms.
Don’t react
, she silently begged Dominic.
Don’t make it worse
.

She felt the combined intake of breath from the men watching as William bored his eyes into hers, the normal clear blue grown opaque with contempt. “I’ve had a lot of time to consider how to make you pay,” he said, pitching his voice so that Dominic could not miss a word. “Perhaps I’ll begin with Wynfield. Your home may be relatively inconsequential, but I well remember how devoted your people are to you. It would not do to leave a pocket of resistance behind me.”

“Wynfield is no threat at all,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. She was walking such a narrow path; she could not afford the slightest stumble or William would pounce and others would pay the price for her mistakes. “They have had nothing to do with any of this.”

“They harbored fugitives,” William said. “That is a crime. And fugitives from the king, at that, which might make it treason.”

She dared say nothing else, simply met his eyes and hoped something in her gaze would calm him.

Releasing her, William turned abruptly on his heel. “Sussex,” he called, “get the men ready to march north. Leave fifty with me. Dudley, return the prisoner to your tent and stay with him.” He gestured to two men-at-arms. “Take the maid and manservant into custody as well.”

“And the woman?”

William shot her a smile over his shoulder, an expression that made her blood run cold. “Put her in my tent. We have negotiations to conclude.”

The tone of his voice left no doubt what he intended to extract in those negotiations. Minuette had hoped for the best, but now braced herself for the worst. As long as Dominic kept control, so could she.

She did not dare look at her husband as Robert Dudley led him away and she gave a heartfelt prayer of thanks for Dominic’s silence. Because he behaved, so did Harrington and Carrie. A guard took Minuette’s arm and escorted her to William’s tent. It was plain by court standards, though lavish by camp ones. The walls and roof might be cloth, but the interior was high-ceilinged and the ground thickly covered in rugs. There was a long oak table and chairs for councils of war, two chests no doubt filled with clothing and armor, and a bed. A large bed, with a real mattress and fine
linens. Minuette looked away, shivering from her imagination as much as from the cold.

She waited a quarter hour before William entered. He had a linen bag in his hand, which he tossed on the table. It was hers, the one containing her diary and jewels. “Should make interesting reading,” he mused. “And a rosary as well … you have been dabbling with rebellion all along, haven’t you?”

He moved behind her, and she tried not to stiffen as he rested a possessive hand on the curve of her neck. It was a familiar gesture, and so she was prepared for the kiss that followed.

“So,” he said, and his voice was soft and all the more dangerous for it, “you wish to keep Wynfield and your people safe. What will you give me in return?”

“I do not believe you would offer the innocent harm.”

“Do you not? Perhaps you do not know me as well as you should.”

“I know you perfectly.”

He turned her to face him and tipped her chin up with the hand that was not still resting on her neck. Something in the pose was suggestive of how easily a neck could be snapped and she repressed a shudder. “Then you know that your people, as well as Dominic, are in my hands. He has admitted his treason. There is no need for him to ever reach London or face trial. I am within my rights to execute him this very hour. Will you negotiate for that?”

It was why she had come. “Will you give me your word that my people at Wynfield will not be harmed? Your word that Dominic will face an open trial by jury in London?” Not that it would matter in the end—the jury would give the verdict William wanted. But Minuette knew it was beyond her power to stand in this camp and watch her husband die today.

“My word …” William’s hand shifted along her throat until it rested at the neckline of her gown, “for your willingness?”

She met his eyes without wavering. “For my willingness.”

William kissed her.

Even with her eyes closed, there was no hope of pretense. As William slid experienced hands across laces and fabric, removing her gown with caresses and kisses, Minuette felt her soul being stripped just as bare. She had bargained for the use of her body—she had not expected that her heart,
so long twined with William in friendship, would demand its share of this hour.

William spoke only once. “Sweetling,” he whispered when he laid her down, as though he had forgotten all the betrayal and fury of this year.

Minuette began to cry.

Is this punishment or is this penance?
Am I whore, or am I savior? I feel him trembling against me and I do not know if I am his tormentor or his comforter … Forgive me, Lord … Forgive me, Dominic … Forgive me, Will …

Forgive me
.

Robert Dudley was impressed with the extent of Dominic’s control. They sat in a tent for two hours, waiting, and Dominic did not move from where he perched on the edge of the camp bed. He mostly kept his elbows braced on his knees, resting his forehead above the chains around his wrists. It was Robert who could not keep still. What the devil was taking the king so long?

Wrong question. He knew—everyone knew—what the king was doing.

Only once did Dominic speak. “Why just you? Isn’t the king afraid I’ll overwhelm a single guard?”

“There are armed men outside, you wouldn’t get far. And if you did kill me, you might be doing the king a favour.”

“Well,” Dominic said distantly, “we wouldn’t want that.”

At long last a guard entered the tent. “We’re moving. The king wants the prisoner mounted, but he remains chained.”

“Where are we going?” Robert asked. Surely William didn’t mean to drag Dominic along for the battles like a pet. Though on second thought …

But the guard answered, “We’re going to Wynfield Mote.”

Dominic’s head came up at that, but he managed not to say anything. He submitted with perfect courtesy to Robert’s necessary ministrations in getting him out of the tent and to his horse. Only when both men were mounted, along with twenty guards, did William escort Minuette from his tent.

Something in the way she moved reminded Robert of Elizabeth at her most imperious, as though she had locked away the core of herself and all that remained was the outward image. Robert wanted to curse at the uselessness of all this. He had warned Minuette more than once that she should walk away from William; how little he had realized that the real danger began the moment she did just that.

She accepted William’s aid in mounting her white jennet, and William took a moment to lay a possessive hand on the mare. “You’ve ridden her well,” he said, double meaning plain to be heard. Robert felt, rather than saw, a shudder run through Dominic, but when the king led them out, Dominic seemed indifferent.

It was the worst ride of Robert’s life. He hadn’t wanted to be with the army in the first place, serving a king who still half hated him and would never trust him. But Elizabeth had asked him to go. Robert hoped she wasn’t counting on him to keep William in line. His only plan was to keep his head down and do as he was told.

William led the way, with Minuette’s aristocratic jennet nearly even with his. They made a beautiful pairing, Robert thought: one dark and one gold and both able to look on the world with indifference.
They did not speak to each other, nor even look at each other. After them rode six guards, followed by Robert and Dominic, and the remainder of the men behind with Harrington and Carrie in their midst.

Wynfield Mote was a square, old-fashioned stone manor house surrounded by low-bordered gardens and timber outbuildings, with cultivated fields and a handful of cottages in the distance. The company pulled up in good view, and after a few minutes in which the household might have been discussing what to do, the front door opened. A broad-shouldered man with silver hair and a countryman’s unflappable gaze stepped outside.

“Asherton, isn’t it?” William asked. He swung off his horse and helped Minuette down, then gestured to the others to follow.

The steward, for that he must be, waited patiently until all movement had settled, then tipped his head in Minuette’s direction. “Are you well, mistress?”

“You don’t call her ‘lady’?” William asked in a deceptively mild voice. “But then, you must have known she only got that title through her deceit.”

“I’m perfectly well,” Minuette assured Asherton, and made a motion with her hand for him to be calm.

“How may we be of service, Your Majesty?” Asherton asked.

“How many are resident on this estate?”

“Eight household servants. Sixty or so on the farms.”

William paced back and forth in a line between Asherton and Minuette, hands clasped behind his back in an attitude of deep thought. “Crops ready to go into the ground, I suppose?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

William paused in front of Minuette and faced her. “You still believe me incapable of harming the innocent?”

She didn’t answer, perhaps sensing that there was no safe answer
to be found. There was a flush to the king’s face Robert didn’t like, and he thought:
This is all wrong
.

Abruptly, William stepped away from Minuette and faced Asherton. “You have one hour to clear the house and the cottages. One hour’s grace for the people, thanks to your mistress’s negotiating skills.”

It was Minuette who asked, “And then?”

William met her eyes coldly, then away. “Guards! When the hour is passed …”

He returned his gaze to Minuette. “Burn it. Burn it all.”