My Lady Jane (30 page)

But he didn't care.

“I won't pretend that I'm a fine lady,” Gracie said, lifting her chin. “It doesn't matter what dress you put me in. I don't belong in a palace.”

“I know. Kiss me.”

She gave a little laugh. “You're a forward one, aren't you?”

“Grace. I've wanted to kiss you from the moment I clapped eyes on you. It's been agony not kissing you all this time.”

“Agony?” She sounded doubtful.

He cupped her face in his hands. “Poison was less painful, believe me. I nearly strangled Gran that day you carved me the wooden fox at Helmsley. Please put me out of my misery.”

She laughed again, nervously. “All right, then. It's only a kiss.”

Only a kiss, he told himself.

A kiss. Nothing more.

And then he could surrender to being a grown-up and being a king and doing all the things that were expected of him.

She shivered and wet her bottom lip with her teeth, and Edward thought he would burst into flames. He leaned closer to her. Fell into those green, green . . . pools of beautiful eyes. He prayed he wouldn't mess this up. It felt important, as big as winning his country back. Bigger. His eyes closed.

“Wait,” Gracie said. “Sire.”

“Dammit,” he breathed. “Call me Edward.”

“I can't,” she said, her voice wavering. “I know you want me to. But I can't forget who you are. You will always be the king.”

The words were like cold water splashing him. He opened his eyes and drew himself away from her abruptly. “All right. I understand.”

“I like you. I do. But I can't—”

He rubbed his hand down the front of his face. “I should go.”

She frowned. “Sire . . .”

“Dammit!” The word burst out of him. Light flared. He was a kestrel. He was flying away. He gave a great cry that pierced the still night air, and then he flew higher, and faster, until Gracie was a speck he could leave behind.

“So. You have all you asked for,” Bess said, much later.

“Right,” he said sarcastically. He leaned against the rail of the fine French ship that was carrying them back to England. The sun was rising. The wind ruffled his hair.

“What's the matter with you?” Bess wanted to know.

“Nothing. Yes. I have my army.” He was watching Jane and Gifford, who were standing close farther up the bow, spending their few minutes together, that precious and brief window of time before Gifford would change into a horse. How easy it was for them. How simple.

“It's the strangest army to ever walk this earth,” Bess said with that quiet, almost smug smile of hers. “Made up of Frenchmen and Scots and thousands of E∂ians rallying behind you, brother. We're going to win, Edward. If we play our cards right.”

“And then I'll be the King of England again,” he said.

“You never stopped being the king, in my opinion. But now you'll get to truly rule,” she continued. “You'll be able to right all of the wrongs of this country. It was true, all that you said to Archer. You can see to it that E∂ians and Verities live side by side in peace. You can change the way things are done, rein in the wild spending and live modestly, see that there's gold in our coffers again, restructure the taxes to take the burden from the common people, ease their suffering, yet still see to the needs of the nobles. You could be a better king than Father. Wise and just and even-tempered.”

“Better than Father?” He could not conceive of such a thing.

“Yes. England can be prosperous once again. I long to see that day,” his sister said passionately.

He stared off into the horizon, lost in thought. He'd spent the better part of the night flying, and thinking while he flew. It had been the first time he hadn't lost himself to the bird joy. He supposed that was something of an accomplishment.

“Did you know,” he said after a moment, “that Mary Queen of Scots is a mouse?”

“Of course.”

He glanced up at her, startled. “You knew that? How is it that you know absolutely everything?”

“I'm a cat,” she confessed. “She smelled tasty.”

That drew a startled laugh out from him. “Kestrels eat mice, too.” He remembered the one mouse he'd killed, the night he first became a bird. He wanted to fly again, to stretch his wings.

“We'll have to practice restraint, if we encounter her again,” Bess remarked.

“We will,” he said softly.

Bess was scrutinizing his face. “What's troubling you, Edward? Are you afraid? Of this battle to come?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. His hand curled into a fist on the railing. He looked up at her, his gray eyes fierce and shining. “I am ready to fight.”

But it occurred to Edward, not for the first time since our story began, that he had been a poor excuse for a king before. That he did not deserve to be king now. That someone else (anyone else, really, except for Mary) might be better suited for the job.

TWENTY-SIX

Jane

The E∂ian encampment was quiet save for the crackle of campfires and the muted voices of soldiers, who were huddled in groups around the fires, discussing tactics or telling stories they'd never told anyone else, but needed to be told. In case they died in the morning.

The sunlight was fading from the sky. From the opening of her tent, Jane couldn't see London—that was hidden by hundreds of other tents. But she knew it was there. Looming large on the landscape of her destiny.

A chestnut horse trotted toward her through the camp.

Gifford.

Jane breathed out a sigh. Many E∂ians had been sent to scout earlier, including Gifford, and she'd worried the whole time he was gone.

She pulled the tent flap wide to let him in and save him the indignity of transforming into a naked man outside. Gifford squeezed past her, carefully avoiding stomping on the lone sleeping pallet, and held still while Jane slung a cloak over his back.

It was the same evening ritual they'd performed since leaving Helmsley, an attempt to hold on to as much of their overlapping human time as possible. Sure, there was the usual scramble for clothes and the impending second change, but they'd made it work so far. Same for a similar morning routine, which was sometimes shortened when neither of them wanted to wake up. Ferrets and young men were both notoriously late sleepers.

But things had been awkward between them since the bear hunt. For obvious reasons.

“I hope your horse time was productive,” Jane said. The tent was dim, lit by a single lantern hanging from the topmost pole. “If we can't pull this off, we'll be right back in the Tower waiting for our executions.”

Light flared inside the tent. “Don't talk like that.” Gifford quickly adjusted the cloak and found the clothes Jane had laid out for him. “We're going to live tomorrow, and for long after. We'll have years and years to fight about everything you want to fight about.”

He made it sound like it was a desirable thing.

“I hope so,” Jane said. “I've been making a list.”

“I don't doubt it. What shall we fight about first?”

“I think you know.”

“Uh . . .” He was more or less dressed now, the cloak a crescent moon around his feet. She turned to him and crossed her arms.

“You locked me up. In a
cage
.” How could he not understand what a problem that was?

“I was trying to keep you safe!” he countered.

Jane threw up her hands. “I don't want to be kept safe! And I definitely don't want you to be the one to decide whether or not I need to be kept safe! That's not your duty.”

For a few moments, they just stared at each other.

“I'm your husband,” he said at last. “If keeping you safe isn't my duty, what is?”

For the first time, Jane realized that maybe he was just as uncertain in this relationship as she was. Maybe he wasn't as sure of himself as she'd always assumed.

“As my husband,” she said softly, “your duty is to respect me. To trust me. If I say I want to do something, you can't stop me just because I might get hurt. That's not living. I need to make my own decisions.”

“When you came after me at the tavern, you nearly died.” He looked wrecked at the memory. “You nearly
died
, and then who would I have argued with?”

“You'd have found someone.”

“No.” He stepped toward her. “I only want to argue with you.”

She met his eyes and saw that he meant it. “And I only want to argue with you.”

“I
do
respect you,” he said earnestly. “And I trust you.” He spoke more hurriedly now; it was almost dark. “I'm sorry, Jane. I shouldn't have locked you in a cage without your consent, and I shouldn't have made you believe that what you want isn't the most important thing to me. I just couldn't stand the thought of losing you. But I am sorry. Deeply, madly, truly sorry.”

Jane spent a moment untangling that. “So you're apologizing for locking me in a cage?”

He nodded. “And I'll apologize every day for the rest of our potentially short lives, if that will help.”

“Quite unnecessary.” She closed the distance between them and looked up (and up and up) to meet his eyes. She shook her index finger at his nose. “But if you ever even think about locking me in a cage again, I will stab you with a knitting needle.”

“It's as though you've reached right into my worst nightmares, my lady.” He grinned.

“And I suppose I'll try to be less rash when it comes to putting myself in danger. After all, if I died, who would you argue with?”

“I'm glad you're finally seeing reason.”

She laid her head against his chest. Gifford's warm breath stirred against her hair, making sparks ignite in her stomach. “Now,” he said. “I want to hear about your day. Did you read any new books?”

“I've read all the books we have.” She wrinkled her nose. “Armies aren't very good about carrying libraries with them. I can't imagine why. We'd fight so much less if everyone would just sit down and read.”

Gifford's laugh rumbled through him, loud against her ear. “A question I often ask myself. Imagine how much money the realm would save if the rulers focused their finances on libraries, rather than wars.”

“Not if I were allowed to shop for books.”

“England would go bankrupt,” he said gravely. “Thank God for wars.”

She pushed him away, playful. “You can't switch sides like that.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It's too late. I've switched already, and since you've forbidden switching that quickly again, I'm stuck opposing you.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “You've just described our entire relationship.” She took his hand, her eyes going serious again. “I'm not sorry we got married. About the way it happened, maybe, and all the discomfort we've put each other through. But not that we got married.”

The way Gifford smiled was so full of hope and relief, it made Jane's breath catch, and she had the strongest urge to stand on her toes and press her lips to his. But then he glanced toward the tent flap. “It's almost ferret time.”

He tried to pull away, but Jane held tighter to his hands and shook her head.

“I don't want to change tonight.” She hugged him, burying her face against his shoulder. “I want more than these few minutes, Gifford. G.”

“I know,” he whispered. He held her tight. “Me too.”

Jane clung to him like he was her anchor. Some nights she was resigned to the change, and others she fought and knew she would not win. But right now she resisted the flickers of light with all her will.

She felt the magic fill her. Then it drained away, and Jane opened her eyes, expecting to be small and furry and cupped against Gifford's chest.

Only the last part was true.

Gifford held her against him, but it was her human hair that he stroked, and her human legs that she stood upon, and her human eyes that met his.

Awe filled his face. “You . . . broke your curse.”

She was still trembling with the anticipation of the change. Maybe they'd been wrong about the time. After weeks of living half lives with short times at sunrise and sunset, they'd both learned how long they typically had together, but maybe they'd been wrong.

“You didn't want to become a ferret,” Gifford continued, “so you stayed human.”

“It wasn't that,” she breathed. “I wanted to stay with you. That was my heart's desire.”

Wonder and disbelief warred on his face, but finally a wide smile won as he cupped her face in his hands.

Heart pounding, Jane leaned forward. They were close. So close.

Cloth rippled and torchlight shone in. “G—” Edward stopped halfway into the tent. “Oh. I'm sorry, Jane, I thought you were a ferret.”

For a moment, Jane wished she were a ferret. It'd be less embarrassing than her cousin walking in on . . . something. A kiss that didn't happen.

She leaned back and caught her breath, resigned. The kingdom had to come first. “It's all right. I learned how to control it at last. I think I'll remain a girl tonight.”

“Good. That's good.” Edward flashed a tense smile and turned to Gifford. “We're having a strategical meeting in my tent.”

Gifford turned to look at Jane. “You should come with us.”

Jane froze. Go with them? To plan? To strategize?

Edward stared at Gifford. “We'll be planning a
battle
, G. The men, I mean. Well, and Bess, of course.”

“Which is exactly why Jane should join us,” Gifford said. “She's excellent at planning.”

Jane looked back and forth between them.

“All right,” she said. “Let's go. I have lots of ideas.”

The three of them walked to the tent where the leaders of their assembled forces—Archer, Bess, the commanders of the French and Scottish armies—were standing around a table that bore a map of London. Gifford spent a few minutes pointing out different places of interest—what might be a useful hill and where they might focus their attempts to enter the city.

“
That's
the plan?” Jane asked after a few minutes of listening to Edward and Archer bicker over the best place to attack the city wall. “To besiege London?”

Edward shrugged. “We have to take London somehow.”

“London has never crumbled under siege, not in all of recorded history,” Jane pointed out.

“But it's not as though Mary will meet us on the battlefield.” Edward coughed lightly. “She won't send out her army when she doesn't think she needs to. The rules of engagement mean nothing to her.”

Jane had a sudden idea.

“Then the rules of engagement must mean nothing to us,” she announced. All the men in the room frowned. “London cannot be taken. And it doesn't need to be taken.”

Mary hadn't needed an army to take London. Yes, she'd had one, but they'd just sat around the wall being scary while Mary intimidated the Privy Council into submission and seized the throne.

“What do you propose, Jane?” Bess gave her an encouraging smile.

“We take Mary.”

“Take her where?” asked the French commander.

“Take her
how
is probably the better question,” G said.

“Take Mary. Yes, that's clever,” Bess said, ignoring G's concern. “All Edward needs to do is show up to confront Mary. When everyone sees that the rightful King of England is alive, they won't be able to deny his claim to the throne. But it must be in the proper place, where there can be no question about his identity. And we must not give Mary any time to prepare.”

“Mary will be holed up in the Tower of London, won't she?”
G asked. “In the royal apartments at the top of the White Tower?”

Jane slammed her palm on the table. “Then we break into the Tower.”

“The Tower that . . . also hasn't been breached, ever?” Edward eyed Jane.

“Right, but we have advantages others haven't.” Jane counted on her fingers. “One: an intimate knowledge of the layout and inner workings of the Tower of London. Two: a kestrel.”

Everyone looked at Edward. (Even the French commander, though he wasn't sure why everyone was looking at Edward. In spite of all the hints, he hadn't figured it out yet.)

“I can't go in there alone,” Edward protested.

“I'd volunteer,” boasted Archer. “But I can't fly over the walls.”

(Here, the French commander's eyes narrowed with suspicion. France was still a country run by Verities, after all.)

Edward glared at Archer. “The problem isn't the walls. It's that I'd be naked. And unarmed. I'd have to land and change on the Tower Green, conveniently in the very same place Mary executes people like me, and I'd rather not make it that easy for her.”

(Everyone definitely knew what they were talking about now.)

“It's fine with me if you want to send the bird in.” Archer smirked at Edward. “But we have these armies, you see. Are they for nothing?”

The Scottish and French commanders looked at each other in a moment of mutual solidarity.

“The armies
are
useful.” Jane wished the others would all
just hurry up and understand. “They will be a
diversion
. Imagine her panic when Mary looks out and sees several thousand soldiers assembled outside the city. Here.” She touched a spot on the map. “On the opposite side of London from the Tower.” She leaned forward over the table eagerly. “Mary doesn't even know you're alive, Edward. As far as she's aware,
I'm
the one preparing to attack London. And we'll let her continue thinking that.”

“Which doesn't change the problem of a naked bird king standing on the Tower Green,” Archer said. “Do you have a plan to keep him from getting killed before he surprises Mary?”

“Yes.” Jane grinned. “I do.”

Edward had been planning to attack the city at dawn, but with Jane's new and improved plan, they were going to hold off until night fell, so that it'd be easier to sneak into the Tower unseen. Which would give them the entire day to prepare.

“I'm going to practice,” Jane announced when she and Gifford returned to their tent together to get some much-needed sleep. She hung a cloak from one of the tent poles to act as a curtain, then took off her clothes. Light flared as she changed from girl to ferret to girl again. It was surprising how easy she found the change now that she knew she could do it. Now that she knew what she truly wanted.

“Show-off,” Gifford said from the other side of the cloak curtain. “You're probably keeping our neighbors awake with that light.”

She just wished G would want it, too. He'd be much more useful in the morning in his human form. And there were so many other reasons that she wanted him to be with her tomorrow.