Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (18 page)

I licked my lips again. “Perhaps we should…” Nerves ricocheted within me
, causing gooseflesh to rise along my limbs—or was that the warmth of his touch when I’d become chilled in the early morning air?

“Is something the matter?” His eyes held question, warmth.

I felt safe with him. “No, ’tis nothing.”

He led me through the orchard until we reached the first of many wooden benches and sat down.

“Well, if you have yet to begin, then we shall start at the beginning.”

I spread my skirts and tucked my feet beneath them
, hoping the covering would warm them. The heat of Ned’s body was already warming my arms and chest.

“It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all England, and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that held war against him
a long time
.”

The tale enthralled me. We read for over an hour, but what seemed like only minutes before
Mrs. Helen interrupted us.

“My lady, I have been searching for you.”

“And here you have found me.” I smiled up at her, still imagining the mighty Uther Pendragon, his court and battles.

“My lady, you must come inside. You should not be
here...alone.”

I was not alone. Not at all, but I knew what she meant. It was not proper for Ned and I to have been alone in the gardens for so long without a chaperone milling about in the background. Although we had done nothing but read from
Le Morte d’Arthur
, if the wrong person had happened by, trouble would have ensued.

“Thank you for reading with me, my lord.”

“’Twas a most joyous pleasure, my lady.” Ned stood and grasped my hand in his to help me rise.

Mrs. Helen
wrung her hands and looked about, pretending not to be watching.

Ned held out the book to me, his fingers grazing over mine, sending a delicious shiver racing along my arm. “Your book, my lady.”

“Oh, ’tis not mine. I found it in the library.”

He lips curled. “My mother
’s? Fascinating. I shall hold on to it then, and perhaps we can meet here at dawn again on the morrow?”

Mrs. Helen
opened her mouth to speak, but I rushed to answer. “Yes, I would enjoy that immensely.”

“
Mrs. Helen, will you oblige us?” Ned asked, flashing a winning smile at the older woman, causing a blush to rise along her neck.

“Yes, my lord.”

He swept his cap from his head and bent into an elegant bow. “Until this evening.”

“Are you not coming to
Mass?”

“I
’m afraid I have an errand to run, my lady, but I shall return for supper.”

Disappointment flashed within. I looked forward to
Mass when I could watch Ned without anyone the wiser.

“Until this even
ing then, my lord.” I dipped into a curtsy and graced him with what I hoped was a winning and enticing smile.

Every morning for the next week
, we woke early and stole from the manor into the orchards where Ned wrapped me in his warmth and read to me from scandalous tales of King Arthur. With each passing morning, my urge for Ned to kiss me grew. But we’d yet to do so.

Mrs. Helen
followed us but stayed well behind and made a point to pretend to take a nap, and sometimes disappeared altogether only to return when it was time for us to make our way to the great hall. We made promises in the orchard. Whispered, feverish promises that we were meant for one another and there was no one on this earth who could tear us apart.

But
fate does not always play her hand the way a heart desires. On the ninth day that we sneaked from Hanworth, the duchess was there to greet us in the orchard.

“My, you are up early this morning, Beau.” She peered around her son as if suddenly surprised to see me there. “As are you
, Lady Katherine.” She made a point to crane her neck and squint her eyes. “Is that your lady’s maid so far behind? ’Tis almost as if she is not here. What are the two of you about, sneaking so stealthily in the predawn hours?”

My mouth went dry, and I could not find the words to utter. I could tell by the intelligent gleam in her eyes that she knew exactly why we were there. She only meant to drive home the point that we should not be.

“Your Grace,” Ned said, tossing his mother a charming smile. “I invited Lady Katherine here for some fresh air. I wanted to show her the orchard with the pink and orange of the sun as it rises.”

The
duchess narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “The world has eyes and ears, my son. You can never be too careful. What may be done in innocence is oft portrayed as wicked.”

July 7, 1558

The duchess being called to court to attend the queen for several days left Ned and I more time to spend together. She’d done her best to keep us separated, for reasons I’d yet to ascertain. But today was all for us.

“More mead, my lady?”

Ned held the corked bottle up, his long fingers wrapped around the clay neck. It appeared the one glass of honeyed wine I’d consumed had made me all too aware of him. The way his fingers were long, strong, the knuckles perfectly proportioned with a light dusting of dark hair.

“Yes,” I said, enjoying the warm feeling in my belly.

Ned pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and poured the golden liquid into my cup. I took another swill, letting the tangy bite of fruit and honey tantalize my tongue.

“Your face is flushed,” Ned observed, his eyes glinting wickedly.

I smiled. “’Tis the wine.”

But was it only the wine? I had the most intense urge to lean forward and kiss him. To let our lips press together, to taste the wine inside his mouth.

“Is my face flushed as well?”

“Yes,” I lied, wanting him to believe I was flushed from drink rather than desire.

We lounged upon the warm summer grass beside the pond at Hanworth, just under a willow tree to keep the sun from baking our skin. A gentle breeze blew. Swans and ducks floated around the pond, dipping their heads beneath the water, letting the rivulets run over their feathered backs to keep them cool.

Ned plucked a dandelion from the grass and rolled the stem between his fingers. “I think I shall make you a crown of flowers today.”

“You needn’t make me a crown, Ned.” More blood rushed to my already hot cheeks.

“A princess deserves a crown.”

I shook my head, terror filling me at the acknowledgment. “I am no princess.”

Ned plucked another dandelion, placing its stem behind my ear, his knuckles grazing my cheek. “But you are a princess of the blood, sweeting. Whether you like it or not.”

I let out a halfhearted laugh and reached up to touch the flower. “I like it not.”

“I wonder how many people there are who wish they could be someone else,” he mused, gazing out at the pond. “Do you think the swan wishes to be a duck?”

My gaze was drawn back to the pond. “They seem to float so well together.”

“Aye, but the swans are prettier than the ducks.”

“But do the ducks know that?”

Ned laughed. “I
doubt it.” He leaned back on an elbow, closer to me, his face near my shoulder. “I think you are beautiful. You are my swan.”

I took a heady sip of wine, trying to distract myself from Ned
’s alluring scent and charm. “And what are you? A duck or my swan mate?” Oh, dear Lord! What had I said? How could I have been so bold?

I swallowed hard, wishing I could pull the words back from the air. But then my gaze met Ned
’s. His hazel eyes seemed to darken, the lids growing heavy. The intensity of his stare stole my breath, and I waited minutes, maybe hours, to hear his answer.

“It would be my greatest pleasure to be your swan, my lady.”

“Oh,” I breathed, unable to speak a word more.

His fingers danced along my jawbone, turning my face
toward his, urging me closer. My eyes fluttered shut, my lips parted, and then, sweet heaven, his silky lips brushed over mine. His hand slid to my cheek, cradling me, drawing me in. The wine glass dropped from my hand to splash in the grass, and I let myself sink closer, pressing my body against his.

Ned
’s tongue caressed the seam of my lips, teasing, enticing. I parted my lips for him, wishing for him to explore me deeper, and he did. The sweet taste of mead mingled on my tongue, on his, melding as one.

The kiss was sensual, moving. I wanted to kiss him forever and never part.
But, alas, Mrs. Helen cleared her throat and the spell was broken.

When
the duchess returned later that evening, she called me to her solar. I took great care with my appearance, trying to look my best for her. She stood, her back rigid, her face stony as she studied me. I could stand it no longer.

“Your Grace, I beg pardon, but what is it I have done to offend you?”

She tilted her head a fraction of an inch. “What makes you believe I find you have offended me?”

“You do not wish for Ned and I to be together.”

A short, bitter laugh escaped the duchess’s lips. “My dear girl, my reasoning lies not with you.” She looked off into the distance, as if seeing a windowpane to the past. “This queen is…volatile. Much like her father—but I daresay he was a bit more controlled at least. I fear for everyone close to her. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than for my son to be close to the throne. But now I find times have changed, and I want him further away.”

“I want to be further away
, too.”

“Yes, I am sure you do. But you must understand, you can never be. As long as you breathe
, you are a threat. The more works you do with the poor, with the sick, the needy, the more stray animals you take to your breast, the more beloved you become to the people. They see you as a sweet angel come to lay your grace upon their sorry heads, and the queen is but a stalwart monarch, ready to strike should they stray from the path she has set forth.”

I had only ever thought the shirts I sewed, tinctures made and animals loved were done out of kindness. Not as a threat to the throne.

“Would that I could run away then.”

“But you would be found. Everyone knows you, Kat. Everyone has seen your pretty portrait. They may f
eign friendship, an interest in your cause, but always the minds of people can be shifted to side with the strongest. Mary is often ill… She is weakening.” The duchess shifted her gaze to the far wall. “Elizabeth will always be stronger. She is her father and her mother in one. ’Tis a formidable foe those two created.”

“What shall I do?”

“What you have been doing. But remember that your actions will affect everyone around you.”

“I love him, you know.”

She smiled sadly. “Perhaps you think you do. We all fancy ourselves in love sometimes.”

“Did you not love Ned
’s father?”

Her eyes flashed with some unseen secret. “Yes, very much.” She turned from me quickly, walking away with brisk clips of her shoes on the stones, but not before I saw tears coming into her eyes.

J
uly 21, 1558

A sad case of lassitude had set in about Hanworth. Ned was sent on errands by Her Grace, and she kept to herself. I’d spent the last few days by Jane’s bed, reading to her from the pages of the little golden book my sister passed to me within the Tower. And yet all I could think about was my mornings with Ned reading
Le Morte d’Arthur.

In the garden, I gathered chamomile to make a t
isane for Jane. This garden sadly lacked what I’d built at Bradgate Manor and even at Pembroke’s Castle. I dropped the meager contents into a pot of boiling water and made my way upstairs to change.

Guilt
riddled my mind that I should be so concerned with my time away from Ned, for I had come to Hanworth only to keep my dearest friend company through her illness. But I’d…fallen in love. While Jane whiled away in bed, recuperating, I got used to being out in the sun and the languid mornings spent beside Ned. Sitting day in and day out in the stuffy castle without his company, at least for a little while, was driving me to the brink of madness.

At least I
had my sweet puppy, Beau, to cuddle with. Arabel and Rex had taken to him quite well, nudging him along like two overprotective parents as he bounded with large, gangly feet through the gardens. My tiny monkey, Stew, whom I had had to leave behind at Westminster Castle with servants, would have loved to pick the fleas and other such mites off the little squirt.

And
, in Ned’s absence, it was sweet to have a part of him left behind.

I stood from the dressing table and glanced down at the somber blue velvet gown I bade
Mrs. Helen dress me in. I could not abide any of the more cheerful colors, and while the dress was still a pretty shade of sapphire, it was dark enough to complement my mood. My kirtle of silver silk showed through the split of the velvet down the middle and was edged with pearls. The stomacher was embroidered with silver flowers, and I plucked the pearls that graced the center of each.