Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (37 page)

I turned slowly and approached the
queen once more, trying with great difficulty to hide my anger at her decision. My shoulders were straight, chin sturdy, jaw clamped tightly shut, and I refused to cry. I would not let her see the pain she caused me. I could not. For then she would win, and while I’d always played her way, she’d killed me today with her hatred. She’d shattered my dreams, and I would not concede my tears to her. Those she could not have.

“You shall be married,
cousin.” Her words were clipped, and her eyes bored into mine, her essence daring me to naysay her.

My voice dripped venom.
“I assume since you waited for my betrothed to leave the room before you mentioned it that you have a different groom in mind?”

“Three old biddies deciding the two of you should marry does not a betrothal make!”

I blanched and, with stalwart grace, managed not to snarl my reply. “My apologies, Majesty.”

Ned and I would never
win. She would have her way. She did not want us to marry, for reasons I could guess at, mostly the justifications Cecil had given about Ned and my marriage being a powerful force compared to her own reign—and also her jealousy of our love.

“There
’s a Scots nobleman who is in need of a wife, and we are in need of peace with the barbarians once again. I will soon make arrangements for you to marry the Earl of Arran. You do recall our previous conversation, do you not? He has been imprisoned in France, hence you not marrying him earlier, but I have it on good authority he is at this moment reunited with his family. I intend a formal betrothal betwixt you both when all is sorted out.”

She
’d threatened me with marriage before to the belligerent fool, but nothing had come of it. Now it appeared she would make good on her threat. My only solace in that realization was I had some time to change her mind.

I bowed my head but said nothing.

“I have need to quell our dear cousin Mary’s rebellion in Scotland. Best to fortify the deal with a marriage. ’Tis how it has always been done.”

“As you say, Majesty.”

“Look at me, Katherine.”

I glanced up into the hard eyes of the
queen.

“You are still a virgin?” Her tone was accusatory, as if she did not believe it to be the case.

How could I answer her? If I admitted to no longer being pure, she would toss me in the Tower. If I lied and said I was, and then she found out the truth, I’d be tossed in the Tower. I was damned either way.

I looked back at the floor and said meekly, “Yes, Majesty.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “That is not what some courtiers are reporting.”

My stomach did a little flip. Several moments passed before I could answer.
“You yourself know of rumors that get twisted on the tongues of those who wish to gain favor and power, Majesty.”

“Are you saying they lie in order to gain my trust?” Her nails
, clicking in a rhythmic pattern on the arm of her chair, quickened their pace.

“Is that not how it has always been?”

“You are more intelligent than I gave you credit for, Kitty-Kat.”

“Thank you, Majesty.”

“Do not think flattery will change my mind. You will marry Arran. Remove thoughts of your lover from your mind, and do not let me see you with him again. Be gone with you.”

I barely made it back to my room. Upon my exit from the queen’s throne room, where we’d been lucky enough to meet with her alone, Jane Seymour clasped me about the waist, along with Bess St. Loe. They lent me their strength in walking back to my chamber. I was numb. Completely and utterly numb. My hands shook, my eyes glistened, but other than that, there was no outward appearance that I was disturbed.

“Where is
Mrs. Helen?” I asked weakly. “I have a megrim. I need her posset.”

Bess went in search of
Mrs. Helen, who’d been seen taking some of my gowns out to the laundress to be cleaned.

“What happened?” Jane asked, sitting beside me and taking my hand in hers.

“She has denied us, Jane. She has forbidden us. But what’s worse—and my dear sweet Ned does not even know it yet!—she is arranging for me to marry a Scot! She meant it when she threatened me before.”

Jane sucked in her breath
. “No,” she breathed out, “’Tis not possible.”

I let the tears come then, sobbing uncontrollably as Jane stroked my hair.

“I love Ned so much, Jane, and she would seek to see me forever steeped in misery. I have done her no wrongs. I have only ever borne her goodwill and charity, and she would seek to stomp on my heart and feed it to her dogs.”

At the word dogs, Beau and Arab
el trotted toward the bed, jumping up to form a comforting barrier against my back.

“You cannot marry the Scot.”

“I have no choice. The only way out would be to take my own life.”

“No!” Jane shouted. “
’Tis a great sin to take one’s own life. You shall never gain God’s great reward if you do. And I shall never forgive you, and Ned shall never forgive you.”

I shook my head. “I know of no other way.”

“Perhaps she was only saying she would marry you to the Earl of Arran to hurt you. She has said such in the past, and it did not come to be. And if it should—” She gulped loud enough for me to hear, stroking my hair and wiping my tears with a handkerchief. “If it should come to pass, at least you have had time with Ned before then, so you might close your eyes and imagine your husband is he.”

Footsteps sounded outside my chamber door and in rushed
Mrs. Helen with Bess behind her. Mrs. Helen shooed away Jane and Bess and settled into giving me slow sips of her herbal posset until I fell asleep, pain gone for the moment. But even slipping into oblivion, I knew ‘twould not last. My life thus far had been moving from one agony to the next, a few sweet interludes gifted between.

Chapter
Eighteen

The one from joy and worldly pomp,

in prison closely hid.

The other forced by fatal chance,

to seek his fortune out:

And shunning danger found despair,

in wandering world about.

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan Solider and
poet

November 4, 1560

“My mother has petitioned the crown to sell off some of her jointure property,” I told Jane. “She seeks to leave an inheritance for Mary and I, to pay of
f some debts and leave her stable boy husband well cared for.”

“I thought you
were starting to like Master Stokes.”

I sighed heavily. “I
am. ’Twas unchristian of me to call him a mere stable boy.”

“He has not been ill toward you
, has he?”

“No, unless bid so by my mother,” I said, recalling the death of
Rex and the way I’d been mortified in front of the nasty merchant.

“Then why are you so
overcome with bitterness?”

Leave it to Jane to be so forthright. I set my embroidery hoop
on my lap so I would not stab myself. “Doing such means she does not expect to live.”

“Oh,” Jane said softly and patted my hand.

“I have yearned, since I was a young child, to be close to my mother. But she’s always remained at a distance to me.”

Jane nodded, most likely
relating to such feelings with her own mother.

“To know the one thing that she wanted to see happen before the hour of her death was that I should gain Her Majesty
’s permission to wed your brother, and I did not, breaks my heart. If we could not be happy together in this life, I wish that we could have been upon parting.”

“Perhaps you can.”

“’Tis not possible. I shan’t seek out the queen about it again, else she hastens to see me matched to that pugnacious Arran.”

Jane giggled and picked up
the ruff she was sewing silk edges to, as two other ladies-in-waiting entered the queen’s presence chamber. I had once again, for the time being, been ousted from Her Majesty’s bedchamber, punishment for daring to find love before she could.

Lady Lettice Knollys and her younger sister
, Lady Elizabeth, set themselves up across the room arranging flowers. Jane leaned in close to me. “What if you were to marry my brother? In secret.”

“What?” I
asked a little too loudly, catching the attention of Lettice and her sister, their burnished red curls bouncing beneath their hoods as they turned.

“Shh…” Jane giggled
. “I’m certain you do not want
them
to hear!”

“What do you mean in secret?” I whispered from the side of my mouth, pretending to be completely engrossed in the velvet piece I was embroidering as a pillow—a present for Ned come Christmas, so he might always have a piece of me by his side while he slept.

“What if you were to meet Beau at his house on Canon Row and marry? I will bring the priest. You cannot marry another. You’ve already been unvirtuous with my brother.”

Jane
’s latter words made my stomach plummet. “Unvirtuous? Isn’t that a bit harsh, Jane?”

“
Well, it may be harsh, Kat, but can you deny it?”

I turned away from her stern gaze.
“No, ’tis true.”

Jane gave a curt nod and succinc
tly said, “Then I shall seek out my brother. I would see you wed in truth before the year is out.”

My breathing quickened
, and I felt I would be sick. To marry without the queen’s permission was treason, and I could lose my life for it. But to live without Ned as truly mine would mean the death of my soul.

In a fit of tempter, Elizabeth would most likely toss us both in the Tower, perhaps leave us to ride out her tantrum for a few weeks. But, eventually she’d have to let us go, and then we’d be together. That was, if she didn’t execute us first.

November 20, 15
60

I rushed to Sheen House, where my sister, Mary, was already in attendance. We held Mother’s hands, we kissed her brow, and even though she did not open her eyes, her lips curled into what we discerned as a smile. Her fingers twitched in our grasps, and we knew she was aware of our presence.

A priest stood vigil and whispered prayers.

The dowager duchess, our step-grandmother, arrived late in the evening, and she, too, knelt to her knees, reciting prayers.

Master Stokes cried
until his eyes were swollen and red.

The following morning
, my mother, the great Duchess of Suffolk, princess of the blood, breathed her last. A little knot formed in my throat. But I’d learned a long time ago not to cry when I lost someone—it was all too often. And showing sorrow often led to someone taking advantage of my pain and weakness.

A letter was sent to the
queen, who promptly agreed to pay for the funeral expenses—a parting gift to her cousin who had never sought to personally take the crown from her own hands. I doubted she would do the same for me. She saw me as the enemy, where my mother married a groom, forever sealing her future as a non-candidate for the throne. I couldn’t help thinking what would my life have been like if I’d done the same? If Ned had been a common man… There was no use thinking on what if.