Falling For Henry (15 page)

“Prince Henry's Grandma is giving birth?” said Kate stupidly.

“Not Lady Margaret, of course! One of her maids!”

“Having a baby? One of her maids is having a baby? Here?”

“Well, where would you expect?” snapped Doña Elvira. “In the sky? Now hurry up.”

“Well, I could just go back to bed—” started Kate eagerly.

“You'll stay with me,” was the tight-lipped response. “Fool girl wandering about at night. Tomorrow I'll see about the leeches.”

Tired and disappointed, Kate limped after Doña Elvira through dimly lit corridors until they reached Lady Margaret's apartments. These were more richly furnished than their own rooms, with thick red and gold hangings on the walls. She guessed the floors were marble and there were velvet carpets strewn about. Like her own chambers, the walls were plastered brick, but in some of the bigger rooms she could see linen-like paneling and, in one very big room, a brilliant tapestry that must be fifty feet long. It depicted a scene from the Bible, Kate thought, recognizing the style from a children's picture book she'd had in New York. Up a stone staircase were the more private bedchambers and, in one of these, a young woman lay moaning on a pallet of straw. Doña Elvira checked her under the gaze of four other wide-eyed maids and then sighed.

“Well, there won't be a baby born this night. Just too many suckets eaten at dinner.” She drew open her bag and produced a leather packet. “Mix this powder in water and give it to her every hour until the pains diminish. Come and get me if there are any new symptoms.”

“What was the remedy?” asked Kate, feeling a cramp settling in her own stomach from the night's excitement.

“Powdered sapphires,” said Doña Elvira.

15
The mathematics of loss

“SAPPHIRES ARE USEFUL in case there's a touch of the sweating sickness,” Doña Elvira continued. “I doubt very much this is the case. There's certainly no labor and, since it's early, I won't give her any juniper. With God's grace, we'll have a few more weeks of resting-in before that baby is born.”

“Oh,” said Kate, shocked at the idea of eating sapphires. She'd better not complain of any illness or who knows what she'd be given as a remedy.

Soon she found herself back under the covers with her strange bedfellow, observing again the ritual picking of the beard. This time, Kate was exhausted, but instead of dropping right off to sleep, her mind swirled with bits and pieces of the day. What if the tunnel worked as a kind of elevator, an elevator that started and stopped at particular points in its respective universes? If this were true, she could go back to her own place and time at the original point of exit. Except that the other Katherine was there. Taking her place. The idea was mathematically sound. The princess and she had merely changed sides on their universal axes.

Dizzily, she wondered what the princess intended to do. Once Kate crossed back into her own time, could she and Katherine both stay there? As identical twins or something? Romantically, the idea of being an identical twin separated at birth took hold. Then her mind jumped haphazardly to what she would have to do to manage her escape.

Her eye fell on a brass candelabra that was standing on a shelf by the bed, its three candles flickering on burnt stubs. What if she used it as a weapon and smashed Doña Elvira on the head? As soon as the idea occurred, Kate knew she could never go through with it. Doña Elvira had been with Katherine ever since she was a child, and Kate sensed that Katherine loved Doña Elvira better than she loved anyone. Memories rushed in before Kate could stop them, and her heart beat faster as she tried to keep her perspective, and Katherine's, separate and distinct.

On the boat, Katherine had been miserably seasick. Doña Elvira had sat beside the bed, reading from the Bible and offering drinks of water. Sometimes she'd placed a cool cloth on Katherine's forehead; sometimes she'd rubbed her wrists and arms to keep them from cramping.

In this new place, it had been Doña Elvira who'd encouraged her, promised that she'd get more and more comfortable as time went on. And she'd been right. Katherine was comfortable here. She didn't want to live anywhere else and hoped she could fulfill whatever role God intended for her. And she loved Prince Henry.

The memory of the door rose again in Kate's thoughts, an even clearer picture than she'd had in the tunnel. It was a big wooden door, ornately carved and tightly shut. She was standing outside, awaiting a message. The message was something to do with her future here. She wanted the door to open but, at the same time, she wanted it to stay shut. If there was to be bad news, perhaps it was better not to know. The King might choose her as Henry's bride or he might cast her as Arthur's widow for the rest of her life. Whatever her fate was, it was in the King's hands.

The image of the door was smoothly replaced in Kate's mind with other things. The apple blossoms in the orchard in spring, when all you had to do was walk beneath the trees to have a petal crown delivered by the wind. A long white dress that hung somewhere just out of reach. The taste of lemons, freshly squeezed on the creamy fish that was served on long pewter plates, carried to the table by someone in red livery.

Lemons. The thought of them snapped Kate back into the old fear, darkness welling up in her throat until there was no room for air. She gasped, panic rising in her chest, her limbs thrashing about in a desperate bid for air. Then Doña Elvira was leaning over her, gently pushing her onto her stomach and rubbing her back.

“Think of something nice,” said the nurse, gently. “Think of the snowdrops and daffodils. Think of tulips and cowslips. Think of roses. You are happy here in England. Think of how you love the springtime.”

Kate thought of these things and began to breathe naturally again. Then, in a flash of memory, she saw a vase of roses on a coffee table, beside a bowl of lemon drops. She saw her five-year-old self, sitting on the couch after the accident with the broken pitcher, blood dripping from her hand. In desperation and fear, she'd pulled her T-shirt over her head, trying to make a cocoon in which to curl up. But instead of creating a safe haven, she'd gotten stuck in the tight cloth, the T-shirt stretched to capacity, caught around her head and binding her arms. This was how her father had discovered her when he'd come home from work. Bound and silent, her tears worn out, terror a great dark shape behind her eyes.

Was that it? Had she equated the loss of her mother with the claustrophobia and internalized her grief as fear? Kate didn't know and she didn't care. It was enough that she had arrived at this conclusion now. It was a relief to think so, to have a reason for the fear that had seemed so irrational. As Doña Elvira rubbed her back, Kate interrogated the memories. When she had explored every detail, she felt even more at ease. Her mind drifted back to the tulips, the cowslips, the snowdrops, and she wondered sleepily if Katherine's memories of England weren't better than her own. Right now they certainly seemed easier to live with. If Kate had to live in England, maybe it would be better to remain in this time? Loss had diminished her, taken away all joy, but now Katherine's presence was rejuvenating.

She wanted to go home; at the same time, she could feel this new life tugging at her, and she thought about how easy it would be to give in, to give over to all that was Katherine. To vanish without a trace—that was exactly what she had wished for, and the wish could come true. She could make it come true.

The walls between the worlds are thinner than we think.
Willow's words returned as the sound of Doña Elvira's muffled snoring told Kate that she wasn't worried her charge would wander any further tonight. And, truthfully, Kate didn't have the energy. She suddenly thought of Henry and her stomach turned in a funny, delicious sort of way. She could still feel his lips brushing hers and the warmth of his minty breath on her face. It suddenly didn't matter that she knew his future. This Henry wasn't the same one from the history books, she was sure of it. And even if he was, she could change him. She knew she could.

For a moment, Kate's thoughts turned to Hal but she pushed them away. Hal was nothing like Henry. And he was so distant now that she didn't have to think about him. Relief flowed over her even more strongly as she realized she didn't have to think about any of them—Willow, her parents, even Hal—she didn't have to think about any of them at all. The thread of possibility looped tighter, drawing her toward the idea that if she decided to stay in this place, she would be free forever from her past. And the memories from Katherine that held her here were growing stronger. As if to prove that point, as she drifted off to sleep, she remembered William's last name, one more detail in the tapestry she was putting together of her life here: it was Fitzroy.

16
The details

IT WAS A miracle, but somehow Kate slept through the night and woke in the morning feeling deliciously refreshed. For a few dreamy seconds she tried to remember what day it was. Sunday, it was Sunday, but by the light streaming into the sitting room, she knew it was late in the morning. She'd missed chapel and Doña Elvira would be cross.

She thought for a second of Arthur and then remembered he was dead. People were always dying and you just had to accept it as part of life. Arthur had been a good person. Quiet and very young. Too young, in fact, to be a real husband to her, but she had hoped that, in time, this aspect of their lives would develop. Prince Henry's face flashed into her mind and she wondered if she would see him today. He was so handsome. And such a scholar. He would make a good leader, a good king. God be willing, she would be beside him always as his wife. She thought of her old wedding dress and wondered if the new one would be as nice. If the King gave them his blessing. She did not understand the delay; she had been suitable for Arthur, so why not Henry?

In her mind's eye, the wooden door was before her again and she stood outside, trying to hear what was going on within. The King was making his decision. Prince Henry was there with him, planning for the future. A marriage. Or not. She stood, twisting her hands in the folds of her favorite blue dress, worn on this day to bring good luck, wondering what would happen if the decision were no. And then the door opened and His Majesty came out, looking not unkindly upon her.

“It has been decided,” he said, “that a visit to Fulham Palace would do you good. The sickness has been here once. We know well that it took Arthur and it may be coming again. We will protect you from it if we can. We will do everything in our power to protect you, my dear. Do not forget that.” It wasn't assurance of a new marriage but it wasn't exactly discouragement. Katherine swallowed.

“Fulham Palace is not far from our embrace,” the King continued gently. “A half-day's easy ride on good horses. You will be well looked after and returned to us once the sickness has passed.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, her throat dry.

Kate suddenly jerked into full consciousness. What was she thinking! These were Katherine's memories, not hers. And they weren't memories she wanted. Much as her other life had been difficult, at least she'd had some choices. Here she'd be completely powerless, waiting behind closed doors, listening for the fate that someone else would proclaim.

Yet Katherine's memories were mesmerizing. Henry, so charming, so gallant. Perhaps history could be changed. What if Kate became Henry's wife in Katherine's place? Perhaps she could … tame him, she thought, dreamily. It mightn't be so hard a task. After all, Henry was smart. And she knew he loved her. Surely true love could conquer anything?

Kate's thoughts darted to the wolf cub and she wondered if it was safe, poor creature. She felt as Katherine felt, a Spanish princess alone in this strange country, somehow kin to the little animal. She and William could take care of it, restore the wolf to the wilds once it was strong again. Kate rolled over in bed, adrift in planning her new life. A life in Tudor England.

Then she jumped to her feet, throwing the bed covers behind her in a heap. She'd better watch out or she'd completely lose herself here in this time and forget all about going back. Saturday, 2 pm. That's when she'd left, and that's where she was headed. Saturday, 2 pm, October thirteenth, in the year two thousand and six.
I'll be home for my birthday on Monday
, thought Kate.
My real birthday
. Although there would be no one to celebrate. Willow would be busy with her stupid play. And her father … Kate let herself slide back to the fateful day of the accident. If only she had allowed the wisdom tooth to be removed during the first visit to the specialist, they wouldn't have been on the freeway that day. Her father would have had his heart attack at home, where an ambulance might have reached him faster. But instead, she'd had to be a big baby and panic when they put the dam into her mouth, finally persuading her dad to take her home and then booking the second appointment weeks later, when she could be given medication ahead of time to calm her nerves. And so he'd died. Her fault, when she took it all apart. She felt as if tiny earthquakes were happening all over her body, as if she were cracking into a million tiny pieces.

What day was it now? Sunday, she thought defensively, trying to put herself back together. She could stay here as long as she wanted and no one could stop her, but she'd better get the facts straight. It was Sunday, but what day, what month? And, even more importantly, what year? A chambermaid interrupted her confused thoughts, tapping softly on the door before entering to remove the lantern from her room.

“I'll bring it back afore dusk, filled up with oil,” said the girl. Her voice was cheery. “Did you hear about the hanging?”

Kate shook her head.

“The thief who stole the 'broidered communion cloth. He was hung at Tower Hill at dawn.”