Honor in the Dust (20 page)

Stuart was surprised. “Careful, sire?”

“Yes! Yes, boy! You're innocent, but they may not be.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I'll do as you say.”

“You're a good young fellow, and I want to see you prosper. Not only are you doing fine work with my birds but my armorer says he's never seen such a stout bow as flexible as yours. So he'll be asking for your help to work out a way to make more of them.”

Stuart felt the warmth of pleasure. He had the king's own approval! “I'll do all I can to serve you, Majesty. That's all I want to do. To be a king's man.”

“I wish I had a thousand like you, Stuart, but I don't,” Henry said. “Well, mind what I've said.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

The king stopped. “You know life isn't usually as it is in the fairy tales or in the songs.”

“It isn't?”

“No. Here you are, a poor boy who suddenly finds himself with the king who can do all things, or so it seems. It's not impossible that one day you might do something that will please me so much that I'll knight you.” He laughed suddenly. “How does that sound? Sir Stuart Winslow. You like the ring of it, boy?”

“I doubt I could ever do anything that would merit an honor like that.”

“Don't be foolish. I made a man a knight the other day who's a drunk and a fornicator and everything else. You know why I did it?”

“No, sire.”

“Because he contributes a lot of money to the Treasury. He's a fool and an imbecile and not worth the powder to blow him up, but I knighted him. So not all knights are like the ones you read about in Malory. I'll bet you listened to those tales of the knights of the Round Table over and over.”

“I have read them, sire.”

“Yourself? How did you learn to read? Surely you didn't go to school.”

“My father taught me. He taught me Latin too.”

“You read Latin? What do you read?”

“We only have one book in Latin back at Stoneybrook. The Bible.”

The king shook his head.

“I keep finding out strange things about you. You're an inventor. You're an expert with the sword, if your father was not boasting. And now I find that you're a Latin scholar. I have a book in Latin you might like to peruse.”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty.”

“Sir Stuart Winslow.” He laughed when he saw Stuart's face. “It sounds good to you, doesn't it?”

“Yes, sir. But it's more than I could hope for.”

“You keep your humility, son. It's especially becoming in court.” He turned away, but then wheeled and fastened his eyes on Stuart. “I hear you're getting a reputation as a gambler. Better be cautious. Many a man is ruined by that vice!” With that, he turned again and walked away. Stuart watched him go. He was filled with admiration for the king. He said the words over again. “Sir Stuart Winslow.”

Stuart had haunted the palace for a week, but Nell was always busy with someone else. Finally he lay in wait for her, hiding himself behind a tall pillar, and when she had crossed to the pavilion he came up quickly, before she could escape into the queen's quarters. “For weeks, now, we've kept company, but now you avoid me. Don't you love me at all, Nell?”

“You're such a sweet boy,” Nell cooed, taking his arm and pulling him away to a quiet corner. She patted his cheek, “You're so very young.”

“You're only one year older than I. Does that make you an aged woman?”

Nell smiled and paused, as if conflicted.

“Come with me tonight, Nell. We'll go down to the lake. You love it there.”

“I cannot. Queen Catherine wants us with her tonight.”

“You can sneak away.”

“And if I got caught, what then? They'd send me back home again for disobeying the queen. I couldn't bear that!”

Stuart pleaded, but nothing would change her mind. But she looked left and right, pulled his head down, and kissed him. So sweet, she tasted! At first he was surprised, but then he pulled her close, hungry for more.

She turned her head aside and shoved at his chest. “Now, that's enough for now. Maybe tomorrow we'll be able to meet for a little while.”

“Come to the old oak tree at the beginning of the forest.”

“The last time I went there with you, you were very impudent.” She saw his face redden, and she laughed with delight. “You are the most innocent young man I've ever seen! You're just a baby really.”

“I'm not a baby!”

“Well, you're young and pure and innocent, probably the only man that fits that description in all Henry's court.”

“Meet me there. Say you will.”

“All right. I'll meet you there at seven o'clock.”

He reached for her, but she laughed and pulled herself away. “That's enough for now. Go on now. Take care of your birds.”

“Until then,” he said, lingering beside her, wishing he could grab her and kiss her again. But she was already turning away. He hated the hold she had on him and loved it. Never before had he been so taken with a woman, not even when he had first fallen for Heather Evans. That was a boy's love. This was a man's passion.

He knew Nell was here to land a nobleman for a husband, and misery seized his heart as he walked to the mews. There was only one way in which he could make her his own—by persuading the king to knight him and adding to his gaming winnings. Perhaps with those two things in hand—a title and some wealth—Nell would cease toying with him and allow herself to fall in love.

A horseman covered in dust met Stuart at the mews.

“Whom do you seek?”

“I need to find Stuart Winslow.”

“You've found him. Who are you?”

“Just a messenger. Here, this be for you.”

“Do I pay for it?”

“You can give me a coin if you'd like. I wouldn't say no.” The rider was a small man, thin and emaciated but with lively dark eyes. He took the coin that Stuart offered him, tossed it in the air, caught it, and put it in his pocket. “God be with you, Stuart Winslow.”

“And with you.”

As soon as the rider was gone, Stuart examined the slip of paper. It had been sealed with a tallow candle, but there was no personal seal in the wax.

“It has to be from Father,” he murmured, and opened it.

Stuart,

You must come home at once. Your mother is having great difficulty. The doctor thinks there is danger for her and for the baby. Come as quickly as you can. And pray, Son, pray with me. I fear we're about to lose them both.

Your loving father,

Claiborn Winslow

Instantly Stuart folded the paper up and stuck it in his pocket. He ran quickly to the master of horse, a tall individual with gray eyes and a thick neck.

“Felin, I must borrow a horse. My mother's very ill. The king is gone, but he said I could use that gelding, Tyrone, at my leisure.”

“Aye, he gave me that word as well. But it's poor weather for a run. Can it wait until the morrow?”

“Afraid not. I must get home immediately.”

Felin stared at him for a moment. “Want me to saddle 'im for you?”

“No, I can do it.” Tyrone was the horse that Stuart used when he went on the hunt with the king. “I don't know when I'll be
back,” he said, “but I'll take care of Tyrone. See that someone takes care of the mews, will you?”

“All right. But see that you return before the king. I do not care to be here if he discovers that both his mews keeper and his horse are gone.”

Stuart urged the gelding into a lope, one that would cover ground without tiring the horse out. He wanted to run him at full speed but knew that would break the horse's wind. And with the winter weather upon them, he dared not risk the horse's health. He held to the same lope for four hours, praying all the way, and finally pulled up in front of his home. His father came out to greet him and help him unsaddle Tyrone and put the horse out in the pasture.

“You made good time, Son.”

“How's Mother?”

“She's having a very hard time. Much harder than she did with you.”

“But she's going to be all right, isn't she?”

“God knows. Come. Let me make you something to eat.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You must eat, Son. I'm not hungry either, but we must keep up our strength.”

Claiborn prepared a simple meal, and the two sat down to eat. But it was as tasteless as weeds to Stuart, and he saw that his father was staring out the window rather than eating.

“I wish I could help, Father. I want to do something.”

“The good Lord can help. If you want to do something, pray. That's what I've been doing day and night.”

“I'm not sure my prayers are worth a lot.”

His father glanced at him in surprise. “We've spoken of this before. I thought you understood just how worthy your prayers truly are.”

“I'm not like you and Mother. You're so close to God.”

“You're younger. It will come.”

The two men alternately sat in the parlor and walked to and fro outside. Once Father Simon, a local priest, came by and inquired to how Grace was doing, but there was no word from the midwife.

It was almost midnight when the midwife came out to them. “You have a fine son, Master Winslow. Look, he's got red hair just like you.” She glanced up at Stuart. “And you.”

“And my wife? How is Grace?”

“She's had a rough go of it, but she's strong. I have hope.”

“God be praised! Here, now, let me see him.” Claiborn took the small morsel of humanity from her and looked down into his face. “Another Winslow.”

“What will you call him, Father?”

“Your mother was favoring Quentin, after her uncle. I've always liked that name myself.” He looked down at his new son, cradled in his arms. “Quentin Winslow,” he said softly, “born in 1519. I wonder what the world will be like when he's your age—or mine.”

“You can go in and see your lady now, Master Winslow,” called the midwife.

“Yes. Let me see her first, Stuart, and then you can go in.”

Claiborn's heart sank when he saw how pale and wan Grace looked. She looked dead for a moment, and his heart almost stopped, but then her eyes opened, and she smiled. “That's a fine boy, we have.”

“Yes, he is. You did fine, Grace—just fine.”

“Quentin.” She reached out and touched the baby's hair. “Let me hold him. Put him here.” He put the baby into the crook of her arm, and for a while the two were silent. Then she said, “I heard you talking to someone.”

“Yes, Stuart came home. It's a wonder he didn't kill that horse.”

“Tell him to come in.”

Stuart looked shaken by his mother's pale appearance and evident weakness.

“You've given me a beautiful baby brother.” He knelt down and took her hand. He held it in both of his, and Claiborn remembered how once, Stuart's hand was as small as Quentin's. His boy, now a grown man—and a new son, just beginning!

“I'm glad you came home,” Grace said.

“So am I, Mother.”

“Will you stay a few days?”

“One or two.” He reached out to touch her face. “I am so relieved you are well. I feared …”

“The worst,” she said.

He nodded.

“Forgive me,” Claiborn said, “but I wanted him home if you were …”

“Going to die,” she said.

“Yes.” What would he have done had he lost her? He couldn't imagine life without Grace.

“Well, cease your morbid thoughts, you two,” Grace chided them with a smile. “I have plenty of life to live yet and three men who are depending on me.”