The Jewels of Warwick (20 page)

 

 

"Well, if it begins to give you any kind of pain, I want it removed
immediately... Perhaps to replace it with a prince."

 

 

"Not while you are still married," she said firmly.

 

 

"I daresay the very day this marriage ends... So will that pebble."

 

 

"Another obstacle is a problem of mine," she dared to day.

 

 

"Oh?"

 

 

"My sister Topaz. I've been loyal to my sister all my life, and
always empathized with her when everyone else ignored her. But she
believes she is the rightful heir to the throne by way of our
father. Our father would have been king had your father not
dethroned Richard the Third."

 

 

He gave a tight smile. "Well, that's quite a moot point at this
point in time. For my father's army did defeat Richard, because some
of Richard's men deserted him at the very last second. It was a
precarious victory, but a victory nonetheless. The crown itself has
no loyalty, no respect for bloodlines. It sits upon the head of the
latest victor."

 

 

"Aye, you are right, sire. Your father did kill Richard and take his
crown, altering the succession. But Topaz never recognized it as
such. She believes she's still royal and Henry Tudor was a mere
pretender."

 

 

"So she must believe you are royal as well."

 

 

"It matters not what she believes. I respect her opinion but I do
not agree with her. I merely wish to warn you of her ambitions and
if she sees me as, er, in the way of them, she can try to make
trouble for us."

 

 

"What about her lads?" he asked quietly.

 

 

"I know not, sire." She had enough to tell him without bringing her
two mentally abused little nephews into the picture. "She has been
talking of this for years, since we were children."

 

 

She shuddered at the thought of Henry's reaction— treason, it was,
pure and simple treason, and punishable by torturous death. But she
hoped her growing closeness to Henry would be Topaz's salvation.
"Please, sire, she's a country lady who harbors great resentment,
yet she is my sister, and I love her dearly...I want to help her get
over this madness. If you truly love me, please forgive her and
pardon her, and understand that my reluctance is not due to a lack
of love for you but a care and concern for all of England. Either
way, divorcing Catherine and marrying me, we are looking at civil
war, and it is not a pretty sight."

 

 

"'Tis all right, Amethyst." He calmly continued eating his capon,
tearing into a piece of bread and breaking off a wedge of cheese.
"There is nothing to forgive. I fear her not. I've got real enemies,
the people who refuse to support my break with Catherine, the Pope
for one. We might see civil war before this decade is out. But worry
not. It will not be your fault, and I shall handle it."

 

 

He wiped his hands on a linen napkin and dug into the basket
hungrily.

 

 

"But sire...that is my problem. You must stay safe! You must also
protect the Princess Mary! You must keep her safe!"

 

 

"I worry not about Mary," he said between chomps on another chicken
leg. "She is safe enough. If Mary were a boy, well..." He chuckled
through his mouthfuls.

 

 

"So you do not consider Topaz a real threat, then?" she asked
quietly.

 

 

"Nay, my dear. However, I understand your dilemma. She is your
sister and I am your King. I shall respect your wishes and not
pressure you to make up your mind this minute. Such a beautiful day
calls for a ride in the country, not affairs of state. We will
discuss it at length on the morrow, perhaps. But for now..."

 

 

He rose and she gazed admiringly at his lean body as he stretched,
the taut muscles straining under the riding doublet and hose. "Let
us continue, for it will be dark soon."

 

 

So relieved at his calm reaction, she took that last drumstick from
the bottom of the basket and dug in.

 

 

"Sire, how is the Princess Mary?" Amethyst asked that night as they
dismounted and the grooms led the horses away.

 

 

"I have not spoken or written to her in some time," he replied, as
they headed towards the garden for a quiet stroll before the evening
meal.

 

 

His voice betrayed a hint of remorse, as if he hadn't even thought
of her before Amethyst mentioned the Princess' name.

 

 

"Does she know anything of your great matter?" she asked.

 

 

"I doubt not that Catherine has been writing her, telling her all
kinds of prattle. God only knows what kinds of ideas she has put in
the girl's innocent head since I admitted my intention to annul the
match."

 

 

"I would very much like to meet Mary," Amethyst continued, as they
followed the winding garden path, and she plucked a red rose from
one of the many bushes. They headed for the marble fountain, three
small birds streaming water out of their bills, and sat at the edge.

 

 

"She is with your Aunt Margaret at Ludlow Castle at the moment,"
Henry said. "I sent her there to keep her away from Catherine, and
to begin her duties as Princess of Wales."

 

 

"May we go visit her some time? I should like to see my aunt again,
too."

 

 

"I think we might," he answered noncommittally, making it obvious
that a visit with his daughter was not on his immediate agenda.

 

 

"When?"

 

 

He looked at her, cocked his head, and tugged at an end of his cloak
which had fallen into the fountain. "Whenever you wish."

 

 

"How about tomorrow?"

 

 

He laughed, wringing out his cloak on the marble edge of the
fountain, watching the stream of water run back into the pool.
"Amethyst, I cannot go visiting round at whim. My appointments have
to be carefully planned. I have a full itinerary these next few days
that precludes any social calls. You may go and acquaint yourself
with Mary, visit with your Aunt Margaret. You have my blessing."

 

 

"Very well. I am most eager to meet her. Is there any message you
wish to convey to Mary?"

 

 

"Nay," he replied without thinking. "There will be plenty of time
for that when she is a bit older. Then I shall tell her everything."

 

 

She couldn't help but wonder what 'everything' was. She kissed him
on the cheek and began to head for her chambers to pack.

 

 

"Hurry back, little one. You know I have great need of you."

 

 

"And I of you," she admitted, earning herself a warm look from his
rare eyes.

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

 

She travelled to Ludlow in the royal carriage with gifts of silk
cloth for Mary and her Aunt Margaret, and an eager heart. Mary would
be eleven now, she figured, and in light of the conflict between her
parents, very much on the defensive. She had to explain to the child
that she was a trusted friend, and meant no harm to the Queen or to
Mary.

 

 

Amethyst entered the formal gardens among flower beds spilling over
with lavender, rosemary and thyme. She walked down a narrow path
between two marble fountains to where Margaret sat doing her
needlepoint.

 

 

Next to her sat a young girl, her hair pulled back and tucked under
a white head-dress, her face strained with deep concentration on her
needlework. They both looked up as Amethyst approached. Margaret
dropped her work to her lap in surprise, and Mary looked up
curiously, her face showing a pleasant but guarded expression.

 

 

"Aunt Margaret, 'tis so good to see you!"

 

 

Amethyst and her aunt embraced. As usual, Margaret was exquisitely
dressed and jeweled, her gown a light blue adorned with pearls and
gathered tightly to show off her trim waist. Mary rose, and she and
Amethyst curtsied to each other.

 

 

"So this is the Princess Mary," she said, beaming at the girl who,
nearly at eye level with Amethyst, was tall and carried a mature
countenance for her age. She could see Catherine's determined
scrutiny mixed with Henry's jovial vitality in her eyes and in her
smile.

 

 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Amethyst. Please join us."

 

 

Amethyst sat on the marble bench next to Mary, wanting so badly to
let the girl know she was there as a friend, to help her through
these difficult times, wanting to share her own troubled childhood,
to let her know that all would work out well and she would indeed be
queen someday. Then realizing that would be too overwhelming for an
eleven-year-old to absorb in a first meeting, she decided to ask
Mary about herself.

 

 

"I am betrothed to a French prince, but I like it not," was the
first revelation about herself to Amethyst. "I want to marry a
prince of my own choosing."

 

 

How much like Topaz she sounded
, Amethyst thought. Mary's
words sent her soaring back to their childhood.

 

 

"I have two nephews about your age," Amethyst said, knowing they
would never meet, feeling that sad pang for the lads who were living
Topaz's mad ideals. "Edward is thirteen and Richard is nine."

 

 

"That makes us all exactly two years apart!" Mary said, her
exhilaration immediately giving way to a look of sadness, as
Amethyst realized the girl had virtually no one of her own age with
whom to socialize.

 

 

She then asked a question that took Amethyst totally by surprise.
"Have you seen my mother?"

 

 

Amethyst in fact hadn't seen Catherine more than a few times in her
life. She was still at court but quite isolated, keeping to her
chambers and attending her many daily Masses.

 

 

"Nay, Mary, I do not see her much. I am a court musician, a very
loyal subject of your father's, but I haven't the chance to talk
with the Queen much at all. Have you not heard from her?"

 

 

Margaret was sitting and listening carefully to the conversation,
not interfering.

 

 

"She writes to me, and I write to her, but her letters are
sorrowful. She says father is trying to end their marriage. He no
longer loves her."

 

 

"Oh, nay, Mary, he still loves her, very much." That could not have
been a lie; Amethyst knew Henry still bore feelings for Catherine,
but not the way a man loved a woman—the way he now loved her.

 

 

"You see, she is simply past the age that she can bear children, and
you know the King thinks he needs a male heir to carry on the royal
line. 'Tis a complicated matter, a matter I myself do not fully
understand, but I am sure everything will work out."

 

 

"He thinks a wench cannot rule. He does not read his history books.
There was Queen Matilda, and Queen Eleanor, and even my grandmother
Queen Isabella. So why not I?"

 

 

"Some people think differently, but I have a feeling things will
change, Mary. Would you like to be queen some day?"

 

 

Mary's eyes brightened and she smiled, showing young straight teeth,
just a bit big for her face, which would certainly fill out to more
even proportions. "Oh, aye, I wish to do all the things my mother
cannot do!"

 

 

"Then perhaps you will someday," she said, hoping all the while that
Mary would get her rightful wish.

 

 

After dinner in the quiet but cheerful great hall, Mary retired to
her solar to study, and Amethyst was able to spend some time alone
with her aunt.

 

 

"How are Topaz and the lads?" was the first thing Margaret wanted to
know. "Is she behaving herself?"

 

 

"So far. She has been all talk up to this point."

 

 

"She can put your life in serious danger if you continue there at
court, Amethyst. The King may turn on you at any time," her aunt
warned.

 

 

"Henry would never do such a thing. He cares for me a great deal, as
I do him. He knows about Topaz. I am the one who told him. I told
him, hoping he would pardon her out of consideration for me. He was
not a bit disturbed. So concerned is he with his great matter, Topaz
is but a joke to him."

 

 

"Lord knows I and my lads are in enough danger, being the only
living rightful heirs to the throne," Margaret said. "Not that we
would ever try to rebel against Henry...especially since I am like a
mother to Mary. But that can work against me, too, in light of his
problems with Catherine."

 

 

"I believe Catherine will break down and give him his divorce,"
Amethyst replied. "I know that Catherine's relation to her nephew
the Emperor Charles is not as strong as Henry's hold over the entire
realm. Catherine is virtually powerless. 'Tis a shame, especially
since he considers himself the victim, cursed for not being blessed
with male heirs."

 

 

"Poor Mary, she tries so hard to be strong," Margaret said, buffing
her ruby ring on her satin robe. "I do hope she will not grow old
and bitter like Catherine."

 

 

"I am sure she will marry a man who will love her dearly," Amethyst
said.

 

 

"We can only hope. Our Plantagenet line ended tragically enough. Who
knows which way the Tudor line will go."

 

 

 

Upon ending their visit, Amethyst promised Mary that they would
correspond, and offered any help she could give the girl. She had a
troubled life ahead of her, but she certainly was better off here on
the Welsh border than anywhere near court. Once Amethyst was married
to Henry, she'd be a devoted and loving stepmother.