No Will But His (14 page)

Kathryn didn't know if Joan meant his blood to be his ancestors or if she simply meant that force of the blood, the strength of will, that was often referred to by the same name. It was none of her care, and she walked on.

Francis Dereham was in a black mood throughout the ride that day, and after he had pulled her from the horse in a customary way and set her down on the ground in front of the stables, he'd kept his hands on her waist.

Kathryn's heart sped up, and she thought—madly—that he was going to kiss her. She could almost feel those generous, sensuous lips against hers, and she felt her body go limp in response, ready to swoon into his arms.

But then Waldgrave slapped at Francis's arm and said, "Not here, man. Don't play the fool."

Francis shook, as though waking up, removed his hands from her waist, and made her a deep bow, and Kathryn left, feeling strangely unsatisfied.

Though she normally paid little attention to the moods and humors of her fellow maids, save only those of her closest fellows, she noted now that Joan Bulmer looked as if she were in deep melancholy and also that she, for no reason that Kathryn could imagine, kept giving Kathryn the blackest of looks.

The whole event made Kathryn feel uncomfortable and, the next day, it was with some trepidation that she approached the stables for her riding lesson. Only she found Francis Dereham in an expansive mood and Waldgrave seemingly morose.

Nothing in particular happened during that lesson, except that Dereham offered to race Kathryn, and Kathryn raced by his side, well ahead of Waldgrave, and as fast as the wind among the paths of the forest. Faster and faster, and Dereham could not lose her, though they left Waldgrave behind.

After a long while Dereham slowed the pace of his horse, and Kathryn matched it, and because the animals looked sweaty, they walked the horses back to the stable. During that time they said almost nothing, which for Kathryn was very strange as she dearly loved to talk and tease. She didn't know if it was strange for Francis Dereham, but the occasional stare from his dark, dark eyes was all she could handle.

As she was leaving the stable, Waldgrave came in, riding his horse apace. He looked at Dereham and some intelligence seemed to pass between the men, then Dereham shrugged as if to say he didn't care. Kathryn, in turn, unable to understand what was happening, decided it was nothing to do with her and walked out. But Waldgrave cut her path at the door. "Mistress Howard," he said.

The way he pitched his voice low seemed to Kathryn as though he could want nothing proper with her. It reminded her of Manox and his ways. She took a step back, afraid of what might follow, and he said, "Mistress Howard, hold. I would . . . that is, I have a letter for you."

Kathryn looked at him in astonishment. "A letter," she said. "But we've barely spoken three words together."

"Oh, not from me," he said. "From my cousin, Henry. Henry Manox."

"What does Manox have to do with me that he should be writing to me?" Kathryn asked.

"Only he's working for a lord's household, teaching music to children, and always he says that he'll never forget you and that he's always thought himself bound together to you by promise."

Kathryn frowned. "There was no promise between us, no, and nothing to bind us either."

"But he said," Waldgrave started.

"Well, then he was mistaken."

Waldgrave proffered a much scuffed, folded piece of paper, sealed with wax. "If you'd but read his letter. He said that whatever you did, you should be sure to read his letter, for he is pining with loneliness for you."

Kathryn shook her head. "He has nothing to say to me, nor I to him," she said, and walked away so blindly that she almost ran straight into Francis Dereham. He had the oddest smile on his face, and she wondered what he meant by it. Perhaps he had heard her discussion with Waldgrave, and perhaps he truly thought she had pledged her troth to Manox. She didn't know why this idea vexed her so, but it did, and she slapped her bonnet against her thigh as she left the stables area to go to her room.

That night she was called to play for the duchess and her company—the Duke of Norfolk, who was visiting. As always, her playing was much admired and complimented, causing her to smile broadly and show two little dimples on either side of her face.

They asked her to play everything, from airs to madrigals, on the lute and on the virginal and finally the duke told his stepmother, "Well, you are right. There is something of Anne to her, and sure her playing is enchanting. Quite the best musician I've ever met. I'll see what can be done. I'll make enquiries."

After the duke had left, the duchess asked Kathryn to stay behind, while her chamberer undressed the old lady with hands made deft by practice. "Do you wonder, Kathryn," the Duchess asked, "what the duke wants?"

"Indeed," she said, "I don't, for I vow it won't be anything to do with me."

But the duchess laughed and said, "Forsooth, so modest, child. It is indeed to do with you. We're arranging to forward a great marriage for you. But there, I won't say more, for fear of casting ill luck on the endeavor. Know only that your grandmother and your loving uncle are thinking about you."

Kathryn curtseyed and said thank you, and left the room wandering what marriage they could possibly be forwarding for her while the pall of Queen Anne's execution still hung over the family. But she desisted from trying to understand it; for sure, if it were someone she knew, then the Duchess would have told her who it was. And if it were not someone she knew, at least she was fairly sure it would not be a mere country squire; if it were, then the duchess would not say that it was a great marriage.

In this knowledge, she went through a curtain into a passage that led out of the duchess's chamber proper. At that moment, she heard footsteps behind her, and turned, in time to see Mary Lassells with pursed lips and an expression of great disapproval, standing right behind her. Since the last time the woman had been that near had been while she'd grabbed at Kathryn's hair and slapped Kathryn's face after catching her in the church with Manox, Kathryn was discomfited enough to step aside.

Noticing that the woman was holding a large basin full of steaming water—probably the remnants from helping the duchess's night grooming—in her hands, Kathryn leaned forward, to open the door, but for the second time that day, she was accosted with very odd words, "If you please, Mistress Kathryn Howard, I would have words with you."

"I beg your pardon?" Kathryn asked. "What can you have to say to me?"

"Only this. That on a recent errand for my lady into Horsham proper, I came across that Henry Manox with whom you used to be so pleased."

"It was a long time ago, and I knew nothing. I only tried to make him stop besieging me," Kathryn said. "I have told my grandmother everything."

"Yes, milady, and so you say," Mary made no move to put down the massive basin, but stood there holding it, as though it were no encumbrance at all and she could not feel the weight of it. "And you might be telling the truth at that, but I'll have you know I accosted Manox and asked him why he's playing the fool." She frowned. "For you must know that more than once in the past months I heard rumors that he was talking about you and saying that he intended to marry you, and I told him he couldn't be that foolish, for if he tried to do any such thing, your relatives would very quickly end his life. And then he told me that perhaps it was so, but it did not matter as his intentions toward you were strictly dishonorable. That he meant to have you, without ever marrying you, and that you'd promised him that he could have your maidenhood, though it hurt you, for you knew he'd be good to you afterward."

Kathryn felt as though the air escaped her lungs. She put her hand in front of her mouth to stifle a scream that was more than half frustration and rage. "What means he by this?" she said at last. "Has he run mad? For in the church that . . . that day you found us, he told me this, and I told him that I did not wish him to have my maidenhead and that—"

"Yes, milady," Lassells said, and it was of a sudden clear to Kathryn that the woman wasn't angry at her, but rather angry at Manox and afraid for Kathryn and Kathryn's reputation. "I know, I heard. My Lady and I went there almost as soon as you did, only delayed because she got the letter about . . . about Queen Anne, and we went in through the back, but I heard you say that to him clear as day, and it was clear to me, too, that he had been practicing the grossest deception on you, and that you had been doing nothing but trying to get him to stop importuning you, only you did not know how to do it." She sighed. "But I thought you should know what he's been saying. It is my opinion that he's mad with rage at failing to engage your affections and distraught that you didn't, indeed, pledge your troth to him. And when a man is like that, he can do or say anything. And now that my lady is trying to arrange a marriage for you . . . and such a marriage, too . . . Well, then, I think that you should meet with Manox one final time, and arrange it so that he knows if he continues speaking, you have friends as will avenge your honor. For I'm sure," Lassells went on, earnestly, "that anyone of Her Grace's gentlemen will do that."

"I . . . yes, I will meet him," Kathryn said. "If you think it will help. Only not in the chapel and not under the stairs."

"Oh, no, madam," Mary said. "I will send word that you will meet him in the orchard, tomorrow after supper, and if you be willing, I'll stay in the shadows a little far off, not close enough to eavesdrop, but close enough to rescue you should you need my assistance."

Chapter Eighteen

The riding lesson was after breakfast, a breakfast of bread and cheese and ale of which Kathryn hardly partook, because she was thinking of the interview with Manox. She tried to put it out of her mind, for what use was there to thinking about it all day? And she was not supposed to see the man till the evening.

But worry lingered. She could tell herself that she was not worrying, but she could not actually banish worry as such. She could simply make it hide under a blanket of normalcy.

"So sad, Milady?" Francis Dereham asked her, as he helped her onto her horse. "It seems to me what you need is a good run through the paths in the preserve."

It seemed to Kathryn that, on the other side of her, Waldgrave sighed deeply, but she smiled at Dereham, showing her dimples. A wild ride through the forest was exactly what she needed, and she was glad he had realized it and made her realize it, too. "Indeed, sir," she said.

Once the horses had warmed to their paces, Dereham spurred his horse, and Kathryn too spurred the horse she was riding, and they hurried along faster and faster till Dereham slowed, as he had the day before. Only this time, as they came to a stop deep in the forest, he jumped from his horse and tied the animal to a nearby branch, then led Kathryn's horse, with Kathryn still on it, to the same point, and likewise tied it to a tree.

Then, without warning, he reached up, his hands around her waist, as he had done dozens of times before, and pulled her down from horse. Only this time, unlike the times before, instead of setting her on the ground, he pulled her close to him before setting her down, so that she was standing as close to him as a woman could be to a man when her feet touched the mossy floor of the forest.

"Master Dereham," she said, only her voice came out all breathy and odd, as if pronouncing her name made her dizzy. As though the thought of him were claret poured directly into her mind. "Master Dereham," she said again, and lest it be taken for a reproof, stretched her little hand and grabbed hold of his doublet and made as if to pull him closer, were that possible.

He smiled at her and put both arms around her, his dark, dark eyes seemd to shine with an interior light, as his eyelids descended halfway upon them. "Ah, Mistress Howard, you don't know how long I have wished to do this."

"Do what?" she asked, and then squeaked as he brought his lips down upon hers and kissed her hard, his tongue pushing its way between her unresisting lips and teeth, and playing with her tongue as though it were a snake disporting itself in its den.

She'd never felt anything like it. Oh, she'd done this, or very much the same, with Manox. But the feelings that went with it were all different. Kissing Manox had been fun, in the way that being touched was fun, and because she was the absolute center of Manox's attention.

Kissing Dereham was something wholly different. She wanted him as much as he wanted her—she could feel it in their kiss, and in the little moan that escaped her and caused him to hold her yet tighter and kiss her yet more passionately. He moaned back into her lips, and his arms pulled her hard against him.

She could feel his manhood, hard and hot against her stomach, but she did not wish to pull back nor ask him what he was about. Instead, she threw back her head and willed herself to enjoy this kiss. Dereham's mouth tasted of the best ale, and like the best ale it felt as though it would turn her head. And his mouth and hers felt as though they should be linked, as though only then would they feel complete.

When his tongue withdrew, her tongue followed his, into his mouth, and he made a sound of surprise at it and let her kiss him, taking the lead in the game in which, until so recently, she'd been the prey.

"Mistress Howard, I didn't know you could kiss," he said.

"Master Dereham, neither did I. It only . . . it only feels natural."

He raised his eyebrows at her, forming two perfect dark semicircles against his broad forehead. "Indeed, it does, Kathryn Howard. I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, and that I was born to kiss you and to be kissed by you."

"They told me," she said, panting a little, with lack of breath and with her own daring. "That you were courting Joan Bulmer."

"Oh, that was so long ago," Dereham said, and smiled disarmingly. "And I was but a fool who knew no better. I didn't know you, Kathryn." He paused. "And they told me you were betrothed to Henry Manox."