Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (16 page)

As they approached the line of trees, Mary could see the queen and Lord Robert waiting for them. The queen spurred her horse and rode toward them at breakneck speed, her hair flying out behind her in red curls in spite of her cap. She was smiling and leaning over the horse’s neck. When she reached them, she pulled up short.

“Come along, slowpokes! I am famished!” the queen said as she reined in her horse to join them. Her face was flushed and the usual crinkle in her brow had eased. She looked ten years younger.

“I must wait for Mistress Mary, Your Majesty. Else I would show you how to run your horse properly,” said Oxford.

“Hah! I fear you would be shamed mightily, youngster! Hurry along, Mary! Have I not taught you to be a better horsewoman than this?” said the queen.

Without further prompting, Mary spurred her horse and took off with great speed. She kicked in her heels and the horse ran even faster. She could hear the queen and Oxford thundering behind her. She did not look back but kept her body low and whispered to her horse, “Run! Run!”

By the time she caught up to Lord Robert, Oxford was riding at her side with the queen slightly behind. Mary pulled in and Lord Robert helped her down. He then took the reins and led the horse down to the stream in the woods.

Oxford dismounted and assisted the queen. He then took both horses and joined Lord Robert. The queen shaded her eyes and looked to see where Mistress Blanche and the maidservant were.

“You rode well enough when you had Oxford to chase you,” said the queen.

“I only wished to show Your Majesty my riding lessons had not been for naught,” said Mary.

“Clever girl … How like you the Earl of Oxford?” said the queen, strolling slowly toward the men.

“He is a fair poet, I hear,” said Mary.

“Oh, that he is, that he is. But as a man—what do you think of him?” said the queen.

“He seems to adore Your Majesty … Why do you ask these questions?” said Mary.

“If my eyes do not deceive me, I believe the Earl of Oxford is very interested in you, dear Fawn,” said the queen.

“Has he spoken to you? Has he opened his mind to you?” said Mary.

“No, no—he has said nothing. I just observe how he watches you—like a cat eyeing a mouse. His eyes are greedy for you,” said the queen. “But I have seen Oxford toy with others. Have a care, Fawn—remember, the single state is safest for a woman.”

“Your Majesty is always wise,” said Mary.

“Tut-tut. I just know how a girl’s young heart can betray her. You must be careful, Fawn. You have grown very beautiful and the courtiers have noticed. There will be many who wish to have you to wife. Many more who would enjoy your pleasures and sully your good name,” said the queen, stopping by a large oak tree and leaning against the trunk.

“I have done nothing to dishonor Your Majesty or her court. I am still as I was born—a maid,” said Mary.

“Of course you are. I merely wanted to be certain you understand how very important it is to me that you remain so until I find a suitable match for you. Oxford might be just the man; he is an earl, no less. And he is one of
my
favorites,” said the queen, looking away from Mary onto the meadow.

“I have no feeling one way or the other for the Earl of Oxford, ma’am. I barely know the man. He seems as puffed up as the tail of a peacock…” said Mary.

“Peacock? Did someone say peacock? Is that what we are having for our dinner?” said Lord Robert, strolling up through the woods to join them, Oxford by his side.

“Look! Here comes Mistress Blanche with our food. Where shall we have her spread out the blankets and pillows?” said the queen, sounding like a young girl in her excitement.

The maidservant unpacked the mules and, along with Mistress Blanche, arranged the meal, setting out trays of cold venison, capons, bread, and cheese. They had brought along the queen’s gold plate and, for the first time, Mary ate from gold rather than pewter. The goblets, too, were of gold and Mistress Blanche filled them with sweet malmsey wine for the women. The men drank tankard after tankard of strong ale.

“I must say, Your Majesty looks especially stunning in your riding clothes. But then, Your Grace is always as beautiful as the rising sun in the pale blue sky,” said Oxford, wiping the grease from his mouth with a napkin.

“Thank you, my good earl. Mary tends to my clothes and often selects what I am to wear, with my permission, of course. As a matter of fact, Mary, I have it in mind to make you Keeper of the Books of the Queen’s Clothes,” said the queen. “How like you that?”

“Your Majesty, I am most honored. But is this not a task for a woman of more experience? Perhaps Mistress Dorothy, who has been in your service much longer than I?” said Mary.

“Nonsense! By God’s eyes, you have the gift for it—much the way my own mother set the style, you, too, have the Boleyn refined taste—I should trust you much more than any other. And, such a post will add fifteen pounds a year—you shall have your own gambling money and shan’t have to borrow from Parry when you lose,” said the queen, laughing.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I am greatly honored,” said Mary, smiling. She noticed Oxford watching her.

After eating, the queen dismissed the maid from her duties and allowed her to return to the palace after packing up. Mistress Blanche withdrew and sat upon a pillow beneath an elm tree, reading from her new English Bible, a gift from the queen.

“Mistress, will you join me for a walk along the stream bank?” said Oxford to Mary as she leaned against her pillow.

“Majesty, would you care to join us?” said Mary, once again hoping her thoughts would be legible on her features. She had no desire to be alone with Oxford.

“I think not, Fawn. I should rather stay here and listen to my Sweet Robin sing. He has brought his lute,” said the queen, looking very content as she rested her head on the large brocade pillow.

“That shall be my pleasure,” said Lord Robert.

“Well then, much as it would please me to hear your Sweet Robin, Majesty, I should rather enjoy listening to Mistress Mary tell all those thoughts rumbling about in her pretty head,” said Oxford.

“Go along, children. We shall see you anon,” said the queen.

The earl offered his arm to Mary, who had no choice but to accept it. He led her down to the stream.

“Such a charming brook—listen, it sings as it moves over the rocks,” said Mary, hoping to stay as close to the queen as possible.

“Yes, it says ‘I will brook no wall to my desires’—much the same as my own song,” said Oxford. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Shall we see what lies on the other side? Look, there are boulders we could step on to cross,” said Mary.

“As you command, mistress,” said Oxford.

They crossed the stream with no trouble and wandered toward a large rock some distance from them. When they arrived, Mary sat to rest and the earl stood above her.

“May I join you?” he said, sitting beside her.

He sat very close so that the lower part of their bodies touched from hip to knee. Mary tried to scoot away from him but his arm caught her and pulled her to him.

“Mistress, I have dreamed of this—you and I together,” he said. His pale blue eyes seemed to belong to another world, but the look in them definitely was of this earth.

“My lord, I have heard that you are a writer of verse—perhaps you could recite some for me,” said Mary, pulling away from him. She did not trust him in these dark woods. She did not wish to fight him off like a bear at a baiting.

“You know well how to parry, mistress, for what poet could resist such a request. I do have some verses I have composed for you—if I may be so bold,” said Oxford. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a piece of parchment.

“You have not committed the words to memory?” Mary asked, smiling.

“I have not finished writing the poem yet—it is new. But let me begin.”

What cunning can express

The favour of her face

To whom in this distress

I do appeal for grace.

A thousand cupids fly

About her gentle eye.

From which each throws a dart,

That kindleth soft sweet fire:

Within my sighing heart,

Possessed by desire.

No sweeter life I try

Than in her love to die.

He stopped, waiting for her response. She said nothing. He fiddled with the edges of the parchment and finally placed it back inside his shirt.

“What … what do you think?” he said.

“It is not finished, you say?” she said.

“No—just barely begun. I was thinking of you, your beautiful brown eyes and how I seem to drown in them each time our gazes meet. I tried to capture how you make me feel…” he said, sitting down beside her again.

“It seems to me the poem does not discuss so much the
lady
as he who ardently desires her—it is more about desire itself. If I were to write a poem about someone I loved, I should make the poem more about that person, less about myself,” said Mary. She did not look at him for fear he might kiss her.

“Yes! That is absolutely right! I do not know why I had not thought of it before—the focus should be on the lady herself,” he said. “Now, look at me so that I may memorize each thing about you.”

To her surprise, rather than stare at her, he closed his eyes. Then, gingerly, he put the tips of his fingers on her face, slowly moving across her features.

“There, the shapely lips I long to kiss,” he said as he traced them over and over. “And here, the nose that turns up just a little. The eyebrows, arched and thick … so smooth. The cheeks, rounded and velvet-soft. Ah, the ears, little conch shells, whirls within whirls.”

Mary could not move. No one had ever touched her this way. Her heart beat so loudly she wondered he did not hear it. Her face blazed under his touch. When he opened his eyes, he did peer into her own. She could not look away. He moved toward her and kissed her, a gentle kiss that lingered and lingered. Then, he pulled her to him, kissing her again and again. She felt powerless against him and was surprised to discover she enjoyed it when their lips met. She tried to think but could not. Her body had a life of its own and, although reluctantly at first, she returned his kisses. This seemed to inspire him. He forced his tongue into her mouth and she allowed him to explore her completely. She could hear his breath quicken and felt his hands move along her ribs, to her breast. She gave a little gasp as he touched her nipple, tugging and squeezing gently.

He leaned her back against the rock, putting his arm under her head for a pillow. His other hand was lifting her skirts.

“No! No! This cannot be,” she said, sitting up abruptly.

“Why, my dearest? I can see that you want to love me as much as I wish to love you,” said the earl, still nibbling her neck, though he, too, was now in an upright position.

“The queen frowns on such behavior. She would dismiss me from court if I lost my honor. She has managed to keep the love of good men without giving herself to any,” said Mary. Now, she stood and he stood beside her. He grabbed her waist once again and brought her near him.

“But you are no queen,” he said. Before she could stop him, he kissed her deeply. She could feel his manhood against her.

“And you are no gentleman,” she said. “I must return at once to the queen!” She pushed him away. When he released his grasp, she ran into the woods toward the stream.

“Mary! Wait! Please come back!” he shouted.

Mary continued to run, her heart beating furiously, her face aflame. Her clothes caught on brambles and weeds but she did not care. She knew if she stayed with Oxford, she would give way to him. She did not love him; she barely knew him. What was his power over her? How could she ever learn to keep such a courtier away and guard her dignity? How does the queen, herself, manage to govern her own desires and those of the men around her?

She hurried to where she had left the queen, hoping Her Majesty could give her advice. Oxford did not seem to be following her, so she slowed her pace and stopped for a moment after she had crossed the stream. She stilled her breathing and walked very quietly to the little clearing where they had eaten. She was just about to enter the area when she heard a deep sigh. She hid behind a large tree and peeked around.

Lying on the ground in her shift was the queen, with Lord Robert hovering over her, his doublet and shirt in the nearby grass. He was kissing her and she had her arms wrapped around his neck. Mary watched as Lord Robert ran his hands along the queen’s body, pausing at her breasts, which he began to knead. Then Lord Robert lifted her shift over her head and the queen was naked beneath him. Just then, the queen rose up to meet him and Mary froze. The queen saw her, saw her without a doubt. Mary moved behind the tree again and began to tremble.

What was Her Majesty thinking? Could all the rumors about her and Lord Robert be true? Could she have been his mistress all these years? Mary shook her head, trying to sort it out. They had been like a little family—Lord Robert had treated her as his own child, as had the queen. She did not doubt their love for her, nor did she doubt the love they had for each other. But for the queen to give away her virtue? Could it be possible?

Mary could not stand there any longer. Very quietly, she dipped back into the woods and walked in a new direction. The last thing she wanted was to meet Oxford again. No, she needed to think. She needed to put the queen’s words against Her Majesty’s actions.

She needed to run and run until she could run no more.

Nineteen

By Christ’s wounds, I did not expect Fawn to find me thus. Yes, I know I was foolish—it had been so long since I had held Rob in my arms—and that harlot, Lady Douglass—no telling if she had given herself to him or not. But when I rose up to hold Rob and saw Fawn there, behind the tree—you should have seen her face! She was pale as death and clearly shocked by the sight of us. Oh Parry, what is she to think, but that I am a hypocrite? I tell my ladies to guard their virtue, and yet Fawn has discovered I do not guard my own. No wonder she will neither look at me, nor speak to me unless I command it.