Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (39 page)

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

September
4th 1533

Enowes
delivered the message to Mariah’s lodgings. Mariah was already abed with Lady
Frances for bedmate after an evening of gaming in her receiving room. With her
father due to arrive tomorrow, she’d felt safe in turning me out of her bed,
but stopped short of evicting me from her lodgings. I bit my tongue and let her
have her way. It would not matter after tonight.

Weston
and Wyatt had staked me against her. Mariah gave them both her chilly, discreet
smile then proceeded to win all.

Weston
bemoaned my lack of card sense. Wyatt praised it.

“A
woman should not be so adept at gambling,” he told the chamber. “With cards or
hearts.”

Mariah
stacked her winnings. “Only if she has no skill, Master Wyatt,” she drawled.
“And no one to make good her losses.”

Wyatt’s
grin gleamed through his thick forest of a beard. “Do you speak of love or
coin, my lady?”

“Coin,
sir,” she said, scooping a handful off the table. “It is the only necessity to
life.”

Wyatt
frowned. “Man does not live by bread alone,” he said.

Mariah’s
lips touched a smile, but did not take it up. “Woman does,” she said and
rattled the silver coins in her hand for proof.

The
company laughed, delighted, as always by her cool, dispassionate wit.

Mariah
rose from the table, indicating the evening was ended. Weston, Wyatt and their
crowd went off to find other entertainment. They bade me join them. I declined,
feigning a headache.

Mariah
dismissed her servants for the night. She and Lady Frances retreated to the
bedchamber. Only Janet and I remained.

 
I let a half hour pass then put my ear to
the bedchamber door. I heard a snatch of whispers, but discerned no words.

“Janet,”
I said. “Send Lady Mary’s porter for more firewood.”

Janet’s
mild blue eyes flitted to the half-full basket beside the fireplace.

“Yes,
mistress,” she murmured and did as I bade.

Moments
later, someone knocked at the door.

I
threw on Janet’s homespun cloak, pressed a silver penny in her clammy palm, and
opened the door to Master Enowes.

“We’ll
have to be quick, mistress,” he murmured. “The Yeoman Warders are making the
rounds.”

He
gave me his arm so it appeared he walked with his doxy. We left the Queen’s
side of the palace, descended a floor then scurried through a narrow, unlit
passage that led under the King’s apartments. We emerged from a door on the
King’s water gate. A soft wind tossed the torchlight. A water bird called
across the river, a crane or egret. Enowes dropped his arm ending our disguise.

We
crept outside. I expected a dozen Yeomen guarding the King’s barge, but the
barge was gone. I had heard nothing of the King’s leaving Greenwich. He’d made
a vow to stay by Anne’s side til the babe was born. What had caused him to
break it?

Something
scraped the walkway behind us. I turned, ready with a lie for the Yeoman it
must be, about losing my way in the dark and a hand covered my mouth. John
shook his head, pulled me against the wall. Enowes did the same as footfalls
sounded from the corridor we’d just come from. They paused at the doorway. The
acrid smell of stale beer floated by me. Someone belched. Then they continued
on their way, footfalls slowly fading. John tugged my hand and we hurried to
our destination.
The Duke of Norfolk’s barge.

Were
we bound for London? If so, we must row ourselves. No one manned the oars. The
lanterns were unlit. Enowes folded himself against a shadowy wall and vanished.

John
squeezed my hand. The barge barely bobbed as we stepped aboard. As it could
bear ten times our number, it would not ride low enough in the water to draw
notice. He’d chosen Norfolk’s barge for our bower.

The
Chapel Royal would have been better. It did not move, bounce,
sway
.

“I-I
do
not—“

John
swung me into his arms and carried me aboard. A single lantern illumed the
small cabin. Large square cushions covered the wooden floor. Sprigs of rosemary
bound with dried roses dangled from the ceiling. I felt as though I’d returned
to Anne’s lying-in chamber.

“We
cannot see the stars,” I murmured as John set me down, and froze at my inanity.
What did the stars matter? We wanted no witnesses, human or celestial.

John
squeezed my hand again. “We will,” he whispered then kissed the spot behind my
ear.

He
helped me shed my cloak, laying it atop his own then began untying my laces. He
drew them slowly, perhaps anticipating the objection I always made, but this
time I said nothing til cold air struck my bare shoulders.

“Wait,”
I gasped.

John’s
arms came around me. His bare chest touched my back. I shivered as his skin
adhered to mine.

“Whyfor?”
he murmured. “Is this not what you’ve wished for?”

Did
I wish it? I must. I would not have come so far if I did not.

I love him. We are wed. If Anne is to
take our part, it must be consummated.

“You
have the most beautiful skin,” he said. His fingers traced the bones of my
spine. “The most beautiful bones. Let me see you only in your hair.”

My
muscles congealed.

“Afterward,”
I said.

His
fingers stopped. “Afterward?”

“Your
reward, sir,” my voice reached for teasing, but fell short. “For your
patience.”

His
laugh stirred the tiny hairs at my nape. “I have been patient, haven’t I?”

“Yes,”
I whispered. “Patient as Job.”

He
began peeling my bodice away. “More than Job,” he said voice dark, urgent. “He
only waited on God—I have waited upon you.”

“A-and
I would have you wait no longer.” I turned in his arms, looked him in the eye.
“But I must tell you something, before—before we…”

His
grin slipped toward a frown. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing—it’s
not really wrong…” my voice abandoned me and I had nothing to coax it back.

John
stroked my forehead. “You may tell me anything.”

Anything?
I stared into his eyes that flashed with gold and impatience. How would they
look on me once they beheld the severity of my flaw? Would he fly or drag me
off to Archbishop Cranmer for the testing or throw me in the river himself?

Heart
and mind pushed and pulled my will between opposite poles. If I was not ready
to test his love, did that mean I did not believe in it? I quashed the question
before my mind took it up and threw out my oldest excuse for panic.
 

“I—I
am afraid of the water,” I cried and froze. John’s eyes widened—with
skepticism? Most like. I’d never shown an ounce of fear before. I’d willingly
dipped my feet in the pond with him, sat beside him as the Queen’s barge rowed
toward London, crashed my horse through black streams chasing deer on the
King’s hunt.

“Deep
water,” I babbled on. “Especially at night—I do not know why—it’s
been so since I was very little. I used to cry and scream and carry on whenever
I had to travel on the river, but I grew out of that Thank God, but still I
am…fearful enough to…”

“My
love.” John’s murmur stopped my tongue. “There’s naught to fear.” He skimmed
little kisses across my cheeks, my lips, like those fireflies at Windsor
tasting the surface of the pond. “I will make you forget the water.”

_______________

“Is
it well with you, sweetheart?” John’s close breath thrilled my ear.

More
than well. I wanted to say, but a strange shyness bound my tongue.

“How
are you…husband?”

“Hungry,”
he murmured. “But we’ve no time to sup.”

John
flung off the cloak that had kept us warm as we dozed. “We must put you back in
Mariah’s lodgings.”

I
groaned. “I wish we could evict her.”

John
laughed. “Someday what is hers will be mine.”

“Ours,”
I said, slapping his shoulder.

“
Mea culpa
,” he said, pulling on his
shirt.

I
ran my fingers down his chest til I met his buttoning. He gave me a lop-sided
grin. “No more, mistress. I am spent.”

I
withdrew my hand and let him finish. “It is mistress no longer. I am your lady
wife.”

John
dashed a kiss against my hairline. “You will always be mistress to me. Hurry
and dress.”

John
stepped outside. I scooped up my dress and put it on. I did not bother tying
the stays. I threw on my cloak and joined him outside.

“I
have not finished dressing,” I said as he tried to take my hand.

John
frowned, confused. I tapped his chin amused by it.

“My
ring.”

The
chain had caught the little hairs at the nape of my neck during our lovemaking.
But John’s attentions had made me forget it.

I
plucked the ring and chain from my bodice.

“Not
yet,” he said.

My
cheer vanished. “Why not?”

He
smoothed my brow with his hand. “No frowns, my love. I want nothing more than
to see you wear it.
Just not tonight.
If Mariah sees
it now, she’ll rain the roof down on your head. Save it for a public occasion
where her temper cannot fly.”

What
of my temper?

I
acknowledged his wisdom, but why must we wait on Mariah? Why must we even
consider her now?
Because Anne had yet no son in the cradle.
John had been patient for me; I must show him the same in this.

“How
public?” I asked.

“The
most public,” he said. “The Christening.”

The
entire court would be there. His father, my parents, perhaps even Gabrielle and
Emma if Mother relented, would attend. A detailed image of the horror stealing
over my sisters’ faces flitted through my mind.

“Well,
then should we not wait for Anne’s Churching?” I asked. “When she is able to
defend us publicly?”

John
wrapped a tendril of my hair around his forefinger. “I won’t wait another
month. If the midwives can’t count that babe might not appear til October.”

“That
prince,” I corrected him. “There is no doubt.”

“Aye,”
John grinned. “If only we’d a star to announce it as those Wise Men did.”

“We
need no portents,” I said. “Anne’s success was ordained. God would not have
made her Queen if he did not mean her to give the King a son.”

John
tugged the ends of my hair. “I hope your faith is rewarded.”

I
pulled my hair out of his grasp. “It shall be,” I said. “God loves Anne no less
than the King. The King always gives her what she wants. God will do the same.”

John
chuckled. “Jealous, my lady?”

I
returned his irreverent grin. “Not any more.”

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

September
7th 1533

“The
Queen has borne a daughter.”

Mary
Howard and I locked eyes from our respective sides of Anne’s great bed.

That’s not possible.

Not
after all of the money poured into outfitting the grand nursery at Eltham
palace, the soothsayers foreign and domestic, the prayers in every cathedral
and church worthy of the task. But the wailing coming from Anne’s bed confirmed
it.

Aunt
Elizabeth and Cousin Mary tried to soothe her. They petted her, daubed her
slick brow with cloths dipped in rosewater. She slapped her sister’s hands
away.

“Bring
George.” Anne’s melodious voice was gone. A crone’s waspish cry replaced it.

“Hush,
Anne,” Aunt Elizabeth purred. “You know George is attending the King.”

Anne
writhed against her pillow, wrinkling the embroidered golden H and A that
peeked through her hair. “My God, he will hate me for this.”

Aunt
Elizabeth’s practiced face didn’t crack.

“Lady
Rochford, send the ladies out.”

Jane
Rochford scooped everyone up with a look. We trod each other’s heels in our
haste to escape her.

“Not
you Lady Mary, Mistress Shelton.” Aunt Elizabeth summoned us. “Sit in the
corner and play something calming.”

Did
she think one of us Orpheus? I didn’t know a tune to calm this.

We
both selected a lute from the wall, and without arrangement played in
counterpoint. Mariah hummed a little snatch of something the King had written
while courting Anne. Aunt Elizabeth shot her a proud Howard smile.

Cousin
Mary set to combing out Anne’s hair. Aunt Elizabeth plied Anne with a goblet of
ale. Anne flailed her head like a new filly presented the bit.

“Hear
it, Anne. Remember how it came into being. He will forgive this disappointment
if you keep your wits.” She wiped Anne’s parched lips. “You know Henry better
than any. Do not let him see you despair.”

She
pinched Anne’s sallow cheeks until they pinked.

“Bring
the babe,” Aunt Elizabeth ordered.

The
senior midwife handed the swaddled bundle to its grandmother. Aunt Elizabeth
didn’t spare it a glance before arranging it in Anne’s limp arms.

“For
pity’s sake, hold the thing,” she hissed.

Anne
tightened her grip til Aunt Elizabeth produced a small, satisfied grin.

“Now
smile,” she urged. “You have given him a fine daughter on the first throw.
Remind him that Spanish Katherine never did so well. He can be content with
that if you are.”

Anne’s
waxy face kindled to life. “Are you mad? I cannot say her name to him now. It
will only cast me in the same light—a failure.”

Aunt
Elizabeth beamed, relieved to see Anne aroused. “You will ride this out, Anne.
You always do.”

“
Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves
was my delight, Greensleeves was my heart of gold, and who but my lady
Greensleeves
.”

It
was a masterful piece of self-willed serendipity. The King entered on the word
heart of his own composition. His baleful eyes, pursed lips instantly softened.
Behind him Uncle Wiltshire, cousin George, and the Duke of Norfolk held back,
waiting to see how Anne managed her catastrophe.

Anne
greeted the King with a drowsy, contented smile. No hint of her earlier
distress showed. She cradled the babe with a proprietary grace.

The
King approached the bed. His gentlemen hung back at the door. He did not remove
his hat. “Show me.”

Those
two clipped words cut me to the quick. Anne’s lashes fluttered. She and her
mother shared a quick look. Aunt Elizabeth gave her a tight nod.

Anne
pulled the swaddling aside. The babe let out a kitten mewl as cool air struck
her skin. The King’s florid face shed ten bitter years at the sound.

“My
daughter.” Disbelief made him say it again. “My daughter. We shall call her
Elizabeth for both our mothers, my love. What think you?”

Aunt
Elizabeth curtsied. Cousin George looked to Heaven. Norfolk shook his head,
seeming confounded by Anne’s luck. I marveled too. The King’s love was
bottomless as the sea. If he could forgive Anne this stupendous failure then
surely John could overlook my mark.

Anne
took her good fortune and ran with it. Her sable eyes caressed the King. “It is
lovely, my lord. Elizabeth.”

Henry
cooed at his red-haired daughter.

Anne
sighed. “And the next will be a son.”