The Uncrowned Queen (54 page)

“Nonetheless, I am on the king's business and here by his command, Mistress Deborah. He expects obedience from his subjects. I ask you again: where is your lady?”

“She has gone to London.”

William slewed around toward the sound of a man's voice. The chamberlain's eyes narrowed. “I know you.”

Leif Molnar strolled forward until he stood beside Deborah. He was almost twice the old woman's height but he leaned down and picked up one of her small hands, and patted it to comfort her, before he replied. “Yes. You know me. I have you to thank for
months without light last winter in the Binnenhof. I had not thought to give so many dark days to the king.”

Hastings glanced at the giant Norseman, eyebrows raised. He smiled, not unkindly, and said mildly, “There are worse prisons than the dungeons of the Binnenhof, my friend. Why are you here at this house?”

Leif could have taken the words as provocation. He chose not to. “Guarding my lady's interests. From all who would trouble her.”

“Ah. That is a good answer and, therefore, we can be friends. For I, too, am here to help guard your lady. Her interests are the king's. And the king's are mine.”

Since Leif was not a fool he heard the double tone, the ambiguity around the word “lady.” “Lord Chamberlain, my lady will be grateful for your kind interest once she hears of it. Yet I fear, since you arrive too late to tell her of it yourself, she may never completely understand the support and comfort you wish to offer. However, I am certain she would wish me to offer thanks in her stead, as her faithful servant.” He bowed gracefully, from the waist.

Deborah was astonished. Normally, Leif spoke as little as possible. Now his speech and bearing were perfectly polished.

The chamberlain found himself bowing in reply. That confused him. He'd presumed that this man who'd once claimed to be Anne's husband was a common seaman. “And may I know the name of Lady de Bohun's most distinguished servant?”

“My name is Leif Molnar. I am the captain of Sir Mathew Cuttifer's cog, the
Lady Margaret
. My master has set me the task to guard his ward, Lady de Bohun. It is my duty, my honor, and my pleasure to fulfill that task.”

“And yet she went to London without you?”

There was the slightest, the very slightest, sneer to the chamberlain's words. Deborah's eyes flicked to the Norseman. He could see her concern and smiled, gently holding out a chair so she could sit. Should she? The chamberlain had not indicated his permission.

“Mistress, will you sit? You seem tired to me.” Politics and power crackled in the air as Leif addressed Deborah directly.

William Hastings slapped one riding glove against the other as the woman sat in a simple chair. “You did not answer me, Master Molnar.”

The Dane smiled placidly. “My lady is always well guarded now, lord. I see to that.”

Hastings ground his teeth silently. He was tired and covered in dust and now he faced the lengthy ride back to London, unsatisfied. Three more days. God only knew what would have transpired by the time he returned to court.

“Very well. However, since the welfare of your mistress”—again, it was an ambiguous word—“is close to the heart of our king, I must ask you to tell me where she lodges.”

Just at that moment, a child's happy voice was heard. “Deborah, Deborah, where are you?”

The old woman broke the tension between the two men by calling out, “In here, child. In the hall.”

A small blur of energy hurtled into the room and resolved itself into Edward as he jumped onto Deborah's lap. “Look, look! A green frog. Really green!”

“So it is. But see, Edward, we have visitors. Here is Lord Hastings. You must greet him on behalf of your aunt, child.”

Edward turned to see Hastings gazing at him with great interest. “Hello. I remember you. You stayed at our old house. You are welcome to our new one. Do you like frogs, sir?”

It was said with perfect poise and William Hastings, the father of sons himself, was enchanted. “I am pleased to be remembered. May I see your frog, small master?”

Leif Molnar moved closer to the woman and the child as the chamberlain sauntered toward them. Their eyes met. And locked.

“Ah yes. A very fine, and no doubt rare, large green frog. You are most fortunate, Edward.”

The child nodded vigorously. “He'd be very happy living with us here, you know. Don't you agree, sir?”

All guileless charm, the chamberlain noted. Just like his father.

“No doubt Mistress Deborah will have her opinions on this; however, it's my experience that frogs like ponds and long grass more than living in houses.”

Edward shook his head. “Oh no. Not all frogs. This one's an indoors frog. He likes it here. See?” He slipped off Deborah's knee and carefully put the animal down on the rushes. It sat there, gulping rapidly but unmoving.

“We like freedom, Edward. That is most precious to us all. Frogs and people alike.”

Leif Molnar was looking at William Hastings as he spoke. Edward was on his tummy on the floor, earnestly inspecting the frog at close quarters. The chamberlain stooped down and held out his hand. After a moment, the frog hopped onto his palm. A strange thing to see. Edward sat up and held out his hand. “No! He's mine!”

“It is a big and dangerous world, Edward. Some handle freedom better than others. This frog, for instance…”

Edward was on tiptoe, holding up his hands. “Give him to me. Give him to me!”

Deborah was shocked. “Edward!”

The little boy took no notice. “Please, sir. I found him. He's mine!” His bottom lip was trembling and William Hastings smiled compassionately at the child.

“You may have him back but”—Edward raised a tear-stained face—“there is a price you must pay for him. Where is your aunt?”

The little boy smiled happily. “Oh, that's easy. She's at Sir Mathew's house. Can I have my frog back now?”

It was late in the
day as Edward Plantagenet held the small parchment scroll in his hands. He touched the seal with gentle fingers. It was one he had granted personally—three Angevin leopards surmounting two drops of blood. Anne's seal.

“Your Majesty, may I pour you another—”

“Go!” The king's glance at the pot-boy was unthinkingly severe. So much so, the child almost dropped the ale flask as he scrambled to back away.

A moment before, the king had been serene. He'd been strolling back from the great mews of the palace after inspecting his
hunting birds with a party of friends. It was a late and balmy afternoon; even the midges had cleared in the gentle breeze as the sun declined to the west. There'd been happy laughter, even jokes, from the court party as the king stopped to take the horn of ale.

But then the messenger had arrived with the little scroll. Now the courtiers stood silently, frozen by indecision. Should they follow the boy? The king looked up for a moment as he tore the scroll open. “Yes! All of you. Leave.” He turned his back as he waved them away.

There was quiet debate among the men as they trailed off in twos and threes. Was the king angry, or sad? Or…?

“The French, do you think? Louis back in the game with some deep play?” Wise heads nodded.

“He looked shocked. Bad news?”

There was a sudden whoop of laughter behind them and one or two dared to look back. The king's face was joyous and he threw his velvet hat high into the air as he hurried away, not caring where it fell. Courtiers turned to one another astonished, and one bent down to pick up the king's headgear from where it had fallen into a pile of horse droppings.

“Should we go…?”

“…with him? No. He hasn't asked us.”

The man holding the king's hat shook it hard to dislodge the stable's donation to high fashion. The padded velvet would need to be dried and carefully brushed. Perhaps the brown stain left on its rolled rim would be close enough to the natural red not to be noticed when dry. He held it to the light.

His friend shook his head. “Too late.”

For the hat? Or to catch the king?

“Where do you think he's going in such a hurry?”

His friend shrugged. “Somewhere he doesn't want us.”

She was sitting in Lady Margaret's solar, embroidering all alone, when she heard a distant commotion. Voices, men's voices, one in particular suddenly raised and then shouting. The thick walls muffled the sound. Moments later, a rapid tapping at the door gave way to the luckless Walter's flushed face.

“Lady, I can't find my master or my mistress, but the king…”

Anne stood as the blood rushed to her heart, leaving her breathless and dizzy. Poor Walter; he stepped forward and held out his hand, deeply concerned the lady would faint. She was milk-pale.

“I'm sorry, mistress, I mean, Lady Anne, but the… he told me to fetch you.”

Anne put her embroidery frame down so carefully it might have been a holy relic.

“Go!” Walter slewed around at the sound of the man's voice behind him and gasped. Edward Plantagenet was through the solar door in one long stride. He'd closed the door and bolted it before Anne had time to draw another breath.

The man and the woman gazed at each other, barely registering the sound of Walter's feet as he hurried away.

“Well, lady?”

Anne said nothing. Edward Plantagenet crossed the small space between them. His voice shook. “Half a year. A lifetime.” He stood within touching distance but still she was silent, though her throat worked.

“Have you nothing to say to me?” His tone was agonized, pleading.

A shiver ran from the crown of Anne de Bohun's head down her spine and lodged behind her knees. She held out one hand, one finger, and traced the side of his face, haltingly. Deborah was right. She did not have the strength.

Edward closed his eyes. He tingled where she'd touched him.

“Six months. A lifetime indeed.” Anne dropped her hand and, when the king opened his eyes, drops of water glimmered on her cheeks. He caught one of her tears and touched it to his lips.

“No more of this.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them. She sighed as she rested there, the base of his throat near enough to kiss. His smell was unlike any other. Behind the scent of orris root and sandal-wood there was the skin of a man; warm, musky, alive. She knew that skin.

“Come away with me.” He raised her chin with his free hand and cupped it. Bending down, his mouth was on hers; her own half opened beneath his. “Yes…” He breathed the word into her. “Say yes, Anne.”

He was holding her against his body, one arm supporting, the other arm wrapping her tighter and tighter. Boneless, she felt as if the scaffolding of her body was gone, dissolved.

Suddenly, she saw her son: smiling, playing in the orchard of Herrard Great Hall. Behind him, running after him, laughing, was Leif.

“Wait! Let me think.” She struggled and he let her go; she stood with her back to him, hands to her face.

“Let me make amends, my darling. Help me to help us both.” He hadn't expected to sound like a small child begging for his heart's desire.

Anne's hands dropped to her sides and she turned to face him. “Very well. Give me peace. I want nothing from you except freedom. Let me live in my own country, unmolested, with my son. No more prying eyes, no more questions. From anyone.”

Her voice was low; her tone carefully neutral. What was she feeling? Edward could not tell but he held out his hand to her, beseeching.
“That you shall have. I will give you an honorable life and perfect peace.” He was one step closer to her, and now another. “But I have a gift for you, Anne. It's a secret, yours and mine. Just for us. Let me show it to you? You will understand when you see it, I promise.”

Anne de Bohun knew Edward Plantagenet and she could hear the truth, see it in his eyes. Would she take what was offered?

“This time you must trust me, Anne. God has given us one more chance.” Edward leaned forward and caught Anne's hands in both of his. “Come with me, my darling, or you will wonder all your life.” Slowly, never taking his eyes off hers, accepting her silence for an answer, Edward drew Anne toward the solar door. Her skirts trailed behind her, whispering, over the flagged floor.

He lifted the latch and folded her arm through his, holding her firmly to his side. And then he looked down into her face.

“You are the great love of my life, Anne. We can have the future. If you want it.” Edward pushed the door open. Together, he and the silent girl stepped through.

Unexpectedly, in this dark house, light dazzled them both. A great lantern had been set on a stand to brighten the gloomy passage outside as night fell. The king caught a glimpse of Anne's face as they passed into the light. She was terrified, and joyous.

Together, they hurried down the stairs of Blessing House. And, finally, Anne's fingers crept through the king's. He tightened his grip as they fled.