When the Heavens Fall (5 page)

“He's but a boy! And I've heard he's very fond of his sisters. Maybe you'll get to meet him next time we visit.”

Stuart put his arm around his son. He squeezed the boy and said, “I feel that muscle growing in that sword arm. You're going to be a fine soldier one day, my son.”

You're up to some mischief, Stuart Winslow. I can tell from that look on your face.” Heather let her embroidery work fall to her lap and waited expectantly for Stuart to confess what was on his mind

Stuart grinned broadly. “I don't know why you should say that. You're always suspicious of me, Wife.”

“That's because you're always guilty. What is it now? What have you done?”

“Well, I must confess I have committed a horrible sin.”

“I can't believe that. What horrible sin?”

“I forgot your birthday last week. That's the most horrible thing I can think of that a man can do to his wife.”

Heather looked down at the embroidery, touched it with her fingertip, and then glanced up. “I was disappointed,” she said. “Brandon never seems to remember. But it's the first time you've forgotten.”

“Well, I've come to make it up to you. I'm going to give you a big kiss just to show you what a good man I am.” He came over, leaned over, and kissed Heather on the cheek. He held her close for moment, and then he said, “I hope you're not disappointed by my simple belated gesture.”

Heather could never be angry with this husband of hers for
long. It had occurred to her that women with bad husbands never knew what they were missing in this world. She smiled, reached up, and put her hand on Stuart's cheek. “I'm never disappointed in you.”

“Well, that's good to hear. But just to show you that I'm an even better man than you think, I didn't forget your birthday. It was just that I couldn't get the present put together in time, but I have now.” He walked quickly to the door, stepped outside, and then came back with a mound of white fur in his hands

“What in the world!” Heather exclaimed. She stood up at once and reached out to touch the silky fur on the garment that Stuart was holding out to her. “It's so beautiful!” she whispered. “What is it?”

“It's ermine. I hate to tell you what I had to pay for these furs, but even the Princess Mary doesn't have anything any better than this. Here, put it on.”

Holding her breath, Heather allowed him to hold the gown. She slipped her arms into it and then hugged it close. “It's so smooth,” she whispered. “It's beautiful, Stuart!” She blinked against sudden tears. She never cried during hard times, but kindness always brought tears of gratitude, especially when it involved Stuart. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “That's the finest present any woman ever had from a husband.”

“Well, I shall expect a proper reward. We'll talk about the nature of that reward tonight.”

Heather stepped back and laughed. “I know all about your rewards. They're always the same.” She turned around, still stroking the silky ermine fur. “I wish we had a mirror big enough for me to see all myself in.” The only mirror that she had, of course, was a small one, no more than ten inches square of polished metal. “Some day they'll make a mirror big enough for a woman to see all of herself.”

“I've engaged a painter to do your portrait. He can do it in that ermine if you like.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I'll just wear my old clothes, as I always do—if I get into the painting at all. No doubt the painter will only have eyes for my beautiful wife.”

She came to him again and kissed him. “You're the best husband a woman ever had.”

“I think you're right about that.” He grinned and pulled her close. “We've had a good marriage, Sweetheart. I'm thankful for that. Never once have I considered getting rid of you and getting another woman.”

“Well, I should think not, the way I've spoiled you!”

She took off the coat reluctantly and said, “I must go to London now to show off what my husband's given me.”

“Any time you like.”

For a moment a shadow crossed Heather's face. “We'll have to take Brandon with us.”

At the mention of their son, Stuart lost the sense of happiness that had filled him. “I wish he were more like my father.”

“And I wish he were more like you.”

Indeed, the two of them had seen little change for the better in Brandon. After a brief respite, he returned to his wayward behavior. He was sixteen now and constantly in trouble. More than once he had been caught poaching, when he had acres of Stoneybrook forest at his disposal. Stuart and Heather had given him everything he needed and had tried to show love beyond what most parents showed. But Brandon seemed to be a bent twig. He was the terror of young girls—at least, of the mothers of young girls

Over and over Stuart and Heather discussed Brandon's present and future, but they could not find the answer to the puzzle before them

Heather said, “I still think that God will use him, Stuart. On the day he was born I gave him to God.”

“You always say that, and I always believe you.”

The two sat down and spoke for a while about other estate matters. Finally Heather brought up the question that was not far from the minds of most people in England. “What will happen when King Edward dies?”

“He may live for a long time.”

“The rumors are that he can't live beyond a year or two. What will happen then?”

“It will be up to King Edward. He can name his successor. I expect it will be Princess Mary. That'll be a sad day for England.”

“I thought you liked Princess Mary.”

“I do like her. But . . .” He stood up abruptly and turned to the window, eyes wide and far away

Heather stared at him. “But what, Stuart?”

Stuart looked over to her. “Her mother was a devout Catholic, and Mary has taken her religious direction from Queen Catherine. It's no secret that if she ever ruled England, she would make a Catholic country out of it.”

“Can she do that?”

“Queens and kings have a lot of power. She could make it . . . unpleasant for Protestants.”

Heather frowned. He was holding something back. “What do you mean by unpleasant?”

“Think back, Heather,” he said, pacing now in his agitation. “King Henry had people executed who didn't fall into his line of proper religious thought. Remember what happened to Sir Thomas More? He was a Catholic and a favorite of Henry, but he died because he wouldn't give in to Henry.”

“And William,” she whispered, remembering Tyndale. “Henry didn't execute him, but he was responsible for his death.”

Stuart shook his head, his face a mask of dread. “I'm afraid Mary will crush everyone who's not a Catholic.”

“God will take care of us.”

With a laugh Stuart came over and leaned down and kissed
her. “I love your faith, Heather Winslow. You put me to shame. You're a good reminder to me that I should not fret over things that are beyond my control.” His eyes moved back to the window, and Heather followed his gaze. Brandon was pacing on the small knoll

“Your daily fencing?” Heather asked drily

“Indeed.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “We'll go to London and show off that beautiful robe of yours next week, perhaps.”

Stuart left the castle and went out to the stable that housed the horses and most of the weapons. He found Brandon waiting for him. “Sorry to be late, Son.”

Brandon grunted in response

“I gave your mother that ermine robe I showed you.”

Brandon lifted his chin and eyebrows with mild interest but immediately moved toward the swords. He looked older than his years, six feet tall now, not completely filled out but lean and muscular. The sun caught his auburn hair, and his eyes were as blue as the cornflowers that covered the hills of England at certain seasons.
I wish he were as good as he looks,
Stuart thought. “Ready for a bout?” he said

“Yes, sir.”

They took up swords and at once fell into position. Stuart grinned in anticipation of the challenge ahead. His own father had seen to it that he was a good swordsman, but he had never been great. Brandon, flourishing under the instruction of a former soldier Stuart had hired, had clearly inherited his grandfather's prowess. Stuart knew Brandon routinely eased up, just to keep him engaged. But once in a while, he could still surprise him

The two circled each other, and soon the bright morning rang with the clash of the blades. Stuart tried to break through Brandon's guard, but the young man simply could not be pinned down. Around and around they went, the swords flashing in the sun, and finally Stuart knew that Brandon could have
ended the bout at any time. He stepped back, lowered his blade, and shook his head. “You're too good for me, Son.”

“Oh, I don't think so, Father.”

“Yes, you are. You're better than most soldiers. That's what Debois says, and he's seen the best of them.”

“You've taught me as much as he has. Maybe I'll follow in Grandfather's footsteps and be a soldier some day.”

“I hope not. It's not a good life, Son.”

“I want more than this, Father. To see different lands, a soldier's adventure would be good for me.”

“A soldier's adventure often leads him to death. Or dismemberment. It's a hard life, Brandon, not nearly the glory you've made it out to be.” They had had this argument many times before, and he saw how frustrated the boy was. “We'll find something for you to do, Son. It's high time you took more responsibility here at Stoneybrook as the future master. Don't you think you might like to take over when I'm gone?”

“No, sir. I just don't care about things like that.” Stuart let the silence rise between them. If not Brandon, who would take over Stoneybrook

Brandon toyed with his blade and said, “When are we going back to London?”

“I'm going to take your mother there. I think we'll call upon Princess Mary,” he added casually. “I'm hoping to—”

“Could I go too, sir?”

“Your mother and I would like that.”

“Let's be off immediately!”

Stuart laughed. Other than fencing, it was the first real sense of interest Stuart had seen in the young man, and his excitement softened the tension between them. “Perhaps the day after tomorrow. The master of Stoneybrook can't just up and leave.”

“I might be able to wait that long,” Brandon said, ignoring his admonishment. “I'll go for a long ride now to keep my mind off of it.”

“Be careful. Lightning's got a lively way of throwing riders and then stepping on them.”

“He can't do that to me!”

Stuart watched him go and shook his head. He was so gifted—fine-looking, strong, and quick.
I must find a way to shape him into a good man.

Stuart and Brandon left Heather with their hostess in London—a longtime friend—while they went to Richmond Palace to seek an interview with the Princess Mary. It had been more than two years since they had made their last visit, and Stuart was filled with a strange sense of foreboding

Brandon said now as they walked up the palace steps, “Do you think we might see the Princess Elizabeth?”

“That depends on her. She's pretty headstrong, I understand.”

“I liked her,” Brandon said

“Well, I think everybody likes Elizabeth,” he said crossly. Did the boy think they could have access to any one of the royal house any time they pleased? He sighed. “She's very much like her father in some ways.”

Brandon looked with surprise at his father. “Like King Henry?” he whispered. “But he was a wicked fellow! Everybody says so.”

“Well, it's safe enough to say that now, but he would have had your head chopped off if you had said it while he was alive.”

“Not really, sir!”

“Yes, really. He had men executed for nothing at times. The things I saw—”