now."
"No, Your Grace," Deanie whispered
into her ear. "The conversation about the birds and the
bees."
"Oh, that." The queen was genuinely mystified.
Kit suddenly began to cough, and the duke of
Suffolk stroked the plumes on his hat, staring
at them as if they were the most fascinating object
he had ever beheld. Even Englebert, until
then so silent they had all but forgotten his
presence, started to straighten chairs.
Then Kit stopped. "I believe we have hit
upon the very device Cromwell and the king may
seize for the annulment," he said, no longer
uncomfortable. Suffolk's eyes snapped
to Kit's, and he nodded slowly.
"But what can we do, Kit? How can this information
help us?" As Deanie spoke, she walked
to Kit's side. Without looking at her, his gaze
still on Suffolk, he opened his arm to her, and she
automatically ducked into its warmth.
"Maybe," she began tentatively, "it's not
too late for them to have a happy marriage.
Maybe if we show her how to please the king, you
know. We can show her how to flirt and play the
guitar and sing. And you, Kit, can show her all about
hunting, and we can get her some new clothes, and
then, well, just maybe they would be happy."
Suffolk gave Deanie a genuinely warm
smile. "Alas, sweet Mistress Deanie,
although your heart is full of good sentiments, I
fear it is too late for such deeds. We have but
small time before the king will make a move."
Kit felt Deanie shudder, and he pulled her
closer before kissing the top of her head. "We should
be gone now," he murmured.
"Do you mean really gone, or just gone for a little
while?"
"Both. But for now, we will be gone but a few
hours. Suffolk and I need to find out more." Under
his breath he added, "I could never tolerate flying
blind."
As Suffolk and Kit made their formal
goodbyes, promising to get word to them as soon as
they uncovered more news, Deanie felt a stab of
fear in her stomach. "Kit." She
reached out to him, not wanting to see him leave.
Instead of stopping, he merely smiled.
"While we are gone, I believe you and the queen
need to have a little talk."
"Oh hell," she mumbled, all trepidation
at being separated from Kit momentarily forgotten.
"I do believe, love, that Suffolk and I have
by far the easier task. We need merely seek out
vital information." He gave her a swift wink.
"You, however, must find means to impart some knowledge. Be
delicate, Deanie."
With a final parting glance at the queen, whose
bewildered face darted from Kit to Deanie, Kit
and Suffolk left the chamber.
Just when they thought the dukes had left, Kit
leaned again into the chamber. "Oh, and Deanie:
Whatever you do, do not try to illustrate your talk
with one of your needlepoint creations."
"Very funny," she murmured with a grin.
After the chamber door had closed for a final
time, Deanie set about telling Anne of
Cleves, the queen of England and wife of Henry
Tudor, all about the facts of life.
"Say nothing. Just smile," Kit ordered,
coming up from behind and hooking his arm through Deanie's.
"Geez, Kit. Don't do that again! You scared
the daylights out of me," she gasped. They were on
the palace grounds, milling about with all the rest
of the court. Now that it had become common knowledge that
Cromwell was in the Tower, the other peers felt
comfortable enough to venture onto the manicured lawns
to enjoy the unusually fine weather. They traveled
in small groups, their heads bowed together as they
discussed the dangerous atmosphere of the court.
Only after she had taken a few deep breaths
to regain her composure did Deanie notice the
strained expression on Kit's face. His strong
profile seemed more harsh than usual in the
brilliant sunlight, and he kept his gaze
straight ahead rather than on Deanie.
"What's happening?"
"Smile as I speak," he instructed. She
did so, and he continued. "We're leaving now,
Deanie. We are going straight to the maze. The
bottle's in my doublet."
"We can't, Kit. What about Anne and
Princess Elizabeth? They both need our
help." The artificial smile,
forgotten for a moment, reappeared on her face.
"We will have to leave them to Suffolk, love. It
appears our dear friend Norfolk has convinced the
king that I too am guilty of treason." He
nodded pleasantly to Lady Rochford as they
passed. "By nightfall I may very well be sharing
lodgings with Cromwell."
Only Kit's firm grasp kept her from
stumbling. "Well, we can't have that," she chirped,
and Kit glanced down and gave her a curt
smile.
From the corner of her eye she saw a
conspicuous group of four men. At first she thought
they were yet another wave of barber-surgeons,
seeking her out to shave her legs. Then she
recognized them as Cromwell's henchmen,
including the large one who had wielded the staff that
wounded Kit.
"Kit," she began, her voice rising.
"I know. They've been following me all
afternoon. Now that their former patron is in the Tower,
they have managed to shift alliances. Mind your
step." He guided her over a log bordering the
path. He was taking them straight to the maze, not
even bothering to follow the decorative walk.
"They belong to Norfolk now."
"How on earth could they charge you with treason?"
He merely shook his head, then he folded a
hand over the clenched fist resting on his arm.
"You're really very good."
"Huh?"
"I never got the chance to tell you, Deanie.
Your singing--it's really quite exhilarating. Very
different, but quite marvelous nonetheless."
She blinked in confusion. "Thank you. Remind
me to sign you up for my fan club when we get
back home."
"May I also have your autograph?"
"We'll see." She smiled up at him,
squinting against the glare of the sun.
Suddenly he slowed their pace, then stopped
altogether, turning her toward him. "I need to tell you
something," he said quietly, his eyes darting over
her head to the burly quartet just beyond the path.
"Should this not work, should we not make it together, you must
try it alone."
She began to protest, but he silenced her
by placing a gentle finger upon her lips. "I may
have been here too long to ever return. Ten years
--almost a third of my life has
passed in this time. I may be too ensnared by all
of this to ever leave. I speak the language
,
follow the custom without a second thought. At
times I almost think as a Tudor man rather than as
someone who once listened to jazz and flew an
airplane."
"But ..."
"No, listen." He swallowed, tracing the
contours of her face with his unbroken stare. "You do
not belong here. You're far too fresh and vital and
young. Whatever happens when we enter the maze, know
one thing: I love you, Deanie. I adore
everything about you, and that can never change. If by chance
I remain behind, take my love with you."
He took a deep, shuddering breath before he
continued. "I will be dead, my love. Long dead,
my body gone. But still I will love you. You will
always be the one grand passion of my life.
Remember that. Through the centuries I'll continue
to love you, but you must find love in your own time,
warm, breathing love."
"Kit," she whispered, unable to utter anything
else.
"I almost fear I'm tempting fate. God
help us both," he groaned, his mouth closing
over hers.
They did not care that it was broad daylight, that
the entire court was but a stone's throw away, or
closer. His tongue plunged into hers as if he
would consume her, and she responded, matching his
rapture with her own.
With one swift motion, their mouths still locked in
joyous union, he swept her into his arms,
cradling her trembling body to his own. Thus
joined, they entered the maze, oblivious to the
stunned and giddy onlookers.
And not a single person dared to follow.
There were no words between them, just complete understanding.
He lowered her tenderly to the ground, pulling away
for but a moment to take in her features. Everyone
else seemed to have dissolved, leaving them
blissfully alone and unhurried.
Slowly his hands unlaced her stays, each tie
falling limp between his fingers. When the bodice and
skirts slipped away, followed by the undergown,
he simply stared at her.
"I never knew such perfection," he uttered,
more to himself than to her.
She felt no shame, no
embarrassment at her nakedness. Instead his gaze
warmed her with a welcome embrace like the morning
sun--all consuming, full of simple enchantment.
He seemed to remove his own garments in one
bold movement, the sword, forgotten for the moment,
resting beneath the crumpled pile. She stared
wantonly at his body, at the sheer male
perfection now being offered to her. He was just as she
imagined he would be, just as she knew he would be:
finely muscled, strong yet lean. There were marks
and scars on his arms and torso and thighs, slashes
that had healed into light white lines or jagged
trails. Instead of marring him, in her eyes they
represented his life of physical hardship, the
pain he had been forced to endure these past ten
years.
Something about those healed wounds, as well as the
recent one from Cromwell, moved her, and she
felt her eyes prickle with the weight of tears.
He had always seemed so very mighty and invincible,
yet now she saw him as simply brave but
vulnerable.
Tenderly she kissed the scar on his shoulder,
then the one on his upper arm. He moaned softly,
his hands raking through her hair.
There was not time for anything else, no sweet
words or slow, delicious caresses. They were
both aware, even in their haze, of the sun's
movement, and they were drawn together as if by another
force.
At once he was inside her, and they were
transported for a blissful second to another
place, where they were the solitary souls, and all
else melted into oblivion.
They lay together, entwined in each other's arms.
Deanie was afraid to speak, for fear of breaking
the magical rapture that seemed to wrap itself about
them, sheltering them from the afternoon sun, protecting them
from the unwelcome intrusion of others. Her head
rested on his chest, rising and falling with every breath
he took; her eyes were closed in drowsy
contentment.
He inhaled deeply, his arm tightening about her,
drawing her closer.
"It's time." His voice sounded odd to his own
ears, and he felt her stiffen.
"No."
But she did not resist as he propped himself on
one elbow. His eyes swept over her once more,
and he ran a tender hand along her
curves before he reached for her clothing. They
dressed wordlessly. He pulled each layer of her
gown into place, kissing the hollow of her throat
as he laced the sides of her bodice. As she
drew his billowy shirt over his head, she
paused, savoring the feel and fragrance of his bare
chest one last time.
When he closed his doublet, she saw him adjust
a small piece of cloth between his shirt and doublet.
He carefully fixed the square directly over
his heart, andwitha pang she realized it was the bit of
needlework she had done for him.
Smiling, he held out his hand, and she slid her
palm over his. The sun was about to set, and he
held the bottle in the air.
A fine blue line began to pulsate from the
glass, darting at an angle. Both held their
breath as his arm began to vibrate, and she clung
to him, her eyes closed.
And then it stopped.
"What the hell?" he began.
Immediately she stepped back. "What happened?"
"I don't know. It just stopped working." He
turned the bottle over, hoping to again catch the
glint of the sun. Nothing. The bottle remained
stubbornly inactive.
"It worked before, just like that," she said. "Is that the
way it worked with you and your goggles?"
"Exactly the way. But it continued."
"Right." She gave the bottle an accusing
stare. "It worked before. What could be wrong?"
"Well, we may have missed the sun." She
flushed, and he shook his head. "No, I don't
mean today. We may be too far into spring for it
to work."
"Oh crap," she muttered, and for the first time in
hours they both laughed, uneasily, nervously.
When they caught their breath, he tapped the
bottle. "Think, Deanie. What was different
when you traveled here?"
They remained silent for a long while, each
contemplating the details of their journey.
"The weather was about the same," she said at last.
"With me too."
"It was just about dusk." He nodded in
affirmation. Suddenly he stood very still, and with questioning
eyes she looked up at him.
"The planes," he said at last.
"What planes?"
He spoke quickly. "There were
/>
rumblings, flashes of light from the bombs being
dumped on London by the Luftwaffe. At first
I thought I had been hit, Deanie. That's what
I thought the flashes were, the rumbling."
"I thought it was an earthquake," she said in a
rush. "There were flashes with me too."
Then she stopped. "Holy cow, Kit: the
camera reflectors!"
"The what?"
"There were camera reflectors set up all
over the lawn. With you there were flashes of light from
nearby bombs. What if that's it? What if
..."
"The instability," he finished. "The flashes,
the bursts of light. Deanie, you're a genius!"
"So how can we replicate it?"
He said nothing at first, merely ran a finger
over the bottle. "Let me think." Rubbing his
hand wearily across his jaw, he continued staring at the
bottle.
"Ho, Hamilton?" A familiar voice
called from just beyond the maze.
"Suffolk, we're within," Kit's attention was
still focused on the bottle when Suffolk, puffing
with exertion, came into sight.
"The whole court is merrily discussing the
pair of you," he mocked. "Some even situated
themselves on the hill just yonder, vying for the most
advantageous view. God's blood,
Hamilton, what has gotten into you?"
"Quiet, Suffolk. I'm thinking."
"Perhaps you should have done that earlier, instead of ...
well, you know." He glanced at Deanie. "My
apologies, mistress."
Deanie shrugged absentmindedly, her eyes still
fixed on the soda bottle.
"By the by, mistress, what happened with the queen
and your discussion? Methinks this afternoon's, eh,
episode was but a demonstration for your lecture."
"Watch it, Suffolk," Kit warned, but
Deanie merely chuckled.
"She did not believe me."
Kit's head snapped up. "She didn't
believe you?" he repeated, a shadow of a smile
creasing his face.
"Nope. She yelled "God save me!"
and "Fie, begone!" and chased me out of her
chamber. Last I heard poor Englebert was
trying to calm her down."
A bark of laughter escaped
Suffolk's throat, swelling into a fit of
hysteria. Kit too began to laugh. "So she
believes without question that her husband wishes an
annulment, that she may very well be beheaded, yet
she is unable to believe ..." He was unable
to continue as great waves of laughter overtook
him.
"Awe, come on," she began, trying her
hardest to resist their ebullience. But it was
impossible, and they exited the maze laughing still,
Kit in the middle with an arm about each of his
companions, Deanie leaning against him, one hand
clutching the soda bottle.
"Lady Longley, come look," cried a
startled groomsman, "'Twas not just the two of
them! The duke of Suffolk was within, all along!"
Lady Longley pushed the young man aside,
looking with intense wonderment as Hamilton
slapped the duke of Suffolk's back with
good-humored delight and simultaneously
planted a tender kiss upon Mistress
Deanie's forehead.
"Well, well," she said, her voice
suddenly gone husky. "It seems our handsome
duke is far more fascinating than I ever
imagined."
"And so is his cousin," echoed the groomsman,
who received a sharp elbow in the ribs for his comment.
END OF VOLUME II
ONCE UPON A ROSE
by
JUDITH O'BRIEN
Volume III of Three Volumes
Pages i-ii and 391-565
Published by: POCKET BOOKS, 1230
Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY
10020. Further reproduction or distribution
in other than a specialized format is
prohibited.
Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,
National Library Service for the Blind and
Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,
Inc., 1998.
Copyright 1996 by Judith O'Brien
ONCE UPON A ROSE
Chapter 15
The tension in the court seemed to increase with each
passing hour. There was an unconvincing attempt
on the part of every peer, page, and servant
to pretend it was business as usual, that the king's
sudden disappearance meant nothing at all. Yet
all knew the dangers that twisted through the halls.
This was the king's pattern, to evacuate the court
whenever any less-than-pleasant event was to take
place. He would order its execution, then leave
as if he had no prior knowledge of the occurrence.
Cromwell was the new guest in the Tower. It
was anyone's guess who would be the next to fall.
Once Upon a Rose Page 24
