Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  People were moving by the door now. An older woman, stiff in purple brocade and diamonds, paused to listen. The queen’s own dwarf, Jane the Fool, unwound herself from a cushion near the virginals and looked up, yearning evident on her perfectly formed face. It was a strange moment of sharing; Julian felt the warmth pervade her.

  Her eyes prickled slightly as the song rose in greater intensity, and at first Julian thought that it was the guttering candles that seemed to make the pool of shadow just inside the door. Then she saw that it was Lord Varland, obviously looking for someone, his eyes sweeping back and forth, the dark face haughty and unreadable. He saw her, heard the words she sang, and their glances locked. With a strange prescience she sensed the interlocking of their fates and knew that he fought against it.

  He turned away and then back while the others watched. Julian could not help herself; it was as if cords bound them. The faint lute notes fell into the hush, the women’s voices and her own twined around the yearning words of King Henry’s own song made in death and love: “Greensleeves was all my joy . . . Greensleeves was my heart of flame. . .”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Julian stood in the richly appointed room that housed the royal library and looked about with delight. Spring sun washed through the stained-glass windows which were set high and wide in the thick wall. Here were the true treasures of the kingdom, she thought in awe; with time she might partake of them all. Several precious volumes lay out on a table set against one corner. They were bound in leather and shimmered with gold. She touched one; a Latin work on some abstruse religious doctrines. Another was bound in green velvet, ornamented in silver, written in both Latin and French. Curious, she opened it and saw that the tale was one of the hunting of various beasts and the proper manner to capture them. One of the illuminated drawings showed the elusive unicorn fleeing to the shelter of the pure maiden. On the next page a basilisk lifted its deadly head. The colors and lines were so clearly delineated that the creatures seemed real.

  “They are beautiful, are they not?” The slow voice spoke at her side, and a slender finger traced the outline of the basilisk. “And deadly, if the old tales are to be believed.”

  Julian froze for a second, then looked up into the enigmatic eyes of Philip of Spain. “Your Majesty!” She dropped to her knees with one fluid movement, the golden dress shimmering around her.

  He snapped impatient fingers. “Rise. Rise. In solitude we may be less formal. Have you come, even as I, to escape the crush of the court? You English are so exuberant! In Spain we know the value of silence.”

  Julian backed away a little as she said, “Her Majesty sent me to fetch the works of St. Thomas Aquinas, saying that I must read to her from them later.” She did not add that the queen had remarked on the soothing qualities of her voice, thereby causing several of the other ladies to give each other sharp looks.

  “Most edifying. However, the day is fair and fresh. It seems that a walk in the gardens would be good for those headaches she complains of so much.” He sounded the very disgruntled husband, but the movement he made toward Julian was practiced and smooth. “I have a few moments from the affairs of state. Lady Redenter, and would speak of other things. Will you sit here and tell me of that barbarous land you live so near? Wales, I believe it is called?”

  It was a command for all the light tone of the words. He did not wait for an answer as he took her arm and guided her toward a velvet-lined bench near the window. The swift running Thames could be glimpsed just beyond the tossing branches now newly green in the erratic weather. Philip turned her to face him and kept his hand on hers. She forced herself to remain still, and the look on her face was politely agreeable.

  “Your Majesty, the queen will be awaiting my return.”

  “It is not yet noon. She will be praying and will not thank anyone daring to disturb her. Now, tell me as I have bidden you. I must know more of this land that our son will one day rule.” His voice sharpened, and the strange eyes bored into hers.

  “Your Majesty surely has many able informants who are far wiser than I and certainly more clever.” She heard her voice as if from afar.

  “But none more fair.” His fingers stroked hers briefly. Gods, the man thought that her attempt to escape was merely flirtation! She said swiftly, “Your Majesty has commanded and I obey. What is it that you would like to know? The crops, the weather, the boundaries? I do not actually live in Wales, you know, but on the border.”

  He laughed, seeing her flee before him. “The pleasant homely matters of daily life, madam.”

  Julian was reminded of the basilisk and the stare that could destroy. She spoke of the hills and the clouds, the little villages and winding roads, of the unexpected dwellings of another day that one sometimes found, heather and blooming flowers, warmth and spiraling birds, the taciturn people and their need to live out their lives in peace as they had done in long years despite the many upheavals caused by the Tudors and Plantagenets, of the children with whom she had played in her youth and the knowledge they had shared. Then she wondered suddenly if Philip really believed he could father an heir from the queen, who was now in her middle forties, older than Julian’s mother had been when she died. There had been a false pregnancy, she remembered, soon after their marriage, and the queen had been devastated. Philip had only just returned after an absence of nineteen months.

  “You love that country and your manor, Redeswan, do you not?” He spoke still more softly, and his hands slipped up to her wrist. His breath came warm on her cheek. His eyes were hot and hungry.

  Julian tried to move away and found herself trapped by his soldier’s body. She did not dare repulse him; guile was her only weapon. “Majesty, I did promise to return quickly to your wife, the queen. You have honored me with your attention.”

  He put one finger on her lips to silence her. In another second he would pull her into his arms. Queen Mary would not blame her husband; a man with a man’s needs was one thing, a lightsome lady-in-waiting another. She turned her head sharply and heard his intake of annoyance. She could faint, see a ghost, grow nauseated. How did one reject a king?

  A soft footfall sounded in the doorway just then, and a familiar voice said, “Shall I return at a more fitting time for our conference, Your Majesty?” It was Charles Varland already turning discreetly away.

  Philip moved back from Julian and hooked both hands in his elegant sleeves. He said casually, “Come in, Charles. I arrived early and was listening to this young woman tell me of her part of England. Enchanting. Almost the same as your talk about that seacoast of yours, that Cornwall. No, I am ready. Come in, man.”

  Charles Varland gave a quick bow, but his eyes raked Julian and she knew that he thought they had been at dalliance. She rose and made her curtsy, knowing that she must leave as quickly as possible even without the book. The king smiled intimately at her and waved her away. Varland’s lips tightened, but his face remained impassive.

  As Julian edged back she heard the king say, “Now, Charles, what is this nonsense about the campaign?”

  She tried to compose herself as she walked back to the queen’s rooms. It was certainly no shock that the king had interested himself in her; rumor had it that he had even brought a mistress back to England under the name of kinswoman, and his escapades in Brussels in the past months had caused the queen much grief. It was the casualness of it that set her blood ablaze. Did he consider a woman a thing to be used and tossed aside? Varland, too, had spoken of bedding her within minutes of their first speaking to each other. Was she to see her life in terms of a man only? Yet honesty told her that Lord Variant could easily hold her heart.

  The queen was speaking to several of her assembled ladies when Julian entered the bedchamber, which was hung with the colors of Spain and England. She seem to have forgotten her headaches and interest in abtruse theology, for she wore a shimmering pink gown, and her small face was alight beneath her coif.

  Her deep voice was tremulous as she said, “I kno
w that my womb will soon quicken. The Virgin has heard me now just as she did when I prayed for my lord husband’s return. I shall offer thanks to her in a special way. Ladies, two days from now in the very early morning you will dress in your oldest clothes even as I, and we will go forth to give largesse to the poor. This is both meet and worthy, a thing blessed by Our Lord.” She waved slender hands in dismissal. “Go now, I would be alone.”

  They scattered quickly, and Julian found herself beside a brown-haired girl with very pale skin who looked familiar. As they walked out she recognized her as the girl over whom she had stumbled running away from Charles in the hall. Julian hoped that she would not remember; there had been enough confrontations for one day. She said in a low voice, “What sort of expedition are we bidden on? I am fairly new to court and unfamiliar with such.”

  The girl fell into step with Julian and spoke breathlessly. “It is all marvelously exciting, don’t you think? All those handsome Spaniards who came with the king, some of them may go with us. Oh, but you don’t know! In the days before she came to power she used to go out into the country with her attendants, all dressed poorly, for they had little else, and give what she could to the people. She was often in poorer straits than they, and many did not know that she was heiress to the throne.”

  She paused for breath, and Julian smiled into the guileless brown eyes. How open and friendly she was! The caution that Lady Gwendolyn had bred into her daughter did not lead to easy words, but Julian was conscious of her need for a friend at this court. She said, “I am Julian Redenter, newly come and very uncertain much of the time.”

  “I am Blanche Parker of Kent. Don’t worry, you’ll soon be at ease. Now is such a good time to be here. The king back, new gentlemen at court, mummings, hunts, the queen happy and spending less time on her knees. Everybody will know it’s the queen when we go out to give largesse but will pretend they don’t; I have heard my mother say that old King Henry loved such disguisings.”

  Several courtiers passed just then and looked long at Blanche, who was flushed a pale rose with her excitement. Julian felt her own heart lift as she vowed to remain as far from the king as possible and hope that he would forget his drifting interest. Blanche took her arm and began to chatter in a low confiding voice about Spanish gentlemen, her concern that at twenty she was not yet betrothed, and the coming venture into the streets.

  “And you need to be careful, Lady Julian—that dark lord Varland can hurt your reputation. Naturally, he says he is of the true faith now, but he went to all those German places in the last reign, and there was talk about his wife—maybe murder, you know. Why, I’ve heard it said that if he were not in such favor with the king, the queen would have him investigated by the commissioners.”

  Lord Varland did not need her defense, but Julian heard herself say, “He was most courteous to me when first we met. Perhaps it is court gossip only.”

  Blanche looked at her wide-eyed and continued to chatter. Julian knew that the girl saw more than she gave away and hoped that her own passion was not evident.

  Julian did not have to worry about finding old clothes; she had the gown she had worn from Redeswan. Therefore, she spent much of her time before the expedition in Isabella’s apartments reading, practicing on the virginals, or walking in the Long Gallery of the palace. She felt as though she were poised over a yawning abyss in danger of falling no matter what precautions were taken. Ward and lady-in-waiting to the queen of England, the whole brilliant court before her, unlimited opportunity ahead—all this should be enough, Julian tried to tell herself. But in this suspended time, she knew that she wanted to shape her own world and move freely in it, that she must matter in her own right as a person.

  The next afternoon Julian walked swiftly along the passageway that led to the chapel. She wanted to relax in the beauty and peace there as well as seek respite from the emotions that divided her. The queen had sequestered herself, and there had been no call for the younger ladies, so this was the perfect time. She put one hand on the ornate door to push it back and was pulled forward as someone jerked it from inside. She struggled to catch herself from falling; and then the familiar shiver of excitement began as she looked up at Charles Varland.

  “What are you doing here? I did not know you were of the faith!” The inadvertent words rose to her lips before she could shut them away.

  “Is God of one persuasion, then?” He wore deep gray velvet now, and the gray of his eyes was that of ice in January. “But you, now—have you come to seek one whose name may not be spoken? Best to be very careful. I do not recommend the chapel for assignations.”

  “Is this taken from your own experience, my lord?” The words flared from her, and sparks flickered in her own eyes.

  Charles Varland caught her satin-covered shoulder and held it. “You are suddenly everywhere I look. Are you other than you seem? Surely you have been warned?”

  She tried to jerk free. “Everyone warns me in nebulous fashion, and many of those admonitions are against you! Let me pass!”

  He pulled her to him, and his mouth was hard on hers. She felt herself growing weak, beginning to tremble as the sweet melting fire rose. His hand was already reaching for her breast when she twisted away and leaned against the wall to compose herself. Varland’s face flamed with real anger; it must be seldom that he found himself repulsed.

  Julian said again, “Let me pass, Lord Varland. I did not come here to snuggle in corners with the court rake.” She wanted to hurt him, to rebuke herself for that momentary yielding. His face did not alter, nor did he move.

  His voice flayed her as he said, “Ah, of course not, you look far higher. Kings, after all, can give more jewels, estates, titles. Another bit of caution, my dear: Get what you can before you yield to him, for he is easily bored.” He moved aside for her to pass and began to adjust the lace on his cuff.

  Julian’s temper rose hotter than in many a day. The print of her palm was emblazoned the length of his lean brown face before she was aware that she had lifted her hand at all. She glared at him, her eyes brilliant and hard in the shifting lights of the chapel, where the compassionate Virgin looked down.

  “Look to yourself before you sully my name!” The growl of all her fierce pride was in the words.

  Of all the reactions she had expected from him, the last was laughter. It boomed against the carved ceiling and halted abruptly as he leaned close to her. “That was a very predictable reaction, Lady Redenter. Really, you must look to your bag of tricks if you expect to come out with more than you had before you went in. King Philip will not remain in England for long. He wants the queen to declare war against France and is busy seeking the support of the lords of the realm in this. He will stay only until war is declared. After you have learned to be less violent, I may renew my own search for amusement. By then, of course, you will be wiser.” He held the door open so that she might pass through.

  Nothing touched the man! Julian felt the tears burn in her eyes and blinked them away so that he might not see and be gratified that he had hurt her. “I will pray for the benighted state of your mind, Lord Varland. From all I hear, you stand in great need of prayer, and your behavior to me has truly confirmed it.” Her small chin lifted, and the chestnut hair rippled back from her white forehead in shimmering waves. She would not quail before this man, however bold he seemed. Still, her body longed for his touch even as her mind rebelled.

  His bow was perfect, his voice cool and correct, as he said, “Prayer is always an excellent thing, Lady Redenter. I wish you success in your endeavors. Good day.”

  Then he was walking arrogantly down the passageway, his long lean body erect, dark head high. A man as no other, the man who would haunt her dreams and her days. Julian did not know if this savage longing she felt was the delight of the romances. Clearly he thought her less than a lady, but he wanted her, too; every inch of her hungry flesh knew that. Was this how the queen felt toward her young husband? The way that Lady Gwendolyn had been sear
ed by Lionel Redenter? Julian wanted Charles Varland’s eyes to go warm with longing and gentle with cherishing, but more even than that, she wanted to know and understand him, to be his and he hers.

  Her palm still tingled where she had slapped him; she could not be sorry for that. Though her body hungered, Julian Redenter still held by the pride of her generations and felt that must be her solace in the time ahead. She did not think he would seek her out again, nor would she go about alone. The laughing face of Blanche Parker rose up before her, a friendship worth the having. She would walk with Blanche or even Isabella until the king left. She would be no pawn!

  Her course set, Julian walked toward the safety of her rooms, feeling all the desolation of one bereft.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The fresh damp wind smelled of fish and earth, gray clouds hung low in the sky, but even at this early hour people rushed by intent on business and paying no attention to the group that had just alighted from the plain barge and now made its way up from the waterfront. Some were ladies-in-waiting, servants from the palace, and guards in old clothes set to watch. The queen had come even earlier, rested at the house of one of her nobles, and would soon join them in one of the smaller lanes of the city proper.

  Julian had acquired this knowledge from listening to the sleepy comments around her and had exchanged half-smiling yawns with the others. The strangeness was beginning to wear off, she felt, and soon she would feel a part of the court. She had seen neither Blanche nor Isabella this morning, but a sleepy maid had been sent to tend to her needs.