by Kris Tualla
Jakob Hansen obviously had no such concerns. Though Henry’s ball returns were swift and sure, Hansen soon matched them in skill and power.
Avery drew a breath, remembering the bunching of Jakob’s muscles under the light linen shirt which, damp with sweat, clung to his arms and back. And his tightly-fitted knee breeches didn’t hide the powerful muscles in his legs and buttocks.
She felt a blush creep up her face, shocked at her own thoughts.
Because he was playing a novice opponent, Henry easily won the first match. But after the king served the opening volley in the second match, Jakob’s burgeoning skills began to dominate the competition. He moved over the clay court with agility, and swung his racquet with precise strength.
Avery silently cheered him on.
Henry’s expression hovered somewhere between shock, anger, and admiration when the Nordic knight landed the winning shot in the second game. When he approached Hansen, who was admittedly breathing harder than the king was, Henry’s eyes narrowed and his grin was stiff.
“Shall we break this tie?” Henry asked. “Or are you finished?”
Jakob’s smile only lifted one side of his mouth. “I prefer there is a winner in all wars, your Grace.”
Henry chuckled without mirth and cocked a brow. “Are we at war, Hansen?”
“This is the only English word I think of.” Jakob shrugged his apology. “What word is better?”
“Competitions. Challenges. Games. Any of those will fit the circumstances,” Henry offered, his outward demeanor remaining coolly calm.
“Games, your Grace.” Hansen bowed. “Winner in all games.”
Henry turned and looked up at her then. Avery froze in her place, wondering why she deserved the king’s attention. Such surprises were seldom agreeable where Henry was concerned.
The tilt of his body and the angle of his eyes showed that he was quite pleased with himself at that particular moment. “We have a tie. Which one of us shall serve the ball first, Lady Avery?”
She answered without hesitation—and without looking at Jakob. “You shall, your Grace.”
Henry faced the knight once again and gave the ball a small, vertical toss, catching it in the same hand. “You heard the lady, did you not?”
Jakob didn’t even look at her. “Yes, your Grace. And she chooses correct man.”
As Avery scrutinized Jakob’s movements for a third time, she saw that he was beginning to favor his right leg. Sweat pasted his shirt to his body like a second skin now, and while she appreciated the enhanced silhouette of the tall knight, Avery knew he would not win this final match. Not today, at any rate.
She would not bet against him in any future challenge, however.
“Good eventide, Lady Avery.”
With a startled gasp, she turned to her left and looked up into the deep blue eyes of Sir Hansen. How was he able to sneak up on her so consistently?
The Norseman smelled pleasantly of cloves and cedar, and was dressed in the blue velvet tunic which matched his eyes. The starched ruff around his neck was small enough to be tasteful and masculine, and yet white enough to contrast with his sculpted, sun-darkened cheeks.
He smiled. “I trust you enjoy the games today?”
“Enjoyed,” she corrected glancing around her, noting that Catherine had slipped away. She met the knight’s intense gaze once again. “And yes. I enjoyed them very much.”
His brows pulled together. “Do ladies give favor in games?”
Her brows mimicked his. “Do you mean as they do in jousting or archery?”
Jakob nodded, watching her mouth.
“No. I’ve never seen a lady’s favor given in a tennis match.” She forced her expression to shift to one of calm disinterest. “Why do you ask?”
He glanced to her side. “I only wonder if your favor goes to Sir Bethington.”
Avery’s jaw dropped.
“Lady Avery, my dearest friend.” Percival materialized out of nowhere, grasped her hand, and pressed it fervently to his lips. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sun. “I do hope you were quite pleased with my sportsmanship today. All of my efforts were intended to gain your favorable attentions.”
Avery gently pulled her hand from Percival’s enthusiastic grip. “Good eventide to you, Sir Bethington.”
Unswayed by her cool demeanor, Percival continued. “Say that I have finally won your heart, my lady, and I shall be forever grateful.”
“Ladies do not give favor in tennis,” Jakob stated. “Only in jousting and archery.”
Avery’s regard shot to his. His lips twitched. She thought he might have winked.
Percival laughed, pulling her attention back to him.
“A man is always free to hope, is he not?” He reached for her hand and kissed it soundly once again. “Do not cause me to lose hope, Lady Avery. For in that case, I shall surely die.”
With a dramatic twirl of his broad body, Percival strode away from the pair.
Jakob tilted his head. “Is he always—”
“Yes,” Avery interrupted. “It is unfortunate, but it is also true.”
The knight wagged his head a little. “To win a woman, one must not push so hard.”
That was a surprising statement. “And are you trying to win a woman, Sir Hansen?” Avery probed.
Jakob’s features sunk and sobered. “I am not.”
Again, Avery was caught off her guard. She could not stop herself from asking, “Why not?”
Darkening blue eyes moved away from hers and stared at nothing in the room. “Is a long story. I will not make you listen.”
After a brief pause, he returned his gaze to hers; he assuredly winked at her this time. “I do not wish to melt Ice Maiden.”
Avery’s eyes widened at his words and she sucked a small gasp.
Jakob gave her a little bow, and then turned and buried himself in the waiting supper crowd.
Surprised for the third time in as many answers, Avery watched his golden-coppery head move away from her, hovering above the throng. He knew her immovable reputation, then, if he knew the unflattering title bequeathed upon her by the past eight years of spurned would-be lovers.
The title’s implicit warning against wasted efforts normally pleased her; but for some reason, she found no relief in it tonight.
*****
The clock on the landing chimed once. Avery slipped out of her room through the door into the servants’ hidden hallway. Holding her single candle high as she walked, she kept her head down so that the brim of her hat shielded her face. Chances were slim that she would be seen, but Avery always erred on the side of caution to be safe.
Each time she snuck away from the Tower, it required a bit of time for her to become reaccustomed to the feeling of fabric between her legs—but she could not deny the freedom that a pair of breeches provided. Hose and high boots kept her legs modestly hidden, while a linen blouse and loose woolen tunic disguised her womanly shape.
Once free of the tower, her next obstacle was the guard house. Avery only snuck out on the nights when Higgins was on duty. The man had an odd fondness for ladies’ undergarments; as long as she provided him with a bit of lace or silk, he applied blind eyes and silent lips to her nighttime excursions.
It was a satisfactory arrangement, as neither of them wished to be found out.
“Be careful, my lady,” he whispered as she handed him this night’s little package. “I will keep watch for ye.”
Avery pulled her cap lower. “Thank you, Higgins.”
The streets around the Tower were never empty at any time of the day or night. Ships docked nearby, and their crew members took turns visiting the taverns, shops, and whorehouses which lined the winding cobbled roads.
Avery always walked to the top of Tower Hill, where the air was fresher, the view broader, and the sky just a bit clearer.
The hill served a rather gruesome purpose—this was the spot for hangings and beheadings. The grassy knoll provided families a sp
ot to sit and watch the most recent miscreant receive his just reward, and frighten their children into behaving well in the process.
If Avery believed in ghosts, this would be the last place she would visit in the dark. Instead, she lay down on the grass, stared up at the multitude of stars and a smiling crescent moon, and silently prayed through her rosary as she contemplated the newest twists in her world.
Her life had begun as if she were charmed.
Born in Alcalá de Henares, on the eastern side of Madrid, she not only shared a birthplace, but a birthdate with Catherine—though Avery was two years older. Her parents were well acquainted with Catherine’s parents, King Ferdinand the Second and his wife Isabella, and had invested with the royal couple in the extraordinary exploration of a sailor named Christopher Columbus.
The two girls became fast friends before they reached the age at which their education began, and having Catherine share a tutor with the slightly older daughter of a trusted friend gave the king and queen peace of mind.
Avery and Catherine were inseparable until Catherine married Arthur at the age of fifteen. Though Avery was allowed to attend the wedding, her father insisted that she return to Spain and to her own duties afterward.
By the time Catherine married Henry and summoned her to return, Avery was no longer subject to her father’s wishes. She made the journey once more, and this time chose to remain in England at her best friend’s side.
She was generally content with her life in the Tudor court, and resigned to her singular life—until the recent arrival of the odd knight from Denmark.
And Norway.
Avery smiled at the heavenly display above her. She got the sense that the Norseman was polite to King Henry only because he chose to be, and not because he held any particular reverence for, or fear of, the king’s power.
If she was right, she hoped Henry didn’t notice. He had been spoiled as the second son who would not be king, and became used to having his way. That could play out badly if the selfish sovereign was allowed to do as he pleased at all times.
“He beat you in tennis, Henry,” she murmured into the damp night air. “What else might he beat you in?”
“Who are ye talking to?”
Avery smelled the heavy perfume before the whore sat down beside her. “Do ye want some company tonight, sir?”
Avery sat up and faced the woman. She flashed a crooked smile. “And what will it cost me?”
The whore’s gaze passed over her. “Why don’t ye use the money to buy a different tunic?”
Avery chuckled. “And then how would you know it was me?”
The other woman laughed and waved her arm around the empty knoll. “I can pick ye out of the crowd, sir, don’t ye worry.”
Avery pulled a pouch of coins from inside her tunic. “Here you are Lizzy. It’s good to see you.”
Lizzy tucked the pouch between her breasts. “I was wonderin’ when ye might show up again.”
“Has anything exciting been happening on the streets of London lately?” Avery leaned back on her elbows. She always enjoyed hearing about Lizzy’s life, so very different as it was from her own. Oddly, the whore’s life had a sort of freedom which Avery found herself longing for at times.
Lizzy smoothed her skirt. “For starters, none of the court are behaving badly at the moment.”
“Not even Percival?” Avery pressed.
Lizzy flipped her wrist in dismissal. “He’s just good fun, sir. Ye know that.”
Avery lifted a brow in the dim light, knowing Lizzy kept up the façade of her apparent gender in case anyone passed by.
“Is he still sniffing around?” Lizzy asked.
“He is persistent.”
Lizzy leaned closer. “But he ain’t the one what beat Henry, is he?”
Avery made a mental note to buy Lizzy a less intrusive perfume. “No, he is not,” she admitted. “How did you hear about that?”
Lizzy traced a finger along Avery’s jaw. “Ye know better than to ask me.”
Avery grabbed the girl’s hand and laid it on her thigh. “I do. My apologies.”
“So who was it?” Lizzy whispered.
Avery knew that if anyone discovered the pair of women there, Lizzy’s intimate stance and sultry whisper would substantiate Avery’s disguise. She spoke into Lizzy’s ear.
“A knight has come from King Christian the Second of Denmark and Norway,” she began. “He doesn’t seem to be accustomed to diplomatic work, and is rather unsettling at times.”
Lizzy gave a sage nod. “He don’t know he’s supposed to let the king win.”
Avery leaned back. “Exactly.”
Lizzy’s eyes glittered in the dim light from the well-lit Tower. “How else does he unsettle ye?”
“Me?” Avery blurted. She glanced around for any ears which might have made note of her feminine tone. Thankfully, no one was near.
“Aye. Clearly the man is on yer mind.”
Avery frowned. “Catherine encourages me to take him as a …husband.”
“And it’s about time, sir,” Lizzy snorted.
Avery flopped on her back. The cool grass was growing wet with dew, but the dampness soothed her suddenly warm frame. “Why is everyone more concerned with my bedsport than I am?”
Lizzy stretched out on her side beside Avery. “And I ask, why are ye lying out here in the night thinking about him?”
“I was not.”
“Aye, ye were.”
Avery crossed her arms over her bosom. “I was surprised at his behavior, is all. I should hate to see him get into trouble with Henry.”
Lizzy trailed a finger from Avery’s elbow to her shoulder, where she made lazy circles. “What’s he look like?”
Unsure how much she wanted to reveal, Avery purposefully made her description vague. “Tall.”
“How tall?”
“A little taller than Henry.”
Lizzy made a little humming sound. “Eyes?”
“Blue.”
“Hair?”
Avery needed to be careful there. She went with simply, “Blond.”
“Fat?”
Avery coughed a laugh. “Not at all. He’s lean and muscled.”
Lizzy nodded. “So not so stocky as Percival.”
“No.”
“Handsome, then.”
Avery hesitated. The man was far more than handsome, in her opinion. Even the signs of aging and hardship which were beginning to line his face appealed to her. Jakob Hansen was no boy; he was a grown man, and fully so.
“I suppose.”
Lizzy laughed delightedly. “Ye like him.”
Irritation and realization fought for dominance in Avery’s breast; and both emotions unsettled her. “He’s interesting.”
“What’s holdin’ ye back?” the woman prodded.
Avery drew a deep breath, trying to squelch the tightness pressing against her ribs. “Percival.”
Lizzy jerked away. “Are ye going to bed him?”
“No!” Avery sat up and faced Lizzy. “The knight and Percival will be traveling to Spain together to attend some important international gathering. They may be gone for as long as a year.”
Lizzy sat up as well. Even in the darkness Avery could see the whore’s confused expression. “And?”
“And I cannot encourage one of them, and risk becoming a subject of conversation between them.”
Lizzy drew her knees up and laid her crossed arms on them. “Aye, I suppose not. Especially since Percy has pressed ye so hard for so long.”
Avery relaxed a little. “So you see how it’s impossible.”
“Aye. I suppose.” Lizzy was quiet for a long moment before she continued. “I did hear a groom talkin’ brave, though he was so deep in his cups he was slurring every word.”
“About what?”
Lizzy rested her cheek on her arms, and looked at Avery. “Was Henry shot during a hunt?”
Avery sat up straight. “Yes. A stray arrow grazed his upper a
rm. Why?”
Lizzy unfolded her body and leaned into Avery. She tucked a strand of hair under Avery’s hat and whispered in her ear, “According to this groom, the shot was intended for Henry.”
A frisson of fear slithered through Avery’s frame. “Do you know the man?”
“I don’t. He isn’t regular.” Lizzy leaned back a bit. “And it weren’t him what shot the arrow. He only said he knew about it.”
Avery nodded. “Thank you, Lizzy.”
A church bell rang twice.
Avery looked toward the Tower. “I have another hour. Shall we get something to eat?”
Lizzy climbed to her feet and shook out her skirts. “I can’t. I have to meet someone. He paid in advance.”
Avery rose tor her feet as well. “Business is good?”
She shrugged. “I don’t complain.”
Avery took Lizzy’s hands and kissed her cheek. “Until next time, then. Keep an eye out for anything more.”
“Thank ye for yer time, sir,” she said loudly. “I appreciate the company.”
Avery watched the woman walk away, back straight and hips swinging. She was heading toward the church bell.
*****
Avery slipped back into her room after the third bell, confident that she had not been seen by anyone other than Higgins and Lizzy. She removed the masculine garb, and after sniffing it, tucked it in the bottom of a trunk. She never risked having her disguise cleaned, choosing instead to replace the items when they became too soiled for her to tolerate.
As it was, having two people know about her dark excursions posed enough of a risk, though between the clandestine undergarments and generous pouches of coins, both of her confidants had good reason to keep her secret safe.
And in addition, truth be told, she believed that they both actually liked her. She had to admit that she liked them. But for a quirk of parentage, she might have been as commonly born as they both had been.
In truth, she often thought such a low status might have been easier to bear, rather than carry the constrictive burdens of society which weighed upon her. That very weight was one of the reasons she started sneaking out at night.
The opportunity to glean secrets about various court members’ behavior had become a useful outgrowth of her frequent restlessness.
