by Kris Tualla
“I suppose he will be well cared for, in that case.” She gave Percival a soft smile. “I shan’t worry about him.”
She truly hadn’t been worried last night, assuming Percival was correct about Askel’s competency. It wasn’t until this morning passed without a glimpse of the man, followed by his absence at the midday meal, that Avery searched out Charles Brandon. She hoped the Duke might enlighten her as to the man’s whereabouts without her having to ask outright about the Norseman.
“His grace has gone hunting, my lady,” the warden stated. “With his majesty. They left this morning.”
“Thank you.” Avery turned to leave, before deciding she didn’t care what the warden thought of her next question. She faced him again. “And the knight from Denmark, Sir Hansen. Did he accompany them as well?”
The warden blinked. “Yes, my lady. I believe so.”
If Jakob was in such pain yesterday that he could barely climb stairs, what was he doing riding out on a hunt this morning?
Avery gave the man a forced smile. “Thank you for your assistance, sir. I shall seek out his grace once the men have returned.”
She spun slowly and walked away, back straight and hips swaying, assuming that the warden was watching, and hoping to pull his attention away from her inquiries. She reentered the keep and made her way up the stairs, intending to speak with Askel herself. One way or another she would ferret out the truth.
*****
Jakob gripped the wide pommel of the royal saddle to keep himself in place. A long night of opium and compresses hadn’t helped his leg as much as he hoped, yet he could not refuse the king. He delayed making his covert appearance as long as he dared, understanding the painful ordeal which awaited him.
Now he and Brandon rode slowly, following a group of servants who were doing the actual hunting. The men were not allowed to approach Jakob, lest they realize that King Henry was not actually attending them.
For his part, Jakob wore a high-collared tunic and a felted cap adorned with large and distracting pheasant feathers. They tickled his cheek in the most infuriating manner, yet he daren’t remove the offending apparel. His task was to impersonate the king—and to do so successfully.
“Are you in much pain?” Charles asked softly, his eyes on the huntsmen ahead.
“I will live,” Jakob grunted.
“You twisted your leg on the last throw, didn’t you?” The duke glanced sideways at him. “When you did not beat Henry.”
Skitt.
“Does the king know?” he ventured.
Brandon shrugged. “I am not ever certain.”
Jakob thought about that a moment, selecting his limited words carefully. “No other man ever wins?”
“Not if they are wise.” Brandon huffed a laugh. “Henry is a formidable opponent, do not misunderstand me. Most men could not best him even with their greatest effort.”
Jakob nodded. “That is true.”
“Henry is a very talented man. He is highly educated, and as a prince he always had the best of everything.” Brandon shifted in his saddle and squinted at the servants when they flushed a flock of birds.
He nodded approvingly when two of the arrows brought prey down. “Good. We must not return empty-handed.”
“But he was not to be king,” Jakob prompted.
“No.” Brandon faced him. “So in many ways, he was less disciplined than Arthur.”
Jakob sucked a breath as a sharp twinge zinged through his thigh. He rubbed the aching spot with the heel of his right hand. “I think he was better than Arthur.”
“I would say that was a fair assessment.” Brandon lifted one eyebrow. “And as a result, he is accustomed to being superior at everything he attempts.”
Jakob gave a crooked smile. “So wise men never best him.”
Brandon dipped his chin. “That is correct.”
“What more might I be asked to do?” Jakob asked as he continued to massage his leg.
“What do you refer to?” Brandon stared forward again. “Playing the role?”
Jakob shook his head. “No. I agreed to this. I refer to… utfordringer? Provocationes?”
“Provocations? What do you mean by that?”
Jakob tried another Latin word. “Challenge?”
“Challenge?” Brandon echoed. “Physical challenges?”
Physical was close enough to the Norsk fysisk for Jakob to understand. “Yes. What physical challenges?” he repeated.
The duke looked pointedly at Jakob’s injured thigh. “I believe you might rightfully be excused from jousting, should he ask.”
Jakob nodded. “That is best.”
“Have you experience with wrestling?”
Jakob shrugged. “I told Henry I cannot wrestle.”
Brandon grinned. “What about dancing?”
A twinge of a different sort clutched Jakob’s chest. “I have not danced in many years.”
“Then take this as a warning. Henry loves music, and he loves to perform.” Brandon stood in his saddle as a deer leapt from a thicket about a hundred yards ahead of them.
“Shoot, damn you,” he growled. “Now!”
Arrows flew in bulk from the group of rough-clad men. The doe didn’t have a chance of escape, and quickly tumbled to the meadow floor, thrashing until one of the hunters slit her throat.
“Excellent.” The duke relaxed in his saddle again. “Now the ‘king’ has something to show for his hours at the hunt.”
“We will ride back through the village?” The men had cantered along the dusty central road on their way to the meadow, moving too quickly for any of the villagers to examine Jakob’s face.
“Yes. Once the deer is bled and trussed on a pony, we will return to the Tower as successful hunters.” Brandon reined his destrier toward the shade of the trees lining the meadow. “Let’s wait here. In sight, but out of sight at the same time.”
Relieved that the outing was nearly complete, Jakob tried to relax in his saddle as well, but the duke’s warning had him on edge.
“Does Henry perform often?”
“He does normally, though since you arrived he has been distracted by Miss Blount. But I do expect there will be some sort of festivities planned soon.” Brandon’s expression turned pensive. “Perhaps at Windsor. Henry’s disposition is much more pleasant when he is staying there.”
“I like Windsor,” Jakob offered. “It is beautiful land.”
The duke laughed. “And no Miss Blount to visit, eh?”
Jakob chuckled and pushed the cap’s feathers away from his cheek, yet again. “Every man desires a respite from his labors, no?”
Grinning, Brandon touched his forehead in acknowledgement.
*****
Avery knocked on Jakob’s chamber door. “Askel?” she asked when the portal swung open.
The man’s eyes rounded and he gave a courtly bow. But he did not speak.
“Are you Askel, Sir Hansen’s valet?” she asked again.
The man blinked, hesitated, and then nodded.
“Do you speak English?”
He looked apologetic as he shook his head. “Ingen engelsk.”
Realizing that this path wasn’t going to get her anywhere, Avery heaved a sigh of frustration. “Is Sir Hansen here?” she tried.
Askel gave another sad wag of his head. “Nei.”
Avery laid her hand on her breast. “I am Lady Avery Albergar.”
The valet seemed to know who she was. He dipped his chin politely. “Ja.”
“Tell Sir Hansen that I—” Avery began to use her hands, hoping that motions might transmit her message where words could not. “I came to see him. Ja?”
Askel’s worried brow smoothed and his cheeks lifted a little. “Ja.”
“Thank you. Takk du.”
There was nothing else for her to say, so after an awkward bit of silence, Avery simply turned around and walked away.
Though she half expected the warden to be wrong, Hansen was not in his chamber. Sh
e found it hard to believe that he had gone hunting with Henry and Charles, but there was no explanation or evidence to contradict the yeoman’s statement.
With another exasperated sigh, she decided to seek out Catherine. Spending the afternoon with her friend was preferable to impatiently waiting for the Norseman to reappear.
Entering the queen’s private chambers usually allowed Avery to relax; this was the only place in the Tower where she could safely ease her guard and act herself. Today, however, she met a flurry of activity in the queen’s outer chamber.
Catherine sat on a cushioned bench in the middle of the room while various sorts of servants draped fabrics in front of her, or held up ribbons and lace. One of her ladies-in-waiting sat at a small desk writing down whatever Catherine told her to.
Avery approached Catherine. “My queen, whatever is going on?”
Catherine beamed. “The king has declared that we shall have a masquerade ball in honor of the summer solstice!”
“Has he?” The idea was a happy distraction. She did a quick calculation. “Only fifteen days to prepare. We shall be quite busy.”
“We shall be even busier than you think.” Catherine leaned forward. “He wishes to hold it at Windsor.”
“Windsor?” Avery replied stupidly. “Why?”
“He claims to want me in a healthier climate, away from the unwashed crowds of London.” Catherine flipped her hand dismissively. “But I never see these ‘unwashed crowds’! I am quite pampered here in the Tower.”
“Your words are true,” Avery stated. “But the air is cleaner there.”
“Yes, it is,” Catherine conceded. “And there is not a rancid moat fouling the breeze.”
Avery laughed. “What shall your costume be, your grace?”
“I want you to help me with that. I wish to surprise the king with something quite unexpected.” Catherine motioned Avery closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Perhaps I shall dress as a man.”
“No. Please don’t,” Avery murmured, horrified to think that her own occasional ruse might be discovered.
Catherine leaned back, grinning. “I shan’t. I wish to make my husband swoon when he sees me.”
A tradesman approached, swatches of colorful brocades draped over his arms.
Catherine waved her hand toward the fabrics, her palm up in question. “What shall our colors be, Lady Avery?”
“Will there be a theme?” she countered.
“I don’t know.” Catherine bit the nail of her forefinger, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Have you any ideas?”
Avery blurted the first thing that came to her mind. “The Order of the Golden Fleece?”
“A Greek theme!” Catherine clapped her hands. “How perfect!”
The man with the fabrics laid out the gold and white brocade with a flourish. “May I suggest this one, your Grace?”
“Yes. The colors shall be gold and white and…” Her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle that unsettled Avery. “And the blue of the king’s eyes.”
And the Norseman’s. Catherine did not have to say the words out loud for Avery to know what her lifelong friend was thinking. She frowned her annoyance at the queen.
“Excellent, my queen. I shall bring you more fabrics on the morrow.” The tradesman bowed at the waist and backed the appropriate distance toward the chamber door before turning to leave.
“When are we going to Windsor, then?” The prospect of staying in the peaceful countryside was usually a happy one, but for the first time since moving to England, Avery had something which held her interest here in London.
Someone, more accurately.
“And when will Henry join us?” she added.
“We haven’t discussed the details as yet, though I expect we shall leave the day after tomorrow.” Catherine smoothed the fabric over her slowly rounding belly. “I do wish for Henry’s worries to be soothed. The sooner I go, the calmer he will be.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Avery smiled softly. “I shall see that your preparations are underway.”
Catherine nodded. “Thank you, my friend.”
Avery curtsied and walked through the outer chamber and into the queen’s bedroom. Though she gave detailed instructions to the maids regarding what to pack for their upcoming stay at Windsor Castle, much of what Catherine would need on a daily basis was already there.
In fact, Avery’s own quarters at Windsor were comfortably appointed as well. She even had a second wardrobe in the tall wooden closets of her room, should she ever be whisked away by a capricious whim of the royal family. As Catherine’s chief lady-in-waiting, the queen’s needs came before hers and that duty must claim her time and attention.
This time, she had an entire day and a half to prepare. She only wished she were happier about it.
Chapter Fourteen
Avery arrived at supper early. She didn’t plan to, but once she got the maids started on cleaning and packing Catherine’s gowns and other assorted items, there was nothing for her to do but go to her own rooms and make the same decisions for herself. With that task handily dispensed, Avery sat in a window seat and tried to read a rather uncompelling book until the clock finally chimed eight times.
The eventide was warm, and as she waited in the parlor she cooled herself with her favorite black Spanish-lace fan. Spain was still her home, after all, and memories of her childhood there with Catherine remained unblemished. The fan was a fond reminder of those innocent days.
Avery knew the day would come when familial responsibilities would require her to return. Whether she would make her home there once again, or not, was a question she could not answer today.
Thankfully, she did not need to.
When Jakob entered the large parlor, he looked like a man about to be executed. The planes in his face were flushed by sunburn, and the lines around his mouth cut deep. There was no light in his eyes.
As he moved forward the reason was clear. He hobbled badly, trying to put as little weight on his right leg as he could.
Avery strode to his side. “Put your hand on my shoulder.”
Jakob grimaced and balanced his weight on his left leg. “No, my lady. That is not …correct.”
Avery regarded him with a severe expression. “I do not care. You are in pain, and any assistance would be of help.”
She grabbed his right hand, turned her back, and set his palm on her shoulder. The heat of it burned through her frame, and for a moment she wondered if she was acting foolishly.
“You injured yourself yesterday in the games.” Avery looked over her shoulder and up into Jakob’s narrowed eyes. “So why did you go hunting today?”
He gave her a stiff, crooked smile. “When a king asks, a knight agrees.”
“Did he not notice your condition?” Avery pressed. “He must have seen how hard it was for you to ride.”
Jakob pulled a breath and his glance fell away. “The king had other concerns on his mind.”
Henry breezed into the room with Catherine on his arm, and the doors to the huge dining room swung open. Avery waited while the crowd around them followed the royal couple inside before taking a step in that direction. She walked slowly, adjusting her pace to Jakob’s uneven stride.
Once he eased himself into a chair, Avery took the seat beside him. She refused to look in Catherine’s direction, instead endeavoring to draw the Norseman into conversation. “Was the hunt successful?”
“Yes.”
“What did you bring down?”
“Deer. Pheasant. Other birds I don’t know English names for.” Jakob took a long drink which drained his wine glass. He refilled it himself, not waiting for a servant.
Avery frowned. “What will you do for your pain? Other than wine.”
Jakob didn’t look at her. “Askel has opium.”
“Do you take it often?”
“I do not.” Jakob sipped his wine.
She bit her lip before she asked, “Did you take it last night?”
Jakob lo
oked at her, his tone challenging. “Yes. And might be this night.”
Avery felt her face heating. She didn’t wish to offend the knight, but she wanted to know if there was any relief she might offer. “What treatment is most effective, in your experience?”
“Rest.” Jakob’s gaze cut to the king. “I shall wait and see.”
A change of subject was sorely needed.
“Henry has declared that a masquerade ball will be held to celebrate the summer solstice. He will hold it at Windsor in two weeks.” Avery peered at Jakob over the rim of her wine goblet. “The theme will be Greek, in honor of the Golden Fleece gathering.”
Jakob watched Henry still. “We go to Windsor?”
“Catherine and her court will. The day after tomorrow.” Avery tilted her head, hoping the movement would regain Jakob’s attention. “Henry will go later, I imagine.”
He nodded. “Good.”
That was an odd response. While she pondered Jakob’s reaction, Avery turned to regard the royal couple, chatting with Charles Brandon who stood beside the king. Another oddity struck her.
She looked back at the knight. “If Henry was hunting with you all day, why isn’t he as sunburnt as you are?”
*****
This was a wrinkle none of the men had thought of. Jakob met Avery’s gaze and deliberately changed the course of their discussion. “Askel says you came looking for me.”
Charles Brandon clapped Jakob on the shoulder from behind. “I’m glad to see you here this eventide, Hansen. I know that old jousting wound was giving you some trouble on the hunt.”
Avery looked confused. “Jousting?”
Jakob cringed inwardly. No, no, no. “I manage, your Grace.”
“Get some rest, then.” Brandon clapped his back again and moved away to speak to another man.
Jakob faced a clearly perplexed Avery. “You looked for me?” he repeated.
Avery blinked, her brow wrinkled and her lips parted, but for a moment she said nothing.
