by Kris Tualla
Avery took a step back. “Not a thing. You have done nothing.”
Her emphasis was puzzling. “But you have?”
Avery’s gaze slid away from his. “I acted on impulse. I was wrong.”
He had an idea, but asked anyway. “What is impulse?”
“Pulsus,” Lady Avery confirmed the Latin word.
Jakob nodded. “But there are times when pulsus is good.”
“That afternoon was not one of those times.”
“I do not agree.” Jakob reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “I wish to talk to you, Avery. My heart changed that day.”
She fixed rounded eyes on his. Her brow lowered. “I hope you are not about to declare your undying affection, or something else equally foolish!”
Jakob’s jaw clenched. This exasperating woman was reacting to assumptions and not listening to his words.
“No. Be certain I am not,” he growled.
Her face paled. He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed. “What is it then?”
Jakob swung his arm wide. “You wish to talk here?”
Avery glanced around as if realizing at that moment that their conversation could be witnessed by any number of people.
“No. Follow me.” She whirled on the ball of one foot and marched back around the corner.
Jakob followed, breathing slowly and deeply to try and corral his irritation. Any idea of courting this woman was quickly losing its appeal.
Avery led him to a heavily paneled door. Through the door was a sitting room lined with bookshelves. Jakob made a note of the room’s location, intending to find it again and poke through the leather-clad volumes.
Avery dropped into a chair while Jakob closed the door, then claimed the one closest to hers. She folded her hands and did not speak. Obviously she expected him to initiate their exchange.
Though he wanted to, Jakob did not make another attempt to take her hand. “You know you are the first person I ever told about my marriage.”
She relaxed the tiniest bit, but he noticed. “Yes.”
He gave her a grateful look. “And how I was injured trying to save my wife, but was too late.”
Another slight softening. “Yes.”
“I never wanted to say these things, because I was afraid. Do you understand?”
Avery nodded, her expression sober.
“But after I said the words, something happened.”
“What?” she whispered.
Jakob leaned back. “I am free.”
Her crinkled brow displayed her confusion. “Free? How?”
“I said the words, and I did not die. I felt better.” He leaned forward again and pinned her gaze with his. “I am not guilty. The things that happened are finished. Done.”
“You feel better?” Her voice betrayed her skepticism.
“Yes. Weight is gone. Fear is gone. It is time I look forward, not look back.” He smiled at Avery then. “I wish to thank you.”
“Thank me?” She wagged her head. “No. I was rude.”
“Yes,” he admitted, his smile tilting to the side. “But I told lies. You saw the lies. You asked for the truth.”
She gave a little grunt. “That was not the truth I was expecting.”
He did take her hand now. She did not pull away this time. “Lady Avery—the truth is most often not what we expect.”
She coughed an odd laugh. “Sir Hansen, you are a very wise man.”
“Please. Jakob.” He squeezed her hand. “We are still friends, I hope.”
“Jakob.” Avery smiled at him then, a warm and genuine smile. “Thank you for telling me.”
Jakob lifted her hand to his lips. Though he would rather have kissed her mouth, he must settle for this small show of affection for now. He heard her suck a soft breath, so he let his kiss linger for a beat before lowering her hand.
“May I escort you to your room?” he asked.
“Yes.” She rose to her feet. “That would be nice.”
*****
Catherine waited for her in the outer room of her chambers. Avery tossed her friend a vexed look and dropped onto a chair.
“How may I serve you, my queen?” she purred.
Catherine laughed. “Did he kiss you?”
The resultant stab of disappointment at Catherine’s simple question caught Avery by surprise. The idea that she might have been expecting Jakob to try—or worse, hoping he would—was in defiance with what she thought she wanted.
“No. Of course not.” She waved a disinterested hand. “Why would you think that?”
“One can always hope.” Catherine stood and rested a hand on her belly. “And one can always pray for your situation.”
Avery sat up straight. “Cathy! You would not!”
“I would. And I have. And I shall continue.” She shrugged. “If you do not know what’s good for you, then as your friend I must look out for your interests.”
“Fornication is not good for anyone.” Avery ground out the objection, hoping her expression was equally as stern.
Cathy walked toward the door, casually tossing the words over her shoulder as if they weren’t heresy. “It would not be fornication if you married him.”
Avery stared at her friend; clearly the pregnancy had driven the queen mad. “You know I cannot.”
Catherine turned and pointed a stiff finger at her. “Considering the actions of that horrible man in Spain, you are free to marry anyone you wish.”
Avery’s chin began to quiver. “Please, Cathy.”
The queen took hold of the door latch. “Think about it, my dearest Lady Avery Albergar.”
She was out the door before Avery could think of anything suitable to say.
June 20, 1518
Jakob was summoned to Henry’s chamber following the midday meal. The masquerade ball was this very evening, so he expected he would finally receive his mysterious costume. Inside the enormous chamber, only Henry waited, standing beside a sheet-draped couch.
Jakob bowed. “Your Grace.”
“Rise, Hansen.” Henry beckoned him near. “You see that we are alone.”
Jakob complied. “Yes, my lord?”
The king grinned. “What I am about to show you, only you and I are privy to.”
A sense of foreboding pressed against Jakob’s chest. “And what is that, your Grace?”
With a dramatic flourish, Henry swished the sheet away, revealing two identical costumes.
“Oh, no,” Jakob groaned.
“Oh, yes.” Henry laughed. “You and I will play a trick on everyone tonight!”
Jakob shook his head. “This is not a good idea.”
“Don’t be foolish, Hansen. It’s brilliant.” Henry lifted one of the sleeveless white tunics, trimmed in wide golden brocade. “Can you guess the god?”
Jakob was too stunned by the twist of events to think clearly. He said the first name that came to his mind. “Poseidon?”
Henry chuckled. “No. That will be Suffolk. Try again.”
Think quickly. Name another Greek god.
“Apollo?”
“Well done!” Henry tossed him the tunic. “It is the perfect choice, you see? Apollo is the god of light and the sun, truth and prophecy, music and poetry. He matches me perfectly.”
Jakob answered mechanically as he fingered the expensive silk. “Yes, your Grace.”
“And—he has golden hair.” Henry lifted an ornate, gold-painted half mask. “We shall wear these masks, so only our eyes and mouths are visible.”
Jakob took the mask from the king and lifted it to his face. He tied the ribbons around his head to hold it in place. Then he crossed to the mirror. As he stood in front of the silvered glass, staring at his disguised visage, Henry stepped up next to him.
The effect was shocking.
With the masks on, the two men were indistinguishable. Close enough to the same height, no one would mark the difference when they were apart. Blue eyes of similar hue peered from the eye-openings in
the masks. Even their hair appeared the same mix of gold and copper.
“You will need to cut your hair and shave,” Henry remarked. “Apollo was beardless.”
Jakob nodded his agreement, too shaken to be eloquent in the still-new language.
“He was also very athletic.” Henry grabbed Jakob’s upper arm. “You have the physique to pull this off. You are almost as skilled an athlete as I.”
This situation wasn’t getting better in Jakob’s economy. “But I cannot speak, or the game is finished.”
“No, you must not. I will probably need to converse at times, but I shall be silent whenever it is possible.” Henry lifted his mask.
Jakob followed suit and then faced the king. “Will people know there are two Apollos?”
“Not at first. We will walk in and out of the ballroom, and through the hallways. Whenever I enter a room, you must leave it.” Henry chuckled again. “This will be tremendous fun.”
“When will they know?” Jakob asked.
“When I step up to perform.” Henry waved a hand. “Then you may remove your mask.
Jakob had not yet heard that word. “Perform?”
“I shall sing. Recite poetry. All my own works, of course.” Henry walked back to the couch. “I have been told I’m rather good.”
Of course you have. Jakob followed, “Forgive me, your Grace, but I should leave the ball before you remove your mask.”
Henry turned to face him. “And spoil the surprise? Where is the fun in that?”
“I do go in your place, at times. Is it not possible that might be… suspecta… when everyone sees I go in your place tonight?”
The king’s demeanor shifted, as if discovering the first flaw in his scheme. “I see your point, Hansen. Damn.”
Jakob blew a sigh of relief. “I will leave the ball before you… perform.”
When Henry dropped his mask on the couch, a new and unsettling concern formed in Jakob’s thoughts. “Before that, people will think I am you…”
Henry met his gaze. “Yes, Hansen. That is the idea.”
“What will they say to me?”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Jakob tried to choose the right words from his limited vocabulary. “Secrets, your Grace. Will I hear things that are not for my ears?”
The king’s demeanor shifted yet again, as the second flaw in his scheme was revealed. He drew a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and took an aggressive stance.
“You and I have an agreement, Hansen. Do we not?”
Jakob dipped his chin respectfully. “Yes, your Grace.”
“And that agreement is based on each of us trusting the other man. Am I correct?”
Jakob gave a small nod. “Yes, my lord.”
Henry’s eyes bore into his. “Then whatever you are told, or asked, by anyone, you will report to me. Word by word.”
“Yes. And I answer no one.” Jakob spread his hands. “What they say or ask, I do not speak.”
“Precisely.”
“I understand. And I shall do as you ask.”
“Good.”
Jakob extended his hand. This time, Henry didn’t hesitate to clasp it.
Chapter Seventeen
Avery had taken a long time to decide on her masquerade for this evening, and in light of Catherine’s conversation with her yester evening, Avery was quite pleased with her decision.
“Who is Hestia?” Catherine asked when Avery first told her.
Avery flashed a crooked smile. “The virgin goddess of hearth, home, and chastity. Quite fitting for the Ice Maiden, is it not?”
As she lifted the long, flowing, cream-colored gown from its wrapping, she was again grateful for her choice. Hestia was always chastely portrayed, often wearing a modest veil.
Though Avery was proud that her figure was still trim at the age of thirty-four, she did not wish to appear as though she was searching for any sort of illicit trysts—even under the partially anonymous, and somewhat pagan, circumstances of the solstice ball.
The covering for her head and shoulders was a deep red, her only nod to anything seductive. Her silk mask was made to imitate an eastern face-covering. Only her eyes would show.
Once fully costumed, Avery examined herself in the tall mirror in her bedchamber.
“You look lovely, my lady,” her maid Elisa murmured.
Avery smiled, the pinched corners of her eye the only visible clue behind the veil. “Thank you.”
Avery left her chambers to join Catherine, as it was customary for the ladies-in-waiting to enter the ball behind the queen.
Dressed quite fittingly as Hera, the Greek queen of marriage, women, childbirth, heirs, kings, and empires, the earthly English queen was stunning in her pale blue watered silk gown, diamond-set diadem, and golden veil. The rounding of her four-months-gone belly was just barely visible, completing the effect.
“You are the absolute perfect vision of loveliness, your Grace.”
Avery squeezed Catherine’s hand. “Your husband, the king, will worship at your feet this night, I have no doubt.”
While Catherine smiled her thanks and kissed Avery’s cheek, Avery deliberately pushed away the recollection that Zeus’s many infidelities turned his wife Hera into a bitter old woman. Though the Greek gods were myths, there was no sense in tempting fate, especially since Henry had already dallied once.
“Are we ready, ladies?” Catherine floated toward the chamber door in a cloud of shimmering silk. “Let us go impress our men, shall we?”
Avery walked beside the queen as both her court rank and close friendship with Catherine allowed her to. When they entered the ballroom, Avery immediately looked for Jakob. Though the tall knight should be as easy to spy as King Henry, she only found the sovereign.
“Your husband looks quite fetching this eventide, your Grace,” she whispered to Catherine.
Henry wore a white tunic which almost reached his knees. The gold threads of its wide trim glowed in the candlelight. A dark blue cape was pinned at one shoulder with an ornate brooch of pearls and sapphires.
The flowing fabric draped across his chest and over the opposite shoulder, hanging down his back to his muscular calves. Leather-strapped sandals and a golden belt completed the costume.
When he looked in the women’s direction, he gave a small smile, visible beneath the edge of the golden mask which hid all else but his tousled golden hair and his twinkling blue eyes.
*****
Jakob stood in the hallway, tucked into a window casement, and watched Henry’s head bob around the ballroom. The king was having quite a lot of fun with him, stepping out one door and ordering him to enter through another more quickly than was probable.
He reached down to adjust the uncomfortable leather straps of his sandals. At least he wasn’t wearing ill-fitted boots. When he regained his stance, tossing the blue cape back over his left shoulder, he was facing a woman he did not know.
“Hello, my king,” she purred. “I wonder why you are out here all alone?”
Jakob was definitely not an actor by nature, but his weeks of impersonating Henry had provided him a few skills. He tilted his head, lifted one corner of his mouth, and spread his hands in question.
Her eyes widened. “So you won’t speak? Is that it?”
He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, keeping the crooked smile in place. Besides not betraying his accented English, not speaking allowed Jakob to pretend to know anyone who approached him.
Names were irrelevant.
The woman stepped closer and laid one warm and bejeweled hand on his arm. “I believe this is an interesting game, my liege.”
Jakob gasped a little, then cleared his throat to disguise his surprise when the woman’s other hand began to stroke his hip. The thin fabric of his tunic was not much protection for his manly parts, should she grow even more bold.
At first he wondered if this was the woman he was helping Henry dally with, but unless the king had
bestowed her with a fortune in jewelry, this was not Bessie Blount.
Jakob glanced over the woman’s head to see if her advances were being witnessed by anyone. Surprisingly, no one moving in or out of the ballroom seemed to notice them.
Her hand moved around to his buttocks, which were already clenched. “My lord, your arse is more muscular than ever.”
A flash of movement saved him. Henry was standing about ten yards distant, his mouth covered and his shoulders shaking.
Damn, but the king was laughing at him.
Jakob took both of the woman’s hands and pulled them away from his body. Holding them in front of his chest, he placed a lingering kiss on the back of each.
Then he smiled fully, bowed slightly, and strode back into the safety of the ballroom.
*****
Avery was frustrated. And worried, to be truthful. She had not seen Jakob all evening. She hoped his leg wasn’t causing him so much pain that he needed to go to bed with opium. The thirty mile ride from the Tower of London to Windsor Castle could be rough if the weather did not cooperate.
But yesterday was a lovely day. And he did not limp when she saw him after his arrival.
Frowning behind her veil, she began to make her way through the crowd in methodical paths, across and back again, looking for anyone tall enough to be the Norseman, but the only men present who owned similar height were Henry and Charles Brandon.
Avery chuckled a little at the sight of a shirtless Charles, his dark hair falling loose to his shoulders. He wore a green cape similar in style to Henry’s, a wide leather belt embossed with a gold-painted seashell, short pantaloons the color of seawater, and leather cuffs with blue and green ribbons streaming from them like little waterfalls.
His mask looked like a fish.
Poseidon. Of course.
Avery turned to continue her search and almost bumped into Henry—surprising, because a moment earlier the king had been sipping from a cup at the opposite side of the very large ballroom.
“I beg your pardon, your Grace.” Avery stepped out of the king’s way.
