by Kris Tualla
The man rattled off a sentence in French. Jakob looked at Percival, whose furrowed brow displayed his attempt to decode what the ambassador said. “Oui, monsieur. Merci.”
Marsailles blinked, but said nothing else.
Henry rubbed his hand across his upper lip, hiding a smile. He cleared his throat. “The ambassador has come for a copy of the Treaty of London, which he will carry to King Francis to be signed.”
Jakob gave a small nod and a polite, pressed-lipped smile, unsure if any verbal response was required.
Henry turned to Marsailles. “Please convey to His Grace how pleased I am to have such a powerful ally, as I know that our two countries shall stand together against any common enemy.”
“Oui, Your Highness. With pleasure,” he replied in strongly accented English.
A side door of the formal drawing room opened, and Charles Brandon strode into the room, parchments in hand.
“Here are the treaties, Monsieur.” He held out the documents. “Both you and King Henry will want to read over them before you carry them to France.”
Jakob glanced at Bethington. The other knight gave him a barely perceptible shrug and settled his stance. So Jakob did as well, spreading his feet to the angle which put the least pressure on his thigh, and loosely clasping his hands in front of him.
Reading through the two copies of the single-page treaty—to ensure they were exact matches—required a quarter of an hour or so, as each word was meticulously compared.
Jakob slowly shifted his weight, trying not to draw any attention to himself. He inhaled a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Up to this point, there was no apparent reason for him or Bethington to be present.
Once the two parchments were declared an exact match, Henry signed them both. One copy would remain in France, and the other would be brought back to Henry after the King of France signed it.
When the ink was dry, Marsailles rolled the treaties and stuck them in a leather tube. “Merci, your Grace.”
“Before you leave, my lord Ambassador, I do have one more matter to discuss with you.” Henry indicated a group of chairs. “Would you care for a cup of wine?”
Marsailles quirked an irritated brow. “Oui, s’il vous plait.”
Henry made a gesture, and a servant hurried to pour wine for the ambassador, Brandon, and the king. He waited until each man tasted his wine before continuing.
“I believe that King Francis is a member of the Order of the Golden Fleece, as am I.”
The Frenchman nodded. “Yes, your Grace.”
“I assume he will be sending his representative to the gathering commencing on January the first?”
Marsailles blinked, clearly confused by the question. “Oui. I assume this to be true.”
“These gentlemen—”
Jakob straightened of a sudden as his bored musings dissipated and his attention snapped back into the room.
“—will be traveling to Barcelona as well.”
The ambassador looked at Jakob and Bethington, visibly unsure both as to why the two knights were present, and why he was being given this odd information.
“To represent your Grace, and the king of Denmark?” he ventured.
And Norway.
“Yes, King Christian the Second.” Henry’s warning gaze cut to Jakob, who remained silent, and then slid back to Marsailles. “Sir Hansen has traveled from Copenhagen to deliver a gift for the Princess Mary, and now he and Sir Bethington will continue on to Barcelona together.”
Henry leaned forward in his seat. “They shall be traveling the length of France on their journey. I mention this to you, so that King Francis may assure me that they will travel under his protection for the entire expedition.”
The ambassador’s brow eased. “Oui, I understand. And you would wish for me to bring that promise with me when I return with the signed treaty.”
“Exactly.” Henry leaned back and lifted his wine goblet. “An excellent wine, do you agree?”
“I believe it is from Bordeaux, is it not?”
Henry smiled. “It is.”
The moment the Frenchman finished his wine, Henry rose to his feet. “Thank you, Monsieur Marsailles.”
Marsailles looked startled by the abrupt dismissal, but he set he glass down and rose to his feet. “Merci, your Grace.”
Brandon escorted the ambassador from the room.
Henry clapped his hands together, his blue eyes dancing over rosy cheeks. “And now we celebrate!”
Charles Brandon chuckled as he returned to the king’s side. “And how shall we accomplish that in this instance?”
Henry waved a hand toward the window. “The weather is fair, and we are still young. Let us host a tournament.”
*****
Jakob and Percival strolled through the hallway, having been finally released from their protracted audience with King Henry.
“Lady Avery was correct,” Jakob pointed out. “There will be games, and no doubt a jousting competition as part of it.”
“I had better practice my Spanish,” Bethington grumbled. “Because if the competition was held today, you would be sitting prettily beside the queen, while I risk my life and limb for Henry’s amusement.”
Jakob turned his head to regard the English knight. “Might we be asked to joust against Henry?”
Percival groaned. “There is no doubt. The question then becomes how to lose the bout, without losing a body part in the process. Or worse.”
“I will not joust.” Jakob shook his head. “I will claim my injury prevents me from doing so.”
Percival’s brow furrowed but his voice was hopeful. “What about the Spanish competition?”
“I intend to win, even so.”
The hope disappeared. “Damn.”
Jakob laughed. “Trabaje duro. Work hard.”
Bethington snorted. “Damn and damn again.”
The men parted ways at the stairs, Percival heading out to the stables and Jakob up to his chambers.
“Askel,” he called out when he entered the outer room. “The tournament is on.”
The valet didn’t answer; apparently he was off on some sort of errand. Before Jakob could sit, someone pounded on his chamber door.
The servant on the other side of the portal handed Jakob a note, bowed, and strode away without a word.
Jakob closed the door, puzzled by the presentation of the note. The queen was in Windsor. Why would Henry request his assistance today?
“Unless…” Jakob broke the royal seal, dread and hopeful anticipation warring in his chest.
The queen returns. Be at the carriage by four bells.
If the queen was returning to the Tower, then Lady Avery would be as well. Jakob grinned. Though he and Bethington arrived only yesterday, for these past two days Jakob found himself missing Avery and thinking about her all the time.
True, he was back in the Tower where her presence was usually common. In fact, he needed to remind himself several times that he would not see her at a meal or walking through the halls, because she was still at Windsor with the queen.
Yet items as unremarkable as a simple woman’s fan sent a jolt through his gut, prompting the mental image of Avery’s dark eyes dancing over the top of her own black Spanish lace implement.
Damn, but the woman was beautiful.
Jakob grinned, happy to know he would see her that evening.
Now, the prospect of impersonating Henry for a few hours did not loom so depressingly. In fact, riding around in the king’s carriage would help pass the time from four until eight. And, Jakob would be clean and freshly shaven when he faced the lady once more.
“If I can find Askel,” he said aloud to the empty room. He threw open the door and went to search out his valet.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Avery climbed from the queen’s carriage as the church bells chimed five hours past noon, and stretched her arms over her head. The breeze came from a bad direction today, carrying the stench of the moat into th
e courtyard. She wrinkled her nose, and hurried inside the stone edifice, where the constant burning of candles helped clean toxins from the air.
Catherine and Mary were surrounded by a crowd of servants, so Avery was free to search out Sir Hansen.
When Henry sent word five days after he left Windsor Castle that the knights should return to London, her heart constricted at the thought of Jakob leaving. So she suggested to Catherine that the ladies should return as well.
“Once the treaty is sent off to France, Henry will begin planning the celebration of its signed return.”
“Yes, I expect so,” Catherine agreed.
“He will need you there to make certain that he shows the proper respect and hospitality to his guests. Think of all the nobles, their servants, and wives. They will want to be housed, of course. The food plans alone will be staggering.”
Catherine nodded. “Henry will want at least three days of games, if I know my husband well enough.”
Avery attempted a casual shrug. “And I shall be able to continue the Spanish tutoring with Percival and Jakob.”
Catherine’s eyes widened as a smile lifted her cheeks. “You want to be with the Norseman!” She leaned closer. “Has he touched your frozen heart, Averia?”
The truth rushed through her frame like a raging spring flood. “I am afraid he has.”
The queen grasped Avery’s hand. “Tell me. What did he do to melt your resolve?”
Avery bit her lower lip, wondering how to answer. “I believe it is because of the pain he has experienced. It has made him both stronger and more vulnerable at the same time.”
“A heady combination, to be sure.” Catherine’s smile softened. “So what will you do with him?”
“I will not sin, Cathy.” Avery’s voice was stern. “I will not bed him.”
“But you will enjoy his company?” her friend pressed.
“I suppose so. Until he leaves.” Avery pressed back the sadness which that thought prompted and constructed an imaginary fence around her heart. “After that, I will never see him again.”
“But he will pass through London on his return,” Catherine prodded. “Would you not see him then?”
“No. What would be the point?” Avery pulled a long, shaky breath. “He will not want to dally in England after so long an absence. He will be eager to return to his home in Denmark.”
Yet in spite of her efforts, Avery did not find Jakob around the Tower or its grounds. So after taking extra care with her toilette, she arrived at supper early, not wishing to spend another single moment away from the Nordic knight’s presence.
Oh dear. I am in deep trouble.
Avery shook off the warning thought, and pretended to listen to what the woman next to her was saying. But when the tall golden-haired man appeared in the edge of her vision, she turned away from the conversation to face him.
Jakob’s amazingly blue eyes landed on hers. His smile revealed an even row of white teeth, which contrasted nicely with the sun-darkened skin of his handsome and cleanly shaven jaw. He moved through the gathering supper crowd without effort, until he stood beside her. The aroma of cedar and cloves washed over her.
I love that scent.
Avery offered her hand, Jakob accepted, bowing from the waist to kiss the back of her hand. His lips were warm. His tongue touched her skin, giving it a little flick. An unexpected delight skated up her spine.
Not bedding the man was clearly going to require determined effort on her part.
Avery smiled, unable not to. “Good eventide, Sir Hansen.”
“My lady.” His deep voice rumbled in her chest. “Your outer beauty this night almost matches your inner beauty.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Avery’s face warmed. “You are looking well yourself. Very, very well.”
Jakob laid his free hand over his heart. “Because I am at your side once again.”
Catherine approached, the crowd parting and bowing to make way. Avery curtsied. Jakob let go of her hand and bowed.
The queen’s eyes twinkled and she flashed an impish smile. “Sir Hansen. Lady Avery.”
“Your Majesty,” Avery murmured.
“I understand the moon is going to be rather bright tonight.” Catherine tapped Jakob’s forearm. “Perhaps you should see to Lady Avery’s safety as she walks around the Tower grounds to observe this for herself.”
Avery’s jaw dropped, but Jakob did not miss a beat. “I would be honored to do your bidding, your Grace.”
Catherine’s smile softened. “See that you do, Sir Hansen, and I shall be in your debt.”
As the queen walked away, Avery returned her discomfited countenance toward Jakob. “I did not encourage her to suggest such a thing, I assure you.”
“I know you did not, Lady Avery.”
His expression was odd, and a possibility nudged her. “How do you know this?”
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Because I did.”
*****
Jakob straightened and grinned down at Avery. Her surprise was followed quickly by a shy, pleased smile, and he knew his plan to win her was working. A walk in the moonlit courtyard after supper promised both her always delightful conversation, as well as her passionate kisses.
As far as their physical interaction was concerned, that was all he would ask of her; but he would enjoy them just the same. While Jakob’s body reacted as any man’s would to her advances, he had no desire to merely fornicate with Avery. Unless he took her to wife, he would never take her to bed.
And at this unsettled point in his life, taking a wife was clearly impossible. So kissing and holding each other must be the extent of their affaire. That was the best path to follow.
Supper seemed to last forever.
Henry was toasted for his most recent triumph with the French king and the Treaty of London. In response, he made a speech. More hearty congratulations ensued. And then the tournament was announced.
“When, your Grace?” one nobleman called out. He stood and flexed his arm. “I must practice my barre!”
Henry laughed. “That is your drinking arm, my lord. I believe it has had much practice!”
Charles Brandon stood. “The tournament shall begin in ten days, and last for three.”
“What games?” another man shouted.
“Shooting, wrestling, casting the barre, jousting, and javelin,” Brandon answered. “We shall conclude with a festive ball on the third night.”
Bethington caught Jakob’s attention, and then addressed Avery. “Lady Avery, when will we resume our lessons?”
“On the morrow, I suppose.” She looked to Jakob for confirmation. “You gentlemen have quite a lot to learn before your conversations with the queen, I think.”
Jakob nodded. “Yes, tomorrow. What time? And where?”
“It seems that after the midday meal allowed us the most time when we were in Windsor.” Avery drummed two fingers on the table. “And I believe the best place for us to concentrate might be my outer chamber.”
Jakob thought Percival might experience an apoplexy at the unexpected suggestion, though he was quite pleased with the idea of the increased—and yet chaperoned—intimacy.
“Yes. We need to set our minds to the task, and not be looking elsewhere.” Jakob smiled. “I morgen ettermiddag, vil vi lære våre Spansk og Norsk.” Tomorrow afternoon we will learn our Spanish and Norwegian.
“Ja, og vi vil lære godt,” Avery replied. Yes, and we will learn well.
Jakob chuckled at her Spanish-accented pronunciation, but her words were correct.
Percival Bethington stared at the two of them for a moment, then muttered a resigned, “Damn.”
Another hour passed before Jakob and Avery escaped to the courtyard. He tucked her arm in his as they strolled around the perimeter of the wall until they were behind the chapel once again. The moon was indeed exceptionally bright, easily lighting their path.
“I like this spot.” Jakob took off his tunic and laid it on t
he ground for Avery to sit upon.
“My reputation shall be quite undone if I am found alone with you in your shirtsleeves.” Avery knelt on the garment and adjusted her skirts. “And Askel will want to murder you for getting your clothes filthy.”
Jakob grinned. “So you see that I risk my very life to be with you?”
Avery laughed. “We both are willing to take risks, so it seems.”
Jakob sat beside Avery, facing the opposite direction so he could see her face.
“You look beautiful by moonlight.” He touched her cheek. “There is no color, only the light of your skin and dark of your eyes.”
“Is that good?”
“Yes. Without color, I see you more clearly.” Jakob leaned forward, lips parted, inviting Avery to kiss him.
She accepted.
Her mouth tasted of the wine they enjoyed at supper. Her breath warmed his cheek. Her tongue tangled with his in a sensuous dance that set his body ablaze.
When he pulled away, her eyes were heavy-lidded and her breaths uneven. “Sir Hansen, you stir me in dangerous ways.”
“As you do to me, Avery.” He shook his head. “I cannot stop thinking about you.”
She squared her shoulders. “We should talk about something, before we end up swiving here on the ground.”
Jakob peered at her. “You know my story. Tell me yours.”
She looked startled. “What do you mean?”
Jakob wondered of a sudden if the lady was hiding something. “I told you I was married. Were you?”
Avery hesitated and her gaze fell away. “Yes.”
In the pale blue light of the moon, Jakob could not see if she was blushing. “When?”
Her voice was so soft, he had to lean forward to hear her. “Fourteen years ago. I was twenty.”
“Did you love him?”
She looked at him then, her eyes filled with sadness. “No. It was arranged.”
Of course. Arranged marriages among European nobility was how business and alliances were normally conducted; his choice to run off with Uma flew in the face of that convention.
And see how that turned out.
“Where is he now?” Jakob asked gently, pushing his own pain aside.
