A Nordic Knight in Henry's Court: Jakob & Avery: Book 1 (The Hansen Series - Jakob & Avery)

by Kris Tualla

  Unless she asks me to, of course. Then all of his promises would be negated.

  Jakob chuckled and rolled on his side, wondering how foolish he would be to pray for exactly that.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  July 11, 1518

  Jakob spent the morning watching the wrestling matches by Catherine’s side, his reward for besting Percival at Spanish. Avery was close by his other side, and the three of them conversed together in that language, laughing when Jakob made an error—or when he said something unexpected and clever.

  Henry must have let Bessie know that Jakob was not participating in the morning matches because the girl was not present. She arrived at the end of the midday meal, sidling up to Jakob while her gaze remained fixed on Henry.

  Avery encouraged Catherine to take her food in the shade of the royal tent—and away from Bessie Blount. “It is not good for the babe for you to become overly heated.”

  Catherine easily agreed. Once Avery saw her comfortable, she left to procure more watered wine and a damp linen cloth to refresh the queen.

  Now, as Avery watched Jakob throw his barre adorned with Bessie’s fluttering, triple-ribboned favor, she wondered how she would answer Catherine’s question.

  “I believe he met her…” Avery cleared her throat and held up a finger asking the queen to excuse her. She waved for a servant to bring her ale, and drank deeply before continuing. “I am sorry. My throat is so dry from the heat and the dust.”

  Catherine accepted a cup of the cooled ale as well. “Go on.”

  “If I am not mistaken, Bethington introduced them.”

  “Is that so?” Catherine’s eyes moved to the English knight, seated with the other men, awaiting his turn. “And how did he know her?”

  Avery made a face. “Percival knows every female in the Tower, both servant and noble. I can assure you of that.”

  “And once met was at once smitten, I expect,” Catherine pressed. “How does Sir Hansen feel about the maid in return?”

  Avery turned her gaze to the field. “I spoke with him yester eve. He merely tolerates her.”

  “But he accepted her favor.”

  “He is a gentleman with no intention of embarrassing her publicly, however misdirected her affections might be.” Avery returned her regard to the queen. “Why so many questions?”

  “Because you care for him.”

  “We are friends,” Avery huffed. “This young girl’s trifling has nothing to do with that.”

  Catherine patted Avery’s hand. “I do hope you are right. I do not wish to see you hurt over an affaire that is bound to end.”

  Avery wanted to assure Catherine that she would not be, but the more time she spent with Jakob, the more she knew she would miss him sorely once he departed. Pain and loss were definitely in her future. The only question remaining was how much.

  “He is leaving in a few months.” Avery spoke the words aloud to remind herself, as well as her queen. “Any affaires he might have while in England will naturally end.”

  Avery returned her resolute attention to the competition, but Catherine’s gaze kept moving back to the enthusiastic maid she knew only as Elizabeth.

  Please, God, do not let Catherine discern Bessie’s true status.

  Avery repeated her silent prayer over and over, her hands clasped in supplication. If the queen had any inkling that Henry was dallying with the girl, then all of his machinations with Jakob would have been for naught.

  Bessie squealed, and Avery’s attention snapped to the Norseman. Jakob stood in his spot, his linen shirt pasted to his skin by the sweat of exertion. Avery saw every bulge of lean muscle which bunched and stretched as he prepared to throw his hammer.

  Her fingertips tingled with the memory of how each of those muscles felt under that shirt. In their intimate moments together, she ran her palms over his clothed form. The hard hills and smooth valleys of his body’s landscape were delightfully familiar to her.

  As are mine to him.

  Avery’s cheeks heated. She never understood how much pleasure could be derived from such relatively demur activity. A light layer of clothing was not really an impediment to exploration; and kisses could be teasing or demanding, tender or rough. She hummed a little sigh of appreciation. Jakob was a very creative man.

  He looked at her now, as if he could read her thoughts. One corner of his mouth twitched. He lowered his eyes, and then raised them again as if to bow to her.

  Avery’s blush deepened and she swiped her hand gently over her heart. Anyone else who observed the motion would think nothing of it, but Jakob’s brow smoothed as he watched her.

  He gripped the wooden handle of the implement and started to swing. Bessie’s infernal encouragement grew louder. Avery watched, hoping that Jakob wouldn’t injure himself again by trying not to beat Henry.

  The heavy barre arced through the air and landed barely a yard short of the king’s.

  Bessie leapt to her feet, clapping her hands and grinning like a fool.

  She has two reasons to cheer that, doesn’t she. Avery clapped as well, catching Jakob’s eye and giving him a knowing smile.

  The tall, golden-haired knight, bowed toward the crowd, accepting his defeat graciously. As he walked back toward the men, Avery noted only the hint of a limp. His body appeared relaxed, not tensed in pain. She breathed a sigh of relief, and said a silent prayer of thanks.

  “Shall we depart, your Grace?” Avery asked Catherine, eager to get away before Bessie greeted Henry. “I believe a cool wash to remove the day’s dust plus a quiet rest are required, and will restore your strength before supper and the eventide’s entertainment.”

  The queen smiled at her. “You do take good care of me, my friend.”

  *****

  Avery touched Jakob’s thigh as they lay together on her couch. He had limped into supper, and she regarded him with surprise when he did.

  “Are you in much pain?”

  Jakob rested his hand over hers, pressing the heat of her palm into the ache of his scar. “No, it is not bad. Only tired.”

  She sighed and leaned into his chest. “I was afraid you had hurt yourself after all.”

  Jakob looked into the impossibly dark eyes under her knitted brows, losing himself in their comforting depths. Ever since that fateful night of the fire, no one in his life had ever treated him so tenderly.

  Of course, he spent his life in the company of fighting men, so it would not be expected. Only Askel showed his concern, at first because of his position as Jakob’s valet, but later out of a true respect and affection for his master.

  “I learned the last time,” he murmured. His eyes fell to her lips. He licked his and they parted.

  Avery met the invitation.

  Kissing her was heaven. And the knowing way she touched him nearly had him releasing his arousal in his hose. Every time he left her he needed to finish himself, or he felt he might explode with desire like a mismade cannon, flinging bits of himself in all directions.

  Her response to his touch was surprising. Pressing his hand against her through her skirt, and moving his fingers in a circular motion, left her gasping and shuddering before she went limp in his arms. All the while, she hummed little moans of pleasure into his mouth, and her shortened breaths huffed against his cheeks.

  The thought of being naked with her, and the freedom to love her fully, flooded his mind. His body, having tired with making do, shuddered. The heat of his core coalesced into a ball in his groin, and then burst. Jakob grunted in half-hearted regret as his seed wetted his hose under her hand.

  He sagged against the cushions, wondering where his bones had gone off to.

  “I’m sorry,” he croaked, his eyes heavy lidded.

  Avery gripped his chin and pulled his face to hers. Her lips were appealingly dusky and swollen from his kisses, and her cheeks flushed. “Do not apologize, Jakob. I wondered why this had not happened before.”

  His bow twitched. “I—hold back.”

>   She gave him a perplexed look. “Why?”

  Jakob searched for the words in English. “I am a gentleman. I do not wish for you to think I expect you to pleasure me.”

  Her expression grew suddenly shy. “And yet you pleasure me.”

  He allowed a soft chuckle. “I did not expect to.”

  Avery leaned up on her elbow. “Have you not done this before?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I have not touched any woman after my wife.”

  “Did you not touch her this way?” Avery did not appear embarrassed to ask, in spite of the unusually intimate subject at hand.

  “A little. Before we…” He let the sentence fade off. The lady might not be discomfited by the discussion, but he was growing a bit ill at ease. This conversation was nothing like the bawdy exchanges his male counterparts had after a night spent in taverns.

  Avery nodded and settled back against his frame. “I must admit, I was feeling a bit selfish.” She sighed happily and shifted her position to match his curvature. “Please don’t hold back anymore.”

  He kissed her hair, inhaling the scents of rosewater and musk, and smiled. “I will not.”

  *****

  Avery closed the door after Jakob left her apartment, and heard the clock on the landing chime twice. The hour was later than she expected. She had fallen asleep in Jakob’s arms, feeling both safe and satiated, and did not awaken until he stirred.

  He rose from the couch, assisted her to stand, and kissed her softly before crossing wordlessly to her door. She smiled as she went into her bedchamber, realizing that words were not always necessary between them.

  Their silent communications across grass and games, people and bleachers was proof of that. Avery had never felt so connected to any man, even her husband. Perhaps especially her husband.

  Marriage with Jakob would be an entirely different experience than her previous one. She and he were acquainted, and had come together out of mutual affection. They would have chosen to marry each other, not be matched for political or economic reasons.

  If only.

  Avery pushed the impossible idea out of her mind and climbed into her bed. She resolved that for the next few months she would enjoy whatever company the Nordic knight had to offer—shy of sharing her bed, of course. His company was pleasant, his conversation intriguing, and his touch reached deep inside her to a place long neglected.

  And when he left, she would return to her life, a little better for having known him, and a little lessened for having lost him. In the end, the man was worth the price.

  Avery heaved a deep sigh. She hated to admit it, but it would seem that the knight had won her heart after all.

  July 12, 1518

  Jakob tensed every time Bethington kicked his horse to charge. The joust was a dangerous game, and he had no desire to see his new friend and traveling companion injured, maimed, or killed.

  The English knight’s lance clacked against his opponent’s and hissed as the two wooden poles slid up their lengths toward their hilts. Jakob closed his eyes and listened for the fall, praying silently for Percival.

  One man fell to the ground in a heavy, clanking metallic thud. The crowd gasped. Jakob slitted one eye open, tensed and wary.

  Bethington prevailed. The other man was felled.

  Catherine turned to face him. “You do not like the joust.”

  Jakob wagged his head. “No, your Grace. It is not good to lose valuable knights for sport.”

  “I agree.”

  She regarded the scene once more as Sir Bethington accepted his accolades and the fallen knight was half-dragged into a nearby tent. “I see your favorite maid is no longer in attendance.”

  Jakob felt Avery stiffen beside him. “She knows I am not competing, and I am sitting with your Majesty.”

  Catherine faced him again. “Do you have a care for her?”

  Jakob recoiled. “She is but a child.”

  “Hardly.” Catherine quirked a brow. “Besides. Most men desire a young wife.”

  “I do not,” he stated.

  The queen’s eyes flicked to Avery and back to his. “What sort of wife do you want?”

  Jakob huffed a laugh. “Yo no recuerdo haber dicho que quiero una esposa.” I do not remember saying I want a wife.

  Catherine laughed. “Muy bueno.”

  “Gracias.” Jakob bowed his chin.

  “However, I am curious, Sir Hansen. What would a man of your station in life hope for in a marriage?”

  “Your Grace.” Avery’s voice verged on a growl. “Is this necessary?”

  Jakob waved a hand. “I will answer.”

  Avery fell back in her seat and stared at the next pair of knights preparing to joust.

  “If I were to marry now, I would want a true companion,” Jakob said to Catherine. “Not a daughter.”

  Catherine laughed again. “You are very clever, I must admit.”

  “Thank you.” Jakob’s demeanor sobered. “Your Grace must understand that a knight has little to say about his life.”

  Catherine gave a small nod.

  “I am here, in England, far from my home. And then I will be in Spain—even farther. And I do not know when I go home again.” He paused. “If I go home again.”

  The queen pressed her lips together for a moment. “I understand.”

  As those last words left Jakob’s mouth, a realization exploded in his mind, and sent a jolt through his bones. What would he do if he did not go home? Live in Spain? Lady Avery’s homeland?

  With her?

  His heart began to bash painfully against his ribs, and his palms grew damp. He swallowed; his throat had gone dry, but he had no spit. A trickle of sweat rolled down his backbone.

  He had not considered asking Avery to marry him, because he never thought about marrying anyone again. He believed his one chance was gone, irretrievably burnt to ashes.

  Yet the woman sitting beside him stirred his soul like no one else ever had. When Jakob was in Avery’s presence, he felt impervious to the whims and cruelties of the world, sustained by the affection and friendship of this incredible woman.

  These previously unconsidered possibilities tumbled and rattled in his skull—he would need to lay them out neatly later, when he was alone and could concentrate. At this moment, however, he felt he would follow her anywhere, and be quite content to bide.

  When he turned to look at Avery, her face had gone pale. Dark brows lowered over dark eyes, looking like burnt wood against snow. “Of course you will go home, Sir Hansen. The Order will adjourn and you will return to Denmark.”

  “Those were my instructions. But I cannot say what my future will be.” Jakob shrugged. “No one of us can.”

  Catherine stood abruptly, applauding. “Joust well, my king!”

  Jakob stood as well, surprised he had not noticed who was competing next. Avery rose more slowly.

  Henry pulled off his helmet and saluted Catherine. The man was impressive, there was no disputing the fact. He met his reputation head on, excelling at the athletic trials he sponsored during the day, and entertaining his guests with his many talents at night.

  Not only did Henry have a braw singing voice, but his songs and poetry revealed a sensitive and thoughtful side that was not immediately apparent when meeting the man. Jakob caught himself wondering how many of the songs were about Catherine, and how many might refer to Jane or Bessie—or anyone else who slid into his royal bed unheralded.

  Sadly, some of the most beautiful façades hid dark secrets behind them.

  God be with Henry. Keep him on the right path.

  A scream from Henry’s destrier yanked Jakob’s attention to the horse. The armored stallion reared, his huge iron-shod hooves flailing in the air, and his body twisting as if in pain.

  Henry held out a hand, as if to calm the animal, but the horse bounced in a frantic circle, having broken free of all restraint. Planting its front feet, the stallion’s hind feet shot out behind it again and again, and catching the
king solidly in the chest.

  “Henry!” Catherine shrieked.

  Had the kick reached higher, or the king not been wearing his armor, he would have been dead on the spot. As it was, multiple men, noble and servant alike, dragged a scrambling Henry out of harm’s way as the inexplicably distraught steed continued to rear, writhe, and snort.

  No one could get close enough to the animal to discover what had set him off. Sensing possible relief from his torment, the unchecked stallion turned away from the tents, and galloped off across the grassy field.

  Jakob knew that the stallion would soon tire, laden as he was with hundreds of pounds of steel plate. Several men heaved themselves astride waiting horses, and followed. Jakob wished he had Warrior with him, so he could join the chase and discover why the animal suddenly went mad.

  He felt Avery’s arm on his.

  Looking down into her dark eyes, wide under a brow wrinkled with worry, he knew that she thought the same thing he did. Someone had done something awful to Henry’s horse, with the intent to harm the sovereign.

  “There is always a groom present,” he murmured.

  She frowned and glanced toward Catherine, but the queen’s attention rested on nothing but her husband.

  A scattering of applause indicated that Henry was on his feet, albeit supported under each arm. Avery’s hand slid down Jakob’s arm and squeezed his as a squire unhooked Henry’s damaged armor and pulled it from his torso.

  The king nodded answers to enquiries which Jakob could not hear, and then he turned and waved at Catherine.

  “The steel has done its job, my Queen,” he shouted, grinning. “I am bruised, but otherwise unharmed.”

  The cheering response from the crowd was deafening.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Avery stepped across Jakob to the queen’s side, intending to remove her from the fraught situation as quickly as possible. “The king will not be competing any further today, your Grace, so shall we return to the Tower? There is time to rest before preparing for this evening’s festivities.”