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

by Kris Tualla

  Catherine’s hand moved to her abdomen and her gaze shifted to Avery’s. “Yes. I believe that is wise.”

  Pale and shaken, Catherine then turned to Jakob. “The pleasure of your company has, once again, been quite enjoyable, Sir Hansen.”

  Jakob bowed. “Thank you, your Grace. I am honored by your words.”

  Jakob remained in his spot as Avery followed the queen. The women walked the length of the bleachers, and when they reached the end a servant handed the pregnant queen safely to the ground. Only then did Lady Avery look back, but the Nordic knight was gone.

  Jakob’s casual comment—If I go home—jarred her. She was afraid that his reference might have something to do with her, and that path led to nowhere good.

  A nervous Catherine tried to engage her in conversation as the barge glided over the Thames toward the Tower, but Avery claimed to have a headache. It would prove a handy construct if she chose to forgo the final night of festivities and remain in her chambers.

  “I am sorry, Cathy. It seems that the unhappy excitement has set my brow to pounding. How are you feeling?”

  The queen’s lower lip quivered. “I am afraid I am quite done in as well.”

  Avery squeezed Catherine’s hand. “A rest will do us both good.”

  Catherine’s gaze fell to the floor of the boat. “Yes. I expect it will.”

  Avery closed her eyes and tried to quench the surge of hope that Jakob’s unprecedented words provoked. She truly was in love with the man, and had stopped trying to deny that fact; doing so was futile and made her cranky. Yet their life paths were so diverse that she could not see any way to pull them into alignment.

  “Go lie down,” Avery urged once she and Catherine reached the Tower. “Put a cool cloth on your head and rest.”

  “I shall. And you should do the same.” The queen kissed her cheek. “I will see you at supper.”

  Avery climbed the stairs slowly. A dull, throbbing pain was forming in the middle of her forehead. Slowly, it seeped outward. The irony struck her as wryly amusing.

  My punishment for lying is that I am no longer a liar.

  She pushed open her door. Familiar scents and sights soothed her, though she kept her eyes averted from the lounging couch where she and Jakob spent so many pleasant hours together.

  “Help me undress, please. And bring me a cool cloth for my head.” Avery held out her arms while her maids began to untie and remove layers of her clothing.

  “Would you care for any refreshment, my lady?” Elisa asked.

  “No, thank you.” She just wanted to be alone.

  Another maid approached and curtsied. “A letter came for you, my lady.” She held out the missive.

  Avery recognized the seal, and the walls began to ooze and undulate around her. “Set it on the table.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The girl obeyed, saying, “Your cooling cloths are beside your bed. And I have darkened the room.”

  Avery lowered her arms and concentrated on breathing and remaining upright while the maids finished the task of disrobing her. Finally down to her chemise, Avery shooed them away. The last one to leave closed the bedchamber door behind her.

  Finding no excuse to delay any longer, Avery lifted the letter in shaking hands and broke the seal. She unfolded the thick paper slowly. Stark black words, written in a strong hand, marched across the page.

  She read the letter twice. The message was not in any way convoluted, she only wished that on the second reading that the message might somehow be construed differently.

  It could not.

  She knew, and well, that this day was coming. She had dreaded its arrival for the last five years, since the last letter reached her. Duty demanded that she respond. What would happen to her after that, there was no way of knowing.

  Avery held the letter over a candle, watching the hated thing curl in deserved agony and turn to ash. When her fingers began to sting, she dropped it on the hearth. The wax seal melted and bubbled, turning from red to black.

  Then she climbed into her bed, pressed as flat as the paper by the weight of its words, and succumbed to her soul-deep despair.

  July 13, 1518

  Charles Brandon looked as if he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. He and Jakob were alone in the small room, so Jakob had a good idea about what covert subject the two of them were here to discuss.

  “A hot coal,” Brandon said without preamble, once the men were seated. “Someone dropped a hot coal wrapped in silk down the stallion’s breastplate.”

  Jakob blew a low whistle. “It is no wonder that the animal was so frantic.”

  Brandon wagged a tired head and ticked off the incidents on his fingers. “First the arrow on the hunt, next the sawn-through wheel, and then the poisoned dog. Now this. Someone is trying to kill Henry.”

  “Kill?” Jakob asked. “Or injure?”

  Brandon scowled at him. “What do you mean?”

  Jakob ticked off his own list in the same manner. “The arrow only scraped his arm. The carriage was not traveling at a fast pace. And though the food killed a dog, it might have only made a man of Henry’s size very sick.”

  “And yesterday’s mischief?”

  “Once the coal was in place, there was no time for Henry to mount his horse. Though…”

  Brandon leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “The king was in greater danger standing nearby without his helmet, than he would be once astride,” Jakob admitted. “I might be wrong.”

  Brandon snorted, not unlike the horse. “Perhaps our would-be assassin is merely incompetent?”

  Jakob nodded. “If that is the truth, then the reason is personal.”

  “How do you come to that conclusion?”

  Jakob spread his hands. “If I want to kill the king of France, your Grace, I am certain to hire a man who knows how to kill.”

  Brandon’s features brightened with understanding. “And if it is merely a private matter, I will do it myself.”

  “And I have no experience, so I do not do it right.”

  “So Henry is not in mortal danger, after all.” The Duke of Suffolk appeared relieved.

  “Men can kill, even without skill.” Jakob wagged a finger at him. “And I was in the carriage, remember.”

  Brandon paled. “You are in danger.”

  “And now that I know, I can protect myself,” Jakob deflected.

  Brandon considered the knight. “Have you any ideas as to who our assailant might be?”

  Jakob hesitated, checking his logic before stating it aloud. “There is always a groom present.”

  “Yes.” The duke’s eyes widened. “Yes, there is.”

  “And now we must think why a groom wants to hurt Henry.”

  Brandon shook his head. “I do not care why, Hansen. I only care that he does not succeed.”

  “Yes, your Grace.”

  Brandon inhaled deeply through his nostrils before delivering his next bit of news. “Henry will need you this afternoon.”

  Jakob’s shoulders drooped. “What time?”

  “Two hours past noon.”

  “Has he not had enough excitement these past three days?” Jakob grumbled.

  Brandon chuckled. “He wants to hear how impressed Bessie has been, and to show off his bruises from yesterday’s near miss.”

  “Yes, your Grace.” Jakob loosed a resigned sigh. “I shall be at hand.”

  “Say nothing to the king about our conversation,” Brandon instructed. “This is between you and I only.”

  Jakob nodded. “I understand.”

  The duke rose to his feet so Jakob also stood. Clearly, their interview was over. Before he opened the door, Brandon turned and pointed at Jakob.

  “Understand this as well, sir: no matter his skill, nor his motive, any attempt to injure the king is an overt act of treason. Once this man’s identity is discovered, he will swing from the gallows atop Tower Hill.”

  Jakob bowed from the waist. “Yes, your Grace.�
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  July 15, 1518

  Jakob had not seen Avery for the last three days.

  Not because he had not tried to see her—yet every message he sent to her went unanswered. And she never appeared at any meals. Beyond that, he and Percival had not had a single Spanish lesson since before the tournament.

  Something was clearly wrong, and he needed to discern what that something was before he lost his sanity.

  When he was ushered into Catherine’s presence, he noticed lines of distress etched around her mouth, and there were faint circles under her eyes. Her concern for Henry was obviously wearing on her.

  Jakob hoped he might be able to do something to ease her burden in that arena. First, however, he needed her assistance with his own troubles.

  He gave the queen his best courtly bow. “Good day, your Majesty, thank you for seeing me.”

  “You have come to enquire about the Lady Avery, have you not?” Her voice was soft and tinged with a deep and surprising sadness that punched Jakob in the chest.

  He punched it back, refusing to give way. “Yes, your Grace.”

  The queen nodded. “I am afraid that I am not at liberty to say anything.”

  Jakob shifted his weight. “Might you encourage her to speak with me?”

  She bit her lower lip. Her brows pulled together.

  He tried not to sound pitiful as he admittedly begged for her help. “Please, your Grace.”

  After a long moment, Catherine nodded. “I do believe she owes you some sort of explanation.”

  The breath Jakob did not realize he was holding left him in a whoosh. “Thank you.”

  “I shall tell her to meet you in the drawing room, the one where you had your lessons, this afternoon at four o’clock.”

  Skitt. “I am afraid I have been asked to assist the king this afternoon.” For the second time in three days. Damn Henry and his randy cock. “Might you ask her to speak with me after supper?”

  “She will most likely take that meal in her room again,” Catherine cautioned.

  “Then—will you tell her I will visit her apartment afterward?” That would be a better setting, in any case. He wanted Avery to feel free to say what was on her mind without the fear of curious ears.

  “Please?” he added, knowing he sounded desperate.

  Catherine sighed. “Yes, Jakob. I shall do so.”

  He bowed again. “Thank you, your Grace.”

  With his chin lowered in respect, Jakob backed away in preparation for leaving the queen’s presence. When he reached the appropriate distance, he turned to exit.

  “Jakob?”

  He whirled to face her. “Yes?”

  “Do not…” Catherine paused. Jakob waited, his chest weighted with foreboding. “Avery has…”

  “Yes?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. Good day.”

  Jakob turned slowly and left the room, the question of what the queen might have wanted to say drilling a wide hole through his gut. The castellated clock chimed and Jakob lengthened his stride. He had barely enough time to change and meet Henry at the carriage.

  *****

  Three days of separation from Avery, plus three hours of solitude, riding through the countryside around London and impersonating Henry, gave Jakob considerable time to examine his situation from every angle imaginable. It was necessary for him to do so quite thoroughly, because he had come to a startling decision.

  He wanted to marry the Lady Avery Albergar.

  At present, he was a foreign knight, charged to spend however many months in Barcelona as was required, and then expected to return and report to his king.

  That report, however, could easily be made in writing. And King Christian could give his instructions for Jakob in like manner—more quickly than Jakob could travel to København and back on his own. For that reason, remaining in a southern location would actually give him more flexibility in his service to Christian. And that was exactly how he planned to present the idea to his king.

  On to the next consideration.

  Lady Avery was Spanish by birth. That meant she had family and a home in Spain. She needed to be of highly noble birth to be raised with the Princess Catherine there, and then serve as her chief lady-in-waiting in England. As such, she would logically have an independent income of her own.

  As for his particular financial situation, Jakob had secured a modest income from sporadic investments over the years. If he chose to leave the service of his king for some reason—such as Christian not being pleased with the idea of his knight serving him from another country—he would not be in any way destitute. His father’s debt was long past satisfied, so that was not a hindrance.

  Clearly, he and Avery could manage on their own if needed; but Jakob did not believe it would come to that, mainly because of the strong bond between Avery and Catherine. The queen would always want her most trusted friend by her side, and Avery would wish to remain. Marrying him would not change their arrangement.

  And besides that, Henry liked him.

  He might even become a knight for Henry, if Avery preferred to live in England. Even if such an action meant Jakob must continue in this current and abominable task, he would willingly do so to remain at Avery’s side and assure that she was content.

  Jakob was relieved that he and Avery had come to the unsettled accord that his covert actions protected her dearest friend from certain heartache. This was not presently a point of dissention between them and hopefully would never become one.

  Perhaps Avery would accompany him to Barcelona. Percival Bethington was a fine enough companion, but he paled in comparison to a beautiful wife.

  He wondered if Avery might want to be married in England or in Spain. He held no preference, as his family would not travel anywhere to see him, nor would they welcome him in Arendal. He had already been married in Denmark, and had no desire to tempt fate by doing so again.

  This time, however, he intended to ask the permission of his sovereign. Hopefully, once decided, the ceremony would not be too long delayed, as his commitment to arrive in Barcelona Cathedral on January the first could not be rearranged.

  All that remained, so it seemed, was for him to propose marriage to the lady.

  Jakob blew a breath, trying to soothe his nerves. He knew he loved Avery, and he believed she loved him. He saw it in her eyes and in the soft curl of her lips when he was near her. She never displayed any sort of guile toward him; her manner was always open and honest, to the point of being rudely blunt.

  He highly preferred that directness to the sort of trifling many women resorted to. No, not women—girls. And Lady Avery was a fully grown, fully blooded, woman.

  Her home is in Toledo.

  Jakob determined, again, to procure a map of Spain. Soon.

  The ground beneath the carriage grew rough of a sudden. Shaken from his musings, Jakob leaned forward and peered out the window. The carriage had veered from the road and was jouncing through a meadow—and gaining speed.

  Chapter Thirty

  Skitt.

  Jakob rested his hand on the hilt of the dagger tucked in his boot, wondering what his—Henry’s—assailant had planned. Was he being taken hostage? Might there be additional men ready to pounce at a prearranged location?

  And was someone truly foolish enough to attack the king of England in this manner? Or had their ruse been discovered?

  With a loud crack, the carriage careened to the side, tumbling over and over. Jakob was thrown about inside, slamming from side to top to side. When the motion shuddered to a halt, he heard the horses’ panicked whinnies as he tried to still his spinning senses.

  His shoulder throbbed and his right leg was painfully twisted. Jakob moved tentatively, assessing his frame for damage. He was, apparently, still fully intact. Aside from bruises and strained muscles, that was.

  The carriage door was jerked open, giving Jakob an unobscured vision of the hazy summer sky above. He felt for his dagger, relieved to find it secured i
n place. A felt-capped head appeared, silhouetted by the light behind it.

  “Get out,” it growled before disappearing from sight.

  Jakob slowly righted himself, pausing while his equilibrium caught up with his movement. He reached up and grabbed the edges of the doorway, then stood and heaved himself out of the cab.

  Keeping his face low, he sat on the side of the carriage, his feet dangling inside the door, while he evaluated his situation. The tongue had broken free from the body, and the pair of horses were scrambling to their feet, still in their loosened traces. Jakob was surprised to find only one assailant: a groom, but not the one who usually accompanied his excursions.

  The man brandished a wicked-looking sword. “Get down, yer Highness,” he sneered.

  “Where is the driver?” Jakob asked, trying to sound like Henry.

  “That’s none of yer concern, yer Majesty.”

  Jakob pulled his legs to his chest, wincing at the zing of pain in his thigh, and palmed the dagger. He swung his feet to the edge of the cab, keeping the knife hidden, and eased himself to the ground.

  He spoke again, from under the brim of his hat. “What do you want?”

  “I want you and that bastard Norseman to leave Bessie alone.”

  “Me?” Jakob’s surprise pulled the word from him before he could stop it.

  “Aye. You and that knight have been swiving her for months, and it stops now.”

  Jakob peeked at the man. He was younger and far more handsome than Jakob would have expected. “How do you know this?”

  “She told me. Broke off from me, because she said you loved her.” His voice cracked on the last word, growing rougher as it rose in volume. “I can’t compete with a king. Even if he whores her out to a foreigner!”

  A jealous lover.

  The oldest conflict known to man. Only this fool had attacked his sovereign and would now hang for it. “What you have done is treason.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Jakob lifted his head and looked fully at the man. “You will hang. There is no way out of that.”