In Defense of the Queen

by Michelle Diener

  The dance came to an end, and the King bowed low, with a flourish, to his partner. She giggled and blushed.

  Parker came up beside Susanna and touched her arm. “Better you stay here.”

  She nodded, watched him move through the crowd towards the King.

  Elizabeth seemed incapable of moving and she took her arm. Steered her to the chairs that were set along the wall.

  “Where is your husband, my lady?” She searched the room, but Nicholas Carew was nowhere in sight.

  The King clapped his hands enthusiastically, and the musicians started a new, faster, piece. Henry grabbed his partner again, and pulled her onto the floor.

  Susanna saw Parker halt, then begin on a new path that would bring him closer to the swirling monarch.

  Elizabeth moved, jerky as a puppet, to adjust her skirts. “My husband injured himself in the lists today.” Her voice was quite without intonation. “His ribs are painful.”

  Susanna swallowed, her eyes tracking Parker as he side-stepped the twirling dancers. “Perhaps a stay at your country estate will do you both good?”

  Life finally flickered in Elizabeth’s eyes. She gazed at Susanna coolly. “Perhaps.”

  “Did your mother like the pencil sketch I made of you?” Susanna held her gaze, and did not flinch, and eventually Elizabeth Carew looked away.

  “Aye. She liked it very well, thank you.”

  “I would still paint you, my lady.”

  Elizabeth made a face, as if she could no longer imagine a reason for Susanna’s interest.

  “I am just finished working on a painting of the Princess Mary, so I can start whenever you give me the word.”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “I do not think my husband would care for what you have in mind.” She slanted a look at Susanna. “You still wish to paint me rising from a forest stream?”

  Susanna nodded.

  Elizabeth watched the dancing in silence a little longer. Drew herself up straighter. “Aye.” She stood, her eyes on the King one last time. “You may call on me when you are ready, Mistress Horenbout, and I will sit for you.”

  She walked out of the room. Susanna watched her straight, stiff back, her raised head—pain held together with pride—and memorized the line of her shoulders, the curve of her cheek. Her fingers curled into her palms, and she could already see the scene on canvas.

  She started when Parker’s hand touched her shoulder.

  “The King is slippery as an eel tonight. I cannot pin him down alone. He has started a game of tables. If I’m to talk to him, we will need to watch or play.”

  Susanna lifted her eyes to his. “You play tables?”

  Parker quirked a grin. “I’m a gentleman, aren’t I?”

  She smiled back. “Ah, you are so much more than that.”

  Chapter Six

  and, indeed, nature has so made us, that we all love to be flattered and to please ourselves with our own notions

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  The King was already in play. The Knight Marshal had set up tables along one wall of the Chamber, and they had been filled the moment the King abandoned the dance floor.

  His opponent was the young girl he’d danced with, and Parker could see she was not familiar with the rules. Even though Henry’s eyes were more on the deep shadow between her breasts when she leaned over to throw her dice than on the movement of her pieces, he was already well ahead.

  “Parker, Mistress Horenbout.” The King slid his gaze over them. “You know Lady Alice?”

  Parker bowed. “Alas, no.”

  Beside him, Susanna curtsied.

  “You are fond of tables?” Henry spoke to Susanna.

  “No, Your Majesty. I have not had much opportunity to play it.”

  Parker felt her wariness in the stiffness of her body.

  “A game of chance and skill exhilarates. You must learn.” The King turned back to his game and Susanna unbent to dip in curtsy.

  “You need to learn, too, m’dear.” Henry beat Lady Alice with a flourish. “Parker, it has been some time. Sit and play.”

  Parker waited for Lady Alice to rise from the chair, which she did reluctantly, and with a sour glance his way. She did not even acknowledge Susanna as she slipped back into the still-dancing crowd.

  The King watched her go, his gaze hot.

  As Parker pulled up a chair for Susanna and sat himself, he knew exactly what the King had in mind for later.

  “The Queen will be sorry she missed this. I know she loves playing tables.”

  Henry froze, lust melting to fury in his eyes, and Parker wondered why he’d allowed such a foolish comment to escape his mouth. Henry did not—had never—liked to be chastised.

  “What of the Queen?”

  There was no going back. “I simply heard she was not well, and thought it a shame she had to miss such a merry gathering.”

  “The Queen’s courses are causing her great pain.” Henry’s words were blunt, intentionally coarse. “That is, when she has them. Months go by without a sign of them.”

  Parker saw Susanna flinch at the King’s words. This deliberate discussion of the Queen’s most private affairs was disrespectful.

  He said nothing, setting the pieces back in place to begin the game, truly unsure why he’d provoked the King. He’d seen a hundred girls catch Henry’s eye.

  “You came here tonight to tell me something?” Henry straightened his pieces meticulously, his fingers shaking a little.

  Parker had never seen him so angry, when the anger was directed at him.

  “Someone shot a bolt through my window tonight.” Parker looked up at the King as he spoke.

  Henry’s mouth thinned. “You do have a knack for enraging others.”

  Parker frowned. “Usually on your account, Your Majesty.”

  Henry picked up the dice and threw the opening play, but there was a softening around his lips, as if he acknowledged the truth of what Parker said.

  The dice fell.

  Double six.

  Henry smiled for the first time since Parker’s unfortunate comment. “Do you know who made the attack?”

  Parker hesitated a moment. There was no sign Henry knew anything. “Perhaps.” He leaned back. “The Frenchman who tried to steal the Mirror of Naples is reported back in London.”

  Henry paused. “Didn’t he drown?”

  Parker shook his head. “I never thought we would be so lucky.”

  Henry eyed Parker’s move, grunted and threw again. Six and five. “The Mirror is safe?”

  Parker nodded. “He’s not after the Mirror again. Unless he’s mad.” He looked at Susanna. She sat with hands folded in her lap, beautiful enough to steal his breath. The expression on her face was tranquil, detached, and Parker realized her mind was working on a painting in her head—she was not with them. “It’s my betrothed he’s come back for.”

  Henry stopped the game. Looked at Susanna as well.

  “What are you thinking of?”

  As if sensing eyes on her, Susanna blinked, coming back from the place in her thoughts.

  “Your Majesty?” She had to clear her throat, as if she had been asleep, and she glanced at Parker, puzzled.

  “What takes your mind away from us?”

  She snapped her head back to Henry, and bowed her head at his direct gaze. “A painting.”

  “And what is this painting?” Henry spoke without his usual jocularity.

  “It is of Elizabeth Carew, Your Majesty.” Susanna twined her fingers together. “Forgive my inattendance.”

  The name of his former mistress made Henry’s nostrils flare. He stared at Susanna, as if to discern some hidden barb in her words, and Parker held his breath.

  “As my painter, in my employ, you will not paint Lady Carew. Unless I give you too little work to occupy your time?”

  Susanna lifted her gaze to the King in astonishment, and Parker resisted the urge to put a hand on her arm. “No, I’m very busy. My idea for t
he Lady Carew was something quite apart. Not a portrait, but a fanciful scene.”

  Henry picked up the dice, and threw them over-hard. They skittered over the deep sides of the board and onto the floor, spinning and rolling between the dancers.

  “Fetch them.” He looked straight at Parker, his voice stone grinding on stone.

  Parker rose reluctantly.

  He was an intimate of the King. He had risen from nothing, and made himself invaluable by his service and loyalty.

  He suddenly regretted his success.

  He touched Susanna’s shoulder as he stepped around her, his finger trailing the smooth, bare skin of her neck. As he was swallowed into the swirling mass of dancers, he had a sense he was leaving her exposed at the very moment he should be standing watch.

  * * *

  Susanna turned her head to watch Parker go, disturbed by his face, by his reluctance. She had missed something while she’d been busy composing the painting of Elizabeth Carew. Something important.

  “What is Elizabeth Carew to you?” Henry did not look at her. He kept his concentration on the pieces before him.

  Susanna bit her lip. “Lady Carew is very beautiful, and since I first saw her, she put me in mind of a water sprite, or some magical creature. I have wanted to paint her that way since I met her.”

  “A water sprite?” He sounded bemused. Less angry. “Aye, she is cool enough, to the casual eye.”

  There was a smugness about the statement, intimating he knew her to be anything but cool, away from the casual eye.

  Susanna forced her hands to relax, stretching her fingers along her thighs. Elizabeth Carew had been the King’s mistress willingly. She would do well to remember that.

  “I could have made a good match for Parker with a daughter of one of my courtiers. His match with you has meant a loss to me. A . . . squandering of a powerful connection.”

  She lifted her head, and made the mistake of staring straight into his eyes. Even though she looked away, she caught the way his lips curled back in annoyance.

  She said nothing. The King had given his permission for their betrothal. He knew why he’d given it. This conversation was a game. A way to show her how much she depended on him.

  “I need Parker. I will admit it. But I do not need you, Mistress. And you would do well to remember that.” He moved, viper-quick, grabbing her fingers in his hand. The touch was shocking and intimate, his grip crushing.

  Without thinking, she pulled them back, curling them into her palms so he could not take them again.

  He hissed, and when she lifted her head, she could see bright spots of colour on his cheeks.

  Her heart was pounding, a slow, massive thump, making it impossible to speak.

  “You will not paint Lady Carew. You can focus your energies instead on a painting of my son, Fitzroy.”

  She dipped her head in acquiescence.

  What could she lose by doing so?

  She was about to lose her place as his painter. Her brother was waiting in his room at home, ready to take this all from her as soon as he could.

  And for the first time, she thought it perhaps not a bad thing. To be out of the Royal eye.

  Parker returned with the dice in hand, and she smiled at him as he sat beside her, let her bruised fingers rub the side of his thigh to show all was well.

  But it was not. Her heart had calmed, but the panic and fear of the King’s menace were still with her, making her hands shake.

  And for the first time, she considered giving the Queen the message from her old patron, Margaret of Austria.

  Considered treason.

  Chapter Seven

  Now if in such a court, made up of persons who envy all others and only admire themselves, a person should but propose anything that he had either read in history or observed in his travels, the rest would think that the reputation of their wisdom would sink, and that their interests would be much depressed if they could not run it down.

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  He watched her. He should have been watching the road, watching for another surprise attack, but she was too quiet. Drawn in on herself tight as a hedgehog.

  “What did he say to you?”

  She lifted her head, and he caught a slight tightening of her mouth. “That I am not to paint Elizabeth Carew.”

  “He likes to forget them, when he’s done with them. Give it a year, and you could paint her then. He won’t object.”

  She nodded. But it was stiff.

  “What else?”

  She hesitated. “He thought my wanting to paint her was meddling in his affairs. He made a threat . . .”

  Parker waited. He felt each second stretch long and thin, a drop of dew reaching from a leaf to the ground.

  “He said he needed you, but not me. That our betrothal had robbed him of a marriage of convenience between you and one of his courtier’s daughters. He said he could change his mind still.”

  He breathed deep. At last paid attention to the road. “He may change his mind. I will not.”

  “That is what makes me afraid.” Her voice was small, and she leaned into him. “He does not care what you think.”

  Parker slipped his arm around her shoulders, and the small, slender feel of her wound his resolve tighter. Henry had used him before, used him to keep his enemies in check.

  If he were forced, Parker would turn every cold, dark corner of his heart, everything that made him a weapon, back on his master.

  * * *

  Mistress Greene was waiting for them when they pulled into the courtyard, outlined against the back door.

  Susanna went from drowsy warmth, cuddled against Parker, to awake and drenched in icy fear. She pulled up, stiff and quivering on the seat of the cart and sensed Parker draw his knife.

  “The boys?” Before Parker stopped the cart she leapt to the ground and ran forward.

  “The boys are well.”

  Susanna stumbled and caught the wooden rail beside the stairs.

  “’Tis your brother.”

  Susanna lifted her head, clutching the rail so hard she felt the edges dig deep into her palm. “He’s been hurt?”

  Mistress Greene shook her head. “Not sure. Not sure what happened. Peter Jack thinks he run off when he saw Harry hop over the back fence. Thinks Master Horenbout took fright.”

  “He’s not here?”

  The housekeeper shook her head. “Harry was out for the master, it seems,” she nodded at Parker, “and came over the back wall. Peter Jack thought he heard a cry from upstairs, and a few moments later the front door slammed. Some of your brother’s things are gone.”

  Parker swore softly as he stepped up beside her. “Where are Harry and Peter Jack now?”

  “Gone looking for him.”

  Susanna caught Parker’s grimace. Her brother had not made the best impression since his arrival. “We should take the cart, find them.”

  “No.” Parker turned to face the street. “I don’t want you out more than you need to be. And I’m not leaving you here unguarded.”

  She exchanged a glance with Mistress Greene, and the housekeeper shrugged. “The boys’ll be back soon enough, one way or another. Want me to wake Eric to stable the horse?” When Parker shook his head, she stepped back into the kitchen, leaving the door open for them.

  Susanna looked up at the night sky. “He doesn’t know London . . .”

  “He’s a grown man. Much older than you.” Parker led the horse to the stable, and she followed him in as he unhitched the small cart.

  Susanna took a deep breath. “I am worried about him.”

  “He brought this trouble. Made this mess himself and pulled us in with him.” Parker’s words were cold.

  She leant against the rough planks of the stable wall. Closed her eyes and let the sounds of him brushing the horse soothe her.

  She felt movement and the heat of his body. The sweet smell of hay and leather enveloped her. She opened her eyes to find him ri
ght before her.

  He moved closer, until their bodies touched, and cupped her face between his hands.

  “We’ve been in worse straits.”

  She tried to smile. “We have.”

  He leaned in to her, his kiss gentle, giving. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. His need, his hunger, ignited her own, until they were both desperate, taking everything they could.

  Parker held her higher on the wall, lifting her, pushing her skirts up and she arched against him, her legs around his waist as they took from each other’s mouths. The feel of his hands gripping her bare thighs made her weak, aching. He wrenched his mouth from hers and began a trail down her neck, where her pulse leapt and sung.

  “Sir.”

  The stable door slammed open, and the horse gave a sharp whinny. Over Parker’s shoulder she saw Harry stumble in.

  Parker set her down, held her a moment, trembling, as her skirts tumbled back into place. His eyes were closed, his teeth gritted.

  He turned to face Harry.

  Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of them. “’Tis the mistress’s brother.” His voice wavered.

  “You found him?” Susanna stepped around Parker, her legs still unsteady. She grabbed Parker’s arm.

  Harry nodded. “Down near Old Swan.” He looked back over his shoulder, as if he expected Lucas to come through the door at any moment. “We think he’s dead.”

  Chapter Eight

  There is a great number of noblemen among you that are themselves as idle as drones, that subsist on other men’s labour, on the labour of their tenants, whom, to raise their revenues, they pare to the quick.

  Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)

  The horse was disgruntled, pulling the cart for the second time that night when it should have been warm in the stable. It tossed its head and wouldn’t be hurried, and Parker felt a strong kinship with it.

  Susanna sat beside him, wrapped in her cloak, her body bowstring tense. She strained forward, as if that would somehow make them go faster.