by Kris Tualla
“My queen, why would you doubt this fine gentleman’s word?” she asked, beaming and striding forward. “He has proved quite trustworthy thus far.”
“Averia!” Catherine jumped from her throne without any regard for either king or crowd, and hurried through the room to meet her. “My dearest friend!”
Catherine gathered Avery into a tight, sobbing hug. “I cannot believe you are here. I have missed you so.”
Avery tried to speak past her own tears, but Catherine’s emotional reaction was much more extreme than she expected.
“I am so sorry I was not here, Cathy,” she whispered.
“It was not your fault.” Catherine sniffed wetly. “None of it was.” After another moment, the queen loosened her grip and stepped back, wiping her eyes. “Have you returned to stay?”
Avery wished at that moment that there had been no letter from Arendal—and yet it was that crucial letter that put her life-changing events into motion. Events which resulted in her standing here, married, in the Tudor court today.
“Not just yet, I am sorry to say.” Avery’s heart started to pound with anticipation, sending blood rushing in her ears. “I must go to Norway first.”
Catherine shook her head in confusion. “Why? Has something happened to Sir Hansen?”
Avery grasped that question as the perfect introduction to her news. “Yes. I am afraid it has.”
“What has happened to Hansen?” King Henry had come forward from his throne and now stood behind the queen’s shoulder.
Avery tried not to give too much away with her expression, all the while hoping Jakob would catch her cue to enter the room. “I am afraid he has succumbed…”
Catherine’s eyes rounded. “To what?”
Jakob’s deep voice sounded from behind her. “To marriage, your Highnesses.”
Avery’s relieved grin returned as the royal couple stared past her toward Jakob in stunned surprise.
“Marriage to whom?” Henry demanded as Jakob approached.
Avery turned her brief regard to her husband. The Nordic knight was smiling like a lunatic.
She faced the king again and curtsied. “To me, your Graces.”
Catherine gasped. “Do you speak truly, Averia? You have married the Norseman?”
“I have. We were married in Barcelona Cathedral two days before joining this man—” Avery gestured toward the other Henry in the room, “—on his journey back to you.”
Jakob bowed to the pair of sovereigns. “We believed that appearing before you was the best way to assure both your Graces of the lady’s good health and well-being.”
Avery grabbed Catherine’s hands, deciding to broach her concern forthwith. “Are you angry with me?”
Catherine shook her head as fresh tears filled her eyes. “As you have reminded me many times, you are not my subject. On the contrary, I could not be happier.”
Avery kissed Catherine’s damp cheek. “Thank you, your Highness.”
King Henry extended his hand to Jakob. “Congratulations are in order, Hansen.”
As Jakob bowed again and the men shook hands, Avery was reminded once more of the striking similarity in their looks.
“There is another reason to celebrate,” she said. “Today is Jakob’s thirty-third birthday.”
Henry laughed and clapped his hands together. “It would seem that our supper tonight shall be a triple celebration! The marriage, the birthday, and the return of our friends to our bosom.”
Avery raised her relieved gaze to Jakob’s happy countenance.
He winked.
*****
“I shall never eat again,” Jakob moaned. He was stretched out on the large bed in Avery’s restored chamber. “And as much as I desired to make passionate love with you this evening, I find myself immobilized by the king’s generous and forced hospitality.”
Avery sat on the bed beside him, brushing her dark brown hair; Jakob watched the candlelight slither up and down its glossy length. He reached out to comb his fingers through the thick strands, loving the silken way they felt against his skin.
“I must admit, husband, that I am overdone as well.” Avery yawned. “And I anticipate sleeping for so many hours, that I may not wake until noon.”
Jakob chuckled. “Even so, I may not eat again until supper.”
Avery set her brush on the table near the bed. “Make room for me, please. Your length has claimed all corners of the bed.”
“The luxury of so much room has made me selfish, I admit it.” Jakob withdrew his limbs and slid to the far side. “After weeks in a ship’s bunk shorter than I by half a foot, I covet the ability to lie down without bending my legs.”
Avery snuggled next to him, and he rested his cheek against her head. Her hair smelled of roses.
“Our first obstacle has been met and conquered,” he murmured.
“Um hm.”
“How long must we politely remain in England?”
He felt Avery tense against him. “We only arrived this very afternoon.”
“I do not suggest that we leave on the morrow.” He gave her scalp a conciliatory kiss. “But I do not wish to dally more than a week.”
His wife’s body relaxed a little. “Will we sail from London?”
Jakob wondered about that himself. Henry originally said he might be willing to transport Jakob to England’s northernmost port, so that his ship’s voyage to Denmark might be shortened. But now Jakob had Avery’s comfort to consider as well.
He countered with, “What is the northernmost port in England?”
Avery pondered that for a moment. “Newcastle-Upon-Tyne.”
“How far is that?”
“Four days’ journey, I believe.”
Jakob sighed. “I will look at a map tomorrow, but I do not believe those four days across land will not save us as much time as I had originally hoped.”
Avery tilted her head to look at him, her dark eyes glittering in the pale candlelight. “So you believe that sailing from London directly to Arendal to be the quickest way to travel?”
“It seems that may be so.” Jakob draped his arm over Avery, holding her close. “Let us get some sleep, in the event Henry’s celebratory mood continues on the morrow.”
Avery kissed his hand. “Happy birthday, husband.”
Jakob smiled.
Facing his family with this beautiful Spanish noblewoman on his arm as his wife was certainly going to soften the impact of anything they might throw at him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
April 20, 1519
Henry sat in his private meeting room with Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, and offered Jakob a glass of wine.
“Yes. Thank you, your Grace.” Jakob felt safe in this interview because he owed King Henry nothing.
In fact, the opposite was true.
A servant poured goblets of wine for the three men before backing through the door and closing it. Jakob turned curious attention toward the two highest ranking men in England.
Brandon spoke first. “I assume you know what has transpired with the queen since we saw you last.”
Jakob dipped his chin. “My wife allowed me to read the letter, which the queen wrote to her. I offer my deepest condolences, your Highness.”
Henry took a long draught of his wine before acknowledging Jakob’s words. “You were not here to play your part. I suppose the discovery was inevitable.”
A shock jolted Jakob. His gaze shot from Henry to Brandon and back. “You do not hold me accountable for the miscarriage…”
“No. Of course not.” The Duke injected, gesturing with his goblet. “You do have your own king to serve.”
“And yet, I served King Henry quite well when I was here, your Grace.” Jakob plunged forward, not wishing to lose ground. “I even saved his life, when my own was put at mortal risk.”
Brandon nodded. “You did dispose of the assassin in a quick and quiet manner, and for that the king is very grateful.”
Henry pinn
ed Jakob’s gaze. “Bessie is with child. My child. She will deliver in two months.”
Jakob’s mouth fell open, though he was unsure whether congratulations were appropriate. “Will—will you claim the babe?”
“If it is a boy.” Henry sipped his wine before continuing. “That is what I promised Bessie, in exchange for her silence on the other matter.”
“Bastard girls are not important,” Jakob observed. “They have no claim or power.”
“No, they do not.” Henry drained his cup and held it toward Brandon. The duke refilled the chalice and returned it to the king.
Henry took another drink before asking, “Please explain to me why did Sir Bethington not travel back to court with you.”
Jakob relaxed. This was an easy question. “Because the Order was still in session when I left Barcelona.”
Henry stared at him from under a lowered brow. “And why did you leave the Order before it adjourned?”
Jakob felt a punch in the gut at saying the words aloud once more. He pulled a steadying breath. “I received word that my father is dying. My mother asked that I return home.”
Henry nodded slowly. “And Christian granted your request?”
This was going to be tricky. Jakob needed to be honest, while still explaining his decision in a logical and complimentary light.
“I did not ask him, your Grace. It was my best judgment that I remove myself—and as a result, my king—from the current discussion at the Order. So I sent him an explanation of my actions before I left.”
Henry leaned forward in his chair. “And what discussion was that?”
Jakob was on solid ground once more. “France and Spain were in disagreement and pressing for every delegate to align with one or the other of them concerning the Ottoman question.”
He spread his hands helplessly. “Being so far distant, Denmark and Norway cannot help. For that reason, I did not believe it wise for me to make enemies with either king on Christian’s behalf. So, I explained to him that my father is dying and I could leave without my absence reflecting poorly on him.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “What about Bethington?”
Jakob threw Percy the credit for his own observation. “He quoted your Treaty of London, your Highness. Because Spain was not yet invaded, France was not yet bound to provide an army.”
“He is a good man.” The king leaned back, relieved. “I chose well, it would seem.”
Jakob gave a hint of a smile. “Yes, your Grace.”
“But your father is truly dying?” Brandon asked.
“Or he is already dead. Yes.” Jakob felt an unexpected surge of regret. Perhaps because he was heading toward Arendal, the guard on his emotions was lowering. “My mother’s letter was sent over six months ago, now. Even though I left Barcelona less than one month after I received it, I do not know what I shall find once I arrive in Arendal.”
Henry crossed himself. “My condolences, Hansen.”
“Why did you not leave immediately?” Brandon’s mouth quirked; Jakob guessed the duke had intuited the reason.
Jakob grinned at him, glad for yet another shift in their conversation. “Banns must be read for three weeks.”
“About that…” Henry slapped his own thigh in disbelief. “How did you manage to win the lady? She was untouchable.”
Jakob wondered if Henry knew as much about Avery as Catherine did. No matter, all was out in the open now. He waggled a finger at the king and his duke.
“She was untouchable—until her husband in Barcelona finally died of syphilis.”
The surprised reactions of both men proved Catherine’s careful protection of Avery’s secret. “She was married?” they exclaimed in tandem.
“The day I arrived in Barcelona, the man was being buried.”
“Barcelona?” Henry frowned at Brandon. “I thought she was from Toledo.”
Over more glasses of wine, Jakob regaled the men with the tale of Avery’s unhappy circumstances in Barcelona and the explanation of her assumed identity in London.
“The queen was instrumental in saving Lady Avery’s life, you see,” Jakob offered, hoping that King Henry truly did. “By offering her sanctuary, Avery was removed from the abuses of her husband, retaliation for not providing him an heir, and the mortal results of his careless life.”
Henry paled. Of a sudden, Jakob realized the similarities between Avery and Catherine’s situations. His mouth went dry.
“And how did she escape?” the young king growled.
Jakob swallowed a gulp of wine, wondering how to extricate himself from the awkward blunder. “She outlined her circumstances to Catherine, who invited her to court. A priest in Barcelona helped her escape, and he kept her secret until it was time for her to return.”
“Was she able to salvage anything of the estate?” Brandon was clearly redirecting the discussion.
Jakob would thank him later. “Yes.” He then outlined, in distracting detail, Avery’s brilliant handling of her situation so that she was finally free to remarry and leave Spain.
When he was finished, Henry shook his head. “In addition to leaving the order early, you did not ask your king for permission to marry, either?”
Jakob flashed a contrite expression. “No, your Grace.”
“What do you expect him to do when you return to København?” Brandon’s brow wrinkled. “You are planning to return to København, are you not?”
“Yes, your Grace. After I am finished in Arendal.” Jakob shrugged. “I do not know what his highness will do with me. But he has every reason to dismiss me.”
“Yes, he does.” The duke rose to his feet, signaling the end of the interview. “Thank you for your time.”
Jakob stood as well.
“Thank you, your Graces.” He bowed and backed away the appropriate distance before straightening to leave. He gave once last glance in Henry’s direction.
Henry was staring at him, his expression hard as marble.
*****
“I do not know why I still cry.” Catherine dabbed her eyes. “Five months have passed since I lost the babe.”
“When we were last together, we were anticipating the happy arrival of a son.” Avery handed the queen a cup of wine. “It is because I am returned that your grief is freshened. I am so very sorry for that.”
Catherine shook her head slowly. “No, Averia. Do not be sorry. It is a great comfort to me that you are here now.”
Avery winced. “I only wish that I could stay longer.”
Catherine’s hand stilled, the wine cup not yet to her lips. “How long will you bide here?”
“We must be gone in a week.” Avery heaved a shaky sigh. “My husband’s mother hopes he will arrive before his father passes.”
Catherine frowned. “Might he have passed already?”
“Yes. But there is no way to know.”
“Your husband.” One side of the queen’s mouth lifted under her sad eyes. “Hearing you say such a thing, and to be happy about it, lifts my spirits. And God Himself knows how much I need that.”
As Catherine drank deeply from her cup, Avery asked, “Is there another matter that troubles you?”
Catherin lowered the goblet and stared at its blood-red contents. When she finally spoke her voice was so low, that it took Avery a moment to fully understand what the queen had said.
“Bessie is with child.”
Avery gasped. “Oh, Cathy!”
Catherine’s eyes lifted to hers. “She is seven months gone. The king is understandably thrilled.”
“Is she still at court?” Avery could not imagine what a daily horror that would be for her friend.
“Heavens, no! I removed that trollop the moment I knew.” Catherine made a disgusted moue. “But Henry objected, and only agreed to have her live elsewhere, and not be completely dishonored.”
“Is he… are they…” Avery could not finish the question, but Catherine’s stricken expression gave her the answer.
“Yes,
he visits her regularly. And though I am certain she pleasures him, I doubt that he lays with her. He still believes it may hurt the child, no matter who the mother is.” Catherine took another long draught of wine, then handed the empty cup to Avery.
Avery walked to the sideboard and refilled the goblet. She had no words with which to comfort Catherine. Henry was the king and he would selfishly do what he pleased, without regard for any mere woman’s feelings—whether the woman in question was a queen or trollop. His drive to father a male child consumed him.
When she gave the glass back to Catherine, the queen grabbed her hand. “Pray for my darling Mary, Avery. I am thirty-three years old. I know I will never bear another child. She must become queen after her father.”
Avery lifted Catherine’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “May God hear the cries of your heart, my dearest friend, and heed them.”
“Thank you, my friend.” The queen dried her cheeks and straightened her shoulders. “Now, tell me what happened with your ships.”
*****
Avery and Jakob entered the dining room to an entirely different response than the previous night. Yester eve, their presence alone was enough of a surprise, let alone the fact that the Ice Maiden of the Tudor court had married.
Not only that, but after spurning every nobleman who had attempted to win her throughout her nine years in court, Avery had chosen an unknown foreigner over all of them. To further fan the flames of gossip, the man did not even own a respectable title, but was a mere knight and far below her station.
Avery’s true name and title, Señora Averia Galaviz de Mendoza, Vizcondesa de Catalonya, sent waves of auditory shock through yester eve’s assemblage, as stares ricocheted, heads touched, and questions were murmured.
As much as they could, she and Jakob explained what had occurred, and the reason for Avery’s deceptions. Thankfully, King Henry’s desire to be the center of attention kept pulling the crowd’s apparent attention back to him. But Avery saw the continual glances and whispers.
Tonight, after the members of the court had a full day to discuss, form opinions, and conjure more questions, Avery and Jakob’s reception was less shocked and more curious.
