One Forbidden Knight
Page 11
“Sweetheart, I…” he said, humbled and overcome by her words, unable to control the grin threatening to split his face in two. “…I forbid you to go to France alone. We’ll go together, you and I, and make a new life.”
“Together?” she repeated, an answering smile lighting up her face. “Always.”
“Wretched pair,” snarled Arundel. “If you refuse to be parted, then you’ll both get on that damned ship immediately. If we leave now—”
“On the contrary, my lord Arundel. Neither Sir Brandon, nor Catherine will be departing this place.”
The biting chill of the deep, manly voice from the direction of the chapel froze him to the bone, and all three of them dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.
The Queen of England.
Mary’s walk toward them was a slow, labored shuffle, but Catherine kept her gaze resolutely on the floor. Now was not the time for bold words or actions, not when this woman held the power of life or death for them all. Even if she did want to scream and rage at the woman she’d once loved above all, for the wicked, ungodly deeds she had ordered.
“So, you meet in secret to plot,” the queen continued, her voice rising. “My loyal earl, the woman I treated like a daughter, and her errant lover. In truth you’re all three for my bastard half-sister, aren’t you? Looking to toss us away and usurp our hard-won throne because we cannot give England what it desperately needs. We tried! We tried so hard. But we made mistakes. We were lenient toward the heretics and sinners, and God punished us. So we burned and burned to prove our faith. But it is still not enough. Our Lord has struck us down again.”
Catherine frowned at the hysteria, the torment in the queen’s words. What on earth was she talking about?
“Majesty,” Arundel’s horrified voice shattered the eerie silence. “Your belly…”
She couldn’t help it, her head jerked up. A gasp tore from her throat.
Queen Mary’s previously hugely rounded belly had near-disappeared.
“No child,” Brand said softly, beside her. “Arthur was right.”
“He was not right!” Mary hissed, her arms flailing wildly. “He stole our child. Our beautiful boy, the image of Phillip. Yes, stolen. Or poisoned, no, that is what happened. Arthur Linwood poisoned us. Pretended he cared for our health when all the while he plotted and schemed with his pills and fusions to ensure Elizabeth succeeded the throne. Well she won’t! Never! Phillip will return to us and we shall have a child, the most perfect Catholic prince the world has ever seen. You will see! E-everyone will s-seeeeee…”
Mary crumpled to the floor, rocking in place while she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Closing her eyes, Catherine offered a silent prayer that she wasn’t about to make the worst mistake of her life. Before she lost her nerve, before the Christian desire to forgive passed, she crawled forward and wrapped her arms around the queen’s shoulders.
“Oh, Majesty,” she whispered. “I am sorry for your pain.”
Mary froze then burrowed against her like a small child, longing for a little affection. “It is over, Catherine. I sought to right the wrongs of my father and brother, to secure the throne forever and make England great again. But I have failed. Soon everyone will know how badly Bloody Mary failed. All because I cleansed my realm of heretics as told to. No one will remember the good, now. Only…this.”
Catherine lifted her gaze to the two men. Both remained silent, watching her, but Arundel inclined his head and Brand smiled and gestured for her to continue.
“Please, madam, you need to rest,” she said to Mary. “Then—”
Abruptly the queen disengaged herself from Catherine’s hold and slowly got to her feet, brushing some dust from her embroidered purple robe.
“We do not,” she said coolly, distantly, like the previous minutes never happened. “The daughter of Henry the Eighth and Catherine of Aragon must carry on, with head held high. There is much still to be achieved in our realm.”
“And what,” said Arundel, his voice shaking, “what of my son Brandon and Mistress Linwood?”
Mary blinked, her regard flicking from the earl to Brand and back. “Ah…side by side you can see it. But let us ask them this: did either seek to achieve or plot our death?”
“Never, Majesty,” said Catherine fervently.
“Practice witchcraft?”
“No. I swear on my father’s grave.”
The queen flinched. “We deeply regret…that is, we did not seek…every day a ruler is forced to make unpleasant decisions. We have prayed and prayed for absolution. But that is in the past and cannot be changed, unlike your future. We accept there has been no wrongdoing save the crime of fornication. Sir Brandon!”
“Yes, Majesty?” said Brand, getting to his feet.
“You committed a sin in taking Catherine to your bed without the blessing and sanctification of the church in marriage vows. It is our understanding you accept blame for this and have been physically corrected.”
“Several times, Majesty.”
“Then it is our decree that you make final amends for your actions and take Catherine to wife with all haste.”
Catherine’s breath hitched. Was it possible? Mary pardoning them both and ordering a dream future?
Brand bowed. “As you wish.”
“You are both also ordered to leave this realm, on the ship Arundel spoke of,” said Mary sharply. “We shall announce your shocking midnight escape from imprisonment in due course. Do not return here, or speak of this time to anyone, on pain of death. Do you understand? We do not ever wish to be reminded of these events.”
“Yes, Majesty,” said Catherine, sinking into a deep curtsey.
“Good. Arundel!”
“Majesty?” said the earl, scrambling to his feet and bowing.
“Cease sniveling into that handkerchief and escort us to our chamber.”
As soon as they were alone in the anteroom, Catherine ran into Brand’s open arms with a small cry, clasping him so tightly he groaned.
“No!” she said, belatedly remembering. “Your back. I’m so sorry.”
“Sure I’ll survive. And I can think of several ways you could make it up to me.”
Her cheeks burned. “Well, no one needs a bath more than you. Let us hope your father’s ship contains an entire hold of lye soap.”
“That scold again! At least you hold no comb to throw today.”
Catherine hesitated, biting her lip. “Do…do you truly wish to wed me?”
“I must insist. For I have no chance of joy or contentment in my life without you in it. You are…dawn after the longest night.”
“Brand.”
“Besides, I have no desire to be whipped for fornication every other day.”
“Oh you!” she gasped, giggling for the first time in what felt like eternity. Until he took her hands in his and kissed each one, silencing her with the intensity of his gaze.
“Marry me, Catherine Mary Linwood. Wed me, love me, and I should be the happiest man in England…and er, France.”
Bliss overwhelmed her, and she went up on her toes to brush his lips with hers.
“I will. And I do. Forever.”
Epilogue
November 17, 1558, West Berkshire
“The queen is dead. Long live the queen!”
The hoarse cry of the exhausted herald echoed through the village square, but none who heard the words were surprised. After her second false pregnancy Mary had fallen ill, and Lucas’s last letter from London where he now resided with the Dudley family, indicated she’d barely left her rooms in months. Indeed, that was the reason he and Carey dared come home to England, discreetly returning aboard a merchant ship two weeks previously.
Brand glanced down at his wife, but she seemed to be accepting of the news.
“All right, Lady FitzAlan?”
She turned and smiled at him. “Yes and no. Mary did me great kindnesses and a great harm. But because of her I found you, so I do mourn he
r passing. And I believe, yes I do think Elizabeth will be a good queen. More tolerant of religion at least.”
“Lucas is already establishing himself as a favorite of hers. I’ve heard it from several people, even Arundel. Quite how, I’m unsure. Especially with his ceaseless chatter and habit of name-shortening.”
Carey’s eyes widened in horror. “Please don’t tell me he calls the new Queen of England, Lizzie.”
His lips twitched. “Bess. Because Elizabeth is far too long a name for a fifteen year old to remember, don’t you know.”
“That boy!”
“I know,” he said mildly, too content with life to worry further about Lucas and his leaps from one outrageous matter to the next. “But we should be getting home. Mother is coming over from the cottage with a new tapestry to show off, and naturally I wish to order supper before the roar of your growling stomach frightens the neighbors…ow.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, was that your foot?” she said, very sweetly as they passed several shops and the smithy. “But it is imperative you feed me.”
“Really? Why is that? You wish to drag me into yet another darkened alcove? Have mercy, my lady, I’m an old man. I need a little recovery time, at least.”
“Perhaps later. I require food to ensure the child I carry is born strong and healthy.”
Brand stilled, swallowing hard against a rush of powerful elation. “A baby?”
“Well, yes. When you constantly make love to your wife in alcoves and meadows, on desks and carpets, even in an actual bed, it happens. He or she will be born sometime in the spring, I think. Are you pleased?”
He leaned down and captured her lips with his, while one hand rested on her still-flat belly. “I am at once thrilled and excited and anxious.”
“As am I. But my father safely delivered many babies, and I feel…I feel he will watch over me and ensure all will be well.”
Nodding solemnly, he scooped Carey into his arms and turned down the beaten path to their charming red-brick manor, with its lush fields, colorful gardens, and single orchard.
A home. Love. In time, a child.
All he desired and more.
Acknowledgments
A special thank you and non-awkward bear hug to Jackie Ashenden for friendship and support, editor Kate Brauning for margin smiley faces and a truckload of good points, and the Ferners for the cheers and, er, helpful suggestions. You guys rock.
About the Author
Nicola Davidson worked for many years in communications and marketing as well as television and print journalism, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing wicked historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the champion All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes chocolate—even better!
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