Then the lovestruck eyes of Lucinda Parker flashed in my mind. I fell off him, panting as I hit the wiry grass.
“Are you well?” Nick said, sitting up. His lips were red and swollen.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to the feeling of loving someone so much that the thought of them being with anyone else was like gutting out your own heart with a hook knife. I thought this time would be different. That I wouldn’t have to compete with anyone for his attention, even in my mind. But it seemed I’d moved on from paranoia about Princess Henriette’s sixteenth-century poise and accomplishments to worrying about Lucinda’s instead.
“Should we have a chat about Lucinda Parker?” My words came out strained. “I know that you didn’t invite her to court…it was the Duke of Norfolk because he hates my guts for marrying you.”
I expected shock and fury, but Nick just laughed lightly. “Norfolk is plainly dramatic. You will come to know his impetuous nature.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Nick continued speaking in that maddeningly authoritative tone. “Your suspicions that Norfolk invited Mistress Parker to court are likely true—she is a cousin of his of some sort, and I can think of no other councilor who would undertake such a deed without my permission. That said, I do understand why you are not roused by Mistress Parker’s presence; however, I made a vow to you that I would keep no mistress, and you must trust me.”
“I know,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t want this to be a thing; I really don’t. For a start, that’d make Norfolk far too smug for my liking. But while the thought of Lucinda being here freaks me out a bit, I also think that her having a position at court is good for her baby daughter, right? These aren’t exactly the golden years of single motherhood. So I think she should stay. I’m officially okay with it.”
He kissed the back of my hand like he was proud of me. I was also proud of myself. Nick had all the power in the world, and if he wanted to hook up with Lucinda Parker, there’d be jack squat I could do about it. But there was no way I was letting Norfolk win. He’d brought Lucinda here to torment me, so I was determined to be okay with it.
Nick tugged me toward him, his lips close enough to kiss. “If only you could see inside my heart,” he said softly. “You would know how mine eyes desire you above all things. You would know this to be true, and it would release you from the burden of your fears.”
“Well, either that, or I’d see a bunch of blood, muscle, and some of those ventricle things if I could see inside your heart,” I said through a straight face.
Rolling his eyes at another wisecrack that we both knew he wouldn’t understand, Nick climbed to his feet, indicating for me to stay put. “I have something for you, you troublesome little thing. Well, two somethings.” He untied another satchel from his horse and retrieved flashes of purple and cream, hiding the mystery articles behind his back. After dropping to his knees and shuffling toward me, he smirked and nodded at his arms, a mute invitation for me to choose a hand.
I grinned and pointed at his left arm. He produced a petite velvet pouch that drooped with something heavy. I fished out a heart-shaped locket dangling from a delicate silver chain. Clicking the pendant open revealed a miniature painting of Nick that was unlike his usual portraits. There was no crown, no pretend beard, no added weight, scepter, or flat cap. It was simply Nick Tudor wearing a white linen shirt and a chocolate-brown leather jerkin, with his hair unkempt and a slight smirk on his face. Every part of the portrait was the man I loved.
“Will you wear it close to your heart?” he asked a little shyly.
I threw my arms around him. He toppled backward, crying out.
“What’s wrong?” I said, scrambling off him as he smoothed out a crushed scroll. “Oh, yikes—sorry.”
Nick unrolled the now creased page he held in his right hand. “This is a royal decree proclaiming that you are to be granted lands and the title of the Marquess of Pembroke.”
I covered my mouth with one hand, the humid smell of dirt reaching my nose from where my fingers had hit the earth.
When Nick grinned with flushed pride, I hugged him again, thanking him repeatedly. An alarming thought pierced my swelling excitement: Norfolk and the nobles already thought I wasn’t worthy of Nick’s attention, and with good reason. What would they think of my free pass into the English peerage? I reminded myself for the millionth time that I was here for Nick and that’s all that mattered.
We stretched out on the grass and lay there for as many blissful minutes as I could steal, kissing, and chatting—mostly kissing.
It had to have been early afternoon when Nick finally declared that he had to return to court to deal with a new trade bill. He was straightening his saddle when I spotted his bare finger and remembered that the blue-diamond ring was still in the coffer in my room.
I slid between him and the saddle, the closeness of our hips making his brows rise.
“Hello,” he said, looking right into my eyes as he kept tying the leather.
“I forgot to thank you for leaving the ring with me when you went to Calais.” The seriousness of the subject tightened my voice. “I didn’t use it behind your back, just so you know. I’d never do that.”
He swallowed hard. “I am relieved to hear it.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, and it’s good that we’re alone. This won’t take long.” My fingers drew circles on his muscular forearm. “One of my ladies, Bridget Nightingale, has a cousin who’s a soothsayer. She lives in Buckinghamshire.”
Nick’s hands paused on the leather. “Agnes Nightingale.”
“You know her?”
“Certainly not. She is a known heretic and ought to be burned. You must stay away from her.”
The harsh words sent me back a step. “Actually, I was hoping we’d go and see her.” Nick’s brows shot up, and I barreled on, my breath short. “Rather than burning her, she could help us with the blue-diamond ring. Maybe this Nightingale girl could tell us why a ring that was supposed to curse you sends people forward in time instead...to twenty-first-century America, of all places. And why didn’t the ring work properly the last time we used it? Maybe she can tell us.” I scanned Nick’s expression for evidence that he was also concerned about the ring acting oddly.
His body stiffened like a statue, before resuming his tying. “I admit that this alarms me.”
Relief expelled hot air from my lungs. “I know. What if the ring has stopped working altogether and we’re stuck here?”
His face twisted. “I mean to say that your words alarm me…your preoccupation with this ring and the dark arts. If the people even suspect that their queen is a heretic, they will petition to have you burned.” He tugged the leather to tighten the knot, unsettling his grunting horse. “Furthermore, what you say of being ‘stuck’…is that not the purpose of you being here? To stay?” He scraped a hand through his disheveled hair, looking frustrated.
“Of course it is!” I replied, trying not to lose my cool. “But you promised me that I could go back home and tell my mom why her only child has disappeared for the third time. When you asked me to marry you, you said that we had to come back to Tudor England immediately, which gave me hardly any chance to think and no time to talk to my mom.” I emphasized every word like Nick was a two-year-old.
He brought a hand to his brow, holding it there for a moment.
When he finally looked at me, he could hardly meet my eyes. “Forgive me…you speak the truth. I gave you my word, and I have been too occupied with all manner of headaches since we arrived to think of it.” His teeth grazed his bottom lip. “There remains much to prepare for your coronation, but you must see your mother.”
He found my fingers. “We will go to your home this night,” he said matter-of-factly, like he was suggesting tacos for dinner.
The floor slipped out from under me. “Tonight? We?”
“I fear that I will survive not if you return to your time without me. When there
is talk of war, a prince does well to remain secure in his chambers. Amid this Spain business, I can make preparations to be confined to my rooms without being disturbed, and we shall take leave to see your mother. God willing, I could get us a day at best. I pray you say it is enough.”
“It’s enough, it’s enough,” I cried, folding my arms around him and squeezing with relief so intense that it pinned a smile to my face.
An uncomfortable shiver jerked through me, wiping away the grin. I’d planted myself in Tudor England for nearly two months. How had my presence here affected the path of history? Not to mention my poor mom. Guilt thickened my throat at the thought of what my disappearance had done to her. At least now I could finally tell her the truth about where I went and end all the mystery.
It was time for my mom to meet Nicholas the Ironheart.
6
It was past midnight when Nick summoned me to his chambers, a portrait of cute kingliness as he pored over a scroll in a navy-blue jerkin with teal herringbone stitching. He must’ve commanded we be given our privacy because the gentlemen and pages swiftly evaporated from sight. Guarding my chastity was evidently no longer priority number one now that time travel was on the agenda.
I crawled right on top of him in the chair, its wooden legs protesting with a creak. He was chewing a mint sprig that smelled like toothpaste, and a gilded wine cup sat on the hand-painted table beside him.
“Sleepy?” he said, planting a gentle kiss on my nose.
“That’s me,” I replied, drawing my knees up and snuggling into his chest. The room always felt lighter when we were alone.
He dropped his papers onto the side table and shifted to get comfortable beneath me.
It was the first time we’d cuddled this closely without kissing each other senseless, the heaviness of the situation overpowering the intense attraction between us. Plus, all I could think about was whether the ring would fail to work and if I’d never get back to my time again. I shut out the depressing thought, and we stayed wrapped together on a sixteenth-century chair, waiting for sleep to carry us to an uncertain future.
The first time I awakened, Nick was deep in slumberland. The candle beside us flickered lower, and the silk bed sheets were still folded open, prepared for the king’s rest.
Please, no. We’re still at Hampton Court…I’m never getting home again!
I twisted to relieve my stiff muscles, and Nick stirred.
“The ring’s not working again,” I hissed in the darkness.
“Fear not,” he said drowsily. “Let us move to the bed. Perhaps it is not restful enough here.”
Hoping with every fiber of my being that he was right, I followed him onto the raised four-poster bed and crawled into the silk sheets. Maybe that’s what went wrong on the uncomfortable riverbank when the ring failed to transport us through time on the first try—perhaps we hadn’t fallen into a deep enough sleep for it to work correctly. Nick hugged me from behind, and I nestled into the cradle of his arms, waiting for the tiredness to overcome my body again. Every hour it took for us to get to my world was one less hour I could spend there.
If we get back there at all.
My body had begun to sink into the mattress when I rolled over onto a jagged rock, the humid odor of moist sand overwhelming my nose. My sticky eyelids broke open.
The creamy edges of Nick’s linen shirt fluttered in the wind from a few feet away. He stood facing the lapping shoreline of the Connecticut River—right where we’d left the last time. I could’ve cried out with relief. The sun’s position suggested it was mid-morning.
“Good morning,” I called, my voice hoarse with sleep. He spun to me and smiled, but his cheeks were drained of color. Still, the sight of him in my time made my chest twist with an ache I felt keenly. He was a Tudor king, yet he somehow suited this place. If only this world could be enough for him…if I alone could be enough for him.
Goosebumps speckled my neck. Temperatures had cooled since we were last here.
Nick climbed back up the bank and took my hand. His shook a little. “What of your cloth…and mine?” He gestured to my white satin stomacher and lush gown the color of red wine.
“If anything, they’ll help explain where we’ve been,” I said, realizing how idiotic that sounded. Emmie. You haven’t just been in Maine for the summer.
We scaled the tangle of muddy roots until the field behind my house emerged through the slouching willow trees. It felt like I hadn’t been here in ten years. Something was comforting about the quiet meadow dotted with the tired old horses. If you squinted to shut out the power lines and the glimpses of white fencing from Bayberry Street, we could’ve been in Tudor England. I hoped that Nick took solace in that as we inched closer to my fence, one petrified step at a time. Were we really doing this?
As the chipped tiles from our roof came into view, my palms dampened with sweat. My fingers slipped on the latch of our fence, and Nick pressed his hand to my back to steady me.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, swinging the gate open. He nodded stiffly, and we pushed through to my yard. The silence made clear that our schnauzer Ruby wasn’t home: she’d bark at any sound. Mercifully, the spare key was still wedged beneath the untrimmed hedge.
I unlocked the back-porch doors and took a hesitant step inside. “Mom?” I called, my stomach in knots. Nick must’ve been sweating bullets as we entered the weathered clapboard house. To him, Carol Grace was more than his future mother-in-law—she was practically an alien from an unknown world.
Silence greeted us. Perhaps Mom was upstairs asleep after one of her overnight nursing shifts. Dishes clogged the kitchen sink, and a trace of coffee circled the bottom of a cup on the counter. A pile of unfolded laundry sat on the living room floor beside a fresh spaghetti-sauce stain on the carpet.
I left Nick on the couch and hopped up the stairs, two at a time. Mom’s unmade bed was empty, but her toothbrush felt damp. Prescription pill bottles sat opened on the counter, but I didn’t know what they were for. Remorse wrenched my insides apart. Had my disappearance made my mom sick?
Opening my bedroom door revealed the modest space mostly as I’d left it. The only thing different was my suitcase: it sat open on the bed with the contents unsettled. My old jewelry tackle box looked pitiful beside the neighboring trio of new sweatshirts I’d bought for London. All those hopes and plans that never happened. The book Mom bought me, A Student’s Guide to Living and Learning in London, had been searched through. She must’ve looked for signs for why I never caught that plane.
Feeling heavy with guilt, I untied the pieces of my Tudor gown and changed into jeans and a pale-pink sweatshirt. After tying on my sneakers, I wrapped my arms around myself, savoring the comfort of cotton.
“Mom’s not here,” I said, trotting back downstairs. “But she was home recently.”
Nick nodded, more color escaping his cheeks at the sight of my modern outfit. “We will wait.”
I spent the next half an hour tidying up while Nick tapped his thighs with his fingers, surveying the living room he’d seen once before. I could tell he was trying not to flip out, which I appreciated. His nervous gaze scanned the faded wooden dining table…the threadbare cushions on the couch…the paint-chipped walls…my masculine outfit. He must’ve thought my time was so drab compared with Hampton Court and his twelve thousand other palaces. Thank the stars he didn’t ask me about the black rectangle in the corner; he was so not ready for daytime television.
After washing up the dishes, I made us some tea and buttered toast. Nick inspected the neatly sliced bread before risking a bite.
When he glanced at me, it was clear that honey-wheat bread wasn’t the heaviest thing on his mind. “Tell me, Emmie; I must know. Is the King of England a Tudor?”
I choked on my crust. Last time we were here, I’d refused to tell Nick anything about the future. My presence in the sixteenth century was bad enough; we didn’t need its king editing his decisions to accommodate my version of what was to
come. But we were getting married now, and he deserved something. So I explained the current state of the British monarchy and the added role of prime minister. Nick didn’t have a conniption or start foaming at the mouth, which was a relief. He then asked me about France and Spain, but all I shared was that Europe was mostly at peace. When I reminded him that America had no monarch but a president who was accountable to the people, his brows practically hit his hairline. “That is madness.”
“Actually, a democratic government is infinitely more equitable and fair than an absolute monarchy.” When I realized what I’d said, I rolled my eyes at myself. I was talking like him, even while back in my world. All those lessons with my ladies were starting to pay off.
“It defies the will of God Himself,” said Nick. “I am pleased that England remains dutiful of its princes.” He shook his head, glaring into his teacup, genuinely miffed.
I swallowed an urge to quote some of the Declaration of Independence—especially the part about all men and women being created equal. It wasn’t like I had no regard for the royals, but we’d come a long way since the divine right of kings.
Our shared silence was an agreement to disagree, and we finished our snacks with no sign of my mom. I considered calling her, but if she was driving, it might shock her into a car accident.
A distant vibration drummed a ripple across the sky through the screen door.
I stood up and grabbed Nick’s arm. “I know what we can do for a few minutes that won’t require a car. Come with me.”
We headed back to the field where two horses stood flicking their tails and crossed the field to Bayberry Street. Nick gaped at everything in sight, asking me what more things were, and I did my best to explain without freaking him out. We cut away from the street and onto a rustic path behind my friend Mia’s farm. It led to an abandoned fire lookout tower on the crest of a small hill.
“It’s over here,” I said, leading Nick to the tower. I climbed the first few rungs of the ladder, brushing the orangey rust residue off my fingers. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
Emmie and the Tudor Queen Page 7