Emmie and the Tudor Queen

by Natalie Murray

  Lucinda and Bridget gathered my tissue-soft train and followed me down the narrow staircase and outside, my feet slipping around in my satin pumps that were half a size too big. My heart sank a little as I caught sight of the overcast sky. It hadn’t looked that grim when I went upstairs. The next to meet my vision was Thomas Grey, also wincing at the clouds before he spotted me and dropped into a gentlemanly bow.

  Nervous excitement hummed low in my belly at the sight of Nick. He stood before the Bishop of Winchester in a coat of marble-colored satin pinned with solid-gold buttons, an affectionate smile adorning his regal face. Tufts of tousled hair peeked from beneath his crown of glittering crosses and fleur-de-lis.

  Smiling so wide that my cheeks could’ve touched my eyes, I strolled toward him to a gentle rendition of “Lady Greensleeves” performed by a flutist. I halted beside my fiancé and gazed up into the blue-green stare that possessed every part of my heart.

  Bishop Winchester delivered most of the service in Latin, and I copied Nick when he knelt on a cushion and read from a prayer book, the somberness of the ceremony surprising me. In my time, weddings were cheerful expressions of love and commitment, but in Tudor England, it was a deadly serious vow before God that I felt could never be undone. That might’ve freaked me out had I been marrying anyone else, but with Nick, the assurance that he’d always be mine made me feel safe and warm all over. We were halfway through the ceremony when the skies made good on their threats and freezing raindrops began spilling from the clouds. At any other time, I’d have shrieked and run for cover, but I just giggled as Nick made an adorable scowl at the sky.

  “A most glorious day indeed for the wedding of God’s chosen king!” he cried with mock anger, and we all laughed before the ceremony was sped up.

  Thomas Grey quickly presented matching gold rings carved with the entwined initials N&E. Nick slid mine over my fourth finger, and a taut balloon burst inside me, releasing a euphoric feeling of calm. My fingertips brushed the ridges of an inscription on the inside of the ring, the Latin words Ne Dimittas.

  Nick smiled at me, reading my thoughts. “It means ‘do not let go’,” he said under his breath. I beamed, kissing the gold band circling his fourth finger. It was the phrase I’d whispered to him when we first traveled through time together.

  Do not let go.

  Ne dimittas.

  Thunder whipped the sky, and Nick hurried me inside to where the cooks had squeezed a feast of dishes onto the circular dining table. There was just enough space for our small wedding party, and we dug into platters of duck, quail, and swan, enjoying the closeness and chatter that reminded me of Thanksgiving at my friend Mia’s house. Between courses, Nick held my hand beneath the table, our thumbs caressing in a way that made my thighs press together. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten that tonight was also our wedding night.

  The moment I remembered what that meant, I could think of nothing else. My eyes locked on Lucinda Parker as she chatted politely with the bishop between small bites of violet-flavored marzipan. Lucinda knew what to do—she’d been with Nick before. I chugged an entire cup of water, but it didn’t cut through the drought in my mouth.

  “The hour is late, and our lady is undoubtedly wearied,” said Nick, dabbing his lips with a silk napkin. “We are grateful for your service and bid you retire to bed.” Everyone rose to bow to the king, and Nick walked me toward the stairwell. He paused there, my heart beating into my throat.

  “You may expect my short return, my lady,” he said a little huskily, pressing his lips to my hand.

  Despite my nerves, a thrill danced through me, low in my stomach. A moment later, Bridget and Lucinda arrived to take me upstairs. Bridget couldn’t contain her glee at the idea of a wedding night, which only escalated my jitters. They drew me a bath scented with fragrant herbs, washed and combed my hair, and helped me into a silk nightgown that I noticed could be easily untied. Candles danced light up the walls, my throat sticky with anticipation. Bridget offered me a knowing grin as they left me alone, and Lucinda wouldn’t look at me for the first time in weeks. I tried not to let her obvious envy affect me as I climbed into bed and pulled the fur covers to my chin. Despite the fire hissing and cracking in the hearth, I couldn’t get warm.

  Several minutes later, the distant song of a flute rapidly gained in volume until it was right outside the door. I sat up to a gentle knock and men’s voices. Nick strolled into the dim room in his nightshirt, followed by Bishop Winchester, Thomas Grey, and three of Nick’s gentlemen of the bedchamber.

  OMG, has war broken out or the plague arrived on our doorstep?

  Winchester launched into a benediction in Latin, blessing Nick, me, and the bed. A gentleman carried in two dining chairs and angled them toward the mattress, and Bishop Winchester and Thomas Grey sat down in them. Servants carried in a buffet table before dressing it with wine and bread.

  Nick sat on the mattress beside me, smelling delicious in his silk nightshirt. A thick fur blanket still separated us.

  “Nick,” I said quietly, my cheeks hotter than the flames in the hearth. “What is going on?” The flutist trilled a little louder.

  “My queen, this is our wedding night,” he said with the same breathy emphasis. “You know not what is required to sanctify our marriage before God?”

  “I know what’s required, but with an audience? Is this some kind of creepy Tudor joke?” I hissed.

  Nick’s mouth opened and shut like he was lost for words. I spotted Thomas’s jowly face beyond Nick’s shoulder and yanked the covers a little higher.

  “The men are here to bear witness that the marriage is consummated,” Nick explained to me.

  “Yeah, I’m catching on to that.” The shiver returned to my skin.

  Nick’s gaze considered me for a moment before he twisted to face the cluster of men. “You may leave us and remain beyond the door.”

  Mercifully, the lot of them bowed and scurried out the hallway, shutting the door behind them.

  “Did I screw everything up?” I said to Nick, my fingers splayed over my face.

  He pulled my hand away to kiss the tip of my nose. “It is plainly not the custom in your time. The men may hear the consummation of the marriage, which will suffice.”

  A sigh of relief burst from my lips, and Nick smirked like I was cute. Our fingers were twisting together again, touching and swirling with focused strokes. There was so much excitement churning inside me that I almost felt faint. I brought his irresistible fingers to my mouth and began kissing them one by one. He watched me closely while combing his other hand through my hair, strong and steady. I rushed forward to kiss his parted lips, unable to hold back any longer. He sighed into my mouth as we fell together, the blanket still bunched between us. The weight of him on top of me made my back arch with the desire to be even closer, and I wrapped my legs around his hips, deepening our kisses.

  As I tugged the silk nightshirt up over Nick’s muscular shoulders, he whispered something in my ear. “With the men near to verify consummation of the marriage rites, Emmie, I cannot promise to be silent.”

  Something rumbled low in my abdomen as I guided him into a gentle roll off the blanket and kicked it to the floor.

  The few times I’d woken up beside Nick in Tudor England, he’d almost always disappeared before dawn. The next morning, however, there was no squawk of the cockerels, and the light filtering through the leaded window had no golden tinge. It was late, and the king still lay beside me, his bare skin tangled in linen sheets. He stirred at my movements, and I froze so he could sleep longer, but his eyes had already flickered open.

  At my insistence, we helped each other dress in our complicated outfits and ate a leisurely breakfast of manchet bread rolls, hard cheeses, and stewed fruits in the privacy of the bedchamber. Thomas Grey, Bishop Winchester, and my ladies had already left Robin House to give us some time alone, and, at last, Nick had nowhere more important to be but beside me in a simple bedroom. It felt like heaven.

>   Given how short the days had become, he suggested a walk outside while the sun was still high. With plain-clothes guards trailing us, we set off past the jumble of rose bushes becoming dormant for the winter and down the slope of wild lavender. We reached the clearing where we’d once shared a picnic and nervous glances, pausing to take in the memory with our arms entwined. And now we were back here as a married couple. The thought was almost insane.

  The wind whispered at us through the fruit trees as we strolled farther from the house, coming to the curve of a small hill. We hiked to the top, catching our breath as we took in the bird’s eye view of a honey-toned meadow interrupted by a village that was too small to be walled. In the distance, a handful of residents milled about in their veggie gardens like toy figurines. A girl in a white coif tilted her face up toward us.

  I instinctively stepped backward. “Do you know that village?” I said to Nick.

  He was snapping pink wildflowers off at the stems. “The hamlet? They are all about the place. Hardly more than farms and cottages.” He presented me with a bundle of fuchsia blooms. “For my queen.”

  I brought the fragrant petals to my nose, feeling my coy smile stretch my cheeks. Nick’s casual leathers clung to his legs in all the right places. It was still so long until bedtime.

  “Shall we make our return?” he said, heat stirring in his eyes. “I am feeling rather in need of rest, my beautiful wife.” His forearm pressed mine.

  I switched the flowers to my opposite hand so I could tug him down the hill. “I’m also beat from all this walking,” I said. “I could use a lie down.” We headed back for the house with flutters of anticipation that made my legs weak. Being married was wonderful.

  Later that afternoon, I sat wiping off my makeup with a damp cloth, buzzing with happiness. While Bridget and Lucinda had become my beloved girl crew, I didn’t ache to have them back in my company at all times with little privacy. I imagined Nick and I never returning to the palace, just living out our lives at Robin House while I learned how to grow vegetables like the villagers from the hamlet and he tended to his roses. This was what I came back for. This was the life I craved with Nick.

  He dropped to one knee behind me, swiping my hair to the side. The touch of his lips sent a ripple of goosebumps across my skin. “We must soon determine your royal badge,” he said. “I propose a swan.”

  I reached behind me to glide my hand up his neck, warming my fingers in his soft curls. “A bit graceful for me, don’t you think? Do you really see me as a delicate little swan?” I fluttered my eyelashes.

  “An elephant?” he offered, sliding into a chair beside mine.

  I whacked his arm. I’d actually been thinking about this. “A phoenix,” I replied. “The bird that rises from its ashes to be born again. A bird that begins a new life.”

  His tender smile fired another love-dart into my chest.

  “A phoenix is fitting.” The soft tips of his fingers stroked my forearm. “We must also settle upon your household, your patronages, your council. Do you enjoy your ladies? We will appoint them in greater numbers.”

  A mild-mannered knock tapped the door. Nick rose to his full, imposing height. “Come,” he said.

  A skinny attendant with acne pustules bowed from the doorway. “Your Majesty, a messenger brings urgent news.”

  Nick stepped closer to me. “What news?”

  When the kid glanced at me and hesitated, Nick commanded, “Speak, boy!”

  “The Duke of Norfolk has escaped capture by night and is believed to have made for Dover, Your Majesty,” he stumbled. “There is word the duke is planning a revolt on the grounds of your betrothal to the Lady Pembroke.”

  Nick grabbed the boy by his stiff collar. I cried out, scratching at Nick’s arm to let go. He obliged, and the kid dropped to the floorboards.

  Nick leaned over him, speaking through his teeth. “The Duke of Norfolk has been stripped of such title. On pain of death, you will refer to his person only as Henry Howard, the traitor.”

  The boy hunched forward and begged for forgiveness, his bony shoulders shaking.

  “Make ready the horses and coaches to return to Hampton Court at once,” the king snapped at him. The poor kid couldn’t get out the door fast enough.

  Nick dropped into the chair, catching his head in his hands.

  My voice wavered with both shock and guilt. “You didn’t kill him,” I said, the memory crystallizing. “I accused you of executing Norfolk and lying to me about it, but you didn’t. You did send him away…I’m so sorry.”

  Nick’s chest swelled with tense breaths. “That is true. I killed him not, Emmie, but I should have. For now, that traitor Henry Howard is intending to kill us.”

  15

  Nick and I rode back to Hampton Court Palace at first light, leaving the cherished privacy we’d shared at Robin House behind in a cloud of dust. Our honeymoon was officially over now that a disgraced former duke was raising an army to bring us down.

  From the moment we returned to court, the king disappeared into secretive council meetings for hours on end. When I did get to see him, I expected the dark moods and outbursts that were his trademark in tough times. Instead, however, he adorned me with jewels and gifts, spoiled me with fancy feasts, staged private performances in my chambers, and issued a wedding announcement across the country. While behind the scenes Nick may have sent soldiers to find Henry Howard—the man formerly known as the Duke of Norfolk—publicly, he was playing every kingly card he had, flaunting his wealth and power to me so I would feel protected rather than afraid. I didn’t want to muddle things further by telling him that all I needed to feel safe was to have him close to me.

  But instead of privacy and seclusion, the king had put every aspect of our public life on fast-forward. He ordered the commissioners in charge of my coronation to work quickly, and my crowning as queen was scheduled for the first week of December in a flurry of dress fittings, practice ceremonies, and etiquette coaching. I missed Alice even more, who would’ve kept me calm with her wry jokes and explanations of things I didn’t understand. As pleased as we all were for her to be reunited with her mom, it wasn’t just me who felt the pinch of her absence. Francis Beaumont didn’t dance with anyone at the court feasts, and his usual wayward spirit had simmered, which I suspected was also because Nick had gone ahead with our wedding, despite Francis’s misgivings. Fortunately for the both of us, a letter soon arrived from Alice that announced she’d be back at court in time for the coronation. Yes!

  Whether Kit would join the festivities, however, was another battle between Nick and me.

  “She didn’t even get to come to our wedding,” I pleaded to him over our supper of roasted fish in his dining chamber.

  His face made it clear that his sister traveling was still a sore point. “The roads are too dangerous for the princess to travel such a distance, especially with that traitor about. You know that I had wished to wait for a summer coronation, but now that Henry Howard intends to turn the people against us and bring my kingdom to bloodshed, we must delay no longer. As it is God’s will, I will see my wife become queen, and I will thereafter crush that spawn of the devil and make an example of him.”

  I moped over my salmon fillet, hating the idea of Kit missing out on the thrills of the coronation that were right up her street. Still, I had to face that Nick was the expert on the safety of princesses who’d once been destined to die. Kit and I would just have to share a private celebration when I could return to Kenilworth. I planned to ask Nick if we could spend the next summer there—just us and Kit. I couldn’t think of a better newlywed vacation.

  December arrived, bringing fewer sunlight hours and a cloudy coolness that promised snow. Nick’s distracted mood made it clear that Norfolk was still at large, yet the king remained defiant about the coronation plans. In keeping with tradition, we were to spend the night before the ceremony at the Tower of London. Our flotilla of barges sailed along the curvy Thames, carrying hundreds of attenda
nts, courtiers, ladies, and guards. It took nearly a day for us to reach the Tower’s sloshing water gate, where I had to hide my nose to obscure the stench of fish and sewage.

  We were to lodge in the medieval tower of St. Thomas that overlooked the river, its stained-glass windows offering glimpses of the slanted red roofs atop London Bridge. I didn’t want to leave the safety of the spacious bedchamber with its own chapel, and it dawned on me just how nervous I was about the coronation ceremony. I would’ve swapped the pomp and splendor for the intimacy of our simple wedding a thousand times over, but Nick’s enthusiasm pacified my bursts of blind panic.

  The city’s curfew bells clanged at dusk. The blacksmiths and carpenters halted their hammering in the alleyways below, and an eerie, silent, blackness descended over London. I slept surprisingly soundly beside Nick, and we both rose early to take morning prayers in our chapel. After a lingering kiss goodbye, he slipped away to prepare for the big day in his own chambers, and my heart rate skyrocketed again with nervous jitters.

  Lucinda and Bridget arrived after breakfast, sending my squeals of relief bouncing across the brightly colored tile floor.

  “Mistress Grey has been caught up on the roads,” Bridget said with an apologetic grimace, sending my stomach into free-fall. I’d have to cope with all this pageantry without Alice after all.

  But my spirits lifted again as Bridget and Lucinda dressed me for the ceremony in an outfit too beautiful to be believed. My scarlet-red kirtle and stomacher were stitched with sapphires amid golden wing patterns that broadened as they descended to the floor. The gown draped over the top was made entirely of snow-white fur. It made me ill to think about what animals may have been slaughtered to construct the silky cloak, but it would at least keep me warm. My hair hung loose in combed waves, the top of my head left bare in readiness for my crown. The final touches were a sash woven entirely from white diamonds, plus the jewels of the Queens of England which Nick had given me when he proposed to me—a magnificent necklace of glittering blue diamonds with matching earrings.