The Last Howard Girl (Tudor Chronicles Book 3)

by Lesley Jepson

  ‘But ….’ Cat was at a loss what to say, ‘but your courses, my lovely. Does he not realise that they don’t happen? He shares your bed most nights, so surely …?’

  ‘Do men mark such things, Cat? Does Francis?’

  ‘Probably not, Princess. Francis is a most attentive husband, kind and caring, no matter how people think he has become dour and forbidding,’ Cat smiled and blushed slightly, ‘but unless I tell him he can’t visit my bed, he never thinks to ask, so no, Lord Robert probably has no idea.’

  ‘I love him so much, Cat. But I am less than fair to him. Even now, I make him …., I mean I don’t let him …..’ Elizabeth sighed and dropped her shoulders, ‘I let him think there might be a child if he spills his seed inside me.’ She sighed again and shrugged. ‘That’s not being honest, Cat. Or fair to him. But I love him so.’

  Elizabeth began to chew her lip and Cat continued to brush and then braid her hair until Elizabeth’s breathing had calmed and her teeth relinquished their biting. Cat twisted Elizabeth’s braided hair up into a coil and secured it on top of her head with several hair pins and ornamental combs, then pinned a small lacy coif in place to hold it safely.

  ‘I know he loves you too, Princess. And I think he is happy with however much you choose to share of yourself. What man wouldn’t be happy with a beautiful princess such as you to call his own? He’ll come round, and you can speak to him on your ride later. Explain a little, if you choose.’

  ‘I’ll try and be nicer to him, Cat. I don’t want him to leave me; I couldn’t bear that. I shall try and think of a reward to keep him by my side.’ Elizabeth rose from the chair and turned to Cat, smiling. ‘Some salve, I think, before I go riding.’ She pointed to the pot that was at the front of the shelf, ready to go into the pocket of her gown. ‘And I will take it with me, Cat. Just in case.’

  ***

  ‘Lady Sheffield.’ Robert interrupted his rounds of the horse stalls as he saw Lissey at the far end, sinking into a curtsey. Tom Sadler kept silent on top of the hay bales, polishing Robert’s stirrups.

  ‘Lord Robert.’ Lissey rose from her curtsey and walked towards him, a vision in blue silk that complimented her fair skin and blonde hair. He quickened his stride and met her at the edge of the stable block, before she could soil her silken slippers on the filth covering the floor.

  ‘Come, my Lady. We can walk this way, where it is cleaner underfoot.’ Robert took Lissey’s hand and placed it on his arm, a gentlemanly gesture that he would extend to any lady of the court. ‘Did you come for a purpose, my Lady?’ Robert gazed down at the delicate woman by his side, and smiled into her eyes as she looked up at him through her lashes.

  ‘Yes, my Lord. I come with a message from her Majesty.’ Robert raised his brows encouragingly, and Lissey continued, ‘She wishes to go riding with you and two grooms at eleven o’clock. She had a dreadful headache and thinks taking the air will do her good.’

  ‘Indeed, my Lady. Well it might.’ Robert relinquished Lissey’s hand and bowed as they reached the door back into the palace. ‘Tell her Majesty it shall be as she has ordered. I live to serve her.’ Robert bowed again and walked towards the stable again, then turned suddenly just as Lissey had her hand on the latch of the door.

  ‘Lady Sheffield, I was sorry to hear about your husband. He was a fine man and he will be missed.’

  ‘He was, my Lord. And I do miss him greatly. But,’ she turned and opened the door, mounting the step and crossing the threshold before peering round the door as she closed it, ‘I don’t miss him as much as I did. Not with all the distractions at court. My Lord,’ and she closed the door before Robert, taken aback by her words, could think of a suitable reply.

  ***

  ‘Thank you for having the horses ready, Robbie.’ Elizabeth swept through the stable block door pulling on her riding gloves, crop tucked neatly under her arm and a jaunty riding hat with a burgundy feather perched on her hair.

  ‘I live to serve your Majesty.’ Robert bowed low and didn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘And who are the grooms accompanying us, Robbie?’ Elizabeth looked about her with a smile, determined that she would be kind and pleasant with him, regardless of the provocation.

  ‘My manservant Thomas will accompany us for your safety, Majesty. And my squire Tom Sadler to look after the horses, should your Majesty wish to walk when we get to wherever your Majesty is pleased to ride.’ Robert bowed again, and Elizabeth felt her face ache with her relentless smile; she was determined to be agreeable and joyful.

  ‘Then help me mount my horse, Robbie, and we shall make the most of this lovely day.’

  ‘Majesty.’ Robert took hold of her hand and led her across to the mounting block, helping her to step up while young Tom held the horse steady for the Queen. Elizabeth smiled her gratitude at the boy, and he grinned and bowed in return, then scampered off to mount his own horse so they didn’t leave him behind. Thomas sat on his own horse as if he had been born in the saddle, loose limbed and confident, hand always on the hilt of his dagger.

  ‘Majesty,’ he nodded sharply, and Elizabeth nodded back briefly, trying to suppress a shiver as she looked at the taciturn man.

  ‘Is your Majesty ready to set off?’ Robert’s voice came from behind her as he mounted his own horse then walked to her side.

  ‘Yes, Robbie,’ called Elizabeth, kicking her heels into her horse’s side and galloping away from the stables. Robert encouraged his horse into a trot first of all, then he gathered speed and galloped after her. Thomas and Tom trotted swiftly after them, careful to keep them in sight, but not to catch them up. They both knew that the Queen and Lord Dudley wished to have a private conversation and it was their job to make sure they were safe.

  It didn’t take long for Elizabeth to reach the lake, where she slowed her horse and allowed him to drink from the water’s edge. Robert came to a halt beside her.

  ‘Do you wish to dismount, Majesty?’

  Elizabeth sighed inwardly, then turned her best smile towards Robert. ‘Yes please, Robbie. But this mount is exceedingly high. I shall need you to lift me down.’ She remained seated until Robert came to the side of her horse and lifted his arms, clasping her waist and lifting her off the horse. She put her hands on his shoulders and made sure she slid down the length of his body. When she reached the level of his mouth, she kissed his lips gently and whispered ‘I’m sorry, Robbie. Please let us be friends again.’

  He set her feet carefully on the ground but kept his hands round her waist. Tom and Thomas came to a stop underneath the trees, but remained on their mounts.

  ‘I’m sorry too, Bess. I don’t want to argue with you. I was disappointed, that’s all. We shall forget I spoke, and we shall be as we were to one another.’ He bent his head and kissed her lips properly, tongue tasting the salve on her lips and pressing at the seam of her mouth to gain entry. Elizabeth smiled into the kiss and clasped him to her. Suddenly she pulled away with a questioning look and Robert gazed at her in puzzlement.

  ‘Bess? What is wrong?’

  ‘Mail, Robbie. I can feel mail under your doublet. Why do you wear mail, with me?’

  He took her hand and led her to a fallen tree, seating her along the trunk and sitting beside her. ‘I have had threats, Bess. Threats against my life. When I am not in my chamber,’ he raised one eyebrow suggestively, ‘or yours, then I wear a thin coat of mail under my doublet. And my shirts are made of silk.’

  Elizabeth gasped. ‘I had no idea, Robbie,’ she breathed in a horrified whisper, ‘you have never said.’ She clasped his hands to her chest and dipped her head to kiss his knuckles. She looked up at him curiously, ‘Why silk, Robbie?’

  ‘It is harder to puncture with an arrow, Bess. And if a blade should
get near enough to pierce my mail, then silk in the wound makes it less likely to fester than cotton or linen or wool. It doesn’t shed filaments, you see.’

  ‘Oh. I never knew that,’ she said, startled that he should know such an extraordinary piece of information.

  ‘My father studied war craft, Bess, and passed his knowledge on to me. That is one of the tricks the Mongol hordes used when they fought across Asia in the twelfth century. Silk next to the skin.’

  Elizabeth blinked owlishly at him, then smiled. ‘I have something to ask you, my Lord Robert.’ He looked at her askance, speaking to him with his formal title.

  ‘Majesty?’

  ‘I won’t marry you, Robbie. You must accept that, and not ask me again.’ She looked at him quickly and pressed on before he could interrupt her with protestations. ‘But I would have you with me during the day, as well as at night. I want you to join my Privy Council, Robbie, and allow me to invest you as a Knight of the Garter.’

  ‘Good grief, Bess. Will they allow it, do you think? Cecil and Walsingham and the others?’

  ‘They will do as they are damned well told, Robbie. God’s blood! I am the Queen, and I will order it as I wish it to be!’

  Chapter 27

  obert found his days settling in to a familiar pattern. Elizabeth still required him to be Master of Horse, in addition to all the other honours and duties she had bestowed upon him so he undertook to train the squires early every morning.

  They practised with the quitain, aiming a cut-down lance at a target held on a swivel. If they struck it true, it would fall from where it was suspended. However, if they mistook their hit, the counter-weight would swing round incredibly swiftly and knock them off their horse. It took a great deal of practise to outwit the quintain, the squires found.

  Robert also instructed them in archery, as archery tournaments were very popular with the court, for both the ladies and gentlemen. They had to learn to string their own bow, which required strength; to bend the bow sufficiently to loop the string onto both ends, to then release it and have sufficient tension to fire the arrows was quite a skill, but improved the strength in their shoulders and back.

  Robert felt that the basics in swordsmanship were best taught one to one, so he would set some of the other squires practising their thrusts and parries with wooden swords, but the pupil he selected for the day would use a proper blade, although without an edge. It was important to use a weapon that would be the correct weight, to develop the muscle and skill to wield it. The boys thought wielding a sword was easy, something they had played at since they were able to walk, but the reality of the weight and the length of a real weapon meant that sword practice was hard, hot work.

  ‘Right, Tom. Knock my sword away,’ Robert had chosen Tom Sadler for his pupil. Tom hefted the sword and knocked away the blade Robert pointed towards him.

  ‘How did that feel, Tom? How did that feel in your arm, your shoulder?’

  Tom thought for a moment. ‘I felt the pull in my neck, my Lord, and well as my shoulder. It didn’t hurt my arm above my elbow, but I can feel the pull in my forearm, as well as a tremor in my wrist,’ Tom grinned, ‘but I can go again, my Lord.’

  Robert smiled at the boy’s eagerness. ‘Then feel the weight of the blade again, and stand with your feet apart. Find your balance and then come at me slowly. Don’t rush. Place your blows carefully and I will knock them away. See what you learn then.’

  The boy obediently stood as instructed, then bounced on his toes a couple of times, gauging how far away from Robert he needed to be before he tried to thrust his blade. He raised the sword and stepped closer, swiping the blade towards Robert slowly, but with a clear intent to get behind his guard. Robert parried the first thrust, then as Tom came back from the opposite direction, parried the second. Tom moved nearer and struck again, and Robert felt the blow up his own blade.

  ‘Well done, lad. Keep it up. Keep coming, but don’t forget to try and turn my blade away,’ Robert called encouragement and Tom continued his onslaught with the sword. By the time Robert called time on their encounter, they were both out of breath and sweating profusely. The morning had turned very warm since they had started their practice.

  ‘I need to use my elbow as well as my wrist, my Lord. To balance against the length of the blade. Otherwise it will be knocked from my grasp.’

  ‘Very good, Tom. You learn well,’ Robert breathed as he stripped off the leather jerkin he wore when he was in the stable yard. He dropped it over a fence post, and followed it with the light mail shirt he always wore. He didn’t fear any of the boys in the yard, and Thomas was seated by the door to the palace, carefully slicing the bark from a twig with his dagger, but always watchful.

  ‘Here, lad. Have a drink and sluice yourself.’ Robert handed Tom a dipper of water from the water butt in the corner, and the boy drank deeply before pouring the rest over his curls. He laughed as the water dripped from his hair and into his eyes, and pushed the wet locks from his face. Robert took the dipper from him and scooped himself a drink from the barrel, swallowing the cool clear water quickly. Then dipping again, he poured the liquid over his own head, wetting his hair and soaking his silk shirt. ‘Oh, that feels so good,’ he whispered as he bent to take another dipper of water.

  ‘My Lord.’ Thomas’s voice, flat and unemotional yet still urgent. Robert pushed his wet hair aside and looked up. His eyes widened in astonishment.

  ‘Lady Sheffield, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here? Have you come from the Queen?’

  ‘No, my Lord. The Queen is with her dressmakers and Lady Knollys. I saw the boys practising through the window, and I thought I might watch.’

  Robert raised his brows in surprise, but said smoothly, ‘I am sure you are most welcome, my Lady.’ He gestured with his arm at the squires practising with their wooden swords. ‘They all work hard at the steps and movements, my Lady. It is just the weight and length of a real weapon they are unfamiliar with.’

  Lissey Sheffield turned to Robert, looking at his broad chest where the wet silk clung to the outline of his muscles as if part of his skin, the dark dusting of hair clearly visible through the transparent fabric. Her eyes raked his torso, and lowered to take in his long legs, clad in supple black breeches and soft leather boots, then she slowly raised her eyes to meet his own. Robert could feel a slight flush under his skin; it had been a long time since he had noticed any woman but Elizabeth look at him so boldly.

  ‘But you, my Lord. You are not unfamiliar with the weight,’ she looked him directly in the eye, then looked down at his breeches, ‘or the length,’ she smiled and then looked up at him again, ‘of a real weapon.’ She turned to go back into the palace, then looked over her shoulder and smiled again, lips tilted upwards and eyes sparkling at his obvious discomfiture.

  ‘And neither am I.’

  ***

  ‘Lady Mother, Lady Mother,’ Tom Sadler shouted up the stairs as he cannoned through the door and made it tremble on its hinges. Meg looked over the banister rail down into the hall and then trotted down the stairs to grasp her son in a great hug.

  ‘Hello, my lovely boy,’ Meg smiled at her son and gripped his shoulders. Her brows rose as she felt his shoulders and down his arms and gasped, ‘Good grief, Tom, what muscles!’

  He snorted at the expression on her face, ‘Yes, Mother. We practice hard every day, but today is Ed’s turn so Lord Robert allowed me to borrow a horse so I might come and see you and the little ones.’ Meg led him up the stairs as he spoke, and opened the door to the huge sunny room on the second floor that was the nursery. Tom saw who was sat by the hearth, with a beautiful blonde toddler cradled in one arm and a tiny baby cuddled into the other.

  ‘Letty. How wonderful to see you up a
nd about again.’ He strode across and kissed her cheek, careful of the two precious girls in her lap. Tom smiled down at the baby and stroked her tiny hand with one large finger, and then stroked the cheek of the other little girl, who turned her face into her mother’s side, feigning shyness but smiling as she did so. Tom poked his finger into her ribs and she giggled and stole a look at him.

  ‘Would you like something to eat, my son?’ asked Meg, already knowing the answer and moving to the bell-pull in the corner. The maid answered almost immediately, bobbing a curtsey at Meg and looking at the fourteen-year old Tom in wonder.

  ‘Some bread and cheese please, Jennie. Some apples and sweetmeats, and a jug of small ale.’ Meg smiled at the girl, who had obviously never seen Tom before and was having trouble dragging her gaze from him. ‘Jennie? Please?’

  ‘Oh, sorry ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Straight away, ma’am.’ Jennie punctuated her reply with a bob of a curtsey every time she said “Ma’am”, and then turned on her heel and managed to get herself out of the door without bumping into the jamb, while her eyes never left Tom.

  ‘You’ve made an impression there, Tom,’ laughed Lettice from the chair. Tom lifted his brows and shrugged helplessly, grinning across at her.

  ‘Tom-om, Tom-om,’ shrieked a tiny girl as she launched herself across the room from where she had been setting out a doll’s dinner service on a small table, followed closely by a red-haired boy travelling on sturdy legs at an equal speed, and who clutched Tom’s leg to himself, ‘Om.’

  ‘Hello, Lady Jane,’ smiled Tom as he caught his youngest sister and swept her high in the air, making her giggle in delight. He set her down and ruffled the hair of the chubby boy still clutching his leg, ‘Hello, Sir Richard.’

  ‘D-ickon, ‘Om. No ‘Ichard. I am D-ickon.’

  ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, Sir Dickon. Are you taking supper with Lady Jane?’ Jane nodded excitedly, ‘We will bring you a cup of ale, Tom-om. You may stay for supper?’ Her head tilted to one side as she asked the question, every inch a lady. Meg turned away so her youngest daughter wouldn’t see her shoulders moving as she laughed at the solemnity with which she invited her brother for supper.