“Not by drinking it away,” Minuette answered, moving the wine away from him. “Drinking too much might buy you a few hours of forgetfulness, but it will not teach you how to rule.”
“Then what will?”
“Your own conscience. The guidance of men who both love and respect you. Do not focus all your attention on your enemies, Will. For there are many, like Lord Burghley, who serve not for the sake of expediency but because they believe in you.”
“And you.” William touched her cheek with his fingertips. “You have always been my best and truest champion.” As he traced the line of her cheek, the sensation went beyond pleasure to something both more familiar and more intimate.
She must have seen the many shades of emotions in his face, for her eyes filled with tears. “Were it in my power, Will, I would give you all the confidence and courage and wisdom you could ever need.”
“You give me all of that.” He hesitated. “I do hope that I give you something in return.”
A tear slid down her cheek and William brushed it away with his thumb. She reached up and clasped her hand over his, twining them together as she moved it to her lap. “The King of England thinks he has nothing to offer?” she said, aiming for lightness and only just falling short.
But he would not be swept aside. “Another woman might love me for my position, and from another woman I might be satisfied with so much. But not from you.”
She closed her eyes and he contented himself watching the sweep of her lashes, so much darker than her hair, against her skin. When she opened her eyes and spoke, her voice, which he knew as well as anyone’s, seemed to thrum beneath his skin.
“I love you as I love my own soul, Will, for we are so nearly the same. We act before we think, we risk all for our hearts, and we drive everyone around us mad with our impulses. Don’t ever think that it is your position I covet, for I would love you if you had nothing to your name but your own self.”
She put her hands on his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. “Tell me you believe me.”
William let his head drop forward, until their foreheads were touching. He was suddenly shy but there was something he wanted, so badly that he could taste it. Something he’d never wanted from anyone before.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” he whispered, head still against hers so he couldn’t see her reaction. “Not like that. I don’t mean … well, what you might think I mean. But you’re right that the only way I’ve slept at all these last months is drinking more than is wise. And then my sleep is restless and broken by dreams. I am so tired, Minuette. Will you stay long enough to see me to sleep?”
He sounded like a child, scared of the dark and the shadows. She must think him laughable. And it would open her to the worst of rumours. Gossips would assume that she had finally given in, that they had anticipated their wedding night as his father had with Anne Boleyn. But William was suddenly, absolutely certain that if she would just stay by him for a few hours, he would sleep better than he had since the smallpox.
He only realized she was crying when she withdrew her hands and moved back. Her cheeks shone wet and she looked unbearably sad, but her voice was steady. “I will stay.”
They spoke very little after that. Minuette ate an apple and, to please her, William ignored the wine and had some bread and stewed pheasant. When the food had been cleared, his attendants knew to withdraw and leave him be unless summoned.
Looking doubtfully at Minuette’s highly decorated gown, William said, “I’m not trying to … that is … I don’t suppose you’re meant to lie down in such a dress.”
Her laughter seemed nearly tears, but she said practically, “I’ll take off the gown, for I have quite enough layers on beneath for modesty’s sake.”
But there was nothing in the least modest about watching Minuette as she unlaced the tight sides of the heavy blue velvet and drew it off. William didn’t dare move, for fear that if he helped her, then he wouldn’t be able to stop until he had stripped her completely. She was so unbearably lovely in a kirtle the colour of the summer sky, its simplicity a more stunning setting for her golden beauty than any court gown had ever been. The linen sleeves of her smock showed the length and delicate bones of her arms, and the squared-off line of the kirtle highlighted her collarbone and the perfect sweep of her neck. And, yes, her breasts.
Her hair was braided and coiled in an intricate pattern, too formal for this night. “May I?” he asked, his hands moving to the first of the pins, and when she nodded, William gave himself over to the sensory pleasure of unloosing that glorious hair, the colour and weight of darkened honey. When it finally hung loose halfway down her back, he buried his hands in the waves and closed his eyes against dizziness.
It was Minuette who moved into a kiss, soft and warm beneath his mouth, and William knew—he knew—that if he pressed for more, she would offer it willingly. She would offer all of herself tonight, as she always had.
He could wait.
Not that he deprived himself the luxury of kissing her for a while, more intoxicated by her scent and taste than he’d ever been by wine. But at last he stepped back and whispered, “I made you a promise. I intend to keep it.”
He stripped off his doublet and jerkin, but made himself stop at the shirt. If he felt too much of her against his bare skin, this night would have a different ending than he’d promised. There was something melancholy and yet peaceful in the way Minuette curled up against him on the bed, the skirts of her kirtle and petticoat crushed aside so she could lie nestled in the crook of his arm.
William had fallen asleep next to women before, but never had he felt so vulnerable, his arm curved around Minuette, aware of each rise and fall of his chest and her golden head moving with it. At the last minute he’d been afraid that, this close to her, desire would eat away at him and steal any chance of sleep. But his first instinct had been right. He fell asleep much faster than he’d dared hope.
Hours later he was dimly aware of her moving carefully away, but he let himself drift back into the first pleasant dreams he’d had in a year: dreams of the sons he and Minuette would have together. And a daughter, too, as merry and golden as her mother.
Somewhere in that dream he heard Minuette whisper: I have ever loved you, William. Remember that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
15 September 1556
Whitehall Palace
After returning to my own chamber in the early hours of the morning, head held high against the sidelong glances of William’s attendants, I spent a long time upon my knees in prayer. Occasionally I even slipped into heretical Latin in my head, for I have always found peace in ritual.
God alone knows how near I came to betraying my marriage vows last night. If William had pressed … but he did not.
Something broke in me last night. Something that will never be mended.
When Minuette finished writing, she returned the diary to her jewelry casket—empty now of all except her mother’s rosary and Dominic’s sapphire necklace—and gave it into Carrie’s keeping to pack. She had told Carrie at Hatfield of what was ahead of them and she knew her maid had all in order ready to leave England.
As Carrie dressed her for this last morning at court, Minuette wondered how her friend felt about abandoning her home and the graves of her husband and children back at Wynfield Mote. Minuette herself could hardly bear the thought of leaving her steward and housekeeper and tenants without word and she had wept over Fidelis, knowing there was no simple way to bring the wolfhound overseas with them. How long before the faithful dog forgot her entirely?
But if Carrie felt any natural resentment, she would never betray it. “Thank you,” Minuette said impulsively, as the maid finished adjusting the leaf-green sleeves and damask bodice of her gown. “For everything.”
Only for a second did Carrie let affection and concern show in her brown eyes. Then she said briskly, “Off with you. The princess will be waiting.”
Minuette met Elizabeth in her
chambers and they walked together through the maze that was Whitehall Palace toward the tiltyard. They said little. When the sparring was finished, William would go to Charterhouse to see Lord Rochford and then planned to spend the afternoon with his treasurer before dining with various guild leaders from the City. By the time dinner was completed, Minuette and Dominic would be aboard a ship bound for Europe.
The weather should do nicely, Minuette thought, desperate to keep to banal topics even in her head. The heat of August had broken in a series of violent storms in early September, and the last four days had bestowed blue skies and brisk winds that would see a sailing ship quickly on its way.
The women reached one of the interior courtyards and Minuette’s attention caught at the sight of two stone-faced yeomen flanking the entrance. She just had time to wonder what they were meant to be guarding against when she heard raised voices from the courtyard beyond.
“You were released on condition that you stay away from court. Go to Cumbria where I sent you, Eleanor, or I shall see you back in the Tower.” It was William, warning but not yet angry.
“Are you certain you want me so far away? I had thought perhaps we might renegotiate our … understanding.” In the pause, Minuette could imagine Eleanor drawing near to William, perhaps trailing her hand along his arm.
Elizabeth tugged once on Minuette’s sleeve to move her along, but she stayed rooted to the spot. The guards ignored them, possibly because their orders were unclear as to the king’s sister and future wife.
With a crispness that betokened increasing impatience, William said, “I am sorry to disappoint you, but there is no understanding. And you are not in a position to negotiate with me.”
“Am I not? I know about Hatfield.”
Minuette felt her heart stutter and she knew clearly in that moment what was about to happen. How could she have been such a fool as to believe Eleanor had bargained fairly with her? Eleanor would say or do anything in order to get back into the king’s graces. What was it she’d said all those months ago in the Tower?
If you want to know anything, ask the women. Rochford’s intelligence networks have nothing on servants and women.
Eleanor’s voice dropped to a purr. “I will give you a son next time. I know how you long for that.”
“My son will be royal and his mother pure.” The whipcrack of temper in the king’s voice hung heavy with threat.
“Oh, William,” Eleanor said sadly. “Do you imagine you’re deceiving anyone? How long has she shared your bed—six months, a year? You want her pregnant so you can force the marriage through your council. Your precious Minuette is no purer than I am. I at least had a husband’s name when I bore your child. And you should not forget that—I bore your child, alive and healthy. Minuette could not even keep the child you got her with!”
Minuette’s ears roared like waves breaking on a beach, and she might have fallen if not for Elizabeth’s quick grasp of her arm. She heard her friend’s intake of breath and knew they were thinking the same thing: How had Eleanor found out?
William spoke in the cold, clear voice of royal rage. “If you were not a woman, I would strike you for that.”
“Can it be …” Eleanor paused, and in her next words Minuette heard comprehension dawn. “Did you not know? Did she really not tell you? Oh, William, you are too trusting! Go to Hatfield and ask. There’s a woman in the village whose sister washed a great deal of bloody linen on the night your precious betrothed fell ill. She was never injured in a fall. Your perfect Minuette lost your child that night.”
Even in this ultimate moment of disaster, Minuette was bitterly amused at how thoroughly Eleanor had missed the point. She had meant only to use the miscarriage to bargain with William, to ensure that she might at least share the king with Minuette, but instead Eleanor had just razed her enemy into the dust. And she didn’t even know it.
Shaking off Elizabeth, Minuette stepped past the guards and into the courtyard that was half sunlight, half shadow. William had his back to her, his hands on Eleanor’s shoulders as though he’d been shaking her. Eleanor’s eyes widened when she saw Minuette, and she gave a spiteful smile that must have alerted William. He turned, still holding tight to Eleanor.
Minuette heard Elizabeth whispering low words, urging her to come away and leave them be, and knew her friend was really begging her to keep silent or else to face down this accusation with a scorn that William would believe. Escape was so close—all she needed was a few hours and she and Dominic would be safely out of reach. William looked at Eleanor with loathing, no doubt prepared to believe that his mistress was once again tormenting Minuette for her own purposes. Minuette knew she could get away with a denial. And what, in the end, was one more lie?
She stared at William’s furious, familiar face, and knew it was one lie she could not tell.
Ignoring Elizabeth, Minuette stepped forward, near enough to William to see the dark of his eyes, wide and black with anger. She spoke clearly, so that there might be no misunderstanding.
“It is true.”
William’s vision dimmed, until all he could see was Minuette’s steady face. As her words rang in his head, Eleanor twisted in his grasp and he dropped his hands.
“Get out, Eleanor,” he rasped.
His mistress went without comment. William could not tear his eyes away from Minuette. He knew every line and shade of her face and he could not fathom how she could look so unchanged, as though the world had not just tilted off balance with three simple words. It is true.
He’d never had such a hard time finding his voice. “I don’t … Minuette?”
“It is true, William. I was not injured.”
“You … were with child?” He didn’t even know his own voice, he sounded to himself like a stranger. How? he nearly demanded, but that was stupid, he knew how. What he meant was who, and why. She had been in his arms just last night, half dressed and pliant, and he had restrained himself and left her untouched. Who had touched her if not him?
But Minuette had more than one secret. “I am married. I have been married these ten months.”
“Married?” With part of his mind, William noted Elizabeth’s lack of reaction as she hovered near Minuette and realized his sister had already known. He stored that knowledge away for future handling.
Not a lover, but a husband. So much worse, to know that Minuette hadn’t given herself lightly to some ambitious lord who’d wanted only her body; no, she had bound herself both body and soul. He struggled to grasp the meaning of it, but he kept seeing her with that glorious hair loose, eyes closed and shoulders bare, breathing ever quicker beneath a man who …
Wasn’t him. “Who?” he ground out between clenched teeth.
But there could only ever be one who. William knew it even as he asked the question.
He read the answer in Minuette’s pitying eyes and turned his back before she could say it aloud and complete his destruction. This was … how could … what was he supposed to do now? Everything he was, everything he trusted, wrenched away in a dozen words.
He didn’t know she’d moved until he felt her hand on his arm. “I am so sorry, Will.”
In one swift movement he turned and struck her with the back of his hand. The ruby ring he wore caught her across the cheekbone and raised an ugly welt. She made no sound despite the tears in her eyes, just dropped her hand and waited for him to hit her again.
“Don’t call me that,” he spat out, hating the unsteadiness of his voice.
They stared at each other for a long moment, her hazel eyes steady as ever, as William let the swirls of hurt and confusion settle into clarity. At last he lowered his arm, which had indeed been raised for a second blow. “Guards!”
The two yeomen stepped into the courtyard and William gave crisp orders. “Escort Lady Somerset to her chamber. She is unwell. Ensure that she is not disturbed.”
She went without protest. When they had gone, Elizabeth said desperately, “William, don’t let your a
nger get the better of you. Think before you act.”
“I am thinking. I am thinking that I’m scheduled to meet Dominic in the tiltyard in ten minutes. I am thinking that today we will not fight with wooden swords. I am thinking that you had best go straight to the gallery to watch. Don’t say a word to anyone.”
He turned on her ferociously. “I am also thinking that you were keeping secrets from me, sister. I shall deal with you in due course. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Your Majesty.”
Dominic stood at the south end of the famous Whitehall tiltyard, searching the gallery for Minuette. He saw Elizabeth seated in the front row, looking remote and solitary despite the many surrounding her. Perhaps Minuette was resting. Or perhaps she simply could not face anyone in these last hours.
Harrington came from behind and pulled him into the shadows cast by the viewing stands. “Carrie passed me a message from Mistress Wyatt.” Dropping his voice to a whisper, the big man added, “She bids you remember that, next time you play chess, you have promised her the white queen.”
The message was so nonsensical that Dominic could only stare. Chess? They hadn’t played chess in months. And when had Minuette ever cared what colour she played?
Colour.
White.
White is for warning.
Before Dominic could think what to say or do, William approached from beneath the stands. He wore a linen shirt and dark blue doublet of unusual plainness suitable for sparring. The padded leather jerkin which would protect his chest was still only partly laced. Dominic’s attire was a near-perfect match to the king’s, differing only in the green of his doublet, and he realized that the tiltyard was the one place he had ever felt himself William’s equal.
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