The Boleyn Reckoning: A Novel (The Boleyn Trilogy)

by Laura Andersen

  “None at all that I can see. You will be Queen of England. Have you not longed for the opportunity to ensure our country is kept free from Catholicism?”

  “I am grateful for the opportunity to serve God and England.”

  William’s irritation grew with each cool, composed reply. Heaven knew he no longer wanted a wife who would endanger his happiness and peace of mind, but it would be nice if she didn’t look quite so much like he was the worst part of the bargain.

  Abruptly, he seized her by the shoulders and kissed her. Jane, as he might have predicted, was stiff and surprised and unresponsive, even when William backed her against the wall and trailed kisses from her mouth along her slender jaw and throat. And in a flash of unbidden memory he was not in a corridor with Jane Grey, but at Hever with Minuette.

  Suddenly he was aware of everything, every inch of him alight with her touch. He kissed her again, his hands moving up her back to twine into her heavy, loosely plaited hair. She returned his kisses with a hunger that may have started in grief but changed rapidly to desire—he knew the signs well enough. Her hands swept through the tangle of his wet curls, keeping his head pulled firmly down to hers.

  With a gasp, William pushed himself off Jane and stumbled backward. From being unresponsive a moment ago, Jane looked suddenly concerned. “Your Majesty?” she asked, taking a tentative step forward.

  “You may go,” he snarled. “Tell your mother she’s won.”

  She hesitated, then said in a rush, “William, I am sensible of the great honour you do me. I promise, I will never give you cause for grief.”

  Nor for joy, William thought bleakly, but he managed a nod to the slight, upright figure of his future bride. For a woman so committed to the Protestant faith, she dressed remarkably like a nun, all dark colours and severe lines, as though beauty were an offense to God. She curtsied deeply and left, back straight and shoulders set.

  William closed his eyes and tried not to be swept away by dizziness and desire. Not for Jane, not for a stranger, not for any of the women he had ever enjoyed in his bed … the only woman he desired these days was the one woman utterly out of his reach.

  He wished he could believe that everything about Minuette had been a lie. It would be easier to despise her if he believed that she had never loved him, that every time he’d touched her she’d simply endured it. But William knew better. He had made her shiver in response, he had roused her desire to match his, she had never recoiled from him. Not even when the smallpox left him scarred. That last night before her flight, in what William could now recognize as Minuette’s unspoken farewell, she had undressed and lain in his arms and made herself vulnerable to whatever he wanted of her.

  And despite all of that, she had still chosen Dominic.

  Was there no one in this world who loved only him?

  A tangle of bedsheets, a throaty laugh, eager hands and voluptuous curves and a proud mother of his child … William opened his eyes and breathed deeply.

  He would send for Eleanor. The only woman who had never pretended to be anything other than what she was: amoral and greedy and sensuous. And absolutely devoted to him.

  27 February 1557

  Wynfield Mote

  It has been ten days since we heard of Mary’s execution and Wynfield has suddenly become a beehive of activity. There are riders twice, sometimes three times a day from the North. I know that Dominic has sent messages to his holdings at Tiverton. To all appearances, he is preparing to lead from the West.

  5 March 1557

  Wynfield Mote

  Walsingham managed to send us another letter from Elizabeth in unofficial exile at Hatfield. She is furious, of course, at being summarily banished from court, however William may have prettied it up by claiming she needed rest. But unlike her brother, I have never known fury to overwhelm Elizabeth—nor indeed any emotion. Not that she does not feel deeply, for she does. But she was born with the ability to see always the wider picture no matter the details that threaten to overwhelm her. And for her, always, the wider picture will be England’s safety. I know that her fury at being banished is less about her pride and more about her fear that, without her, William will heed no counsel.

  And is that not the true source of my regrets, and Dominic’s? That the consequences of our actions reverberate far beyond our own two lives.

  On the day of the vernal equinox a handful of riders appeared at Wynfield Mote—two of whom commanded a much greater flurry of attention than any others over the previous weeks. The two men at the center of the small party dismounted, wearing no identifying badges, only travel-stained riding leathers. The first man Minuette had been waiting for and so knew him at once: the young Duke of Norfolk.

  But it was Norfolk’s companion that made her nerves flare to a high pitch: older, more familiar, and much more injurious to her peace of mind.

  Stephen Howard. Uncle to the Duke of Norfolk, and Minuette’s stepfather.

  Dominic and Minuette greeted the men in the hall. She uttered the words she would have used with any guest, though she was certain they would not stay. “Shall I prepare a chamber?”

  Norfolk hardly looked at her, so anxious was he to get to Dominic. “No, my lady. I have a matter to discuss with your husband, and then I shall relieve you of my presence. Perhaps we might walk?” This last was addressed to Dominic.

  Minuette perched on one of the embroidered stools flanking the fireplace and looked up at the duke with wide, innocent eyes. “No need for that. I assume, Lord Norfolk, that you are unashamed of what you are about to propose. Let us hear it openly.”

  She wasn’t sure whether it was Dominic or her stepfather who smothered a short laugh. Probably Stephen Howard; he was always irreverent.

  Despite his clear annoyance, the duke spoke politely. “Such a beautiful woman has no need to trouble herself with affairs of state.”

  Dominic met her eyes and his lips twitched in a smile. “Her house, her husband. She stays. And you’re a fool, Norfolk, if you think she doesn’t know precisely what you’re about to propose.”

  “I told him so,” Stephen Howard announced to the chamber at large. “I warned him that Wyatt women were stubborn to the core.”

  It seemed the Duke of Norfolk was not a man to waste time on peripheral issues. He turned his back on Minuette and Stephen Howard and spoke to Dominic as if they were alone. “The army has left London, split into two forces. One marches straight north—the other is marching northwest, less than a half-day’s ride from here. You can’t sit on the fence any longer, Exeter. And you’re the fool if you think this army is not coming to scorch and burn all you hold.”

  Minuette held her tongue and watched her husband intently as he asked Norfolk, “Are your forces in the North ready?”

  “We’re ready. The French are ready. The question is … whose side are you on?”

  Dominic’s face did not change at all. “My own.”

  “You have mixed feelings about the king, I respect that. You’ve known him all his life. But what has that got you? Exile, a permanent state of uncertainty? Do you really think he’ll let this marriage stand? He’s waited, God knows why, but he won’t wait forever. Once you’re in his hands, your marriage will be dissolved. You will never see her again. And like as not she’ll end up his mistress one way or another.”

  Dominic took a step forward in obvious fury and Norfolk thrust up a hand in conciliation. “Forgive me, but we haven’t time to be anything but blunt. William is his father all over again—what he wants, he gets. And he’ll burn and scorch whatever is in his way. That you were his friend makes vengeance more certain, not less.”

  Minuette thought it time she intervened to bring the matter to the point. “What is it you want, Lord Norfolk?”

  He answered promptly. “An assurance that your husband has a sufficient force to deride the royal army, and the will to use it.”

  “You want me to raise the West Country.” Dominic’s voice had lost all inflection.

&nbs
p; “As your uncle did before you.” Norfolk smiled coldly. “I hit them in the north, with the French coming in across the Scots border. You sweep up behind them from the west, barring retreat and keeping reinforcements from arriving.”

  “And once you’ve dealt with the royal army,” Minuette prodded, “what is your goal?”

  “To bring the king to reason and remove the heavy burdens beneath which his Catholic subjects labor. He has murdered a princess royal, a born daughter of a king, and that cannot be forgotten. The king must show his willingness to mend his errors.”

  “And if he does not?” she pressed.

  But Norfolk would be drawn no further. “May I speak to you privately, Lord Exeter?” the duke urged.

  Dominic nodded. Minuette tracked her husband as they left the hall, heart wrung for him and hating everything about this moment.

  Her mood was not improved by Stephen Howard’s customary drawl. “So, daughter—forgive me, stepdaughter—what a fine mess you have gotten yourself into.”

  “I might say the same of you, coming into armed rebellion at last.”

  He smiled lazily. “Have you seen me take up arms yet? But my nephew is right. Our young king is digging himself deeper every day. He will tear this country to pieces if he is not sharply checked.”

  “And if he will not be checked?” she countered, knowing the answer but wanting someone other than her to say it aloud.

  “With Mary Tudor dead, the Catholics consider Mary Stuart the legitimate ruler of England. There is a reason France has given support to our forces.”

  “And you know how much all English people, Protestant or Catholic, despise the thought of a Queen of France ruling us. What is the Duke of Norfolk’s true goal?”

  “Can you not guess?”

  Minuette looked away. She could guess. The young Duke of Norfolk might be catering to the Catholics, but he was too proud and too English to turn the throne over to Mary Stuart as long as she was betrothed to the French heir. If he beat William’s armies and brought down the king, then the duke might try to convince the French king to allow him to wed Mary Stuart himself, or else he would spurn France altogether and mollify the Protestants by marrying Elizabeth. Norfolk was maneuvering for a crown of his own. He would not care which woman helped him achieve it.

  Stephen Howard gentled his voice. “I told you once you were playing in deep waters. Friendship with royalty—particularly Tudor royalty—is a losing proposition.”

  “You cannot imagine that Elizabeth would marry a man who had brought her own brother to ruin and death.”

  “Nor can I imagine Her Highness allowing France to rule this island. I think Elizabeth is even more practical than you are. Rumour has it she is running her own shadow government out of Hatfield House.”

  “To keep herself apprised of events, not to work against William!”

  “Are you so sure?” he taunted. “How long has it been since you’ve spoken with her directly?”

  Of course she was not sure. She was not sure of anything—except Dominic’s goodness and her own love.

  To her surprise, Stephen Howard knelt down before her. Softly, he pleaded, “Minuette, is there any hope of persuading you to leave England? I can arrange it. I cannot think you want to be here when all goes to Hell.”

  “What I want does not enter into it. We are all walking the only path we know how.”

  He sighed. “Then I wish you well, daughter, and hope that your good heart will guide you truly in whatever comes.”

  He kissed her cheek, then rose and looked down on her a little sadly. “Farewell, Minuette. Try not to blame yourself for this war—it’s been a long time coming. You were just a convenient spark.”

  Was that supposed to make her feel better? she wondered. Surely those destroyed in the fire didn’t care whether the spark had meant to destroy or not.

  Dominic walked Norfolk out of the house, leaving a watchful Minuette behind. He had a question he did not want her to hear.

  “What happens to William if his armies are defeated?”

  The duke was no fool, he gave the answer he must know Dominic wanted. “He will be asked to voluntarily relinquish his throne, to admit his illegitimacy and retire from public life.”

  “We both know the king will never agree. You’ll have to kill him.”

  With a shrug, Norfolk said, “One step at a time. First, we defeat his armies. Then we repair the breaches in England.”

  “And Elizabeth?”

  “I have no interest in harming a woman. As long as Elizabeth accepts the status quo, she will remain at liberty. Perhaps rather more than liberty.”

  Meaning her only chance of survival would be to marry Norfolk himself and set a seal upon his victory. Rather as her grandfather had married the niece of the Yorkist king he’d killed in battle.

  Stephen Howard joined them, looking troubled as he mounted. As Norfolk followed, one more question slipped out, one Dominic hadn’t been aware of thinking. “Does William remain in London?”

  “You know him better than that. To answer your real question—the king is marching with the northern force. You need not fear, I would not put you head-to-head against him. Too risky. I couldn’t predict what either of you might do.” Norfolk looked down at him and said, not unkindly, “You’ve given up everything for her. Don’t let it come to naught over some misplaced sense of loyalty. You were a traitor the moment you took her from him. Turn it to the only victory you can.”

  When Norfolk and Howard were gone, Dominic headed for the creek that burbled along one edge of the kitchen garden, where he sat on the bank and threw pebbles into the icy water, counting each one as if they were the beats of his heart.

  One. That you were his friend makes vengeance more certain, not less.

  Two. I am not my father. I keep my fealty.

  Three. There is no man on this earth I trust more than you.

  Four. You were a traitor the moment you took her from him.

  Five. Whither have I fallen? What have I done?

  With a force that splashed him, Dominic flung in a handful of stones and stood up. Norfolk was right. Their only chance for a future lay with the rebels. Dominic had held off as long as he could, fearing that final step that cut him off from every previous loyalty. He couldn’t afford the niceties of conscience any longer, not with a royal army on the move. He must get Minuette safely sequestered in the western strongholds at Tiverton and commit himself to the only possible course of action.

  But first he would ride out and see this force for himself. Less than a half-day’s ride, Norfolk had said. The information he gathered would be useful, when it came to fighting them. He ignored the voice that told him he was still stalling, and went to the stables. The moon would be full tonight, he and Minuette could ride through the night for Tiverton.

  He found Harrington in the stables. “Tell Minuette I’ll be gone for several hours.”

  Harrington eyed him carefully. “I’ll tell her, if you’ll wait for me. You shouldn’t ride out alone.”

  Dominic opened his mouth, then decided he didn’t have the time to spare on argument. “I’ll wait.”

  He was afraid that Minuette might follow Harrington back, to ask him where he was going and why. She didn’t. And Harrington was as blessedly taciturn as ever, though Dominic suspected he asked no questions because he already had a shrewd idea of the answers.

  By the time they saw the dust kicked up by countless horses and men, twilight was not far off. Neither was the army. It was less than eight miles east, and Dominic’s heart stopped beating as he calculated how little time they had. He and Minuette should be riding for Tiverton at this hour. Instead, his sentimentality had tied his hands in indecision until it was nearly too late.

  It was Harrington who pointed out the obvious, slowing Dominic’s heart a little. “They’re camped. And I see no tracks along this road. They’ve not sent anyone ahead.”

  Dominic stood beside him at the edge of a long stretch of forest, th
e horses tethered safely out of sight farther back. They were near enough to see the tents laid out before them, the bright colours of the banners flattened somewhat by the slowly dimming sun. It appeared Sussex was leading this force, and Dominic saw the banners for Westmoreland and Essex as well.

  Harrington was already drawing back into the trees, though there was little chance they would be seen in their dark clothes against the deep shadows. Dominic huddled into his warm cloak and cast one more glance over the encampment, calculating numbers in his head and storing away details that would help him fight this army. The rebels might be outnumbered, but the leadership advantage lay with Norfolk and the French.

  Not to mention that Dominic himself would be hitting them with a force they were only half expecting. He would tip the balance in Norfolk’s battle.

  And that, he thought bleakly, is how one turns from traitor to savior. Simply by shifting one’s point of view. He turned to slip into the forest. As he did, the wind kicked up and he caught something out of the corner of his eye—a banner that had been hidden behind Westmoreland’s at the center of the camp. Dominic stopped and stared, hoping he was wrong, knowing he was not.

  Crimson and azure—lions and lilies.

  Norfolk’s intelligence had been wrong. William was not with the northern force.

  William was here.

  Dominic might have stayed frozen there all night if Harrington hadn’t pulled him away. He didn’t remember the ride back. He saw nothing but the royal banner, planted like a stake in his heart. Only when they reached the stables did Dominic come to himself.

  He dismounted as Harrington asked, “Shall I get fresh horses readied?”

  He spoke with absolute neutrality. Dominic didn’t believe in that indifference. Harrington surely had an opinion on whether they should throw in their lot with Norfolk or wait for the royal army to take them.

  As Minuette surely had an opinion …

  “I’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder. “Do nothing until I tell you.”

  Minuette was in the solarium. She must have seen him ride in, for she was on her feet when he entered. With the same neutrality as Harrington, she said, “I can be ready in half an hour.”