The Boleyn Reckoning: A Novel (The Boleyn Trilogy)

by Laura Andersen

  In that moment Dominic really thought his heart might break. She was prepared to follow wherever he led, whatever the consequences, with no reference to her own wishes or regrets.

  There was no way to do this gently. “William is with the army. I saw his banner myself.”

  Her eyes flickered but she continued to regard him gravely, waiting.

  “I had persuaded myself to believe Norfolk. I told myself that this could not all be for nothing, that we deserved a future and that I would do what I must to secure it.” He broke off and swallowed hard, wondering how to make himself understood.

  In the end, it was simple. It had always been simple. “I swore an oath, Minuette, not to the throne or the crown or some other abstraction. I swore it to Will. And though I have twisted it and trampled upon it, I cannot break it utterly. I will not take arms against him. Not even for you.”

  “I would not love you if you could.”

  “It means—”

  “I know what it means.”

  He broke off, wishing he could take her in his arms. But if he did that, his resolve might weaken. “I must tell Harrington not to bother with horses tonight. Tomorrow, I will ride out and give myself up.”

  He hesitated, knowing she would not want to hear his next plea, but he had to try. “Is there no chance you will consider leaving? You and Carrie and Harrington could ride out well before dawn, and I could wait and give you time to get—”

  “Where?” she broke in. “Where can I go, Dominic? To the Somerset lands William gave me, to raise the armies you will not? To Scotland or Wales or across the sea, leaving those I have loved to tear each other to pieces? I will not leave.”

  “Then promise me that you will let me go in the morning without you. Most likely William will send some troops here to guard you, but he will not offer you harm. Please, Minuette, stay here. For my sake.”

  “I promise that I will let you ride out alone.”

  If he touched her now, he would never be able to finish his work. With only a curt nod of acknowledgment, he strode out to speak to the household.

  Harrington received his orders without comment, though he clapped Dominic on the shoulder as if in approval. He spoke to Asherton as well, letting him know that a detachment of soldiers might well be quartered at Wynfield as of tomorrow. Dominic would do what he could to persuade William to leave Minuette alone, but best to be prepared for every eventuality. The steward received the news without comment, save to say, “It’s our mistress we serve, and her we will always stand by.”

  By the time Dominic finished, it was full dark. He stood in the bleak garden for a while, remembering his wedding day, how Minuette had looked and sounded here amidst the roses. A little over a year they’d had …

  Dominic was under no illusions. He knew that William would never forgive them, not to the extent of allowing their marriage to stand. The most that could be hoped for was Minuette’s liberty. As for himself, he was prepared for whatever punishment William inflicted.

  He rather hoped for death. At least then he would not have to live knowing that Minuette belonged to someone else.

  Minuette sat on the deep stone sill of her bedroom window, hugging her knees to her chest. She knew that Dominic was in the gardens and she had briefly considered going after him. Instead, she’d had Carrie help her into a loose white gown, wrapped herself in a fringed silk shawl, and curled up here. She looked away east, as if she could pierce the darkness and the distance and see William and his army and whatever fate awaited them all at the end of the road.

  She heard Dominic’s soft footsteps and closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sense of his presence, before turning her head. For one dreadful moment his face held that detached expression, so common this winter, that made her feel as though he were looking right through her. And then the mask crumpled into despair and love and regret and Minuette felt a wild joy that he had come to her.

  They came together fiercely, grief and rage and guilt transformed into a cleansing, abandoned passion that drove away all thought and left them breathlessly tangled amidst the bed linen. She dozed briefly and woke to her husband’s touch, his fingertips exploring the arch of her back and the curve of her shoulders and the line of her jaw, as if he were memorizing the contours of her body. She did the same, noting every tactile subtlety, from the smooth hardness of his chest to the scratchy stubble of his beard. They made love again, slow and sweet—every moment a benediction, an act of both blessing and farewell.

  When the first gray of not-quite-spring dawn crept into the sky, Dominic slipped away from the bed. With heavy heart, Minuette rose and summoned Carrie. She would face this day as a lady, armored in her dress and her manners. She would not bid him goodbye looking drawn and ill.

  It seemed forever that she waited, and she had just about decided to go to the stables herself when she heard the ring of his boots in the hall. Dominic strode in, dressed for riding and wearing his old colours—plain gold battle tunic, with none of the markings of the Duke of Exeter. Her throat tightened at the sight and she hoped that William would take it as the sign of humility that it was and not as an arrogant rejection of his gift.

  There was little to say, though even that could barely be managed. I love you. What more need be acknowledged? They had been in the wrong, they knew it, and now it must be paid for. They would face it as they must, and never concede that it had not been worth it.

  She knew without needing to be told that he could not bear to ride off if she were watching him. So she made it easy for him and stayed behind when he left the hall.

  He did not look back.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AFTER A RESTLESS night, William was up with the dawn. The camp stirred around him, eager to be on their way to wiping out the rebels. He walked silently through his men, for orders were already given and awaited only daylight to be put into action. While Sussex led the army northeast to join up with the rest of the royal forces, William would ride to Wynfield.

  He could have gone last night, of course. Some of his men plainly believed him mad that he had not. Only Sussex had the nerve to say aloud what they were all thinking. It’s as good as handing him freedom. They’ll be halfway to Tiverton by dawn.

  They thought William sentimental. They thought him hesitant for affection’s sake, allowing Dominic a chance to evade arrest once more. They were wrong. He wasn’t offering Dominic freedom—he was offering him the rope with which to hang himself. When Dominic threw in his lot with the rebels, his future would be sealed. Then William could have no compunction in meting out justice.

  He reached the western edge of the camp and studied the stretch of road that wound through the trees. He remembered his sole visit to Wynfield almost two years ago, the serenity of the moated house with its old-fashioned feel and sleepy sense of rightness. How had Minuette felt at abandoning Wynfield? Would she have wanted to remain here, or had she gone gladly with Dominic to Tiverton?

  He drew a ragged breath and prepared himself for what lay ahead. A small detachment of guards left at Wynfield, merely to remind the retainers and farmers who was in charge and to keep any loyal servants from aiding their fled mistress. Then a rapid march north and the earliest possible encounter with Norfolk’s forces. English springs were precarious and he wanted this done with once and for all.

  William saw the approaching rider at almost the same moment the forward watch did. Halting them with a word, he stared at the single, solitary figure that meant the overturning of all his expectations.

  He would have known that rider anywhere.

  “Your Majesty?”

  It was Robert Dudley, alert and attentive, if somewhat detached, in his service. He had regained his customary sleekness, looking elegant even in the plain attire of a military campaign, and he did not seem to resent being folded into royal service rather than marching under his family’s banner. “You should withdraw until we know who comes and for what purpose.”

  “I know who it is,”
William said, but his mind churned on the question of purpose. What the hell was Dom doing?

  It didn’t matter. William would turn this to his own advantage. “Dudley, take four men and escort him in. Bring him to my tent.”

  Robert motioned to several of the watch, then swung up on his own horse. William called sharply after him, “I want him untouched.”

  “And if he’s armed, Your Majesty?”

  “He isn’t.” Disconcerted by his own certainty, William turned on his heel and stalked to his tent. He dismissed everyone and waited alone for the one man in the world who could still unsettle him.

  By the time Robert Dudley drew back the entrance to his tent, William was braced and ready. Dominic entered as though nothing at all had happened, as though he had come here for one of any number of reasons, none of which included treason. William waved off Robert from following. He wanted to be alone for this.

  Dominic watched him unblinkingly. If betrayal and flight had left their mark on him, it was inward. Outwardly, he was as casually sure of himself as ever, right down to the plain gold tunic he wore. As though the last four years had never happened. As though he hadn’t been granted titles and wealth and position by William. As though Dominic expected simply to walk in here and resume his customary place as an impatient, disapproving elder brother.

  William regarded him coldly, and with an equal chill to his voice said, “If you’re hoping for clemency, you’re too late. You were too late the moment you touched her.”

  “I’m not looking for clemency. I’m not looking for anything, except my own peace of conscience. I have injured you, and I will carry the grief of that to my death.”

  “Where is she?” He could not keep himself from asking.

  “At Wynfield. I understand if you feel it necessary to leave a detachment of guards behind, but I assure you, they won’t be needed. Minuette is not about to lead an insurrection.”

  Even now, Dominic was so effortlessly in control. William found himself having to struggle to keep his voice and expression even. Although he wanted nothing more than to scream, Stop telling me what to do, he wouldn’t give Dominic the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled him.

  “Matters of state are no longer your affair, except as they concern you. The fact that you are under arrest, for instance. I see you’ve already anticipated the attainder of your title,” he said dismissively, indicating Dominic’s plain gold tunic.

  Dominic’s neutral expression flickered briefly. “I truly am sorry. No punishment you can devise will match the penance of my own soul.”

  “You underestimate my imagination.” William raised his voice. “Dudley!”

  Robert came in and stood next to Dominic, his neutrality firmly back in place, as William said formally, “Dominic Courtenay, Duke of Exeter, you are under arrest for crimes against the state and the person of the king. You will be returned to London and held in the Tower until such time as you are called to answer for your crimes.”

  At a jerk of William’s chin, Robert took Dominic’s arm and pulled him round. Dominic kept his eyes on William, no doubt waiting to be asked for his parole as any gentleman would be.

  As William stared at that aloof, self-contained face, he felt an overpowering urge to shatter that confidence. “Dudley,” he said, staring all the while at Dominic, “put him in chains.”

  He felt a moment’s satisfaction at the shock in Dominic’s eyes. And then they were gone, and he stood alone once more.

  As he always would from now.

  When Dominic had passed out of sight, Minuette went to her jewelry casket. Since they had fled court, it contained only three items: her diary, the sapphire and pearl choker with a single filigree star that Dominic had given her years ago, and the jet black beads and heavy silver cross of her mother’s rosary. She touched each of them in turn, unsure what she meant to do. Any other day of her life she would have worn the star pendant for courage, but she knew that would be a grave mistake today. The rosary was always a mistake, no more so than when a royal army was marching to subdue a Catholic rebellion. And her diary? If she were wise, she would burn it.

  If she were wise, she wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.

  Once she made her decision, she moved swiftly. She gathered up the contents of her casket and placed them into a plain linen bag with the simple embroidery of a child’s possessions. She would give it into Carrie’s keeping and hope for the best.

  She had always been more cynical than Dominic. He might think his surrender would mean William marching away from Wynfield—or at most sending troops to guard her home—but Minuette knew William too well to believe that. The king would come for her. All she had left was the choice to move first.

  She looked around her chamber, wondering if she’d thought of everything, and was suddenly swamped by the memories of her wedding night, overlaid with last night’s final hours with her husband. She drew in a sharp breath of regret and swallowed it away. She could not afford to be lost in the past; now was the time for clear-eyed action.

  Carrie waited in the hall below, coming to her feet the moment she heard Minuette’s footsteps. Minuette felt as though she were noticing everything with the razor-sharp clarity afforded last moments. Carrie’s plump cheeks and glossy brown hair, the crease of concern between her eyes, were as dear and familiar as childhood, and Minuette’s heart ached to cause her pain. But she knew better than to protest at her maid’s devotion.

  Harrington was in the hall as well, a solidly comforting presence in both size and silence. Minuette knew the only reason he had not accompanied Dominic was because he’d been ordered to stay with her. She hoped he would understand her intentions.

  “Prepare horses,” she said to Harrington. “For the three of us. We are riding to the king’s camp.”

  “You promised Courtenay you would stay here,” he rumbled. The use of Dominic’s last name rather than his title wrung hard at her heart, and she had to swallow against tears.

  But she would not be deterred. “I promised him that I would let him ride out alone. I was careful in my choice of words.”

  “He wants you to be careful with your person.”

  “I will not sit here and wait. Do you not think me as honourable as my husband?”

  Carrie stepped between the two of them, so small and so fierce. “We knew what you would do. The horses are ready. I have packed the necessities. Is there anything else?”

  Suddenly choked, Minuette handed Carrie the linen bag with her most precious possessions. “I am ready.”

  She could not keep back the tears when Fidelis rose from his customary spot outside the front door. The wolfhound clearly expected to go with her, as he always had this winter, and Minuette’s sobs escaped despite herself. “Not this time,” she whispered to the hound. “You must stay here.”

  He must have sensed her distress, for he did not go easily. In the end, Harrington had to use his full strength to draw Fidelis into the stables and shut him in one of the stalls. His howls echoed in Minuette’s ears as she mounted Winterfall and rode out of her home.

  With Harrington leading the way, Carrie riding pillion behind him, Minuette schooled her thoughts with each passing mile to calmness. She would need to be perfect when she came to the royal camp. Not just for William’s sake, or Dominic’s, but her own. The only way to do this was without looking back and without letting herself think twice. It shouldn’t be so hard: she had spent months, if not years, playing a part at court. Now she would call upon all her skill to give her courage as she submitted herself to the will of a scorned king.

  The royal camp was in motion; she could hear the clatter of men and horses as they drew near. But they had not set off just yet, so it was hard to tell which men would be headed to Wynfield. It didn’t matter—there were only two men in the world she had ever cared for, and every inch of her was alert knowing how near they both were.

  They were met by forward guards, who received her with cold hostility. She was w
ary, knowing the sorts of things that had once been shouted at Anne Boleyn. It would not have shocked her to have names thrown at her, but these men were disciplined enough. They asked the three of them to dismount and searched Harrington for weapons before proceeding on foot.

  She spotted the royal tent, not yet taken down, and her heart skipped several beats when the flaps were thrown back and a familiar, long-legged figure appeared. The ground was soggy and the air heavy with the threat of rain, but weak sunlight filtered through the clouds here and there, one beam casting a sheen on William’s dark hair. He’d let it grow since she’d seen him last; it curled down to his collar and she had a startlingly clear memory of her hands tangled in those curls at Hever so long ago.

  William did not falter, but she saw the tension in the set of his shoulders as he came forward and then halted, waiting for her to take the last steps. She stopped a few paces from him and tried to remember how to breathe normally. His gaze swept her from head to toe, taking in the subdued cut of her riding gown, the lack of adornment, her hair plaited and pinned at the nape of her neck.

  A greedy silence spread through the camp as word passed of what was happening. She moved to curtsey, and William stopped her. “Hold,” he commanded. “Your audience is not complete.”

  So she held her ground and waited for Dominic to be led out. The look on her husband’s face was not betrayal, at least, but a deep despair that rocked her nonetheless. His hands were chained together in front and Robert Dudley stood at his side. She stared at her husband, hoping he could read her devotion and love whatever came next.

  “So.” William’s voice carried in the heavy air. “Have you come to beg my forgiveness?”

  She tore her gaze away from Dominic. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Their eyes locked. “Then beg,” he commanded, vicious.

  She knelt as gracefully as she could, feeling the uneven ground through the layers of her skirts. With her head bowed low, she said, “I beg pardon for all my offenses, Your Majesty. It was done thoughtlessly, but not with malice. I could never wish you other than well, and I will never forgive myself for the injuries I have caused.”