A Nordic Knight in Henry's Court: Jakob & Avery: Book 1 (The Hansen Series - Jakob & Avery)

by Kris Tualla

  “He is… gone.” Her jaw rippled. “Nine years, ago.”

  “That is when you came to England?” The timing made sense.

  “Catherine invited me here.” Her brow twitched. “To start a new life.”

  Another thought crossed Jakob’s mind. “You were married five years. Did you not have children?”

  “No.”

  Jakob couldn’t decipher Avery’s shift of expression. There was no indication whether she was relived or grieved by her childless situation. “And so you dote on Catherine’s daughter.”

  “Yes.” Avery pulled a breath. “And with every babe she loses, I am by her side.”

  Another unhappy thought made itself known. “Did you lose any babes?”

  Avery shook her head. “I never conceived.”

  Jakob slid a knuckle under Avery’s chin and tilted her face to his. “I understand. I will have no children, either.”

  Her gaze flicked aside, then returned to his. “You could marry a young woman. There is still time.”

  “True,” Jakob admitted. “But I don’t want a young woman.”

  Avery laid a hand on his thigh and the heat of it seared through his clothes. “A young woman would certainly elicit the correct response, would she not?”

  Jakob was hard in an instant. He pulled Avery’s hand higher. “Do you mean this response?”

  She gasped and pulled her hand away. “Do not do that.”

  “I will not act on this,” he promised. “But you must know how much I do want you.”

  “I am not certain if this makes our circumstance better or worse,” she murmured. “But you are the first man I have desired in many, many years.”

  Jakob leaned down and kissed her again. He took his time about it, wanting the moment to last. He teased her tongue with his, and pulled away slightly, so she needed to chase after him. He tilted his head to different angles. He broke away from a deep kiss with several short ones before fully claiming her mouth once more.

  And in the process, he completely lost himself in her.

  I love you, Avery.

  The unexpected thought doused his flame as effectively as an icy, glacier-fed waterfall.

  Jakob pulled away. “We should go inside.”

  Avery stared at him, clearly confused by his sudden shift. Even in the moonlight her lips looked bruised by his passionate attention. “Yes. That would be wise.”

  But neither of them made a move to stand.

  “Are we being foolish, Jakob?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  She heaved a shuddering sigh. “What shall become of us?”

  He gave her a rueful look. “No sé.”

  “Jeg vet ikke,” she responded. “I do not know, either.”

  *****

  Avery shifted her position on her bed yet again. Sleep had eluded her for hours, and it was completely Jakob Hansen’s fault. The Norseman was complicating her life, and she couldn’t decide if that was a very good situation, or a very, very bad one.

  Both.

  All she ever desired during her years in Catherine’s court, was pleasant male companionship with a man who was not trying to worm his way into her bed. The self-described “ice knight” seemed to offer her exactly that. Even now, he insisted that he would never have sex with her.

  Unfortunately, she was beginning to wish he would.

  Avery tossed her covers back and grabbed the jeweled rosary from the small table by her bed. She knelt on the floor and began to pray through it, asking God for forgiveness for her lustful thoughts, and the strength to remain true to what virtue she still owned.

  When Jakob placed her hand on his groin, Avery thought she would curl up and die on the spot. Not because of his bold and unexpected actions, but because of her own response.

  The man was huge, and her long neglected body marked that fact immediately. Reactions she had not experienced in more years than she could count—since before her marriage—swamped her. She wanted to climb onto his lap and have him take her there, with no regard for who might happen upon them.

  Father forgive me, for I have sinned.

  Even now, the thought made her heart race.

  Hail Mary, full of grace…

  Avery was still on her knees when the sky began to lighten. Her head pounded and her throat was dry, and she finally thought she was exhausted enough to grab a few hours of sleep.

  She rose slowly, her legs cramping and tingling, and crawled under her covers. She stretched sideways across her bed, pulled a pillow over her eyes to block the dawn’s light, and drifted into a dream world where Jakob greeted her at every turn.

  July 2, 1518

  Meeting Jakob’s eyes when he entered her outer room for their Spanish lessons the next afternoon set Avery’s cheeks aflame. Much more than the memory of her intimate touch on his body discomfited her—the resultant dreams, which were of a nature that she had not experienced in years, provided her with the unexpected fulfillment of her desires. Twice.

  Thank the good Lord, Percival was already in his seat, ready to begin. She beckoned Jakob into the room through the open door and gestured toward a chair.

  “Come in, Sir Hansen. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Jakob acted as though their previous encounter had not happened; his demeanor was calm and sober. “Thank you, my lady.”

  Once he was seated, Avery launched into their lesson without any further pleasantries.

  Remaining true to his original stance, Jakob countered most of the Spanish with Norsk. Though Avery had been irritated to begin with, she grew to enjoy the lilting patter of the Nordic knight’s native language. It was so different from the rolling Spanish words; Norsk tended to bounce up and down as it was spoken.

  As least, that was the only way she could think to describe it.

  A servant stepped into the doorway. “I beg your pardon, Lady Avery.”

  “Come,” she replied.

  “I have a note for Sir Hansen.”

  Jakob held out his hand, his expression displaying his irritation. “Thank you.”

  Avery recognized the Tudor seal—the note was from the king.

  Jakob broke the seal and unfolded the paper. His eyes swept over the contents. He looked at her as he tucked it inside his tunic. “Go on.”

  She frowned. “Do you need to give an answer?”

  “No.”

  Avery turned to dismiss the servant, but he was already gone. She regarded Jakob again. “Is anything amiss?”

  Jakob’s gaze cut to Percival and back to her. “I shall need to leave when the clock chimes half past three.”

  She could not stop herself from asking, “Why?”

  “Henry has an errand for me.” Jakob shifted in his seat, stretching out his right leg. “Please go on.”

  *****

  Jakob descended the circular stone stairs, dressed in the king’s clothes, and pulled himself into the king’s waiting carriage.

  Having Henry’s summons arrive when he was otherwise occupied was quite inconvenient. And, since Henry chose to visit Miss Blount in the afternoons of late, chances were very good that this would happen again.

  Henry waited inside, his grin betraying his eagerness to visit his mistress. “What do you think, Hansen?”

  “About what, your Grace?”

  He chuckled. “Shall I invite Miss Blount to the tournament?”

  Jakob gave the sovereign a horrified look. “Why would you do that?”

  “So she may witness my prowess, of course.” Henry combed his fingers through his hair. “I want her to see what sort of man has chosen to bed her.”

  Jakob wondered why Henry thought the woman might not already be aware that the man in her bed was the king of England. Beyond that, she had the chance to observe his naked and muscular form every time they were together. Was his bedsport somehow so lacking that he felt his reputation must be thusly fortified?

  “I am certain she is fully aware, your Grace.”

  Henry wagged a fin
ger in denial. “It is different, Hansen, when they can watch a man perform a physical act of strength and skill. It stirs a woman in a special way.”

  Thoughts of Avery cheering him on flitted pleasantly through Jakob’s thoughts. “What about the queen?”

  Henry shook his head. “There is no reason to worry about that. She has no idea about Bessie, thanks to your discreet and loyal help in this matter.”

  “If Miss Blount was to attend the tournament,” Jakob said carefully. “Where would she be seated?”

  “In the royal tent, of course.”

  That was most definitely not a good idea, in Jakob’s estimation. “And how would you introduce her to the queen?”

  That query gave Henry pause. “I suppose I could say she was there to support one of the other noble knights.”

  It seemed Henry might be steering away from absolute disaster with that suggestion. “Yes, your Grace.”

  The king stroked his chin. “I must tell her which knight to cheer on, and make her understand that I will accept as mine every enthusiasm which she shows to him.”

  Jakob gave Henry a tight-lipped grin. This plan could work.

  “It must be someone Catherine would never suspect,” Henry mused. “Someone foreign.”

  Oh God no. No no no.

  Henry grinned. “You, Hansen. She shall give you her favor and cheer for you as if you were me.”

  “But the Lady Avery—”

  Henry’s brows shot upward. “Are you bedding her?”

  “No! But—”

  “Have you spoken words of endearment to her?” he pressed.

  Not out loud. “No, but—”

  “Then the decision is made.” Henry slapped his own thigh in punctuation. “I shall tell her today.”

  Jakob slumped against the cushions. “Please, you Grace. I beg of you. Choose another man.”

  Henry was not accustomed to being told no, and his growing irritation was clear. “The matter is settled, Hansen.”

  “But I cannot joust, your Grace. My injury will not allow me to.” Jakob spread his palms in supplication. “Would you not prefer a champion who can perform in all areas?”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched, and a muscle in his cheek rolled under the strain.

  “There is no one else with whom I can make this arrangement,” he growled. “It will be done, joust or no joust.”

  Skitt skitt skitt skitt skitt.

  Jakob swallowed any further objections in the face of the angry king. “I understand, your Grace. I had not thought of that.”

  “Of course you had not.” The carriage rolled to a stop. Henry laid a hand on the door. “I shall see you in two hours.”

  As Jakob watched the king leap from the carriage and stride confidently toward Miss Blount’s front door, he wondered how in the hell he was going to explain to Avery why Bessie suddenly appeared—and was cheering for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  July 5, 1518

  Avery handed the loyal guard, Higgins, a small wrapped package of satin. “I put a bit of cake in there as well.”

  “Thank ye, my lady.” He tucked the package inside his tunic. “I haven’t seen ye of late. I hope ye’re doing well.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “I have been rather occupied, I’m afraid. But on this night I felt the need to escape for a while.”

  Higgins nodded. “Keep yerself safe, my lady. I’ll be here when ye return.”

  Avery crossed the bridge over the pungent moat and disappeared into the streets of London.

  The wide brim of her hat kept the waning moonlight from shining on her features and betraying her. Her breeches chafed her thighs even through the hose, and she wondered how men could stand wearing such things. She still wore the same linen blouse, but after Lizzy’s comments, Avery had procured a less offensive tunic.

  As she wandered an apparently aimless path, Avery considered Jakob’s second absence from their lessons in only five days—an absence which continued through the evening meal. For a man who claimed he wanted to teach as well as learn, his disappearances made no sense.

  She found it hard to believe his claim that Henry was so in need of his particular skills that the king would call on him so frequently. Henry had his own army of knights and noblemen; why tap the Norseman?

  If I’m honest, I’m irritated because I miss him.

  Avery twisted her lips into a sheepish smile. Her affections for Jakob had exploded of late, taking over every waking hour of her days, and many of her nights.

  The man was so comfortable to be with. His attentions were sincere, his conversation amusing, and he remained true to his promise to remain chaste with her. Avery trusted him. She felt safe with him. She loved him.

  That thought brought her to a sudden halt.

  I love him.

  She slumped against a tree trunk on the Tower hill. I cannot love him.

  But I do.

  “That’s an improvement, I must say, sir.” Lizzy walked a half circle in front of Avery, her gaze moving over Avery from top to toe. “At least I can’t smell the fabric from here.”

  Avery touched the brim of her hat. “I’m glad you approve.”

  “I thought you gave up on me.” The whore’s tone was petulant. “You haven’t been around for so long.”

  Avery reached into her pocket and pulled out a bag of coins. “And I have brought you double the amount to make up for it.”

  Lizzy grinned and grabbed for the little pouch. To any passerby, the pair appeared to be making an agreement for a night of bedsport, Avery the customer and Lizzy the eager wench. To keep up the charade, Lizzy sauntered close and laid a palm on Avery’s chest.

  “I was hoping to see you tonight.” She leaned closer and whispered. “I saw something very odd today.”

  Avery touched Lizzy’s cheek. “What was that?”

  Lizzy leaned back and tucked her arm through Avery’s. “Let’s walk so no one hears.”

  Walking with their heads close together, Lizzy kept her voice low. “Do you know the king went riding through the streets today?”

  Avery pretended she did. “I know he has been announcing his success with his treaty all over London.”

  Lizzy shrugged. “I don’t know about that. All I know was that his carriage near to knocked me over.”

  Avery nodded and waited for the girl to continue.

  “That’s how I noticed it was him. I made a point to look him in the eye.” Lizzy spit on the ground. “Rude bastard.”

  Avery saw no reason to mention that Henry wasn’t actually the one driving the carriage; to the peasants any nobleman would be guilty because it was his conveyance. And most likely, because of his uncaring attitude as well.

  “Why is the king riding in his carriage odd?” Avery probed.

  “It’s not.” Lizzy’s gave Avery a conspiratorial look. “It’s what happened straight after.”

  Avery stopped walking. The women stood alone beside the Thames with only a few intrepid seagulls as company. No one could approach them without being seen from a decent distance.

  “What happened after?” she prodded.

  “After my near-crushing, I changed my path.” Lizzy flashed a pouty moue at the recollection. “I was walking down a different street, trying to find a place to get some supper before I started working, you know.”

  Avery leaned her head closer to Lizzy. “Go on.”

  “And I see the king come out of a house.”

  Avery frowned. “What?”

  Lizzy’s intense gaze pinned hers. “And he ain’t wearing the same clothes.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “It ain’t. There weren’t enough time for him to go there, change his clothes, hide his carriage, and come out again.” Lizzy shrugged one bare shoulder. “And why would he, anyway?”

  Avery shook her head. “You must be mistaken, Lizzy.”

  “I tell you it was the same man.” The girl poked Avery’s chest. “And I know men.”


  Avery decided not to address that particular assertion, and take the enquiry in a different direction. “Do you know whose house it was?”

  Lizzy gave her a satisfied nod. “I asked. It’s a family named Blount. And the daughter—a fancy lady—visits often.”

  “Fancy?” Avery asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she ain’t noble, but the family’s got plenty of money. She has nice clothes. Expectations.” Her expression turned a little sad. “The kind of woman that men take good care of.”

  That description hit Avery’s chest like a cannonball. Had Henry taken a mistress?

  “If it was King Henry—and I’m not saying it was—then who was in the carriage?”

  The moment the words left her mouth, a second cannonball knocked the wind out of her. Avery grabbed Lizzy’s arm, trying to stand on legs as weak as wet grass.

  “What time?” she croaked.

  “A bit after the church bell rung six times.” Lizzy lowered Avery to the cobbled walkway, her voice growing frantic. “My—sir? What’s amiss? Shall I get you something?”

  “No. No.” Avery closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly. “Just sit here with me.”

  Lizzy sat down and patted Avery’s hand. “You are giving me a fright.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “Do you believe someone is taking the king’s place?” Lizzy hissed.

  Avery opened her eyes, gathering her thoughts quickly enough to turn Lizzy’s suggestion in a different direction. “It is possible. Poor Miss Blount might be the victim of a very cruel lie.”

  Lizzy sat back on her heels, her eyes wide. “So the man I saw was not the king?”

  Avery grasped the first straw to drift through her mind. “What was he wearing?”

  Her brow lowered. “Nothing rich, I suppose. Nothing I would pick out in a crowd.”

  “And the man in the carriage?”

  “He was quite finely turned out!” Lizzy waved a disgusted hand. “He had so much gold on him, it nearly blinded me.”

  Avery swallowed, though her mouth was dry and her tongue sticky. “I believe you were nearly knocked over by the king,” she said carefully. “And the man visiting Miss Blount was not Henry. Merely someone with similar looks.”