by Kris Tualla
Avery ran into the hallway and collided with her husband.
He pushed her away and held her at arm’s length. “Have a care. I am blood stained.” When he saw her shocked expression, he added, “It is not my blood!”
“Wh—whose blood is it?” she stammered.
“A traitor, whose band King Christian has rightly had put to death.”
Avery rubbed her forehead, shoving the ache away. “I do not understand, Jakob. Where were you and what were you doing?”
Instead of answering, he turned to Askel. “I need to wash, and my wife needs a hot bath.”
“Yes, sir!” The valet sprinted away.
“Emily?”
The maid’s voice was close behind her. “Yes, sir?”
“Once she is refreshed, you will need to dress Lady Avery in her best finery for supper in royal dining hall.”
Avery’s hand fell to the side and she stared at Jakob. “You are forgiven?”
“I assure you, I earned it well.” He tilted his head. “Shall we retire to our chamber so that I may remove another man’s blood?”
“Of course.” Avery spun on her heel and marched back inside.
Jakob and Emily followed.
Emily held out her hands. “Give me your tunic, Sir. I will start cleaning it.”
Avery helped Jakob out of the gruesome garment. Emily took it without flinching and headed toward the laundry. Though there was blood on his hose, Jakob would wait for Askel before handing them off.
“Please tell me what has transpired—before I expire from trepidation!” Avery pleaded.
Jakob poured a cup of wine and handed it to her. “You should sit.” He looked down. “Forgive me if I do not.”
Avery accepted the cup, sat, and took a long draught of the amber liquid.
“Let me begin by asking your forgiveness, Avery—I have not told you the entire truth before now.”
She looked up at him. “I assume there was good reason.”
Jakob nodded. “Christian asked me to play a dangerous role and the utmost secrecy was required for it to succeed.”
He took a gulp of wine and continued. “Christian suggested that if his enemies believed me to be in a position where betraying him would free me, they might approach me with an offer.”
Avery’s eyes rounded. “So he was never angry?”
Jakob huffed. “Oh, no. He was most definitely angry. And he used that anger to convince me to agree.”
Of course. “And then you were approached.”
“The traitors—four noblemen led by a duke—offered me seventy thousand krone to lead Christian into their trap.”
“How much—”
“Seven thousand pounds sterling.”
“Oh, my.”
“Yes.” Jakob drained his cup and refilled it. “The only part of the plan of which I was uncertain was Christian’s refusal to meet with me privately when the plan was culminating.”
Avery frowned. “What were his reasons?”
Jakob gestured with his wine glass. “If anyone in his court was involved, and knew that he met with me alone, he was afraid that knowledge might scare them off and ruin the plan.”
She reluctantly agreed. “I believe he had a valid point.”
“He did. And luckily, when I appeared in his court yesterday, he understood what I was telling him.”
“So this afternoon, you and the king turned the trap on them.”
“We did.” Jakob looked quite pleased.
“And the blood…” she left the sentence dangling in the air between them.
“The rebels are dead to a man.”
The door opened, and a large copper tub was brought in, followed by three servants carrying buckets of hot water. Askel followed with towels.
Jakob grinned at her. “Your bath, my lady.”
*****
The hot water did wonders for her mood, and by the time she was dressed and coiffed—and Jakob washed and shaved—Avery felt invincible. She rested her arm in his as they approached the dining hall, head high, and proud to near bursting of her husband.
When they entered the hall, a herald stepped to their side. “The king has requested that you sit near him. Please follow me.”
As they did so, Avery glanced up Jakob. His brow was once again smooth and the only visible creases emanated from the corners of his bright blue eyes.
“Here you are, Sir. Madam.” The herald held a chair for Avery.
She took her seat—to the right of the king and queen’s head table—and Jakob dropped into the chair on her left. He tilted his head close to hers.
“We have certainly elevated our place in the court,” he whispered.
“You have,” she replied in kind. “I am still a foreigner who does not speak Norsk or Danish.”
Jakob leaned back and considered her, his expression pensive. “We have not been here long.”
“No we have not,” she conceded. “And we have been ‘undesirables’ for all of that time. Until now, of course.”
“Give it a chance, Avery.” He squeezed her thigh under the table. “No final decisions have to be made as yet.”
Avery smiled at Jakob, though she was having a very difficult time liking Denmark. Hopefully her experience would be different from here on out. If it was not, she would need to ask Jakob to consider returning to England before the weather turned.
It is only July. You still have almost three months.
The chatter around them hushed of a sudden as King Christian stood. He lifted a gilded cup and proceeded to make some sort of speech.
Avery caught Jakob’s name, something about thanking him, a growling reference to someone named Nygaard Wold. His narrative ended with, “Skåle!”
“Skåle!” the crowd echoed, raising their cups as well.
Jakob rose to his feet and bowed at the waist. “Thank you. It is my pleasure to serve our King and Queen.”
He reclaimed his seat and squeezed her thigh once again.
Avery took the cue, beamed at him, and lifted her cup to honor him.
“Jeg elsker deg, min mann,” she whispered.
“Jeg elsker deg også, min kone.” The glint in his eyes clearly indicated that he planned to show her just how much he loved her once they were alone again.
As the meal progressed, more of the table’s occupants engaged Jakob in conversation. He tried to include Avery when he could, and translated when he felt something was important for her to understand, but she still struggled.
“If only they would speak more slowly,” she said once the meal was concluded. The couple strolled casually toward their apartment. “Then I might be able to connect the words with ones I understand—or intuit the meanings of those I do not.”
Jakob gave her a sympathetic nod. “The men I spoke with in England were kind enough to do so. And you were an excellent tutor for Spanish. I am sorry that your experience here has, thus far, been less helpful.”
Avery sighed and flashed a rueful grin. “I shall give it time, as you requested.”
Their progress was interrupted by a middle-aged couple who fawned embarrassingly over Jakob. He blushed and tried to deflect their commendations, but to no avail. After several minutes, they left, having only given Avery the most cursory attention.
A thought had occurred to her as she stood beside her husband, seething, but with a determinedly polite smile pasted on her face.
“Where is Hans Andersen?” she asked once the couple departed.
Jakob’s expression sobered of a sudden. “He will hang in the morning.”
Avery’s jaw fell slack. “Not your friend!”
“He was the one who approached me.” Jakob grimaced. “He actually recommended me to the duke as the candidate who was close enough, and angry enough, to do the king harm.”
“I am so sorry, Jakob.”
“As am I.”
She laid her hand over his. “Will you attend the hanging?”
He nodded. “I want him to see me
there. I will try to let him know that I am not angry with him.”
Avery scowled. “Are you not?”
Jakob stopped walking and looked around, before answering her. “He made a mistake, Avery. He was seduced by money and power. But he was a good and loyal knight at one time.”
She understood. “You want him to go to the gallows with that reminder.”
“I do.”
Avery started walking again. “If only every man and woman in København was as considerate as you.”
Jakob kissed her forehead and repeated her words. “Do give it time.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
August 15, 1519
Jakob knew Avery was unhappy. Though more than a month had passed since his reinstatement to court and the king’s favor, the women in the royal residence continued to give her no more than polite attention.
It did not help that Avery was still struggling with the language. That was undeniably his fault, since he spoke English to her for the most part, only slipping into Norsk when others were present. Or Spanish in bed.
Her maid Emily also spoke only English, managing to communicate with Askel when she needed assistance in completing her duties.
While Askel was eager to help the admittedly pretty maid, something about her demeanor revealed her belief that her time in Denmark was temporary. Rather than try to fit in with the multitude of servants, she was merely biding her time until Avery announced their return to the Tudor court.
Jakob sighed and reined Warrior around to begin their return to the royal residence. He really hoped that a long ride in the countryside would soothe his mind. In actuality, the more he considered their circumstances, the more obvious it was becoming that returning to England was the best choice.
Jakob had considered that option from the start—but as an alternative, should Christian send him away. Not merely as a ruse to capture traitors, but if the king actually revoked Jakob’s knighthood.
Jakob had been able to slip back into his duties without effort, but that only made Avery’s struggles more obvious.
“What say you, Warrior?” Jakob patted the stallion’s massive neck. “Can you survive one more voyage?”
The destrier shook his mane and snorted.
Jakob chuckled. “If I can, then you can.”
Was the decision made, then?
Jakob was unwilling to say the words aloud just yet. Once made, the decision would be irreversible.
He was not a man who wished to bounce between countries, a fact that these past fifteen months had clearly proved. While his ideas about what constituted a home had changed, the desire for a permanent one had become more firmly set.
“I am thirty-three, and my wife is thirty-five,” he explained to Warrior. “It is time for us to settle somewhere and live out our lives in peace.”
He was surprised to realize that returning to København no longer felt like returning home. Perhaps that was because he had finally returned to Arendal after sixteen years and his relationship with his family was repaired at last.
Even so, he had no desire to live in Arendal because there was no place for him there.
So how did he feel about England?
An unanticipated warmth bloomed in his chest. England was where he met Avery. It was where he was released from eight years of bondage to a guilt that was not his to carry. And it was where he fell in love—real love—for the first time.
Jakob smiled. Perhaps England truly was his home now.
The thought came to him that Avery had also bounced between countries. And all the while she was in England, she had been hiding from the truth and living a lie. Though she said she had no reason to return to Spain, could she call England her home and be sincere about it?
“It is time to answer that question.” He rubbed the stallion’s ears. “Ready yourself, War. We might be sailing once again.”
Jakob kicked the stallion’s sides, and the huge horse leapt into a ground-swallowing gallop back toward the city.
*****
When he walked into the apartment, he took a hard look at Avery, the first objective one in weeks. Her cheeks were pale and even her lips seemed to have lost color. He could not remember the last time he heard her laugh.
Jakob dropped to his knees in front of her. “Will you forgive me, Avery, for being so blind?”
Avery’s brows drew together. “How are you blind?”
“I had been hoping for something, and not seeing that it was not the right thing for you.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Today I realized, as it turns out, it is not right for me, either.”
Avery’s eyes widened. “Were you hoping for a child?”
A shock zinged through Jakob’s core. “A child—what?—no—are you?”
Avery shook her head soberly. “No.”
Jakob rocked back on his heels. “Good.”
“Good?” Avery blurted. “Why is that good?”
Jakob threw up his hands. “It is not good, it is not bad. But that is not what I was speaking about.”
“Then what were you speaking about?”
Jakob rested his palms on his thighs. “I am speaking about our home.”
She winced. “Here?”
Jakob wagged his head. “No. København is the place that I escaped to, when my own home no longer offered me an acceptable path.”
Avery heaved a relieved sigh. “Much in the same manner as when I escaped to London.”
“Yes.” Jakob expressed a newly sprouted idea. “And while I have always considered Norway my home, I have no desire to live there.”
Avery’s eyes pinched at the corners, though she was not smiling. “I have always considered Spain to be my home, but I also have no desire to live there.”
“I came to København and remained for eight years.”
“I went to London and remained for nine.”
Here was the pivotal moment. Jakob drew a deep breath. “København has never been my home.”
Avery stilled, as if afraid to breathe.
“Was London ever your home?” Jakob asked softly.
Avery’s eyes welled with unspilt tears. “Not when I lived there, but…”
“But?” Jakob prompted.
“When we left Barcelona together, I was not thinking about any particular place as being my home.” She wiped her cheeks, her tears having topped their dam. “And yet, when I spied the White Tower upon our return, my first thought was—”
“We are almost home?” Jakob finished the sentence.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Jakob reached for her hands. “Where is home for you now, Avery?”
She looked stricken by the query. Clearly she thought Jakob wanted her to say Denmark. “Be honest with me, Avery. I need to know.”
“I don’t—”
“Tell me.”
Her gaze fell to the floor. “England. London.”
And there it was.
Jakob closed his eyes and pictured the Tower, Windsor Castle, the Thames, and the countryside around York Place. The mental images evoked pleasant feelings—for the most part. If they returned there to live, however, he would need to have a hard conversation with King Henry the Eighth.
Not if.
When.
Jakob opened his eyes to see Avery’s dark orbs fixed on his. He smiled at her. “Then we shall go home.”
“For how long?” Avery hedged.
“For the rest of our lives, I expect.”
Avery recoiled. “Do not tease me, Jakob. I cannot bear it.”
He spread his palms. “Why do you believe me a tease?”
“Because—“ A sob severed her reply.
Jakob pulled Avery from her chair and into his lap. “I should have realized it sooner. Denmark was never my home, so how could it ever be yours?”
“Oh Jakob…” She circled his torso with her arms. “Are we truly returning to England to live?”
“We are, my love.”
“And are you truly satisfied
with this decision?”
Jakob laughed. “I am. Although I will need to have a very serious discussion with Henry. Our previous arrangement is no longer acceptable.”
Avery leaned away. “When shall we leave?”
“As soon as we can make arrangements.” Jakob kissed her soundly. “I shall speak with Christian. After I have collected all of my investments, that is.”
Avery’s delighted laugh was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
August 22, 1519
“Leaving?” King Christian frowned. “I am not sending you anywhere.”
“No, your Grace.” Jakob stood in the same place, and in the same stance, as he had when Christian first told him about the role he would play at Order of the Golden Fleece. “But I am taking my wife back to England. Back to King Henry’s court.”
“Can she not travel alone?”
“Of course she is capable, your Highness, that is not the point.”
Christian was growing increasingly irritated. “Then what is the point?”
“I will not be returning to København.”
The king stared at Jakob, as if the top of his head had just flopped open and bubbles were spilling out. “You do not have my permission to leave, Hansen.”
Jakob changed his approach. “That is why I have requested this audience. To ask your permission.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I must resign as your knight, and leave København carrying away nothing more than I arrived with.”
And my accrued investments, of course.
Those funds were already safely stowed on the waiting ship, along with everyone he loved and everything else he owned.
“You are a singularly ungrateful man, Hansen, do you know that?” Christian growled.
“An ungrateful man, who risked his very life to save your kingdom—and succeeded.” Jakob bowed. “Once again, it was my honor to serve you.”
The king’s gaze ricocheted around the room, landing on several of the waiting nobility. Clearly he was measuring Jakob’s reply and his pending response against their loyalties.
“Get out.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” Jakob backed away from the throne, turned at the door, and sprinted toward freedom.