Secrets at Court

by Blythe Gifford

  Yet leaving her alone felt, illogically, wrong. As if he had failed an unspoken obligation. An encumbrance he did not want, and yet...

  It was not love. Certainly not. Yet something held him back, heavy as a dead weight on his back. The lure of a woman. Exactly the pull he had so successfully evaded all his life, reaching to trap him.

  And he didn’t know how to deal with that.

  * * *

  If ever you have a need...

  Anne could still hear the echo of his words. Empty words. Yet no one had ever said them to her before. No one except her lady had ever offered a hand of help.

  She knew why. Though she asked for nothing, her needs, the needs of a cripple, were too demanding for most people. The chance was great that she would need something a man did not want to give.

  And this man? What did he offer but words? Nothing solid. Nothing that would stay.

  And yet his kiss....

  She wanted it again, wanted that and more with a hunger stronger than that of her body. Not because no one had ever taken care of her, but because she had been fed and brushed like a horse, without feeling.

  Without passion.

  And when he said if you ever need, she heard passion in his voice. Probably more than he knew, more than he wanted to feel.

  No, she could not, would not, ask him to stay. But, oh, just to hear that passion once in her life. To hear the timbre of his voice when he spoke of her. She could do it, just once. She could grab that moment that would not come again and then let him leave, so she would not have to see the regret in his eyes.

  Tonight, her lady and the Prince would share their marriage bed. And she would sleep alone. Again and for ever, unless...

  Unless...

  What harm could there be? Once. Just once before she was returned to her life, never to see anything beyond the reach of her lady’s eyes.

  She looked at Nicholas again, with all that hunger in her eyes. The kind of hunger she had thought never to fill—for freedom, for distant places, for love. But now, she saw the same from him.

  At least, she thought she did, before the cloud trailed across the moon again.

  ‘There is something you can do. Now.’

  Surprise in his eyes. How would he look when she told him?

  ‘You said if there was anything I want. There is something else I want to store in memory.’ Her fingers stroked his cheek, softly. ‘You.’

  * * *

  Nicholas did not waste breath to ask why she wanted it, nor thought to wonder why he wanted it, nor what would come next nor how he would walk away afterwards. He only knew he could not leave without...more. Without taking something of her with him.

  So he kissed her.

  He was close enough now to catch the scent of her skin. Like pepper and flowers and citron, like Anne herself, tart and sharp on the surface, with the sweetness only revealing itself later.

  His lips left hers and trailed down to her throat, bared to him now, her skin smooth and warm. Her breath was short, separated from his lips only by flesh and blood. Her breasts rose and fell, pressing against his chest. For a moment, this was all. This was everything he needed. Wrapped against Anne. Nothing beyond the two of them. No time, no place, beyond this.

  Dimly, he felt something surge, stirring in his loins. No, not enough. Not all he needed. He needed so much more of her...

  And vaguely, as his body waxed and his mind waned, he understood, as he had not before, about Edward and Joan.

  * * *

  With Nicholas’s arms around her, his lips pressed to hers, Anne felt whole. As any woman might, able to give and be taken, not out of pity, but from unholy desire.

  She pressed her lips to his, intending to wipe out thought, memory and consequences. She wanted only to savour sensation. The heat of his breath on her cheek. Soft lips. Rough fingers. Her fingers, roaming through his hair, to caress the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

  A kiss, she thought. Perhaps more. What could be the harm?

  And then, she did not think at all.

  Nothing but now. But this. This she must relish. This taste, this feel, tucked away for the long days that would come after.

  When she would be alone again.

  She had studied stone and glass and stitches, but when she tried to summon logic, to analyse, to name, to commit his scent to memory, to learn the feel of his muscles, beneath wool and skin, she could not control her mind.

  She, he, here, now. The taste of foreign lands was on his tongue, the scent so deep in his skin that to be in his arms was a journey, to be held by him was like taking wing. As if all the distant lands she had ever wanted to see were in his arms, soaring as the cathedrals did, arches like hands joined in prayer, reaching to heaven.

  His lips left hers and pressed against her vulnerable throat and she gasped for a breath. One more breath. Just one more and one more and one more and then she must let go. She must not reach for things she could never have. God would give her only this one moment, to be paid for later.

  As she had been paying for so much all her life.

  Did he step away? Did she stumble? Suddenly, they were two people again, separated by inches that might as well have been the miles that would stretch between them as soon as he left. Miles that might as well have been the distance between this world and the next.

  Look at him. You must be brave and look at him now.

  He tried to speak. ‘You asked—’

  She touched her fingers to his lips, wanting no words. No regrets.

  But instead of silence, he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips against her palm. That simple, tender gesture hurt more than all the thoughts of separation to come.

  ‘Don’t.’ A single word she could barely utter.

  He paused, but did not release her hand. ‘I want you.’

  She nearly did fall then, not because of her weak leg, but because the force of his desire stole her strength. Had anyone ever desired her before? Ever looked at her with fire in his eyes, with longing?

  And that was enough. That would be enough to keep her all the rest of her days. To be with a man who desired her. Once for the rest of her life.

  She swayed toward him.

  ‘Lady Anne?’ The voice of one of the pages. ‘Lady Joan needs you.’

  * * *

  Nicholas gritted his teeth, trying to force himself back to sense, not stopping to wonder what would have happened if they had not been interrupted. He only knew that he had not wanted to let her go. Not wanted to let the world intrude until he had learned her body as well as the countryside he’d fought over.

  Knew that he had nearly been as stupid as his father.

  Had it been his loins or his heart talking? Hard to tell one from the other when he looked at her. Which made it so much worse.

  * * *

  Anne made her way back into the hall, suddenly surrounded again by the post-ceremony celebration. The noise and heat of a crowded room. Dancers uneven on their feet, threatening to bump her shoulder or her crutch. Hugs, toasts. Some more genuine than others.

  Lady Cecily lifted a goblet to Anne, who paused for breath. She still had half the Hall to cover to reach Lady Joan—no, she must now be called the Princess of Wales—sitting on the dais with the Prince.

  ‘The Princess looks wonderful,’ Cecily whispered to her.

  ‘Which one?’ Anne said, trying to smile.

  ‘Both of them.’ Cecily nodded toward Princess Isabella, who was seated as far away from her brother’s new wife as the table would allow.

  ‘Perhaps your lady will be next to wed.’ The Princess had reached nearly thirty without a husband. Near as scandalous as her brother.

  ‘My lady will wed if she pleases.’ Cecily’s voice had an edge. ‘A privilege neit
her of us will see.’

  A strange comment, but certainly true. Few men and fewer women married for pleasure. Yet Lady Cecily was fair and whole and from a good family. Strange that she had not yet wed.

  Who knew what pain could be disguised behind a healthy body?

  The page tugged at her sleeve and she resumed her progress through the Hall. No doubt Edward and Joan were ready to share a bed again, now that they could do so with the church’s blessing.

  She made her way across the dais and her lady turned away from the table to speak to her. ‘I’ll be leaving now.’

  It was as she had expected, yet her disappointment was sharp. ‘I am ready to attend you, of course.’ Hair to be combed. Furs to be brushed. Gowns to be put away. The maids must be directed carefully this night.

  And Nicholas would be left waiting.

  ‘No.’ Joan patted Anne’s arm. ‘Stay and enjoy yourself. Someone else will attend to me. You have worked very hard, Anne.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’ Praise that would once have set her smiling. Now, she barely noted the words.

  ‘From now on, the demands there will be, to attend the wife of the future King—well, I do understand they will be beyond what you have been doing.’

  She had not complained before. She would not do so now. ‘I understand, my lady. I am prepared.’ The royal quarters, rising safe and strong, would be the home she had always hoped to have.

  ‘But since St Thomas did not see fit to...’ A pause.

  ‘Yes, my lady?’ Odd, to hear her lady stumble as she spoke. Perhaps she was tired from the nights of preparations.

  ‘Because of that, I’ve made arrangements for you to go away for a rest.’

  Away. She knew what the word meant, yet it made no sense. Nicholas’s kiss must have muddied her hearing. ‘Away from you?’

  ‘You need not worry. I will bear all the costs. But doesn’t a long rest sound wonderful? I know it has been exhausting, taking care of me all these years. So I’ve arranged for you to withdraw to Holystone’s nunnery.’

  ‘Nunnery?’ She had never expected marriage, but to be locked in a convent? No. That she had never, never wanted.

  ‘It is a small one, but I’ll arrange a sizeable gift to be sure you are well cared for. And now that the war with Scotland is over, I’m sure it is quite safe, even though it is on the Borders.’

  Her lady’s meaning was now cold and clear and sharp. The secret Anne had kept for all these years was no longer a protection for her. She was the only one besides Joan who knew the truth. Now that the marriage was finalised, she needed Anne to be far, far away.

  Out of sight.

  Out of reach.

  Locked away like a madwoman.

  Silent.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Speechless, Anne took a step away from her lady, lost in a suddenly spinning world.

  How was she to live, torn away from the life that had protected her since childhood?

  The answer was simple and brutal. She wasn’t.

  Oh, it was not an outright threat. Lady Joan would never dream of harming her, of course. It was just that Anne was no longer useful. Worse, she had become...inconvenient. She was the only person to know that the wife of the future King of England, and, more importantly, the mother of a future King of England was not, could not be married to the Prince under church law.

  Because she was married to another man.

  Only Anne the cripple knew now. And no one would heed her, once she was tucked far away in a convent, never to see the outside world again.

  She left the dais and leaned against the wall, unable to take a sure step. The gaiety of the wedding dancers filled the Hall. She had never expected to be able to dance, but to be locked away, never to even see someone else move to music, to hear only music meant for God’s ears...

  It was not death, exactly. She would still breathe and wake to see the light each day, beckoning outside the convent walls. But she would be trapped, imprisoned in one place more tightly than her leg could ever have held her.

  As tight as a coffin might hold her.

  ‘You do not seem happy.’ Nicholas had appeared beside her, without her even knowing. ‘What did she want?’

  She must keep smiling. ‘Just to thank me. Of course I am happy. For her.’

  ‘And for yourself?’

  She looked away. ‘I have nothing to complain of.’ And yet she wanted to complain, to keen in mourning at the loss of her world. A world in which once, at least, a man had kissed her. ‘But I have some things I must tell you.’

  Within days, he would be gone from her life for ever. The only man who had ever really seen her. She had thought to make a memory tonight, but perhaps she would repay a debt instead.

  * * *

  Staying close to the wall, Nicholas guided Anne out of the Hall. Revellers were spilling out of the Hall, looking for fresh air, and the yard that had been theirs before was now dotted with other couples.

  He found quiet shelter in the stairway, where torches studded the walls so that guests would not miss a step and tumble down the stairs cascading below them.

  They settled on one of the steps and Nicholas brushed the hair away from Anne’s brow, wanting to take her lips again, but her mood had shifted. The moment lost.

  She took a breath. ‘Tonight is goodbye.’ Her voice was steady. Steadier than he felt. Now he was the one whose legs seemed too weak to carry him forward. He did not want to examine why.

  ‘I do not leave yet.’

  ‘I do.’

  Shock. Where would she be going? ‘I thought the Prince and Princess would remain at Windsor.’

  ‘They will. I go alone.’

  ‘Alone?’ An echo, that word. She had never gone anywhere alone. ‘Where?’

  She pursed her lips, looking not at him, but down the stairs that disappeared into darkness. ‘To the convent of Holystone.’

  He’d never even heard the name. ‘Where is that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Northumberland. Near the Borders.’

  None of the words made sense. ‘On a mission for your lady?’

  A deep breath, then Anne met his eyes again. ‘My lady thinks I need a rest.’

  ‘Do you?’ The words were sharper than he had intended.

  She shrugged.

  Something was wrong. Why was she going alone to a desolate, dangerous wasteland? She had wanted to travel, especially without her lady, but there was no excitement in her voice. ‘Is it what you want?’

  ‘It is...better that I go.’ She looked down the stairs that would take her away. In the flickering torchlight, they almost seemed to move. ‘I have been with Lady Joan a long time. I remind her of too many things.’

  He sensed treacherous ground here. ‘What things?’ He asked as if it were his right to know.

  She did look at him then, long and hard and silent, as if she were making a hard decision. ‘Of the past. You asked me once if I knew who witnessed her marriage to Holland. I do. It was my mother. My mother was the witness.’

  If he had been standing, he would have fallen.

  He tried to reorder the pieces, to fit together everything he had learned, confirmed and did not know.

  A clandestine marriage with a witness. And all his questions had come to naught. It had seemed strange at the time, but she had insisted she did not know.

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ‘I asked you and you lied.’ Anger doubled, for lie upon lie. He should not have been surprised. And yet... ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  She looked down at her lap. ‘I have never told anyone.’ Her words were a whisper, as if she did not want to tell him either.

  Yet here, breathing the scent of her, knowing this would be the last time he would see her, his anger
shattered.

  He let his hands slip off her shoulders and gathered her fingers in his. ‘Tell me.’

  * * *

  With her fingers tight in his, Anne felt at once safe and trapped. She had led him this far, exchanged a night of passion for a night of truth, or partial truth, uncertain whether she was looking for redemption, forgiveness, or simply a witness.

  The top of Nicholas’s head met hers as they looked down at their clasped fingers. ‘Where were they? When they married?’ he whispered, the words muddied as they bounced against the walls and down the stairs.

  This part was easy to tell. She had repeated it many times. ‘Flanders.’

  ‘Why were they in Flanders?’

  ‘Thomas Holland went in the retinue of the Earl of Salisbury. He was part of the embassy of earls and bishops sent to present the King’s statement of grievances to Philip of France.’

  Nicholas nodded. ‘And Joan?’

  His question was sharp. He might not forgive her for this, but then, it would not matter now.

  ‘The following summer. She was not yet ten and still in the care of the Queen, so when she came to Flanders to join the King, Joan and some of her children came, too.’

  ‘And your mother? Why was she there?’

  ‘Serving the Queen.’ She could see him about to ask the next question. ‘She brought me with her.’

  ‘You couldn’t have been...’

  ‘Barely born. She could have left me with a wet nurse, but the Queen brought some of her own children, as well as Joan, too, so she could not force Mother to leave me behind. Already, they could tell I was not going to be...’ still hard to say ‘...like other children.’ A smile now. ‘We were there for three years, travelling with court.’

  ‘In the midst of a war.’ His sigh said he knew exactly what that meant. ‘At least I was never asked to find food and lodging for the Queen as well as for fighting men.’

  She nodded. ‘It was difficult. An Abbey one night. A peasant’s house another. Some nights, we did not know where we would be sleeping. Mother was supposed to watch over Joan, but it was hard. Some nights...’