Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (8 page)

“Did you go into Wales with Prince Arthur after his marriage to Princess Catherine?”

He shook his head. “My uncle, Sir Thomas Brandon, believed I would do better to stay at court. He is the king’s master of horse, you know. He trained me to participate in tournaments. My very first performance in the lists brought me to the attention of the Earl of Essex and secured me a post in his household.”

That joust had also brought him to the attention of every lady at court. “I remember,” I admitted.

“You noticed me?”

“How could I not?” I teased him. “It was
my
uncle, Sir Rowland Velville, that you unhorsed so spectacularly.”

“Is that how you came to be in Princess Mary’s household?” he asked. “Did your uncle sponsor you at court?”

I nodded.

“Sir Rowland came to England with King Henry, I believe, although he was only a boy at the time.”

“You are surely too young to remember that!” He was no more than twenty-one. That was one reason his performance in the tournament had been so startling. Boys did not even begin their training in the lists until they reached their sixteenth year.

“Both my father and uncle were in exile with the king,” he said. “My father died in the Battle of Bosworth, where King Henry won his throne.”

“I am sorry.”

“I do not remember him. I was a babe in arms when he died.”

“I lost my father when I was young, too, and my mother, as well.”

We had circled halfway around the small courtyard and come to another door. Charles led me inside and along a corridor, and when we came to the end, he ushered me into a chamber tucked in beneath a stair.

“Whose lodgings are these?” I asked as he lit a candle. My nose
twitched at the musty odor that clung to the bedding. There was no window to let in fresh air.

“The room is assigned to a friend of mine, but he is not at court at present. He will not mind if we borrow his accommodations.” He helped me out of my cloak, and before I could think better of it, caught me by the waist and lifted me onto the bed. A moment later he was sitting beside me and leaning in for a kiss.

I put a hand out to stop him. His chest felt like iron beneath my palm. “You invited me to walk and
talk,
Master Brandon.”

“So I did. But is that what you really want, Jane? Just to talk?” He ran one hand along the curve of my cheek. His touch made me shiver.

“It would be prudent to do no more than that.” Greatly daring, I added, “Charles.” I placed my hand over his and moved it from my face to the coverlet between us.

This seemed to amuse him. “Well, then, Jane, what shall we talk about?”

“You could tell me your intentions, for if you mean to court me, Charles, you should know I have no dowry.”

“But you are much beloved by the king. I know that to be true.”

I frowned. First Francesca and now Charles seemed to have the mistaken notion that I could somehow influence the king. “I serve his
daughter
.”

He slid an arm around my shoulders. The embroidery on his sleeve scratched the underside of my chin. “Mayhap you have more value than you know.”

Uncertain how to respond to this statement, my lips parted slightly in preparation for speech. Before I could form words, he took advantage of my hesitation to steal a kiss. This one was not as sloppy as the ones in the passageway at Greenwich. I liked it
better. I would have kissed him back had someone not chosen that moment to rattle the latch on the door.

We sprang apart. Charles cursed.

“Jane?” Harry Guildford called, his voice muffled by the thickness of the oak door. “I saw you go in there. My mother is looking for you. If you have any sense you will take yourself back to your own lodgings before she finds you.”

C
ANDLEMAS, THE SECOND
day of February and the traditional beginning of spring, dawned to fresh snow on the ground and an icy wind whipping up the newly fallen flakes. After freezing them into stinging pellets, it flung them into the face of anyone foolish enough to venture outside.

The interior of Windsor Castle was little better. Cold drafts crept right through the walls to chill every chamber. The maidservant I shared with two more of the Lady Mary’s gentlewomen went out early to fetch glowing coals for the brazier and a bowl of washing water free of ice. A quick splash was sufficient for my ablutions.

With King Philip and all his retinue in residence, the castle was crowded. The most favored courtiers, together with their servants, occupied double lodgings—two rooms, each with a fireplace and a stool chamber. Those less important resided in single lodgings—one room with a fireplace—and were obliged to use the public latrines. Others shared cramped quarters and were fortunate if they had a brazier and a bed instead of pallets on the floor.

I wondered if the little, windowless room Charles Brandon had taken me to had been his own poor lodging. That would explain how Harry had known to look for me there. I did not believe for a moment that he’d just happened to see us as we entered the chamber.

My two bedfellows and I had a slit for a window but scarcely space enough to house the bed and the truckle for the maid to sleep on and our traveling chests. I lost no time dressing in my warmest clothing. As I adjusted my headdress, I wished I had some excuse not to go to the Candlemas ceremony, followed by Mass in St. George’s Chapel. The hall and chapel would be even colder than this bedchamber and I had seen the ritual designed to drive out evil spirits many times before. The only difference this year was that two kings instead of one would carry lit tapers, hallowed by the archbishop of Canterbury, in procession around the great hall.

Just as we were leaving, one of my garters came loose. “I will follow directly,” I promised, and stopped to retie the ribbon holding up my stocking.

Left alone, I found myself gazing with real longing at the bed. A lump marked the location of the spaniel one of my bedfellows kept as a pet. Braveheart, she called him. I usually ignored the annoying little creature, but I envied him the warmth of those blankets and fur coverlets.

The Lady Mary would not miss me, I thought. She had a bevy of young women surrounding her. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Mother Guildford. Nothing escaped her notice, and of late she had paid particular attention to my comings and goings. Resigned, I left the chamber and slowly made my way along the deserted passageway.

I had not gone far when I saw a gloved hand emerge from behind a tapestry. When I stopped and stared, it beckoned to me. The thought crossed my mind that the hand might belong to Charles Brandon. Was he waiting there, in an alcove just large enough to hide two people from passersby?

I had not forgotten Mother Guildford’s warnings about
lecherous courtiers. I was curious to know who might be lurking behind the arras, even if it was not Charles Brandon, but this could be some unknown man waiting for any court damsel who might happen along.

“Come out where I can see you,” I called, careful to stay more than an arm’s length distant.

“Are we alone?” The words were muffled but I recognized the voice.

“Harry Guildford, what are you playing at?” A trace of disappointment colored my question.

“Are we alone?” he repeated.

“Yes!” I stepped closer, reached around the side of the arras, grasped him by the arm, and pulled him out of hiding.

It had been a great game, when we were younger, to conceal ourselves behind a convenient hanging or piece of furniture, then jump out and startle one another into shrieking aloud. Prince Henry in particular used to do this. Now, however, we were much too old for such foolishness. I saw at once, by the earnest expression on Harry’s face, that he knew it, too. He had not been in hiding simply for the fun of frightening me.

“I must talk with you, Jane.”

“Now?”

“We will not be missed.” The desperation in his voice suggested that whatever troubled him was no small matter.

“Come to my chamber, then,” I said. “No one will bother us there.”

We were in luck. There were still coals in the brazier that sat in the small square of open floor between the bed and the chests full of clothing.

Harry hesitated. “Your maid—”

“She has gone to break her fast, and then will attend the
Candlemas ceremony along with everyone else.” Except, it seemed, for Harry and me.

A few minutes later we had tugged pillows off the bed and were ensconced on the floor next to the firebox. Its heat dispelled some of the chill, but not enough that we were willing to remove our cloaks or gloves. I allowed Braveheart to climb onto my lap, happy to absorb the warmth from his small, wriggling body.

“What troubles you, Harry? Has the prince thrown you out? I cannot keep you here, you know.” I indicated the spaniel burrowing deep into my skirts. “I am allowed either a lapdog or a singing bird, but you are neither.”

My teasing failed to cheer him. He sat tailor fashion, hunched over the brazier, elbows on knees and shoulders slumped. I had never seen him look so wretched.

“Why is it so important that we speak in private?” Now that he had my full attention, he seemed loath to confide in me.

“I did not want anyone to overhear what I have to say to you.”

“Well?”

“This is not easy for me, Jane.” He stared at the glowing coals.

I narrowed my eyes. “You are not about to ask me to marry you, are you?”

“By the saints, I swear I am not!” The shock of my suggestion jerked him upright. His eyes all but popped out of his head. “How came you by such a mad notion?”

“From Lady Guildford.”

“My mother thinks I want to wed you?”

“Your mother thinks I might try to trap you into marriage.” I waved a dismissive hand. “What she believes is of little importance so long as you and I know better. But if that is not why you wished to talk to me, then what is it that troubles you, Harry?”

“Not my mother, but my father.” Heaving a great sigh, he
reached inside both cloak and gown to fumble at his doublet. At length he produced a piece of paper folded in thirds and handed it over. “Read this. Then you will understand.”

“It is from Sir Richard to you.” I hesitated to peruse the private words written by a father to his son, in part because Harry and I had never spoken openly of his father’s disgrace.

Sir Richard Guildford’s letter stated that he wished to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. He wrote that he had a great sin on his conscience he hoped to have absolved through this penance. This notion troubled me not at all until I realized that Sir Richard wanted Harry to go with him. Suddenly, I felt a giant fist clench around my heart at the thought of losing yet another person I cared for. I could barely find breath to speak. Wordlessly, I returned the missive.

Harry tucked it away inside his doublet. “I do not know what to do, Jane. It would be a great adventure to travel to foreign lands.”

“If you desire to visit shrines, there are plenty right here in England. Surely you do not
want
to go on a pilgrimage?”

He gave a rueful laugh. “Can you not see me in a pilgrim’s cloak?”

“I cannot imagine that you would want to give up the pleasures of the prince’s household. All your life, you have been trained as a courtier.”

“My father was once accustomed to those same luxuries.”

“Perhaps your father has reason to seek forgiveness!”

“You think his mismanagement of crown funds is the ‘great sin’ he refers to in his letter?” Harry did not seem convinced.

“What else could it be? But whatever sin it is that he carries upon his conscience,
you
have nothing to atone for. If he wants his own flesh and blood with him on this journey, let him take Edward.” Harry’s brother was the son of Sir Richard’s first wife and fifteen years Harry’s senior. “You cannot go to the Holy Land.”

“Because you say so?” Harry gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. “Careful, Jane, or I will think you do have designs on me after all.”

I stuck my tongue out at him as I shifted position on my cushion. Roused from a nap, the little dog yawned, stretched, and abandoned me for a spot on the truckle bed.

Harry sighed again and seemed to fall into melancholy.

Clasping my knees to my chest, I buried my face in my arms, pulling the cloak more tightly closed around me on the pretext of being cold. In truth, confusion enveloped me, relentless as an incoming tide. Our childhood was over, but the old bonds were strong. I yearned to keep Harry at court but knew not how.

The silence between us stretched until it was pulled taut as a bowstring. At last Harry stirred and spoke. “I am bound to serve the prince, but my father is…my father.”

“The first loyalty is stronger than the second,” I said slowly, thinking the matter through as I spoke, “for your father, in his turn, serves the Crown.” As I obeyed the Lady Mary, Harry was Prince Henry’s to command. I added, carefully, “The Prince of Wales depends upon you, Harry. He
listens
to you.”

“He has others to—”

My head shot up. “He needs
you,
Harry! You have known him almost longer than anyone. When he loses his temper, everyone relies upon you to calm him down.”

“What of Will Compton?”

“Oh, yes. Will can also restore Prince Henry to his better self, but it takes him twice as long.”

“Do you ever wonder what he will be like when he becomes king?” Harry asked, his face pinched with worry. “You know Prince Henry lacks his father’s self-control.”

Snaking one hand out from beneath my cloak, I reached across
the brazier to touch Harry’s forearm. “As long as he gets his own way, or thinks he has, all will be well,” I said.

Another humorless snort of laughter answered me.

“
Use
that, Harry. Prince Henry won’t want you to go to the Holy Land. Let that be your answer to your father.”

For a long time we sat listening to the wind howl outside the chamber window. I could say little more. I consoled myself with the thought that it would be weeks yet, perhaps even months, before anyone could set sail. The destruction of King Philip’s fleet was proof enough of the foolishness of travel by sea at this time of year.