The Court of Boleyn (Tudor Romance Book 1) (5 page)

   ‘I bid you good morning, your majesty.’ Sir Francis Weston smiled down at her from his chestnut stallion. ‘You look very fine, as usual.’

   ‘Flatterer.’ Anne smiled and gave a gloved hand to the groom who legged her up onto her grey mare. Gathering up the reins, she looked around the yard, searching for Henry. ‘Where is the king?’

   ‘He rode on ahead.’ Weston said. ‘But if you will allow me to escort you, I am sure we can catch up with him.’

   Anne forced herself to smile graciously. ‘Lead on, good knight.’

   They galloped for miles, the verdant parkland rushing past in a blur. Anne felt her heart soar with pleasure as she urged her mount on faster and faster. Francis Weston was just ahead of her and every so often he looked back, yelling words of encouragement:
‘You ride well, majesty!’
and
‘Catch me if you can!’

  
Eventually they steered their horses into a woodland clearing where a group of liveried servants busied themselves laying out velvet cushions and setting up a roasting spit for the feast. The king stood in a small huddle with Henry Norris, William Brereton, and Edward Seymour. Their raucous laughter pierced through the stillness of the spring air. After Weston had helped her dismount, Anne walked over to join them. The king seemed to be in good humour.

   ‘That doe gave us a good chase, boys, but she was no match for us.’ he said. ‘Did you see how the hounds nearly ripped her head off? Ho, ho, that was good sport, indeed!’

    Anne took his hand and kissed it. ‘It was a good hunt, Henry,’ she smiled, then winced as he gave her a playful pat on the bottom. It seemed wrong somehow, for the king to use her thus in front of the gentlemen. She was queen, not some saucy kitchen wench. At the same time, it was the most contact he had given her in weeks so she supposed she ought to be grateful.

   ‘I remember when I courted you, madam. Now, that was a good chase.’ He turned to the men. ‘It was seven years before she would even touch my codpiece!’

   Anne smiled and rubbed his hand between hers, thinking back to that night in Calais when they had first lain together, their burning desire sated at last. She had felt so close to him, running her nails down his back as he thrust into her with increasing urgency. For a brief moment in time, they had been as one; their souls entwined in a mutual cause. Nine months later she was delivered of a beautiful girl, Elizabeth. ‘It was worth it in the end, was it not?’

   ‘No, not really,’ the king said quietly. ‘I expected that you would have given me a son by now, sweetheart, but I begin to doubt if God wills it.’

   Anne’s smile died on her lips. She noticed that Edward Seymour was looking at her from beneath the brim of his hat, watching, waiting, like a predator. Any sign of weakness and he would rip her throat out as his dogs had done to that deer. She took a deep breath and took hold of her husband’s cheek, forcing him to look at her. ‘I will give you a son, Henry, I swear. Come to my bed tonight and let me prove it to you.’

   The king nodded his silent assent and she kissed his nose in gratitude.

-

   That night, Anne sat before her mirror and watched her maid Nan brush out her long hair into a dark glossy wave. She had bathed in warm scented water and dabbed her skin with rose oil, ready to receive the king. Her white linen gown was loosened at the top to show the curve of her breast and she had rouged her lips. ‘You may go now, Nan.’ She watched as the maid bobbed a curtsey and left the bedchamber. Anne climbed onto the four poster bed, and sat up against the pillows. On the little table to the side of the bed was a bottle of malmsey wine along with a loaf of bread, some cheese, ham, and a bunch of grapes. She would make love to the king and then they would enjoy a simple supper together, as they used to do. She strained to listen for the sound of feet marching down the passageway towards her chamber but all she could hear was the warm fire crackling away in the grate. Where was he? He had promised to come tonight and allow her to do her duty, to conceive the son they both desperately needed.

   She sighed and poured herself a glass of wine to steady her nerves. He would arrive soon, she was sure. A knock on the door made her jump, then smile.

   ‘Come in!’

   The door opened slowly and a serving woman stepped hesitantly into the chamber.

   ‘Well, what is it?’ Anne snapped.

   ‘Begging your pardon, majesty.’ The woman began. ‘I have a message from the king. He says he has a megrim and must take to his bed. He bids you goodnight.’

   Anne stared at the woman for a long moment, her chest heaving as she felt her fury rise. She nodded her head at the door, a silent order for the woman to leave immediately. As the door closed, Anne threw her glass of wine at the wall and screamed before curling up on her bed and crying herself to sleep.

-

   Edward Seymour’s new apartments were magnificent. The dining chamber was ornately furnished with tapestries hanging from wood panelled walls and a thick sheepskin rug in the middle of the floor. A huge fire roared in the grate, giving the room a cosy, familiar feel. Jane smiled at her brother as he poured her a glass of hot cider. ‘You look nice, sister,’ he said. ‘Just be careful not to give too much away, if you know what I mean.’

   Jane laughed and arranged her face into a visage of mock seriousness. ‘I shall guard my maidenhead with my life.’ She looked towards the little door which led to the passageway between Edward’s and king’s apartments. ‘He should be here soon, so shush.’

   Moments later, she was proved right as the little door opened and the king stepped into the chamber with Henry Norris and Madge Shelton. ‘I am risen!’ the king said, casting a huge smile around the room. ‘Is it not marvellous how quickly a megrim can disappear?’

   Edward smiled and held up his glass. ‘Let us drink to good company.’

   Jane waved at Madge and patted the seat next to her. ‘Come, Madge, let us be merry together.’ The queen’s cousin was not very bright but she was good natured enough. It would be easy to tap her for information about Anne Boleyn; to knock that witch’s crown from her head once and for all.

Chapter Eight

Radley Hall

‘So, how does it feel to be free at last?’ Francis Bowman smiled at Cecily as they rode side by side along the sunny track towards London. Spring time had arrived with a vengeance and the trees overhead were bright green with budding leaves. They had left Radley Hall hours before dawn, sneaking into the stable yard to retrieve their horses before galloping across the fields to seek out the quiet back lanes. It was inevitable that Edmund and his men would be on the hunt for them by now – with God’s grace they would find Cecily’s note and head off in the direction of Coventry. The ruse would buy them time, but Francis was not about to take any chances, so they would stick to the quietest lanes they could find until they were close enough to London to blend in with the hordes of travellers heading to and from the capital.

   He reached over and squeezed Cecily’s hand. She was very pale, her blonde hair loose about her shoulders and a black cloak hastily thrown over her silvery blue dress. There had been no time to dress properly or gather all her belongings. He guessed that their earlier gallop had exhausted her. ‘If you have any regrets, it is not too late to turn back.’

  She turned those beautiful green eyes on him and flashed a smile. ‘I would rather die than turn back now, Francis. Even if the queen does not accept me, I am sure something will turn up.’ She patted the leather purse which hung about her neck. ‘I think I have enough money to take lodgings for a few months.’

   ‘I’m sure it will not come that.’ Francis realised suddenly that he felt responsible for her. London was a dangerous, stinking hovel full of vice and crime. A naïve young country woman such as Cecily could quickly find herself in trouble left to her own devices. ‘As I said to you before, the queen is in need of friends. If you make yourself agreeable to her, she will take you to her heart.’

   ‘To think that I could soon be serving at the court of Boleyn!’ Cecily exclaimed. ‘She is such a great lady, and I have heard …’

   Francis would never find out what Cecily had heard. He reined in his horse suddenly and let her ride ahead, twisting around in his saddle to look back in the direction they had just come. He strained to listen. Over the birdsong and the wind rustling in the branches, he thought he heard the distant sound of galloping hooves. He sat still, and listened quietly. After a moment, the ground began to vibrate with what sounded like a dozen riders thundering down the muddy track. ‘We are being followed,’ he muttered, and trotted to catch up with Cecily. ‘Come, quick,’ he said, grabbing her reins and leading her at a trot through a gap in the thick hedgerow.

   ‘What is it?’ Cecily hissed. ‘Are they coming?’

   Francis nodded grimly. They found themselves in a huge field full of cattle. The hedgerow was thick enough to hide them but if Edmund and his men were following the horses’ hoof prints, it would not be long before they appeared through it themselves, undoubtedly with swords and rapiers drawn. Francis would be arrested for abduction and Cecily’s life would no longer be worth living. If it ever had been. He looked around in increasing panic. ‘We have to get out of here. Can you gallop again?’

   Cecily nodded. Her eyes were wide with fear but she had so far proved herself brave. It was no good; she would have to be brave once more. Francis nodded in the direction of a wooden barn in the middle of the field. It was a good quarter of mile away. ‘Follow me close, sweetheart. We’ll make for that shelter.’ He had no idea what they would do when they reached it but there was no time for delay. Digging his spurred heels into his horse’s flanks, he raced across the field with Cecily not far behind him. As they galloped through the herd of cattle, the beasts trotted out of the way, mooing irritably. Francis turned his horse’s head to the left, guiding it to the far side of the barn. The entire length of the structure was open, allowing the cattle to walk in and out at will. Francis rode inside, beckoning at Cecily to follow.

   ‘If they see the cattle moving about, they will suspect it was us who disturbed them,’ she said, breathlessly. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair had blown into a mess but her eyes shone with excitement. She was beginning to enjoy herself, Francis thought wryly.

   ‘Stay inside,’ he said. ‘I’ll check to see if they are coming.’ He dismounted his horse and gave her the reins, then walked carefully to the edge of the barn and peeked around the corner. The cattle had settled down again now and were busy chewing the cud. He watched the far hedgerow closely, praying that Edmund and his men had passed them by. If they appeared in the field, he would have no idea what to do. There was nowhere else to run.

   Suddenly he saw a horse forcing its way through the same gap that he and Cecily had ridden through just moments before. The rider had a shock of red hair and wore a bright blue cloak. Edmund Askew. So he had been tracking them after all. There was no escape now. Francis felt the weight of his lute upon his back and wished to God that it was a sword, or a pistol instead. He knew that Edmund would be armed to the hilt. He watched in horror as their pursuer was followed by three more riders pushing their way through the hedgerow and into the field. The four men sat still on their mounts, looking around them. The cattle had churned up the grass with their hooves which was a blessing. Francis and Cecily’s horses would not be so easy to track now.

   He ducked back into the safety of the barn and took the reins back from Cecily, mounting his steed with athleticism. ‘We have to go,’ he said. ‘They have just come into the field. If we ride straight ahead from here, they may not see us. Come, quickly now.’

   ‘I’ll be right behind you.’ Cecily had a look of fierce determination on her face which gave Francis comfort. They could do this.

   They galloped on, the mud flicking into the air as their horses’ hooves pounded the earth. Soon, the ground began to dip and they found themselves hurtling downhill towards a large copse. ‘In here,’ Francis called to Cecily. They trotted into the safety of the tree cover, their horses trampling on a delicate bed of sun dappled bluebells which lay near the entrance. Francis raised his hand and they halted to listen. Silence. Above the sound of his racing heart, Francis could hear nothing but the sweet sound of birdsong. A rabbit suddenly darted out of the brush and scampered across the field.

   ‘I think we have lost them,’ Cecily said quietly.

  Francis grinned. ‘I think you are right.

-

   As evening cast its golden light across the countryside, Francis and Cecily rode into a tiny village where they took a room at the only tavern on the high street. ‘Bring supper to our room, mistress,’ Francis winked at the plump innkeeper. ‘I wish to be alone with my wife.’

   ‘I’m not your wife.’ Cecily rebuked him once they were alone in the spartan bedchamber they had been allocated. She looked around her in seeming dismay. There was only one bed, the coverlets grimy with the sweat of a thousand travellers.

   ‘Assure yourself, sweetheart, I’ll divorce you when we reach Greenwich Palace.’ Francis threw himself on the bed and crossed his hands behind his head. ‘Until then we need to pretend.’