The Court of Boleyn (Tudor Romance Book 1) (7 page)

   Anne felt a sudden jolt of mirth. ‘Mark, I am queen.’ She reminded him. ‘You should bow when I enter a room, not stand there like a moonstruck youth. What is it?’

   ‘It is no matter.’ Mark sighed and turned around, fixing her with a wounded look that said,
you should not have to ask.

   Anne’s smile faded. They had spoken about this. Agreed it was a dangerous folly. They had pulled back from the brink before it was too late and she was damned if Mark was going to ruin things now. She felt her chest heave as she summoned the courage to destroy a friendship which gave her more joy than was proper. ‘You may not look to have me speak to you as I do to noblemen.’ She said softly. ‘You know that.’ Seeing that Mark was about to speak, to protest his love for her as he had done so many times before, Anne held up a hand to stop his treasonous words before he incriminated them both. She hardened her voice. ‘You are an inferior person.’

   Mark started as if he were a deer. The pain in his eyes melted Anne’s heart but she forced herself to maintain the hard shell she had so quickly built herself. She darted a look around the room. Gilded tapestries hung from each wall, bathed in spring sunlight which streamed in through the casements. The oak door was closed. They seemed to be alone. ‘I can give you no more, Mark.’

   ‘No, no, of course …’ Mark ran a hand through his hair. He exhaled sharply and forced a grin. ‘A look suffices. Fare you well, madam.’ Anne watched as he walked swiftly to the door, struggled briefly with the handle then flung the door open leaving it swinging on its hinges.

   Anne did not realise she had been holding her breath. She sighed and walked unsteadily to the nearest seat. Picking up a half empty goblet of malmsey she knocked it back in two gulps. Her soul yearned to weep but she knew that no tears would come. She had cried herself dry these last years – the long, frustrating wait to become queen, her miscarriages, Henry’s infidelity. His chilling contempt.

   Mark’s friendship had cheered her. He had made her feel attractive, wanted, loved. Was that so wrong? It was not her fault if the musician had misunderstood the game of courtly love. It was not Anne’s fault if she had enjoyed it. Nothing had happened, no harm was done. But things would have to change now. If God willed her to live without love, then she would bear it patiently. She would send Mark away and devote herself to her royal husband, and to God. The future would be safe, chaste, holy.

-

   Behind her, at the back of the room, one of the hanging tapestries moved as if blown in a breeze. The man standing in the small space between the tapestry and the oak panelled wall needed to find a latrine. His bladder was bursting and he shifted uncomfortably. It seemed he had all the information he needed. Enough to burn her.

   There was something going on between the queen and Mark Smeaton. Oh, he knew all about courtly love but this was different. The whole court crackled with sin. He had watched her with her brother last night, her purple gown swishing behind her as they danced the Volta. She had thrown her elegant white neck back to laugh at some jest. Those dark eyes had flashed seductively in the candlelight. It would be a pity to see her die. He also felt a twinge of sympathy for the musician because such music was sent from God.

   Never the less, his report would land on Cromwell’s desk in the morning. Sympathy did not pay the bills.

-

   Cecily and Francis passed their reins to a groom and walked towards a side entrance of Greenwich Palace. Cecily looked up in awe. It was magnificent. Its stone gables ranged along the banks of the River Thames, dominating the vista for miles around. White plumes of smoke emanating from various chimney stacks and the royal pennants fluttered in the spring breeze.

   ‘Now, remember,’ Francis said. ‘When you come into her presence, curtsey low and look at the ground until she bids you rise. Tell her the truth. Edmund used you cruelly and you had to flee. You desire nothing more than to serve her. She is a good woman and will understand.’

   ‘Alright.’ Cecily felt nervous suddenly. Her mouth was dry and her hands shook. What had she done? How could she have been such a fool as to leave her husband and throw herself on the mercy of a queen? Only time would tell if she had done the right thing or whether she had made the worst mistake of her life. On one thing, however, she was certain. If Anne Boleyn accepted her into her service, Cecily would be forever grateful. She would be the best friend the queen had ever had.

   ‘Are you ready to go in?’ Francis smiled. He looked handsomer than ever today; his stubble had been removed and his dark hair was combed into a neat crop.

   Cecily took his hand and smiled. ‘I am ready.’

   Together they walked into the palace, ready for a new phase in both their lives.

I hope you enjoyed Part One of the Tudor Romance series. Next time, Cecily and Francis fall deeper in love as they settle into life at court. A black cloud is on the horizon, however, and they watch horrified as Anne Boleyn’s world collapses around her.

Then Edmund Askew turns up …

Queen of Heaven, Part Two of the Tudor Romance series, is released in Summer 2016