Read Online Rivals in the Tudor Court by D. L. Bogdan - Free Book Online Page B

holidays, anniversaries of this event and that. There is always jousting and masquing. The king loves leaping out at us in disguise and scaring the queen, who offers her sweet giggle and adoring eyes to the strong and bonny prince. Watching them, I am beset with fantasies about marriage and new love.
    Love is all around at court. Not a day goes by when some letter or poem or token isn’t delivered to this lady or that from one handsome courtier or another. Even though the queen runs a devout and chaste household, it is far too easy to get swept up in dreams of romance.
    â€œI think that you are awaiting the day when you, too, receive these love-gifts,” says Fra Diego Fernandez, the queen’s confessor, one afternoon when he finds me sighing in the gardens.
    I offer the handsome Spaniard a bright smile. “Oh, no, sir, I do not think about such things.”
    He laughs. “Of course you do! You would not be human otherwise!” He leans toward me, nudging my shoulder with his upper arm. “And besides, I won’t tell a soul—remember, I am a confessor.”
    His nature is so jovial and inviting I cannot help but warm to him. Fra Diego covers my hand with his. “And you being such a fair child will no doubt have the suitors circling.”
    Something about his physical familiarity alarms me. I withdraw my hand. “I am a chaste and virtuous maid,” I tell him in case he may be testing me for my fitness in the royal household.
    He only tilts back his dark head to laugh. “Such a treasure!” he exclaims. He snaps off a rose from one of the nearby bushes, twirling it a moment between thumb and forefinger before giving it to me. “Here: your first token,” he says in a whisper before rising from the bench and making long confident strides toward another group of ladies, who are making sheep’s eyes at him.
    I study the rose a long moment, confused and delighted.
    So absorbed am I in reliving my moment with the handsome Spaniard that I do not notice the pair of feet rooted in place before me. My eyes travel up the well-turned legs to the trunk, which is swathed in fine livery, at last resting on the stern countenance of Lord Thomas Howard.
    He snatches the rose from me and crumbles the petals in one fine hand before casting it to the ground. “Don’t be seen dallying with that,” he says in dark tones. “He is a knave and a scoundrel. Who is attending you? You should not wander by yourself.”
    â€œAnd you should mind your own affairs, sir!” I tell him in haughty tones.
    He laughs at this, but his is a peculiar laugh, lacking in real mirth. “ My affairs?” He runs a hand through his curling black hair and sits beside me. I try to ignore the flutter in my belly at his nearness. “I recommend that you mind your own. Take care around the Spaniard. The ‘pious and devout’ friar who has you so caught up in his charms will bed anything that moves, my little lady. Everyone knows it.”
    â€œMy lord!” I cry, scandalized at his language. “Retract that statement at once! The queen would never trust her soul to a degenerate!”
    Lord Thomas’s smile is filled with mockery. “ ‘Retract my statement’?” He laughs, that odd half laugh. “Am I in the presence of a little lawyer?” The smile fades to a grim line. “I cannot retract a truth. Her Grace is a trusting woman and stubborn at that. Anyone who can last six years in a dreary castle awaiting her fate is not faint of heart. People have warned her against her friar—even old Henry VII—but all to no avail. She will retain him despite his reputation because she does not believe it. She sees what she wants to see in those she loves—a most dangerous trait.” He regards me with penetrating black eyes.
    Annoyed, I avert my face. “Well, I suppose he can’t help being a knave, he being so handsome and delightful,