knelt for the swordsman.
They glanced at her without interest as she slipped past, then one young man detached himself from the group and took a step in her direction.
‘Mistress Croft?’
She turned, surprised to hear her name, then flinched, recognising him as Lord Munro, one of the courtiers who had tried to rape her the night she rejected the king.
‘Might I speak with you in private, mistress?’ Lord Munro asked, his blue eyes seeming to admire her figure.
Her gorge rose as she guessed at his thoughts. Another one who wanted her for his mistress, or a few nights of pleasure that might cost him less than a whore’s fee. She dropped the nobleman a brief curtsey, then hurried to the door with only a muttered, ‘Forgive me, my lord. I am late and must attend to my duties.’
To her relief, he did not follow.
It was not until she was wearily preparing for bed that evening that she saw Kate again. She had just slipped off her shoes when her name was called, and turned to see Mistress Langley at the door. Kate seemed unusually distressed, her eyes red-rimmed, but then so did many of the women in the aftermath of Anne Boleyn’s execution.
No place could have felt closer to Hell than the English court that day, Margerie thought grimly.
Kate took one look at her face and asked quietly, ‘Are you unwell, Margerie? Or is it just the day’s events that have made you so pale?’
‘I am well enough, I assure you.’ Margerie went aside with her so the other women could not overhear their conversation, lowering her voice to add, ‘Though I will not deny, the queen’s death has left me sadly shaken. But how are you, dear Kate?’
‘I will survive. I always do.’
‘I cannot help but think on it constantly. Poor lady. The injustice of it . . .’
‘Hush,’ Kate warned her, glancing up and down the torchlit corridor. ‘Listen, my husband will be angry if I do not return to our chamber at once, for I have neglected him sorely these past few weeks. Indeed for several nights now I have not returned to him at all, but shared another’s bed.’
Margerie stared, not sure whether to be shocked or to congratulate her, for Kate’s lack of fidelity to her middle-aged husband was well known. ‘Have you taken a new lover, then? But what is his name?’
‘I will tell you if it becomes serious.’ Kate smiled at her expression. ‘But I have an urgent message for Lord Wolf and find I cannot deliver it without risking my husband’s wrath.’ She met Margerie’s eyes intently. ‘Will you take it to him for me?’
‘Speak with Lord Wolf?’ She shook her head, feeling sick. ‘I cannot . . . Forgive me, Kate. I am not so afraid of him as I once was, but truly I cannot face his lordship again. Not so soon after our reconciliation. Even though I must share some of the blame for what happened between us, the wound is still too raw.’ She paused. ‘Why not write a note to him instead?’
Kate bit her lip. ‘I cannot commit this news to paper, in case it is read by some enemy of his lordship. But if you tell Hugh Beaufort, perhaps he will consent to relay the message to Lord Wolf.’
She thought of Hugh Beaufort. A quiet, charming gentleman, and strikingly handsome, she had seen him frequently about the court this year. ‘Master Beaufort works closely with your husband, is that not so?’
Kate nodded. ‘And he is a good friend to Wolf. He will not betray us.’
‘Must it be tonight?’
‘I am afraid so.’ Kate kissed her on the cheek, and Margerie realised that her friend was trembling. ‘Forgive me, I would not ask but I am desperate. My husband’s temper is most uneven at the moment, I cannot risk his displeasure by not returning at once to bed. I have been told you will find Master Beaufort with Lord Wolf. Merely knock and ask to speak with him outside the chamber. What harm can there be in it?’
‘Very well,’ she agreed, though in truth she was unnerved by the prospect of delivering a secret
They glanced at her without interest as she slipped past, then one young man detached himself from the group and took a step in her direction.
‘Mistress Croft?’
She turned, surprised to hear her name, then flinched, recognising him as Lord Munro, one of the courtiers who had tried to rape her the night she rejected the king.
‘Might I speak with you in private, mistress?’ Lord Munro asked, his blue eyes seeming to admire her figure.
Her gorge rose as she guessed at his thoughts. Another one who wanted her for his mistress, or a few nights of pleasure that might cost him less than a whore’s fee. She dropped the nobleman a brief curtsey, then hurried to the door with only a muttered, ‘Forgive me, my lord. I am late and must attend to my duties.’
To her relief, he did not follow.
It was not until she was wearily preparing for bed that evening that she saw Kate again. She had just slipped off her shoes when her name was called, and turned to see Mistress Langley at the door. Kate seemed unusually distressed, her eyes red-rimmed, but then so did many of the women in the aftermath of Anne Boleyn’s execution.
No place could have felt closer to Hell than the English court that day, Margerie thought grimly.
Kate took one look at her face and asked quietly, ‘Are you unwell, Margerie? Or is it just the day’s events that have made you so pale?’
‘I am well enough, I assure you.’ Margerie went aside with her so the other women could not overhear their conversation, lowering her voice to add, ‘Though I will not deny, the queen’s death has left me sadly shaken. But how are you, dear Kate?’
‘I will survive. I always do.’
‘I cannot help but think on it constantly. Poor lady. The injustice of it . . .’
‘Hush,’ Kate warned her, glancing up and down the torchlit corridor. ‘Listen, my husband will be angry if I do not return to our chamber at once, for I have neglected him sorely these past few weeks. Indeed for several nights now I have not returned to him at all, but shared another’s bed.’
Margerie stared, not sure whether to be shocked or to congratulate her, for Kate’s lack of fidelity to her middle-aged husband was well known. ‘Have you taken a new lover, then? But what is his name?’
‘I will tell you if it becomes serious.’ Kate smiled at her expression. ‘But I have an urgent message for Lord Wolf and find I cannot deliver it without risking my husband’s wrath.’ She met Margerie’s eyes intently. ‘Will you take it to him for me?’
‘Speak with Lord Wolf?’ She shook her head, feeling sick. ‘I cannot . . . Forgive me, Kate. I am not so afraid of him as I once was, but truly I cannot face his lordship again. Not so soon after our reconciliation. Even though I must share some of the blame for what happened between us, the wound is still too raw.’ She paused. ‘Why not write a note to him instead?’
Kate bit her lip. ‘I cannot commit this news to paper, in case it is read by some enemy of his lordship. But if you tell Hugh Beaufort, perhaps he will consent to relay the message to Lord Wolf.’
She thought of Hugh Beaufort. A quiet, charming gentleman, and strikingly handsome, she had seen him frequently about the court this year. ‘Master Beaufort works closely with your husband, is that not so?’
Kate nodded. ‘And he is a good friend to Wolf. He will not betray us.’
‘Must it be tonight?’
‘I am afraid so.’ Kate kissed her on the cheek, and Margerie realised that her friend was trembling. ‘Forgive me, I would not ask but I am desperate. My husband’s temper is most uneven at the moment, I cannot risk his displeasure by not returning at once to bed. I have been told you will find Master Beaufort with Lord Wolf. Merely knock and ask to speak with him outside the chamber. What harm can there be in it?’
‘Very well,’ she agreed, though in truth she was unnerved by the prospect of delivering a secret
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