Read Online Tangled Hearts by Heather McCollum - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather McCollum
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will attend,” Ewan answered.
Heels clipped down the corridor.
Dory stroked her hair with a brush and glanced at the light filtering in the narrow, paned window. She’d just have enough time to brush her hair and secure it under the ridiculous French hood that matched. Wouldn’t Captain Bart howl with laughter if he saw her? He’d tried to get her to wear the lady’s hood since she had grown into a woman, but Dory had always preferred a simple woolen cap over a long braid. And on the open sea, she wore men’s clothes—not these confining straps and skirts.
“Pandora…” Ewan started.
“Dory. Only Captain Bart calls me Pandora, and only when I’ve created a disaster.”
“The cursed box of mischief does suit ye.”
She scrunched her face at him. “I know the legend. So does Captain Bart, and since I came with my own little box left by my mother, he named me after the gods’ first created woman. But I don’t appreciate the implications of the name.”
He grinned, though his eyes remained wary. “Dory then, I meant to tell ye before when I came in. I think the lady Jane is a royal. If what I heard is not just overconfident relatives, yer new friend could one day be Henry’s queen.”
“But he has a queen.”
“He threw off his first queen for Anne Boleyn. I don’t know how she stands in his affection. It is vastly known that the English king is not loyal to one woman.”
“Loyalty is everything, in a crew, in a family, and especially in a king for the good of his country. How could a man turn on his wife?”
Ewan’s grin slid into a frown, the light dimming in his eyes. He shook his head with a brief jerk. “I don’t know, but it happens.” His shoulders tensed and he paced across the room. “But if Henry sets his heart on Jane, she could help ye win yer family’s freedom.”
Dory’s fingers bent the hairpin she’d been holding. Could she be so lucky? She stared in the polished glass as the opposite side of luck’s wheel struck her. If the poor woman couldn’t give King Henry VIII a legitimate heir once he married her, by the devil, what would happen to her?
Chapter Four
13 October of the Year our Lord God, 1517
My dearest Katharine,
The Scots and the French are talking alliances again which drives Henry mad. He will be only thinking of war and heirs, not assassins. Wait for my signal and deliver it to our contact. Soon the Tudors will be no more.
Your ever lasing love,
Rowland
“Your cargo smells most foul.” The Seymour named Thomas spoke from far down the table that still held the remains of a five-course supper. “Who is the unlucky bloke?”
Though the man spoke to Ewan, Thomas’s eyes watched Dory continually. Bloody Englishman, thought he could trifle with my wife. Not that she was his wife, but the Englishman thought she was. Did he think Ewan couldn’t see? There were a multitude of lit candles and oil lamps filling the richly dressed room with light.
“A traitor to yer king,” Ewan said with more force than was required with the thick tapestries and portraits muffling the sounds in the manor. All eyes turned toward him, including a set of gray that looked like storm clouds tinged with the blue hue in her gown. The rich fabrics and fashionable design suited her, though she’d probably prefer to wear sailor’s trousers.
“His name?” the other brother, a serious man named Edward, asked.
“Rowland Boswell of Rosewood Manor,” Ewan answered and took a bite of the candied plums. A few gold-tipped curls framed Dory’s face, having escaped her hood. As she bent, one brushed along her smooth cheek.
“Boswell. Hmm… I knew the man. Ran in various circles at court,” Edward said. “Beady-eyed, thin.”
Ewan nodded. It was good that they’d decided to keep Dory’s relationship with Boswell quiet. He watched her stab her meat, the point scraping the plate. She mumbled an apology and Jane smiled at her. For all her beauty, Dory looked about as comfortable
Heels clipped down the corridor.
Dory stroked her hair with a brush and glanced at the light filtering in the narrow, paned window. She’d just have enough time to brush her hair and secure it under the ridiculous French hood that matched. Wouldn’t Captain Bart howl with laughter if he saw her? He’d tried to get her to wear the lady’s hood since she had grown into a woman, but Dory had always preferred a simple woolen cap over a long braid. And on the open sea, she wore men’s clothes—not these confining straps and skirts.
“Pandora…” Ewan started.
“Dory. Only Captain Bart calls me Pandora, and only when I’ve created a disaster.”
“The cursed box of mischief does suit ye.”
She scrunched her face at him. “I know the legend. So does Captain Bart, and since I came with my own little box left by my mother, he named me after the gods’ first created woman. But I don’t appreciate the implications of the name.”
He grinned, though his eyes remained wary. “Dory then, I meant to tell ye before when I came in. I think the lady Jane is a royal. If what I heard is not just overconfident relatives, yer new friend could one day be Henry’s queen.”
“But he has a queen.”
“He threw off his first queen for Anne Boleyn. I don’t know how she stands in his affection. It is vastly known that the English king is not loyal to one woman.”
“Loyalty is everything, in a crew, in a family, and especially in a king for the good of his country. How could a man turn on his wife?”
Ewan’s grin slid into a frown, the light dimming in his eyes. He shook his head with a brief jerk. “I don’t know, but it happens.” His shoulders tensed and he paced across the room. “But if Henry sets his heart on Jane, she could help ye win yer family’s freedom.”
Dory’s fingers bent the hairpin she’d been holding. Could she be so lucky? She stared in the polished glass as the opposite side of luck’s wheel struck her. If the poor woman couldn’t give King Henry VIII a legitimate heir once he married her, by the devil, what would happen to her?
Chapter Four
13 October of the Year our Lord God, 1517
My dearest Katharine,
The Scots and the French are talking alliances again which drives Henry mad. He will be only thinking of war and heirs, not assassins. Wait for my signal and deliver it to our contact. Soon the Tudors will be no more.
Your ever lasing love,
Rowland
“Your cargo smells most foul.” The Seymour named Thomas spoke from far down the table that still held the remains of a five-course supper. “Who is the unlucky bloke?”
Though the man spoke to Ewan, Thomas’s eyes watched Dory continually. Bloody Englishman, thought he could trifle with my wife. Not that she was his wife, but the Englishman thought she was. Did he think Ewan couldn’t see? There were a multitude of lit candles and oil lamps filling the richly dressed room with light.
“A traitor to yer king,” Ewan said with more force than was required with the thick tapestries and portraits muffling the sounds in the manor. All eyes turned toward him, including a set of gray that looked like storm clouds tinged with the blue hue in her gown. The rich fabrics and fashionable design suited her, though she’d probably prefer to wear sailor’s trousers.
“His name?” the other brother, a serious man named Edward, asked.
“Rowland Boswell of Rosewood Manor,” Ewan answered and took a bite of the candied plums. A few gold-tipped curls framed Dory’s face, having escaped her hood. As she bent, one brushed along her smooth cheek.
“Boswell. Hmm… I knew the man. Ran in various circles at court,” Edward said. “Beady-eyed, thin.”
Ewan nodded. It was good that they’d decided to keep Dory’s relationship with Boswell quiet. He watched her stab her meat, the point scraping the plate. She mumbled an apology and Jane smiled at her. For all her beauty, Dory looked about as comfortable
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