The Queen's Rivals Part 13

The next afternoon Queen Mary sent for me. She had sensed my unhappiness, I think, after Kate deserted me. When I entered her quiet, darkened chamber, where all the curtains were drawn tight against the sun that so cruelly hurt her poor, tear-swollen eyes, she was alone, bereft and grieving for her golden Spanish prince who had sailed away, never to return, leaving her alone with another phantom baby filling her belly with false hope. She sat on the floor, trailing black veils like a widow and straggling, dirty, matted hair that was now entirely gray but for a few pale yellowy orange streaks. It shall have to be cut off, I thought with a pang of alarm, knowing how sensitive Cousin Mary was about her hair, for not even Kate will have the patience to comb the tangles out.

She squinted hard at me, then her lips spread in a wide smile, showing swollen gums and the ugly black and yellow stumps of her few remaining teeth. She held up two dolls-a pair of little ladies arrayed in exquisite gowns she had made. There was a small chest nearby overflowing with more. Tiny gowns, kirtles, cloaks, petticoats, slippers, and headdresses spilled out onto the floor, and her sewing basket beside it, surrounded by sc.r.a.ps of gorgeous fabric and skeins of gilt thread, her silver sewing scissors, and a pincushion speared with pearl-tipped pins and shaped like a pomegranate that was a precious relic of her mother. She handed me one of the dolls, a little raven-haired lady in lemon velvet crisscrossed with gold piping and pearls, and bade me sit beside her whilst she cradled a honey-haired damsel in tawny rose brocade.

I was thirteen and fancied myself too old for dolls, so I felt a trifle foolish, and embarra.s.sed for her as well as for myself, but I didn't dare disobey nor could I bear to disappoint someone who had been so kind to me, one I knew to be in such pain, mayhap even dying if the whispers gliding like serpents through the palace corridors were true.

The hours dragged slowly past as we dressed and undressed the dolls and enacted little dramas with them. Suddenly she turned and rummaged in the chest and brought out two more dolls-a replica of herself in her sumptuous black velvet wedding gown, so densely embroidered with gold you could barely see the black beneath, and a male doll, golden-haired, with a little golden dagger of a beard decorating his chin, clad in gold-embellished white velvet and a bloodred cloak embroidered with pearls and golden thistles. She started to give him to me, but then, with a horrified gasp, as though she could not believe what she had almost done, s.n.a.t.c.hed him back and hugged him possessively against her breast and glared at me with crazed eyes that dared me to try and take him from her. I didn't know what to do. Thankfully the moment pa.s.sed, and she realized that I was no threat. With tears rolling down her face, she thrust the doll fashioned in her own likeness at me. Then, though she was crying so hard she could scarcely see, we reenacted the couple's nuptials until Queen Mary collapsed weeping on the floor and her two most devoted ladies-in-waiting, Jane Dormer and Susan Clarencieux, emerged silently from the shadows to help her back to bed.

"Go away, little gargoyle," Susan said over her shoulder as they led their weeping mistress away. "This is no place for you."

As I closed the door behind me, I heard Cousin Mary's sobs grow into keening wails as she cried for her Philip.

Soon she was dead. We were bathing her corpse and dressing her for the last time in the blue velvet and ermine gown she had worn on her coronation day, carefully pinning it to conceal how loose it hung upon her emaciated frame. Kate's clever fingers worked wonders with the dirty, matted hair, snaring it in a golden net beneath a coronet of spring flowers formed of precious gems.

As we worked silently over her corpse, outside the bells tolled and the people sang and danced in the streets, and wept with joy, to welcome the young woman they called "Our Elizabeth." She was the phoenix that had risen from the ashes of all the Protestants "b.l.o.o.d.y Mary" had burned to cinders along with her popularity, throwing her people's love onto the pyre and eradicating all memory of the once-beloved "Merciful Mary" and the even more dimly remembered "Princess Marigold." Now her death was cause for jubilation, a national holiday that would be celebrated for many years to come.

As Kate rubbed rouge onto the gaunt cheeks that were like yellow wax in the candlelight, our eyes met over that poor, pathetic body and we silently wondered, now that Elizabeth was queen, what would become of us. Elizabeth, unlike Mary, had never favored or befriended us, but neither had she been cruel, only coolly indifferent; to Elizabeth we were just there, like pieces of furniture. I hadn't told Kate, but I had already set to work embroidering a petticoat with red and white Tudor roses and the crowned golden initials ER, "Elizabeth Regina," as a gift for her, to show that we had no royal pretensions, we weren't pretenders to the throne, and we wanted only peace, not to be embroiled in conspiracies and schemes. I prayed Elizabeth would read correctly the message embroidered in those royal roses of red and white petals that symbolized the union of the houses of York and Lancaster. Our very survival might depend on it.

14.

With the advent of Elizabeth, Lady Jane Seymour's health began a sharp decline; her bad days now far outnumbered her good. The Queen didn't like having a fever-bright consumptive with a hacking cough too near about her and often gave her leave to retire from court to her family's country estate, Hanworth, in Middles.e.x. She sent Kate with her as "a remedy against loneliness for a young girl so accustomed to the crowded life at court."

To our immense relief, Queen Mary's demise had not substantially altered our position, except we, like most of the court, were Protestants again. We rode once more in golden chariots clad in ermine-banded crimson as part of an even more splendid coronation procession, and wore again our red silk petticoats with the golden b.u.t.terflies in remembrance of our lost sister. We also retained our privileged posts as ladies-of-the-bedchamber.

But Elizabeth, though graciously cool and largely indifferent to me, was always very wary of Kate. Though Kate would have gladly gone on her knees and sworn that she didn't want to be queen, she wanted only to be happy, as a wife and mother, that a loving, happy household was the only kingdom she coveted, it wasn't enough. Elizabeth knew that as long as she remained the unmarried "Virgin Queen," which she seemed bound and determined to do despite the confusion and consternation it caused, Kate would be regarded as the heir presumptive; thus many would flock around and flatter her and even devise plots to bring her to the throne sooner rather than later.

There were many in the world who thought Elizabeth's claim to the throne tenuous at best. Those who refused to acknowledge the marriage of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn said Elizabeth was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d born of an illicit and illegal union, and thus the Crown should go to someone more worthy and of unblemished pedigree, someone like my sister Kate, and her resemblance to the "Tudor Rose," Mary Tudor, "The French Queen," was often favorably cited. There were even whispers of a Spanish plot to abduct Kate and marry her by force to Philip's imbecilic son Don Carlos, a youth who took fiendish delight in torturing animals and servants. But Kate wanted no part of any of it, and certainly none of Don Carlos and his manias and madness. If anyone dared try to speak to her about her "royal destiny," she would stop her ears and flee their presence as fast as she could.

That was why, I thought, it pleased her so much to escape the court, to travel by a slow horse-drawn litter to Hanworth with her invalid friend. It was the only way Kate could know true peace, away from the maelstrom of plotting that was Elizabeth's court. "Deliver me from this viper's nest of intrigue!" she would always cry as she bolted down the steps into the courtyard and leapt, una.s.sisted, into the litter, impatient to be off and away from it all, looking forward, never back, not even to wave at me.

But there was more to these visits to Hanworth than I ever knew until much later. That was where she met Ned again. Edward Seymour the younger, the handsome Earl of Hertford, who had once, briefly, been our sister Jane's suitor.

As though Fate had decreed it, Kate told me when she finally bared her soul and confessed all, nigh two years after that fateful day, she had been wearing a robin's egg blue gown-the very same color she had worn that long ago morning when they had first met on the stairs at Bradgate-when Ned Seymour, the sun making a golden blaze to burn out the brown of his hair, descended the sunken stone steps into the garden where Kate was busily gathering a pretty bouquet to brighten his sister's sickroom.

Gallantly, Ned insisted that he must help her. As he bent to pluck the blossoms, his hazel eyes gazing deeply into Kate's stormy blue gray ones, he let his fingers brush against hers as he handed them to her. He showed himself exceedingly well versed in the lore and secret language of flowers and recited what each blossom stood symbol for.

"Purple iris for a message," he began. "Like the one hidden in this bouquet. Scarlet poppies because everyone deserves one fantastic, extravagant folly in their life, like a foolish or impossible love"-he smiled knowingly at Kate-"even if the memory makes us cringe forever afterward."

His words conjured memories of Berry and made Kate blush. To give her a quiet, private moment to compose herself, Ned knelt over a patch of purple blue blossoms.

"Jacob's ladder," he announced. "To bid thee, fair maiden, come down to me like an angel from heaven and bless me with your love and favor."

Then he was down again, enthusiastically reaching for more.

"Goldenrod"-he twirled the feathery spire of golden flowers around by its stem before giving it to her-"for encouragement, for I would have that from you, just as I would give it. Snowdrops for consolation, that we might find comfort together, and be a balm to each other for the many sorrows and disappointments that have dotted our lives like a field of these dainty white flowers."

Both paused to ponder the many painful losses that had scarred their families and the day they knew would inevitably come when they would both lose a beloved sister and friend-the Lady Jane Seymour.

But Ned was quick to shrug off his sorrow.

"Daffodils!" With an excited grin he bent to gather some of the jaunty yellow flowers that could always coax a smile out of any who beheld them. "To herald a new beginning, and-dare I hope?-a new love." He paused and stared deep and hopefully into Kate's eyes before breaking away to s.n.a.t.c.h up some sunny yellow flowers. "Here! I know you like yellow, so we must have celandine-for the joys yet to come, for all that we have to look forward to!"

Like a man possessed, again and again Ned swooped down to gather more flowers, thrusting them into Kate's hands then darting back for more. "Like a seagull diving for fish," Kate would later laugh when she recalled this scene for me.

"Lilacs for the first stirrings of love; lily of the valley to welcome the return of happiness; larkspur so that your heart may be as light and gay as the lark's song; crocuses for joy and gladness; red roses for pa.s.sionate love, white for purity, and pink for your perfect grace-your movements are as beautiful as your face." He paused to take a breath and just to look at her, long and deep, like a parched and thirsty man who had just stumbled out of the desert drinking his fill from a welcome oasis. Kate would say afterward it felt like a whole lifetime pa.s.sed in that moment, before he resumed gathering flowers again.

"Honesty for honesty, of course, that most precious gift which lovers should always give to one another; periwinkles for tender memories to cherish, like the day I met a little girl in a robin's egg blue dress fraught with worry over her beloved cat. Pinks for love pure and true; ranunculus for one so radiant and charming it would be a grievous sin not to tell her so. And here"-he brandished a posy of fragrant little pink flowers-"sweet peas for the most delicate, delectable pleasures. Look at them, blushing, bright pink, like the lips both above and below, visible and modestly hidden beneath your petticoats, that I long so much to kiss."

Then, as though fearing he had said too much, and that Kate might slap his face, he rushed on, s.n.a.t.c.hing up more flowers.

Yet he could not stop. He had dared be bold and still Kate lingered.

"Honeysuckle for lovers entwined in pa.s.sionate embraces who dream of each other whenever they are apart both by night and by day; vetch because I would cling to thee; gentian because you are so very dear to me; Canterbury bells for constancy." He added a generous spray of the swaying purple blue bells to Kate's already overflowing bouquet.

"Pink gillyflowers to remind us to always remember a love that should never be forgotten, yellow for fidelity and devotion, and white to tell you how sweet and lovely you are. And sweet-scented white stock, because you will always be beautiful to me even when your hair is white as snow and wrinkles web and crinkle your face. You will always be as beautiful to me just as you are now." His fingers caressed Kate's as he added these to her bouquet.

Then he was gathering a feathery and ticklish spray of leafy greenery.

"Ferns for sincerity," he explained. "To stand surety for the truth in every word I speak to you. Feverfew for warmth like the yellow sun at the heart of their white petals; wallflowers, red gold like your hair"-he dared twirl a curl around his finger-"for faithfulness in adversity. And lungwort because you are my life, like the air my lungs breathe; you, and hope of you, of someday calling you mine, keeps me alive. And these flamboyant beauties-heart's ease pansies-to remind you, my flamboyant beauty"-he gazed possessively at Kate-"to think of me, always and fondly. Peppermint for warm feelings because that is how I would have you think of me; rosemary for remembrance and a love that never forgets or dies; and forget-me-nots because I can never forget you and hope you never will me. Lastly, this pink cabbage rose"-he thrust it boldly into the center of the by-then enormous bouquet-"as a confession of my love in case you have any doubt."

I remember every word and blossom. I would later weave them all into an intricate beribboned border, the most elaborate I had ever embroidered, around a petticoat for Kate.

Kate threw back her head and laughed. Had her hands not been br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with so many flowers it took both her hands to hold them, she would have applauded in sheer delight. She thought it all gallant flattery and was awed by the smooth and silky delivery, as polished as an actor in a play; he had never once faltered over the flowers or their meanings.

"These flowers were intended for your sister," she observed. "Should I really carry her such a bold and ardent bouquet? Truly, sir, it seems overly . . . pa.s.sionate for an invalid."

"Nay"-Ned shook his head, his eyes never once leaving Kate's face-"they are all for you and none other, Mistress Kate. For Jane we shall have to pick another, with purple coneflowers for strength and health, and flowering hawthorn to express our deeply cherished hope that she will soon recover; she will like that. But the message in this bouquet is, as you say, too overwhelming for an invalid, though I daresay if she knew, it would gladden her heart immeasurably to know I had picked it for you, just as she picked you, the most beautiful rose in all of England, for me. She planned this, you know. She conspired with Fate, who first put you in my path many years ago when I was sent to woo your sister, and now my sister, by bringing you here, has done the same. Call it what you will, my Kate-for you are my Kate-G.o.d, Fate, or Jane, we were meant to be together."

"When I looked from my window"-he pointed up to it-"and saw you here in a gown bluer than the sky, the same robin's egg blue as I remembered, with your hair shining in the sun, bright as a robin's red breast, in the midst of this garden, like a beautiful little blue egg in a nest, I knew I must put on my blue and red doublet too"-he touched his chest-"and come down to you, so that we two might be one as we were meant to be." Then, offering her his arm, he asked, "Now shall we add some ivy to finish this bouquet, for steadfastness, an attachment that ends only with life itself?"

That was the moment Kate decided that Berry was rotten and felt love for Ned Seymour ripen, full and beautiful, in her heart. Like Eve plucking the apple, then and there she gave her heart to him. I wasn't there to stop her, though 'tis folly to think I could have. Kate was ever one to follow her heart wherever it led, oblivious to any danger, pain, or obstacles that might lie in her path; even if it brought disaster crashing down onto her own pretty head, she would race blindly ahead, her eyes always on the pretty prize, never glancing at the ground and the ruts and rocks that might trip her up, following Love as though it were a pretty golden b.u.t.terfly she must hold within her reverently clasped hands. "All for love," that was ever my Kate. It was her blessing, and her curse.

I saw so little of my sister over the next two years we were all but strangers. I rarely saw her except when she wanted some pretty embroidery for her petticoats or a new gown. Though I noticed, whenever I pa.s.sed her in the palace corridors or glimpsed her at some celebration, there was a new lightness in her step, she seemed to always be smiling, and I often caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of a song on her lips. Though her best friend was dying slowly, her bloom fading fast, Kate was dancing through the days just as she did the nights, until the schemers wore her nerves down to a shadow, and she and Jane Seymour must retreat back to Hanworth again.

Even our lady-mother's sudden death did not dampen Kate's newfound joy. We had been distant and cordial since her remarriage, but, like dutiful daughters, we donned mourning black and went to Suffolk House to wash and dress her body in preparation for the grand funeral Elizabeth had generously arranged to honor our lady-mother as she was the daughter of a queen. She was to be laid to rest amidst pomp and splendor and ill.u.s.trious ancestors in Westminster Abbey, conveniently forgetting the fact that she had lost her t.i.tle when she married so far beneath her. Kate and I shared the role of chief mourner. Though it should have been Kate's alone as the eldest, she insisted. As we led the ponderously slow procession, with black-clad maids behind us helping to bear the burden of our heavy black velvet trains, we stared straight ahead and tried to ignore the t.i.ttering in the pews about how our lady-mother had perished. In bed with Master Stokes, just as November 20 became the 21, she died with her boots on and smiling, seized by a sudden stroke.

"She went like that," our boyish young stepfather had informed us, snapping his fingers to ill.u.s.trate the swiftness. "I do not think she felt any pain though-she was greatly smiling and just afore that had given me every indication that she was well pleased." Indeed, the embalmers, mindful of the deceased's dignity, had used bands of linen and small weights to give our lady-mother's dead face a more appropriate expression for when she lay in state, for which Kate and I were most grateful.

Nor a year later, when the court reeled with scandal and my own heart grieved the loss of one I scarcely knew but remembered fondly, was Kate's glowing happiness the least bit diminished. The Lady Amy, Robert Dudley's wife, who was rumored to be ailing with a cancer of the breast, had been discovered dead, with her neck broken, at the foot of a staircase, yet the hood remained straight upon her head, and her skirts were not disarrayed as one might expect after such a fall. Many cried "Murder!" and pointed at Lord Robert, and the Queen's reputation was also besmirched by the scandal. Gossip raged that they were lovers, and that Lord Robert, grown weary of waiting for G.o.d to take his unwanted wife home to Him, and fearing that Elizabeth might succ.u.mb to one of her many foreign suitors, had taken matters into his own hands and had Amy killed, thinking her demise would clear the way for their marriage and another coronation at Westminster Abbey from whence he would emerge crowned King Robert I of England.

But Elizabeth knew better-Robert Dudley wasn't worth a kingdom. Even when Lord Robert was sent away to await the inquest's verdict and the court was ordered to don mourning for Lady Dudley, Kate still smiled and sparkled and showed the world how beautiful she looked in black.

Eventually a day came, after Robert Dudley had been welcomed back at court, after the inquest had adjudged Amy's death an accident, and we were allowed to doff our mourning and don colors again, when Kate came dancing into my room. Spinning in her long maroon velvet cloak, with pink roses blooming in her cheeks, and her eyes bright as stars, a blue ostrich plume billowing gracefully on her hat, to match the border of blue roses I had embroidered on the petticoat peeking from beneath the hem of the elegant apricot satin gown embroidered with maroon roses and vines I had made for her, she came to rest, kneeling beside my chair. I was hard at work on the petticoat she had begged of me, the one I would come to know only after it was finished as "Ned's bouquet." She put her arms around me and kissed my cheek, and I giggled and pulled away as the feather on her hat tickled me.

"It's your own fault, you know," she laughed. "You chose the feather and fashioned the hat, and most becoming it is too," she added as she turned to admire herself in the looking gla.s.s. Then she told me that she must have a nightcap, "the most beautiful nightcap ever made, and I want you to make it for me, Mary," embroidered all over with deep purple violets and trimmed with silver-veined lace, with a purple satin bow to tie "just so" beneath her chin. "I must have it and soon," she insisted.

"All right," I sighed indulgently. "You shall have it." I gazed hard at my sister, then shook my head and sighed again. "If I didn't know better, I would think you were in love."

"Just in love with life, Mary," Kate said with a merry trill of laughter. "Just in love with life!" It wasn't exactly a lie. I just didn't know it then. But, to Kate, Ned Seymour was her life.

Before I could ask any more questions, she was gone; with a another quick kiss, and a song on her lips, she danced out my door again, glad-hearted, featherlight, and diamond bright.

I just smiled and shrugged it off, chuckled, and shook my head at Kate's latest caprice. It made my heart glad to see her so happy and light of step, always smiling, with pink roses blooming in her cheeks again. Mayhap it was stupid or naive of me, but I never thought it had aught to do with any man. Kate didn't seem to favor any particular gentleman; she danced and flirted with many, and sometimes even let them kiss her-in quiet corners, forest glades during hunting parties, velvet-curtained alcoves, and moonlit gardens. Twice or thrice, that I knew of, she even let their fingers delve inside her bodice or rove daringly beneath her petticoats. Best of all, she had forgotten all about Berry; she could now pa.s.s him by without a glance. She was done moping and weeping for what she had lost and could never have again, and I hoped she now realized that he was never worth it. But I never saw her single Ned Seymour out or show any sign that he was special; she treated him with the politeness due the brother of her best friend and nothing more. I don't even recall that I ever even saw them dance together or heard her mention his name. I saw them nod and smile in pa.s.sing and exchange polite greetings and comments on the weather and Jane Seymour's health, but that was all.

So I shrugged and went on with my sewing, foolishly surmising that flowered nightcaps were set to become the latest fancy, and soon other ladies would come knocking at my door with little velvet purses filled with coins or pretty trinkets and other gifts, prattling of ribbons, laces, and the flowers they favored. G.o.d help me, I never thought it was anything more! I should have laid down my sewing and gone out and boldly confronted Kate, grabbed her arm, stared her down, and gotten to the heart of the matter, but I, to my everlasting regret, didn't. I sat and sewed and did nothing.

15.

On a bl.u.s.tery December morning, two years after Elizabeth had come to the throne, when Kate was twenty and I was sixteen, the Queen would hunt anyway despite the cold, cold weather. Elizabeth defiantly declared the air "bracing" and that she was not afraid of its bite. I heard that Kate was ailing and had sent Henny to beg that she might forgo the pleasure of the hunt and remain abed. Since I was never a good choice to follow the hunt, being too likely to get in the way and be trampled, Elizabeth readily gave me leave to stay behind and tend my sister. "Lady Jane Seymour is ill too," she tartly commented as I snipped a stray thread from the hem of her evergreen velvet riding habit, "though it would be more remarkable if she were well."

As soon as I could, I made my curtsy to the Queen, thanking her again, and rushed to the room Kate and Jane Seymour shared, expecting to find them both coughing and feverish.

I burst in without knocking. A startled cry greeted me, and I whirled around to see Kate standing before the looking gla.s.s as Lady Jane finished lacing her into the gown of b.u.t.ter yellow satin bordered with rich golden braid and embroidered all over with hundreds of dainty royal purple violets with gold-veined green leaves, that I had only put the final st.i.tches in the week before at Kate's anxious urging. I had thought to have more time with it; after all such a gown was better suited to springtime, so surely in the deep of winter there was no need to hurry, but Kate had wept and stormed, stamped her feet, and pleaded with me to make haste, insisting that she must have it and soon. But when I asked her why, she shrugged it off as merely "a fancy to be clothed in spring when outside the world is all snow and ice." She had come to my room to check its progress every day, sometimes twice or even thrice. Only when the last st.i.tch had been put in did this fearful, frantic impatience fall from her like a dead rose petal.

"What are you doing here?" Kate rounded on me angrily.

"I-I heard that you were ill," I stammered.

"Well, I'm not, but don't you dare tell anyone! My cloak-quickly!" Her rude snappishness, so unlike Kate, told me that she was very nervous about something.

But Lady Jane seemed to understand, and as she draped the heavy, fur-trimmed, forest green velvet cloak around Kate she paused to give her shoulder a comforting pat.

"Kate . . ." I took a step forward and put out a hand to her, but she brushed me aside.

"Go away, Mary! I haven't time for you now!"

I thought I caught a flash of purple and white as Kate s.n.a.t.c.hed up her green velvet reticule and stuffed something inside. Then she was gone, out the door as though her life depended on it, leaving Lady Jane to flash me an apologetic smile as she quickly threw on a cloak of blue velvet edged with gray rabbit fur and hurried out after her, even though the rapid pace brought on a violent coughing fit.

I know I shouldn't have, but I followed them. Even though it was very difficult, as they chose to brave the busy London streets instead of taking a barge, and I was much jostled and even knocked down twice, I refused to stop. Soon I found myself standing in Cannon Row, watching as my sister and her friend hurried up the steps of Hertford House, Ned Seymour's fine redbrick London residence. As though he had been watching for them, Ned Seymour himself, in a brown velvet doublet richly worked with gold, opened the door and let them in. He came out onto the stoop and glanced swiftly left and right before he followed them inside and shut the door. How curious, I thought, to see a n.o.bleman open his own front door. The Seymours were wealthy and had many servants. Why had Kate and Jane come out unchaperoned when both had ladies' maids who might have accompanied them? Kate had always put great trust in Henny, who had been with her since birth, and was robust and strong-armed enough to make any man who might have dared accost the girls think twice. Something strange was happening, and I was determined to know what.

Boldly, I squared my shoulders and strode toward the door, only to nearly be knocked down by Lady Jane Seymour as she ran out in a swirl of blue velvet and gray fur. She caught me before I fell, and her face paled even more if that were possible, and the spots of red in her cheeks glowed even brighter. But she didn't try to stop me.

"It's not right to keep it from you. You're her sister, and you should be there," she murmured as she took her hand from my shoulder and hurried away, down the street, intent on some seemingly urgent errand.

I squared my shoulders and walked straight into Ned Seymour's house, unhindered and unannounced, and followed their voices into the oak-paneled parlor. Kate's green velvet cloak lay draped over the fireside settle, and they stood embracing before the hearth's bright warmth. They broke apart, gasping guiltily, at the sight of me. Ned murmured something about seeing to the refreshments and hurried out, leaving Kate alone to face me.

"What are you doing, Kate?" I asked wearily, for I was suddenly very tired of deceptions, secrets, and games. I wanted only to have the truth full plain even if it killed me.

"We're to be married, and you can't stop us!" Kate said hotly with a defiant toss of her curls, which I noticed now were crowned with a wreath of gilded rosemary, purple velvet violets, periwinkles, heart's ease pansies, and yellow gillyflowers: a bridal coronet, all fashioned from silk and velvet, to bring warm, bright, and beautiful spring into cold, wet, white, and gray winter.

Married! I staggered back, as though the word were a dread disease I would avoid. Only if Kate had told me she had the plague, I would never have drawn back. I would have stepped forward and done anything and everything I could to save her. Oh no, no, no, no! All of a sudden I felt faint and reached up to clasp my head, to make sure it didn't float away, it felt so dizzy, sick, and light. Now I understood. They were marrying in secret because it was the only way; Elizabeth would never give her consent to Kate, with her royal Tudor blood, marrying Ned Seymour, scion of a powerful family with Plantagenet blood, albeit a dilute strain, coursing through his veins. It was too dangerous and potent a combination to allow Elizabeth to sit easy on her throne, and heaven knew she already had cause to be vigilant and wary. As much as she was loved by her people, she was hated by many who had the power to finance a rebellion or pay an a.s.sa.s.sin.

And if Kate should conceive a son . . .

If Kate gave birth to a boy, all who opposed the petticoat rule of Elizabeth would know exactly where to turn; they would think an infant male was better than any full-grown woman, even one as shrewd and savvy as Elizabeth. Some might even be tempted to usurp the throne in that child's name, even if Kate wanted no part of it. She and her son would become, like Jane, innocent p.a.w.ns in the game powerful men played, men who would not scruple to take Elizabeth's life, just so a Tudor crested instead of cloven betwixt the thighs, and untainted by talk of illegitimacy and debate about the validity of his parents' marriage, could sit upon England's throne.

"Kate, this is madness! Think what you are doing! You are defying the Queen! You know you cannot marry without her permission-neither of us can! Elizabeth is not Mary; she doesn't love us! Elizabeth's a tigress, fighting for her life and throne, kill or be killed, and she will not hesitate to kill you if she has to! She'll always put herself and England first because, to herself and most of her subjects, she is England!"

"Stop it!" Kate put her hands up to block her ears. "You're only trying to scare me, but I won't let you! I won't! It will not come to that; I won't let it!"

I crossed the room and took her hand, which I saw now wore a pale blue diamond, pointed at one end, like a great glimmering tear. "Kate," I sighed, "I am not your enemy; do not treat me as such! Talk to me, as your sister, and your friend, as you used to. Confide in me!"

With a great, heaving sigh, Kate sank down onto the settle and hung her head. I came and stood before her, taking both her hands in mine.

"Kate, look at me," I pleaded.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Mary. My heart has been troubling me sorely, but I did what I did only to protect you. If you didn't know . . . no one could blame or hurt you." She pulled one hand away from mine and caressed her yellow and purple skirt. "You made my wedding gown, even though you did not know that was what it was, with your love for me in every st.i.tch, as in every garment you have ever made for me. It's so beautiful! So how could I even think of shutting you out? On the happiest day of my life too!" She raised her head and gave me the full glory of her smile. "I love him, Mary! I have to follow my heart, even if it leads me into danger. We will keep our nuptials secret . . . for now, but later . . . someday . . . when the time is right, I will go on my knees before the Queen and confess all and do whatever I must to a.s.sure her I harbor no royal ambitions, I make no claim, now or ever, for myself or any children I may, G.o.d willing, bear. I will sign or say whatever I must to renounce it all, permanently, and Ned and I will go away, to live quietly in the country. All I want-for myself and for my family-is love and to be happy."

It was a beautiful dream, but I couldn't quite believe it could ever come true. I hated myself for doubting, but I couldn't help it; to do otherwise would be willful blindness and self-deception. I hung my head, so that she would not see my tears.

"I don't want to lose another sister, Kate. I don't want to see you die a traitor's death or rot your life away in prison. No man is worth such a sacrifice."

She reached down and cupped my face between her soft hands and smiled at me. "That will never happen, Mary; G.o.d wouldn't let it. What I do, I do for love-all for love. All will be well in time; you will see. You're just scared and imagining the worst. But our union was meant to be, all signs point to it, and G.o.d will bless us. I know! And, even if it did-but it won't!-you're wrong, Mary! Ned is different from other men; he is worth any sacrifice Love demands of me. Sometimes the greatest loves come hand in hand with suffering and sorrow. If you would have music to dance to, you have to pay the players; 'tis only just and fair." She shrugged and smiled brightly, as though this were a trivial matter like doling out coins to a troupe of musicians instead of treason.

I wished with all my heart that I could believe and share her auspicious euphoria, but I couldn't keep the fear from clutching my heart like a hand of ice. It made me shiver and not even Kate's warm smile could melt the fear away; I was afraid it would never leave me.

I took a step forward and reached up and gripped my sister's shoulders and stared deep into her bright, joyful eyes that were blind and heedless to all danger. "Kate, for G.o.d's sake, listen to me and see reason. If you do this fool thing, if you marry Ned Seymour you are committing treason-high treason! You can be burned or beheaded at the Queen's pleasure or sent to rot in a prison cell!"

But Kate just smiled at me. "Don't worry, Mary; everything's going to be all right! But . . . just in case . . . you were never here, and if you say you were, I shall deny it and say you are lying to try to protect your sister's honor."

That she would say such a thing told me clouds of concern lurked behind that sunny smile. Kate wanted to believe everything would be all right, to think she could will into being the bright future she wanted so much, but doubt and worry would dog her steps like trainbearers she could never shake off or leave far behind her.

With a smile and a carefree laugh, she was up and dancing across the room as Ned came back in, smiling broadly over a great silver tray laden with heaping platters of sliced meats, a sampling of cheeses, fresh baked bread, festive piles of dried and candied fruits and nuts, sliced apples draped with melted cheese, gla.s.s bowls filled with sweet, syrupy berries stewed in wine, creamy custard, a compote of honeyed pears and another of peaches, candied violets arranged upon a pretty yellow plate to match Kate's wedding dress, and at the heart of it all, a pretty pink cake made with raspberries crowned with candied pink cabbage roses. "A sweet repast for my sweet," he said as he set it down on a table where goblets and bottles of wine were already arranged. Kate gave a delighted squeal and clasped her hands as she admired the cake, lamenting that Father was not here to enjoy it with us, he would have been so pleased. "He always loved raspberries and said pink was a heaven-sent color for confections!"

"I am glad you are here, my soon to be sister Mary." Ned smiled as he knelt down to face me. It was very kind of him to do so; many enjoyed the lofty feeling of superiority they experienced when they towered high above and looked down on me. He had a very pleasant face, and a smile so charming and disarming, and there appeared to be genuine warmth in his hazel eyes. I had to stop myself from impulsively reaching out and brushing back the wing of sun-lightened brown hair that fell over his brow.

Looking at him, this great, smiling overgrown boy of twenty, I could almost believe he loved my sister as much as she loved him. But there was always something, I can't put it into words; I only know that it was always there, niggling at the back of my mind, never letting me truly trust Ned Seymour. Possibly my soul was too sullied from all the ambitious machinations I had witnessed almost from the cradle, power plays, coups, conspiracies, and court intrigues; perhaps it made me overly conscious of the royal lines that would be united with their marriage and what this could mean for their, and their children's, futures. Kate was, after all, the unacknowledged heir presumptive, and thus a splendid catch for any ambitious young man, and one with Plantagenet blood in his veins could make much of that if he were so inclined, and might even consider such a wife worth feigning love for. After all, many had pretended pa.s.sion for far less. How many men since time began had declared their love just to woo a maiden into bed? Maybe it was because this "great love" had blossomed so suddenly? To my suspicious mind it just seemed too ch.o.r.eographed, too much like a romantic stage play; those sweet dreams we want to believe but know rarely do come true. Or perhaps it was just that I was too cynical to believe in love at first sight? Or maybe Kate was right-I was scared and imagining the worst. I just don't know.

"I know it broke Kate's heart to think you wouldn't be here. And now you are here, and it all ends happily!" Ned's face brightened with a broad smile. Oh my, he was very comely! "It was meant to be," he declared, making so bold as to kiss my cheek, before he rose and went back to Kate. He led her to sit upon the settle and stood beside her, smiling down at her, as she gazed up at him, holding her hand, until the moment we heard the front door open again.

Her face terribly flushed and her shoulders shaking with a hacking cough, that by the looks of the handkerchief she tried to conceal, squashed tight in her fist, had brought up blood, and by its violence had shaken her fair hair from its pins, Lady Jane came in, tugging with all her fragile might at the hand of a big, black-gowned man with a long, tangled, greasy, and unkempt red beard.

"This way, Father, this way!" she cried between coughs, pulling hard at his hand and urging him toward Kate and Ned as he was apparently incapable of walking straight and finding the bridal couple himself. As he weaved his way across the floor, his unsteady gait aping the undulations of a slithering snake, he brought with him the fumes of the tavern, along with those of his own unwashed body, and his bleary, bloodshot eyes roamed the room as though the bride and groom might be hiding on the ceiling or concealed in a corner. As he stood, belching and swaying, before the bridal couple, I discreetly moved away; as I was shorter than the others, and thus nearer his nether regions, the stink of urine was unmistakable and undesirably near my nose.

Many burps and hiccups and fumbled words marred the marriage service he tried to read from the Book of Common Prayer he held upside down in hands like a pair of great pink bear paws, their backs thickly covered with coa.r.s.e red hair. But Kate and Ned never seemed to notice, their eyes rapt and adoring, never leaving each other. They smiled, clasped hands, and spoke their vows staring into each other's eyes. Kate, I know, spoke straight from her heart.

Then it was over. They were man and wife and kissing and clinging pa.s.sionately. A puzzle ring of five interlocking gold bands had joined the sky blue diamond on Kate's left hand.