Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (29 page)

March 15, 1559

Our fortunes are changed
! Or so it seems…

Ned
was named Earl of Hertford by Elizabeth after her coronation. I felt elation for Ned that she would choose to give him back one of his father’s titles, something for which he’d longed for longer than he’d wanted me for a wife. The queen had grown fond of him and even more so of me. We had yet to appeal to her regarding our marriage. I was too afraid she’d deny us and send me away forever.

There
had been no more visits from Cecil, but judging from what Elizabeth said behind closed doors, he and her Council were pressuring her to find a husband. She said she would placate them for a time but would never marry.

What
did that mean for me?

Should
I, too, remain forever unwed to serve the Virgin Queen?

Or was her virginity something she hid behind?
I’d seen Robert Dudley—the brother of my sister’s late husband, Guildford—sneak into Her Majesty’s chambers. I’d seen the way they danced and looked at one another. ’Twas reminiscent of Ned and me. I was jealous. Why could she do such things and I could not?

Well, this summer we
would depart on progress. And Ned had promised he would accompany the Queen’s court—although I got the sense he was trying to pull back. He did not always sit beside me and appeared less and less at court. At times, he did not respond to my letters. But I had not seen him with any other female courtiers either. Perhaps he was simply concentrating on his new estates? Or maybe he’d decided our love was a lost cause.

Was it possible
Master Cecil had paid a visit to my darling Ned as well? Could the Duchess of Somerset have had anything to do with it? She’d warned me all those years ago that, without the blessing of Elizabeth, she would not support our marriage.

I
sighed deeply, feeling listless and completely powerless. Arabel and Beau bounced around my feet, and since the queen was shut away in her room with stomach pains, I had the afternoon to myself. The sun shone bright and although ’twas winter, the dogs and I could both have used some exercise.

I
longed for Jane Seymour’s company as well. Someone to confide my troubles in and make my days brighter. But she had come down with another ague and had gone home to Hanworth with the duchess for a spell.

“
Mrs. Helen, my thick cloak, please. We shall take a brisk walk.”

I ignored
Mrs. Helen’s protests, my mind focused on what had to be done until this summer when the three-month progress across the realm would commence. I would continue to gain the queen’s favor and look past Ned’s distant behavior. He was merely strained with his new responsibilities, that had to be it. A man’s love could not wane so easily.

My stomach turned, and I put out my hand for
Stew to climb atop my shoulder for a kiss, then handed him back to Mrs. Helen.

Was it possible
Ned’s love
could
fade?

We
’d waited so long…

I shook my head and blinked away tears. A walk in the park would do well to refresh my mind. When I return
ed, I would write Ned a letter, subtly asking for confirmation of our love.

Upon entering the garden, my slippers crunching over the cold gravel, I spotted a length of vibrant red hair as the owner twirled. I
sneaked a bit closer, Arabel and Rex running off to the grasses to conclude their business.

The
queen! And Dudley…

They were dancing to a tune in their own heads
, their eyes locked on one another, lips curved in wistful smiles. Their bodies swayed like those who were used to touching in such a way, as if they had danced together for years and years. Unmatched. My lips pressed together in a frown of disappointment. Why should we maids be forced into chastity when our own sovereign danced like a dervish with a married man upon the castle lawn?

Visions of Ned and I dancing at court while Mary reigned came to mind… The remembrance of him feeding me apples under a tree, stealing a kiss from beneath
Mrs. Helen’s nose…

’
Twas not fair! I was filled with jealousy, outrage and hunger! I yearned to be a woman and yet was forced to be a maiden. And there was no outlet. The man I longed for was not present, and I could not request for him to come to me, as it would not have been decent.

Come the summer...
’Twas time we, too, resumed our courtship, and Elizabeth could go to the devil!

Praise, Jesus, forgive me for my harsh thoughts on my cousin!

But that time was not to come… The queen kept Ned well away from court on errand after errand. And when he was not working for her abroad, he was kept at his estates with some manner of business or another. We wrote letters, but scrawled words of love were nothing compared to gazing into his eyes.

Chapter
Fourteen

To her who found few friends at home,

and hearts disease was much.

Yea though this Knight with offers great,

and treasure tempted was:

(As they full well can witness bear,

who saw those matters pass)

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan
soldier and poet

The following year…

February 14, 1560

“Do you know what today is?” Queen Elizabeth asked me. Her eyes twinkled, and her lips were set in a self-satisfied smile that bespoke a pleasing secret I was not privy to. She sat upon her carved and polished throne, a purple velvet pillow beneath her behind and another beneath her feet—which were shoeless to show off her new ivory silk stockings, embroidered with Tudor red and white roses. Her black velvet gown, embroidered with golden roses and crusted with rubies, was spread out elegantly around her, and as usual, she was beautiful in an ethereal way, her hair crowned atop her head in glorious red curls.

“No, Majesty,” I said, watching as she plucked a comfit from her little
silver box and popped it into her mouth.

Several of her ladies sat by the window
, working on sewing for their own pleasure, a few others played cards, and I, Jane Seymour—who’d recovered enough to return to court—Margaret Clifford and Bess St. Loe sat at Her Majesty’s feet upon embroidered velvet pillows. Winter was full upon us, and the days were short with the sun setting just before supper. With the temperature outside often unbearable, we ladies of the court spent our days inside beside the roaring fires, talking, working at some craft or other, reading, dancing.

Despite those entertainments
, the days were not sweet. Elizabeth was always at my throat for one thing or another. Just three days ago she’d tossed me from her chamber, claiming I’d tried to portray myself as a prettier version of her with the way I’d styled my hair.

I blistered inside, wondering what she would say to me now.

“’Tis Saint Valentine’s Day. Do you know the tale of Saint Valentine?” She held out the box of sweets, offering one to me, Jane, Margaret and Bess.

“No, Majesty.” I plucked a sweet and savored its succulent
fruity taste upon my tongue.

“Well, then, I shall tell you.
One legend states that in the third century, Roman Emperor Claudius II banned young men from marrying so he could use them as soldiers to fight his wars. A local priest named Valentine rebelled by secretly marrying young couples in love. When his treachery was discovered, Emperor Claudius had him executed.”

My hand came to my chest
, and I gasped with the other ladies. Jane and I murmuring of the horror. Elizabeth smiled smugly, thoroughly proud of herself for having shocked us. I couldn’t help but wonder why she would tell us this tale—beside it being Saint Valentine’s Day today. Did she see herself as Claudius? For surely she’d banned plenty of us from marrying.

“Yet another legend decrees that a man called Valentine, while in prison, sent the first Valentine
’s card himself to a woman who was his beloved and signed it ‘From Your Valentine.’ But I shall tell you the most romantic story I have heard, and that is of Charles, Duke of Orleans, a Frenchman. And while I do detest the French”—she glowered about the room—“my mother did so love their tales. The duke wrote the poem for his wife while imprisoned in the Tower of London after the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. He wrote poetic words, something such as,
‘Je suis déjà malade d’amour, mon très doux Valentine..
.’”

“So romantic,” Bess said, her eyes misty.

“What does it mean?” Lady Margaret piped in from her perch beside a window.

“
It means ‘I am already sick with love, my very gentle Valentine,’” Elizabeth answered.

“
’Tis a beautiful tale,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes and studied me, as if she hoped to absorb my mind within her own.
“Do you know why I should bring that up to you today?”

“Because you have a Valentine?”
As if I need even ask the question. Everyone was well aware who Lord Robert Dudley was doting on this day. The sweets she’d offered up had been brought to her by him that morning—along with her stockings, a gift that was quite shocking and indecent. Him courting her was quite pathetic, actually, considering his own wife languished at home while he flirted outrageously with our monarch as if he were not already married.

She tilted her head back and laughed, shaking her head like I was an imbecile.
“A queen always has a Valentine, Kat.” She gestured to her ladies, who tittered nervously, not wanting to offend either of us. “But today I offer
you
a man to love.”

I froze
. My eyes widened, and I swallowed hard. All those years ago she’d sworn I’d never have a man to love, and now she offered me one? “Me?”

Her lips curved again in that secret smile, although now I detected s
omething a little more sinister that made me all the more nervous. Elizabeth harbored no goodwill toward me. Fear paralyzed me. My head started to pound, and I swore I could hear the rushing of blood in my ears. The megrims that affected me always started off this way and could be quite horrendous.

“Indeed. The Earl of Arran has approached me, offering for your hand. I
’m considering it.”

My
breathing ceased, ice clinching across the expanse of my chest. My mouth went dry. She could not do this! She meant to ruin me! She wanted me to be unhappy! She offered me to a man I did not love, and for a fleeting moment, I had believed she might have meant Ned. Beside me, I felt Jane stiffen and suck in a breath.

“No,” I whispered
desperately, shaking my head slightly, hands gripping the folds of my black and russet brocade skirts.

Elizabeth
’s face went dark with anger, eyes narrowing, teeth clenched. She leaned forward as she hissed so that only I could hear. “I must be mistaken, for it sounded as though my most loyal and obedient cousin has denied me!”

I said nothing
, for I could not deny her again, but neither could I concede. Mortification heated my cheeks, and luckily, Margaret and Jane turned toward each other and pretended to be engrossed over Bess’s new ring of sapphire and gold.

“He is a good match for the likes of you, Kat.”
Elizabeth glared down at me as she so often had when first she’d been proclaimed queen.

I pressed my lips together and swallowed hard, nausea assaulting me. For certes
, she would think the vile man was perfect. He was Scots. A belligerent fool who enjoyed a barrel of wine at a time. He was volatile, prone to fights and indeed so unmannerly as to belch loudly in my face upon our first meeting. Never could I marry a man so revolting!

Bile rose in my throat
, and I worked hard to swallow it.

“Should you not thank your sovereign for arranging a match? You are nearing twenty
, are you not? You shall be an old maid soon… You shall like Scotland, I think. You can spend much time with our other
dear
cousin, Mary, in the land of heathens.”