“It is said that you have returned from the high country.”
“Yes, I have.”
The Queen folded her hands perfectly and sat them in her lap. “Perhaps you might sit and offer us a bit of entertainment with details of your travels.”
“Of course. Is there something in particular Your Majesty would like to hear about?”
The Queen tried to sound happy but there was a hint of boredom in her tone. Justina nodded and stepped forward while a chill went down the back of her neck. There was a tension beneath the canopy she had not felt from the Queen before. Her ladies cut quick glances between one another before they all folded their hands and adopted the same posture that the Queen did. Each looked like a doll that had been carefully dressed and posed by its owner. The rest of the court pressed forward but were kept behind the chamberlain so that no one was near the Queen. Not one of her ladies moved or spoke, they simply waited. The Queen kept her hands folded and seemed to search for a question.
“Were the flowers and clover in bloom?”
It was quite a benign topic and one that stunned Justina. Catherine Parr was well known for her love of books and study. It was one of the reasons Henry the Eighth enjoyed her company. It was known that she often debated theology with the King when they were in privy. She had been heard to say that such debates took his mind off his leg wound and that she was happy to be able to ease his pain.
And today she asked about flowers and clover ...
There was a hint of fear in the Queen's eyes and a pinched look around her lips. Justina felt the tension wrap around her and she clasped her hands together, just as sedately as Catherine Parr was doing.
“The clover was indeed quite lovely during the summer. . .”
Justina didn't know why, but she could feel the anxiety in the air, so she spoke of springtime foolishness, and noted with unease that the Queen seemed to listen intently.
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The Queen retired early, taking her ladies and the princesses with her. Justina forced her expression to be smooth while she walked the distance to her rooms. Being housed in the palace was the doing of Biddeford, but for the moment she was pleased to not need to travel to a townhome for the night. That would have required her to either ride or take a carriage. She might wait quite some time for her carriage or mare to be brought up from the stables because they were an entire city block from the main palace. The only way to ensure her mare was brought forward soon would be to press some silver into the groom's hand.
Her chambers were very nice, if a bit small. She had two windows and they were a very nice luxury for they allowed the rooms to be aired out. Many of the interior rooms had the scent of smoke lingering halfway down their walls from the fires that had kept their inhabitants warm during the winter months.
But her chambers were not as private as she might have liked. The viscount sat at the table in the front room, sipping expensive French wine from a glass goblet. His manservant stood silently behind him which was a reminder to her that Biddeford considered himself worthy of service at all times of the day.
“Do you like it?” He held one of the glass goblets up so that the candlelight shone through it. The wine in the glass was visible, and he tilted the glass back and forth to display its translucent ability.
“A gift from the King.” Smug satisfaction coated his voice while he took another sip from the delicate glass. Justina stood and waited while he set the goblet down. There was a flicker of his eyelashes, indicating that he knew she waited on him, but he did not grant her permission to sit. The heels were digging into her feet now and the skirt of the gown had begun making her lower back ache hours ago, but she could not sit in the presence of her better without his leave.
“How did you find our Queen?” There was thicker smugness in his voice now and a satisfied gleam in his eyes as well.
“Her Majesty was very welcoming.”
“You mean she was boring and meek.” Biddeford chuckled. “Yes, our dear Queen almost found herself in the tower like so many of her predecessors.”
Justina failed to smother her gasp of horror. The viscount tapped the table while smiling at her.
“Chancellor Wriothesley had the arrest warrant penned and the guard marching off to take her away when she somehow learned of the affair and threw herself on the ground at the King's feet to beg for mercy.” Biddeford waved his hand through the air. “To beg for her life, actually.”
Justina felt her own throat contracting. There was no way to ignore the rising horror that filled her; the look of enjoyment in Biddeford's eyes doubled it.
“The clever woman managed to soothe the King's ego by spouting some nonsense that she had argued with him only to distract him from his festering wound. She burned her books and told her ladies to follow her example. She therefore kept her head, for the moment.” He reached out to finger the thin stem of the wineglass. “She has been properly submissive ever since, a rather good example of how a woman should conduct herself if she wants to live.”
He took another sip from the wine. “However, Chancellor Wriothesley lost some of his influence over the King during the matter of the Queen's investigation. Edward Seymour has been enjoying His Majesty's company a little too much for my taste since then. Seymour will be hunting tomorrow. Make sure you ride with his party.”
“I thought you detested the Earl of Hertford. He must know that I am your servant.”
The viscount stood, his enjoyment fading. “I do hate him, which is why I want you to ride near the man. Since you spent so much time with Ryppon, it is possible the man will believe you have changed your allegiances, even if you can do nothing to change the legal fact that I am your guardian. Let him see you looking pitiful and needy. He's been known to have a softness for pretty women. We shall exploit that if he is foolish enough to take the bait.”
Biddeford left, his manservant stepping forward to pick up the wineglass before following his master. Justina felt her heart beating softly, as though it was afraid to make too much noise. Now she realized what it was that she had felt around the Queen and princesses today. Fear, thick and choking, it hung over them like a fog that made everyone want to speak only in the most hushed of tones.
The chamber door closed and she winced at the sharp sound it made. Her heart instantly began beating faster, the feeling of being trapped tightening around her until she felt the need to run. Fast and as far as her legs might carry her away from the hideous man who had just invaded her chambers.
Of course that was the entire point of Biddeford's visit tonight. He knew the art of intimidation well, understood how to upset any sense of balance she might gain for herself. A tremor traveled over her body, followed by another and still more until she was quivering. Fear, thick enough to taste, permeated the air.
The maids returned and helped her disrobe with nothing but pinched looks on their faces. Justina longed for darkness and sleep to give her relief from some of the dread, but when she lay in bed at last, in nothing but her chemise, there was no peace to be found. Instead another face rose from her mind, one that sent tears to burn her eyes. Her fearful mind reached for this memory, needing the strength that shone from his eyes.
Synclair ...
The man she had no right to long for or even think about. He was her opposite, everything honorable, while she was scarlet with sin. The knight had been sworn to serve Lord Ryppon and he had done so obediently. It had been Synclair who locked her away once her treachery was discovered, but he had not done so with disgust. The knight had boldly claimed a kiss from her that she still felt lingering on her lips.
You feel that kiss because you are too weak to ignore the memory. . .
So true, and still she allowed herself to sink into her mind's recollection of the way the knight had felt against her. Somehow, she had never really thought that a man might feel so good, that she might take pleasure from his harder body. His kiss had been hard and punishing, demanding a response she had been powerless to deny him. For a few precious moments, her mouth had mimicked his, returning that kiss because she longed to, not out of obligation to her husband, or because she had been ordered to by the viscount. One sweet kiss that she recalled because it was genuine, but it was also a cruel torment because after the rush of sweet enjoyment, her mind returned to the times she had used her kisses to deceive. Misery wrapped around her as she saw Synclair standing so stiffly on the walls of Amber Hill, attending to his duty while always casting looks toward her tower-top room.
She had rejected him. Pushed him away and labeled him a blackard.
That was a kindness on her part.
Synclair was noble and pristine. He deserved a wife who matched his virtue with her own. It didn't really matter anymore. She had left the knight far behind and the memory of his kiss was the only thing she would ever have of him.
The tears fell down her cheeks, but the darkness allowed her the luxury of not having to fight them. Instead she wept for the innocent bride she had been and the disappointment her husband had turned out to be. Knowing Synclair made her pain even worse for she knew that there were men worthy of the innocent she had been. There were knights who ladies might save themselves for and have their affections rewarded with faithfulness and honor.
Of course, that was not her lot, and the Church would tell her not to argue with God for what He had given her.
Well, she wanted to do much more than argue; she wanted to rail against the injustice of her life.
But most of all, she wanted to be worthy of Synclair, and she cried with the knowledge that she could never clean away enough of the sin clinging to her body to ever be good enough for him.
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ttending court left little time for sleep. Justina awoke when the horizon was turning dusty rose. Her maids were blurry eyed and rubbed the sleep away from their eyes when they thought she wasn't watching. Anyone who drew their pay from the Viscount Biddeford earned every silver penny, and the slump of both girls' shoulders confirmed that they were enduring the man's harsh demands.
A hunting dress was pressed and ready for her today. No doubt the maids had spent several hours ironing the dress and polishing her shoes for the morning hunt. Even the hat had its feathers steamed and curled and the wool newly brushed free of every speck of dirt. Like everything at court, hunting was yet another time to observe and be observed. Her dress must be perfect down to the smallest details.
How she loathed it. Putting on a pretty dress was fun so long as it was not another chore.
Justina stepped into hose and shoes once again, only this time the shoes were more practical, lacking the high heels. They were tied with sturdy leather, and her garters were wool instead of silk. The dress was much more comfortable. Instead of a slip set with stiff hoops, there was only an underskirt of soft wool to keep her legs warm. The skirt was hemmed just above her toes, and it lacked the pull on her back of the court gown she had endured the day before. Today she wore a doublet buttoned to her neck and a more loosely fit set of stays. There were no pearls to worry about snagging, and the hat the maids brought forward was felted wool and, beside the feathers, only a ribbon to enhance it.
She liked the dress, liked it full well.
Yes, the time in the borderland had certainly left its mark upon her. There had been no need of court fashion at Amber Hill, and Justina admitted that she had a fondness for the lack of pomp and ceremony.
“You'd best hurry, my lady. The earl will be letting his hounds loose soon.”
It was a bold thing for a maid to say to her mistress but Justina understood what prompted the woman to speak. If the viscount was displeased, they would all suffer. There was no difference between them, no matter who wore the finer clothing.
The maid had spoken truly, though. Justina neared the south gate and heard the hounds howling with excitement. The Earl of Hertford's household was turned out in large numbers and a great many of the court were also in attendance. The yard was a mass of horses and pages all attempting to ready the animals for riding. The sky was turning rosy pink now with yellow and orange streaking through it. Dark clouds were beginning to drift overhead, promising a storm before afternoon. The sound of trumpets broke through the buzz of conversations and the hounds yelped in response. The large animals pulled against their grooms, knowing the sound of the beginning of the hunt well. A group near the gate surged forward, with the colors of Hertford flying behind them. They took to the road, the hounds leading the way and falcons and hawks perched on arms with their leather hoods still in place. That didn't keep the birds from showing their growing excitement. They moved their heads with sharp motions in spite of the leather covering them, and they flapped their wings, causing their handlers to make soothing sounds.
Justina mounted her mare and hooked her knee over the saddle horn. It was a precarious seat, but since Anne Boleyn had lost her head, women were wise to avoid riding like men. The former queen had been well known for her love of riding astride but it had been yet another charge used to condemn her.
The crisp air turned her cheeks cold and Justina leaned low over the neck of her mare to ride faster. She left behind her the aspiring daughters of nobles who were only there to be seen and possibly offered for, along with the good wives who attended in order to gossip. Riding away from the palace filled her with joy, and she urged her mare faster, allowing herself to live only in that moment, when there was nothing but the open forest. Her heart beat faster and her shoulders lost much of the tension that had been keeping her on edge since her return. Once they reached the woods, the falcons were loosed to spread their wings out and fly overhead.
Justina tipped her head back, grateful for the long steel pin that kept her hat in place while she watched the raptors soar over the top of the trees. She envied them, but smiled as she watched the way they floated far above everything.
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She did know how to smile.
Synclair watched Justina, drinking in the sight of her.
Had it truly been only a few days since he'd seen her last? His lower back ached from too many hours in the saddle, but it was worth it because he'd managed to find the woman he'd spent too many hours thinking about. Her face inhabited his dreams, and he heard her voice when the morning was still dark but he was walking the walls and searching the night for signs of invaders. Whenever there was nothing for his mind to do, his thoughts filled with her. No amount of discipline seemed able to banish his addiction to her. The thing that doubled his frustration was the way the lady ran from him. This time, she had truly taken to the road to escape him.
That roused his temper because of the risk she'd taken. No woman should be pushed to such lengths; it was dishonorable of a man to do so. True honor was not the pride-filled nonsense that was so often displayed at court. He watched her and drank in the sight of her sitting safely on the side of her mare. It was a fine sight, one that he was determined to see more often.
Some might label it an obsession. Synclair didn't know, but he was sure of one factâhe was going to put whatever was between them to the test. At last, at long last, because the single kiss he'd stolen from her was as fresh in his mind as the ale he'd consumed at midday.
Only far sweeter.
He guided his stallion closer to his prey. He'd spent hours watching her, waiting on her to emerge from her tower at Amber Hill so that he might approach her. Things would be different now. The rules that had governed his behavior while he was sworn to serve the Baron Ryppon were no longer binding him. He could feel something dark rising up inside him. It had kept him awake too many nights to count while his flesh burned for the touch of the woman intent on refusing him.
He chuckled softly. He still felt the sting of her hand across his jaw but all that did was increase his need to taste her honeyed lips once more. There was something between them and it was not just he who felt it. She might have resisted his kiss at first but that had turned to passion just as hot as his own within moments.
He was going to feel that again. Even if the lady sputtered in outrage at him. She would be his, and for reasons he did not understand, that idea persisted through the months she had hidden from him and refused him when their paths did cross.
He knew her reason, and that only fueled his desire to claim her even more. Synclair swept the area, looking for the man he suspected he might have to kill.
Actually, he wanted to kill him. The Viscount Biddeford was a blight upon the English nobility, a shame that needed wiping away. He used his guardianship for gain without any regard for honor.
Justina laughed, the sound sending sensations down his back. It was delicate and far too rare. He gave a tug on the reins in his hands and guided his stallion in closer.
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“A hawk won't return to its master unless it trusts him.”
Justina gasped, jumping as she jerked her attention around to face the man she had dreamt about last night.
It couldn't be.
But Synclair sat in front of her, more real than she believed possible. His stallion was a full head taller than her mare, and he angled his head to look down upon her. Unlike the men surrounding the earl of Hertford, Synclair was wearing only sturdy wool garments. There wasn't a bauble or length of trim anywhere on him, just the gold knights' chain secured to the shoulders of his doublet which allowed the chain to drape across the wide expanse of his chest.
He looked more fetching to her eyes than any other man. Something flickered in his eyes, a hint of pleasure at knowing that she enjoyed looking at him.
“The raptor isn't afraid of the world, even when it should be. Once it gains its freedom, it will take a strong bond to bring it back to the man who held it.”
He wasn't talking about a hawk. The knight's blue eyes were hard as winter ice and aimed directly at her.
“Rather insightful of the raptor; fear is for children.”
“Or women who are forced to endure guardians that lack honor.”
Justina gasped again. This time her mare danced in a circle, feeling her rider's upset. Synclair's lips twitched, hinting at a grin that never truly showed on his face, but there was an unmistakable flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. He used a short pull on his reins to guide his stallion closer to her mare, sidestepping over to neatly push her away from the main body of the hunting party. Surprise held her in its grasp. Her heart accelerated and her thoughts whirled too fast to reign in. Synclair took advantage of that, cutting his stallion ever closer to her mare. Her horse retreated, until Justina pulled up on the reins to insist that the animal stay in place.
The action didn't gain her the security she sought, instead Synclair urged his stallion closer, and unlike her mare, the animal seemed accustomed to being pressed against another horse. She felt Synclair invading her space and leaned away out of instinct.
“Enough, sir. Have done.”
“I think not, Lady, I have only begun. It is time you and I stand steady and see what happens when we are not being pulled apart by the rest of the world.”
“I disagree.”
She leaned farther away, too far to maintain her balance atop the mare.
The knight's hand snaked out as fast as a lightning strike to grip her skirt. He grabbed a huge hand full of the cartridge-pleated material, holding her in place when her own movement would have carried her over the side of the mare.
“What are you doing at court?”
She couldn't deal with him back at court when she was forced to remain, too. Something flashed in his eyes, a warning that cut through her like a knife. Her breath became lodged in her throat.
“Following you, Justina.”
He spoke her name in a rough voice before stretching out his arm and allowing her body to slide down the side of the saddle. Even as shock held her in its grasp, she was amazed at the amount of strength in his body. He controlled her descent to the ground, lifting one leg up and over her mare so that he sat for a brief moment on top of the animal before he followed her to the ground. He might have simply released her skirt and dismounted from his own horse but he refused to allow her to drop so carelessly. His solid strength supported her all the way to the ground, while he followed her. It happened in a moment but her mind was frozen in shock, making every action slower and more noticeable.
“Did you doubt that I would follow you?” He made a low sound that communicated how frustrated he was. The tone of it made her tremble, an instant response that she neither considered nor controlled. It simply happened, just as heat began burning a path along her arms and up her neck, before it reached her face to set her cheeks on fire. Words failed her, her thoughts centering on the blush staining her face.
To think that she might still be capable of blushing ... Such an innocent action felt misplaced but it also sent a tingle of excitement through her heart.
Synclair lifted a hand and gently stroked her face before she shook off her astonishment. “How could you doubt that I would follow, Justina? I spoke my intentions clearly to you at Amber Hill.”
“Your intentions?” She stepped away from him, not because his touch offended her, but to escape the sheer enjoyment of having his skin against her own. “You locked me in a chamber.”
“Only for a week, and then you were given the freedom of the castle. Considering the peril you allowed Bridget to run into when you showed her the way out of Amber Hill, a week was a small penance. But it was by Lord Ryppon's order and one designed for your protection. Your guardian is unfit. He sent you to deceive us and send Bridget into the night where she might have been harmed. Keeping you in the castle was to prevent you from returning to a guardian who has no conscience about how he uses you.” His voice was edged with hard command, but instead of striking her as arrogant, Synclair seemed worthy of the tone. His eyes sliced into hers. “You were the one who kept to your chamber after that, Lady. It was no simple task to meet you outside it.”
And yet he had managed it far too often for her faltering self-discipline. Each time he'd managed to intercept her had chiseled away at her resolve to push him away. Now, with his eyes on her again, she could feel every hole in the walls around her heart.
“I had to sequester myself because you lacked the sense to stay away from me.” He was too large and too tempting. Justina stepped away from him, needing distance to regain her composure. There were solid reasons why she could not allow him to pursue her; she simply couldn't think of any of them at the moment.