“Accessible medicine for all! Including steeping tinctures! And more tinctures that need to steep!” G said.
“Prosecution of those who prey on the weak!” Jane said.
“An unlimited fountain of free ale!” G said.
At which Jane frowned.
“And . . . the funding of higher education for women!” G said.
That seemed to satisfy his lady for the time being.
When they arrived at the house, G had only a couple of hours before horse time. In their bedchamber, Jane set a pillow and blanket on the floor next to the bed.
“Jane, I cannot allow you to sleep on the floor,” G said gallantly.
She smiled. “The pillow and blanket are for you, my lord.”
“Ah. Of course.”
G lowered himself onto the hard wooden floor, and Jane climbed into the bed, blowing out the candles as she pulled the covers tight around her.
Neither of them said another word. But each fell asleep to the sound of the other’s breathing.
TEN
Edward
Dearest Edward,
I hoped to visit you this morning, but when I arrived at the palace I was informed that you are not receiving visitors. I must confess my surprise and disappointment that you would not see even me, but I know there must be a good reason, and I suspect that this self-imposed isolation means that your illness is taking its toll. For this I am so very sorry, cousin, and I wish there was something I could do to make you well again.
I’m sure you must be wondering what it is I came to see you about this morning, mere hours after my wedding. My dear cousin, the wedding is precisely the topic I wanted to discuss with you. Or rather, my newly acquired husband.
Gifford is a horse.
I’m certain you knew this, what with your referrals to “his condition” and assumptions that I would find it intriguing. What I cannot fathom is why you chose not to tell me. We’ve always told each other everything, have we not? I consider you to be my most trusted confidant, my dearest and most beloved friend. Why, then, did you neglect this rather critical detail? It doesn’t make sense.
But perhaps in this, too, I wonder now, you felt you had a good reason.
I hope that we will be able to speak more on this subject when I return from my honeymoon in the country.
All my love,
Jane
Edward sighed. He carefully folded the letter and laid it on the bedside table. Over the past three days he had read Jane’s letter no fewer than a hundred times, and each time he felt as though she were sitting beside him, chastising him of course, but there all the same.
He closed his eyes and mentally composed a letter back to Jane. It went something like this:
Dearest Jane,
Sorry I made you marry a horse. Your father-in-law is trying to kill me. Send help.
But Edward knew that he could expect no help from Jane. Any message he might write to inform her of his predicament or warn her of Lord Dudley’s insidious intentions for both Jane and the kingdom would surely be intercepted by the duke. Even if the message did somehow manage to make it out of the palace, it would likely fall into Gifford’s hands, and Edward could only assume Jane’s husband was in league with his father.
So. The king was in trouble, or, as they would have phrased it at the time, up ye olde creek sans ye olde paddle.
He sighed again. The night Pet had turned out to be a girl, Edward and Peter Bannister (and Pet, too, but she wasn’t much help with strategy, bless her heart) had come up with a plan to get Edward out of the castle. It was a good plan. First, Edward should stop ingesting poison. Then, when the poison he had already unwittingly taken had worn off, when he had regained some of his strength, when he could at least walk again without falling, he would request to be taken out to the gardens for fresh air. (Because it’s a well-known fact that fresh air has magical healing properties.) Then, on one of these walks through the gardens, Peter Bannister would happen by with a horse and help Edward onto said horse. And then Edward would flee.
But things weren’t going according to plan.
For the past three days Edward hadn’t eaten anything that didn’t pass a sniff inspection from Pet. Which was tough, because in order to obtain a sniff inspection from Pet, one had to wait until someone wasn’t hovering over him (which these days was proving to be difficult) and then quickly lower his plate to the floor beside his bed (because he wasn’t allowing Pet to sleep in the bed anymore, because, well, that would be inappropriate) and then wait for her to wag her tail. Code for: no wicked smells here; feel free to chow down.
At first the poison had only been offered up once a day, in his berries and berry-related pastries, but then Mistress Penne had noticed that the king seemed to have lost his passion for blackberries, and the wicked smell began to infiltrate the rest of his food. And then his wine.