He changed. Still naked. The girl looked at the ground with a stifled smile and held out the cloak. Edward grabbed it and put it on, which was loads better than the horse blanket, but still left him feeling exposed and drafty.
“Thanks for your help.” The girl tucked a stray black curl behind her ear. “I’d have gotten clear of him myself, but it would’ve been messier.”
“So you’re a chicken thief,” Edward said.
“Among other things,” she admitted.
He’d never met a common criminal before. He would have found the whole thing wildly exciting if he wasn’t so tired of things being so wildly exciting.
“I’m Gracie,” she said, meeting his eyes.
“Is that your first name or your last name?” he said.
She grinned. “Grace MacTavish,” she clarified, and gave a little bow. “At your service.”
“Edward,” he replied simply.
“Not Dennis?” She had dimples, he noticed, not when she smiled so much as when she was trying not to smile.
“Not Dennis.”
“Good. I would have felt sorry for you with a name like Dennis. Shall we go?”
“Where?” he asked.
“Somewhere safer.”
Safer sounded good. Out of habit he held out his arm. She looked at him incredulously, but then she took it and they started walking.
“I would have turned back there,” she said as they made their way through the trees. “But then I would have lost my clothes as well, and it’s a half day’s hard run to the next place I’ve got clothes stashed. And I adore these boots,” she added.
“Turned? So you’re an E?ian?” His heart thudded stupidly in his chest. What was it about this girl that flustered him so?
“Yes, an E?ian,” she said. “I’ve never seen a kestrel E?ian before. You make an attractive bird.”
His stomach turned over. “I’m a kestrel? Are you quite sure that’s what I am?”
“I’m not much for bird watching, but I know my birds of prey,” she said. “Why should that bother you?”
He didn’t answer, but the truth was that in the rules of falconry, which Edward had been practicing since he was a boy, there were certain birds suited to certain stations. The king’s bird was the gyrfalcon, the largest and most majestic bird of them all. As a prince he had worked with falcons (only slightly lesser in grandeur), while his father’s knights had used sacrets; the ladies, merlins; the squires, lanners; and so on and so on.
The kestrel was the smallest and weakest of the falcon species. Only the servants worked with kestrels.
He stifled a cough. “What animal are you?”
Dimples. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”
His legs suddenly felt weak, and it wasn’t from the effect of the pretty girl. All of this exertion had been too much for him. His head was cloudy. He stumbled.
She tightened her grip on his arm.
“You’re not well,” she observed. “Do you want to stop?”
He nodded. She led him under a tree with a large root sticking out of it, where he could sit. He spent several minutes coughing weakly into the cloak. She stood a few paces away, studying him.
“Do you have ‘the Affliction’?” She looked a bit worried at the prospect of having strolled arm in arm with a diseased man.
“No.” Edward looked up at her. “No, I was being poisoned.”
Those mischievous eyebrows of hers lifted. “Poisoned? By whom?”
“By Lord Dudley,” he said, too tired now to try to think up an answer besides the truth.
“Why would someone want to poison you?”
“Because . . .” This was it. The moment he’d tell her who he was, and she’d have to decide what to do with him. “Because I’m . . .” he tried again.
“Out with it,” she urged. “I’m not sure I can stand the suspense.”
Well, if she was going to decide to cut his throat after all, at least it’d be over quickly. Best to be done with it.
“I’m Edward Tudor,” he answered. “And I need your help.”
FOURTEEN
Jane
Well. She was queen. That was unexpected.
Jane gave a half-panicked, disbelieving laugh. How could Edward do this to her? Why would he do this to her? He didn’t even believe that women belonged in leadership positions. If Edward had been in his right mind, he never would have chosen to make her queen.
That must have been it: Edward hadn’t been in his right mind. He’d had “the Affliction” boiling his brain and ruining his decision-making skills—which had until recently, in her opinion, been quite reasonable. But what could Edward possibly expect her to do with his crown?