He stared deep into her blazing eyes. “This Mary I will take to wife is a far stronger woman than the one I first desired. Whatever happens, sweetheart, you will live at Wivenhoe and soon. I promise. And we had best be on the road to Hatfield so that at first dawn tomorrow we shall be heading Sanctuary and Eden for Master Whitman’s inn and that little church. But first I will claim a kiss from my intended, since it seems her red lips have quite warmed to my taste by now.” He pulled her very slowly against him and put his hands under the heavy folds of her cloak. The kiss was warm and tender, then deep and probing. When he lifted his head, she saw the familiar look of passion in his eyes.
“Come on, my lass. We are off to Hatfield or else this dirty little inn will have to serve for our nuptial chamber.” He grabbed his black cloak and hat and they strode hand in hand for the door.
By the time the early dusk turned the clean snow to evening gray, they had reached Hatfield and Mary had spent two hours with Henry Carey. He was lanky, freckled, auburn-haired, polite, and achingly adoring. He recited Latin and Greek verses for her and told her of his good relationship with his tutor and with His Grace’s son, Fitzroy. He expressed his fervent wish to see his aunt the new queen whom he could not remember from his early days at court and reminded her twice that he was to be remembered to his dear grandsire. Something awful twisted deep inside Mary when the boy spoke of his grandsire the second time and, quietly, she pursued her fear.
“How often have you seen Grandsire Boleyn, Harry?”
“Oh, quite often, mother. Two weeks last. He brings fine presents and talks for hours of the court, and he promised me I shall go there someday. He has told me I might rise high in His Grace’s favor with his help, and I will not forget that.”
“No, of course not. Now that your aunt is queen, you can attain a favored position. She mentioned to me that you might be a companion to her children when they should be born.”
“But Grandsire told me I would rise high long ago, mother, even before the new queen took the place of—well, became queen.”
Damn my father, she thought distinctly. He never told me of any of these visits. But, of course, he would not want to me to know he has been long poisoning the lad’s mind. When I return, I shall tell him he will stop or else I shall tell His Grace what my precious father most fears I will tell him. He will not use this child as his next plan should his other power schemes go awry!
“Mother, you look so angry. Are you all right?” His pale, earnest face bent close to hers.
“Yes, of course, my Harry. Now enough talk about the court. It is far enough away from here.”
“Only twenty miles, Grandsire says, mother.”
“Well, yes. Now tell me more of the geography Master Gwinne has been teaching. They used to think the world was flat, you said?” And, the words echoed in her mind, I used to think my father was to be trusted. He has bent children’s minds before in his hail-fellow-well-met mask, and he will not do it again to Harry. If only Anne were not Harry’s guardian now!
“Are you listening, mother?” He smiled at her, his beautiful golden-haired mother with the blue eyes and troubled face. And she had been so happy today when she first came to see him. Had he said something amiss to her? Did she think he should be further in his studies?
“Yes, my dearest, I am listening. Say on and then we should eat and go to bed, for by morning light I must set out.”
“Shall I recite the lineage of our dear king for you instead, mother?” he inquired, his earnest eyes still on her face.
The thatched roof of The Golden Gull glittered as though it were strung with chains of diamonds in the afternoon sun. It had taken them longer than Staff had calculated on the stretch from the Kent Road west to Banstead, for a sifting of new snow had fallen and they had to keep the horses under tight rein because of hidden ruts on the covered road. Despite the biting air, they chatted and stopped to kiss and admire the powdered white beauty of the evergreen forest and the brown iced etching of the lonely trunks of elm or beech while Stephen and the two grooms dropped farther and farther behind.
Banstead lay silent but for the thin lines of smoke trailing their fingers into the winter sky, and few human footprints marred the untouched carpet of snow. The Whitmans had been awaiting them, for Staff had sent word days before, and soon the roaring hearth thawed out their hands and feet.
“Be the place as you remember it then, milady?” Master Whitman asked, seeing her scan the room repeatedly.
“No, Master Whitman, much more lovely than I remember it,” she told him. “I am looking carefully so I am certain to remember all of it.”
“Aye, one’s weddin’ day is a special day to remember,” Mistress Whitman put in. “My John brought me from Dover the very next day after our weddin’, but I recall and well the little inn we stayed in down on the waterfront. There was a real feather bed in the next room, though ours was straw, and I recall that well, too.” She blushed as she caught her husband’s warning eye and Staff’s grin. “Well, I do so recall it, and I shall tell it if I want to, John!”
“But ’tis their weddin’ day, and they do not want to sit here and be told of yourn,” he growled back.
Staff’s voice cut in to settle the potential spat. “Now, John, we have been here long enough to warm up, so I wish us to go. Are you certain the priest will be there?”