Carole Mortimer - Historical Romance – The Best Of The Year

Knew that he had nearly been as stupid as his father.

Had it been his loins or his heart talking? Hard to tell one from the other when he looked at her. Which made it so much worse.

* * *

Anne made her way back into the hall, suddenly surrounded again by the post-ceremony celebration. The noise and heat of a crowded room. Dancers uneven on their feet, threatening to bump her shoulder or her crutch. Hugs, toasts. Some more genuine than others.

Lady Cecily lifted a goblet to Anne, who paused for breath. She still had half the Hall to cover to reach Lady Joan—no, she must now be called the Princess of Wales—sitting on the dais with the Prince.

‘The Princess looks wonderful,’ Cecily whispered to her.

‘Which one?’ Anne said, trying to smile.

‘Both of them.’ Cecily nodded toward Princess Isabella, who was seated as far away from her brother’s new wife as the table would allow.

‘Perhaps your lady will be next to wed.’ The Princess had reached nearly thirty without a husband. Near as scandalous as her brother.

‘My lady will wed if she pleases.’ Cecily’s voice had an edge. ‘A privilege neither of us will see.’

A strange comment, but certainly true. Few men and fewer women married for pleasure. Yet Lady Cecily was fair and whole and from a good family. Strange that she had not yet wed.

Who knew what pain could be disguised behind a healthy body?

The page tugged at her sleeve and she resumed her progress through the Hall. No doubt Edward and Joan were ready to share a bed again, now that they could do so with the church’s blessing.

She made her way across the dais and her lady turned away from the table to speak to her. ‘I’ll be leaving now.’

It was as she had expected, yet her disappointment was sharp. ‘I am ready to attend you, of course.’ Hair to be combed. Furs to be brushed. Gowns to be put away. The maids must be directed carefully this night.

And Nicholas would be left waiting.

‘No.’ Joan patted Anne’s arm. ‘Stay and enjoy yourself. Someone else will attend to me. You have worked very hard, Anne.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’ Praise that would once have set her smiling. Now, she barely noted the words.

‘From now on, the demands there will be, to attend the wife of the future King—well, I do understand they will be beyond what you have been doing.’

She had not complained before. She would not do so now. ‘I understand, my lady. I am prepared.’ The royal quarters, rising safe and strong, would be the home she had always hoped to have.

‘But since St Thomas did not see fit to...’ A pause.

‘Yes, my lady?’ Odd, to hear her lady stumble as she spoke. Perhaps she was tired from the nights of preparations.

‘Because of that, I’ve made arrangements for you to go away for a rest.’

Away. She knew what the word meant, yet it made no sense. Nicholas’s kiss must have muddied her hearing. ‘Away from you?’

‘You need not worry. I will bear all the costs. But doesn’t a long rest sound wonderful? I know it has been exhausting, taking care of me all these years. So I’ve arranged for you to withdraw to Holystone’s nunnery.’

‘Nunnery?’ She had never expected marriage, but to be locked in a convent? No. That she had never, never wanted.

‘It is a small one, but I’ll arrange a sizeable gift to be sure you are well cared for. And now that the war with Scotland is over, I’m sure it is quite safe, even though it is on the Borders.’

Her lady’s meaning was now cold and clear and sharp. The secret Anne had kept for all these years was no longer a protection for her. She was the only one besides Joan who knew the truth. Now that the marriage was finalised, she needed Anne to be far, far away.

Out of sight.

Out of reach.

Locked away like a madwoman.

Silent.

Chapter Sixteen

Speechless, Anne took a step away from her lady, lost in a suddenly spinning world.

How was she to live, torn away from the life that had protected her since childhood?

The answer was simple and brutal. She wasn’t.

Oh, it was not an outright threat. Lady Joan would never dream of harming her, of course. It was just that Anne was no longer useful. Worse, she had become...inconvenient. She was the only person to know that the wife of the future King of England, and, more importantly, the mother of a future King of England was not, could not be married to the Prince under church law.

Because she was married to another man.

Only Anne the cripple knew now. And no one would heed her, once she was tucked far away in a convent, never to see the outside world again.

She left the dais and leaned against the wall, unable to take a sure step. The gaiety of the wedding dancers filled the Hall. She had never expected to be able to dance, but to be locked away, never to even see someone else move to music, to hear only music meant for God’s ears...

It was not death, exactly. She would still breathe and wake to see the light each day, beckoning outside the convent walls. But she would be trapped, imprisoned in one place more tightly than her leg could ever have held her.

As tight as a coffin might hold her.

‘You do not seem happy.’ Nicholas had appeared beside her, without her even knowing. ‘What did she want?’

She must keep smiling. ‘Just to thank me. Of course I am happy. For her.’

‘And for yourself?’

She looked away. ‘I have nothing to complain of.’ And yet she wanted to complain, to keen in mourning at the loss of her world. A world in which once, at least, a man had kissed her. ‘But I have some things I must tell you.’

Within days, he would be gone from her life for ever. The only man who had ever really seen her. She had thought to make a memory tonight, but perhaps she would repay a debt instead.

* * *

Staying close to the wall, Nicholas guided Anne out of the Hall. Revellers were spilling out of the Hall, looking for fresh air, and the yard that had been theirs before was now dotted with other couples.

He found quiet shelter in the stairway, where torches studded the walls so that guests would not miss a step and tumble down the stairs cascading below them.

They settled on one of the steps and Nicholas brushed the hair away from Anne’s brow, wanting to take her lips again, but her mood had shifted. The moment lost.

She took a breath. ‘Tonight is goodbye.’ Her voice was steady. Steadier than he felt. Now he was the one whose legs seemed too weak to carry him forward. He did not want to examine why.

‘I do not leave yet.’

‘I do.’

Shock. Where would she be going? ‘I thought the Prince and Princess would remain at Windsor.’

‘They will. I go alone.’

‘Alone?’ An echo, that word. She had never gone anywhere alone. ‘Where?’

She pursed her lips, looking not at him, but down the stairs that disappeared into darkness. ‘To the convent of Holystone.’

He’d never even heard the name. ‘Where is that?’

She shrugged. ‘Northumberland. Near the Borders.’

None of the words made sense. ‘On a mission for your lady?’

A deep breath, then Anne met his eyes again. ‘My lady thinks I need a rest.’

‘Do you?’ The words were sharper than he had intended.

She shrugged.

Something was wrong. Why was she going alone to a desolate, dangerous wasteland? She had wanted to travel, especially without her lady, but there was no excitement in her voice. ‘Is it what you want?’

‘It is...better that I go.’ She looked down the stairs that would take her away. In the flickering torchlight, they almost seemed to move. ‘I have been with Lady Joan a long time. I remind her of too many things.’

He sensed treacherous ground here. ‘What things?’ He asked as if it were his right to know.