Gillian Bagwell - The King’s Mistress

The kiss seemed to last forever but at last the king straightened and looked down at Jane, his hand stroking her cheek.

“I’m sorry, sweet Jane,” he murmured, kissing her hand. “I shouldn’t have, but I was quite overcome. You’d best go now.”

Jane didn’t want to part from him, but knew that he was right. Reluctantly, she stepped back towards the door.

“Good night. May good rest attend Your Majesty.”

“Charles,” he whispered. “When we are alone so, call me Charles.”

IN HER BED, JANE TOSSED FITFULLY, FEELING CHARLES’S HANDS AND mouth on her, recalling his taste and scent and the feel of his body against hers. She longed for him with every particle of her being, wished that he would creep to her bed in the quiet dark, and was quite appalled at the fierceness of her desire and her complete lack of care for any consequences that might follow should things go further between them. Between her and the king.

JANE’S FIRST SIGHT OF CHARLES IN THE MORNING WAS AT THE BREAKFAST table. He came in from the kitchen with a large pitcher, and he caught her eye and smiled as he went to Henry’s side.

“Cider, sir?” he asked.

“Thank you, Jackson, yes,” Henry said.

“Good morning, Mistress.”

Charles’s sleeve brushed Jane’s arm as he reached for her mug, and she felt herself flushing at the sound of his voice and feel of him so close. She kept her eyes on her plate as he poured for her, but felt that Henry had given her a quick and curious glance.

They set off soon after breakfast, with their noon meal packed in the saddlebags so that they could keep from inns and public eating houses until they reached Cirencester that night.

It was a spectacular day, the air crisp and fresh. With Henry riding ahead of them, whistling happily, Charles reached down and pulled Jane’s hand to his lips and kissed it. She tightened her arms around his waist and felt her heart soar. The sky rose in a vast blue arc above them, before them lay a landscape tinged with rosy sunlight, and all things seemed possible.

They soon left the village behind, and rode on between stubbled fields. The beautiful half-timbered houses of Mickleton gave way to meadowland, and then to substantial houses of pale stone as they reached Chipping Campden, its vaulted stone market stall packed with sheep, and a crowd of traders around the market cross. Leaving the town, the road sloped downward to an open valley.

“Beautiful country,” Charles said. “I haven’t been just here before.”

Jane longed to ask him a thousand questions, about his life, his family, his hopes and plans for what he would do once safely out of England, but didn’t want to seem too inquisitive.

“You have seen much of the country, have you not?”

“Yes, some. During the war, of course. And before the war, for most of the year my family moved between Whitehall, Hampton Court, Windsor, and the other palaces not far from London. But during the summers the king my father and my mother would go on progress throughout the country, staying in turn at other palaces and the homes of nobles on their way, and when I was old enough to travel, I joined them.”

Jane imagined the royal retinue making its way around the countryside. “A travelling holiday! Where did you like best?”

The king laughed. “Anywhere that I could get out and ride or swim or play!”

Of course, Jane thought, his memories of those travels were all from when he had been a child. He couldn’t have been more than about twelve when his father’s royal standard had been raised at Nottingham for a battle that both sides had hoped in vain might settle the king’s quarrel with Parliament.

“And during the wars?” Jane asked.

“I was with my father to begin with, headquartered in Oxford, and moved where he moved. Then when I was not quite fifteen, I was made general of the Western Association, and went to take up my duties in Bristol.”

“A general at fourteen?” Jane asked in amazement.

“In name only, to speak truly. My cousin Rupert was really in command, but I learned much from him, and it was the start of making me into a man. And a king.” His voice was sad, and no wonder, Jane thought.

“And then?” she asked.

“Then we lost Bristol, and I moved westward into Cornwall, and then to the Scilly Isles and thence to Jersey, and then to France and the Low Countries. The next time I set foot on English soil was when I crossed the border from Scotland a month ago.”

“But you’ll be back,” Jane whispered fiercely to him. “I know you will.”

“I will,” he nodded, straightening in the saddle. “But God knows when or how.”

They rode on in silence for a little way. Jane watched a flock of sparrows swoop overhead, then plunge and divide, settling on the branches of a large sycamore.

“Will you sing to me, Jane?” Charles asked. “Your good spirits cheer me.”

Jane began to sing “Come o’er the Bourne, Bessy”. Henry slowed his horse to come alongside them, and sang the man’s part as they came to the second verse.

“I am the lover fair

Hath chose thee to mine heir,

And my name is Merry England.”

Charles laughed in delight as Jane sang in response.

“Here is my hand,

My dear lover England,

I am thine with both mind and heart.”

THE MORNING WAS BLESSEDLY UNEVENTFUL COMPARED TO THE PREVIOUS day’s ride, and at midday they stopped beneath a huge oak tree to eat. Jane was very conscious of Charles’s hands on her waist as he helped her to dismount, and she could feel her cheeks going pink at the vivid memory of his lips on hers the previous night.

“I had a close call of it last night,” Charles said when they were settled comfortably with their meal spread on a blanket, and Jane’s heart skipped before he broke into a smile.

“The cook told me to wind up the jack,” he said, taking a swallow of ale from the leather bottle. “And I had not an idea what she meant.”

“Oh, no,” Jane laughed. “It’s a spit for roasting meat, that winds up like a clock.”

“So I know now, but she must have thought me a thorough idiot when I looked around the room to see what she could mean. She pointed to it, and I took hold of the handle, but wound it the wrong way. Or so she told me, with a glower and a curse. ‘What simpleton are you,’ she asked, ‘that cannot work a jack?’ I thought quick and told her that I was but a poor tenant farmer’s son, and that we rarely had meat, and when we did, we didn’t use a jack to roast it.”

Henry laughed, but it was to Jane that Charles was looking with a smile on his face.

AS AFTERNOON DREW TOWARDS EVENING, A TALL CHURCH SPIRE rose in the distance ahead.

“That will be Cirencester,” Henry said. “The Crown Inn is said to be friendly and comfortable, though right at the marketplace and heavily travelled.”

“Then the Crown it is,” Charles said. “I’ll keep to the room and keep my head down when I must pass among strangers.”

The Crown lay just off the main road and only feet from the medieval stone church. As they rode into the inn yard, Jane was alarmed to see that it was full of soldiers and that another party of troopers were right behind them.

“Never fear,” Charles murmured, dismounting. “Leave it to me.”

He helped her to the ground, and after an exchange of glances, Henry tossed him the reins of his horse as well. To Jane’s astonishment, Charles swaggered forward into the crowd of red-coated soldiers, bumping into shoulders, stepping on feet, and provoking a hail of oaths as the men scrambled to avoid being trampled by the horses.

“Have a care, you clotpole!”

“Poxed idiot!”