This was not the chapter I thought I'd write tonight, but it was the one that wanted to be written...

Part II

March 1520

"Will, thank you for coming to see me so quickly," Henry clapped the younger man on the shoulder, a jovial smile spread over his face.

William bowed, "To be honest, Your Majesty, I was relieved to have an excuse to escape my wife and her women. Moving rooms has them all in a flutter."

Henry chuckled, "Well, you'll not have to worry about keeping out from underfoot for long. It's difficult to be under someone's feet when there's an entire sea between you."

William blinked. An entire sea, between him and Mary? What? How on Earth…

"Sire?" He had to pitch his question just right, for while questioning the King might be allowed, at least for those Henry Tudor trusted, any hint that you didn't trust the King's state of mind or judgement was most certainly not.

Fortunately, the King was too pleased with himself to notice any qualms William might be having, "I'm naming you my envoy to Portugal with immediate effect, Will. You're to quarter in Lisbon for the foreseeable future. I daresay it would please the Queen were you to push for a match between the Princess Mary and one of her Portuguese cousins."

Now William's eyebrows did go up, "But Sire? I thought Her Highness was to be betrothed to the Dauphin. Is that not why Your Majesties are sailing for France this coming summer?"

The King spread his hands. "This is true. However, Her Highness and the Dauphin are still only children and it's a long way between betrothal and the altar. Things may change in the coming years before my daughter is ready to become a wife and mother. There's no harm in putting out some feelers to try and read the situation. Besides, even if the Princess Mary remains destined for a French match, well, I have nieces, do I not? And God Willing, the Queen's belly will yet quicken with a son one of these days."

"God Willing," William echoed, but the words were automatic rather than fervent. Quite apart from the fact that the Queen was sadly reaching an age where another pregnancy would be more akin to an act of God than anything natural, his mind was somewhere else. It was putting pieces together that he had stubbornly refused to see fitted for the past few months. They were making a jolly uncomfortable picture.

He'd become a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber at Christmas. Mary had been assigned to the Queen's household. He and Mary had just been granted some new rooms, far closer to the King's apartments than their old ones. William had chosen to see all such things as a sign of favour, a reward for all his hard work in the diplomatic sphere. But now he was to be sent away. He was to be stationed in Lisbon and from the way the King was talking, Mary was not to be accompanying him. The implication of that was suddenly, disgustingly clear.

Gall welled up in him, acidic in his throat as he forced himself to dip his head.

"As Your Grace pleases."

As the last word left his mouth, William broke protocol and flashed his eyes back up to the King's face. If the man was really planning to take his wife from him while he was abroad and unable to do anything about it, then surely, the least he could would be to look him in the face and admit it.

The King said nothing, but William caught the slightest softening of his shoulders, as though His Majesty was relieved that William hadn't kicked up a fuss.

"I'm glad to see you so amenable to travelling, Will. Who knows, perhaps if things go as I hope they will, I might be persuaded to ennoble you for your efforts. Baron William Carey of Hunsdon, perhaps. How does that sound? Do you think your wife might like to be a Baroness?"

William paused, letting his eyes meet the King's, gaze direct as he answered.

"My Lord, I believe my wife will be grateful for whatever favour you choose to bestow. How could she know to be otherwise?"

Underlying meanings hung heavy in the air between them. William almost saw the wheels turning in the King's head as he searched every syllable of Will's response for any hint of insubordination. He was mightily relieved when, at last, he was waved away with instructions to prepare to leave for Lisbon by the end of the week.

Upon returning to his rooms, he found Mary arranging her gowns in her clothes press. For a moment, he simply watched her, struck not by her beauty, but by the seeming sadness in her movements.

In that instant, he realised that, unlike most of the girls at Court, she hadn't been hoping and praying this day would come. She wasn't fire and ambition and everything every simpering minx seemed to be these days. She'd married him hoping for a comfortable life, nothing more and nothing less. And he'd failed to give her that. He'd failed her.

He sighed bitterly. Alerted to his presence, she glanced up.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Her grey eyes met his blue, a silent frisson of resignation passing between them.

"I have my orders. I'm to embark for Lisbon by the end of the week."

Mary said nothing, only nodded.

Moments passed. He crossed the room to her, cupping her cheek in his palm, enjoying the roundness of it in his hand for what was most likely the final time.

"I am sorry, you know," she whispered, "I didn't ask for any of this."

"I know you didn't," he assured her, "I know you didn't, love. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I keep replaying that hunt in my mind. If I hadn't taken you, hadn't reminded him that you were raised in France… who knows what might have happened."

"You weren't to know, Will."

"No. But I should have known the idea of charming someone who lived in France, who knew King Francis and his family the way you did, would catch his attention."

"It is what it is," The words came out on a rush of air, "It is what it is, Will, and we shall have to make the best of it. I will play my game and you will play yours and we shall see what comes of it."

There seemed little Will could say to that. He lifted her hand to his mouth for a kiss.

"My Lady," he breathed, formal in a way he hadn't been with her for months.

The day was barely started when Will found himself in the yard of Richmond Palace, preparing to set off for Dover. He was just overseeing the securing of his trunks on to the cart he was taking with him to the coast, when he heard footsteps flying behind him.

He turned around. Mary stood behind him, her golden curls rumpled with sleep and flying in the breeze. Her gown was laced haphazardly, as though she'd been in too much of a rush to send for her maid.

"I thought I'd missed you!" she gasped.

"Mary," The disbelief was clear in his tone, "I didn't think to see you here."

"I couldn't let you go. Not without saying goodbye."

Instantly, Will's guard went up. Not because of her, but because of how this would seem. The King had become more and more blatant in his favour of Mary in the past few days. Everyone knew only too well that Mary was his now, for as long as he wanted her to be and that, once Will left, it was only a matter of time before it was made official. And King Henry was possessive of his women. He would not take kindly to this, however innocent a farewell Mary meant this to be.

Quickly, Will dismissed the stable hands. He stepped toward Mary.

"Mary, please. I know you mean well, but…," He trailed off. There was nothing he could say. The words just wouldn't come. "Go back inside," he managed at last.

She flung herself at him before he could say another word. Her arms came round him, her cheek pressing tightly into his shoulder.

"Promise me one thing," she choked. "Promise me that, when this is all over, when the King tires of me, we will start again. We will remember that neither of us had any choice in this and we will start our marriage afresh, without either of us holding any of this against one another. Promise me that."

Will sucked in his breath. Did she know what she was asking?

As soon as the question entered his mind, he dismissed it. Probably not. Mary was refreshingly innocent despite her French upbringing. He tipped her face up to him, fighting back the urge to kiss her.

"We will try," he said solemnly, "I promise you, we will try."

He held her at arm's length for a moment, drinking in every last inch of her, and then released her.

Not a moment too soon.

Just as William stepped back, the King strode into view around the corner of the palace.

"What, Master Carey, not yet away? You've a hard ride ahead of you if you're to make your boat!" he called.

William inclined his head, "Indeed, Sire, I am aware. I assure you, I ride at once. Mistress Mary was just being gracious enough to wish me well on my journey."

The King checked at his words, glancing between the two of them. For a moment, suspicion hung in the air, but then it was pushed aside in favour of a tight smile.

"Aye, well, Mistress Mary is an uncommonly gracious lady. I'd say there's few her peer in England. Have no fear, Master Carey. We shall take great care of this jewel while you are away."

So saying, the King took hold of Mary's hand and pressed it to his sleeve. There was no mistaking the proprietary gesture. William had no choice but to bow and know himself dismissed.

He refused to let himself look back. He didn't want his last image of the Court to be Mary, his fragile, gentle Mary, swamped by the shadow of the great, hulking King.