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CHAPTER TWO
The next twenty-four hours were the longest in Henry's life. He burned deep with curiosity, and came up with a thousand explanations as to how such a lovely girl had come to be in that specific spot, and who could have done this to her. His blood boiled at the thought of a man harming her—it was against the rules of his land to attack an innocent woman. If any man had dared to do so, he'd hang the bastard by his balls.
He was far too preoccupied with this new puzzle, and driving himself into a craze trying to piece it together. He spared only a very brief thought for Mary Carey, and this only because he recalled that he'd been thinking of her as a puzzle yesterday—one that he'd decided he had figured out. Perhaps once he pieced this girl together, she too would fade from his mind.
But for now, the mystery was too fresh, and he felt baffled that this girl had never been brought to his court. He was certain that he'd remember if she had, for his memory was quite sound. Which was good, since he happened to be the King.
Finally, exactly twenty-four hours and thirty minutes since he'd found the girl, at least in his own reckoning, the doctor came into the throne room. Henry was reluctantly seated there beside the queen as an entertainment she'd dreamed up went unnoticed before him. He was gazing out the window when the doors opened and he turned to watch the good doctor stride confidently through the throng of at least two hundred people who danced and conversed before him.
Some of those people became curious as the doctor approached the throne and bowed. Many turned to watch, as if the entertainment was now the two men instead of the traveling jongleurs they'd lost interest in so long ago.
"Your Majesty, may I request a private audience?" he inquired.
Not bothering to look in his wife's direction, Henry rose and followed the man to his private area beyond the thrones. The guards opened the doors and closed them again once the two men had passed through. Once they were closed, Henry wasted no time in questioning the doctor about his charge.
"Has she awakened at last, Sir Giles?" he asked hopefully.
"She has, Your Highness," he answered. "She is quite confused, and has asked for her father. She would like someone to send him a letter."
With a frown, Henry asked, "Is she well enough for me to enter her room?"
"Her only remaining symptom appears to be a headache, sire," he said. "But that is to be expected after being knocked unconscious. I think it is safe to say you may enter."
"Then lead on, doctor," he said in a regal manner, which he hoped would hide the utter anticipation his reply had called forth.
As he had initially requested, the room in which the girl was placed was quite near his own. In fact, she had been placed in the room which was intended for his heir one day. He was half pleased it was not yet occupied just so he could have the mystery woman all to himself.
Yet at the same time, a twinge of bitterness at Catherine's continued inadequacies niggled at him. But for her continued failure to produce an heir, he would have been forced to walk a bit further. It was a trade-off he would have proudly borne.
But Catherine was not everything she had seemed when they'd wed. For one thing, he now knew that she had lied about her virtue when he'd taken her the first time. How young and foolish he'd been back then, how stupid and naïve, to have believed her.
He willingly set aside his musings once they reached the chamber door. He allowed the doctor to precede him into the room so he could be formally introduced. The last time he'd been in this room had been the day his stillborn son was birthed.
Henry glanced around, and spotted the girl standing beside a small window with her back turned to them. Her cascading locks appeared to have undergone some freshening up, and she had been dressed in a gown, undoubtedly borrowed from one of the ladies at court after a good bathing, as well.
As he drew near, the scent of lavender perfume assailed his nostrils. He inhaled softly, drinking in the fragrance like a fine wine.
"My lady? May I present to you his Majesty, the King," said Sir Giles in his most formal tones.
Slowly, almost painfully slowly, she turned around to face him, and Henry felt as though the breath had been knocked right out of him. Had he thought her pretty as she lay in the grime? Now, faced with her animated eyes and the soft smile that graced her lush lips, he believed he was looking upon an angel. She was even prettier than Mary—and at least half the women at court.
Her sumptuous curls cascaded over her shoulders, covering the swell of her breasts just enough to leave his imagination running wild. Her face was heart-shaped, and she gazed upon him with eyes the shade of darkest chocolate. Her eyelashes were magnificently long and thick, and she fluttered them prettily as she noticed his regard.
It was no wonder he had not seen her at court, he thought. If she'd been his daughter, he would have locked her away and never allowed her to be seen by any man. She curtsied low, her eyes holding his gaze as she did so. He took several slow steps forward, not wishing to overwhelm her with his presence.
The gown she wore was pastel yellow, with gold threading. Her skin was flawless and creamy, and he could see no sign that her recent mishap had left even one scratch. Henry heard the door to the room close behind him, but he did not turn to see the circumspect physician leave. He was pleased the man had the good sense to leave them in private.
"Lady—" Henry began before she cut him off.
"If it pleases Your Majesty, just Hermione will be appreciated, for I am not a Lady, just the daughter of a scribe and shop owner."
"What sort of shop does your father own?" he inquired, amused by her manner. He did not think anyone had ever dared to cut him off before. Perhaps this was a first. Maybe a first of many?
If he were to put one foot forward, he'd be touching the point of her shoe. He stood directly in front of her now, and he took ahold of her chin gently, turning her face from side to side. "From what I can see, Hermione," he said, savoring the name as he said it, and noticing the little blush his attentions had brought to her cheeks, "you seem to be a lady, for you are certainly not a man—are you?"
She shook her head, unable to answer him. Her blush deepened the longer he held her. Or was it his compliments that caused the heightened color? Perhaps his presence made her nervous?
"You are too kind, Your Majesty," she finally said. "But, I am not a lady of your court, just a simple girl from a small town. I believe I owe you my gracious thanks, sire. From what I have learned, it was you who found me in the thicket?"
"My dear girl, there is no need to thank me," he said. "It was an honor to find one such as you. But now I must know, why have I not seen you in my court? Surely your father, being a learned man, would wish for advancement or trade?"
Hermione looked away at this, turning to look out the window again. "My father does not need such favors," she said. "He is a proud man, willing to get by on his own achievements."
"Well, that has answered one of my questions, miss-?"
"Granger, Your Majesty," she supplied.
"Miss Granger," he repeated. "That sounds more like a miller's name than a scribe's."
"Yes, my grandfather was a miller," she said. "But as to the other question, my father is very protective of me. He raised me alone due to my mother's untimely death."
Henry could hear a hint of sadness at this pronouncement. When she turned her beautiful chocolate eyes his way again, they seemed almost to be pleading.
"If I may, Your Majesty, I must send word to my father. He will be worried when my horse returns without me. If the silly beast hadn't been spooked and thrown me, you never would have found me to begin with."
"Ah, you must remind me to thank the animal someday," he said with a smile as he held forth his arm. "Come, I have parchment and quills, and a lovely writing desk, in my private chambers. You must write to your father, and tell him to come to court to collect you the day after tomorrow. He will join us for the evening feast then, for I find that I wish to keep your company a little while longer."
"But Your Highness must be very busy," she answered lightly as she took his arm and they began to walk. "I would not wish to inconvenience you further. My father can easily retrieve me tomorrow."
Shaking his head, Henry replied, "My dear girl, you will be a breath of fresh air in this old castle. It will be a welcome diversion to have some new company, for I rarely have the opportunity to meet anyone outside these walls."
"Then, sire, I shall do my best to be of service," she answered with a smile.
"You will not be of service to me, Miss Granger," said Henry as his lips twitched up into a slight smirk. "It is I who shall be of service to you, while you are my guest for the next two nights."
By now they had walked down the hall, and he rounded a corner, heading down the corridor that led to his own chambers. He enjoyed the idea of her being so very close, but he wished he could persuade her to stay with him instead. He had a feeling that was one wish he would not be granted tonight.
The guards stepped aside as they let Henry and his guest in. Suddenly, he felt almost nervous, which was completely ridiculous. Why should he, the King of England, feel nervous about leading a woman into his chambers? No woman—not even Catherine—had made him feel nervous before.
"So, this is where the King of England sleeps?" Hermione said as she looked around curiously.
Henry chuckled, saying, "And eats, and finds a little time for himself each day. And even writes upon this very desk occasionally."
"It's quite—large," she said as he led her to the chair and handed her into it. "Even the chair, I mean. I feel as though I'm being swallowed up by it. But the stained-glass window is quite lovely. Is that a unicorn and a maiden upon it?"
"Indeed," he said with a smile as he brought out ink, quill, and parchment to set before her. "My mother favored unicorns. She had that very window commissioned right after she first moved in here."
His fingers brushed against hers as he gave her the quill, and Hermione blushed again as she took it. She watched as he turned away and stepped over to the fire, which was blazing with flickering orange and yellow flames that drifted high up into the chimney.
Then she noticed this was because a servant had only just added more wood. Henry saw him as well, and indicated that he should leave. The boy bowed obediently and scurried out the door.
Henry was unused to the sounds of someone else in his room. He listened for a few moments to the quill scratching away before he decided it was oddly refreshing to know he was not alone. The only one who ever used that desk normally was himself, usually when his signature was required for something.
Giving her the privacy he knew she wanted, Henry only turned around once he heard the scrape of the chair on the dark, wooden flooring. He stood and made his way over to her, extending his hand to take the scroll and roll it up. Hermione only hesitated a moment before complying with the silent request.
When he had completed rolling the parchment up, he grabbed up some sealing wax and heated it with a candle, letting a few drops fall onto the middle of the seam, and then using his own seal upon it.
"There you are," he said, smiling. "No one would dare try to read it now. But, just to be sure, I shall give it to my most trusted messenger."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she answered as he offered his arm again.
"And now, I believe I am expected in the throne room to lead the guests in for dinner," he said. "It's a rather tedious business. If you would like to join me, you may sit beside me there."
"At the King's table?" she said nervously. "In front of all and sundry, and me never setting foot at court before this?"
Henry laughed. "You surprise me, my dear. Any one of the ladies in waiting would not think twice about such an offer. It would be a dream come true."
"It's not that," she answered shyly. "I—I do not wish to upset the queen."
The easy smile died upon his lips as she reminded him that his wife would also be there. He did not want to think of her anymore this day, after she'd troubled his thoughts so much lately.
"The queen has no say in the matter," he answered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. It pleased him greatly that his companion did not question his response, but merely accepted it. That would never have been true of any other lady here, who all seemed to seek his company out as much to obtain such insightful tidbits as anything else—if not more so. It was well known to him how often the ladies of the court were sent to spy, and report whatever they learned to the heads of their families.
Hermione Granger held many of the traits he looked for in a woman. She seemed genuine, if a bit shy and hesitant, and she did not question him about thing she knew he would not wish to discuss. And, from the little she'd said of her father and his shop, he was starting to think they would share an interest in knowledge as well.
Henry paused as they reached the door that would lead into the corridor, and asked, "Are you ready to face my court, Miss Granger?"
Blushing, she replied, "As ready as one can be, Your Majesty."
He nodded and opened the door.
