Chapter III
The afternoon in the gardens did them both good. They were still far from friends, but they were at least no longer complete strangers to one another, which made their hand-fasting in the Chapel Royal less painful than it might otherwise have been.
Anne, resplendent in deep royal purple trimmed with ermine, tossed her head back slightly and echoed the words the man in front of her was reciting in a strong, clear voice, "I, Anne, by the Grace of God Princess of Wales, take thee, John, by the Grace of God Prince of Castile to be my lawful husband, to honour and cherish, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward for all of my days until death do us part. Hereunto do I plight my troth, before all these witnesses."
As she finished, John inclined his head in acknowledgement of her words, then took a deep breath, thanking his lucky stars they were exchanging the vows in Latin. At least he wouldn't disgrace himself now.
"I, John, by the Grace of God Prince of Castile, do hereby take thee, Anne, by the Grace of God Princess of Wales, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To honour and obey, cherish, defend and protect, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward for all of my days until death do us part. Hereunto do I plight my troth, before all these witnesses."
Sweeping her a deep bow as he finished, he leaned over and kissed her briefly. It was more a light brush of his lips against hers than anything, but it was enough to elicit the customary applause from the surrounding crowd of nobles. He offered her his arm and, tossing her raven hair back again, she took it, allowing him to lead her from the chapel.
Her hand was steady on his arm. Her thin little face was impassive. If he hadn't felt the tiniest tremor in her fingertips as they brushed his sleeve, he'd never have known she was nervous. She had the poise of a woman twice her age.
Letting him lead her from the chapel was all she did, however. As soon as they reached the great hall of the Palace, she dropped his hand and went to dance with her brother Prince George, ignoring all the whispers she left in her wake. John hesitated, unsure what to do, but before he had a chance to think much further, the Duchess of Gloucester was at his side.
"Will you dance with me, brother?" she asked, curtsying charmingly to back up her invitation.
"I would be honoured, preciosa," he told her, taking her hand and leading her to take her place in line behind her siblings. As he did so, he did his best to put the puzzle that was his wife out of his mind.
With Anne and John safely married, there was no longer any reason for George to delay his departure to Spain. The night before he was due to leave, John visited him in his rooms.
The two of them played Piquet for a while, before George broke the comfortable silence.
"Take care of my sister," he begged. "She's proud and impulsive, despite Mother's best efforts. I keep worrying she's going to get herself into serious difficulties one of these days, when I'm not around to smooth things over for her."
John didn't quite understand all of what George had just said, but the urgency in the other boy's tone told him it was important. He nodded.
"I try," he vowed, "I patient with her. It just difficult. We both need time."
Yet again, he flushed at the state of his English, but George nodded solemnly, reaching out to clasp his forearm.
"Thank you, brother. That means a lot to me. And I will do the same, you know. I will look after Joanna."
"You have to. Or Catalina hate you. She's lioness in Juana's defence. And our cousins duel you for Juana's honour if you hurt her," John looked George in the eye as he said this, willing him to see past the broken English and realise how important this was to him. The younger boy seemed to, for he nodded again, his usually laughing dark eyes grave.
"I'd expect nothing less."
"Then I wish you Godspeed, brother," John said, laying down the last of his cards and rising, "May I?" he asked, deferring to George's elevated status as his host, if not by rank.
There was a pause before George understood, "Of course. I'd be honoured," he replied at last. He knelt on the flagstoned floor and John placed a hand on his curly head, murmuring an old Castilian prayer of blessing.
"Godspeed and God Bless, little brother. May you and Juana be very happy together. May the Lord make His countenance shine down upon you and give you peace."
Then he stepped back and gestured to George to rise. The two of them looked at one another for a few seconds before clasping one another heartily, newly joined by their mutual pact to look after each other's sisters.
Anne had always known this day would come. The day when she'd have to see her brother off to a distant land to take up the mantle of Prince Consort of some foreign shore for the sake of England's diplomatic relations. She'd always imagined that, when the day came, she'd be calm, gracious and composed, resigned to what would happen. She'd imagined embracing him, yes, but only briefly. She'd never imagined she'd be on the brink of tears.
Yet, as she stood hand in hand with Mary, watching George kneel for Mother's blessing on the docks at Tilbury, she felt the tears rising. She bit the inside of her cheek to choke them back, determined not to cry in front of the entourage of nobles and commoners that had come to see her brother off. She was the Princess of Wales, for Heaven's Sake! She couldn't simply burst into tears at the slightest provocation!
In choking back her emotions, she also clenched her hands tight, forgetting for a moment that she still held Mary's smaller one in hers.
A strangled whimper of pain recalled her to that fact and she forced herself to loosen her grip.
"Sorry," she murmured, as Mary turned injured eyes on her.
Fortunately, before things could get even more out of hand, George rose to his feet and loped down the quay towards them.
He swept Mary up into his arms and kissed her, brushing her cheeks free of tears with the heel of his hand. He set her down again, whispering something too low for Anne to hear, and then turned to her.
"Is this it, Annabelle?" he whispered, too low for any but her own ears to hear, "Do I lose you now forever?"
"No, of course not! I'll still be your Annabelle. You'll come back and visit and everything will be just the way it always was."
She said it determinedly, but they both knew she was lying. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears coming...and squealed in surprise as George pulled her off her feet into his arms.
"George! I'm not a child! I'm ten years old!"
However, the way she tightened her hold on him and buried her face in his shoulder belied her words almost instantly.
For a few moments, they stood like that, before George gently disentangled himself and inclined his head.
"Farewell, My Lady Princess," he murmured.
"Farewell, brother. Serve us well," Anne replied in kind, falling back on formality to hide her emotions and in so doing, to try to salvage what she could of her dignity.
"Of course. After all, a future Queen must have her knights," George winked, bowed theatrically and then, before she had stopped laughing and trying to swat him with impatience despite her best intentions, sprang away and dashed up the gangplank to his ship.
It thudded shut behind him, his attendants already having boarded to give him the necessary privacy to say goodbye to his family. The ropes began to be cast off. Anne watched the process dully, face blank. To an observer, in those few seconds, she might have been any insecure little girl suddenly bereft of her confidant, not a Princess.
A moment later, she had shaken herself and drawn herself up, every inch the heiress to the throne once more. She went over to her visibly distressed younger sister and soothed her tears, determined to get through the day without creating any more scandal for the gossipmongers to feed on.
Unbeknownst to Anne, however, John had been watching her say goodbye to George. He'd seen her shoulders slump as George had sprung away from her; seen what an effort it had cost her to put on an effective mask for her sister and the watching public. In that instant, he vowed to protect her. After all, as George had just said, a future Queen must have her knights. As her husband, surely it was up to him to be first among them, even if they hadn't consummated the marriage yet?
Of course it was. And he'd protect her and her interests, until the day he died, no matter what it cost him. By the Virgin and all the Saints, he'd do it. And she'd be grateful to him for it and let him rule for her, as his mother had always intended.
That thought in mind, he offered Anne his arm as she turned away from comforting her younger sister. Relief surged through him when she took it without so much as blinking. That, at least, was an improvement from the day they'd met.
