Chapter XI

"I'm going to tell him. We're talking about his marriage – he deserves to at least have a chance to muster a defence for it!"" Susan shook off Eliza's hand and wrenched away to the door, flushed with agitation.

Eliza sprang in front of her, placing another restraining hand on her arm, "Anne will never forgive you for going behind her back. You know that, don't you? If she's kept this from John, she must have had her reasons!"

"No, she's just being a spiteful little girl!"

Eliza fell back at the venom in Susan's voice. She'd known the other girl was, like her, somewhat uncomfortable with the secrecy surrounding Anne's quest for an annulment, but she'd never considered that her feelings might boil over in quite this manner. They were Anne's favourite ladies, after all, her closest confidantes. Whatever their private feelings about their mistress's conduct, it was their job to be loyal to her. They had to stand with her, even when nobody else would. At least, that's what Eliza had told herself when her own qualms about how this matter was being handled had reared their heads. She'd never imagined – or dared to imagine – that she had any other choice.

Susan saw Eliza flinch and forced herself to rein in her temper, reminding herself that it was Anne she was really angry at. Anne, not Eliza.

"Look," she murmured more patiently, "You can't honestly tell me that you're comfortable with all this cloak-and-dagger?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Exactly. And if Madame Orsini is to come to England, do you think Her Holiness will have failed to inform the Queen of that?"

"Again, no…"

"And just how exactly do you imagine Her Grace will take it?"

At that, Eliza cocked a half-sardonic eyebrow. Her Majesty was not the most well-thought of person at Ludlow, at least not by the younger generation. Not after how badly she'd handled the fiasco that was Anne's marriage. "Badly, I should imagine."

"And how much worse do you think it will be if she finds out that Anne hasn't even bothered to inform John of her quest for an annulment?"

"He must know!" Eliza protested, "It's the talk of the town!"

"He may not know that Madame Orsini's on her way. That's a fairly recent development. I feel it's only courteous to inform him. Besides," and here Susan's lips curved into a smirk despite her best efforts to contain it, "It's not like he'll win, is it? We all know how horrible he's been to Anne."

Sharing her mirth, Eliza stepped aside, "Very well. Go and be an angel of mercy, then. I'll make your excuses to Anne."

"My Lord? Lady De La Pole is here to see you."

John looked up in surprise at Francesco's murmured announcement, "Lady Susanna? What's she doing here? I've seen neither hide nor hair of any of Anne's household for weeks."

"I haven't the faintest idea, Sir, but she insists it's important," Francesco spread his hands, "Shall I deign to let her in?"

John considered. Part of him wanted to turn Susanna away, to shun her as so many of Anne's household had shunned him in recent weeks. Yet it couldn't be denied that she was one of Anne's closest companions. If anyone knew of Anne's doings and could help him prepare for them, it would be Susanna. Not that his mother would let Anne do anything to him, of course, but it was always well to be beforehand, especially given Anne's blasted pride and the fact that Juana didn't seem inclined to help him if their mother, for some reason, didn't insist upon it.

"Let her in, Francesco. Let's see what tricks the Howard chit's got up her sleeve this time. No doubt the Flamenica has made her see sense and ordered her back to my bed."

As he spoke, he stood up, crossing the room to the fireplace. He leaned against it, not for the heat, but because his most lasting memory of his father was of him commanding a room of soldiers from beside a fire and he'd always wanted to emulate that. True, Lady Susanna wasn't a troop of soldiers, but given the lines that were being drawn at Ludlow, perhaps she could be considered an envoy from the opposing camp, at the very least.

His musings were interrupted by Susanna entering the room. He was pleased to see her drop him a much deeper curtsy than she would have done if she'd been in her mistress's company. That just proved Anne was a bad influence on her household.

"Lady Susanna," he greeted coolly, extending his hand so that she had no choice to step close enough to him to bend her head and kiss his knuckles, "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Your Grace," Susan breathed, "I come to bring you news I feel you ought to know regarding the Princess's quest for an annulment."

"She hasn't given it up as a lost cause then?"

John wished he'd bitten back the impulsive words the moment he saw the way Susanna's face closed at them.

"Fool!" he cursed himself silently, "This young woman might be bringing you invaluable information and yet you alienate her? Dios, Papa was right. You'll never make a statesman. It's a good job God's on your side!"

He didn't show his inner frustration to Susanna, however, only waved her to a seat in silent, belated courtesy. She took it, albeit more hesitantly than she might have done a few moments earlier.

"Her Highness hasn't given up on her quest for an annulment, no," she murmured, as John, control of the room asserted, sat down across from her, "Indeed, Her Holiness the Flamenica has taken Anne's petition more seriously than many believed she would."

"Her Holiness has written to Anne directly?"

For possibly the first time, John felt flickerings of true unease. If the Holy Mother was communicating with his wife in her own right, rather than through her mother, then it meant she regarded Anne as an adult, as old enough to be taken seriously. If the matter essentially came down to Anne's word against his, without the protective might of Spain behind him…Well, John had his pride, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the facts were stacked against him. After all, Anne had only been nine when they said their vows.

His cruelty to her on their wedding night never even entered his head. If he thought about the night at all, it was to dismiss it instantly. She'd been fourteen then, old enough to consent. He'd been claiming his rights as her Consort, nothing more. And, besides, he hastened to reassure himself, hadn't he done his duty by siring a child on her? Of course, he had.

True, it was a shame Richard was so weak and sickly, but he lived, which was a good omen for the future. If Anne would only do what she ought and allow him to bed her more often, they'd have a strong girl sooner rather than later. Years of precedent said they would, for neither England nor Spain had ever lacked for daughters. And once their little Countess arrived, Anne would have no choice but to give him the power that was his right as her Consort and the father of her heiress.

John was so wrapped up in his new musings on a rosy future that he almost missed Susanna's next words.

"The Flamenica is sending Her Eminence the Magdalene, Lucretia Orsini to Wales so that Your Highnesses may both present your cases before a court. Madame Orsini will then have the licence to rule on Your Highness's marriage in the name of Rome. In the meantime, Your Graces have been forbidden from sharing a bed."

Susan's words dropped like a stone into the silence. John blinked, mouth dropping open.

"We're not to share a bed?"

"No, Sir. Her Holiness does not want to risk there being another child of Your Highness's marriage until it is ruled upon."

John gulped, unable to fully keep his composure in the face of such awful news. The possibility of being forbidden from sharing his wife's bed during this process had never crossed his mind before. He'd never dreamed that Anne's petition might actually be given credence by the Flamenica, that his mother and their family's Magdalenes, including his own aunt Catalina, wouldn't be able to have it laughed out of Santa Maria Maggiore.

Frozen with impotent rage, he was only vaguely aware of Lady Susanna standing up and making her excuses, of himself rising in token courtesy and calling Diego to see her out.

It was the sound of the door closing behind her that jolted him out of his reverie.

Snatching up the nearest goblet, he flung it across the room, feeling a certain hollow satisfaction when the glass shattered, sending blood-red claret pooling across the flagstones.

"Damn that spoiled bitch!" he cursed. "Damn her to Hell! And Damn Europe for pandering to her!"

Anne faced her mother across the desk in her private audience chamber, spine ramrod-straight. That, however, was the only true hint of her anger. Every other inch of her was treating the Queen with icy politeness.

"I beg your pardon, Madam, for not having informed you of my plans sooner. However, I believed that, at sixteen, I was old enough to handle a matter of such personal import myself. I even thought you might be proud of me for assuming control of my own affairs. After all, was it not in order that I might learn to wield such decorous authority that Your Majesty allowed me to begin to head the Welsh Council in more than name two years ago?"

Elizabeth faltered, taken aback by her eldest daughter's poise. With a shock, she realised that, although it had been easy, eight, five or even two years ago, to override Anne's impotent storms of protest and dismiss them as naught more than the ranting tantrums of a wilful child, that was no longer the case. Finding the words to refute the determined cool in the onyx orbs facing her was not quite so simple.

But she had to try. For the sake of her own standing, both at home and abroad, she had to try. If she was to be taken seriously by her fellow monarchs, she couldn't afford to allow her heiress to defy her so publicly.

"Does John know what steps you've taken? Has he agreed to this – this trial?"

Elizabeth sneered the last word as though the mere sound of it crossing her lips might taint her, before continuing, "Or are you simply dragging his name through the mud for your own gain, without even giving him a chance to muster a fair defence?"

"John has been informed," Anne responded icily, "He has yet to tell me what he thinks of my plans, but I see no reason why he should not agree, as I have done, to abide by Madame Orsini's decision, whatever it may be. After all, despite his myriad of faults, it cannot be said that a lack of piety is among them."

A deathly pause ensued. Anne sent up a silent prayer of thanks for Susanna. Having the other girl sneak behind her back to tell John about Madame Orsini's impending visit had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Much though she resented giving John more than the minimum time to muster any sort of counter to her attack on his right and aptitude to be her husband, Susanna's actions had at least allowed her to greet her mother's strident fury with more grace than she might otherwise have been able to. To diffuse it more effectively. Elizabeth, meanwhile, was racking her brains to find another argument to dissuade her fierce elder daughter from her chosen course of action.

"Is a public trial really the right way to go about this?" she ventured at last, keeping a firm hand on her ire and forcing her voice to remain smooth, "If you are insistent on giving evidence to Her Eminence the Magdalene, would a private audience not be a more fitting venue for a matter as personal as this?"

"I'm afraid not, Lady Mother," Anne countered silkily, having been well-versed by Master Wykes in how to respond to this suggestion, "A public court is what Her Holiness has ordered and a public court it must be, for everything has to be seen to be overt and fully legal. We cannot later have it said that either Rome or John or I was compromised in any way."

With that, she pushed herself away from the desk and dropped a swift half-curtsy.

"Now, I believe we have covered all the available ground, Madam. Your Grace has said your piece and I have heard you out, as any obedient daughter must, but you will not sway me from my course. I regret that you have had a wasted journey. If that will be all…"

Elizabeth blinked at Anne's audacity at closing the conversation so promptly, "I am the Queen! You cannot dismiss me as though I were your servant!"

"No, Madam, I cannot," Anne agreed softly. "However, I am the invested Princess of Wales and of age. Are we not in Ludlow Castle, my home and the heart of my demesne? I rather fear that, if Your Grace wishes me to be taken seriously by the Marcher nobles, you have no choice but to yield graciously in matters as slight as these. So if Your Majesty would be so good as to excuse me…" Anne's voice trailed off. She dipped another curtsy and was gone before her mother could offer any further protest.

Sybil, who had naturally been hovering outside, desperate to overhear what was going on, gaped at her as she came out. Anne leaving a room before her mother was almost unheard of.

"Did you just dismiss your mother? I know you're brave, but…"

"We'll not discuss it now," Anne hissed, anxious to be gone before her mother had a chance to recover from the shock of being so vehemently defied, "Have my horse fetched, I'm going for a ride."

Without another word, she swept past Sybil, who knew better than to press her, instead simply nodding and sending a page scurrying to the stables.

Henry shifted Bessie in his arms, patting her red-gold hair where it was escaping the confines of her linen mobcap.

"Where shall we go exploring today, then? Hmm?"

The question was a ritualistic one between them, for in the weeks since Henry had installed the little Elizabeth Sinclair and her nurse in a house in the town below Ludlow Castle, he had taken to visiting every afternoon to take his little niece out for an exploration of her new surroundings.

He hadn't meant the ritual to last this long; he had his duties to the Prince and the Princess, after all. He had only meant it to last a week or two at the very most, just enough to settle her in after the loss of both her parents. But according to her nurse and the housekeeper, Bessie needed the daily visits from her young, gallant uncle to keep her contented. Without them, she apparently became so fractious as to be almost unmanageable. Or so Mrs Vaughan, the housekeeper said. Henry wasn't always sure he believed her. Bessie always seemed charming enough with him. She was chirpy and inquisitive, always giggling and urging him to play with her. Perhaps she was a little demanding, but then what Plantagenet girl wasn't? His sister Mary had certainly been that at her age. And, in many ways, it was nice to know that Bessie bore the traits of the Plantagenets, even if she carried the Sinclair surname. Anyway, shouldn't the servants be able to control her, if she did try to be difficult around them? Weren't children their domain?

"Can we see the horses, Uncle Henry?" Bessie begged, breaking him out of his reverie, "I like horses!"

Henry considered for a moment. In the past few weeks, he'd shown Bessie around the village and its market, the church and countless streams and fields. The castle seemed the next logical destination, given he worked in the Prince's household and the stables seemed as good a place to start as any.

"The royal stables it shall be!" he announced grandly, sweeping her a flamboyant bow with his free arm. Bessie giggled, snaking her plump arms around his neck as he exited the nursery and their sturdy townhouse, setting off for the castle at a brisk, loping walk.

She was lively that day, wriggling gleefully in his arms as the guards on the drawbridge saluted them, calling out, "Good afternoon, Sir Henry. Are we right in assuming this is the bonny Mistress Elizabeth who's become the talk of the town?"

"You are! I am!"

The men shared an indulgent smile over her head at her vanity and then Henry was past them, marching exaggeratedly past them on the hollow drawbridge to make his little niece laugh.

She clapped and cooed over the horse in their stalls, except for a slender bay palfrey with a white star snoozing in the corner of his. Henry had her by the hand by this point, and she tugged her hand out of his at the sight of the pony. Crossing the stables to his stall, she stood in front of it for a very long time, tiny hands clutching one another so tensely that Henry began to worry.

"Are you all right, Bessie, cariad?"he murmured, kneeling down beside her. She turned to him, big blue eyes swimming with tears.

"mamaidh had a horse like that."

Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Unaccustomed to having to comfort anyone, least of all girls barely out of infancy, all Henry could think to do was to pull Bessie into his arms from behind. He held her tightly for several long seconds, until her shoulders had stopped quivering and she had ceased to burrow into him as though she wanted nothing more than for the rest of the world to go away. Then he swept her up, nestling her on his hip again.

"Shall we go and see whether anyone's exercising their horses in the big yard? It's far too nice a day to stay cooped up inside, don't you think?"

He injected an extra note of gaiety into his voice for Bessie's sake, and was relieved to see her give him a watery smile and nod in response.

The two of them exited the stables in the direction of the covered yard, where, with a jolt, Henry saw a dark-haired rider driving a roan hunter through its paces with barely concealed tension.

"Look, Bessie, it's the Princess!" he gestured, drawing his little niece's eyes towards the young woman, before, almost unable to help himself, drifting closer to the fence behind which Anne was exercising her mount.

Anne glanced up at Henry's footfall and felt a rush of inexplicable but irrepressible pleasure at the sight of him. Her hands loosened on the reins and she allowed her horse to slacken its pace so that, by the time Henry and Bessie were leaning against a nearby fence post, it seemed natural for her to rein back in front of them.

"Good afternoon, Sir Henry," she smiled.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness," Henry replied, bowing his head courteously, "I trust Your Grace is well?"

"Well enough, thank you. Mercury gave me a good ride these past two hours, did you not, old friend?"

Anne directed this last at the horse, patting his neck. He really had, she reflected ruefully. It wasn't his fault she'd been too wound up to enjoy it properly.

"No doubt he was overjoyed to have such a Diana as yourself on his back, My Lady."

The phrase slipped off Henry's tongue as though it was the most natural thing in the world. His eyes, as he looked up, met Anne's for an instant, and Anne, who had had poise bred into her and had been plied with flattery almost every instant since babyhood, suddenly found herself flushing and chuckling, even going so far as to avert her eyes.

"Your words are bold but kind, Sir Henry."

In an effort to control herself, for she felt the conversation teetering on the brink of far deeper waters, she shook her head slightly and smiled down at the child he held.

"This must be little Elizabeth."

"Yes, Your Grace. This is my niece, Mistress Elizabeth Sinclair. Though she's more a Plantagenet by nature."

"I should certainly hope so. She's at Ludlow now. She'll have to be more an English girl than a Scottish one."

"You've got a pretty horse. Can I pat him? Please?"

Bessie, aware her uncle and the pretty lady were talking about her, but not sure what their words meant, had grown bored with not holding her uncle's attention. She squirmed eagerly in Henry's arms, itching to reach out and stroke the horse's velvety muzzle.

"Bessie!" Henry chided, but Anne was already laughing, heart strangely warmed by the little girl's sudden outburst.

"Of course you can, Elizabeth. In fact, how would you like to ride up here with me? Mercury won't hurt you."

Anne didn't know what had prompted the offer. God knew she was still struggling to feel the tenderness that everyone said she ought to feel for her son. She no longer thought he was made of glass, but he still felt like a cannon liable to explode every time she touched him. More often than not, he did, wailing furiously without any apparent reason until his nurse took pity on them both and took him from her. If Mistress Bowen didn't rescue him in time, he screwed up his little face and was sick, miserably sick. On one memorable occasion, when Anne had determined she would soothe him herself if it killed her, he had voiced such displeasure that her ears had rung for hours afterwards. Then he had voided both ends over himself with such ferocity that Anne had had no choice but to hand him over again. She had wept in Meg's arms after that fiasco. Since then, she had often chosen to sneak in to visit him while he was napping, scarcely daring to breathe near him for fear of waking him and provoking an outburst.

Yet this little girl sparked something more in her than Richard had ever done. And the way Bessie's eyes lit up told her she'd made the right decision.

"Lift Mistress Elizabeth up in front of me," she ordered, "I'll not let any harm come to her, you have my word."

"And a Howard's word is worth England," Henry murmured, helping Bessie settle into the saddle, "Sit up, cariad," he whispered, smiling to himself as the little girl's back instantly went ramrod straight.

Anne tentatively curved her arms around the little girl's waist, chuckling as Elizabeth automatically made a grab for the reins.

"Let me do that, Elizabeth. You tell Mercury to walk on, go on."

"Bessie," the child corrected, as she did as she was told, "Uncle Henry calls me Bessie."

"Does he indeed?" Anne murmured, flashing a look across at Henry as she nudged Mercury with her heels in response to the little girl's command. He was leaning against the fence, trying desperately to look as though watching the Princess of Wales entertain his little niece was something he did every day. Anne couldn't help the half-stifled laugh that escaped her lips at the sight, though she quickly restrained it in favour of saying, "I can see why. Bessie suits you. And it means you won't be mixed up with your grandmother. She's called Elizabeth too, isn't she?"

Bessie screwed up her nose in concentration and then nodded slowly, "Yes. But I don't live with her. I live with Uncle Henry."

"You do. And do you like that?"

Again, Bessie bobbed her head, more eagerly this time. She tugged on Anne's sleeve so that she would lean down to put their heads closer together.

"My Uncle's a Knight. Like the ones in the stories Ruthie tells me."

"Is he now?"

This time, Bessie's nod was solemn, "Ruthie says he looks like Lan'lot."

She stumbled over the unfamiliar name and Anne puzzled over it for a few moments. What could she mean? Then comprehension dawned.

"You mean Lancelot, don't you?"

"Yes, Lan'lot."

"I think he looks like Lancelot too," Anne confided, moved to candour by this charming little girl, "Shall we tell him?"

Bessie didn't respond, but she giggled. Thus emboldened, Anne drew Mercury to a halt and called over to Henry.

"Mistress Elizabeth and I say you look like Lancelot from Mallory's Morte de Arthur, Sir Henry. What do you say to that?"

"You flatter me, Your Highness. I should be honoured to serve you as Lancelot served Guinevere."

"I haven't been told I'm Guinevere yet," Anne arched an eyebrow and Henry looked back at Bessie.

"What do you think, cariad? Is Her Highness pretty and sweet enough to play the role of Queen Guinevere?"

"Yes! You're Queen Gwinie'e!" Bessie clapped, twisting in her seat to beam up at Anne.

"Don't let my mother hear you say that," she cautioned, handing Bessie back down to Henry as he clambered the fence to cross the yard towards them, "I'm not a Queen yet."

"No, but you are spes matria," Henry murmured before he could stop himself. Anne's eyebrows went up.

"Is that treason I hear you speak, Sir Henry?" she warned lightly, extending her hand for him to help her from the saddle as he set Bessie back on her feet.

"Of course not, Your Grace," he assured her, arms encircling her waist, "I could never utter a word that would be in any way to your detriment."

"I'm quite sure you could not," Anne laid a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she came down.

Quite unconsciously, they held that pose for several seconds longer than necessity, or indeed, propriety demanded.

"Kiss!"

Bessie's chirp caused them to spring apart as though they'd been doused with scalding water.

"I beg your pardon?" Anne choked out. Bessie looked up at her, blue eyes wide.

"Uncle Henry Lan'lot, you Queen Gwinie'e. They kiss in story, so you kiss." To her mind, it was the simplest thing in the world.

Anne and Henry looked at each other, hearts pounding. They couldn't…could they?

"It's just a game to appease a child," Anne rationalised to herself.

Seeing Henry frozen with indecision, she waved a seemingly airy hand.

"Come, Sir Henry. You heard Mistress Elizabeth. The story demands that we kiss, so kiss me. We're both well aware it will mean nothing. Kiss me as Lancelot would kiss Queen Guinevere."

"As Lancelot would kiss Guinevere, then," Henry finally choked out breathlessly. Leaning forward, he placed a hand on her cheek and the lightest of daring kisses on her lips.

It was as though the rest of the world had melted away. Nothing existed outside of his lips on hers and their hungry exploration of one another. Almost unthinkingly, he deepened the kiss, asking for entrance to her mouth with his tongue. Anne might have granted it, had Bessie's applause not brought them back to their surroundings.

They sprang apart, both blushing furiously.

"Your Grace – I – I forgot – Forgive me, I beg you!"

"There is nothing to forgive, Sir Henry," Anne breathed, "You merely did as I commanded you, as any loyal subject must."

Their eyes met. Onyx stared into sapphire.

No further words passed between them, but somehow they both understood what the other was thinking.

This changed everything.