Chapter Twenty-Five: A New Queen
Nervous and jittery over her return to court, Lady Eleanor Luke nevertheless found herself fighting off helpless giggles as the heavy coach rumbled over the rutted roads. Her chaperone and companion, the Widow Abigail Folger, was by far the strongest and most determined woman Eleanor had ever met. But when Abigail slept, she snored. And when she snored, she snored good and loud.
"She sounds as if she's sawing wood," Heath Blackwell whispered, catching Eleanor's eye and holding her gaze with a knee-weakening smile.
"A whole forest!" Lady Eleanor couldn't help smiling back, her stomach turning flips. Heath was the only man she wanted, and if King Henry VIII could just keep his promise then she could have Heath for the rest of her days. But with the king more moody and violent than ever, that was a very big if. Eleanor's smile faltered, her brows drawing together.
"Worrying," Heath said softly, reading the look on her face.
"I don't like seeing you in danger," Eleanor said anxiously. "No matter how much gold you give the king, if he finds out that you and me . . . that the two of us . . ."
"Hush, Lady Blue Eyes." Heath put his finger gently across her lips. "The king must keep his promise, and give you to me as a wife. Proclaiming me a traitor might satisfy the Boleyn, family, but it will only make him look doubly ridiculous. Henry will never put his dirty hands on you again. Even if he chops my head off, you and Abigail still have the gold, and you'll be partners for life."
"Never again," Eleanor repeated, shuddering. She wanted to say more. She wished could tell Heath that she was pure, that she had come to his bed innocent and untouched, not soiled by the king's selfish lust. She wished she could tell him how much every kiss meant to her. But there was no way to put that into words without admitting how many men she had kissed before. Heath knew, of course. He knew she wanted to make a new start with him. But Eleanor was ashamed to tell the man she truly loved how different he was from every other man she'd ever known.
The Widow Folger gave a snort, and then went on snoring. Heath silently passed Eleanor his cloak, and helped her spread it over the older woman like a blanket. The two of them shared a quiet look, a knowing look. For the first time in her life, Eleanor felt like part of a real family. She knew that Heath and the widow had been up late the night before setting up the wool trading partnership that would support all three of them in the years to come. Eleanor wasn't a lost and unwanted woman anymore. She had a place in this world.
Unless the cruel and greedy king destroyed everything . . .
It was late at night by the time their battered, mud-spattered carriage pulled up before the royal palace. So much time had passed that everything was switched around inside the darkened vehicle. Somewhere along the way Lady Eleanor had forgotten her worries and fallen into a very deep sleep. Her white lace cap had slipped loose and her golden head was now resting on Heath's velvet-clad shoulder.
"What do you mean it's too late to lodge us in the palace? I tell you the lady I am traveling with is lady-in-waiting to the queen herself!" The lusty voice of the Widow Folger rang out in the dark, rousing Eleanor at last from very deep slumber. It was clear that her outspoken and determined friend had been awake for quite some time.
"I don't believe you," said the guard's voice in the dark. From the sound of him he was very young, even younger than Eleanor herself. "You don't sound like a lady you sound like a shopkeeper's wife. If there's a true-born lady in there, let her speak up!"
"Mind your tone, lad," Heath Blackwell said. Even in the dark Eleanor could sense the coiled tension in his hard, muscular body. If Heath grew hot they might all land in big trouble!
"I am Lady Eleanor Luke," she said softly. "I had the honor to be lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne last year, before I took a leave of absence for . . . ah, personal reasons."
"Ha!" The young guardsman laughed. "We've got a new queen now."