Chapter Twenty-Six: Loving Hands

It was a hot summer day, yet the atmosphere inside the royal tent was icy cold.

"Your Majesty," said Anne Boleyn, making the slightest curtsy to young Queen Mary.

"Your Grace," Mary replied, giving her stepmother a frigid smile while inclining her head less than a fraction of an inch.

"We have today a great opportunity," announced the Duke of Suffolk. "To save England from war and rebellion, to save our people from suffering and loss. To keep the sins of murder and hate from rotting away our own lives and families from within." As Charles said the last few words, he gave his beautiful young queen a sharp and almost fatherly sort of warning look.

"Our Savior commands us to love those that hate us," Mary replied, sinking into a tall carved wooden chair. The young queen was tired after a sleepless night. She couldn't fight Charles and Anne and her rebellious subjects and her own conscience all at the same time. After a long night of tossing and turning, tormented by loneliness and guilt, she realized that the burdens of power were far too great to bear alone. She was bone tired, yet she forced herself to hold her head up high and to speak like a queen. "We must love those who hate us, and forgive those who have injured us."

"Amen," said Charles Brandon. He was standing behind the queen's chair, and he rested his strong hands on her bare white shoulders. The gesture was both protective and slightly controlling, as though the royal rank was reversed and the big, handsome duke ruled the shy young queen instead of the other way around.

"I see Your Majesty has already forgiven some of your enemies," Anne Boleyn said slyly. Her cat-like green eyes missed nothing as she sat in the chair facing the queen. "Isn't it remarkable that the very same man who killed your father with a clumsy lance is now your closest counselor and . . . friend?"

Mary opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get the words out someone else silenced the shameless, stunningly beautiful Boleyn whore.

"Hush, sweet Anne," said Lady Jane Seymour, her beautiful white hands resting on the dowager queen's slim shoulders in exactly the same protecting and just slightly controlling fashion as Charles used with the troubled young queen. "King Henry's death was the will of God, brought on by his faithless cruelty towards all who loved him. All suffered at his hands, including our good Queen Mary and me and you. And just as you forgave me for taking your place in the king's fickle affections, so now does Queen Mary forgive you for taking her own royal mother's place."

"Yes," Queen Mary said abruptly, as though she had been sleeping and Jane's gentle words had jogged her awake. "Yes, I forgive you . . . Anne."

"And I forgive you," Anne replied, with a little smirk, as though everything was going her way and it was all thanks to her own cleverness. "But will you acknowledge my daughter Elizabeth as the only true heir to the throne?"

"You must acknowledge me as queen first," Mary said with a frown. Charles had gone over the terms with her very carefully in the morning. The duke was standing behind her now, lending her silent support. Just the feel of his warm, strong hands on her shoulders made her feel calm and serene. "We will forgive each other, Anne. You will acknowledge me as queen, and I will acknowledge Elizabeth as my one legitimate heir. You will not be imprisoned and you will not lose any lands or wealth. But you are never again to show your face at court. You and Elizabeth will live at Hatfield and be suitably cared for in a style and comfort befitting your high rank."

"Suitably cared for!" Anne's green eyes flashed emerald fire. "You mean to have us locked up in the country? Confined all alone in some dreary castle?"

"You won't be alone, Anne," Lady Jane Seymour said softly. "You and baby Elizabeth will be surrounded by loyal companions . . . in loving hands." Anne's anger sputtered out like a fire doused by water. Jane's soothing voice and her slim white hands both seemed to calm her.

"I agree to the terms you offer . . . Your Majesty." Anne's grumbling faded as her beautiful blonde companion gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"No one should be alone," the Duke of Suffolk rumbled. His hands were working the same magic on the queen's shoulders, his fingers working to unlock the tense muscles of her neck and back.

"Our meeting is now ended, and parchments shall be sealed and signed to commemorate this happy day." Mary closed her eyes, feeling peace wash over her. She would never have her vengeance. But in the years to come she would have peace of mind and untroubled sleep.

And she would not always sleep alone.