They would not let her in to see William, no matter how hard she begged. She could hear him cry out and moan as the king's physicians worked on him.

"Can't they give him something for the pain, at least?" Mary tried to plead with them, "He sounds like he is suffering." In a way she was suffering too, from the guilt she would feel for being at the festivities that night, instead of by her husband's side. But Henry had asked, no commanded her, and she would rather be with him than her husband.

"You'll know soon, madam," the chamberlain speaking to her in an attempt to placate her, "After the doctor has finished with him they will admit you, and I am sure that your presence will console him.

It seemed an interminable time before the door opened, and the physician came and took her hand. "I am happy to tell you, my lady, that he has broken no bones." Mary breathed a sigh of relief at those words, but he had more to tell her. "He is badly bruised and he has strained his back. I have given him something for the pain. He must remain in bed and rest if he wishes to heal, if he tries to get up, you must persuade him to lie down."

She nodded and ran into the room. She came to William's side and took his pale white hand. "I am so sorry that you are hurt, but even more that you must be confined to bed. You will not be able to go on progress with the king."

"I shall go to Norfolk, Mary, I would ask you to come but I believe the king won't spare you." She started to object but he held up his hand, "We are subject to his will as much as you are subject to your family's."

Her cheeks burned as he said this, but she knew it to be true. "I would come to Norfolk if you asked me William, I am your wife, after all."

"But you are the king's mistress now, it is your duty to do as he commands. I will be well enough to return to court in the fall. We both know that our fortunes rest in Henry's hands, he can make us or break us. You must attend the festivities tonight as if your husband was not on your mind."

"I wish things had been different, William, when we married I had hoped that we would watch our children grow up and give us grandchildren."

"Which would do us no good unless we have something to pass onto them."

"So you see me as a stepping stone? Is that what you want, William? Lands? Tenant farms? Perhaps a small manor? To think I felt sorry for you."

"Mary, I am sorry, I forgot that you were forced into this, but if you have gained Henry's favor it will advance us both, or so I hope. I know our marriage is over, I have only my hopes to cling to now."

"Cling to them tightly, then, for you may no longer cling to me." Any sympathy she felt for him melted at his words. She went to her small dressing room and Rose helped her into a yellow gown over a petticoat that was the palest of greens. Rose adjusted her French hood, and she left, glad to be out of her chambers and away from William.

The chamber was well lit, candles lit in sconces and holders that had been placed on the table. The room was full of people dancing to the music of Henry's musicians. Two trumpets blew to announce dinner and the dancers took their places at the table and began to devour the feast that had been set before them.

After dinner, Henry rose from his place and went to Mary's side. "How is your husband?" he whispered, "Shall I have you sleep in my bed tonight my lovely Mary?"

"Henry!" she feigned dismay, lifting her eyebrows and widening her hazel eyes. "Well, sire, my husband surely would not rest well if I tried to share our bed and he won't be moved to Norfolk until the morning."

"It's settled then," said Henry, "Tonight you sleep with me. We will wake in time for you to return to your chambers and you can get changed in time for mass. We'll leave afterwards, does that suit you, my lady?"

"It will suit me very well indeed, sire, but in the meantime might we dance?"

"If it is your command, madam, yes we will." He pulled her after him onto the dance floor and Mary forgot everything, William, her family, and thought only of the man who held her in his arms.

Early the next morning Henry laced her into her gown and with one last final kiss she returned to her chambers. She found William's servants packing his things, a bed was being prepared that would fit into the back of wagon to transport him to Norfolk.

William looked pale and helpless as a baby with the servants hand feeding him and helping him to drink from a cup of small ale. Perhaps if she had not just come from the king's bed, if he had not forced her against her will, if he had not said the things that had hurt her so badly she would feel regretful. But he had and all she felt now was the same pity she would feel for a helpless stranger.

He looked up and saw her. "Mary," he asked, "Will you not go with me to Norfolk? I know it will seem dull compared to court, but I would feel better if you were at my side."

"I am sorry, William, but the king commands my presence, and if he did not, my family would. We no longer own our lives, even less so than before. Our fates depend on the will of the king, and I must do my part. You should have fought harder to keep me, William, but you didn't even try. Stay at Norfolk and recover, when we return in the fall, perhaps we can find something to replace what we lost. You look for rewards from my being in Henry's bed? Perhaps we will have them, if that is what you want."

He took her hand and kissed it. "I should have been a better husband to you, but maybe your family's ambition has poisoned me."

Or perhaps it was there all along, thought Mary, you thought perhaps to profit when you married into the Boleyn's and Howards. Well, maybe you will but not in the way you expected, for you may lose me in the process.

Mass had been celebrated and now the court assembled itself and began that every year event: progress. Heading the column was Henry's bodyguard and herald, followed by the rearguard. Then the queen's guard followed, with Catherine riding awkwardly on her patient palfrey.

Catherine of Aragon had been an enthusiastic horsewoman in her youth, but after six pregnancies she had gained weight and though she tried not to show it was no longer well. Coupled with this was the strain of watching Henry's string of mistresses. She had started as a happy bride, but her happiness faded little by little with the loss of each pregnancy, now all she had to show for it was a daughter whom Henry only valued for the marriage he could secure for her.

She had once been the most beautiful woman in England and had won the eighteen-year-old Henry's heart. Her long red-gold hair had reached almost to her knees and her blue-grey eyes and perfect pale skin had made him determined to marry her. He did not care that she was seven years older than him, he did not care that his advisors warned him he was making a mistake, he did not care that his father forbid him to marry her. Once Henry VII was dead, Henry Tudor got what he wanted.

Mary was riding with the rest of the queen's ladies. She did not care if Anne was riding close by, no doubt set by their father to spy on her. And she did not care when one of the king's chamberlains came up to her and told her that the king wished to have her ride at his side. She cast a triumphant look at Anne and spurred her horse to catch up to Henry.

"How fare you, Mistress Carey?" Henry asked and held out his hand. She took it and squeezed it.

"Well enough, your majesty, although I could use more sleep. Thank you for providing me a bed," she said coquettishly, "My husband was unable to share ours, so I am grateful one was provided."

"How is William? I am sorry that I was the cause of his injuries, I intended no harm to him."

"Until men quit jousting for good, there will always be injuries. It is exciting to watch until someone is hurt. Fortunately for William, he suffered no broken bones, his body is badly bruised and his back strained. I hope the trip to Norfolk is not too painful for him, but the doctors have said that a long rest will benefit him. He anticipates returning to court in the fall. Fortunately, he is young and will recover from his injuries."

"That is good," agreed Henry, "But I look forward to the pleasure of having you all to myself."

"I am afraid you will have to share me with the queen, sire, I am one of her ladies after all." She was not so sure she should have said that because a dark look passed briefly over his features. The king and queen had been close once, but with each failed pregnancy and each new mistress, they were slowly growing apart.

They had not reached their destination by supper, so an elaborate picnic meal was laid out. The courtiers were forced to quit eating when Henry finished and had to resume their journey whether they were ready or not.

Entertaining the king and his court was both a blessing and a curse. It was a great deal of work and meant a great deal of money must be spent, but few were willing to turn down the honor. It might be expensive but there could be benefits down the line, so few were willing to pass it up.

For the first time, Mary found herself quartered with the queen's unwed ladies. She bit her tongue and did not complain when she found out she was to share a room with Anne. It was only natural that they should be placed together, and she had no desire to complain.

Anne seemed strangely subdued, for once. There was nothing for her to do but wait on the queen and spy on Mary, but that did not occupy enough of her time. She felt no jealousy towards Mary, even felt a little smug knowing that her sister would have to deal with court gossip once her affair with the king cooled. And gossip there would be, for secrets could not be kept at court for long.

For herself, she desired more. She wanted to make a good marriage, someone with the right title and the right income that would insure a place for her at court. She knew that she would not be allowed to choose for herself, but she was more than of an age to marry and since the Ormond match had failed nothing new had been forthcoming.

She would not settle for a nobody like William Carey. No second sons for her. If she were Mary she would use her position to further her relationship with Henry. If she could prove that she could bear a healthy child, especially a son, why not try to convince the king to trade an old and sickly wife for a young and healthy one? The Boleyns were fertile, and one of these days Anne was sure that Mary would announce she was pregnant.

Why waste an opportunity? Or perhaps Henry wouldn't marry her but would find a young, unmarried maiden to take the queen's place. And why could that not be her?