Chapter Eighteen: Out of Reach
"But Jane, I'm serious!" Mary blushed, because she had never called her stepmother by her first name before. "The king is saying he wants to cut your monthly allowance in half. If he finds out how much you've already spent in Paris . . ."
"You let me worry about your father." Queen Jane sounded as though she were at a pool party. In the background Mary could hear squeals and splashing and chatter. A male voice said something sexy in French, and Jane answered him with a laugh. "I really must run, Mary. But I'll be back in a day or two, and I promise to behave. Give my love to King Henry, won't you?"
"I always do," Mary said. But her laughing stepmother had already rung off the phone. Slumping into a cushioned armchair by the open window, the tired and sweaty Tudor princess pushed a lock of sticky brown hair back from her damp forehead. It was a sultry spring day in Wales. The air felt unusually warm and humid. If she were in France now, like her stepmother, she could be studying at the oceanographic institute and learning about climate change. Instead Mary was drinking iced tea in the parlor while her father rested after their long morning hike.
"Oh yes," said a husky male voice. The sound of the king's unmistakable satisfaction was carried on the sultry air, the sound drifting down from an upstairs bedroom. "Exactly like that, Selma. Exactly like that!"
Mary was glad to see her royal father getting back into shape. Each day he was more like his old self. Mary was his constant companion as he rode and hiked the rugged Welsh countryside, frequently stopping to chat with the local gentry and even with common laborers in the fields. The outdoor life suited Henry, and Mary did her best to keep up, even when everything felt sore.
But one thing bothered Mary more than her aches and pains. Lately her friend Selma had become quite friendly with the king.
"That's it, girl. Keep it up!" Henry ordered. "Oh, yes, keep it up!"
Mary sighed, shutting her eyes while she rested by the window. The faint, soft breeze felt good on her damp skin, but what she really wanted was a rubdown. Mary wanted Selma to massage away her aches and pains with those skilled and knowing hands. That was what the lovely Nigerian nursing student was doing right now in the king's bedroom. Or was it? Mary fell asleep wondering.
"Lady Mary? May I borrow the keys to your motor car?"
"What? Borrow my keys?" The slim, dark-skinned girl was already slipping the silver keys from Mary's purse. The king's daughter frowned, feeling groggy from her nap. "Where are you going?"
"Please do forgive me, Lady Mary! You were resting so quietly, I couldn't bear to disturb you." Selma paused, giving Mary a look of sympathy. "The king is asleep as well. He works so very hard!"
"Yes, he does." Mary scowled. "In the future, please wake me if you want something. Keep your hands off my personal things, and don't touch without permission. I'm not my father!"
"I haven't touched your father!" Selma's black eyes flashed as she dangled Mary's car keys in her hand, like a treat held just out of reach. "The king and I had a little talk just now, before he fell into a deep sleep. He asked me to go to the village and pick out a present for you, his daughter. He says it must not be jewelry or perfume. He says you are strong, not weak like other women."
"I am strong." Mary wanted to say more. She wanted to say how hard it was to resist the parade of pleasures that King Henry and Queen Jane enjoyed every day. But she couldn't risk losing control. All she could do was sigh, and watch Selma walk away.