The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [123]
My fingers closed over the ring. “Who can blame her?” I said softly, and as I spoke, my memory flew back to a time long past, when a bewildered boy crouched in an attic, fearing discovery and envying the tribe of sons who would never accept him.
I felt Kate’s hand on mine. “Do you want to talk about it? You still have the petal. Did you find out what it means?”
The memory faded.
“It’s a leaf.” I met her gaze. Opening her palm, I set the golden leaf in her hand. “I want to tell you everything. Only, I need some more time to sort it out. And she is expecting me. Mistress Ashley said she is waiting on me.”
I noticed the subtle stiffening of her posture. I knew she couldn’t help it, and it was something we’d have to learn to deal with if we were to build a life together. Elizabeth had become too much a part of both of us.
“She is,” said Kate. “She had another of her headaches this afternoon, which is why I came out to gather these herbs for her evening draft; but she did ask to see you as soon as you were ready. I can bring you to her, if you like. She’s taking her exercise in the gallery.”
She started to rise. I pressed her hand to my lips. “Sweet Kate, my heart is yours.”
She looked at our twined hands. “You say that now, but you do not know her as I do. A more loyal mistress cannot be found, but she requires undying devotion in return.”
“She has it already. But that is all.” I stood, cupped her chin, and kissed her lips. “Keep that leaf close. It’s yours now, a symbol of our troth. I’d match it with a ring, if you’ll have me.”
I was warmed by the luster in her eyes. I had time enough later to prove nothing would interfere with the love I wanted to share with her—a love far from the tumult of these days and the malice of court, a love in which the secret of my past could finally be put to rest.
I followed her back to the manor. At the entrance to the gallery, I paused. The slim figure with Urian at her side appeared taller, arresting in its solitude. I drew a quick breath to ease the sudden tightness in my chest, then stepped forth and bowed.
With an elated bark of recognition Urian bounded to me.
Elizabeth stood silhouetted in the diffused sun that slipped through the embrasure, her pale mauve gown catching the light like water. Her red-gold hair was unbound, loose about her shoulders. She looked like a startled fawn caught in a clearing, until she strode toward me with that determination that was more of the hunter than the prey. As she neared, I noted a parchment clutched in her hand.
I met her amber gaze. “I am overjoyed to see Your Grace safe.”
“And in good health, don’t forget that,” she teased. “And you, my friend?”
“I too am well,” I said softly.
She smiled, waved me to the window seat, the worn upholstery and stack of teetering books to one side indicating it was a favored spot. I perched on the edge, taking the time I needed to readjust to her presence. Urian sniffed my legs and then curled at my feet.
Elizabeth sat beside me, close but not too much so, her tapered fingers fussing with the parchment. Remembering how those pampered hands had wielded a stone against a guard’s head, I marveled at her mercurial duality, which was as much a part of her as her coloring.
It was only then that the reality of our situation struck me. I hadn’t considered how she might react when I told her. Would she welcome me as a long-lost member of the family? Or would she, like her formidable cousin the duchess of Suffolk, see me as a threat? I might be, after all; if Charles Brandon was my father, I most certainly could be, in her eyes. She might never understand that regardless of the Tudor blood in my veins, I had no aspirations to a throne.
As if she could sense my thoughts, she said, “You are comely.” She spoke as if she hadn’t noticed it before. “So lean, with your light gray eyes and hair the color of barley.… It’s