Once Upon a Rose

now."

  "No, Your Grace," Deanie whispered

  into her ear. "The conversation about the birds and the

  bees."

  "Oh, that." The queen was genuinely mystified.

  Kit suddenly began to cough, and the duke of

  Suffolk stroked the plumes on his hat, staring

  at them as if they were the most fascinating object

  he had ever beheld. Even Englebert, until

  then so silent they had all but forgotten his

  presence, started to straighten chairs.

  Then Kit stopped. "I believe we have hit

  upon the very device Cromwell and the king may

  seize for the annulment," he said, no longer

  uncomfortable. Suffolk's eyes snapped

  to Kit's, and he nodded slowly.

  "But what can we do, Kit? How can this information

  help us?" As Deanie spoke, she walked

  to Kit's side. Without looking at her, his gaze

  still on Suffolk, he opened his arm to her, and she

  automatically ducked into its warmth.

  "Maybe," she began tentatively, "it's not

  too late for them to have a happy marriage.

  Maybe if we show her how to please the king, you

  know. We can show her how to flirt and play the

  guitar and sing. And you, Kit, can show her all about

  hunting, and we can get her some new clothes, and

  then, well, just maybe they would be happy."

  Suffolk gave Deanie a genuinely warm

  smile. "Alas, sweet Mistress Deanie,

  although your heart is full of good sentiments, I

  fear it is too late for such deeds. We have but

  small time before the king will make a move."

  Kit felt Deanie shudder, and he pulled her

  closer before kissing the top of her head. "We should

  be gone now," he murmured.

  "Do you mean really gone, or just gone for a little

  while?"

  "Both. But for now, we will be gone but a few

  hours. Suffolk and I need to find out more." Under

  his breath he added, "I could never tolerate flying

  blind."

  As Suffolk and Kit made their formal

  goodbyes, promising to get word to them as soon as

  they uncovered more news, Deanie felt a stab of

  fear in her stomach. "Kit." She

  reached out to him, not wanting to see him leave.

  Instead of stopping, he merely smiled.

  "While we are gone, I believe you and the queen

  need to have a little talk."

  "Oh hell," she mumbled, all trepidation

  at being separated from Kit momentarily forgotten.

  "I do believe, love, that Suffolk and I have

  by far the easier task. We need merely seek out

  vital information." He gave her a swift wink.

  "You, however, must find means to impart some knowledge. Be

  delicate, Deanie."

  With a final parting glance at the queen, whose

  bewildered face darted from Kit to Deanie, Kit

  and Suffolk left the chamber.

  Just when they thought the dukes had left, Kit

  leaned again into the chamber. "Oh, and Deanie:

  Whatever you do, do not try to illustrate your talk

  with one of your needlepoint creations."

  "Very funny," she murmured with a grin.

  After the chamber door had closed for a final

  time, Deanie set about telling Anne of

  Cleves, the queen of England and wife of Henry

  Tudor, all about the facts of life.

  "Say nothing. Just smile," Kit ordered,

  coming up from behind and hooking his arm through Deanie's.

  "Geez, Kit. Don't do that again! You scared

  the daylights out of me," she gasped. They were on

  the palace grounds, milling about with all the rest

  of the court. Now that it had become common knowledge that

  Cromwell was in the Tower, the other peers felt

  comfortable enough to venture onto the manicured lawns

  to enjoy the unusually fine weather. They traveled

  in small groups, their heads bowed together as they

  discussed the dangerous atmosphere of the court.

  Only after she had taken a few deep breaths

  to regain her composure did Deanie notice the

  strained expression on Kit's face. His strong

  profile seemed more harsh than usual in the

  brilliant sunlight, and he kept his gaze

  straight ahead rather than on Deanie.

  "What's happening?"

  "Smile as I speak," he instructed. She

  did so, and he continued. "We're leaving now,

  Deanie. We are going straight to the maze. The

  bottle's in my doublet."

  "We can't, Kit. What about Anne and

  Princess Elizabeth? They both need our

  help." The artificial smile,

  forgotten for a moment, reappeared on her face.

  "We will have to leave them to Suffolk, love. It

  appears our dear friend Norfolk has convinced the

  king that I too am guilty of treason." He

  nodded pleasantly to Lady Rochford as they

  passed. "By nightfall I may very well be sharing

  lodgings with Cromwell."

  Only Kit's firm grasp kept her from

  stumbling. "Well, we can't have that," she chirped,

  and Kit glanced down and gave her a curt

  smile.

  From the corner of her eye she saw a

  conspicuous group of four men. At first she thought

  they were yet another wave of barber-surgeons,

  seeking her out to shave her legs. Then she

  recognized them as Cromwell's henchmen,

  including the large one who had wielded the staff that

  wounded Kit.

  "Kit," she began, her voice rising.

  "I know. They've been following me all

  afternoon. Now that their former patron is in the Tower,

  they have managed to shift alliances. Mind your

  step." He guided her over a log bordering the

  path. He was taking them straight to the maze, not

  even bothering to follow the decorative walk.

  "They belong to Norfolk now."

  "How on earth could they charge you with treason?"

  He merely shook his head, then he folded a

  hand over the clenched fist resting on his arm.

  "You're really very good."

  "Huh?"

  "I never got the chance to tell you, Deanie.

  Your singing--it's really quite exhilarating. Very

  different, but quite marvelous nonetheless."

  She blinked in confusion. "Thank you. Remind

  me to sign you up for my fan club when we get

  back home."

  "May I also have your autograph?"

  "We'll see." She smiled up at him,

  squinting against the glare of the sun.

  Suddenly he slowed their pace, then stopped

  altogether, turning her toward him. "I need to tell you

  something," he said quietly, his eyes darting over

  her head to the burly quartet just beyond the path.

  "Should this not work, should we not make it together, you must

  try it alone."

  She began to protest, but he silenced her

  by placing a gentle finger upon her lips. "I may

  have been here too long to ever return. Ten years

  --almost a third of my life has

  passed in this time. I may be too ensnared by all

  of this to ever leave. I speak the language
,

  follow the custom without a second thought. At

  times I almost think as a Tudor man rather than as

  someone who once listened to jazz and flew an

  airplane."

  "But ..."

  "No, listen." He swallowed, tracing the

  contours of her face with his unbroken stare. "You do

  not belong here. You're far too fresh and vital and

  young. Whatever happens when we enter the maze, know

  one thing: I love you, Deanie. I adore

  everything about you, and that can never change. If by chance

  I remain behind, take my love with you."

  He took a deep, shuddering breath before he

  continued. "I will be dead, my love. Long dead,

  my body gone. But still I will love you. You will

  always be the one grand passion of my life.

  Remember that. Through the centuries I'll continue

  to love you, but you must find love in your own time,

  warm, breathing love."

  "Kit," she whispered, unable to utter anything

  else.

  "I almost fear I'm tempting fate. God

  help us both," he groaned, his mouth closing

  over hers.

  They did not care that it was broad daylight, that

  the entire court was but a stone's throw away, or

  closer. His tongue plunged into hers as if he

  would consume her, and she responded, matching his

  rapture with her own.

  With one swift motion, their mouths still locked in

  joyous union, he swept her into his arms,

  cradling her trembling body to his own. Thus

  joined, they entered the maze, oblivious to the

  stunned and giddy onlookers.

  And not a single person dared to follow.

  There were no words between them, just complete understanding.

  He lowered her tenderly to the ground, pulling away

  for but a moment to take in her features. Everyone

  else seemed to have dissolved, leaving them

  blissfully alone and unhurried.

  Slowly his hands unlaced her stays, each tie

  falling limp between his fingers. When the bodice and

  skirts slipped away, followed by the undergown,

  he simply stared at her.

  "I never knew such perfection," he uttered,

  more to himself than to her.

  She felt no shame, no

  embarrassment at her nakedness. Instead his gaze

  warmed her with a welcome embrace like the morning

  sun--all consuming, full of simple enchantment.

  He seemed to remove his own garments in one

  bold movement, the sword, forgotten for the moment,

  resting beneath the crumpled pile. She stared

  wantonly at his body, at the sheer male

  perfection now being offered to her. He was just as she

  imagined he would be, just as she knew he would be:

  finely muscled, strong yet lean. There were marks

  and scars on his arms and torso and thighs, slashes

  that had healed into light white lines or jagged

  trails. Instead of marring him, in her eyes they

  represented his life of physical hardship, the

  pain he had been forced to endure these past ten

  years.

  Something about those healed wounds, as well as the

  recent one from Cromwell, moved her, and she

  felt her eyes prickle with the weight of tears.

  He had always seemed so very mighty and invincible,

  yet now she saw him as simply brave but

  vulnerable.

  Tenderly she kissed the scar on his shoulder,

  then the one on his upper arm. He moaned softly,

  his hands raking through her hair.

  There was not time for anything else, no sweet

  words or slow, delicious caresses. They were

  both aware, even in their haze, of the sun's

  movement, and they were drawn together as if by another

  force.

  At once he was inside her, and they were

  transported for a blissful second to another

  place, where they were the solitary souls, and all

  else melted into oblivion.

  They lay together, entwined in each other's arms.

  Deanie was afraid to speak, for fear of breaking

  the magical rapture that seemed to wrap itself about

  them, sheltering them from the afternoon sun, protecting them

  from the unwelcome intrusion of others. Her head

  rested on his chest, rising and falling with every breath

  he took; her eyes were closed in drowsy

  contentment.

  He inhaled deeply, his arm tightening about her,

  drawing her closer.

  "It's time." His voice sounded odd to his own

  ears, and he felt her stiffen.

  "No."

  But she did not resist as he propped himself on

  one elbow. His eyes swept over her once more,

  and he ran a tender hand along her

  curves before he reached for her clothing. They

  dressed wordlessly. He pulled each layer of her

  gown into place, kissing the hollow of her throat

  as he laced the sides of her bodice. As she

  drew his billowy shirt over his head, she

  paused, savoring the feel and fragrance of his bare

  chest one last time.

  When he closed his doublet, she saw him adjust

  a small piece of cloth between his shirt and doublet.

  He carefully fixed the square directly over

  his heart, andwitha pang she realized it was the bit of

  needlework she had done for him.

  Smiling, he held out his hand, and she slid her

  palm over his. The sun was about to set, and he

  held the bottle in the air.

  A fine blue line began to pulsate from the

  glass, darting at an angle. Both held their

  breath as his arm began to vibrate, and she clung

  to him, her eyes closed.

  And then it stopped.

  "What the hell?" he began.

  Immediately she stepped back. "What happened?"

  "I don't know. It just stopped working." He

  turned the bottle over, hoping to again catch the

  glint of the sun. Nothing. The bottle remained

  stubbornly inactive.

  "It worked before, just like that," she said. "Is that the

  way it worked with you and your goggles?"

  "Exactly the way. But it continued."

  "Right." She gave the bottle an accusing

  stare. "It worked before. What could be wrong?"

  "Well, we may have missed the sun." She

  flushed, and he shook his head. "No, I don't

  mean today. We may be too far into spring for it

  to work."

  "Oh crap," she muttered, and for the first time in

  hours they both laughed, uneasily, nervously.

  When they caught their breath, he tapped the

  bottle. "Think, Deanie. What was different

  when you traveled here?"

  They remained silent for a long while, each

  contemplating the details of their journey.

  "The weather was about the same," she said at last.

  "With me too."

  "It was just about dusk." He nodded in

  affirmation. Suddenly he stood very still, and with questioning

  eyes she looked up at him.

  "The planes," he said at last.

  "What planes?"

  He spoke quickly. "There were
/>
  rumblings, flashes of light from the bombs being

  dumped on London by the Luftwaffe. At first

  I thought I had been hit, Deanie. That's what

  I thought the flashes were, the rumbling."

  "I thought it was an earthquake," she said in a

  rush. "There were flashes with me too."

  Then she stopped. "Holy cow, Kit: the

  camera reflectors!"

  "The what?"

  "There were camera reflectors set up all

  over the lawn. With you there were flashes of light from

  nearby bombs. What if that's it? What if

  ..."

  "The instability," he finished. "The flashes,

  the bursts of light. Deanie, you're a genius!"

  "So how can we replicate it?"

  He said nothing at first, merely ran a finger

  over the bottle. "Let me think." Rubbing his

  hand wearily across his jaw, he continued staring at the

  bottle.

  "Ho, Hamilton?" A familiar voice

  called from just beyond the maze.

  "Suffolk, we're within," Kit's attention was

  still focused on the bottle when Suffolk, puffing

  with exertion, came into sight.

  "The whole court is merrily discussing the

  pair of you," he mocked. "Some even situated

  themselves on the hill just yonder, vying for the most

  advantageous view. God's blood,

  Hamilton, what has gotten into you?"

  "Quiet, Suffolk. I'm thinking."

  "Perhaps you should have done that earlier, instead of ...

  well, you know." He glanced at Deanie. "My

  apologies, mistress."

  Deanie shrugged absentmindedly, her eyes still

  fixed on the soda bottle.

  "By the by, mistress, what happened with the queen

  and your discussion? Methinks this afternoon's, eh,

  episode was but a demonstration for your lecture."

  "Watch it, Suffolk," Kit warned, but

  Deanie merely chuckled.

  "She did not believe me."

  Kit's head snapped up. "She didn't

  believe you?" he repeated, a shadow of a smile

  creasing his face.

  "Nope. She yelled "God save me!"

  and "Fie, begone!" and chased me out of her

  chamber. Last I heard poor Englebert was

  trying to calm her down."

  A bark of laughter escaped

  Suffolk's throat, swelling into a fit of

  hysteria. Kit too began to laugh. "So she

  believes without question that her husband wishes an

  annulment, that she may very well be beheaded, yet

  she is unable to believe ..." He was unable

  to continue as great waves of laughter overtook

  him.

  "Awe, come on," she began, trying her

  hardest to resist their ebullience. But it was

  impossible, and they exited the maze laughing still,

  Kit in the middle with an arm about each of his

  companions, Deanie leaning against him, one hand

  clutching the soda bottle.

  "Lady Longley, come look," cried a

  startled groomsman, "'Twas not just the two of

  them! The duke of Suffolk was within, all along!"

  Lady Longley pushed the young man aside,

  looking with intense wonderment as Hamilton

  slapped the duke of Suffolk's back with

  good-humored delight and simultaneously

  planted a tender kiss upon Mistress

  Deanie's forehead.

  "Well, well," she said, her voice

  suddenly gone husky. "It seems our handsome

  duke is far more fascinating than I ever

  imagined."

  "And so is his cousin," echoed the groomsman,

  who received a sharp elbow in the ribs for his comment.

  END OF VOLUME II

  ONCE UPON A ROSE

  by

  JUDITH O'BRIEN

  Volume III of Three Volumes

  Pages i-ii and 391-565

  Published by: POCKET BOOKS, 1230

  Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY

  10020. Further reproduction or distribution

  in other than a specialized format is

  prohibited.

  Produced in braille for the Library of Congress,

  National Library Service for the Blind and

  Physically Handicapped, by Braille International,

  Inc., 1998.

  Copyright 1996 by Judith O'Brien

  ONCE UPON A ROSE

  Chapter 15

  The tension in the court seemed to increase with each

  passing hour. There was an unconvincing attempt

  on the part of every peer, page, and servant

  to pretend it was business as usual, that the king's

  sudden disappearance meant nothing at all. Yet

  all knew the dangers that twisted through the halls.

  This was the king's pattern, to evacuate the court

  whenever any less-than-pleasant event was to take

  place. He would order its execution, then leave

  as if he had no prior knowledge of the occurrence.

  Cromwell was the new guest in the Tower. It

  was anyone's guess who would be the next to fall.