The Queen's Mistake

  “I don’t know why I am . . .” Catherine sobbed, unable to explain her tears.

  “Shhh. It is to be expected, my dear. You have lasted longer as queen than our Anne did before she had her moment of weakness and cried to me like this.”

  “But I thought Anne was in control of everything until the end.”

  “She was a complicated girl, quite good at presenting the image people expected. But that takes effort and skill. And as you now know, that can be exhausting.”

  Catherine looked up with tearstained cheeks, still unable to fathom being embraced by her grandmother, wrapped in the same arms that had held a cane against her too many times to remember. “What if he speaks to the king?”

  “That is a possibility if we anger him too much, so we must walk a fine line. But as the great Julius Caesar once said, one must keep one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer. That is what your uncle and I are doing for you.”

  “Forgive me, Grandmother, but you have never spoken to me with such kindness before,” Catherine said, her eyes filling anew with tears.

  “You have never been my queen before,” the dowager duchess explained.

  As spring came, Catherine thought she might be with child.

  All of the signs were certainly there, and Henry had barely let her alone a single night since they had married nine months ago. She was young, strong and healthy, the royal physician had told her yesterday. Perfect for bearing children.

  Henry had laughed and said it was about time.

  They decided to keep her pregnancy a secret until they were certain, but Henry could not keep the joy and contentment from his face as they rode down the river amid a parade of barges, each ornamented festively with bunting and flags fluttering in the cool April wind off the water. The azure sky was cloudless. A young boy in a rust-colored costume played a gentle tune on his flute to entertain them. Catherine squeezed Henry’s hand, taken by the sun on her face and the sweet music surrounding them.

  “So, have you considered my request?” she sweetly asked.

  “Is it not enough to content yourself with redecorating my privy chamber at Hampton Court, which is so in need of a woman’s touch?”

  “Not when a poor old woman languishes in the Tower, Hal,” she firmly replied.

  She felt him tense and loosen his grip on her hand, as he always did when she brought the subject up, but she would not back down. There had been too much bloodshed since she became queen, and the idea of adding to the number of deaths was unthinkable as long as she could prevent it.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, smiling suddenly, then turning to kiss her cheek. “I will not let you be troubled by political matters, no matter how well-meaning your intentions. It would not be good for our unborn son.”

  Her heart swelled, and a part of Catherine hoped she was carrying his child. She knew what it would mean to her entire family if she were to bear a son. The Seymour family still benefited from Jane’s legacy, her sickly boy.

  “I do not want to be troubled either, Hal; I just want to help you see what is right.”

  “What the devil would you know about any of it?” he snapped so harshly that she felt almost as if she had been struck. The music continued, concealing their argument.

  “Forgive me,” he finally said, smiling again, calmed by her silence. “I did not mean to be so harsh with you.”

  “I only wish to help,” Catherine said, still stung by his words.

  Henry pulled her closer, pressing a kiss onto her lips, as he did so frequently that she was made dizzy by it. “You will help me most by choosing a new fabric for the bed, along with some window coverings, as soon as we arrive. Wolsey chose the current ones himself, so you have some idea of how old they are. Now they are riddled with moth holes.”

  She did not know she was frowning until he rubbed his forefinger teasingly between her brows and smiled more broadly.

  “I know it is not easy for one so young to be queen,” he said. “But it is even more difficult to be king at every age. There are decisions to be made each waking hour of every day, difficult decisions, and I need you to support me, not battle against me.”

  “Will you at least consider a pardon for the old countess, Hal . . . for me? Over two years in that drafty, stone tower seems more than enough for any woman to suffer as penance.”

  “There is no one who can get to me quite as you do,” Henry said begrudgingly.

  “May I take that as a yes?”

  “Decorate our bedchamber very prettily, and we shall see.”

  Catherine had never felt so proud and empowered in her life. She was not just a silly, mindless girl, no matter what her uncle said. No matter what the entire court believed. She could do this; she could make a difference in England.

  “I love you,” she said, meaning it at last.

  Jane Boleyn stood, hands on her hips, in the queen’s oak-paneled private dressing closet, surveying the scene before her.

  “Just what do you think you are doing there?” she said accusatorily.

  Mary Lassells was on her knees over an open casket of jewels, her pale skirts fanned out around her. She turned with a start. Around her throat was a necklace of emeralds and pearls, and Catherine’s rings were on each of her fingers. Mary reminded Jane of a little girl caught playing dress-up with her mother’s best things. Mary stood uneasily, though her face did not bear signs of contrition.

  “I was only polishing everything for Her Grace.”

  “By wearing them?”

  She glanced down at her small hands and began calmly to remove the rings. “I meant no harm, my Lady Rochford.”

  “The queen is always at risk. It is my job to determine if you meant any harm,” Jane snapped.

  “I thought you were her companion,” Mary challenged.

  “I am here to protect her, and that is all you need to know,” Jane said severely.

  Mary Lassells replaced each of the rings into the casket, then closed the lid as Jane continued to glare at her.

  “I will always be nearby, Mistress Lassells. I not only have the confidence of the queen, but the ear of the king, so you would be wise to consider your actions in the future. And do remove Her Grace’s necklace before you return to your duties. His Majesty has been known to cut off heads for far less than stealing jewelry from the queen.”

  “I did not intend to steal anything,” Mary countered, which was the truth. At least this time. The small fortune her brother had collected on the little cat’s collar would finance their Reform work for a long time to come. The foolish queen hardly seemed to care that it was gone. Or wonder who might actually have taken it, and why.

  The Spanish ambassador sat beside Catherine at the banquet that evening in the great hall at Hampton Court, full of flowery solicita tions. She smiled and nodded at a dignitary in black and gray with a ruby-studded baldric across his broad chest whose name she did not care to remember. She was already feeling the encroaching boredom of another long night of food, wine, music and endless banter.

  A fleeting memory came to her as her mind drifted off. It was a night at Horsham when all the girls had escaped their dormitory prison and gone out into the starry night in their bedclothes, whispering, laughing and dancing. It was that feeling of freedom she remembered most—something she would never feel again.

  “You look like you need rescuing. Dance with me, sweetheart,” Henry said cavalierly, leaning over to whisper to her as the ambassador continued to drone on.

  Catherine was relieved as he helped her to her feet and led her, limping noticeably as he did, toward the dancing area. “You needn’t do this for me if your leg is bothering you.”

  “When I look at your lovely face, I feel no discomfort at all,” Henry replied gallantly.

  He bravely attempted to lead her through a tourdion as the court looked on. Catherine was so concerned about Henry’s leg and the pain his pride concealed that at first she heard only a word or two uttered by two courtiers who stood nearby.
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  “It was horrendous, they say. The bloodiest murder yet. Everyone is talking about it,” one courtier said.

  “The executioner was no more than a boy. I heard it took him five blows to cut off her head, poor old thing,” the other one added.

  The breath was literally knocked out of her in one painful rush. Everything around her began to spin. Unaware of what she had just heard, Henry continued smiling. The music was loud and the overwhelming stench was not of food any longer, but of death.

  “What is it, sweetheart? You’ve gone pale as a ghost.”

  She had stopped dancing and was standing stiffly. She was stunned. “You lied to me yesterday, Hal, right to my face. You told me you would consider pardoning her. Was that before you sent the poor old countess to her death, or was it afterward?”

  Catherine did not wait for a reply, or even consider what harm might come to her for angering a man who could sign his own relative’s death warrant, then dance and smile before her body was even cold in the grave. She spun around, her dress sailing out behind her as she ran from the room.

  To her surprise, the king was right behind her.

  “How dare you turn your back on me? I am your king and your husband,” Henry growled in her ear, clamping a hand onto her arm as the whispers and murmurs of the courtiers filled the great hall.

  Just as they passed out of the main doors and into the privacy of the corridor, Catherine spun around, her dress a whirl of ice blue silk. She saw his face was blazing with as much anger as her own.

  “You will not humiliate me like that before my people, madam, do you hear me?” he growled at her again.

  It was the most frightening voice she had ever heard, yet it did not move her as much as the horrendous lie he had told.

  “What if I do? Will Your Majesty execute me, as well? Or will you send me to the Tower to languish away? God knows you are capable of treating even your queens that way.”

  The blow against her cheek was swift and hard. His hand felt like a brick, and there was an audible crack of flesh. Instantly, the crimson expression of fury on his fat face fell to white shock.

  “I did not mean that; I did not mean to hurt you. You know I . . .”

  His words fell away as she reached up to touch the flaming wound on her cheek and felt a wet trickle of blood from where one of his rings had caught her delicate skin.

  “I shall call the physician. That needs tending.”

  Catherine was not distracted from her anger for a moment. “Why, Hal? She was only an old woman. You let me believe you might spare her.”

  “I never intended to spare her, only your feelings on the matter, for as long as I could,” he admitted.

  “By lying to me?”

  “Do not question my authority ever again, Catherine. I love you desperately, but thinking you can change me is something you shall live to regret.” His words were cold. His tone held a warning she had never heard before.

  But in that moment, her regrets were already too numerous to count. She could not believe that she had thought she could truly love a butcher, no matter how elegantly he dressed or what costly gifts he gave her. The crown upon her head was worse than an albatross around her neck. At least she still had her neck, she thought with a mix of horror and fury.

  For now.

  “I am leaving for London at first light,” he said with a deadly calm. “I have business to attend to there. Considering your delicate condition, it would be best if you remain here until I return.”

  My condition? she thought, the sudden revelation slamming into her with more force than his palm. Jésu! Pray God I am not pregnant. Pray God I do not carry a monster’s child!

  She had run from him and he had not gone after her.

  That was all she remembered. Catherine had no idea, as she lay on the damp earth, how she had gotten into the maze on the castle grounds and found the protection of its tall, clipped ivy walls. Racked by convulsive sobs, her chest heaved and her tears blinded her. But the arms so tightly wrapped around her were familiar, warm and comforting. Thomas Culpeper said not a word, only held her tight in the self-protective coil in which he had found her, and let her weep. His calm strength was the greatest balm to her shattered heart. While she wanted to ask how he had found her, she was afraid to speak.

  If he was a dream, she knew it would destroy her.

  Tenderly, he stroked her temple with his thumb as he held her like a child on his lap. The only sound was the crickets’ rhythmic chirp nearby.

  “Why did you come?” The four words were more of a croak of syllables than a question.

  “I have always been here,” he answered in his deep, beautiful voice, which made her want to cry even more.

  “If the king were to find us—”

  “He’ll not find us. I happen to know that His Majesty has retired for the evening.”

  The mention of Henry was a harsh, cold blow. But Henry had not come after her. He did not know where she was, nor care. God forgive her the sin, but she was glad of it.

  Catherine inhaled deeply before she opened her eyes. She could not bear to think she had conjured Thomas at a desperate moment like this. But he was real. She could see that in every elegant turn of his perfect face, highlighted by a silver quarter moon above.

  “Why did he have to do it?” she asked.

  “The Countess of Salisbury? It is complicated, my love, and the king is a complicated man, driven by the past more than anyone likes to admit. Her sons betrayed him. She did not rise up against them when she had the chance.”

  “But she was old, a harmless woman.”

  “Our king does not abide betrayal in anyone, least of all from women he once trusted.”

  Catherine knew his words were all too true. And now she too would have to focus on surviving.

  Thomas was still stroking her face with one gentle hand, the other wrapped protectively around her.

  “I could kill him for striking you.”

  “Then you would be no better than he is, and your fate would be that of the poor countess.”

  “It would be well worth it to me, other than the fact that I would be leaving you unprotected.”

  “You cannot protect me. No one can.”

  “It helps me to believe I can, though,” Thomas said huskily.

  The pressure of his thumb against her temple was no longer soothing, but sending a wave of desire coursing through her trembling, weakened body. The sensation was one she thought she would never feel again.

  “You are leaving for London in the morning. He told me he has business there,” she warned him.

  “I am not accompanying the king.”

  Catherine struggled to sit up and face him. She was dizzy and slightly nauseated. There was hair hanging in her face, and her dress was covered with dirt, but she cared nothing for any of that. Staring into Thomas’s eyes gave Catherine a sense of renewed strength. “How can you avoid it?”

  “I shall be deathly ill in the morning, unable even to rise from my bed. You know how the king is about anyone with anything remotely contagious.”

  Her weak smile was full of surprise. “You are very devious.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as resourceful.”

  “And do you see yourself as charming as well?”

  “Committed,” he countered.

  Her smile faded then. “I am not free to be committed, Thomas; you know that.”

  “Oh, I was committed to you, body and soul, long before you were not free, if I remember it correctly.”

  “It is pointless.”

  She looked away, but he brought her face back with a single, powerful finger. “Love is pointless?”

  “Your commitment to me is pointless. The king is a dangerous man.”

  “That is not a surprise to anyone, Catherine.”

  She loved the silky way he said her name.

  “It was to me, which I suppose makes me the stupid, empty-headed child everyone believes me to be,” she said sadly.


  “Loyalty is not stupidity.”

  “Apparently it is in my case.”

  They were facing each other, and he was near enough to kiss her. The current between them was powerful. But she could feel him keeping his distance. Kind, gorgeous and noble as well, he was still the only man who ever really had her heart, or ever would.

  “Are you ready to go back now?” he asked.

  “No. I would like to stay here like this forever,” she said honestly. “But perhaps I should return before the servants begin to wonder. Where do the rest of the king’s gentlemen believe you are?”

  Thomas helped her to her feet and linked his arms around her, as he had done so many times a lifetime ago. “No one wonders where I am. I am a single man at court with a rather notorious reputation.”

  “Oh.” She looked away, feeling an unwarranted shiver of jealousy, until he brought her face back around.

  “It isn’t true, you know.”

  “Isn’t it?” she asked, thinking of Katherine Basset.

  “At court, gossip is always much more interesting than the truth,” he said, echoing the words he had told her long ago.

  “Not in our case,” she countered.

  “Meet me back here in the maze tomorrow?” He pressed a tender kiss on her mouth and she melted into it, feeling her own passion flare just as he pulled himself away.

  “Come at sunset.”

  Catherine considered the invitation. “My ladies usually like to rest at that hour.”

  “Excellent.” He smiled that same dazzling smile that she loved but that told her it was a grand mistake to agree. Yet she was absolutely powerless to deny him.

  “My sweet fool,” she said with a sad smile. “We are going to get ourselves killed. But I still love you so.”

  “I adore when you call me that. . . . And you know I have never stopped loving you.”

  Henry did not join Catherine in her bedchamber that night as he ordinarily would have, and when Catherine inquired about him the next morning, Lady Douglas told her that His Majesty, the privy counsel and much of the court had left at dawn for London. The overwhelming feeling of freedom she felt at the news far outweighed the fear she felt for having angered him. Since she had first come to court, they had never so much as quarreled, and he certainly had never left her behind. Henry could scarcely bear to be in a room without her, so this was bound to incite gossip and bring a new flurry of rumors about her and Thomas. All she cared about now, though, as she stood before her long, gilt dressing room mirror and saw the thin, bloodred wound on her cheek-bone and the raging purple bruise forming around it, was seeing Thomas again.