Royal Mistress (48 page)

“Oh, we talked of this and that,” he said, airily, pouring himself some wine. “Certes, his cronies were in attendance, too, so ’twas not a private supper. Nothing but the usual manly talk of horses, politics and . . .”

“Women,” Jane finished, laughing. “Come and join me on the cushions, my lord, and let me remove that jacket. You look spent.”

Will knew he ought to talk to her about moving her to a new house, but he hated to spoil the romantic moment. Instead he drew a gift wrapped in blue velvet from his bag and presented it to her. “I hope you will think of me every time you look on it,” he said, humbly. “I had it created especially for you.”

Jane unwrapped the gift and stared in wonder at the leather-bound book, her name embossed in gold on the cover. “Jane Shore’s Book of Hours,” she read and opened it to the frontispiece.

For those hours when I am not with you. Remember me in your prayers as I always do you
, he had written in his bold hand. Jane gentled open the pages and gasped in astonishment at the magnificent illuminations painted among the prayers. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she declared, and putting it down carefully on the table, she wrapped her arms about him and thanked him.

For the next hour, they sat side by side on the cushions, drinking in the sweet smell of lavender, hyssop, and marjoram sprinkled in among the fresh rushes on the tiled floor, and turning the pages of the exquisite book. “Master Caxton recommended the work of his associate Wynken de Worde, and thus the illuminations have that Flemish look,” Will explained. “I thought you would like it more than another jewel. Edward showered you with them, and I wanted to do something different. I am so happy you like it.”

“Like it?” Jane cried, not reminding him of Edward’s book. “It is more beautiful than any jewel I have ever owned, and I am humbled by the gift. I suppose I should reciprocate with a token, should I not?”

Will brazenly reached inside her bodice and touched her breast.
“This is all I ask, Jane,” he said huskily. “That you love and pleasure me until the day I am too old to care.”

“Then my token is easily given, my lord,” and she stood, slowly undressing herself for him until her scarlet chemise fell about her feet and she was completely naked.

“Dance for me, Jane,” Will requested, his arousal trapped in his codpiece. “Let me see you move like the sea nymph you are.”

Jane laughed and began swaying sensually to and fro, using her arms above her head as though she were indeed in the sea. She, too, was aroused by the experience and soon her nipples hardened, standing up like tiny pink shells on the satiny skin of her breasts. Will tore off the rest of his clothes and began to sway with her, his hands caressing every undulating curve until he could wait no longer. Picking her up he carried her to the bed and, laying her on the rich coverlet, proceeded to kiss every inch of her compliant body.

“Come to me, Will, my Poseidon,” Jane begged him, smiling seductively. “Tonight I think my need is greater than yours.”

I
f Ankarette heard cries of passion in the room below, she would never have admitted it to Jane; she was always content when her mistress was happy. But she grumbled mightily to be woken by a loud knocking an hour after compline, and hoping the pompous steward Martin would open the front door, she hid her head under her bedcovering and ignored it. She was thus mortified when she heard Lord Hastings’s voice demand of the visitor, “Why the late call, sirrah? The watch will be alerted by all that racket.” She decided then to leave well alone, go back to sleep, and pretend she had never heard a thing.

The messenger stepped into the hall, and recognizing Lord Stanley’s cognizance, Will shepherded him into the empty kitchen. “Well, sir. What means this disturbance? It had better be important.”

The young man bowed and apologized. “My lord Stanley sent
me to tell you that he has had a terrible dream.” He stared at the floor, embarrassed by his flimsy mission.

“Christ’s nails!” Will hissed. “A dream. Has the man lost his senses?” Then, aware now he was only in his shirt, Will waved him on. He wondered vaguely how the man had known to find him at Jane’s.

“I shall attempt to relate the dream word for word, as Lord Stanley instructed, my lord. He was dreaming of the council meeting on the morrow when a wild boar charged into the room and gouged both your and my lord Stanley’s heads with its tusks, and the blood ran down your faces to your shoulders. He said I should remind you that the protector’s badge—”

“Is a white boar. I know,” Hastings interrupted, shaking his head in frustration. “And I suppose your lord believes in this superstition? Pah! Well, I do not, in truth. A dream is merely a dream. Pray thank Lord Stanley for his well-meaning concern, but I am going back to bed. I give you a good night, sir.”

He held open the front door and saw the messenger safely out.

Jane had lit a candle for the sconce on the bedpost and was absently braiding her hair when Will returned. “Who was that, my lord?”

“That woman Stanley had had a bad dream, ’tis all.”

“Margaret Beaufort? Why would she send someone here?”

“Nay, I did not mean Stanley’s wife, Jane, I was referring to that lord’s womanly mind. He saw the dream as a portent. I grant you ’twas unusual”—he described it to Jane—“but fanciful.”

A shiver of fear ran up Jane’s spine, and she pulled the bedclothes up to her chin. “Fanciful indeed, Will. Perhaps you should not attend the meeting tomorrow?”

“Not you, too, Jane,” Will teased as he got back under the covers. “Stanley has a flea up his arse about these small meetings, ’tis all. He looks for meanings behind every event, every utterance, and he is curious why Gloucester insists on these splinter
meetings. I think, like Gloucester, that small groups can accomplish more, and I certainly am more comfortable with Edward’s old councilors. Gloucester’s cronies are mostly unknown to us. Tomorrow we will all be together to discuss young Ned’s coronation. ’Twill be a merry meeting for a change.” He turned on his side and cradled Jane to him. “Now this old man needs his sleep or he will not wake in time to go and prove Stanley wrong in his fears.” It took Will longer than he expected to fall asleep, but he did not resent the time he had to cherish Jane’s body. He felt guilty he had not brought up the topic of her removal from the house she loved, but he wanted nothing more to spoil the solace he had found holding her in his arms following the disturbing meeting at Crosby Place.

Jane, on her part, sent a prayer to St. Elizabeth to keep Will safe. She did not admit to her lover that she, too, had a woman’s fear of omens and that it had occurred to her that the meeting would fall on Friday, the thirteenth.

“I
am come to keep you company on the walk to the meeting,” Thomas Howard greeted Will at dawn the next day after being shown into the hall. “It is a pleasant enough day for a walk, my lord.”

Will clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “And my waist could do with the exercise,” he said, patting his paunch. “Forgive me, my lord, I will not keep you but a moment. I have forgotten something important.” And he winked at Howard.

He went back into the solar, where Jane was seated on the cushions, playing with her little dog. She looked up when he entered.

“Did you forget something, my lord?”

Will knelt on the floor and took her face in his hands. “Aye, sweetheart. How could I go without one final kiss.”

Jane was touched. “But, Will, you kissed me before you went to greet Sir Thomas. You are becoming as foolish as a spellbound young lover,” she teased.

“Aye, I think I am bewitched,” he teased, smiling. “Come kiss me, my little witch.”

Their lips met in a gentle kiss: Will’s was born of contentment after years of aching for her; Jane’s of kindness and a love born of friendship.

“I love you, Will,” she said, pulling away and looking up into his eyes.

Will’s heart leaped, and he tightened his hold on her. “There is naught so precious as a love that is reciprocated, my dearest. I leave you mine as I take yours with me. You have made me the happiest man on earth today, my Jane.”

Then he kissed her again and at once decided that now was the moment to break the news. “When I am gone, I want you to think about finding another house. This one, in truth, belongs to the Crown, and I have no right to keep you here.” Seeing a fleeting disappointment cloud her expression, he laughed at her. “Do not fret, my dear. We will find one with a garden down to the river. Be of good cheer.” Jane smiled, and he was satisfied. “Now, I must go. I shall be back before noon, I promise,” he said as he opened the door to rejoin Howard.

“ ’Tis what you always say, Will Hastings,” Jane teased. “I shall believe you when I see you, and not before.” They shared a laugh as she gently pushed him out into the hall.

“Then I shall have the last laugh, my dear,” Will said and blew her another kiss.

“L
ead on, Sir Thomas,” a jaunty Will told his friend. “The sooner we get there and do our business, the sooner I can return.”

The two men walked and talked as the wharfs came to life along Thames Street and yawning citizens left their beds and went about their daily routines. Approaching the Tower gate from Tower Street, Will recognized a priest exiting All Hallows Church and hailed him.

“Father John, it has been an age since we last met. How do you fare?” Will asked, cheerily.

Before the cleric could elaborate on how much his hips ached these days, Howard said impatiently, “Why linger, Lord Hastings. Unless you have need of a priest for some reason.” Seeing Will’s puzzled frown, he laughed. “Nay, you have no need of one yet.”

“Let us pray you are right,” Will replied, and they all enjoyed the joke. “We shall continue this conversation anon, Father.” Behind his hand, he added, “This young man is impatient to sit in a dull council meeting, and I should not detain him from it.” In good spirits, Will and Thomas proceeded through the several gates and into the Tower’s inner bailey.

The handsome White Tower, enlarged and beautified by Henry the Third, almost glowed in the soft rays of the rising sun as several councilors arrived at once and climbed the steps to the entry.

“God give you a good morning, Stanley,” Will greeted the former king’s steward. “I trust you slept better after your nightmare?”

Thomas Stanley grunted. “I hear you were unmoved, my lord. I confess in the light of day it assumed a less threatening vision, but still, I shall be wary,” he vowed, seeing Buckingham watching them, “as should you.”

John Morton, his piggy face pink from the exertion of so many stairs, waved to Will and waddled his way to a chair. “Good morrow, Lord Hastings, and God has given us a beautiful morning to plan the coronation, has he not?”

Thomas had moved on to greet his father and Archbishop Rotherham, and Hastings scanned the room, perplexed. Those present comprised his usual small group of Edward’s stalwarts. “I thought this was to be a full meeting of the council, my lord Buckingham. Where are the others?”

Buckingham came forward and explained that Richard had changed his mind and sent Bishop Russell and the other councilors
to meet at Westminster. “My lord of Gloucester will be here shortly,” he promised. “Let us go in, shall we?”