The Thornless Rose (29 page)

Women had instincts about these matters, he realized, and perhaps Anne had revealed her feelings to her ladyship. Besides, he had felt his bond with Anne growing since their wedding night, and especially after Norfolk’s attack. There was no denying it now; this was long past being a marriage of convenience.

Nerves muddled Brandon’s thoughts, but he thrust them aside, consequences be damned, because she was his and he loved her. He drew a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his brow, pushed through the shrubs, and suddenly saw the lake—and his wife.

His mind came into sharp focus.
Annie!
He crouched, looking through the tangle of weeds, hardly breathing. She floated several yards from shore. The brilliant light of the afternoon sun played off the little wavelets that formed around her head, the sporadic sweep of her hands, the occasional surfacing of her lovely breasts.

Glancing about, Brandon wasn’t sure how he should announce his presence. Surely, anything he tried was going to startle her. If he could just cause a minimum of fright.

What to do? He watched her languorous meanderings in the lake, noting that a lock of her auburn hair had wrapped itself around a nipple as she lolled on her back. How he ached for her!

Then, concentrating on Anne’s peaceful expression, Brandon made a decision.
She does look rather bored
, he reassured himself with a smile,
like she needs a bit of action, doesn’t she?
He looked down at his travel-stained clothes and nodded.
I need a swim, too.

His smile deepened.

Rising up, he tore at his clothes, all the while keeping his gaze on her. She was still oblivious to his presence; her head was back, her eyes closed, her ears beneath the water.

“Blast,” he muttered as he waded past the reeds into the cold lake.

Before slipping beneath the surface, he grinned.
Here I come, Annie
.

…

Anne let out a piercing scream as something—fingers? —touched her leg. She opened her eyes, the rush of adrenaline causing her to take in a mouthful of water and thrash about like a wounded fish.

Coughing, gasping, she heard a man’s voice call out, “Annie! It’s me! Jonathan!”

“You bastard!” she cried in surprise, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re home!”

“Forgive me,” he said with a devilish grin. “Honestly, I couldn’t think of another way to tell you––”

“You scared me half to death!”

His arms enveloped her and he pulled her close.

“You’re home, you’re finally home,” Anne said.

“I’ve missed you terribly, darling.”

They kissed treading water, her mind whirling. He’d never called her that before.
Darling, darling, darling
.

“You delicious bastard, you’re forgiven. I’m so glad you’re back.”

He kissed her again, then they swam to the near shore, to a place where they could both touch bottom.

Jonathan ran a hand over her shoulder. Eying her approvingly, he said, “You’ve gained weight.”

She smiled, then took his hands and placed them on her breasts. “I’m getting positively buxom, aren’t I? Cath has been feeding me very well these last few days.”

Staring into her eyes, he continued to touch her gently as he whispered, “Darling, would you mind? Might I...?” His voice trailed off as his lips found the hollow of her throat.

She groaned inwardly. God Almighty, he was too polite. She lowered her voice and tried to imitate his sexy British accent. “Might I boff you now, madam? Is that what you were trying to say?”

He laughed and then guided her hand to his body. Her fingers moved over the full, pulsing length of him. She grinned.

His eyes closed, and he gave a little moan as she found a particularly sensitive spot.

“Oh ye—yes,” he said, gasping, “I’m at your mercy, in any case!”

“I can tell—no shrinkage here,” Anne said, giggling as she released him, then covered his mouth with hers.

Laughing through the kisses, he lifted her up, then settled her body upon his hips.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, and immediately his expression grew serious, his gaze ardent as he entered her.

It was just them, no one else in the world, no cares, no thoughts except the intensity of the moment, and pleasure surged through her each time he thrust.

“Hmmm,” he murmured. “Oh Annie, darling, that feels so marvelous.”

Smiling, she closed her eyes and hung on to his shoulders.
Darling, darling, darling
.

…

Lit with the blush of the setting sun, Anne and Jonathan walked back to Kew, hand in hand.

“Here already,” he said, halting by the garden’s rock wall. He reached for the latch of the wooden gate, then hesitated. “Before we go inside...” His voice died away as he looked past her, frowning at the horizon.

He stood there, unmoving and silent. It was she who finally broke the quiet. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking of something her ladyship said.” He smiled a bit grimly, as if he had just come to a decision.

She stared at him. “Jon, is something wrong?”

“No. Hush. Just stand here with me.” He pulled her close, then leaned back against the wall, cradling her, stroking her damp hair.

She settled against him. In silence, they contemplated the setting sun.

When it was finally swallowed up by the horizon, he lifted her hair from her neck and found her skin with his lips. “I love you, Anne,” he whispered. “I have never known anything like this before. I love you.”

She closed her eyes, lost in the moment, knowing this would never have happened but for the time travel.

Only here, she thought, only here in this maddening, frightening, wonderful era.

She didn’t try to blink back her tears when she looked at him. “I love you, too, Jonathan. You are everything to me, everything.”

As twilight deepened from dusky rose to dark amethyst, while the stars winked into view, they held each other and gazed up.

And she knew their love was boundless, eternal, like the heavens above.

Part Four

Chapter Thirty-One

They were going to Oxford for Amy Dudley’s funeral, and, afterward, finally, they would be heading home to Smithfield. A gray, misty fog wafted through the courtyard at Kew, carrying the telltale scent of the distant sea.

In silence, Anne walked arm in arm with her husband. They followed the Hastings toward their coach, the men sober in their dark attire; the ladies’ black satin gowns rustling, the only sound.

As they settled inside, Lord Henry Hastings gestured toward Jonathan’s medical bag. “Thou needn’t haul that along. Send it home with the rest of the baggage.”

Jonathan shook his head. “I’ve been caught without it before, much to my patients’ detriment, and will not travel without it again, not even for a day.”

Hastings grunted, taking out a square of silk, and placing it over his nose and mouth. “I am made very evil of ease,” he said, his tone muffled, “with this foul murk in the air.”

“The fog holds no contagion,” Jonathan countered. “Trust my judgment, and breathe easily.”

“I agree with Jonathan,” Lady Catherine said. “Thy worries on this day need only be for Amy’s soul and for mine own poor brother.”

“Aye, you’ve both made your points.” Hastings reluctantly stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket.

As the coach pulled away, Anne looked back at Kew, hoping to spot Dudley. She wished he’d been sober long enough to see them off.

“Thou hast been kind to care so, Anne.” Lady Catherine patted her hand. “Robert will miss thy presence, but he’ll come ’round. The local vicar will be with him shortly, and they’ll have a private service.”

“I know, Cath, but it seems cruel he can’t attend his wife’s funeral. I don’t understand. How’s he supposed to get any closure?”

“Anne.” Jonathan’s voice held a cautionary note.

Lady Catherine nodded. “I understand what thy wife meant, Doctor.” She looked at Anne. “’Twould be unseemly for Robert to appear before the crowd, for he is not well quieted as yet. I have seen him in this sorry state only once afore, when Robbie...” Her voice trailed off with a sigh.

Hastings took his wife’s trembling hand. “Anne, to put one’s sore emotions on display wouldst be terribly undignified for everyone involved. It just isn’t done.”

“I see.” Letting go of the conversation, Anne rested her head against Jonathan’s shoulder. She closed her eyes, remembering the past few weeks, hoping Amy had found peace in the end, knowing Dudley had not.

…

“Annie?”

Someone shook her shoulder, and she rose out of a dreamy sleep.

“We’re here, darling,” Jonathan said. “In Oxford.”

“I fell asleep?” Sitting up, Anne glanced out of the carriage window to get her bearings. She saw a church built of golden stone, with a tower and tall steeple, then spotted the Hastings speaking with Lady Mary and Sir Henry Sidney, Catherine and Dudley’s sister and brother-in-law.

Anne studied Lady Mary’s face; she was beautiful, her creamy complexion exquisite against the darkness of her hair and eyes. She watched as Mary gently kissed Catherine’s cheek, the two sisters consoling each other, united in grief.

Beyond them, everyone else milled about and chatted, crowds of exquisitely dressed people reminding Anne of the racetrack scene from
My Fair Lady
. Resplendent, black-clothed gentlemen paraded past the coach, their women wearing sumptuous gowns of satin or silk, white stripes or silver sashes offsetting the otherwise pitch-dark dresses. All shone in their funerary best—opulent lace, fur, pearls, and jewels, even enormous ostrich plumes.

Jonathan took Anne’s hand. “Come, they’re waiting for us.” He helped her from the coach.

Mourners flanked the cobbled square, standing eight and ten deep, awaiting the arrival of the casket. All around her, Anne could hear snippets of conversation, but never a sniffle, let alone a sob.

“I’ve heard from an impeccable source Dudley spent upward of five hundred pounds on the funeral. Hast thou ever heard of such extravagance?”

“Ah, thou art quite misinformed. I’ve a servant who has a relation within the Cumnor household, who swears he’s seen the accounts. Two thousand and not a farthing less is what he swears to.”

“Lord have mercy!”

“Wanting to ease his conscience, one might suppose?”

“For certs. But, from what sort of misdeed is his conscience suffering, one might ask?”

“Indeed, indeed––”

Anne frowned. Gossip and a fashion show. Poor Amy deserved better.

Suddenly, the
boom
of distant drums marked a measured cadence. A hush enveloped the crowd, and the funeral cortège appeared at the far end of the square. Anne saw peasants leading the way.

Lady Catherine whispered, “Amy had a gentle, giving heart and cared for the needy wherever she resided. She’ll have left alms in her will for their provision. ’Tis their way to acknowledge her gifts and give thanks.”

“There must be close to a hundred of them,” Anne said, realizing she had witnessed something like this before, at Princess Diana’s funeral.

Men with fur-trimmed cloaks came into view, golden chains of office draped around their shoulders. “The faculty of Gloucester College,” Lady Catherine continued, “upon which grounds this church stands. I believe the queen made a bequest in Amy’s honor.”

Anne spotted a lone man marching in front of the caisson, which was pulled by a pair of gleaming black horses. Trumpets blared, sending tingles down her spine.

The man called out, “Hear ye! Hear ye! The Right Honorable Lady Amy Robsart Dudley, Christian woman and Sister in Christ, passeth before you now, worthy of your prayers, worthy of your praise, worthy of all admiration, both now and forever!”

Jonathan put his arm around Anne’s shoulder and drew her close.

A dozen beautifully-gowned women trailed behind the casket, weeping and moaning. Anne saw ragged pieces of burlap on their heads and hair that was matted and filthy. Sack cloth and ashes, of course.

The cortège stopped before the church and began to sing a solemn Latin chant. The voices swelled, gradually rolling, climbing, one upon the other, building to a beautiful mountain of sound, rising to the heavens. The words poured over Anne, surrounded her, pulled her in. Tears welled and ran freely down her cheeks.

“Here, darling,” Jonathan whispered. Kissing her gently on the brow, he handed her his handkerchief.

The mourning song faded, the trumpets sounded briefly once more, the drums resumed their cadence. The cortège moved into the church.

As the crowd jostled for position, the Hastings and Brandons were swept apart. Jonathan maneuvered Anne up to the balcony just as the service started.

Time passed slowly for her as the prelate’s voice echoed around the balcony. Anne gazed down at her wedding ring and thought of all it meant to her. It was tragic Amy Dudley hadn’t found what she’d found. She glanced at Jonathan’s elegant profile, saw the sensual curve of his lips. Dudley was handsome, too, but he didn’t have Jonathan’s strength of character.

The service ended. Jonathan clasped Anne’s hand, his fingers strong and warm as they stood and made their way outside into blinding sunshine.

A vaguely familiar voice gushed at her side, “Mistress! Mistress Brandon—Doctor, ’tis so lovely to meet again. I don’t believe you’ve met mine own husband, His Grace, the duke of Norfolk.”

Anne felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her chest.

“Husband, this is Dr. Brandon and his new bride.”

Stunned, Anne’s heart pounded as she gripped Jonathan’s arm and stared at the duchess, refusing to let her eyes leave the woman’s face.

“Doctor, I must tell thee about mine own dear stepson, Philip,” the woman prattled. “He simply cannot stop speaking about thy wealth of kindness at the wedding. He is quite sure thou art a gallant knight out of the old stories. ’Tis really quite enchanting to hear him go on and on about how he wants to be like thee.” Beaming, she glanced at Norfolk. “The doctor hath gained a great reputation at––”

“Silence, Margaret! I know the man quite well enough.”

“I—oh, I hadn’t realized. Oh!” she stammered as her husband jerked her away.

“I know the man,” Norfolk sneered over his shoulder, “and I shalt come to know the woman as well.”

Anne clung to Jonathan, drawing comfort from his muscles, tense as they were. “Don’t go after him, Jon. Don’t you dare!”

“That vile bastard,” he growled.

“Doctor? Jonathan Brandon?” A man suddenly appeared next to them, wearing the queen’s crest.

Jonathan turned an angry gaze upon him. “What?”

The liveried servant looked taken aback. “Er, the queen... Her Majesty requests thy presence at Windsor, Doctor. She asks thee to come swiftly, for another of her head pains hath taken hold. I have a carriage at the ready.”

As they turned to leave, Anne heard the duchess exclaim, “Didst thou hear, my lord husband? The good doctor is off again to treat the queen with one of his famous elixirs.”