“Mistress Alice, you have a mischievous tongue. There’s life in the old dog yet.” He turned his face into the curve of my breast, kissing the damp hollow where my heart still shivered with physical delight. “I can still fell a knight half my age with a lance and a good horse beneath me.”

“And still reduce a woman to abject surrender…” I trailed a hand down his shoulder, pressing my palm against his ribs, feeling the answering solid beat.

“I thought I was the one to surrender.”

“Perhaps you did. You deserved to be defeated by a woman after all your male pride today. Wykeham will surely lecture you on how sinful it is.”

He rolled to hold my face between his hands so that I could not avoid his gaze, even if I had wished to. “My victory was for you too, Alice. Never doubt that.”

“No, it was not.” The green-eyed grub in the heart of the sweet apple was not quite dead. “You didn’t think to ask for my guerdon, as I recall.”

My tone was light but not altogether teasing, and he took me seriously, as he often did when I challenged him. “The thought was in my heart. This duplicity does not sit well with me.”

I stifled a sigh and kissed him, allowing him the victory. Were we not both guilty of hypocrisy? “The Queen was the obvious choice as your lady, and you fought magnificently for her,” I assured him. “You gave her great pleasure.”

It was like executing a complicated dance step to which I was not accustomed, but, by God, my skills were improving. “The Queen dressed in red and gold to please you. To be the center of your vision and wish you victory.”

“Rich colors always suited her.” He smiled reflectively, and then his eyes focused, sparkling. “Now, you were perfect in silver and blue. And are even more perfect without any clothing at all…”

Edward’s energies were prodigious.

As I was preparing to leave him, braving Wykeham’s silent enmity, Edward cast a jeweled chain around my neck with careless generosity. He had worn it at the feast that had followed the tournament. I lifted the links in my hand as it lay on my breast, and stared at it.

“What’s wrong?” Edward asked gruffly.

“You don’t know?”

“No. I think it becomes you.”

“I cannot accept this, Edward. I really can’t!”

“Why not?”

“I thought you wished to be discreet.” I took it off and placed it over his head so that it gleamed with far more power against the muscles of his own chest. “There’s nothing discreet about it. The golden links would curb a horse, and the sapphires are the size of pigeon’s eggs.” He was not pleased, as I could see by the flare of his nostrils. I must have a care with his pride, but I must also safeguard my still-precarious position. A wise woman would not stir up more trouble than she needed. “Give me this instead,” I said, and reached to where the Queen’s scarf lay. And with it the brooch that had pinned the scarf to his sash.

“It is a small thing, Alice,” he remonstrated, brows flattening ominously into a line. “Of no value.”

“It is of great value,” I purred persuasively, holding it on my palm. “You wore it in the thick of battle. I would like it for my own. And I can wear it without ostentation. See sense, Edward. How could I wear a chain like that without every finger at Court being pointed at me?”

Edward grunted his acquiescence. “Very well, madam. I’ll be persuaded. But one day I’ll give you what I choose.”

“And one day I’ll let you.” And I knew that, at some distant point in the future, I would.

He pinned the simple jewel, a gold circle set with pinpoints of emeralds, to the linen of my shift, where it gleamed with a strange ostentation against the plain fabric. “This is not easy for you, is it?” It was not the first time he had asked the question. Nor was my reply any different.

“No. How would it be easy?”

“Am I selfish in demanding that you play this role?”

“Yes. But you are King. Are you not allowed to be selfish?”

He laughed, his humor restored, if a little wry.

I kept the brooch. Amongst the jewels that Philippa had given me it went unobserved. One day, as Edward had intimated, I would not be so discreet. One day I would not have need to be, but the obvious reason for this broke my heart. As long as the Queen lived, discretion must rule.

“Are you going to remain silent?” I demanded of Wykeham as he escorted me once more along the route I knew only too well. “You can’t refuse to speak to me forever. When did you become so prudish?”

“When I perjured my soul in keeping the King’s disgraceful secret,” he responded without looking at me. “I’m leaving Havering to undertake some building at Windsor,” he added through his teeth.

“I wager you’ll find that more rewarding than associating with me.”

“God’s Wounds, I shall!”

“But I’ll still be here when you return,” I could not resist adding with a spark of naughty levity.

“I’ll pray for a miracle that you are not!”

Wykeham went to Windsor to build a new tower. I missed him. I missed his severity and his honesty, but I no longer needed him as an escort, for I was given a room of my own, with freedom to make my own way to the royal accommodations. So my position was laid bare before the whole Court, yet the conspiracy of silence for Philippa’s sake continued.

And when it did not?

“Whore!” hissed an ill-advised damsel when her moral indignation got the better of her good sense.

The result was a succinct audience with the Queen. Her possessions were packed, and she left Court within the day. I had enemies, but I had friends too, who were far more powerful. I still trod carefully, but with growing poise and confidence in every step. How would I not? Philippa’s royal gown—all blue and silver and costly fur—was recut and restitched so that it fit me perfectly. I gloried in its possession.



Chapter Seven



Philippa was ill—a return of the old complaint that never entirely left her. I rubbed salve into the taut skin of Philippa’s hands as gently as I could.

“You are sad, my lady,” I observed. Not even lute music lifted her spirits.

“I feel the weight of every year of my life today.”

She missed Edward. She missed his company and the unquestioning love in his face when he looked at her. With him she was once again the young girl—but without him she sank into gloom, and the hours dragged their feet. As if latching onto my thoughts she winced and pulled her hand away, suddenly petulant.

“Forgive me, my lady.”

She shook her head. “I need to consider the arrangements.…”

“Arrangements, my lady?” She allowed me to scoop up more of the salve, leaves and petals of violets pounded into mutton fat, evil-smelling but good to relieve hot swellings.

“For my death.”

My fingers hesitated before continuing their task. I had not realized the depth of her melancholy. “There is no need.…” I tried to soothe her.

“But there is. I need to prepare an effigy—for my tomb.”

“You have many years, my lady.”

“I do not. You know I don’t.” I looked up to find her dark eyes fixed on me, willing me to tell the truth. “You know! Don’t lie to me, Alice,” she whispered. “You of all people…”

And so I told her what I saw in her face, because I owed it to her.

“I know, my lady. I’ll not lie,” I whispered back.

A slight smile touched her mouth. “I want my effigy to look like me, not some slim young girl—something I haven’t been for too many years. If ever…”

“Then we shall arrange it,” I said. “Tell me what you want me to do to help you.”

Philippa released her hand from mine and placed it under my chin, lifting and turning my face to the oblique light from the window. She ran her thumb over the line of my jaw.

I remained perfectly still, the silk of my bodice barely stirring.

“Well?” she asked. Her hands dropped away as if she had been burned, and thus released, I met her gaze as fearlessly as I could. “There’s a translucence about you, Alice. And a fullness in your face that I don’t recall.…”

Still I said nothing. The Queen sighed, her eyes clouded with a mix of emotion. “I’ve carried twelve children, Alice. With some I’ve suffered. With some I’ve rejoiced. I know the signs. I’m right, am I not?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I suppose he does not know?”

“No. He does not.”

Because I did not know how to tell him. It had been the one thought in my head since that morning, almost two months ago now, when my predicament forced me to my knees with an oath of despair when I vomited into the noxious depths of the garderobe, then staggered to slide down the wall when my knees trembled and gave way. The King, potent in all things, had got a child on me within three months of Edward’s eye and Philippa’s mind alighting on me.

I now saw my predicament reflected in Philippa’s expression. Edward valued his image as the King who upheld all that was good and moral in England: a mirror for his people. Would he want a bastard foisted upon him by a hapless girl whom he had honored with his attentions? Before God, he would not. And Philippa? If I were the King’s legal wife, I knew how I would react to his upstart mistress swelling before my eyes with the evidence of his bastard, forcing her mountainous belly on the attention of the Court. If I were Philippa, I would have the whore whipped from my sight. Conscious of how vulnerable I was, I saw my precarious future hanging in the balance as I sat back on my heels, the violet salve forgotten by both of us, and waited for the blow to fall.

Philippa considered me. When she spoke her voice was as hard as the pestle with which I had ground the tender violet petals. “Go and pack your belongings. I think it’s time you left Court.”