“Get out.”

“My lady.” I curtsied.

“Get out. Or I will lay evidence before the authorities that you plied me with witches’ condiments.”

“Your evidence is worthless.” For Edward’s sake, I would not allow my temper to rule.

“Get out of my sight.”

I did. I did not try again. Joan was too eaten up with hatred. I told Edward nothing of my interview. He did not deserve to know.

Witchcraft. Maleficium.

The vicious accusation continued to buzz in my brain, like a persistent bee in the depths of a foxglove flower. There was no evidence that Joan could use against me; of that I was certain, since there had never been any bewitchment, but it was too dangerous an accusation to be taken lightly.

Evidence could be fabricated, could it not?



Chapter Twelve



I had caught Windsor off guard in the audience chamber. Holy Virgin! If I had jolted him out of his habitual sangfroid, he all but stunned me. He swept the rushes from beneath my feet.

It did not start off well. We had moved on in our royal perambulations from Woodstock to Sheen, where a weighty delegation had arrived from France to begin negotiations for a permanent truce. I intervened. On instructions from me, Latimer sent the delegation away. I watched them go, aware of their furious dissatisfaction. They made no attempt to hide it.

“Dangerous, Mistress Perrers!”

The voice was at my elbow.

“And what does that mean?” I scowled indiscriminately at the departing delegation of angry, highborn Frenchmen and at Windsor.

“It won’t be popular.”

“What won’t?”

“Dictating who will and who will not see the King.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

How could I not know? This was not the first time Latimer and I had intervened between king and petitioner. Did I need Windsor to tell me how much resentment there was? As for resentment…I glared at the man at my side. I resented his presence. I resented his opinion. In that moment I resented everything about William de Windsor.

“You’re playing with fire,” he stated. Such an obvious statement.

“I know that too.”

“It will put a weapon into the hands of those who would be rid of you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“So why do it?”

He could think ill of me if he wished. There he stood, regarding me with an element of deep suspicion that did nothing to improve my mood. I did not need this, not at this precise moment. I’d had enough hard words from the Princess to last a lifetime. But if Windsor would condemn me without a hearing, then so be it!

“I won’t talk to you now! I don’t have to answer for my actions to you!”

And then suddenly, overwhelmingly, I wished he would wrap his arms around me and allow me to lean against him. What I would not give for a moment of ease, to realize that I was not alone. I would like him to stroke my arm as if I were a soft-furred cat, fold my fingers close within his, and tell me that all would be well.…

Of course, all would not be well! Immediately I took a step back, away from him, shivering at my appalling show of weakness, determined that Windsor should never read the turmoil in my mind. I would not make excuses. I would not explain. I realized that he was staring at me intently, and so I hurried to follow Latimer and the angry delegation, to make my escape. I did not think I could keep my reactions under a firm hand for much longer. I swallowed when hot tears gathered in my throat.

Windsor stopped me by the simple method of stepping in front of me. “Come with me,” he ordered curtly.

“No!”

Regardless, he took my wrist and pulled me out of the now-deserted audience chamber.

“And let go of me. Do you want every riffraff in the palace to be talking of us?” He released me, but I followed, knowing that if I did not comply, he would repeat the performance. “Where are we going?”

Since I got no reply, I marched sullenly at his side, still disturbed by the recent confrontation, the disbelieving stare of the French when Latimer offered to begin the negotiations himself. Even more unsettled by Windsor’s judgment of my motives. When I found myself hustled into a corridor leading to an outer door, I balked. Halted.

“No!”

“Why is a woman always difficult when a man has her best interests at heart?” he asked, returning to intimidate me with his height and breadth in the narrow passage.

“You have only your own interests at heart. I’ve never met anyone as self-interested as you,” I fired back, all my thoughts awry. “In fact…”

“By God, woman…!” He pinned me against the wall, regardless of who might be traversing the corridor—fortunately no one—and he kissed me. It was not a kiss of mild affection. I wasn’t sure what it was. When he lifted his head, I had no breath left to speak.

“Silence! At last!”

“Are you out of your mind…? Will you release…!” Lord, how that kiss had stirred my blood. My heart bounded against my ribs like a ferret in a hunter’s cage.

He kissed me again. All heat and power, appallingly seductive, and my will to resist was stripped away. When he released my mouth I simply stood, my senses compromised.

“Excellent! Now be a biddable girl for once in your life.…”

He had kissed me, as far as I could tell, with thorough enjoyment, but his face was stern, his thoughts preoccupied. And because I wanted to, I walked beside him, conscious of his nearness, the brush of his tunic against my arm at a turn in the stair. And then we were out in the open, climbing to the wall walk, under clouds that were low and brooding, much like my humor. There we came to stand, looking east, and I waited, limbs still shaking, wondering whether he would kiss me again. I hoped that he might, despised him for trapping me in this unexpected passion; I despised myself. I had no intention of cuckolding Edward, in private or under public gaze. The palace guards were far too obvious, far too watchful, and I retained some sense of honor even as my heart galloped like a panicked horse.

“Tell me what’s troubling you,” he invited when the silence between us grew heavy.

“Nothing. Since you think the worst of me…”

“It’s the King, I presume.”

“How should it be…?”

“Alice…! You can’t deny it any longer. He’s beyond sense. At this moment you need a friend, and I’m the nearest you’ll get. So tell me the truth.”

My determination to keep silent, to protect Edward at all costs, drained away. Yes, I needed a friend to help me shoulder the increasingly difficult burden. Wykeham was in Winchester. I would not put myself in Gaunt’s hands. So that left Windsor.…But was he that friend? There he stood, dark and saturnine, the epitome of louche self-serving. And yet there was in his face, completely unexpected, a kindness.…Why not…?

“Yes. It’s Edward.”

“You’re guarding him.”

“Yes. What would you have me do? Put him on show in London for his subjects to gawp at?” Still I was defensive.

“At least then you could not be accused of manipulating an old man for your own ends. Keeping it secret is dangerous, Alice.”

“I won’t do it! You are not helpful!”

“I’m trying to be realistic!”

Still I resisted, but in the end I told him everything. How Edward’s bright spirit was once more in eclipse, his actions unpredictable. Who could persuade him that it was not good policy to order every bridge in Oxfordshire to be repaired or rebuilt, simply because he wished to go hawking from Woodstock? I could not. The King was incapable of committing England to any future policy. How long could Latimer and I, and the rest of the loyal ministers, pretend that Edward was fit to be King? Edward barely knew the day of the week. His physicians could do nothing to alleviate his loss of awareness.

“And so that’s why I try to protect him as much as I can,” I finished. “Next week—tomorrow, even—his senses may return.”

“How admirable you are.”

“No. I’m not. But I care too much to allow him to come under attack from those who might question his right to rule.”

“Some would say that you do it for your own ends. To bolster the King’s power is to preserve that of Alice Perrers.”

“Which is entirely true, of course.” Sharp irony coated the air between us. “How could anyone think I had any concern for the King’s well-being?” I turned away, furious that once again he voiced familiar calumny against me.

“I didn’t say I believed it,” he retorted. “I think I need to distract you a little.”

“By kissing me?” Suddenly I was afraid of my weakness with this man, afraid of the burn of tears beneath my eyelids. I was far too emotional. “I hope you won’t.”

“No. Or not yet, at any rate. Later I might.…”

The preoccupation was back. Windsor had other thoughts on his mind. Womanlike, I resented his preoccupation and strolled away, angry with my twisted emotions, despairing at how easily I was maneuvered into opening my heart to this man, leaving him to lean on the stone coping and sweep an arm over the battlements to take in the view.

“I have a handful of estates in Essex,” he remarked.

Neutral territory. I strolled back. “I know.”

“I plan to have more.”

“I know that too. Have you brought me all the way up here to tell me something of so little news?” My mood was horribly unpredictable.

“No. I want to ask you something. And from the scene I just witnessed, it’s becoming imperative.”

He leaned on the parapet, chin resting on his folded arms, and glowered at the scene below, where one of the palace cats took its morning slink amongst the rabbit holes on the riverbank. I waited in silence. Then he turned his head to look at me.