Still warmer. It delights my heart to feel the glow:

My lord made the burning start—I love him so.”

“Alice…You have a beautiful voice.” The slight slurring of his words that always returned when he grew weary was very evident. “I think that was one of the first things I noticed about you.”

“I doubt it!” I laughed a little at the memory. “I think I was shrieking like a fishwife in the chapel at Havering when I was accused of theft! And you were tied up with your clock.”

“I had forgotten.…” He sought my hand and his fingers tightened around mine. I could feel his eyes on my face, on my lips, as I read the final tender lines.

“This fire in my heart is nourished by

My lord’s kisses and his gentle touch;

And shining from his radiant eye the light is such

That neither earth nor brilliant sky can show as much.”

“There, you see.” I closed the little book. “Love remains even in the depths of winter and the fullness of years.”

Silence settled around us. He was asleep again, and my heart was full of sorrow that he should mourn the loss of virility so keenly and above all else. We might no longer be lovers, but we were bound together by our past that stretched over well-nigh thirteen years. Even in sleep, his fingers held mine and I knew he was pleased.

For a little time my fears of witchcraft were banished. I would allow nothing to separate us. Not until death released Edward from his present sufferings.

“Is it true?” Wykeham demanded, his voice raw and positively vibrating with disbelief. He had come to Sheen again in a towering fury.

“Is what true? If it’s more empty mouthings of de la Mare that you’ve come to report, then don’t! Just go away!”

I reacted without patience. I was weary beyond my soul. There was no royal audience to distract us this time. Lost in the past, Edward was dictating orders to mark the occasions of the deaths of both his mother and Philippa. And this was after a week when he had spoken not one word to anyone: not to his servants, not to God. Certainly not to me. I had made myself scarce until the doleful ceremony of remembrance was done.

“Is it true?” Wykeham bellowed.

I stood in the center of the Great Hall. “Is what true?”

When Wykeham shouted back, careless of who overheard, I knew my fate was sealed. When he had come to warn me about the charge of necromancy hanging over my neck, he had been the concerned and courteous priest. Now he was the dread harbinger of doom, the executioner. There was no escape for me.

“You actually married him?”

Holy Mother! “Who?” I asked, playing desperately for time.

“You know who!”

Wykeham watched me. He was waiting for me to deny it, while knowing that I couldn’t.

“Yes.” I raised my chin. “Yes, I did.”

“I don’t believe that you would do anything so…so”—he groped for self-control—“so ill-advised!”

“Well, Wykeham! How mealymouthed!” There was nothing genial about my smile. “And how did de la Mare mine that little gem?” I asked. “I thought no one knew.”

“Does it matter?” His voice had dropped to a hiss. “When?”

“Just before he returned to Ireland.”

“That was when? Two years ago? You’ve been wed for two years?” The volume grew again to echo above us. “In God’s name, Alice! What were you thinking?”

I did not want to explain. I did not think I could.

“Does Edward know?” Wykeham threw up his arms as much in despair as anger.

“No.”

“Don’t you realize what you’ve done?” At least Wykeham now had the sense to lower his voice. “You’ve made him an adulterer!”

I lifted a shoulder. “And so were we both when Philippa was alive. Edward did not step back from it then, when he had all the knowledge. What’s the difference?”

Wykeham kicked a foot into the ashes of the open fire, sending up a shower of sparks.

“Why, Alice? Why do it? If it was a roll between the sheets you wanted, why not just do it without the sanction of Holy Mother Church? As for the man you chose! God’s Blood! A more self-interested, unprincipled bastard I have yet to meet.…”

Because…because…I watched the sparks die as they fell into gray dust. Because I loved him. Because beneath the hard-edged ambition and ruthless temperament there was in Windsor a man of rare honesty who actually cared for me. But I would not say this to Wykeham. He would not have believed me.

“I wed him because he asked me.”

“Alice!”

I abandoned the flippancy. “Don’t lecture me, Wykeham. You of all people should know that I must make my future secure. I come from nothing and will return to nothing if I don’t make provision. I will not have my children live in penury or on the charity of others, as I did.”

“Surely you have enough property by now to keep shoes on their feet!”

“Perhaps I need a man to stand for me.”

“But to wed him.”

“He offered when no one else would. It is not adultery. Not in the letter of the law. The King and I are no longer intimate.” The priest in him flushed to his hairline. “Don’t be prudish, Wykeham. It can’t be a surprise to you that the King is incapable.”

“But the King recognized the children you had together. They will never suffer.”

“Yes, he made provision. But will Princess Joan allow the provision to continue when her son is king?” It was a half-buried fear that was quick to resurface. “I dare not risk it. If marriage to Windsor secures my daughters’ dowries and marriage, then I’ll not regret it.”

“What will Edward say?”

Which brought me up short, as he intended. I replied slowly. “He will be hurt, of course.”

“You must tell him. Unless he knows already.”

“Pray God he does not.”

As Wykeham left me alone in the Great Hall, all its spaces empty around me, I thought of the one thing I had not said. I had wed Windsor—a name that had not once been voiced between us—because I loved him. How weak did that make me?

How swiftly gossip flew. Edward knew. There were always those at Court who would make mischief, and Edward’s mind was clear enough.

“You betrayed me, Alice. You betrayed my love for you.”

He rubbed his hands together in incessant repetition, one over the other, his fingers tearing, his nails marking his skin. Guilt-ridden, I fell on my knees, trying to still his fretful clawing, but he would not stop. Edward turned his face from me as he had never done before.

“I don’t want you here.”

I deserved it. All my senses were frozen.

Did the Commons have mercy on me? By God, they did not! In a mood of vengeful exuberance they ordered me to appear before them in the Painted Chamber at Westminster. And I obeyed—what choice did I have?—seeing nothing but the lugubrious face of de la Mare gleaming with unholy virtue as I set my mind to hear and accept my punishment for bringing the King of England into adultery. By now I feared the worst, gripping my hands together as I sat on the low stool provided for me. At least they allowed me to sit.

I sat straight-backed, determined to hear my fate with dignity. I would never bow my head before de la Mare. Whatever punishment they meted out, nothing could be worse than Edward’s rejection of me.

Nothing?

Ah, no! There was worse, much worse. What had they done? The door to the magnificent Painted Chamber opened and there was Edward, brought to appear before his own Parliament for my sins and his, and I saw the panicked fear in his gaze as it skittered over the vast assembly. I stood abruptly; I even think I reached out to him in my guilt and misery, but he did not look at me, all his efforts fixed on walking to take his place on the throne. Slowly, one step after another, he dragged himself there, and pushed himself upright to face his accusers. And I prayed that they would turn their claws on me, not on Edward, who did not deserve this. I willed him to look at me. Whatever was asked of me, I would not betray him more than I already had done. I would not do or say anything to increase his humiliation. Was it not terrible enough that he must be here?

De la Mare bowed. “We are honored, Sire.”

And I sank back to my seat as I waited for the blow to fall, as de la Mare faced Edward.

“Majesty. We are concerned that Mistress Perrers has acted toward you with a degree of insincerity that is beyond belief.”

How smooth he was. How terrifyingly, horrifyingly respectful before plunging the metaphorical dagger into Edward’s unsuspecting heart.

Edward blinked, hands clutching.

“We believe she has put Your Majesty’s soul in mortal danger.”

Would he dare to accuse Edward of being complicit in adultery? My nails dug deep into my palms.

“Were you aware, Sire, that Mistress Perrers had entered into matrimony? That she has been married to the knight William de Windsor for two years or more?”

Bewildered, Edward shook his head.

“Were you so aware, Sire?”

“No…!” Again I was on my feet. How dared they question him! This was my guilt, not his.

“Be seated, Mistress Perrers.”

“It is not right.…”

“It is very right.” De la Mare swung back to the King. “Did you know, Sire?” I sat again, forcing myself to look at Edward in his extremity and accept that this was all my doing. “Were you aware, Sire, that the woman who is acknowledged as your mistress is married?” The question was hammered home once more.

And I heard Edward reply. Calm and clear. Unemotional. “I was not aware.”

“Would you swear to that, Sire?”

The Speaker would dare to ask the King of England to swear an oath? Edward’s face was ravaged, but he replied, “I swear on the name of the Holy Virgin. I did not know.”