“From Parliament, mistress.”

Inhaling slowly, I clenched my fists against the shriek of anger in my head. This was not from Parliament. I would wager the pearl diadem that had just disappeared into the pack on the back of a mule. I knew whose fingers were in this pie. So she was not content to allow me to live in obscurity! I knew from whence this campaign of retaliation had stemmed and it was vicious! I could see her rubbing her hands with the satisfaction of it.

God’s Blood!

I forced myself to think coldly and logically. If this was all she took…I had other manor houses, each well furnished. I would allow her this, however furious it made me.

And then I saw Webster removing yet another scroll from his satchel.

“Have you not taken everything you can?”

“This is not a reclamation order, mistress. It is for you to present yourself in London.”

I snatched it from him. Read it. I was to appear before the House of Lords.

“A trial?” I gasped. He stood unspeaking, stony-faced. What possible charges had they discovered now? “Tell me!” I demanded. “Is this a trial?”

“It is written there, mistress.” Webster indicated the document crumpled in my hand. I must appear before the House of Lords on the twenty-second day of December. And the charge against me? Fraud. Treason!

Treason? That was not possible!

But I knew that anything was possible. Fury was replaced by terror. This was to be no political slapping of my knuckes: This was to be a trial with legal consequences. How far would Joan go in her desire for revenge? The penalty for treason was death.

Windsor returned from a damp morning in the flooded meadows around Pallenswick to find me sitting mindlessly on the floor in the now empty parlor. No furniture, no tapestry; even the log basket beside the fireplace had been taken.…I was stunned, as if Joan had struck my face with the flat of her hand—as she had once so long ago. When I failed to register the echo of his boots on the polished boards, he knelt and lifted the document from my unresisting fingers. Skimming down it, he swore fluently, threw his gloves and sword onto the floor, and sat down beside me.

“I see the vultures have been here.”

“Yes.” His boots in close proximity to my skirts were filthy with mud and slime and the odd strand of duckweed. I did not care.

“Where are the girls?’ he asked.

“With Webster,” I replied dully. “Being fed bread and small beer in the kitchen. If our visitors left us any…”

“Is every room as empty as this?”

Words failed me. I lifted my hands, let them drop. Misery engulfed me.

“What are you going to do?” He thrust the question into the silence.

“I think I’ll sit here and wait for the ax to fall on my neck.”

“Really?” Windsor stood. He gripped my forearms and with a flex of muscles stood, lifting me with him. “Stand up, Alice. You need to stand on your feet. You need to think!”

“I can’t.”

“Is the woman I love so easily intimidated?”

I stood rigid in his embrace, unable to think, unable to respond. Into which black hole had all my courage vanished? I was full to the brim with self-pity, and because I no longer felt brave, I wept for my own weakness, for all I had lost. That the gifts given to me by Edward out of love and gratitude should be snatched back in spitefulness, destroying the physical evidence of Edward’s place in my life. And when honesty forced me to consider that I had not always been entirely without blame, I wept for that too. I had enjoyed my power as King’s Concubine. I could not be completely absolved of using crown gold for my purchases, but I had always paid it back. Hadn’t I? Well, for the most part I had paid my debts. And here was the day of reckoning. I wept into Windsor’s shoulder.

“Is the woman I love so lacking in backbone that she will stand and weep rather than fight for what is rightfully hers?”

They were harsh words, but he tightened his hold and propped his chin on top of my head until I began to relax and take my own weight. The solid beat of his heart had a reassurance all its own. I eventually rested my forehead against his shoulder and could breathe evenly again.…

The word blazed in my mind. I looked up sharply, dislodging his chin, seeing myself reflected in his eyes.

“What did you just say?”

“Which bit of it? That you lacked backbone?”

I ran my tongue over dry lips, scrubbed at my face with a square of linen that Windsor obligingly offered me, and frowned. “I think you said that I am the woman you love?”

“You are. Didn’t you know? You don’t look very pleased with the idea.”

My hands tightened on his sleeves. “Say it again. As if you mean it.” In case he did not. Pray God he did!

“Dear Alice. I love you. You hold my sun and moon in your hands!”

“And that is poetic!”

I thought his answering smile was a little wry. I could not believe it! But I must, mustn’t I? Windsor was not a man to say what he did not mean. An immeasurable joy rioted through me, as if to fill me with a shimmering light to disperse the shadows in my mind and heart. Until all the events of the morning flooded back…

I stared at him. “Why did you have to tell me now?”

“When should I tell you?”

Windsor was humoring me, distracting me. I pushed his hands away so that I stood alone. “Tomorrow. Last week. Anytime but when my face is blotched with tears and my home stripped bare and my mind full of Joan’s perfidy.”

“I thought you knew.”

“No, I didn’t! How could I? You have never said it before.” How could he be so obtuse? There he stood, solid and real and difficult! And infinitely loved. “I want to enjoy it, not have it outweighed by the fact that I might be staring financial ruin—even death, if they prove treason against me—in the face! And I think you should know”—I did not even hesitate—“I love you too.”

Windsor grinned. “There you are, then!”

I plastered my hands over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that!”

“I don’t see why not.” He had captured my hands again, humor still lurking in the curve of his mouth. “We’ll celebrate our mutual love and worry about venomous Joan together.”

His mouth was hot and sure on mine.

“Oh, Will…”

“What is it? I’ve just proclaimed my undying love for you. And you don’t look very happy about it!”

I sighed. “I’ll come about.”

“Let me help.” And he kissed me again.

My thoughts were all adrift as I sank into that embrace. But not for long. This was no time for amorous sighs and pleasurable longings. I was not yet free to enjoy them, as Windsor well knew. Framing my face in his hands so I must attend, concentrate, Windsor began to speak in a low, controlled voice that belied the emotion that pulsed beneath his skin. “Now listen to me. You need to be strong, Alice. Listen!” With his hand beneath my chin he made me look at him. “You will stand before the Lords and answer every question they put to you. There is no evidence of fraud against you. As for treason—they’ll not make that stick.”

“You are so confident.” I frowned, not at all persuaded.

“No, I’m not. I am too realistic. But you need to show a confident face or they’ll tear you apart.”

“Why would they do it? Now, when my days at Court are over?”

“You know why. They’ll destroy you for the days when you held power and they did not.”

“Can we stop them?”

“I don’t know. How can we know until we know their evidence? But we’ll have a damned good try.”

I took a deep breath, conscious at last of some of the despair sliding away, and I asked what I wanted most in the world. “When I have to go, will you come with me?”

“The devil himself wouldn’t keep me away! Don’t weep anymore.…Tears have no currency in the game we’re playing!” His gaze was fierce, his hands steady as he took the linen and finished mopping my tears with a thoroughness he might use to dry his horse after a rainstorm. “Are you not my wife? Do I not love you? Be brave, Alice. You have been so all your life. We will go together to Westminster and confront the bloody scavengers in their den. As for now…I think we are owed some time of our own. In God’s name, we haven’t claimed much over the years.”

“To do what?” My thoughts were still wayward, seeing the malevolent, sneering faces of Edward’s Court ranged against me.

With a huff of impatient breath, Windsor clasped my shoulders and shook me. “Stop thinking! Come to bed—and I’ll show your doubting mind that I truly do love you and that it’s not a figment of your imagination.…On the other hand, we don’t have a bed, do we?”

“No!” I felt ridiculous tears begin to well again, but managed a croak of a laugh.

“I swear it won’t be a problem!”

In my bedchamber—our bedchamber—Windsor spread his cloak on the floor in a patch of sunshine, folding his tunic for my head. And in broad daylight he gave me a glimpse of what I had never known—a distilled essence of the magic of unencumbered love, freely given, freely received. I felt the chains of duty and expectation slip away, replaced with soft bonds of delight and passion and hot desire.

“Convinced?” he asked between kisses.

“Oh, Will…”

I could not string two words together, wrapped as I was in the moment. It was impossible not to admire his soldier’s body, firm and well muscled, as he stripped off hose and boots. The sunshine softened the hard planes, highlighting the power of thigh and shoulder.

“Poitiers?” I murmured, pressing my lips to an old scar that ran along his ribs, angling from sternum to waist.

“Yes.” He stretched, lifting me with him, inquiring, “Do you intend to kiss all my scars?”

“That would take far too long.” He loosed my shift and I stood naked, exposed. “I am in lust and desire, Will. My knees are weak with longing.…”