“I cannot endure it, Thomas.”

“You must endure it. We must both endure it. He is the King. Forget not that.”

“I tried,” she said. “I tried…. And, Thomas, if he knew that you were here…”

He nodded, and his eyes sparkled with the knowledge of his danger.

“Thus do I love you,” he told her. “Enough to risk my life for you.”

“I would not have you do that. Oh, Thomas, that will be the most difficult thing that faces me. I shall see you…you whom I love. I must compare you. You…you who are all that I admire… all that I love. He…he is so different.”

“He is the King, my love. I am the subject. And you will not be burdened with my presence. I have my orders.”

“Thomas! No …not… the Tower?”

“Nay! He does not consider me such a serious rival as that. I depart at sunrise for Flanders.”

“So…I am to lose you, then?”

“’ Twere safer for us, sweetheart, not to meet for a while. So thinks the King. That is why he is sending me with Dr. Wotton on an embassy to Flanders.”

“How long will you be away?”

“Methinks the King will find good reason to keep me there… or out of England… for a little while.”

“I cannot bear it. I know I cannot.”

He took her face in his hands. “My heart, like yours, is broken, sweetheart. But we must bear this pain. It will pass. I swear it will pass. And our hearts will mend, for one day we shall be together.”

“Thomas, can you believe that?”

“I believe in my destiny, Kate. You and I shall be together. I know it.”

“Thomas, if the King were to discover that you had been here…”

“Ah, perhaps he would give me this hour, since he is to have you for the rest of his life.”

“For the rest of my life, you mean!” she said bitterly.

“Nay. He is an old man. His fancy will not stray to others as once it did. One year… two years… who knows? Cheer up, my Kate. Today we are broken-hearted, but tomorrow the future is ours.”

“You must not stay here. I feel there are spies, watching my every movement.”

He kissed her and caressed her afresh; and after a time he took his leave, and on the next tide sailed for Flanders.

IN THE QUEEN’S closet at Hampton Court, Gardiner performed the ceremony. This was not hurried and secret as in the case of Anne Boleyn; this was a royal wedding.

The Princesses Mary and Elizabeth stood behind the King and his bride, and with them the King’s niece, the Lady Margaret Douglas. Lady Herbert, the Queen’s sister, and other great ladies and gentlemen were present.

The King was in excellent humor on this his marriage morning. The jewels flashed on his dalmatica; the shrewd eyes sparkled and the royal tongue licked the tight lips, for she was a comely creature, this bride of his, and he was a man who needed a wife. He felt, as he had said that morning to his brother-in-law, Lord Hertford, that this marriage would be the best he had ever made.

The July sun was hot and the bride felt as though she would faint with the oppressive atmosphere in the room and the fear within her.

A nightmare had sprung into life. She was here in Hampton Court being married to the King, here in a palace surrounded by gardens which Henry had planned with Anne Boleyn, on whose walls were the entwined initials, the H. and A. which had had to be changed hastily to H. and J. Along the gallery which led to the chapel, the youthful Catharine Howard had run one day, screaming for mercy. It was said that both Anne and Catharine haunted this place. And here, in the palace of hideous memories, she, Katharine Parr, was now being married to Henry the Eighth.

There was no longer hope of escape. The King was close. His breath scorched her. The nuptial ring was being put on her finger.

No. No longer hope. The King in that tragic moment had made Katharine Parr his sixth wife.

CHAPTER