Free The Innocent by Posie Graeme-evans

hurried forward, offering the king a fine leather pouch into which Edward dipped one long-fingered hand. A shower of small coins arced through the air and hit the cobbles with a satisfying ring. The mummers scrambled for their reward, led by the “maid,” who determinedly elbowed the green man and the dragon out of the way as she scrabbled in the dirt for the coins, blond wig askew. The courtiers and the crowd laughed at this display of greed as the wagon with its castle was pushed away from the front of Blessing House by Watt and some of Master Mathew’s bigger menservants.
    Miraculously, inside Blessing House everything was ready for the great company that thronged around the king. Outwardly Mathew was impassive but he was delighted to find the entire inside staff of his house kneeling, heads bowed, as he entered with his exalted guests. It made a pretty and well-ordered sight in his spacious hall. In a clear voice he gave the welcome: “My poor house is graced by your presence, Lord King, and in token we greet you thus.” Then he and Margaret, and the girls behind her, sank to their knees in front of the household, and humbly bowed their heads. It was an inspired gesture.
    The simplicity of the owner of this great house warmed the heart of the king and charmed him out of the black mood that had threatened a moment or so ago. Smiling, he went to his hosts and gracefully raised Lady Margaret, giving her the kiss of peace, and then her husband, saluting his cheek also. Next, to the delight of the assembled servants and the scandal of the court, he handed Aveline and then Anne to their feet as well.
    Was it Anne’s imagination, or did the king’s fingers linger in her palm, lightly stroking the hollow for a moment? And when he raised her, and she stood close beside him for the space of three heartbeats, she felt such a fizzy breathlessness in her chest that her legs nearly buckled and a slow tingling warmth spread from the palm he had touched all through her body until it lodged deep in her belly—a sensation at once confusing and delicious. Fighting to control her breathing, she fixed her eyes on the rushes as the king bowed to Mathew with a graceful flourish.
    “Enough of this formality, Master Mathew. I salute you on your name day. Come! Let us eat!” And the king swept into the banqueting hall with Lady Margaret on his arm, servants scrambling to their feet and scattering out of the way of the advancing courtiers.
    Piers found himself so caught in the rush of eager guests as they surged toward the long boards set up in the banqueting hall, already weighed down with platters of steaming meats and great bowls of sauces, that he nearly fell headlong into the rushes when he snagged his foot on one of the long tippets trailing from the sleeves of his cotehardie. Corpus saved him by grabbing a handful of the elaborate fabric at the back of the jerkin, though with disastrous results, for in his haste he slopped some gravy onto the precious brocade from the dish he was carrying.
    “Oaf! This garment is worth more than your hide!”
    “Ah, master, sorry, sorry! Here, shall I…?”
    “No! take your greasy hand away!”
    Piers was burning with embarrassment. Not only had he nearly fallen headlong in the presence of his king, but now his new particolored cotehardie was ruined. Worse, he could hear the ladies who had seen the exchange laughing at him. He turned on the hapless Corpus and kicked him, sending him sprawling into the rushes. There was much laughter at seeing the old man covered in scalding gravy—and even more to see him leap to his feet and run, shrieking, out of the hall.
    Mathew frowned as he looked down the hall from the high table to which he had ushered the king and the greatest of the magnates, including Warwick. His son looked back defiantly and backed out of the king’s presence to change his coat.
    The king had seen the byplay also and was laughing heartily at the little drama; Anne, standing behind