Free Rose Bride by Elizabeth Moss Page B

old Master Croft?’ King Henry demanded, staring down at her.
    Was he remembering how she had refused his invitation to become his mistress? Or had he forgotten? The king had been very drunk that night. But capable of sending his keenest hounds after her, bent on revenge.
    ‘I was told,’ he continued in tones of concern, ‘that he had been taken ill a little after Christmastide.’
    Heads turned, faces bright with malice and curiosity. One of the king’s councillors cleared his throat. A young boy muttered something in the throng of courtiers behind her and was hushed.
    Everyone was listening to this exchange. Especially the new queen.
    Margerie struggled to keep her voice level. ‘I thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. My grandfather Thomas is much improved since the spring. Indeed, we have good hope that he may yet make a recovery.’
    ‘I am glad to hear it.’ Henry turned to the fair-haired lady on his arm, his fresh new queen, almost as new as his shoes, and his tone was light and indulgent. For Queen Jane had not yet displeased him, and he was clearly in good spirits. ‘Do you know Mistress Croft, my lady?’
    ‘I do, Your Majesty,’ the queen replied in a muted tone. ‘She serves in the royal wardrobe.’
    Margerie stared woodenly at the king’s legs, stoutly clad in white silk stockings. She resisted the urge to look up at her new queen.
    Queen Jane thinks me a whore.
    Well, and why should she not think it? Everyone at court had been whispering as much from the moment Margerie returned from the country and took up her new post repairing and caring for the queen’s gowns and other royal vestments. Why should the king’s new consort be any different from all the rest at court?
    ‘My father, Henry Tudor, owed this throne to men like this woman’s grandfather, Jane.’ The king raised his voice, and it rang about the high rafters of the Great Hall. ‘Master Croft is no great lord, of course. But he was a fine soldier in his prime and an obedient courtier in old age. I remember him well from my youth.’
    King Henry looked down at her again; Margerie could feel his eyes boring into her skull.
    ‘I was pleased to agree your return to court, Mistress Croft, for your grandfather’s sake. Let it not be said we forget those who have given the Tudors good service in the past.’ He lowered his voice and his pale, thick-fingered hand, clustered with gleaming rings. ‘And those who may serve us well in the future.’
    Margerie kissed his hand. She bowed her head again. ‘You are most gracious to your humblest servant, Your Majesty. I shall endeavour to deserve your generosity.’
     
    When the king and queen had finally moved on to the high dais, Margerie rose from her knees and reminded herself to breathe properly again.
    Glancing down at the reddening half-moons on her palm, where her nails had dug into her flesh, she shuddered. The king’s lechery was so present in her mind it had been hard not to let the horror show on her face. She had not forgotten that night . . .
    But at least she was safer as a woman who had roused the king’s lust once or twice than as his mistress or – God forbid – his wife.
    Margerie watched the king’s new consort pass through the crowd of courtiers, and wondered how long it would be before Queen Jane too was cast aside for another woman.
    Perhaps never, if she could manage to bear him a son.
    At her side, Kate Langley rose from her knees and shook her head. There was a rueful smile on her handsome face. ‘Margerie, oh my dearest Margerie.’
    ‘What?’
    Kate took her arm and squeezed it comfortingly, whispering in her ear, ‘The king himself shows you a great mark of favour before the whole court, yet you tremble and your face turns as white as a ghost’s.’ Her friend sighed. ‘I will never understand you. Why come back to court when you are so ill at ease here?’
    ‘It makes my grandfather happy to know that I am at court again and in the king’s