Free Taste of Treason by April Taylor

This, he maintained was due to shock at the cuts she had self-administered. Luke demonstrated beyond doubt that the priest was wrong. He pointed out the injury on the girl’s back, at which point Frayner’s manner changed to one of oily condescension peppered with bad grace.
    Goodwife Brook was too voluble in her gratitude to notice Frayner’s haughty mien, but Luke felt the priest’s eyes resting on him and met his gaze. He stared the man out, in no doubt that he had made an enemy. One who would grasp the first opportunity to avenge any perceived slight.
    * * *
    Gwenette Paige stood immobile behind the Queen Mother’s chair. Although the pregnant Madeleine had wanted to attend, she was fatigued and Henry decided it best she rest in her apartments. In her absence the King had requested that his mother appear at the banquet with him.
    Although nobody knew Anne Boleyn’s age, it was certain that she approached her half-century or mayhap had already passed it. Gwenette was one of the favored few who knew her mistress tired more easily these days. Despite rumors to the contrary, she had been more than willing to give way to her daughter-in-law in matters of precedent, pomp and ceremony. That Henry and Madeleine had fallen in love was an added bonus. The prospect of an heir within a year of the wedding was the best of all possible outcomes. Gwenette was happy to see the Queen Mother now free from the constant anxiety that had marred her serenity since the death of Great Harry.
    After four years on the throne Henry IX had grown into his position. There would always be plots, jealousies and jostling at court, but they were no longer Queen Anne’s primary concern. The first twenty-five years of Great Harry’s reign had been overshadowed by the need for an heir, and in a moment of candor, Anne had told Gwenette that she considered it her duty to ensure history did not repeat itself.
    It was with a frisson of shock that Gwenette realized her mistress was more on edge than she had been since before the royal marriage. Anne’s head turned constantly from side to side examining the throng crowded onto the tables in the Great Hall. Her shoulders were stiff with tension and she only toyed with the wild boar and capon on her gold plate.
    Gwenette bent to whisper in Anne’s right ear.
    “Madam, what ails you? Are you unwell?”
    Anne did not move her head, but muttered from the side of her mouth.
    “Can you not feel it?”
    “Feel what, Your Grace?”
    “The air is thick enough to slice with a dagger. Some mischief is afoot. Observe and be ready to pull the King away should anything happen.”
    The words frightened Gwenette more than anything she could remember. She began to watch the diners, starting with the lords at the high table. Although most ate and conversed in undertones with their neighbors, one noticed her scrutiny and met her gaze with raised eyebrows. In the dark eyes underneath, she sensed his sudden interest and her involuntary gasp was noted by her mistress. Anne looked up, meeting the man’s eyes. He smiled and inclined his head.
    “Senor Fuentes,” breathed Queen Anne to Gwenette, masking her words with a smile. “A cunning rat who leaves no stone unturned in his attempt to promote his master. Much as we do not trust him, we do not think the danger comes from him.”
    Gwenette resumed her study of the diners, many of whom were eating as if they did not know when the next meal would be served. One fat slubberdegullion, grease running unchecked down his chin and onto his coat, continued to shovel venison and sturgeon into his ever-open mouth.
    Gwenette’s stomach flicked with a spasm of nausea. She wrenched her gaze away from him to a spindly clerk, his eyes fixed on his plate, using his dagger to cut his pigeon into tiny pieces before slipping each sliver between his lips.
    The tables were closely packed with less-than-fragrant bodies and heaped with hot, steaming food. The great number of people made the