Free Taste of Treason by April Taylor Page A

air fetid and, together with the raucous blare of the minstrels’ cornetts, Gwenette’s head began to spin. It was as if a mist shimmered over the room, and she knew that if she did not leave, she would swoon. A hand grasped hers. Queen Anne had divined the state of her servant’s queasiness and was willing her to breathe deeply and overcome it.
    A few moments later Gwenette’s vision cleared. She looked around the hall again and met the calculating gaze of a fair-haired woman, dressed in red, whom she recognized as having once been at court, but whom she had not seen for many months. The woman’s nostrils flared and, with a mocking smile, she turned back to her meat, making some quip to her companions. Gwenette had no means of hearing her words, but the woman’s expression needed no clarification, and she felt the blood rush to her face.
    Deliberately turning her head away, Gwenette made a point of surveying the other diners. Try as she might, she could not prevent her gaze returning to the woman in the red dress. Mayhap it was the red that drew her eye. All she knew for certain was that this unknown’s presence disturbed her. So much so, she bent to speak to her mistress.
    “Your Grace? There is a bold-faced wench in a red dress sitting against the north wall close to the Horn Room door. She seems familiar but I cannot place her.”
    Queen Anne picked up a morsel from her plate and turned her head in the direction indicated. Gwenette sensed her stiffen momentarily, but she recovered quickly and carried on eating. Then Gwenette saw Anne’s head turn towards her son.
    “Your Majesty, do you not think we should drink a toast to the Queen and ask everyone to pray for her safe delivery?”
    Henry turned to face his mother.
    “Madam, my dearest mother, that is a charming suggestion.”
    He rose to his feet and the hubbub ceased on the instant. As the King raised his goblet and proposed the toast for his most dearly beloved Queen Madeleine, Gwenette knew that the Queen Mother would be watching for the woman in the red dress to react. Anne Boleyn’s shoulders dropped in sudden relaxation as the woman’s smile was replaced by a thin angry line. From her height advantage, Gwenette could also see her fist clenched in anger and mortification. A warning touch from one of her companions and the woman seemed to remember where she was. There was no doubting that, for a moment, she had been consumed by rage and in that instant, Gwenette had recognized her.
    When the buzz of conversation resumed, Gwenette bent again to her mistress’s ear.
    “Madam, is that who I think it is?”
    Anne turned to her, her lips curved in a satisfied smile.
    “Yes, Gwenette, that is the Lady Ysabel Broome, lately the King’s mistress, although he never brought her here. A calculating jade and one whose nose was truly thumbed when it became apparent that His Majesty wanted no more to do with her once he was married. I understood she had retired to the country.”
    “She is no threat to the Queen?”
    Anne’s head turned back towards Lady Ysabel, who was now laughing into the face of her nearest companion.
    “She should not be, ’tis true, but we will keep an eye on her nonetheless.”
    Gwenette nodded. It was more than likely that the slut was scheming for a return to the King’s favor. Even Great Harry had been known to stray fleetingly from the marital bed. Mayhap that was the danger Queen Anne had sensed. In addition, the hall was closely packed, making the chamber stifling. No wonder Gwenette felt unwell. She had permitted her imagination to run away with her.
    In the doorway, she saw the procession forming for the highlight of the feast to be brought in. Would it be swan or peacock, or had the kitchens produced something even more spectacular? The fanfare sounded as pages, all clad in green and white, shouldered huge covered silver dishes and paraded around the room. It was part of the ritual that all platters should be placed on the