Free The Tudor Conspiracy by C. W. Gortner

with the ladies, I thought: a well-built fellow, broad of shoulder and chest, with a full head of tawny hair that matched his well-groomed mustache and forked goatee. His appearance took me aback; I wouldn’t have expected someone who’d spent so many years in the Tower to look quite so robust, though his appeal was marred by a petulant expression. As the long-nosed lady beside him lifted her goblet for wine, Courtenay said something of evident wit to her. She gave him a sour smile. They seemed to know each other, but then everyone at court did, especially at functions like these. Perfect strangers were not averse to feigning rapport if it might tender an advantage.
    Pages bearing decanters circulated among us, filling our cups with ale. Renard suddenly leaned to the queen. As he murmured in her ear, Mary stared at the empty chair between them. Her face visibly darkened.
    “What?” she said, in a displeased voice loud enough to carry into the hall. “Are we to endure her insufferable disobedience again?”
    Taut silence fell. Renard exchanged a brief, conspiratorial look with the sour-faced lady as Mary swerved her attention to Courtenay. Her fist clenched, crushing the silk violets. “Did you not deliver our message to her as we instructed, my lord?”
    Courtenay blanched. “Your Majesty, I assure you, I conveyed your request-”
    Mary stabbed her finger at him. “It was not a request. Go to her apartments at once. Tell our sister the Lady Elizabeth that she
will
obey our order to attend our guests this evening, by our royal command!”
    Courtenay had started to inch up from his chair when Mary went still, staring straight ahead. For a moment, it seemed as if the very hall sucked in its breath. I didn’t need to look to know my mistress, Elizabeth Tudor, had finally made her appearance-late, as usual.
    She wore an unadorned gown that sheathed her slim figure in black velvet, making her seem taller than she actually was. Her coppery mane fell loose to her narrow waist, swaying like a curtain of fire as she moved past the tables of staring courtiers to the dais. The Spaniards actually crossed themselves and averted their eyes, as if she might cast a spell on them. I had time to take wary note of their reaction before I heard a frenzied burst of barking and saw Jane Dormer’s dog leaping up, yanking at its lead as if it recognized Elizabeth. The princess had a special kinship with animals; even the wary stable cats at Hatfield responded to her. It gave me pause. That little dog might prove a useful distraction …
    Then I focused on the queen as Elizabeth sank to a curtsy under her baleful gaze. The clench of Mary’s jaw and the stony hardness that stole over her face were chilling.
    Mary Tudor regarded her sister with undisguised hatred.
    Elizabeth said quietly, “Forgive my delay, Your Majesty. I … I was unwell.”
    “Not so much that you refrained from riding with our cousin today,” riposted Mary. “You were also invited to attend mass with us this afternoon, and once again, we waited for you in vain.”
    Elizabeth’s reply was soft; only those who knew her intimately would have been able to tell how cautiously she was choosing her words. “Your Majesty, I thought I might have caught a chill after my morning ride. I didn’t wish to expose you to-”
    “Enough.” Mary cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I have heard it all before, too many times, in fact. It seems whenever the subject of attendance at mass comes up, you have a sudden ailment.” She paused, staring at her sister as if she wished to make her vanish through the sheer force of her will. “Where is the blessed medal of the Holy Virgin I gave you?” she asked.
    Elizabeth went still. Then her hand crept up to the high neckline of her gown. “I left it for safekeeping in my rooms.” Her voice was guarded but remarkably steady. “It is so precious a gift to me, I fear that I may lose it.”
    “Or fear losing your heretic