Free At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) by Kate Emerson Page B

had waged against the infidel.
    Anne doubted that Isabella of Castile had been fasting at the time. Pausing at the final doorway before she reached Queen Catherine’s presence, she carefully schooled her features to reveal nothing of her disrespectful thoughts.
    The queen’s bedchamber was dimly lit. The curtains were still drawn around Her Grace’s bed. With quiet movements, a Spanish chamberer, Isabel de Vargas, heated washing water over a charcoal brazier while Bess Boleyn inspected the garments that had been sent up by the queen’s wardrobe mistress. The sleeves, skirt, and bodice, together with the elaborate gown that went over the rest, had already been brushed by another of the queen’s chamberers.
    Anne nodded to Bess, then glanced toward the bed. Her sister, Elizabeth, was about to part the hangings and gently awaken Her Grace. Elizabeth gave a start when a small door on the far side of the chamber abruptly popped open. A dozen large men, each one dressed in a short cloak and hood of Kendall green and armed with both swords and bows, spilled into the room.
    Eyes wide, Anne stared at them. She’d managed to stifle a gasp, but some of the other women shrieked in alarm before they realized who these intruders must be. The door gave onto a passageway that led to the king’s secret lodgings. No one could enter that way except with His Grace’s permission. . . and with His Grace.
    The mask covering the king’s face did nothing to hide Henry Tudor’s identity. Ned Neville might be as tall and have similarly broad shoulders, but only one man at court had that shock of bright red-gold hair.
    Anne had only seconds to decide how to react. To curtsey would acknowledge that she recognized the king when he plainly thoughthimself well disguised as the legendary outlaw, Robin Hood. Acting on instinct, she flung her arms wide instead, as if to prevent him from reaching the queen’s bed.
    It was the right choice. The king’s hearty laugh boomed out. Then he moved Anne out of his way by the simple expedient of putting both hands on her waist and lifting her aside. He winked at her as he did so. The cloth visor did nothing to conceal the wicked merriment in his pale blue-gray eyes.
    Anne retreated, searching among the “Merry Men” until she found her husband. This, then, was why George had been obliged to wait upon the king so early in the morning. There were a dozen invaders in all—the king as Robin Hood, ten of his companions as the Merry Men, and a Maid Marian dressed in a green gown and yellow wig and wearing a mask that covered all her features, not just her eyes.
    “The Maid Marian is a woman,” Anne whispered, too surprised to keep the observation to herself. The role was traditionally played by a man in female clothing.
    “It was to have been Compton,” George whispered back, “but he’s still recovering from his injuries.”
    The king, meanwhile, had swept back the hangings that enclosed his wife’s bed and discovered her still groggy with sleep. Her Grace gave a startled cry, but a few quiet murmurs calmed her fears.
    “Rise and dance with us, madam,” the king ordered in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “for I vow we will not depart until you agree to our demand.”
    “You give me no choice, sirrah,” Catherine replied in her deep, throaty voice with its distinctive hint of a Castilian lisp. “I yield.”
    The king lifted his wife out of her bed and set her on the small carpet beside the bed. Her fair skin flushed with embarrassment, right down to her bare feet, and she immediately turned in to him, using his much bigger body to shield her from prying eyes. Wearing only her nightgown and with her hair down, the queen appeared even tinier than she usually did, especially standing next to her massive husband.
    His Grace plainly took delight in teasing and embarrassing hiswife, but he was not unkind. He called for her velvet night robe and demanded fur-lined slippers for her feet. Only