“When I paid my respects at Arthur Linwood’s funeral. The doctor and I were fast friends prior to his most untimely passing.”
“So at a time of sacred mourning she lured you into temptation?”
“No. Mistress Linwood was an innocent, respectable, learned woman in need of a friend. And her father saved my mother’s life. I offered my assistance in any way it might be required.”
“And what was the boon she asked of you?”
“To find out the actual cause of her father’s death—”
Norfolk banged his gavel. “Arthur Linwood passed of a fever. Master Clements, your witness is to clarify a charge of fornication, please phrase your questions more appropriately.”
“Beg pardon, your grace,” said Clements, paling. “Sir Brandon, on the day of March twenty-fifth when Mistress Linwood caused the death of that poor young man and escaped her guards, did she coerce you into taking her to safety?”
“She caused no deaths. And no, I chose to assist her.”
“Did she bribe you with use of her body in exchange for the protection?”
“No, she did not.”
“I see. When you both fled to Guildford with Master Lucas de Vere and three servants, had she coerced or bribed you to do so?”
“No, she did not.”
“But whilst in that town, at an inn, you shared a room with Mistress Linwood. Did you engage in carnal relations with her outside the holy bonds of matrimony?”
Brand hesitated. “I…”
“Come now. The court can easily order an examination of Mistress Linwood to establish her virginity or lack thereof.”
Nausea roiled his gut at the thought, and he gritted his teeth. “Yes, we engaged in carnal relations.”
Clements beamed, his relief palpable at a positive answer. “Pray continue. Did Mistress Linwood instigate the carnal relations?”
As one, every man in the room leaned in like a pack of starving hounds to a fox. He ignored them all and instead looked at Carey, meeting and holding her gaze, attempting to convey a silent promise of care and loyalty.
“You insult me, sir. I am a man of much experience and Mistress Linwood an untouched virgin. Of course it was not her who instigated.”
“So you claimed her maidenhead at that inn?”
“Yes. I am entirely at fault. Mistress Linwood is a clever, amusing, kind, and beautiful woman who I had developed strong feelings for, and when an opportunity arose to indulge my base desires, I took it. Any punishment for this crime is mine and mine alone to bear. If a whipping is called for, then let me be whipped at once and be done.”
He glanced again at Carey, and this time she sat straighter on the stool, a hint of color at her cheeks and her gaze steady. In one deliberate movement, she touched two fingers to her lips, then her heart. The room erupted in noise at the gesture, and Norfolk nearly hammered a hole in his wooden desk as he attempted to bring the hall under control.
Quickly the duke conferred in whispers with the other members of the panel, in what looked to be a rather heated discussion.
“Thank you, Sir Brandon,” Norfolk said coldly, several minutes later, “but this court will decide the recipients of punishment and what that punishment will be, not you. As a matter of fact, we the council find your comments startling and clear evidence of an unreasonably fatigued mind. After rest and refreshment, you will no doubt answer with much improved thought and logic. We will adjourn and recommence on the morrow.”
Instantly he knew what must be said. Yes, it was the worst possible time for honesty. He was in a corrupt court with his freedom, his possessions, and if his own trial proceeded like this, potentially his very life on the line, but he was so bloody weary of lies and pretence. Of being a powerless pawn in the games of noblemen.
Damned if he would play for another moment.
“With all due respect, your grace,” he said loudly enough for the entire hall to hear him, “my ardent admiration, care, and support for Mistress Linwood will not change. Not tomorrow, or any other day. So make your ruling and let us be done with this charade.”
Norfolk’s eyes bulged. “Then you leave us no choice but to find you guilty of fornication. With respect to the other charges, you will be taken to the Tower and privately examined further.”
“No,” said Carey hoarsely, leaping off her stool and gripping the railing as she leaned forward. “No, no, no! He spoke untruth. It wasn’t him, t’was me on the street, at his home and at the inn. I—”
“Silence!” roared Norfolk. “Judgment is passed. And you, madam, shall be heard in the morning then learn your own fate. Guards, remove the prisoners.”
In a moment of clumsily exquisite timing, both sets of guards tried to march them down the middle aisle first. Within a tangle of bodies, he managed to elbow two men out of the way, and crush Carey’s lips with his, one hard, brutal, final kiss of farewell.
Mary and her nobles had won.
It was over.
Chapter Eight
Brand had announced publicly he cared for and supported her. Which made him the most wonderful—and unwise—man in England.
Hugging her arms around herself, Catherine paced the short length of her palace prison chamber. The night was pitch-black and the moon barely a sliver of crescent in the sky, but she couldn’t sleep. Not with these fierce emotions pounding her body and soul like battering rams. Did she laugh with the sheer joy of loving and being cared for in return, the perfection of their night together, when she learned the blissful secrets of passion? Or sob her heart out knowing it would never happen again, indeed that Brand was lost to her forever and tonight might well be her last in the mortal realm?
She groaned aloud and dropped to her knees. The stone floor scraped through the thin wool gown, but prayer was prayer, even without the familiar comfort of polished wooden rosary beads to twist through her fingers.
“Blessed Virgin, I beseech thee,
