“No,” said Carey fiercely, yanking his arm until he faced her, taking both his hands in hers. “No you are not. You are everything I ever wanted, ever dreamed of. I love you. I cannot help loving you and will do so forever. Whatever happens, the only reason I would go to France alone is to see you safe and well, after all you did for me.”
“Sweetheart, I…” he said, humbled and overcome by her words, unable to control the grin threatening to split his face in two. “…I forbid you to go to France alone. We’ll go together, you and I, and make a new life.”
“Together?” she repeated, an answering smile lighting up her face. “Always.”
“Wretched pair,” snarled Arundel. “If you refuse to be parted, then you’ll both get on that damned ship immediately. If we leave now—”
“On the contrary, my lord Arundel. Neither Sir Brandon, nor Catherine will be departing this place.”
The biting chill of the deep, manly voice from the direction of the chapel froze him to the bone, and all three of them dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.
The Queen of England.
Mary’s walk toward them was a slow, labored shuffle, but Catherine kept her gaze resolutely on the floor. Now was not the time for bold words or actions, not when this woman held the power of life or death for them all. Even if she did want to scream and rage at the woman she’d once loved above all, for the wicked, ungodly deeds she had ordered.
“So, you meet in secret to plot,” the queen continued, her voice rising. “My loyal earl, the woman I treated like a daughter, and her errant lover. In truth you’re all three for my bastard half-sister, aren’t you? Looking to toss us away and usurp our hard-won throne because we cannot give England what it desperately needs. We tried! We tried so hard. But we made mistakes. We were lenient toward the heretics and sinners, and God punished us. So we burned and burned to prove our faith. But it is still not enough. Our Lord has struck us down again.”
Catherine frowned at the hysteria, the torment in the queen’s words. What on earth was she talking about?
“Majesty,” Arundel’s horrified voice shattered the eerie silence. “Your belly…”
She couldn’t help it, her head jerked up. A gasp tore from her throat.
Queen Mary’s previously hugely rounded belly had near-disappeared.
“No child,” Brand said softly, beside her. “Arthur was right.”
“He was not right!” Mary hissed, her arms flailing wildly. “He stole our child. Our beautiful boy, the image of Phillip. Yes, stolen. Or poisoned, no, that is what happened. Arthur Linwood poisoned us. Pretended he cared for our health when all the while he plotted and schemed with his pills and fusions to ensure Elizabeth succeeded the throne. Well she won’t! Never! Phillip will return to us and we shall have a child, the most perfect Catholic prince the world has ever seen. You will see! E-everyone will s-seeeeee…”
Mary crumpled to the floor, rocking in place while she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
Closing her eyes, Catherine offered a silent prayer that she wasn’t about to make the worst mistake of her life. Before she lost her nerve, before the Christian desire to forgive passed, she crawled forward and wrapped her arms around the queen’s shoulders.
“Oh, Majesty,” she whispered. “I am sorry for your pain.”
Mary froze then burrowed against her like a small child, longing for a little affection. “It is over, Catherine. I sought to right the wrongs of my father and brother, to secure the throne forever and make England great again. But I have failed. Soon everyone will know how badly Bloody Mary failed. All because I cleansed my realm of heretics as told to. No one will remember the good, now. Only…this.”
Catherine lifted her gaze to the two men. Both remained silent, watching her, but Arundel inclined his head and Brand smiled and gestured for her to continue.
“Please, madam, you need to rest,” she said to Mary. “Then—”
Abruptly the queen disengaged herself from Catherine’s hold and slowly got to her feet, brushing some dust from her embroidered purple robe.
“We do not,” she said coolly, distantly, like the previous minutes never happened. “The daughter of Henry the Eighth and Catherine of Aragon must carry on, with head held high. There is much still to be achieved in our realm.”
“And what,” said Arundel, his voice shaking, “what of my son Brandon and Mistress Linwood?”
Mary blinked, her regard flicking from the earl to Brand and back. “Ah…side by side you can see it. But let us ask them this: did either seek to achieve or plot our death?”
“Never, Majesty,” said Catherine fervently.
“Practice witchcraft?”
“No. I swear on my father’s grave.”
The queen flinched. “We deeply regret…that is, we did not seek…every day a ruler is forced to make unpleasant decisions. We have prayed and prayed for absolution. But that is in the past and cannot be changed, unlike your future. We accept there has been no wrongdoing save the crime of fornication. Sir Brandon!”
“Yes, Majesty?” said Brand, getting to his feet.
“You committed a sin in taking Catherine to your bed without the blessing and sanctification of the church in marriage vows. It is our understanding you accept blame for this and have been physically corrected.”
“Several times, Majesty.”
“Then it is our decree that you make final amends for your actions and take Catherine to wife with all haste.”
Catherine’s breath hitched. Was it possible? Mary pardoning them both and ordering a dream future?
Brand bowed. “As you wish.”
“You are both also ordered to leave this realm, on the ship Arundel spoke of,” said Mary sharply. “We shall announce your shocking midnight escape from imprisonment in due course. Do not
