Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,36

started carrying on about Richard III, for heaven’s sake. Why an uncle would want to mention that particular king is beyond me. Summoned the commoners to his side.”

George Medley paused, presumably so I could ask a question, but as all this was news to me, I could only say, “Go on.”

“So now we have the Protector and the king surrounded by a mob of devoted peasants, as if we hadn’t had enough of that this summer! Not that they were kind to his duchess; Somerset decided he had to send her to safety, and she left in tears. The peasants jeered at her. Some blame the whole of the duke’s troubles on her and her sharp tongue and meddling ways. I think it’s nonsense myself; the duke is capable of mucking things up without a woman’s help, from what I hear. Finally, the Protector hauled the king from his warm chamber at Hampton Court and took him to Windsor Castle in the dead of the night. A mistake, as it’s not been used as a royal residence for years and wasn’t provisioned to receive him. The king was miserable there. Caught a cold, as a matter of fact. Letters started to go back and forth between the Protector and the council, each accusing the other of all manner of evil doing. Finally, the Protector gave in. He didn’t have enough men to win a civil war, if that’s what he was thinking, and to his credit, maybe he didn’t want one either. So he gave up the king and let himself be taken a prisoner to the Tower, where he’s sitting today.”

“I never heard any of this. It is important, surely, and yet Harry told me nothing!”

“Well,” George said. “Perhaps—”

I turned to look at my oldest daughter. There was not a trace of surprise on her face. “Jane, had you heard of this?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You mean that your father told you?”

“Yes, my lady, everything.” Even Jane could not look me quite in the eye. “I am sorry, my lady. I thought Father would have told you, and when you did not mention it, I assumed you were not interested. It did not occur to me that—”

“No. How could it?” I gave George Medley, standing there awkwardly, a radiant smile. “I suppose Harry simply omitted to tell me.”

***

Although it was only late November, there was already a feeling of Christmas in George Medley’s old-fashioned great hall. Only at court in the days of my uncle Henry had I seen more food—every animal that could fly, swim, or run appeared to be represented on George’s table, along with the fruit of every tree imaginable. The fruit of the vine was also there in abundance.

I am normally temperate, to the point of sometimes being the only sober person at a banquet, but with my anger at Harry festering, I took the opportunity to overindulge that night, especially after the children were sent to their beds and the company became conspicuously merrier. I sampled every variety of wine and joined in every toast, and when it came time to dance, I stumbled my way through three numbers, each time using the excuse of being overheated afterward to reward myself with a gulp of wine.

By the time the fourth dance started, even I recognized I was in no condition to join it. Instead, I was stumbling toward my seat when I saw my master of horse approaching. “Master Stokes!” I called. “Will you get my horse ready for me? I wish to ride.”

“Ride, my lady?”

“A horse,” I said, a little irritated at his denseness. “You are my master of horse, and I wish to ride a horse. Ergo—” I giggled. “Ergo. It sounds like something my daughter Jane would say.”

“It is a little late to ride, my lady, but I think some fresh air might do you good.”

“My horse is not ready? Is that what you are saying?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Well, that is quite a disappointment to me. You are my master of horse, after all.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You could at least make yourself useful and bring me some wine, then.”

“No, my lady.”

“You refuse me?”

“I think you might have had just a bit too much already, my lady. Come. Let us walk a little.”

Unable to muster further argument, I let him haul me out into the chilly autumn night. Suddenly I had an irresistible urge to sit, and did. “Master Stokes,” I said dreamily as he joined me on the ground, “I do believe you are correct. I