The Last Boleyn(105)

She grabbed both swords, and he put his back in its scabbard. Replacing hers awkwardly, she mounted. They walked their horses carefully around the fallen logs, no doubt all part of the robbers’ dire trap.

“Go at a fairly good gallop, Mary. Sanctuary will follow Eden’s lead.” Then she heard him speak the last words he would say until they were at Hever: “I hope to hell His Grace’s doctor is still there to tend the Lady Anne.”



Within an hour the forests dwindled to scattered stands of oak, elm and beech as Eden scented the waters of Hever and pricked up her ears. Tears of relief flooded Mary’s eyes at leaving the dreaded forest. Staff still rode slumped over without a word, but conscious. She would care well for him at Hever. She owed him so much. Only when the house was in sight did she begin to tremble at the impact of it all—attacked by thieves, Staff wounded, Will dead.

They cantered into the courtyard and Semmonet, Stephen, and Michael the gardener were instantly there to help. The two men carried Staff into the hall and upstairs at Mary’s orders.

“Who is the handsome devil, and what happened to you? Where is Will? Why are you out riding in men’s clothes?” Semmonet hissed at her in broken whispers as they deposited him in George’s bed. She ignored the questions, for her mind was only on helping Staff.

“Is the king’s doctor still here?” she asked sharply, bending to untie the crude bindings of the wound.

“No, Mary. Anne was much recovered so...”

“Anne was ill? Are mother and Catherine well?”

“Yes, and you see...”

“Then send for mother. Michael can fetch the apothecary in the village. Mother will know what to do. Hurry!”

Semmonet scurried off. Mary bent over Staff, stretched on the bed. She took his dirty hand in her even filthier one. Dirt was encrusted under her long nails and her hair straggled down to almost cover his head in a golden curtain.

He opened his eyes a crack. “If I get a fever from this, Mary, do not fear. Infected wounds often breed fever.”

“Yes, my Staff. I will stay by you. I will not be afraid.”

“Do you love me a little bit, Mary?” His voice was very weak.

“Yes, my lord. I... I love you a great deal.”

“Then I think I shall have to be ill for a very long time.” He tried to smile, but his face contorted in pain.

“Do not talk. All will be well, Staff. I promise.”

“All, sweet? I pray so.” He seemed to doze instantly on the last word.

Then Lady Elizabeth was beside her and swept her wordlessly into her arms.



It had been four days since they had returned home. In a way, the longest four days of her life, she thought, but wonderful too. Staff was slowly healing and so was she. She had spent hours by his bedside, watching. When they first returned, despite mother’s pleas for her to get some sleep and Anne’s words that she was foolish indeed to wait up since he was obviously unconscious, she had sat and watched all night. She would occasionally pace to the next room to cherish the sound of Catherine’s gentle breathing, but then she would return to stare down at Staff’s wrinkled brow as he slept fitfully.

They all wore mourning for Will Carey now—all but Anne, who was content to wear only a black sash tied to her sleeve. Mother had even sewn Catherine a dark dress. It made her look terribly pale and Mary detested it, but it was right that the child should wear it for a month. Father and George were still at Eltham with the king. They must have known of Will’s death for a week, but there was no word of comfort or condolence from Eltham. Today was a fine day though. It was not humid and the sun shone. And Staff sat erect in his bed against several pillows for the first time.

“Do I get some kind of kiss this morning, madam?” he teased Mary. She smiled broadly to hear the amused tone returned to his voice.

“For what?” she returned with feigned naivete. “You owe me for doctoring and linen bills, my lord, and my last decent pair of silk stockings.”

“I will buy you more than silk stockings, if you will let me, sweetheart. And I will gladly give you all the kissing you may think I owe if I can get this stubble off my face and get us out of the watchful gaze of your guard dog governess.”

Mary laughed. “I would shave you, but I fear you have no more blood to spare for nicks and cuts. There is a lad here who used to shave George before he had his own valet. I shall fetch him.”

“Sit awhile, lass. There is time enough.”

She sat back on the edge of the wooden chair. “There is something I have been wanting to say all the while you were hurt and sleeping, Staff.”

“Tell me.” He looked as expectant as a little boy about to open a package.

“I want to thank you for saving me when we were attacked. I was no help. I let them know I was a woman and I screamed. I am sorry.” She hesitated.

“But you are a woman, Mary, and had never been so abused before. I would not expect you to act differently. You are hardly trained to wield a sword. Besides, you were a tremendous help to me afterward. Is there anything else?”

“Yes. I want you to know I appreciate—I treasure—our hours and our talks at Banstead. And, well, thank you for being so restrained.”

“You are welcome. Do not thank me too much. I doubt if I could ever do it again—the restraint I mean.”