The Last Boleyn(132)

“Lass, it is I.”

Half fearing a trick, she cracked the door and peered out, her knife poised just out of the visitor’s sight. It was Staff’s voice, but perhaps that was another trick.

“Staff. Oh, Staff!”

She was in his arms the moment he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Cold still clung to his garments and skin, but he felt wonderful against her.

“Come on, sweetheart. You and I are going to hide out for the night in a place they will never think to look,” he was saying. “Your dangerous little sister has some sort of dire plan for you, I fear, and we had best get out of here before it happens.”

He craned his head to survey the hall through a cracked door. When he turned back to take her hand, his eyes widened in surprise as though he were seeing her for the first time. “What the hell has happened,” he shot out. “Are you dressing or undressing? Why the knife? Cromwell? Francois?” Anger stained his tanned face livid and he took the knife from her unresisting fingers and hurled it behind her. “I shall kill your father.”

“No, no, my love. Everything is all right now, truly. Francois was here, but I denied him and he left in a huff.”

“In a huff? And what did the royal bastard do before he left?”

“Please, Staff, do not look so awful. He, well, he said some terrible things and tried to seduce me, but I dissuaded him.”

His eyes widened further. “With a fruit knife?”

“No. With a refusal—and the truth. It hurt his pride.”

“And did he hurt you, my little tigress?”

“He tried. I fear him no more, Staff, though he did threaten to tell the Boleyns I submitted to his every whim.”

“I am sure he will and probably believe it himself rather than ever grasp the fact that he faced a real woman tonight and she saw him for the whoreson bastard that he is. Swear to me he did not hurt you. Did he try to pull this dress off?” He tugged the still-loosened gown slightly off her shoulder.

“I was in my robe then. I was just getting dressed now in a hurry to come see where they had sent you. I knew my father meant to get you out of the way somehow.”

“Yes. Lord Thomas Boleyn sent me on a king’s errand to see if the royal party could visit the flagship of his navy on the tide tomorrow. I doubt if they really mean to visit, but I had no choice. He even walked me to my horse and watched me canter away.” He stuck his head slowly out the door into the hall again.

“Where are we going?”

“I do not know what will happen now that you have set Francois back on his royal heel, but we had best stick to my original plan. No one is ever getting hands on you again unless it is a certain William Stafford, love. Who knows if your father shall send someone else to your door?”

“But where will we hide? Did you find some place outside the castle? The gates are secured by two armies.”

“Hush, love. Come on.”

He tugged gently at her wrist and she followed him willingly. She would follow him anywhere he led her, though she be half dressed as she was now or even naked. The halls were greatly deserted and Mary was surprised to see no guards at the door to Anne’s rooms as they approached. Instinctively, she tried to draw back from him as he swung open the door.

“Sh,” he said low. “She beds with the king in his chamber and all the guards are there.”

The vast room where Mary had spent so much of the past week listening to Anne’s desperate tirades glowed in a strange half-light. The fire was low, but two large cresset lamps threw their circles of light near the hearth.

“Are you certain she will not return?”

They stood on the flowered light-blue hearth rug when he loosed her wrist. “She has finally taken the plunge to submit her precious body to the king, Mary. I think you would agree she will have enough political wile to stay at least the night no matter what discomforts or terrors befall her in the lion’s den.”

He squinted in the direction of Anne’s huge dark-curtained bed. “This bed will be comfortable enough for us, I assure you, love. We shall remake it carefully when we go at dawn.”

“No, I cannot.”

His strong brown hands slid up her arms. “Cannot what, sweetheart?”

“I will not sleep in her bed. How could you do so?”

“I see. Well, lass, I have no respect for the Lady Anne Boleyn’s bed.”

“I have no respect for it. Only contempt.” She heard her voice break, and he pulled her a step forward into his arms.

“I am sorry, sweet, but I thought it would be the safest harbor for us this night. I take it that this dire plan to seduce the French and Francois was her doing?”

“Yes,” she said muffled into his velvet jerkin.

“She is far more stupid than I thought,” he said against her disheveled hair. “Then we, my lady, shall spend the night right here on this hearth rug, and I shall build the fire up a bit.” He pulled her down gently to sit on the plush rug in the protective crook of his arm and she leaned securely against him. Moments passed. He moved away and threw two logs into the dying flames. She sat on her haunches studying the muscle bulges on his back and the lean angles the firelight etched on his face. He turned to face her three feet away.

“What are you thinking, love,” he asked.