The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(38)
The joy of it was like a balm over the expected wariness and strain of the coming encounter. Anabel couldn’t remember when she’d last been so anxious. Had her mother felt like this before meeting Philip of Spain? If so, she had never talked about it. Not that Elizabeth Tudor would ever willingly admit to weakness.
So Anabel didn’t, either. Pippa was too radiantly happy to be as sensitive as usual, and what could Kit possibly say? That was one awkwardness too many even for them. Only Madalena, helping the princess dress on the day of James’s arrival, had words of comfort.
As she adjusted the heavy folds of ivory silk that made up Anabel’s overgown and sleeves, Madalena said in her low, melodious voice, “You have the heart of both a king and a queen, Your Highness. James Stuart will never be half the royal you are.”
Anabel, to her own surprise, laughed. “Perhaps that will not be my opening statement to my future husband. But I will remember it.” She stopped Madalena’s adjustments with a hand. “Thank you, my friend.”
She knew she looked as perfect as blood and wealth and style could make her. Beneath the ivory silk damask, a kirtle of the palest blush pink echoed the sarcenet foaming through her slashed sleeves. She wore diamonds in her hair and at her throat—a necklace alternating the diamond’s pure light with cool blue sapphires. Anabel considered herself as free from vanity as possible for a princess born, but it was no sin to recognize the truth: she was beautiful. Any man would be glad to meet such a bride. She almost wondered if she should try to dim her beauty. She had no wish to inspire in James anything more than the cheerful acceptance of political necessity. The absolutely worst thing that could result from this meeting would be Scotland’s insistence on setting a wedding date.
Like her mother, Anabel intended to keep her options as open as possible until the very last moment.
It had taken months of negotiation to arrange the ceremonies appropriate to a Scots king being received at an English border castle that had once held his own mother prisoner. Over hundreds of years, Carlisle Castle had been besieged by the Scots more often than any other English castle. All in all, a portentous site.
As the Scots had agreed to the symbolic submission of their king crossing the border, the princess’s household had agreed to bear the costs. Anabel noted the evidence of money well spent as she paced through Carlisle Castle—from the inner bailey where she lodged in the Warden’s Tower, through to the outer bailey where a viewing stand had been erected for herself and James to view the pageantry. Around and against the grey and red sandstone of the walls hung lush garlands of greenery twined with roses and thistles, and studded with plaques bearing her arms and those of Scotland. Separately—for she was in no rush to combine either their symbolism or their bodies.
Anabel sat on the viewing stand beneath her canopy of estate while everyone else stood to attention as the Scots party began to enter. As Lieutenant General of the North, Kit had joined Lord Scrope at the border crossing to greet the Scots. With Pippa, Madalena, and Lucette to her left and Sir Christopher Hatton and Robert Cecil on her right, Anabel waited with a serene face to meet the man she was betrothed to marry.
James drew the eyes of all the curious as the party entered the bailey, dressed with a richness Anabel had known to expect from reports. She made a rapid assessment as he crossed to the viewing stand: the red hair and hazel eyes of his mother, but without Mary Stuart’s height or reported grace; nothing obvious from his elegant Lennox father; a slightly awkward gait; a face of intelligence if not warmth. Anabel rose at precisely the perfect moment to descend the steps of the viewing stand and meet him face-to-face.
She could not avoid curtseying to a crowned king, but James made the moment easy by instantly extending his hand to raise her. Then, in his own—no doubt carefully calculated—show of deference, he kissed her hand.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “welcome to England.”
“I thank God and Your Highness for this gracious day.”
He was not attractive. She had not expected it. But it was a shock to stand so near to him with Kit just behind his shoulder—Kit, whom all the world would find attractive.
She was introduced to the chief members of the king’s train, and in turn James met her own advisors. Then, as she placed her hand in the crook of his arm to ascend the steps, James paused.
“I must not forget the gift I promised Your Highness,” he told her. “I believe your lieutenant general can bring them forward?”
There was the slightest emphasis on the title, just enough to make Anabel’s instincts sharpen. James did not like Christopher Courtenay. And as it seemed unlikely Kit had done something offensive in the last hour, it could only be because of gossip James had heard. Something to be careful of.
She let the thought go for the moment, because coming forward was the little, clever Scots girl who had made Anabel so much money in the recent past. Maisie Sinclair made a deep obeisance that encompassed both her king and the English princess. And at her shoulder, standing a head taller and as dark and watchful as he’d ever been, was Stephen Courtenay.
Anabel smiled with real pleasure. “Thank you, Your Majesty. This is a gift indeed.”
She smiled up at the viewing stand, where Pippa and Lucette had had no idea that their brother was coming. Despite the difficulties inherent in the coming days, there would be at least a few pleasures.
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