My Lady Jane(60)

She nodded, and G went to the door and shouted for the servant outside to gather the council members, and then he went back in and explained everything to his lady. The message his father had received about Mary. The fact that Mary would never accept Jane as queen. The emergency missive he’d received that had called him away. After he was finished, Jane’s face had drained of color, if that were possible for such a pale creature.

“But . . . surely we would have heard of soldiers encamped so close, especially if they were hostile to the crown.”

G nodded. “That’s why I wanted to call the meeting of the Privy Council. They all ratified the king’s change to the line of succession, but I feel that they have been keeping things from you, and me as well, because they didn’t think we could handle it yet.”

Jane’s face grew even paler, so at this point her skin was a gray color.

G took her hand. It was the first time they’d touched in days. “It will be all right. I’m sure the council knows of the advance, and has made preparations.”

Jane went to get dressed while they waited for the council to be gathered. G offered to leave and have one of her ladies come in and help her, but Jane begged him to stay (chair turned, of course) and insisted she could dress herself, because she’d been dressing herself for all these years and she certainly hadn’t forgotten—

G begged her not to explain.

She finished getting dressed. G went through their adjoining door, quickly put on trousers that fit and a simple tunic, and then returned to Jane.

And they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Hours passed. There was no hint of dawn in the sky, but it couldn’t be far off.

Jane had taken to pacing her room, and G had the fleeting thought that they would have to reinforce her floor for all the pacing she had done in, what was it? Almost nine days of being queen.

Finally, there was a knock on the door.

G opened it, and there was the original messenger they’d sent. “Your lordship, I sent word to the members of the Privy Council, and well, most of them have quarters nearby, and some don’t, so some had to be tracked down . . . and . . . well . . .”

“Well what?” G said. “Are they all gathered yet?”

“No, my lord.”

“That’s all right. We will meet with the ones who are gathered so far.” It was getting late, after all, and he wanted to meet before the hour of horse.

“But, sir, there are . . . none.”

“None?”

“I do apologize, sir. There are none. I don’t know where they are. I’ve asked the queen’s guard to look, but I don’t know how hard they tried. . . .”

Suddenly, the messenger just stopped talking and ran away.

“G?” Jane said. “What is it?”

“Stay here. I’m going to check on something.”

G stepped out into the passageway, and Jane followed close behind. He’d known she wouldn’t stay.

The hallways were strangely quiet, even for the predawn hour. At the very top of the White Tower, they stopped at a window that overlooked the direction of the encampment. G peeked his head out and saw the soldiers and the banners with an embroidered pomegranate on a bed of roses.

And then his mouth turned down. And his shoulders sagged. And his heart sank.

“What do you see?” Jane asked in a hushed whisper.

“An army at the gates.” G tried not to look as terrified as he felt. “Mary’s army.”





SIXTEEN


Edward

“Are we there yet?” Edward asked for the umpteenth time.

“We’re five minutes closer than the last time you asked,” answered Gracie.

“Well, when are we going to get there?”

“Another day,” she answered. “Perhaps two if you keep stopping to ask me silly questions.”

Edward sighed. After day upon day (upon day) of trudging north through the woods in the seemingly endless rain, always wet and chilled to the bone, the king was tired of walking. His feet hurt, his head ached, his injured ankle bothered him, and fits of coughing and dizziness regularly overtook him.

The poison was still killing him, he supposed.

Right now the poison was the least of his worries. A few days ago there’d been soldiers on the road. The sight of them had filled Edward with dread, because the banners the soldiers marched under were not of the red roaring lion that marked Edward’s reign, but a pomegranate on a bed of roses. Mary’s insignia.

They’d been marching toward London.

Which meant things were about to get really bad for Jane.

“Can’t we find a way to get there any faster?” he asked, also for the umpteenth time.

Gracie smiled over at him with false sweetness. “You know, this journey would be far quicker if you’d turn yourself into a bird and ride upon my shoulder. Quicker and quieter.”

They’d had this argument before.

“No.” Edward didn’t think it proper to be carried by a woman—how would she ever be able to see him as a man if she was the one bearing him to safety? “If we could just travel on the main road . . .” he suggested.

This was also something they’d argued about.

“No,” she refused flatly. “The last thing we need is to come upon more soldiers, or even worse, members of the Pack. We have to stay out of sight.”