I tugged the sheets to my chin, making a firm promise to myself: before Nick had a chance to destroy the enchanted ring that clearly terrified him, I was going to stop at nothing to get some answers about it—with his blessing or without.
9
Splinters of sunrise through the cracks in the shutters roused me out of bed without my usual sleepy protests. I was fully charged and springy with excitement for my first road trip across sixteenth-century England.
But when I got outside, the number of people lined up to join us was a shock to the system. It was never going to be a couple’s escape, but I hadn’t expected literally a thousand people to come along for the ride. From the west gatehouse of Hampton Court Palace, hundreds of carts, wagons, and horses queued noisily outside the slaughterhouses and stables before disappearing into the hunting park. Half the court’s residents stood in their traveling cloaks, hastily tying last-minute pieces of furniture, bedding, and wall hangings to their horses and wagons.
I clung to the last corner of warmth inside the gatehouse with my three ladies. Lucinda Parker had arrived back at court the night before, giddily sharing news of Ellie’s improvement. I was genuinely relieved that Ellie was okay, and nothing was going to dull my perky mood—not even the memory of Lucinda’s lips on my boyfriend’s. At this point, I was taking everyone’s word for it that lip-locking in an age of widespread disease was inexplicably commonplace.
Bridget was bouncing from heel to heel. “My first royal progress,” she sang, already on the lookout for rich hotties.
Alice groaned, separating the tangled chains of the brass pendants she’d made for us to ward off bad air outside the palace. “You may come to loathe the progress, with lodging conditions of every which way and no manner of receiving letters.” I felt a pang of guilt over my careless excitement—for Alice, our trip away also meant potentially missing news about her mom’s disappearance.
“We shall sleep in great comfort,” Lucinda argued cheerfully. “We are so fortunate and blessed to be traveling with our promised queen.” She tipped her pearled hood at me, finally acknowledging my station over her. I couldn’t decide whether or not her kindness was genuine, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt and returned a cautious smile.
“Come then,” said Alice, draping the talismans over our heads. “The king will not wish us to ride on horseback so late in the year. We must find our coach.”
The four of us edged through whirs of servants securing rolled-up mattresses and trapped hunting dogs yipping from carts but could see no sign of our carriage. Nick emerged through the chaos, a superstar strutting the red carpet toward us as infatuated courtiers bid him good morning from every angle.
“Good morrow, my lady,” he said to me, dropping into an elegant bow.
I’d never acclimatize to the sight of Nicholas the Ironheart bowing to me, nor the impact of Nick Tudor in full finery. He liked the comfort of long pants, but today he’d chosen breeches to impress the nobles with his muscular legs. The silk cloth encasing his hips and chest shone with swirls of pearled white, coconut cream, and pale ivory. A thick cloak of jet-black blanketed one shoulder, the bottom half embroidered with snow-colored seashells. The tongue-in-cheek frown I’d attempted was eaten away by an embarrassingly doting smile. Nevertheless, I fired a teasing shot.
“No one seems to know where we’re supposed to be,” I said to him, indicating my ladies. “The dogs and puffin birds have carts, but we don’t. Should we walk to Windsor?”
Nick chuckled with his unflappable coolness. “You are to travel with my person, Lady Pembroke.”
Bridget gasped and fluffed out her skirts. “My glorious lord, will Lady Pembroke’s ladies be blessed to join His Majesty’s coach?”
Nick’s eyes didn’t move from mine. “I am afraid not, madam. There is not room in my coach for so many beautiful maidens.” They all blushed, and I forced my mind away from Lucinda. “I have appointed the Earl of Warwick as your companion.”
Alice’s cheeks flushed scarlet at the news that she’d be traveling with Francis Beaumont. She was so obviously smitten with the fiery earl that it made me want to squeal, but she’d made clear that nothing had happened between them at the feast. Something was still holding Alice back, and I intended to find out what.
What snagged my attention the most, however, was that Nick not only avoided Lucinda Parker’s gaze, but he turned his back to her, offering me an elbow. “Come, my lady,” he said.
“Make way for the king!” cried the guards. My shoulder brushed Nick’s bicep as we walked, and he tightened his arm around me.
He led me up the stairs of his coach, which was swathed in blue velvet braided with ropes of gold. Before I could take in the lush interiors, we were already kissing. He reached behind me to tug the curtain closed without separating his mouth from mine, his movements heated and urgent. It was a ridiculously inappropriate time to launch into a make-out session, but common sense and Nick Tudor had become an oxymoron. After our recent rough patch, it felt like he hadn’t kissed me in weeks, and he feverishly hooked an arm around my waist and tugged me onto his lap. The shout of a commander near the coach was the wake-up call we both needed. I slipped off Nick and onto the cushioned bench beside him, breathing like I’d just run cross-country.
“Forgive me,” he said breathlessly, rubbing his swollen lips. “I grow weary of all this fanfare and never being able to see you without the company of others.”
The comment caught me by surprise. I’d thought it was just me who craved for it to be only the two of us.
“The king is ready to depart,” Nick called before I could reply. Seconds later, our coach shook to life.
He sat back with his hands on his knees, as accustomed to riding in golden coaches as he was to drinking from fountains of wine. I peeked through the gap in the curtain, watching the stables and kennels shrink away in our trail of dust. The graveled road soon melted into dirt tracks as we rumbled along the river dotted with white swans, the crisp taste of the breeze reminding me how stuffy the palace walls had become. Children in tattered shirts and dresses were jogging alongside us, waving with gap-toothed grins.
“God save the king!” their musical voices shrieked. “Long live the king!” A bunch of boys had gathered a short distance ahead, their woolen caps pressed to their chests. I reached through the curtains to wave at them, hearing their delighted shrieks as the coach rolled on. “Can I open the curtains a bit?” I asked Nick.
“If it pleases you.” He unrolled a scroll containing trade updates. We’d been out of Hampton Court less than five minutes, and he already seemed more at ease.
I tugged the curtain apart two inches, aware that any more might put the king at risk on the open roads. Our coachman skillfully negotiated the deeply rutted paths as we bumped through acres of dense forest, harvested meadows sprinkled with grazing cattle, rustic cottages bandaged with vines, and colorful constellations of wildflowers grasping the last weeks of spring. When the road made a sharp curve at the tip of a small hill, I twisted to check out the hundreds of carts trailing us like an ant colony on the move—visual proof that the King of England would never have a private life. He would always be surrounded by his court, his nobles, or his guards.