I know it has been exhausting, taking care of me all these years. So I’ve arranged for you to withdraw to Holystone’s nunnery.’
‘Nunnery?’ She had never expected marriage, but to be locked in a convent? No. That she had never, never wanted.
‘It is a small one, but I’ll arrange a sizeable gift to be sure you are well cared for. And now that the war with Scotland is over, I’m sure it is quite safe, even though it is on the Borders.’
Her lady’s meaning was now cold and clear and sharp. The secret Anne had kept for all these years was no longer a protection for her. She was the only one besides Joan who knew the truth. Now that the marriage was finalised, she needed Anne to be far, far away.
Out of sight.
Out of reach.
Locked away like a madwoman.
Silent.
Speechless, Anne took a step away from her lady, lost in a suddenly spinning world.
How was she to live, torn away from the life that had protected her since childhood?
The answer was simple and brutal. She wasn’t.
Oh, it was not an outright threat. Lady Joan would never dream of harming her, of course. It was just that Anne was no longer useful. Worse, she had become...inconvenient. She was the only person to know that the wife of the future King of England, and, more importantly, the mother of a future King of England was not, could not be married to the Prince under church law.
Because she was married to another man.
Only Anne the cripple knew now. And no one would heed her, once she was tucked far away in a convent, never to see the outside world again.
She left the dais and leaned against the wall, unable to take a sure step. The gaiety of the wedding dancers filled the Hall. She had never expected to be able to dance, but to be locked away, never to even see someone else move to music, to hear only music meant for God’s ears...
It was not death, exactly. She would still breathe and wake to see the light each day, beckoning outside the convent walls. But she would be trapped, imprisoned in one place more tightly than her leg could ever have held her.
As tight as a coffin might hold her.
‘You do not seem happy.’ Nicholas had appeared beside her, without her even knowing. ‘What did she want?’
She must keep smiling. ‘Just to thank me. Of course I am happy. For her.’
‘And for yourself?’
She looked away. ‘I have nothing to complain of.’ And yet she wanted to complain, to keen in mourning at the loss of her world. A world in which once, at least, a man had kissed her. ‘But I have some things I must tell you.’
Within days, he would be gone from her life for ever. The only man who had ever really seen her. She had thought to make a memory tonight, but perhaps she would repay a debt instead.
* * *
Staying close to the wall, Nicholas guided Anne out of the Hall. Revellers were spilling out of the Hall, looking for fresh air, and the yard that had been theirs before was now dotted with other couples.
He found quiet shelter in the stairway, where torches studded the walls so that guests would not miss a step and tumble down the stairs cascading below them.
They settled on one of the steps and Nicholas brushed the hair away from Anne’s brow, wanting to take her lips again, but her mood had shifted. The moment lost.
She took a breath. ‘Tonight is goodbye.’ Her voice was steady. Steadier than he felt. Now he was the one whose legs seemed too weak to carry him forward. He did not want to examine why.
‘I do not leave yet.’
‘I do.’
Shock. Where would she be going? ‘I thought the Prince and Princess would remain at Windsor.’
‘They will. I go alone.’
‘Alone?’ An echo, that word. She had never gone anywhere alone. ‘Where?’
She pursed her lips, looking not at him, but down the stairs that disappeared into darkness. ‘To the convent of Holystone.’
He’d never even heard the name. ‘Where is that?’
She shrugged. ‘Northumberland. Near the Borders.’
None of the words made sense. ‘On a mission for your lady?’
A deep breath, then Anne met his eyes again. ‘My lady thinks I need a rest.’
‘Do you?’ The words were sharper than he had intended.
She shrugged.
Something was wrong. Why was she going alone to a desolate, dangerous wasteland? She had wanted to travel, especially without her lady, but there was no excitement in her voice. ‘Is it what you want?’
‘It is...better that I go.’ She looked down the stairs that would take her away. In the flickering torchlight, they almost seemed to move. ‘I have been with Lady Joan a long time. I remind her of too many things.’
He sensed treacherous ground here. ‘What things?’ He asked as if it were his right to know.
She did look at him then, long and hard and silent, as if she were making a hard decision. ‘Of the past. You asked me once if I knew who witnessed her marriage to Holland. I do. It was my mother. My mother was the witness.’
If he had been standing, he would have fallen.
He tried to reorder the pieces, to fit together everything he had learned, confirmed and did not know.
A clandestine marriage with a witness. And all his questions had come to naught. It had seemed strange at the time, but she had insisted she did not know.
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. ‘I asked you and you lied.’ Anger doubled, for lie upon lie. He should not have been surprised. And yet... ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She looked down at her lap. ‘I have never told anyone.’ Her words were a whisper, as if she did not want to tell him either.
Yet here, breathing the scent of her, knowing this would be the last time he would see her, his anger shattered.
He let his hands slip off her shoulders and gathered her fingers in his. ‘Tell me.’
* * *
With her fingers tight in his, Anne felt at once safe and trapped. She had led him this far, exchanged a night of passion for a night of truth, or partial truth, uncertain whether she was looking for redemption, forgiveness, or simply a witness.
