her swollen feet into soft shoes. ‘Go and watch for me, Alice. The King needs an audience.’
‘Thank God!’ Isabella remarked.
‘For what precisely?’ Philippa was peevish. ‘I fail to see any need to thank Him this morning.’
‘Because you didn’t ask me to go to look at the monstrosity.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t. Alice will enjoy it. Alice can ask the King the right questions, and then tell us all about it. Can’t you?’
‘Yes, Majesty,’ I replied.
‘But not in great detail,’ Isabella called after me as I left the room. ‘We’re not all fixated with ropes and pulleys and wheels.’
So I went alone. I was interested in ropes and pulleys and cogs with wooden teeth that locked as they revolved. I wanted to see what the Italian had achieved. Was that all I wanted?
Ah no!
I wanted to watch and understand what fascinated Edward when he didn’t have a sword in his hand or a celebration to organise. I wanted to see what beguiled this complex man of action. So I watched the final preparations.
We were not alone. The King had his audience with or without my presence, the Italian and his assistant as well as a cluster of servants and a handful of men at arms to give the necessary strength. And there was Thomas, who could not be kept away from such a spectacle.
‘We need to lift this into position, Sire.’ The Italian gestured, arms flung wide. ‘And then attach the weights and the ropes for the bell.’
The ropes were apportioned to the men at arms, the instructions issued to hoist the weights for the winding mechanism. Thomas was given the task of watching for the moment all was in place. I was waved ignominiously to one side.
‘Pull!’ the Italian bellowed. And they did. ‘Pull!’
With each repetition, the pieces of the clock rose into position.
‘Almost there!’ Thomas capered in excitement.
‘Pull!’ ordered the Italian.
They pulled, and with a creak and a snap one of the ropes broke. The weight to which it was attached crashed down to the floor, sending up a shower of dust and stone chippings. Before I could react, the loose remnants of the rope flew in an arc, like a whiplash, snaking out across the stone paving, to strike my ankles with such force that my feet were taken out from under me.
I fell in an inelegant heap of skirts and frayed rope and dust.
‘Signorina!’ The Italian leapt to my side with horror.
‘Alice!’ The King was there too.
I sat up slowly, breathless from shock and surprise, my ankles sore, as the Italian proceeded to wipe dust from my face, before discreetly arranging my disordered skirts.
‘Signorina! A thousand pardons!’
It all seemed to be happening at a distance: the cloud of dust settling; the soldiers lowering the still unfixed pieces of the clock, now forgotten in the chaos. Thomas staring at me with a mixture of horror and fascination.
My eyes fixed on the King’s anxious face. ‘Edward …’ I said.
‘You are quite safe now.’ He enclosed my hands within his and lifted them to his lips.
And my senses returned.
‘I am not hurt,’ I stated.
Ignoring this, Edward sent Thomas at a run. ‘Fetch my physician!’
‘I am not hurt,’ I repeated.
‘I’ll decide whether you are hurt or not,’ Edward snapped back, and then to his Master of Clocks, who still fussed and wrung his hands, ‘See to the mechanism. It’s not your fault, man! I’ll deal with Mistress Alice.’
Never had I been so aware of his presence, the proud flare of nostrils that gave him a hawkish air even when rank fear was imprinted in his face.
‘Can you stand?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Yes.’
Gently, he lifted me and stood me on my feet. To my surprise I staggered and was forced to clutch at his arm—no artifice on my part but a momentary dizziness. Without a second thought Edward swept me up into his arms and carried me away from the dust and debris.
For the first time in my short existence I was enclosed in the arms of a man. All the feelings I had imagined but never experienced flooded through me. The heat of his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart. The fine grain of his skin, the firmness of his hands holding me close. The pungency of sweat and dust. My throat was dry with an inexplicable need, my palms slick with it. Every inch of my skin seemed to be alive, shimmering in the bars of sunlight through the glazed and painted windows. I was alight, on fire, my heart thundering against the lacing of my gown …
Until I was brought back to reality.
‘Put me down, Sire!’ I ordered. ‘You must not worry the Queen with this. She is ill today. Where are you taking me?’
He came to a sudden halt. ‘I don’t know.’ He looked down at me, as jolted as I. How close his eyes were to mine, his breath warm against my temple. ‘In faith, Alice, you frightened me beyond reason. Are you in pain?’
‘No.’ I was too aware, far too aware. ‘Please put me down. Why are you carrying me when I can walk very well on my own?’
The lines that bracketed his mouth began to ease at last. ‘Allow me to be gallant, if you will, and carry you to safety.’
I could hear the Italian tending lovingly to his mechanism and the voices of the soldiers. The proximity of the servants. ‘Put me down, Sire,’ I repeated. ‘We shall be seen.’
‘Why would that matter?’ His brows winged upwards as if he had not considered it.
But I knew it would matter. All the Court would know of this within the hour. ‘Put me down!’ I abandoned any good manners.
Edward turned abruptly into the chancel, marched along its length and set me down in one of the choir stalls, allowing me some degree of privacy.
‘Since you insist …’
And kneeling beside me, he kissed me. Not a gracious salute to my fingers. Not a brotherly caress to my cheek, as I imagined such a one to be. Not a chaste husbandly peck on the lips such as Janyn Perrers would have employed if he had ever come so close to me. Edward gripped my arms, hauled me against him, and his mouth descended on mine in a firm possession that lasted as long as a heartbeat, and more.
He lifted his head and I looked at him, stunned. My blood hummed, my thoughts scattered. ‘You should not have done that,’ I managed in a whisper.
‘Would you lecture the King on his behaviour, Mistress Alice?’
He smiled
