Betrayal by Michele Kallio Read Free Book Online Page B

prettily.
                  At last, Cavendish had his long-awaited acknowledgement. Rising from the dusty straw he slapped at his hose. “Sire, gracious lady, my lord Cardinal, the child and her mistress wait within the doors.”
                  “Well, bring them in, man,” Henry said, patting Anne’s hand in anticipation of her eager acceptance of the child, so like him as to be one of his own.  ‘Pity, she wasn’t.’ he thought, as he motioned to Cavendish. “Here, man, bring them here,” he called. Wolsey nodded his assent to his servant and Cavendish stood, signaling to Elisabeth to bring the child forward.
                  Elisabeth tugged Sarah into a deep curtsey before the head table. They knelt with heads bowed until Cardinal Wolsey spoke.
                  “Up, child, stand up so that we may see you.  You too, Elisabeth. As you can see, Sire, she is a well made child.  Her father, John, is my master mason.  He labors on the north tower.  John, come forward to meet your King.”
                  Elisabeth flinched inwardly at the mason’s approach. The tall, thin, red-haired man came out from behind one of the tables, nervously brushing his thick hair with his fingers.  His pace was so slow; Elisabeth felt it was hours before he joined her and Sarah before the dais.
                  “My lord Cardinal tells me that you are a master mason,” the King said, glancing over the man from head to toe.  “Under whom did you train?”
                  Instantly Wolsey regretted bringing the man forward.  Would the King steal him away?
                  “I trained under Cardinal Beauchamp’s master mason, Jules de Pre, in France,” John answered, his head held erect, his eyes holding the King’s own.  Elisabeth gasped at the boldness of his stare and winced.
                  Anne Boleyn smiled at the Cardinal’s name. A pleasant memory flashed in her mind
    “You are well trained.  Tell me, does my lord Cardinal pay a fair wage?” Henry asked.  Then turning to the Lady Anne he whispered something that made her laugh. After a moment’s pause he spoke again.  “Now I can see the reason for such a well built child, good form springs from your loins as well as your hands.  Pray, present your wife.”
                  John bowed his head, struggling for the words to portray his wife to such high company.  He mumbled, but Sarah spoke before he could.
                  “She is at home where she belongs.”  The child posed herself, her hands on hips as she spit out the words.
                  “And why, little one, are you not at home with her?” questioned the King.
    “She beats the child, your Grace,” John said, his head still bowed.  “I fear she took an instant dislike to the child at her birth.  My wife is presently in the care of her family.”
                  “Poor thing,” said the Lady Anne Boleyn.  “Pray, sir, I hope you will have no objection to Sarah’s accompanying me on progress to Hever and Greenwich.  I can promise you, she will come to no harm.  Several of my ladies are well-trained in childcare.”
                  Sarah interrupted.  “But he,” she continued, pointing to the King, “said Elisabeth could come too. Didn’t you, highness?”
                  Elisabeth swooped to correct the child’s boldness. ‘Like father, like daughter,’ she thought, ‘both too bold by far for their own good.’  “Silence, Sarah,” Elisabeth scolded. “Mind your manners.  I beg pardon for the child,” Elisabeth said, as she pulled Sarah into a deep curtsey. She held the struggling child in this pose awaiting the King’s reply.
                  “Well and boldly said, Sarah. It is true; I did say that your Elisabeth could come. My lady only wishes to assure your father of your safety