Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) by Eliza Knight, E. Knight Read Free Book Online Page A

time.
    When we reached Baynard ’s, I was too weary to take in my surroundings and instead allowed myself to be led up to my new chambers without so much as a chaste kiss goodnight to my husband.
    My stomach lurched and my head spun from too much wine. I vowed never to indulge myself thusly again. I laid my head upon the downy pillow. Images of Lord Beauchamp dancing in my wine-dazed mind. Words my mother had uttered to me a time or two before churned in my mind. Control, Kat. A woman must always maintain some level of control. Do not allow yourself to be carried away by flights of fancy and pretty words. Your mind is your own and the only place in which you alone are master.
    But I fell asleep with his image behind my eyes despite myself.

    Chapter Three

     
    With whom he joined, a hazard great,
    his l iking led him so:
    That ne ither fear of frowning Gods,
    nor dre ad of earthly woe.
    Could mak e him slay his plighted troth,
    such constant m ind he bear.
     
    ~Thomas Churchyard
    Elizabethan soldier and poet
     
    Tower of London
    Monday, July 10, 1553
     
    Jane was proclaimed queen today!
    She was p araded down the River Thames from Westminster Abbey, a stop along the way for lunch at Durham House with Northumberland and the Privy Council, before embarking again on her royal barge to the Tower of London. Dressed in glorious green velvet royal robes, she held her head high. For as much as she lamented being given the crown, Jane was acting the royal queen—and one pleased to be so.
    She reminded me much of the queens of old. In her regal bearing, I glimpsed a touch of my great-uncle, Henry VIII. She appeared relaxed and comfortable in her new state. After all, she had been born and bred as a royal princess, and I do believe my father had had this plan in mind from the moment the midwife had slapped her newborn bottom.
    Now I was the sister of the queen. Oh, please, Lord, let this turn out well for all of us. I knew Princesses Mary and Elizabeth were not happy… Even now, rumors abounded of plots to aid the deposed royal children. Even though our mother, the illustrious Duchess of Suffolk, daughter of the late King Henry VIII’s sister Mary, had instilled in my sisters’ and my own head since birth that our right to the throne was greater than that of Princess Mary and Princess Elizabeth, I knew it could not be true, for they were the daughters of the king, and we only his grand-nieces. No matter how the two past kings tried to repave the line—the fact remained that the princesses had a more direct route than we.
    I didn’t want to be against Princess Mary and Princess Elizabeth, for I’d no qualm with either, and I was content always to be in the shadow of the queen for myself, but I prayed that in some way Jane’s crowning would be good for my family. That we’d not been set on a dangerous path.
    I ’d heard the fears from Mother’s own mouth. Had not Father already played his part in court treachery when he aligned himself to Lord Sudeley?
    The egotistical Lord Sudeley plotted to have Jane marry young King Edward, and for himself to be married to Princess Elizabeth. Sudeley lost his head for that lunatic scheme four years ago. My father was lucky to have not been executed on that day, and Jane as well, even though she’d been about my age at the time. I shuddered to recall that man and his devious plans beneath his chivalrous appearance.
    I recalled with bitter remembrance how Jane had changed since she was put into Sudeley’s care, and our first harsh encounter with Elizabeth. Always intelligent and sharp of wit, Jane had become cynical and standoffish, no longer the sweet older sister I’d once confided in and played with. She was now a vision of Princess Elizabeth and Princess Mary, her eyes always darting around as if she suspected she’d be attacked or slandered. She was not happy. Her lips rarely turned up to smile. When I’d stared into her eyes, so cold and distant, I’d felt as though I’d seen