The Lady Anne Read online

  Master Cooper agreed, although his flat face held little hope to stir my spirits. My horse protested and shuddered as I pushed him further on along the path. I thought, then, that there was indeed a possibility that we might die in the countryside; there seemed to be no end to the pain that England wanted to cause to me.

  We pressed on through the freezing mists until, suddenly, one of the men gave a shout. In the wilderness, lights dancing through the mist, we saw the outline of a small country hunting lodge nestled deep in the forest. Candle light shone from its windows against the quickening darkness, struggling against the haze of the mist and the storm. It was a sudden ray of hope, and some small cheers rang out amongst the men.

  “Come, Masters!” I encouraged the men and poor Bess. “Let us get there and petition them for shelter before we are all lost forever in this foul fog.”

  We got to the door of the little lodge and heard the sounds of music within; a lute was being played by skilled fingers. It was a sound of civilisation amongst the wilds of the forest; a sound which made my heart ache for France. Master Cooper knocked at the door loudly, and, after a surprised, sudden end to the tune, a voice came to the door.

  “Who goes there?” The question rang out in a strong, masculine voice.

  “We are a party escorting a noble lady to her home,” Master Cooper bellowed against the noise of the storm. “We are lost in the woods and would seek shelter at this place.”

  The door was unlocked and a dark face, obscured in shadow with the light of the chamber behind, peered out into the darkness. “Lost in the storm with a lady?” the voice asked curiously.

  “Yes!” I cried out impatiently. “Soon to be a lady, late of this life, should you delay in opening that door any longer!”

  There was a deep, warm laugh and the door was flung fully open. “Never let it be said that a gentleman should fail to aid a lady in distress,” said the amused voice. “There is stabling around the back of the lodge for your horses. My man will show you where.” From behind him came a servant, who stepped out into the winds with a sour expression, pointing and gesturing to Master Cooper where to take the horses. I dismounted and helped Bess from the saddle behind me. She was soaking wet and shivering violently. I pulled her under my cloak and turned to look at the man standing in the doorway.

  He was tall, with a short, brown beard and dark hair. His amused voice was cultured, his clothing was fine, and although in shirt and hose, with only an overcoat, hardly dressed for company, he was clearly a man of good breeding. I felt somewhat reassured that we would be safe in this place until the storm passed. The man seemed like a gentleman at least, and I had many guards with me. My men took the horses around the back to the stables with the servants, while Bess and I entered the lodge. Master Cooper and another of his men stayed with us. There was no sense in abandoning all security, after all, we did not yet know who this man was.

  As we entered the lodge, my poor maid was taken with weeping. I pulled her to me, under the heavy cloak. “Hush, child, there is no need for such… We are safe now.”

  Bess nodded and managed to stop her tears. A woman in the garb of a kitchen maid took her off to a back room to dry her. I breathed a long sigh and walked to the fire at the centre of the large room, trying to warm myself. I held out my hands to the welcome, flickering flames of the fire, and looked about me.

  The owner of the lodge was watching me with some interest as I stood for a moment trying to collect myself before the dancing flames. I looked up, and, over the fireplace, I saw the crest of the Wyatt family, a crest I remembered well from my childhood. I looked around the room quickly, blinking with amazement as my eyes seemed to view the place anew. It slowly dawned on me that I recognised where I was. Looking around in delighted astonishment, I realised that this was one of the small hunting lodges of the Wyatt family; the noble neighbours of my own family. My brother George and little Thomas Wyatt had played at being knights of Bosworth Field here in the forest when we were children so long ago. We were not as far from Hever as I had thought. As I recognised the place, and the crest, I understood something else… Surely the man standing in the room before me must be a Wyatt himself? My family’s nearest noble neighbours. I was safe, for I was within the house of a family friend. And, as my quick mind raced through such thoughts, I realised that there was really only one Wyatt the man before me could be; there were no other male children of this age, I was sure.

  The handsome, grown man before me had to be little Tom Wyatt… the boy who had given roses to my sister Mary in the games of our childhood.

  Suddenly I looked at him and laughed gaily; the memories of our childhood games prancing in my mind along with the strangeness of this reunion. He looked taken aback, as well he might, when a strange lady comes from nowhere out of a storm, stands dripping in his house and then laughs at him. His expression made me want to laugh again; I restrained myself but continued to smile warmly at him as I pulled my deep riding hood back a little.

  “It is you, isn’t it?” I asked, pausing and holding the deep cowl of my riding cloak over my head. I felt a little mischievous suddenly. This day had been so tiring and so wearisome that my heart seemed to sing for a little entertainment. This was almost like a masque at court; for at the moment I wore a mask of unfamiliarity that obscured my true identity from the man before me.

  “You are little Tom Wyatt, the brave knight of Mary Boleyn; giver of roses and winner of battles. I am right, am I not? It is you!”

  He started at my words, stared hard at me, and looked me over, puzzled, but with some light of recognition dawning in his mind.

  “Come, Tom,” I laughed merrily, much to the surprise of Master Cooper who was looking nervously about him still, worried about bringing a lady under his protection into a strange house.

  “Come, Tom… do you really not know me?” I turned to face him and pushed back my hood so that it fell about my neck. I untied the heavy cloak and pulled it from my shoulders revealing my fine gown. Throwing the wet cloak over a chair by the fire, I turned on him with a grin. “I’ll wager I have changed since you and my brother played at Bosworth Field and you claimed my beautiful sister as your prize...” I sighed in mock anguish, putting my hand to my heart. “I was never the one picked to play queen to such brave knights as you and my brother George.”

  And now he laughed too, his face looking on in amazement at me.

  “It is you? Little Mistress Anna Boleyn?” He walked towards me, taking my hands and stretching them before me so that he could look me over. My clothing was wet, but it was still fine and sophisticated. My hair had been protected on the journey by my hood, and it flowed, long, thick and dark, down my back. A black riding-hood decorated with pearls crowned my head. I could feel my large, black eyes sparkling at him with enjoyment.

  Tom Wyatt shook his head. “This is Anne Boleyn?” he asked wonderingly. “This… the tiny sister of George Boleyn? It is not possible! The tiny sister of George is but a little girl, and you are a fine court lady.” Tom laughed again as he bowed to me with a playful smirk. “Albeit, a rather damp, fine lady!”

  I laughed with joy. What a fine way to end such an awful day! It was such a pleasure to find this old friend just as I had thought we were lost from all civilisation and safety. “I have been long away from England, Master Wyatt,” I said merrily, bobbing a curtsey to him. “You, too, are not the boy I remember.”

  And he was not, for this man was tall and strong. Gone were the spindly limbs of childhood, the plump cheeks of infancy… and here was the virility and strength of a grown man. His short, dark beard covered his lower face, accentuating a fine jaw and well-formed, stalwart mouth. Tom had dark brown hair and warm hazel eyes; his look was bold and intelligent, his manner polished and bubbling with good humour.

  He was a fine and handsome man now; I took to him immediately. I could not see how any woman would not…

  Chapter Two

  The Hunting Lodge, Kent

  January 1522<
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  Although both Tom and I were much surprised and pleased to be reunited in such an unexpected way, he bade me to go and get dry before we spent time in company with each other. It was sensible advice, for I and my party were soaking wet. Tom offered me his own chamber for the night, in which a goodly fire was burning bright, dispelling the chill and damp of the winter night. My clothes were with the carts which no doubt still trundled along on the dark roads, lit by torch light, to Hever, but the maid who tended the kitchen found me a dry kirtle from an old chest of clothes left by the Wyatt family here, and although it was nothing to the finery of my own clothes, it was at least warm and dry. With a new kirtle upon my body, and my own gown drying before the fires of the chamber, I felt much happier. When my gown had dried a little, I put it on over the rough, borrowed kirtle. Bess, too, had been found a smock, and now that she was warm and dry she was looking ready to fall asleep standing up. I would have left my poor maid to sleep, but I needed her at my side if I was to converse with Tom without scandal, and I was eager to speak with him. This strange, chance meeting had enlivened my spirits and brought heart to me. I had been feeling so very low that I wished now to continue talking to the man who had managed to vanquish the power of my despondency with his appearance.

  When I had changed my clothing, we returned to the main chamber of the lodge, where Tom’s few servants had prepared us some food and were warming spiced wine to drink. The scent of the wine was something quite remarkable after a day spent with only the smell of the mud and the rain whipping about my face and body, and I took a cup with a thankful heart which felt a thousand times lighter than when we had set out that morning.

  The hunting lodge was not a large place; one large chamber and a small kitchen below, and three petite rooms above. Tom had been using it merely to stay in during the nights as he hunted through the lands of his family estate. Many noble families had such buildings on their lands; little spaces where the men of the household could remove themselves for a length of time, to spend time in the wilderness with noble companions, or with just a spare few servants, as Tom did now.

  I could not but help be grateful that he had decided to stay here this night. It seemed as though Fate herself had reached out a hand to help me find shelter with the company of an old friend. Perhaps she had felt my misery and taken pity on me. For a while I had feared we might have had to make camp in the storm with nothing but our cloaks. It was so heartening, after our journey through the tempests, to taste sweet spiced wine, and to eat the tangy dried rings of pippin apples and little cold pies of venison, pork and ginger which were hastily produced from the kitchens for us. With a full belly, a goblet of wine cupped in my hands and a dry place to sit at the warm fireside, I felt suddenly so content in England that I knew not how I had thought so ill of it.

  Tom and I talked of my time at the French Court and his time at the Court of England. I told him of my travels, from Hever to Mechelen, and from Burgundy to France, and he was full of admiration to hear of the circles of people I had met and made friends with. He told me of his youth, firstly as a young student at St John’s College in Cambridge University, then in the service of noble families, and how he was now in service to King Henry at court as a clerk of the jewel house, although his father, Sir Henry Wyatt, hoped for much more advancement yet to come for his son. Tom told me briefly of his marriage to a lady named Elizabeth Brooke, the daughter of Thomas Brooke, Lord Cobham, also of Kent. Although it was an advantageous marriage, which had placed Tom well at court, I gleaned from his sparse words and heavy glances that it was not a happy one. He had one child of the marriage, however; a son, he told me, so at least there was one thing to give comfort to him in this unwanted match.

  “How came you to be here, with so little company?” I asked, sipping the sweet, spiced wine as we sat late by the fire. Bess was nodding, half-asleep, her head almost upon her breast at my side, and my guards talked softly and wagered with dice on the stone floor near to the windows. The night had grown old, and the storm still raged outside; rain battered at the window shutters as though enraged that we travellers had escaped its icy fingers and misty arms.

  I did not feel tired at all, despite the rigours of the day. I was excited to meet Tom again, and to know him now that we were both grown. I knew that he felt the same, and perhaps, more; there was a speculative manner in the way he glanced at me. I knew what he was thinking; it was a natural way for men to think about women, after all. His eyes glowed with the warmth of the flames, and lighted upon me with the growing embers of another kind of fire. His expression told me all that I needed to know, and I was flattered to feel his interest in me… and a little wary.

  “I like to escape the court, from time to time,” Tom said, frowning at the fire for a moment as though it vexed him, and then glancing up into my eyes with a quick, wry smile. “Although my duties, and some entertainments and company may be found at court, which bring satisfaction to me, I feel as though the court wears heavy on my soul after some time. I need solitude to recover my good humour. After a while at court, I feel as though the very walls are watching me, and the furniture is listening to all I say. There comes a time when I must ask my father and the King to excuse me, as I seek a peace in my own company.” He smiled. “And, after all, how often does a gentleman get the chance to rescue a fair maiden in distress from a winter storm? Such things are not possible, within the confines of the court, within the palaces and the gardens of the King.”

  I laughed. “Well, then I am glad that the court’s watchful walls and much-observant tables drove you here to save me. It was already a strange trip back to a land I barely knew. I was feeling miserable even before we were lost in the storm. And then, suddenly, in the midst of a great enveloping tempest, I found there was an old friend opening a door to me.” I smiled at Tom and raised my glass to him. “This was a good welcome home, my old friend.”

  Tom stared at me with a gaze that was half-amused and half-suspicious. I could see that he knew not where my mocking ended and my real thoughts began. But there was truth within my mocking. This was a good end to a bad day.

  There was a moment’s silence between us as he gazed at me, and in the warm flickering lights of the fire, I could see something within his eyes, something of that first interest in me which was already growing; embers growing to flame… I was suddenly most aware of the lateness of the hour, and of the inattention of my sleeping maid at my side. Abruptly I rose.

  “I should be abed,” I said softly, and nodded to Tom. “You have been most gracious to me this night, Master Wyatt, and your kindness will not be forgotten. On the morrow, I must set out early for my family’s home at Hever; no doubt my family will fear that I am lost or have been set upon and murdered. I do not wish to keep them lingering in their fears for longer than I have done already.”

  Tom blinked at me for my sudden movement from easy conversation to swift departure. His gaze was warm with friendship and with wine, but there was, too, a curious and captivated sense in the look he gave me. He stood, looked at me and smiled teasingly. “It is the custom, in England, for women to kiss on the lips when one meets or parts from a friend, Mistress Boleyn,” he said, lifting one eyebrow in a rather naughty expression which made him look like a charming boy, caught trying to steal sweetmeats from the kitchens.

  I smiled at him. I could not help it. The look on his face was so impish that it forced the ends of my mouth upwards. But I was not some country maid to be lured into such games as men would play. In a warm, yet steady, voice I replied, “But I have tarried so long in the Court of France, Master Wyatt, that I am more French than English. In France, ladies are kissed on the hand when they depart noble company and friends.”

  I offered my pale, slim hand out to him and he laughed good-humouredly. He looked genuinely amused at my lofty demeanour and took my hand gently, kissing my fingers with soft lips. His beard tickled my skin, and I felt an unexpected rush of pleasure flow over me. Tom looked up at me, his lips still
lingering over the top of my hand; his eyes were warm and misted with the fog of desire. I felt a light blush creep over my cheeks as I was held in his gaze.

  He lowered my hand from his lips, and yet still held it in his as he softly said, “Goodnight, Mistress Boleyn; and may God grant you sweet dreams.”

  His voice was slightly gruff and his gaze soft and somewhat pleading. I knew what he wanted of me. But he was not about to get what he pleaded for… I was no easy prey, to welcome a man to my bed when I barely knew him.

  “Goodnight, Master Wyatt,” I said firmly, taking my hand from his. I roused Bess who stumbled to my side, trying to hide her yawns and pretend that she had not been deep within the arms of sleep as I talked to this handsome courtier through the night. As we reached the door leading to the upstairs chambers, I turned back to see Tom standing by the fire where I had left him, staring at my retreating back. Our eyes met, but neither of us smiled at the other. We held each other’s gaze as a recognition of mutual attraction seemed to be made between us, and then I turned, and made quickly for the short flight of stairs to the chamber I had been promised for the night.

  Bess was quickly asleep, falling onto the little pallet bed on the floor stuffed with hay. She was asleep before she had even pulled the woollen blanket over herself. As I covered her over, and removed my own gown myself, I thought of the soft, warm eyes of Tom Wyatt, and the manner in which he had looked at me as we said goodnight. Had he hoped for an invitation to my bed this night? I believed so. And perhaps, had I been made of another mettle, I might have offered such to him. Tom Wyatt was a most attractive man. He had a warm, wry humour, and was a cultured and cultivated creature with good looks and fine legs. I had enjoyed finding such a man just as I was despairing of the bestial nature of this country I had been brought home to. But I was not about to abandon all my principles on the warmth of one handsome man’s eyes! If Tom wished for a woman to warm his bed, then he would have to look to his own kitchen maid, which, I was sure he was no doubt already doing…