At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn by Anne Clinard Barnhill

into Cate’s ear.
    “I am not certain but methinks ’tis Master Mark Smeaton—he is one of the most talented at court, so the women have said. Aye, he has the looks of a god—but he is common-born so do not think of such as he. The queen will match you, have no fear,” Cate said quietly.
    As the music played, courtiers hurried to grab hold of one of the ribbons with which to circle the maypole. As the men wove one way, the women wove the opposite. Madge was one of the last to grab a garland and she wasn’t sure which direction to go until she felt a hand on her waist.
    “Ah, my lovely Lady Margaret! I was hoping you’d pick up a strand. This way,” said Sir Henry Norris as he ushered her to follow the other women. His thin, dark blond hair blew back to reveal a high, glistening crown of a head and his narrow blue eyes leered at Madge. He was older than she, in his early thirties, she guessed, with a sheen of sweat always covering his face and hands. His voice oiled its way into her ears and made her shiver with disgust.
    “I hope as the strings wrap ’round, I shall meet up with you, my lovely lady,” he whispered to her as they passed each other.
    “Why?” Madge said.
    “When the music stops, you must kiss the one you face, dear lady. And I’ve thought of nothing else since I first saw your lovely lips,” Sir Norris said.
    Madge spoke not a word but tried to smile at him. Cate’s words about kindness had gone to her heart. But she couldn’t stand the thought of him kissing her. The music kept going, faster and faster until the young people were spinning around the maypole, tripping over one another and laughing.
    “So sorry,” said Madge as she stepped on someone’s foot. Her head was spinning and the sun bore down on her, making her even dizzier.
    “Oh, you may step upon my foot anytime, Lady Margaret. Better you than fat Bessie Henshaw,” said a familiar voice. Madge looked up into Arthur Brandon’s face. His brown eyes always seemed to be laughing at her, but he smiled kindly.
    “Sir Churlish—I’m surprised to see you here. I thought only the true nobles would be at court today,” said Madge.
    “I’m a natural noble, m’lady. Are you trying to hurt me? Because if you are, such taunts do not work. I’ve heard the like most of my life. Besides, nothing could bother me on a day such as today,” Arthur said.
    “I do not care enough for you one way or the other to try to hurt you, sir. Why is today so jolly?” said Madge.
    “Because the music has stopped and I’m facing the loveliest lips at court,” Arthur said. With that, he grabbed Madge around her waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her full on the mouth. When he let her go, the music had started again with instructions from the king to unwind the mess they had made.
    Madge dropped her ribbon and extracted herself from the crowd of young people twisting around the pole. Her face flamed and she was so angry her heart beat hard in her chest. She hurried to Cate where she picked up Shadow’s leash and stalked off in the direction of the rose gardens.
    “My lady, what is wrong? Maddie? Where are you going? Maddie?” Cate called but Madge made no answer. She continued on her way.
    The hedges gave a little shade as Madge and Shadow headed for their favorite bench. Madge could not believe the impertinence of Arthur—to kiss her like that in front of all the court—without her permission! Of course, she did realize that all the court was kissing, too, and probably didn’t notice one thing Lady Margaret Shelton was doing. She laughed a little at her vanity—no one cared what Lady Margaret did or didn’t do. She was a poor cousin of the queen, here only at the queen’s request.
    “Something amuses you?” Sir Thomas Wyatt seemed to appear from nowhere.
    “Oh, Tom. The most terrible thing happened at the May,” said Madge, relieved it was her friend.
    “What could be so terrible? It is a day for dancing and making eyes at