sure she’ll see that you are properly equipped.”
Anne nodded. “I’ll go and do that now. It will take a while for the letter to reach her in Calais.”
Verity watched the young girl leave and settled back to her sewing. She remembered being that young, the fear that she would disappoint her parents, the desire to be married . . . But her marriage had been a disaster, and her young husband had taught her only to fear him.
“My lady?”
Verity looked up to see one of the page boys standing in front of her. He handed her a note, bowed, and retired.
Verity unfolded the note and read the scrawled lines. Rhys wished to meet with her in the queen’s garden. Verity glanced across at the queen, who, as usual, seemed happiest talking to her stepdaughter, Lady Mary, and ignoring her ladies. But she had to give the queen credit for striving to make a family out of the king’s discarded daughters, for she’d also invited Anne Boleyn’s little daughter, the lady Elizabeth, to court and was treating her very kindly.
Being a widow gave Verity one advantage over the spinsterish Lady Mary. The queen was not as worried about guarding Verity’s virtue and thus allowed her greater freedom of movement than most of her other ladies.
It took her just a moment to excuse herself to Lady Monteagle and escape the queen’s eye. It was quieter than normal in the hallways that connected the buildings. The king was so concerned about the queen’s current condition that he had ordered most of his court, especially those who traveled through areas where the plague still raged, to keep away.
The clock atop the queen’s chapel chimed twelve times as Verity emerged into the bright sunshine. In a month or so, Queen Jane intended to seclude herself in her apartments at Hampton Court to await the birth of her child. The thought of being immured with the queen made Verity appreciate the warmth of the sun and her freedom even more.
She spotted Rhys waiting for her at the entrance of the gardens. His gaze was fixed on the trees in front of him, which gave her the opportunity to look her fill. Why was she still attracted to him when he obviously wasn’t the sweet-natured boy she remembered? But she was hardly the same girl, and he seemed to be quite attracted to her as well. Perhaps it was that they were both lonely. He’d lost Rosalind to a Druid killer and she’d lost her soul in a marriage that should never have taken place.
Desire stirred through her as she gazed at his strong features, the hint of stubbornness around his mouth, the lean, muscled lines of his body. He was three times the man Gareth had been and always would be.
He turned at her approach and a slow smile lit up his even features. “Lady Verity.”
Verity was acutely conscious of the warmth of his regard and suddenly ill at ease. What if he thought of her as nothing more than a familiar woman to flatter, someone who knew that his heart was otherwise engaged? And why was she even considering him in that light? She had no intention of bedding him. Did she?
Rhys’s smile faded. “Are you still annoyed with me about last night?”
Verity forced a laugh as she went to stand next to him in the shade of the trees. “You’re hardly the first man at court who’s tried to finagle his way under my skirts.”
“Is that so? I thought you said you preferred not to tempt men.”
“How exactly did I tempt you? I pushed you into the fountain.”
His mouth twitched up at one corner. “Aye, you did.”
“That hardly constitutes me urging you on.”
He placed one hand on the tree trunk over her head and leaned close to her. “I didn’t need any urging.”
She found herself staring at his mouth and it suddenly seemed difficult to breathe. She swallowed hard and inhaled his all-too-familiar scent of freshly mown grass and buttery leather. “What exactly did you want to see me about?”
He blinked at her and withdrew his hand. “I wanted to tell you about
Anne nodded. “I’ll go and do that now. It will take a while for the letter to reach her in Calais.”
Verity watched the young girl leave and settled back to her sewing. She remembered being that young, the fear that she would disappoint her parents, the desire to be married . . . But her marriage had been a disaster, and her young husband had taught her only to fear him.
“My lady?”
Verity looked up to see one of the page boys standing in front of her. He handed her a note, bowed, and retired.
Verity unfolded the note and read the scrawled lines. Rhys wished to meet with her in the queen’s garden. Verity glanced across at the queen, who, as usual, seemed happiest talking to her stepdaughter, Lady Mary, and ignoring her ladies. But she had to give the queen credit for striving to make a family out of the king’s discarded daughters, for she’d also invited Anne Boleyn’s little daughter, the lady Elizabeth, to court and was treating her very kindly.
Being a widow gave Verity one advantage over the spinsterish Lady Mary. The queen was not as worried about guarding Verity’s virtue and thus allowed her greater freedom of movement than most of her other ladies.
It took her just a moment to excuse herself to Lady Monteagle and escape the queen’s eye. It was quieter than normal in the hallways that connected the buildings. The king was so concerned about the queen’s current condition that he had ordered most of his court, especially those who traveled through areas where the plague still raged, to keep away.
The clock atop the queen’s chapel chimed twelve times as Verity emerged into the bright sunshine. In a month or so, Queen Jane intended to seclude herself in her apartments at Hampton Court to await the birth of her child. The thought of being immured with the queen made Verity appreciate the warmth of the sun and her freedom even more.
She spotted Rhys waiting for her at the entrance of the gardens. His gaze was fixed on the trees in front of him, which gave her the opportunity to look her fill. Why was she still attracted to him when he obviously wasn’t the sweet-natured boy she remembered? But she was hardly the same girl, and he seemed to be quite attracted to her as well. Perhaps it was that they were both lonely. He’d lost Rosalind to a Druid killer and she’d lost her soul in a marriage that should never have taken place.
Desire stirred through her as she gazed at his strong features, the hint of stubbornness around his mouth, the lean, muscled lines of his body. He was three times the man Gareth had been and always would be.
He turned at her approach and a slow smile lit up his even features. “Lady Verity.”
Verity was acutely conscious of the warmth of his regard and suddenly ill at ease. What if he thought of her as nothing more than a familiar woman to flatter, someone who knew that his heart was otherwise engaged? And why was she even considering him in that light? She had no intention of bedding him. Did she?
Rhys’s smile faded. “Are you still annoyed with me about last night?”
Verity forced a laugh as she went to stand next to him in the shade of the trees. “You’re hardly the first man at court who’s tried to finagle his way under my skirts.”
“Is that so? I thought you said you preferred not to tempt men.”
“How exactly did I tempt you? I pushed you into the fountain.”
His mouth twitched up at one corner. “Aye, you did.”
“That hardly constitutes me urging you on.”
He placed one hand on the tree trunk over her head and leaned close to her. “I didn’t need any urging.”
She found herself staring at his mouth and it suddenly seemed difficult to breathe. She swallowed hard and inhaled his all-too-familiar scent of freshly mown grass and buttery leather. “What exactly did you want to see me about?”
He blinked at her and withdrew his hand. “I wanted to tell you about
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