The Tudor Witch Book 1 Mistress

1524 Spring (Edited)

I laugh and clap my hands in applause. I must admit, watching my brother astride his huge, war horse, gleaming like the morning star, has made me a proud sister. I did not know that he has such talent for joust. He is an athlete excelling in archery and tennis, yet, he is my brother. A joust is for strong, warlike men, who have chivalry running through their bones and hearts that are brave. My brother has always been a humorous, free-spirited boy—until today. I could not imagine my brother as such a courageous, dauntless man.

I can feel the sin of pride illuminate around me, for I am nothing short of impressed as I watch him command his horse with ease, standing his ground before charging to meet his challenger, lances raised. Flinching, I raise my hands to my eyes before their lances meet with a defending crash. A gasp escapes my lips, and I find myself leaving my eyes covered.

"Your brother is a fine man, Lady Howard," a soft voice says.

I move my hands away from my face. I take note of Jane Parker who stares intently at my brother, admiration clear in her eyes. Beside Jane, my sister is sat with her hands clasped on her lap, watching the joust with an air of indifference.

"He is. He will make a fine match for a lucky woman one day," my sister replies coolly.

We all glance towards the joust where pages are gathering the small pieces of splintered wood, preparing the ground for the next run. The standard bearers reveal that my brother has won, and he will move to the next stage. I let out a breath, which until now, I did not realize I was holding.

"He will definitely make a fine husband," I concur with my sister.

I take in Jane's eager smile at my sisters words. It was no secret that she was on the market for a husband. Her father was in talks with noble families and her dowry was said to be impressive. It was about time Philip was wed and Jane clearly liked the idea of a union, a few compliments for my brother would do no harm. 

Joan grunts in annoyance. She is still not pleased with me. Other than that, she is in sour spirits about her unjust place at court. The Queen can place us where she sees fit when we are in her presence. Mary and I, have been out of favor with Queen Katherine and now Joan has been seated next to us. The message is clear, those who converse with us shall also be shunned and Joan is not happy about it. I am still unsure of how I have merited the Queen's contempt for me. However, the reason why Mary has is quite clear. Mary's burgeoning stomach is a persistent reminder of the Queen's husband's infidelity, and the Queen has made no effort to hide her displeasure.

As a favor to Anne, I have taken Mary's well-being into my hands. After all, she is a gullible girl, driven more by her family's direction than her own. But despite her guileless nature, she does not deserve such hatred by the ladies of the court. Though she is resented by the Queen, any woman would pay to be in her position in hierarchy.

Glancing towards Mary, I notice small beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She flutters her hands trying to create a small breeze. Today is one of those odd days, when summer creeps in for a few days too early, creating unusual warmth. Mary is seated on the border of the shade, half her body catching the rays of the sun while the other is protected by shade. I am almost certain it has been done intentionally.

"I think you should go inside. The sun is only going to get hotter," I say softly.

Mary looks at me—at my body covered by the shade—before glancing at the Queen under state-of-Gold, drinking fresh wine. "I do feel warm, but I wish to see the King," she whispers.

Joan looks hard at Mary. "I think the well-being of your child is more important than your desire to watch games."

I am struck by Joan's harshness. "It is Spring. There will be plenty of jousts for you to watch His Majesty in. Your baby's health is the most important concern right now. And once your child is born, I am certain His Majesty will hold a joust in celebration for the baby's arrival."

Mary nods in assent. "Will you help me inside, Kat? I should not be walking alone."

I bristle inside. I want to be helpful but I do not want to miss the joust either. My brother might get a chance to play against the King himself. Looking towards her bulging stomach, I cave in. She can barely stand up; she could definitely use some help.

I stand and curtsey to the Queen, murmuring an excuse. She has eyes only for Mary and her bulging sin. She waits for her curtsey, before allowing to leave. For a moment I think Mary is going to fall, but she uses the bench to push herself back up.

We walk together arm in arm, with Mary using me as a support. We trail through the mass of tents and marquees which have been built for the court and their retinue. We gain a bit of shade among their shadows.

"I must tell Father and the King that I am going to my room. They would not take kindly to me leaving without permission," she says.

I nod my head in assent. I do not think the King would notice, but her family would most certainly wonder where their prized, plump gem has disappeared to.

We enter a grand marquee and find the King with most of his attendees all gathered round. The king is never alone, even in being partitioned when getting ready for a joust. We work our way over to her father, Thomas Boleyn. He frowns when he spots his daughter among the crowd.

"What are you doing here, Mary?" he whispers.

"I have come to let you and the King know that I am going to take shade inside. The baby is sapping my strength today," she whispers.

Her father smiles when she mentions the baby. He must be thinking of all the glory and gold that will come his way if the child is a boy. "I will let the King know. He is in good spirits today. I am sure he would not object."

"I wish to tell him myself," she says sweetly.

He looks at her and within an instance his face changes from smiles to anger. "I said I would let him know. He does not need to see you," he says sternly.

"Come, Mary. Let's take you inside," I whisper.

She grabs my arm tightly. "Yes. It is time to go."

We walk out of the hustle and bustle of the tent, making our way towards the palace. "Mistress, Mistress, hold up," a voice shouts behind us.

"I knew he would want to see me," Mary smirks.

A page runs towards us, stopping just short before bowing. "The king wishes your presence, Mistress," he says.

Mary's smile widens. "Certainly, at once." She starts her stroll back.

The page's face blanches. "Excuse me, the king requested Mistress Champernowne's presence, and hers alone," he counters.

Mary's face turns towards mine, rage painted all over it. "Why would he want your presence over mine?" she demands.

"I do not know, Mary. Maybe he wishes to know how you are faring," I suggest.

"Or perhaps the rumors are true and you are a good for nothing, whore," she hisses.

I blanch at her words. "That is not the case. I do not know why he wishes to speak to me," I say crisply.

She starts to waddle past me. "Best not to keep him waiting. He doesn't like to wait," she says angrily as she walks away.