As for the queen…. Henry loved and respected his wife as much as any man in a marriage arranged purely for power, wealth and land would do, and together they complemented each other in the manner in which they ruled.

By the time Judith had walked her mind through those rational thoughts, her breathing had slowed and the uncomfortable fluttering in her belly eased. Clearly, Henry cared for the well-being of one of his queen’s closest confidantes—as well as the status of his own request of Judith.

A tentative knock startled her from her musings. “Enter,” she called, tensing again.

Tabby burst in, still wide-eyed and carrying the kitten. “My lady,” was all she said, looking around as if to see the king still lurking in the chamber. When she saw her mistress was alone, she said, “What—?”

“’Tis naught of your concern, Tabatha—the king’s visit. He merely wished to ensure that I was unhurt. But ’tis not something I wish to be gossiped about. Do you understand?”

“Aye, of course, my lady,” Tabby replied. Then her voice dropped. “No one saw his majesty enter or leave, my lady. I made certain of it.”

“Where is my bath?” was Judith’s only reply. The discussion was finished.

“’Tis without.” Tabby opened the door then stood aside as a parade of pages and serfs marched into the chamber.

The first two were pages and carried a luxuriously large tub fashioned of metal. They wrestled it into position in front of the fire, where the blaze would help maintain the heat. Then followed a dozen serfs with buckets of hot water, dumping them one by one into the vessel until it was filled to its smooth, curled brim. Another series of serfs brought two smaller tubs: one empty and one filled with more steaming water for washing Judith’s hair.

Tabby added a large bunch of fresh lavender branches, crushing some of the leaves and flowers between her fingers as she sprinkled it into the bath. Then, once the serfs left and the chamber door closed, Judith at last slid her sore, scraped body into the tub.

As she settled slowly into the steaming water, she groaned loudly—for the bath was both shockingly hot and wonderfully soothing. Once she was fully immersed, with only a small slop dripping over the side, she looked at Tabby and said, “And what is this about a rabbit? In my chamber?”

“Oh,” replied her maid, her expression filled with consternation. “I didn’t mean for you to find out so…unexpectedly.”

“Indeed.” Judith raised a brow as Tabby came behind her to comb out her braid and wash it. She settled in, resting her neck on a cushion at the side of the tub. As the maid went about her business, Judith closed her eyes, only half-listening to the long-winded explanation about an injured rabbit.

The hot water and its relaxing scent nearly had her slipping into repose. As she did so, the water lapping gently against her shoulders, Judith couldn’t help remembering the rhythmic jolting of Malcolm’s horse rocking her against him as she fell asleep. Despite the massive size of the beast, and the startling distance from the ground, she was able to relax and doze, safe in Mal’s arms.

Such a feat was surprising, for Judith oft found it difficult to sleep even in her own bedchamber. She woke at any little noise, and if she wasn’t comfortable, she didn’t sleep well. I was very tired this day. Aye, she was tired and sore and she’d felt safe and comfortable huddled against his solid chest—a torso she could easily picture after having seen it bare in the training yard.

Judith’s heart tripped a beat when she remembered the feeling, and when she thought about the way his powerful thighs angled behind and beneath hers as they rode. The unyielding texture of mail pressed into the back of her breeches, its chill warming as it brushed against her. At the time, she’d managed to push away the awareness of such intimacy by engaging him in conversation. But now, away from Mal, quiet and relaxed, she felt her entire body flush with heat. And it wasn’t from the bath.

Malcolm of Warwick had matured into a powerful, courageous lord from the awkward young man she’d known. And he was kind too—taking Rike under his wing. He would be a fine husband for any gentlelady. Judith started, splashing a generous wave of water over the rim of the tub.

“What is it, my lady? Did I pull your hair?”

“Nay,” she replied, biting her lip as she sank back down. “I was nearly asleep and almost slipped under the water.”

Tabby replied, but Judith wasn’t listening. A fine husband. She’d been so intent on matching him up with one of the other ladies at court, she’d never thought….

Judith’s mind was working, her insides fluttered and bubbled and she gnawed on her lip. Then she stopped cold. And sagged back into the water.

The queen.

The queen would never allow Judith to wed and thus leave her side. To wed and then have an allegiance to a husband.

Tabby had been right: ’Twill be the end of the world—or at least her reign—before the queen allows you to see the green hills of Lilyfare.

Or to wed.

SIX

The next morning, Tabby went to the kitchen garden to pick baby lettuce and other greens for her injured rabbit. On her way back to the keep, she made a detour around the north side of the bailey in hopes of accidentally encountering Bruin, the second marshal of the guest stables.

Bruin was five-and-twenty to Tabby’s age of eighteen, and though he was shy around her, she found she could get him to smile on occasion—if she worked hard at it. He had a crooked tooth in the front that made him particularly endearing and a habit of shifting from foot to foot when she was speaking to him. Yet the man hardly said three words in her presence, for he seemed to prefer the company of the horses that were in his charge to any two-legged creature.

It was Tabby’s desire to change that, and so she made certain to saunter past the stable whenever possible. Bruin was healthy, unmarried, gentle with the animals—and above all, he wasn’t about to ever go off to war.

Today, however, when she walked past, Bruin was nowhere to be found. Mayhap he was brushing one of the horses, or attending to a broken bridle.

Nevertheless, Tabby found herself loitering a bit longer than necessary in hopes he might return. Behind her, she heard the clang of swords where the men-at-arms were training. The very sight of them, clashing with sword and shield, made her angry and sad all at the once. Thus, she resolutely kept her back to the embattled men, having no wish to watch them preparing for violence and bloodshed. Other women might admire their sleek muscles and powerful movements, but Tabby did not.

’Twas that folly which caused her to quite literally jump when a voice behind her said, “How fares the main ingredient of my rabbit stew?”

Tabby whirled and the basket slung over her arm crashed into the man standing behind her. Arugula, dandelion and lettuce leaves scattered into the dirt. With a sound of annoyance, she dropped into a crouch to gather them up, all the while doing her best not to speak out of turn. She nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at Sir Nevril.

But next she knew, he knelt beside her on the dirt-packed ground, carefully picking up the leaves and shaking the soil from them. “The beastie must still be living if ye’re bringing the food to him. Or are these leaves for your mistress?”

“Nay,” she replied, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “You’ll not make rabbit stew of Maggin. He slept well last eve. His eyes are open and his nose quivers, and I trow he’ll soon be hopping about the chamber.”

“A rabbit hopping about your mistress’s chamber,” Nevril responded, placing a handful of the leaves back into her basket. “Imagine that. You gave the rabbit a name?”

She drew back, her brows pulling together in irritation. “Aye. Of course I did.”

“You gave a rabbit a name?” he said again. This time, he stroked his beard, and his long finger rubbed against the scar along his cheek. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known of a rabbit to be named.” He looked as if he were about to laugh.

“Methinks ’tis because you see them only as fodder for your soup pot,” she retorted. “Good day, Sir Nevril.”

“Tabatha. One moment, if you will,” he said, moving quickly to stall her. Something clinked and she noticed for the first time he was wearing mail, though it wasn’t a surprise that he should be. He was, after all, Lord Warwick’s master-at-arms. A heavy sword hung from its scabbard.

“I’m late. The poor thing is near starving,” she told him, sidling to the right. “I’ve no time to talk with you.”

“I doubt the beast will expire if you exchange two more words with me. You seemed not to be in a hurry before I approached. Aye, I saw you dandling about, trying not to look over at the training yard.”

“Trying not to look at the training yard?” she exclaimed. “Pah! If you only knew…. I have no interest in watching any man learn to slay another with a sword! I care not for matters of war or battle. Now, sir, if you will allow me to be on my way.”

He stepped aside, a surprised expression on his face. “Very well, then, Tabatha. But I merely meant to ask how your mistress was faring. I was with the party who found her yestereve, as you must recall, and my lord wondered aught to me this morn. I bethought you would know the whole of it and how she feels on this day.”

Tabby stopped and turned, hugging the basket to her. “She is well.”

“And her horse? The one which returned without her?”

“Surely you have heard, it must be put down for fear of the madness. Today they mean to do it. My lady will be resting in her chamber, for she cannot bear to watch.”

“And there can be no funeral for Sir Piall,” he said. “For we buried him there in the wood, giving him as much a blessing as we could.”

“Aye,” Tabby replied. “My lady mourns him, and at this moment is with Father Anselm to pray on his soul.”

“Surely a man who gave his life in such an honorable way shall not be denied entrance to Heaven, whether unshriven or nay.”