The Tudor Witch Book 1 Mistress

1524 Spring III (Edited)

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph," I swear.

My footfalls are loud in the quiet of my room. Sweat pools across my forehead. Wiping it away, I continue pacing. It is not the heat of the day—for the breeze is cool during this time of the year—but the sense of impending doom which causes me to perspire.

I hold my token ribbon around my fingers, staring at the embroidered pattern. Have I cursed the King of England with my token?

I can smell his scent lingering on the material. The smell of masculine energy and sweat; it is not an unpleasant smell. I stare at the white blossoms which have droplets of the King's blood and sweat. Tudor white and red. A Tudor rose. It is an omen.

I stare at it intently before throwing it upon the fire. I watch as it catches the flame, burning brightly before disintegrating. The scent of smoke and burning cloth climbs up my nose and for a moment I envision myself strung up, upon a Smithfield pyre, surrounded by burning faggots. Flames licking my bare feet, working their way up, consuming my body. A heretic's death, an agonizing way to die.

I need to leave. Or will that make me appear guilty?

It had all happened so fast.

Just after I had given the King my ribbon, I had run ahead to gain my seat so I could view the King's joust, to Joan and the Queen's undisguised displeasure. Joan quickly informed me that our brother was no longer in the tournament and I had no reason to be there.

Anthony Knivert, one of the King's closest friends, is the King's opponent for the finale. The friendly banter of men could be heard by all the courtiers.

The King and his opponent stroke hard. Both men had buckled under the strain of force. I never knew what kind of strength was needed to stay on a horse under such impact.

The king's laughter filled the air and we all joined in, relieved to see the that King was well. I glanced up, noticing his triumphant gaze as he looked towards the dais. He had placed a hand swiftly over his heart, a gesture that was meant for my pleasure only.

As he set off for the second round, it took me a moment too late to realize that his visor was still open. I was not the only one to notice; most of the courtiers were shouting, waving their hands as an attempt to catch Anthony's attention. Their efforts were fruitless. The lances crashed together and the King went down with a shriek of pain.

I had to fight the urge to run down to his side, for it seemed like every other person was doing so. I looked back towards Queen Katherine. Her face was blanched white, and her goblet of wine had dropped to the floor, red wine seeping across the stands like blood. Would her thought be for her young husband, or for her young daughter, Mary, and the path to the English throne, I think it would not happen, a girl queen with a Spanish regent, it would be another civil war.

I hear a sound of relief flood through the crowd followed by thunderous applause. The king lives. A bruised and bloodied King, but a living one.

* * *

My token was delivered into my hands by the same page who first showed me to the King. I asked if the King was well, and I was only met with an unsure response. My token had not brought the King luck. It had only brought the grim-reaper to his door, with his scythe in hand. The King must blame me for this event.

Throughout the week, I do not sleep, for fear of waking up to the King's guards. I do not eat, either, and my hair becomes slick with grease. I stay when I can in my room, praying to an unknown deity so that he may save my soul, although according to the preachers I have no soul to be saved. I will wind up in hotter fires than this world can offer.

News spreads that the king is well and up. Not only that, but he has forgiven his friend Anthony with a knighthood in response for nearly killing him. I wonder if the King will be as kind to me.

I wash myself and prepare myself for court. I have to face him sometime soon or I will end up making myself sick in anticipation. If he wishes to curse my name and have me gone, I can go back to France if allowed.

The court is joyous once more. I make my way to dinner in the usual procession, following the Queen and her ladies by status into the hall. This is the first time in my life where I wish I had some of the powders the other ladies use to freshen up their skin, for mine is pale and shadowed at the same time. I do not look my usual self.

I pick at the meal. I feel pangs of hunger, yet I do not want to make myself sick by indulging too fast, so instead, I take small bites. I dare not look up, but I feel his eyes upon me more than once throughout the course of the meal.

Once the courtiers finish their dinner, the music begins to play and the chatter instantly becomes louder. Now we are free to move about as we please and my nerves are beginning to take hold of me. I feel confined, trapped. I move towards the exit and make my way out of the hall. I do not go far, only farther enough until I feel I have space and air to breath.

A light tap on my shoulder halts my breathing. I know it is him. I can sense it somehow. Turning slowly, I take him in. The King looks tired but otherwise well. He does not look like he has been close to death's door.

"You do not look well, Mistress Champernowne," he whispers softly.

I laugh in shock and relief. I did not expect such amiability from a man whom I may have cursed. "You know the right thing to say to make a woman smile."

He laughs at my jest. "I did not mean any disrespect. You will always be a beauty, but you do not look yourself."

I sigh at that. What do I say? I have not slept or eaten properly in a week, for fear you think I have cursed you and are responsible for your accident.

"I have been worried over the events of the other week," I say. It is not a lie.

"You have been worried for me? I have caused you distress. I did not think you thought of me in such a way," he whispers although with a hint of a flame licking his words.

What can I say to that? I can not say to his face that I do not feel for him. He would certainly take that as disrespect. He has made me distressed, though. "I felt worried for you when you did not return my token personally and when you stayed away from the court," I say.

He takes hold of my hand, then kisses it. "It is your token which saved me. I am forever in your debt, Mistress Champernowne. Anything you need, just ask it from me."

He looks around before heading back into the hall. His presence would be surely be noted, as would mine.