I had not forgotten Mother Guildford’s warnings about lecherous courtiers. I was curious to know who might be lurking behind the arras, even if it was not Charles Brandon, but this could be some unknown man waiting for any court damsel who might happen along.

“Come out where I can see you,” I called, careful to stay more than an arm’s length distant.

“Are we alone?” The words were muffled but I recognized the voice.

“Harry Guildford, what are you playing at?” A trace of disappointment colored my question.

“Are we alone?” he repeated.

“Yes!” I stepped closer, reached around the side of the arras, grasped him by the arm, and pulled him out of hiding.

It had been a great game, when we were younger, to conceal ourselves behind a convenient hanging or piece of furniture, then jump out and startle one another into shrieking aloud. Prince Henry in particular used to do this. Now, however, we were much too old for such foolishness. I saw at once, by the earnest expression on Harry’s face, that he knew it, too. He had not been in hiding simply for the fun of frightening me.

“I must talk with you, Jane.”

“Now?”

“We will not be missed.” The desperation in his voice suggested that whatever troubled him was no small matter.

“Come to my chamber, then,” I said. “No one will bother us there.”

We were in luck. There were still coals in the brazier that sat in the small square of open floor between the bed and the chests full of clothing.

Harry hesitated. “Your maid—”

“She has gone to break her fast, and then will attend the Candlemas ceremony along with everyone else.” Except, it seemed, for Harry and me.

A few minutes later we had tugged pillows off the bed and were ensconced on the floor next to the firebox. Its heat dispelled some of the chill, but not enough that we were willing to remove our cloaks or gloves. I allowed Braveheart to climb onto my lap, happy to absorb the warmth from his small, wriggling body.

“What troubles you, Harry? Has the prince thrown you out? I cannot keep you here, you know.” I indicated the spaniel burrowing deep into my skirts. “I am allowed either a lapdog or a singing bird, but you are neither.”

My teasing failed to cheer him. He sat tailor fashion, hunched over the brazier, elbows on knees and shoulders slumped. I had never seen him look so wretched.

“Why is it so important that we speak in private?” Now that he had my full attention, he seemed loath to confide in me.

“I did not want anyone to overhear what I have to say to you.”

“Well?”

“This is not easy for me, Jane.” He stared at the glowing coals.

I narrowed my eyes. “You are not about to ask me to marry you, are you?”

“By the saints, I swear I am not!” The shock of my suggestion jerked him upright. His eyes all but popped out of his head. “How came you by such a mad notion?”

“From Lady Guildford.”

“My mother thinks I want to wed you?”

“Your mother thinks I might try to trap you into marriage.” I waved a dismissive hand. “What she believes is of little importance so long as you and I know better. But if that is not why you wished to talk to me, then what is it that troubles you, Harry?”

“Not my mother, but my father.” Heaving a great sigh, he reached inside both cloak and gown to fumble at his doublet. At length he produced a piece of paper folded in thirds and handed it over. “Read this. Then you will understand.”

“It is from Sir Richard to you.” I hesitated to peruse the private words written by a father to his son, in part because Harry and I had never spoken openly of his father’s disgrace.

Sir Richard Guildford’s letter stated that he wished to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. He wrote that he had a great sin on his conscience he hoped to have absolved through this penance. This notion troubled me not at all until I realized that Sir Richard wanted Harry to go with him. Suddenly, I felt a giant fist clench around my heart at the thought of losing yet another person I cared for. I could barely find breath to speak. Wordlessly, I returned the missive.

Harry tucked it away inside his doublet. “I do not know what to do, Jane. It would be a great adventure to travel to foreign lands.”

“If you desire to visit shrines, there are plenty right here in England. Surely you do not want to go on a pilgrimage?”

He gave a rueful laugh. “Can you not see me in a pilgrim’s cloak?”

“I cannot imagine that you would want to give up the pleasures of the prince’s household. All your life, you have been trained as a courtier.”

“My father was once accustomed to those same luxuries.”

“Perhaps your father has reason to seek forgiveness!”

“You think his mismanagement of crown funds is the ‘great sin’ he refers to in his letter?” Harry did not seem convinced.

“What else could it be? But whatever sin it is that he carries upon his conscience, you have nothing to atone for. If he wants his own flesh and blood with him on this journey, let him take Edward.” Harry’s brother was the son of Sir Richard’s first wife and fifteen years Harry’s senior. “You cannot go to the Holy Land.”

“Because you say so?” Harry gave a short, humorless bark of laughter. “Careful, Jane, or I will think you do have designs on me after all.”

I stuck my tongue out at him as I shifted position on my cushion. Roused from a nap, the little dog yawned, stretched, and abandoned me for a spot on the truckle bed.

Harry sighed again and seemed to fall into melancholy.

Clasping my knees to my chest, I buried my face in my arms, pulling the cloak more tightly closed around me on the pretext of being cold. In truth, confusion enveloped me, relentless as an incoming tide. Our childhood was over, but the old bonds were strong. I yearned to keep Harry at court but knew not how.

The silence between us stretched until it was pulled taut as a bowstring. At last Harry stirred and spoke. “I am bound to serve the prince, but my father is…my father.”

“The first loyalty is stronger than the second,” I said slowly, thinking the matter through as I spoke, “for your father, in his turn, serves the Crown.” As I obeyed the Lady Mary, Harry was Prince Henry’s to command. I added, carefully, “The Prince of Wales depends upon you, Harry. He listens to you.”

“He has others to—”

My head shot up. “He needs you, Harry! You have known him almost longer than anyone. When he loses his temper, everyone relies upon you to calm him down.”

“What of Will Compton?”

“Oh, yes. Will can also restore Prince Henry to his better self, but it takes him twice as long.”

“Do you ever wonder what he will be like when he becomes king?” Harry asked, his face pinched with worry. “You know Prince Henry lacks his father’s self-control.”

Snaking one hand out from beneath my cloak, I reached across the brazier to touch Harry’s forearm. “As long as he gets his own way, or thinks he has, all will be well,” I said.

Another humorless snort of laughter answered me.

“Use that, Harry. Prince Henry won’t want you to go to the Holy Land. Let that be your answer to your father.”

For a long time we sat listening to the wind howl outside the chamber window. I could say little more. I consoled myself with the thought that it would be weeks yet, perhaps even months, before anyone could set sail. The destruction of King Philip’s fleet was proof enough of the foolishness of travel by sea at this time of year.

“He has never asked anything of me before,” Harry murmured.

Scrambling to my feet, I circled the brazier and fell to my knees beside him and hugged him tightly. “Stay here, Harry. You belong with Prince Henry. You cannot abandon a brilliant future for an uncertain fate.”

My face was so close to his that I could see the agony of indecision in his eyes.

“Someday Prince Henry will be king. He’ll make you a knight, if his father has not already done so. Serve him well and you’ll end up a baron at the least, or perhaps even a viscount. Kings reward loyalty, Harry.”

He still did not look convinced, so I searched harder for an argument that would convince him.

“Prince Henry will need you beside him when he passes his sixteenth birthday and begins training for the lists. With your jousting experience, you’ll know how to keep His Grace safe from injuries while he learns how to fight in tournaments.”

Like dawn breaking, relief flooded into Harry’s face. “I knew I could count on your good sense!” He leaned over and squeezed me so tightly that I let out a squeak of protest. Grinning, he released me and stood. “That excuse is one my father will understand. He will see that I have no choice but to stay with the prince.”

TO ENTERTAIN KING Philip there was more dancing, as well as hunts and tennis matches, bear baitings and horse baitings. Then, a week after Candlemas, Queen Juana arrived.

The very next day, the Lady Mary and her household and the princess dowager and her attendants left Windsor to go ahead to Richmond Palace. King Henry was to follow with King Philip in a few days.

“Such a pity,” the Lady Mary murmured as we set out aboard one of the royal barges. The Thames was open again and our journey would be far easier and far swifter than it had been by road.

“What is, Your Grace?”

“That Queen Juana remains behind at Windsor when she and the princess dowager have only just been reunited.”

“They will be able to spend time together at Richmond.”

But the princess shook her head. “No, they will not. By the time King Philip and my father join us there, Juana will be on her way to Plymouth, where their ships are being repaired.”

“But they cannot hope to sail for many weeks yet.”

Mary looked more solemn than her years. “It is a ploy, Jane, to keep Catherine and Juana apart. Do you not remember who their father is?”

“King Ferdinand of Aragon,” I said slowly, comprehending at last. At the time of the marriage between Princess Catherine and Prince Arthur, King Ferdinand had been England’s ally. But now, no doubt because he had refused to pay the remainder of Catherine’s dowry after Arthur’s death, King Ferdinand and King Henry were at odds. King Henry feared that the two sisters might somehow conspire against him to aid their father.

A tournament was held at Richmond to entertain King Philip. Charles Brandon acquitted himself well. During the next weeks, Charles continued to pay court to me and even stole the occasional kiss, but he made no further attempt to spirit me away to some secluded chamber. I convinced myself that he was being careful of my reputation.

KING PHILIP TOOK his leave of the English court in early March. In early April, Sir Richard Guildford, newly pardoned by King Henry, sailed from England for the Holy Land—without Harry. By then, Charles Brandon seemed to have lost all interest in me. I consoled myself by flirting with Harry, and with Will Compton, neither of whom took me seriously.

Then in September word came that King Philip had died suddenly during his visit to Spain. Rumors flew. Some said his wife, Queen Juana, had poisoned him in a fit of jealousy. Others suggested King Ferdinand was the villain, since it was Ferdinand who would not govern Castile for Philip and Juana’s six-year-old son, Charles.

I pitied Queen Juana. She had lost her beloved husband and was said to have run mad with grief. But I felt much greater sympathy for Harry Guildford. The news arrived in England in October that Sir Richard had reached Jerusalem only to die there.

I was never certain how Mother Guildford felt about her husband’s fate. She did not permit her emotions to show. When she asked me to step into her lodgings on a fine, sunny morning in mid-November, murmuring the name “Charles,” I assumed she wished to discuss plans for the Lady Mary’s betrothal to Charles of Castile.

King Henry and King Ferdinand were friends again. They had agreed that King Henry’s daughter Mary would marry King Ferdinand’s grandson Charles and there was even talk that King Henry himself might marry King Ferdinand’s widowed daughter Juana. The ceremony to bind Mary to Charles was scheduled to take place in a few weeks. She would not leave England for several years, but as soon as she was officially betrothed, she could call herself queen of Castile even though Queen Juana was still alive. Everyone in her household would also be elevated in importance.

“Sit, Jane,” Mother Guildford said, indicating a wooden stool. She had the luxury of a chair with a plump cushion to pad the seat. Her lips were pursed tight and she had a look of disapproval in her eyes.