“I am flattered to know that you still love me,” Elizabeth said.
“I will always love you,” Baen told her.
The storm was gone by the following morning, and the sun was shining brightly over the snowy landscape. Elizabeth had written the message she was sending to the new queen the evening before. Now she handed it to the royal messenger, who was ready to make his return journey. She gave him a silver coin for his troubles, and he thanked her effusively. He had been well fed twice. His horse had been well cared for and was ready. His saddlebag was filled with food for at least the first few days of his journey south. He rode out and was surprised to meet the manor’s steward once he was out of sight of the house. “Sir?” he asked, curious.
“Did you stop at the manor known as Otterly on your way here?” Baen asked him.
“Nay, sir, the night before I arrived I sheltered in a farmer’s barn along the way,” the messenger answered. “I had passed Otterly the day before.”
“Ride hard today and you will reach Otterly by nightfall,” Baen advised him. “Ask to speak with Lord Cambridge, and give him this.” Baen put another packet into the messenger’s hand. “Tell Lord Cambridge that the steward at Friarsgate asked that you be sheltered the night. Lord Cambridge has spent much time at court, and you may speak freely with him about your reasons for coming to Friarsgate.” He offered the messenger a large copper.
“Nay, sir, the lady has given me a coin,” the messenger said politely.
“You are not a rich man; take it,” Baen insisted, and the messenger did not demur again, instead agreeing to reach Otterly by nightfall and bring Lord Cambridge the message from the steward at Friarsgate. Baen watched him depart down the snowy track.
The sunset was a bloodred smear on the horizon, and the sky almost black above it when the royal messenger arrived at Otterly. He was ushered into the hall and requested to see Lord Cambridge.
“I will send for my uncle immediately,” Banon said, beckoning to a servant. “Fetch Lord Cambridge,” she told the man.
“Thank you, mistress,” he replied, enjoying the warmth that now seeped into him, taking the chill of the long day’s ride from his cold bones. He sipped at the hot cider put into his hands by another servant, watching, amused, as the children in the hall played noisily about them.
After almost a half an hour Thomas Bolton came into the hall. “A messenger?” he said. “From whom?”
“Friarsgate, although this fellow wears a royal badge,” Banon said.
Lord Cambridge came up to the messenger. “In whose service are you?” he asked quietly.
“The queen’s, my lord. Queen Anne,” came the reply.
Banon screamed, surprised, startling her children, who looked nervously towards their mother. “Queen Anne?” She gasped.
“Aye, mistress,” the messenger said.
“I had best take this fellow to my wing to learn all, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge said. And what had the messenger been doing at Friarsgate? he wondered.
“Nay, Uncle! He will tell us all here. I shall not wait until you decide to share his news with us. I could not bear it,” Banon said.
Thomas Bolton looked about him. Even Robert Neville looked curious. “Oh, very well, my darlings,” he said. “But give me a goblet of wine first. I fear somehow that I shall need it.” He settled himself in a tapestry-backed chair by the fire. “Come, sir”—he waved a languid hand at the messenger—“sit down and tell us all.” He gestured towards a small settle opposite him, smiling as a wine goblet was placed in his hand.
The messenger sat down gingerly. He was not used to being asked to sit, but it was certainly more comfortable to tell his story thusly.
“Leave nothing out, dear boy,” Lord Cambridge told him. “We want to know why you went to Friarsgate, and how Anne Boleyn managed to become queen, and why you have come here to Otterly on your return, for ’twas not by chance.”
“Nay, my lord, ’twas not. The lady of Friarsgate’s husband, the steward of the manor, stopped me on the road south and gave me this packet for you”—he handed it to Thomas Bolton—“and told me to stop the night here, saying it was at his request you shelter me,” the messenger explained.
“I am the lady’s uncle,” Lord Cambridge said, “and Otterly is my home. Go on now, dear boy, and tell us the rest, the juicy meat of the reason for your journey in such wretched winter weather.”
The messenger began his tale, being interrupted now and again by Lord Cambridge, who wanted every detail. Not being a person of importance, the man could tell them little other than the facts he knew, the gossip he was privy to, but Thomas Bolton was able to fill in, thus gaining a reasonably accurate picture of the situation. When he had finished, the messenger looked to Lord Cambridge questioningly.
The older man nodded slowly, and then said, “Banon, have one of your servants take this good man to the kitchens for his supper, and see he is supplied with a warm place to sleep the night. He has a long journey ahead of him. And see there is food for his travels on the morrow,” he instructed her.
“Yes, Uncle,” Banon said quietly. She signaled to one of her serving men and, after instructing him, sent the messenger from the hall with thanks. Then she turned to her uncle, saying, “What does Elizabeth’s husband say?”
The older man cracked the seal on the letter handed him. He spread the parchment out, smoothing the creases in it, and read it slowly through. “Your sister has been commanded to court by the new queen,” Thomas Bolton began. “She is not pleased, but she will, being your mother’s daughter, of course, obey.”
“And Baen wants you to go with her,” Banon deduced.
“Nay. He says Elizabeth will not ask me because she does not wish to impose upon my kindness and hopes her visit will be a short one. How she has matured in these past few years,” he said with a fond smile.
