The flame-headed man made a gesture of humility before stretching back his bow again. His arm arched with power, a muscular curve that held his strength and balance, before the arrow shot straight and true into the heart of the target.
A polite shimmer of applause ran through the ladies.
“Impressive indeed, Sir Truegood; as your name suggests, I think no man here shoots better than you, save for the king himself.”
“My Lady, you are too kind.”
“I speak as I see. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
When he turned, Thomasin could see his eyes were the same blazing auburn, his skin pinkish and freckled. The nose was straight and symmetrical, lips wide over white teeth, chin shaven and taut. His expression was honest and open.
“In Flanders, My Lady. In service of the emperor.”
“Of course,” added Catherine, “you are newly come from there.”
“From Antwerp.”
“From Antwerp?” she echoed. “From my nephew’s kingdom.”
“And a fine and beautiful land it is.”
“I wonder what made you wish to return home?”
“Business, My Lady, it was only ever business. I am an Englishman through and through, and I longed to see my home in the springtime, when the country comes to life.”
Catherine smiled. “That was prettily said. Whereabouts in England is your home, which drew you back here? And why are you not there now?”
A smile played about his lips, tracing a faint line on each side. Thomasin tried to guess at his age, but his fairness was deceptive; he could have been in his mid-twenties or early thirties.
“Glebe Hall, on the Kent and Sussex border. I was to have ridden on there after the Windsor hunt, but the king wished to retain me, as is best, until I prove free of the disease.”
“Your wife will be pleased to see you return, no doubt.”
“My mother will, My Lady.”
“No wife?” Catherine said wryly. “With your handsome face and physique? Even Mister Cromwell has a wife, it seems. Come, Sir Charles Cotton, do you have a wife? I shall not ask William Hatton.”
Thomasin shot Catherine a look. Her face was a regal mask, but those who knew her best might have spotted a gleam in her eyes.
“No, My Lady,” replied the softly-spoken Cotton. “I have not had the good fortune.”
“Well, then,” said Catherine with a flourish. “At least show us how well you can shoot.”
Catherine went to sit upon the bench while Cotton assumed his position and weighed up his bow. Hatton was a little to her right. Thomasin felt a slight wave of satisfaction that he appeared disgruntled at Catherine’s dismissive comment.
“Good positioning,” Catherine commented as Cotton placed his feet apart and squared on to the butts. He took up his bow, and although he was a slight man, he managed to convey a sense of strength and ease. The first arrow flowed easily into the red.
“Bravo, oh, bravo,” said Catherine, clapping her hands. Thomasin and the other women followed suit. “But can you do it a second time, or was it just beginner’s luck?”
“You set me a challenge I will strive to achieve, My Lady.”
“And where are you from, Charles?” Catherine asked, as he selected his arrow and checked its flights.
“My family come from the Welsh borders, east of Hereford.”
“Is that so? It is a beautiful part of the world. I lived there once, many years ago, and now my daughter resides there.”
“At Ludlow, I believe?”
