“It’s 1540,” he answers.
I stagger in the saddle. This is actually happening, then. “And what’s my name?” I ask a few seconds later.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Who could ever forget Catherine Howard?”
A sickly buzzing fills my ears. I’m back in time. I’m really,reallyback in time—that or I’m in a hospital bed somewhere, dying from a brain bleed as I stay trapped inside a fever dream.
The voice. This all happened after that voice sang to me in the haunted gallery. My logical mind knows that it’s impossible. People don’t get thrown back in time. But somehow I’m here, and according to everyone, I’m Catherine Howard.Catherine Howard.Her name flashes through my head next. I was listening to her miserable tale on my audio tour. Catherine Howard is the girl who marries the king and gets her head cut off.
Holy shit, they’re going to cut my head off!
“Catherine, are you all right?”
I shoot eye daggers at him as only a yet-to-be-beheaded woman can. “Do I look all right to you?!”
He sits up in his saddle, his shoulders tensing nervously. “I suppose you seem a trifle vexed.”
“That’s putting it lightly. It was great to reconnect with you, Francis, but I have to go.”
I kick the sides of my horse and he surges forward, leaving Francis and his horse in the dust as we go full throttle. I see an opening in a thicket of trees to the left and steer us into it. I need to come up with a plan, and I want off this open road.
Sharp branches slice at my cheeks as we race through the leaves. I can barely see two feet in front of me, and when I eventually can, I spot the fallen tree that’s directly in our path. It’s too steep to jump. I’ll never make it. I pull hard on the reins, and the horse bucks up with a pained cry. I lose my seat and go tumbling backward through the air. It feels like I’m in slow motion as my body collides with the uneven ground. Only one thought occurs to me before I black out: I am royally fucked.
Chapter Two
I hear singing again. Or chanting. It could be chanting.
Whatever the musical mode, I let my muscles relax as I snuggle deeper into my blanket, basking in the sleepy realization that I’m home in bed. I keep my eyes closed and pull the blankets up higher, running my hands over the surface and feeling the rich velvet beneath my fingers. I freeze mid-stroke when I remember that my blanket at home is a down comforter and is definitely not made of velvet.
Just then, the bed slumps, and I slant toward the weight that’s now resting on the mattress beside me.
“Catherine? Can you hear me? The whole court is talking about your accident. The king has ordered every mass at Hampton Court to be said for your recovery. You’re missing out on all the fun.”
God damn it.
I creak my eyes open, and a freckled young woman is smiling down at me. She eagerly grabs my wrist and lays her fingers flat against my pulse as her eyes sharpen in concentration. A few seconds later, she drops my hand back to the mattress.
“I knew you were awake,” she says with friendly impatience. “Your heart has been steady for hours, and your eyes twitch when I let the light in. Observe.”
She hops up from the bed, moving to the windows and whipping the curtains open. I shield myself from the sun like a freshly turned vampire, which makes her chuckle.
“Are you a doctor?” I ask as she moves back to my side.
The girl plops back onto the bed. “Your wit is still intact. That’s a good sign.” She turns to a man in a page boy outfit whom I didn’t notice by the door. “Tell the king that Lady Catherine is awake. Tell Mistress Marshall as well.”
He opens the door and scurries from the room, and the girl shifts forward to slide a hand under the small of my back. “Sit up slowly now. No brash movements.”
I do as instructed, and as I become vertical, I see a small platoon of nuns standing in the corner. The chanting culprits have been unmasked. The main one in front is slinging incense from a metal ball and chain as the rest remain focused on the prayer they’re reciting—or the spell they’re casting. One of the two.
“Do they have to stay?” I ask the girl.
She quirks her lips as she turns away from me to face them. “Sisters! Sisters!” The group pauses their religious rigors as my not-doctor gets up to speak to them. “Thank you for all you have done today. As you can see, our prayers were answered. The king will know of your pious victory.”
They look between themselves as the girl gingerly ushers them from the room. She closes the door and leans back against the sturdy wood.
“I’m surprised you had me send them off,” she says. “You usually revel in being the center of attention.”
There’s no bitterness in her voice, only warm amusement, and I get the sense that I can trust her. I sit up against the pillows behind me, fully observing her. Judging from her face, I’d guess she’s a few years younger than me. Maybe the same age as I apparently am now. Auburn hair peeks out from under the front of her veiled headpiece, and her long rust-colored dress makes her look like a mix between Maid Marian and the young nun fromSister Act.
