Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set by Kate Emerson Page B

his servants, but I paid them no mind.
    Although the duke carried his bonnet in his hand and bowed tothe queen, there was nothing servile about him. He approached the dais with as much presence as any monarch, his back held straight and his shoulders squared. He commanded the attention of every person in the room.
    For just a moment, as he stopped in front of the queen, his gaze slid sideways to focus on me. His eyes were a bright, metallic black, as striking in color as his hair. A shiver racked my entire body. In an instant my accustomed composure shattered.
    Even after the duke looked away from me to make a second, lower obeisance to the queen, I continued to stare at him. A curious sensation began to make itself felt deep inside me.
    When he spoke, it was in a resonant rumble that fell pleasantly on the ear.
    “The Duke of Longueville,” I heard a courtier whisper.
    “He will command a rich ransom,” came an answering voice.
    Since I was there to serve as translator, I forced all other considerations from my mind. Yet I could not stop myself from smiling at the duke as I conveyed the queen’s wishes. And when I had told him where he was to be lodged, I felt compelled to reassure him.
    “The Tower of London is a palace as well as a prison, my lord. You will be housed in great comfort. You will be lodged in the very rooms the king and queen occupied on the night before their coronation.”
    When the audience was over, the guards were told to escort the prisoners to the barge that would transport them downriver from Richmond to the Tower of London. The queen dismissed me at the same time and I exited the presence chamber just behind the Frenchmen, passing with them into the great watching chamber where yeomen of the guard stood at attention at regular intervals along walls hung with tapestries and furnished with carpet-covered sideboard tables and many-tiered buffets.

    It was a room designed to inspire awe. The guards were an impressive sight all on their own. Each of them wore a sword and carried a fearsome-looking gilt halberd, both blades glittering almost as brightly as the gleaming cups, dishes, and goblets set out on the tables and buffets. Gold and silver, jeweled and enameled, every item had been selected to proclaim the wealth and importance of King Henry VIII of England.
    I noticed none of it. All my attention was on the duke. I did not want him to leave. Was this lust, one of the sins the priests warned us about? I had certainly never felt such a powerful attraction to any man before.
    My musings were cut short when a voice beside me spoke in French. One of the duke’s servants had turned back. Although he now stood only inches away, I had not been aware of his approach.
    “The queen called you Mistress Popyncourt,” he said in a low voice almost as deep as his master’s. “Is your Christian name Jeanne?”
    “I am Jane Popyncourt.” I corrected him without thinking. To insist upon the English version of my name was ingrained in me by then.
    “Jeanne. Jane. It is all the same, I think.” His eyes, a distinctive shade of blue-green, twinkled at me.
    Frowning, I stared at him, taking note for the first time that he was a man about my own age. His hair was a light chestnut color, his features regular, and his face clean shaven. Something was familiar about his smile.
    “Guy? Guy Dunois?”
    “At your service, mistress.” He sketched a bow.
    It was indeed the friend of my youngest days in Amboise. A rush of warmth filled me at being so unexpectedly reunited with him.

    “Move along now.” One of the yeomen of the guard chastised him with a clout on the arm. “You’re not to be bothering the ladies.”
    I drew myself up as I had so often seen my mistress do and looked down my nose. “A moment, sirrah. It is the queen’s bidding that I translate everything these prisoners have to say.”
    Since he had plainly seen me perform this service for Queen Catherine, he could scarcely argue. I let him