Chapter SevenRichmond Palace, 1529
“Damn that woman, curse her and her self-righteous Spanish smugness!” He hurled a pewter plate through the air. It crashed against the wall, missing Amethyst's head by a safe distance as she reached his retiring room. She lifted her skirts and tiptoed round the bits of pastry and clumps of fruit on his Oriental rug.
“What happened now, sire? What scheme could Catherine have possibly contrived within the last twenty-four hours?” Amethyst's own impatience made her voice tremble. “Oh, my lord, I'm empathizing more and more with you at her tenacity. Your ire is contagious, believe me in that.”
He swept his hand through the air in her direction. “Come hither, just close that door and come hither and let me look at you!”
She shut the door and attempted a ca
