Two Novels: The Intended and Flame

Chapter 5

5

Turning his back on the two men in the room, the lean, well-dressed courtier glanced out the diamond-paned window, only to catch sight of the raven-haired Jaime Macpherson hurrying through the garden in the direction of the stables. How odd, he thought, watching as the young woman’s eyes darted nervously over her shoulder every few steps. So unlike her, he thought.

“The devil take me, Surrey, but you’re weak and you’re bookish. And if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you hadn’t a drop of Howard blood in you.”

Henry Howard, the earl of Surrey, tore his gaze away from the window and stared at his brother with a bored expression. “Swear what you like, Edward. Though I think, little brother, you should stop swallowing these French ships whole when you capture them. The wind in their sails is affecting your head quite adversely, I’m afraid.”

Surrey was a slightly built man, not as tall or muscular as his younger brother, but he carried a quiet confidence in his face, a hint of carelessness in his attitude, that told of a man quite at ease with himself.

Edward glared back. “Once again, Harry, rather than congratulating me for my latest victory, you insist on being critical of my successes.”

The duke of Norfolk fought back a grin as the fierce exchange of words began again. He watched Edward’s warlike posture, and took in Surrey’s careless response—the leisurely grace in taking his time to walk back across the middle of the room and then to lean comfortably against the carved oak panel that surrounded the fireplace in the study.

Norfolk paused, considering the tremendous difference between his two sons. Harry, though proven in bravery and courtly behavior, had not found the soldier’s life particularly appealing. Instead, his eldest son had found a curious delight in poetry, of all things. It was bad enough when he began translating Virgil’s Aeneid for his friends, the duke thought, but this Petrarch fellow and his love poems were truly beyond the limits of decency.

Edward, on the other hand, reminded the duke so much of himself. Proud, ambitious, short tempered—Edward was a man of action. Like the duke himself, who as a young man had led the attack in the wondrous rout of the Scots at Flodden Field, Edward was now straining at the bit to prove himself, to take his ships and invade France itself. All his younger son needed was a bit of patience—the ability to consider all of the alternatives—and Edward would become a fine leader, Norfolk thought. A very fine leader.

The argument between the two men went on and Norfolk realized he’d perhaps let it continue too long. He’d watched his sons fight this way since they were lads—Surrey holding the edge until their arguing escalated into violence. But he didn’t want them drawing swords on each other right now.

“Harry. Edward. That’s quite enough.” Norfolk’s face was stern and he rapped his gnarled knuckles peevishly on the table beside his chair. “We need to hear all of what happened at court, not this foolishness about whether Edward has sunk one too many ships at sea.”

Both men turned their attentions back to their father at once.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Surrey replied, smiling and bowing with a flamboyant show of courtesy. His face changed a bit, then, darkening with seriousness. “But to get to the point, Father, the king’s displeasure with me has become more consistent, of late. You know that I’ve been too vocal in my objection to his attentions toward Catherine.”

“What difference does it make if he should take a fancy to Catherine?” Edward interjected irritably. “Everyone knows the king’s marriage to that ugly toad, Anne of Cleves, is about to be annulled, and then...”

“The difference, Edward,” Surrey said quietly, turning to his brother, “is that since our cousin, Anne Boleyn, met her rather untimely end, the family’s fortunes have suffered tremendously. If our cousin Catherine...if any female in the Howard family were to cause the king any further disappointment, it would probably mean the end of Father’s influence at court. And that might just mean no more ships for you to play sailor in.”

“Play...?” Edward said angrily, taking a step across the room.

“Stay where you are, Edward,” Norfolk commanded, pausing for a moment as his younger son struggled to regain control of his temper, finally throwing himself into one of the carved, upholstered chairs.

Pretty Catherine Howard certainly did present problems, it was true. Norfolk considered his niece for a moment. For more than two months now, the king’s interest in her had continued to grow. She was certainly a lusty wench, Norfolk thought, smiling to himself. So full of life and yet so ambitious, she was. No wonder she caught the king’s eye. But just before she’d gone off to court last fall, Norfolk had needed to step in himself and put an end to her antics with the damned music master. Aye, he thought, she could be a real problem if she didn’t settle down.

Norfolk rapped his knuckles softly on the wood. But Catherine’s a bright girl, the duke argued silently, and she would settle down. Of that he was certain. And marrying a king such as Henry Tudor...well, she knew what had happened to her haughty cousin, Anne. Aye, she would fall into line quickly enough. Just the honor of Henry taking her as a wife rather than as a mere mistress...

“Harry.” Norfolk turned to face his older son. “Catherine will make as suitable a match for the king as any woman in England.”

“Aye, Father. I hope you are correct.” Surrey crossed his arms over his chest and stroked the sharp line of his jaw. “But she is so much younger than he—in body and in spirit. And her youth and vigor will certainly prey on his mind...well, in no time.”

“And I suppose,” Edward said with sarcasm, “you were fool enough to tell him.”

Surrey faced his brother with a wry smile. “Aye. And his face went as black as the day Thomas More defied him.”

“You know,” Norfolk said darkly, “that you play with fire when you trifle with the king’s pleasures.”

“Aye, Father. But I thought...” Surrey cast a glance about the room. “We all know how wild Catherine can be. She won’t even last as long as Anne. Just think, as virtuous as we all knew Anne Boleyn to be, once she displeased him, nothing could stop Henry from sending her to the block. Even you, Father...”

“That’s enough, Harry.”

Surrey paused, staring for a moment at the old man before continuing. “Well, it matters little what’s past, I suppose. But the short of it is that once the king’s color returned to his face, he sent me on my way.”

“Well, lad,” the duke said wryly. “You didn’t have such a long ride home, now, did you?”

“Nay, Father. Nor will your ride be long, either.”

“Eh?” the duke asked, shooting his son a questioning look. “What’s that?”

“The king sends word that he wants both you and my illustrious younger brother to attend him immediately.”

“Why didn’t you...? By His Wounds, I just left him a month ago.”

Norfolk considered for a moment. His relationship with King Henry had as many ups and downs as a well bucket. This summons was surely to finalize the marital arrangements concerning Catherine. And perhaps the king simply wanted to reward Edward for his excellent service, but it was always difficult to know whether Henry Tudor intended to reward or punish. One thing he’d learned over the years, though, the quickest way to bring Henry’s wrath down on one’s own head was to keep His Majesty waiting.

The duke looked from one son to the other. Edward’s handsome face was now shining with satisfaction at the news that the king had called for him.

“Well, Edward,” Norfolk said with a heave of his chest. “Before you burst with pride, don’t you need to do something about that Scot your men have trundled down from Norwich?”

Edward’s face clouded for a moment. “Aye, Father,” he responded, moving toward the window and gazing out in the direction of the stables. “Perhaps I should take him to the king, as a gift.”

“Never,” Norfolk cautioned. “You’ve already given Henry a new French warship to add to his fleet. This man and the prize he’ll bring us is yours to keep.”

“What have you got, Edward? The Black Douglas?” Surrey asked, moving next to his brother and peering out over his shoulder.

“Nay, Surrey. But I’ve caught the laird of the MacLeod clan, and I have him in one of the stable cells.”

“The laird of the MacLeods?” Surrey paused. “Well, if you’d like, I should have the time to t*****e him for you while you’re with the king at Nonsuch Palace.”

The duke broke in with a short laugh. “Seriously, Surrey, your brother has made a fine capture. But the man is wounded, that’s why he is here.”

“So, he might not live?”

“It depends,” Norfolk answered, “on our treatment.”

“Well, I believe that we’ve enough experience killing Scots in this family that one more should be no challenge.” Surrey smiled, but his wry humor was lost on the old warrior.

“The Howard family has gained the position it holds because of that experience,” Norfolk interrupted gruffly. His glare softened a bit, then, and he glanced at his younger son. “Surrey will be able to look after things here, Edward. Your Scot will be in good hands.”

Surrey gazed for a moment at his father, then shrugged and turned to his brother. “Certainly, little brother. We’ll nurse your prisoner back to health.”

Edward smiled.

“Aye, Surrey. Do that for me, won’t you?”

“That we shall,” Surrey said quietly as his brother moved away from the window. “But the cost may be high, brother.”

The earl turned his gaze in the direction of the stable yards.

“Very high,” he whispered.