Twin Flames (Twin Flames #1)

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

H ampton Court Palace, 1536

The king had returned to his favourite palace with his new bride, Jane Seymour. He shifted his cumbersome weight in his seat. His swollen leg throbbed and made it difficult for him to settle. Sweat glistened on his brow, and he mopped the drops away with a silk handkerchief.

‘Cromwell. Where are you?’ he shouted. ‘Must I wait all day for you to honour me with thy presence?’

Cromwell sauntered into the room where he spent most of his waking hours, governing England behind the scenes. Officially he was supposed to assist the king, but King Henry had little patience for the minutiae of daily kingship, so he handed more and more of his affairs over to his chief minister. Cromwell hurried for no man; not even his king.

‘Yes, Your Majesty. I trust you and Queen Jane are recovered from the festivities. That was indeed the wedding of the century. You will be the envy of the whole of Christendom once word spreads.’

He stopped talking abruptly as he noticed the king’s irritation, etched into the folds of his ruddy face. He knew every mannerism and was sensitive to the ebb and flow of his master’s volatile nature. A touch of flattery typically fluffed the king’s ego and restored his good cheer, but it didn’t hit the spot today. ’What can I do for you, Sire? I see you are troubled.’

‘Ah, Thomas. You know me better than I know myself. Thank God I have you as my right hand. I have an urgent matter for you to attend to.’

‘Oh? Pray tell, Your Majesty, and I’ll take care of it post-haste.’

‘George Cavendish must be pardoned.’

Cromwell cleared his throat. ’You have had a change of heart. We agreed he would face the privy council. The evidence gathered against him is so compelling that he is undoubtedly for the hangman. May I humbly ask why you are no longer in favour of the execution, Sire?’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Yes, but is there any particular reason, Your Majesty?’

‘I can’t put my finger on it. As much as my pretty bride makes me merry, I find myself cross and melancholy this morning. I slept little last night.’

‘There, there, Sire. Does your leg pain you?’

‘Yes, Thomas, it’s like having my skin plunged into a burning cauldron. It’s so painful, at times I wonder what I have done to deserve this purgatory. I barely endure the agony.’

Cromwell made sympathetic noises and passed the king a glass of wine. He waited for the alcohol to kick in. He knew it would soothe his nerves and go some way to alleviate his pain and perhaps improve his mood.

‘It’s a beautiful day. It would appear that the beginning of summer is upon us. Would you like me to request entertainment; perhaps a masque in the gardens? I’m sure your lady, the queen, would appreciate the merriment.’

The king tutted and shook his head. ‘I have no patience for more nonsense, Thomas. I appreciate you trying to distract me, but it is not necessary.’

Cromwell coughed. ‘I must advise against pardoning Cavendish. We will look lily-livered by reneging on the charges and taking such a weak-bellied stance.’

‘Are you calling your king, weak-bellied, Thomas? Is a king not allowed to change his mind?’

‘It is not for me to tell you what you must or must not do, Sire; but it is my duty to advise you, and I do so with great care.’

‘I know you mean well, Thomas.’ The king took another big gulp of his wine. ‘I had the most terrible nightmare about Anne. I’m convinced she will haunt me from her grave forevermore with her brazen ways. I must do right by George. They were friends, you know. George’s wife was Anne’s favourite. My conscience does not rest happily at Anne’s execution. I should have sent her to a nunnery, not have her death blemishing my poor innocent soul. I am plagued by guilt after acting in such haste.’

‘Your Majesty, she was found guilty before the council. It was out of your hands. The evidence clearly pointed to her incrimination. Treason, witchcraft, adultery and incest are no inconsequential charges for anyone, never mind the Queen of England.’

‘Yes, yes, I know all that. I know we had good reasons. But I feel a foreboding grabbing me by the throat and suffocating me like an ominous dark cloud. I am drowning in poor decision and regret at the loss of so many of my dear friends. Traitors in some way or other, all of them, but still I mourn the loss of their love and friendship. I have no wish to repeat the same error of judgement with my old friend, George Cavendish. He is a good man. He has been a loyal servant over the years.’

‘Very well, Your Majesty. I will see to it. But may I request a couple of days before pardoning him? It will be for the best if we notify the council and let them digest your decision. Let’s take it slowly and then release him quietly once the council has someone else in their sights.’

‘Aye, Cromwell. I do trust your judgement in these matters. If you think that best, then take as long as you deem fit. But he must be exonerated.’

‘Thank you, Your Majesty. It’s a wise decision. If he’s going free, we want him released with as little fanfare as possible. What would be best is if the people get no wind of it. Let’s bury the matter, strip him of his title and send him quietly home to York.’

‘No, you misunderstand me. I don’t want him stripped of his title. He’s to receive a full pardon and so it’s only right he retains his earldom. The Tudor Kings’ Manuscript was his handiwork, and by the grace of God, my sweet Jane will soon bless me with our first Tudor boy, heir to my throne. I won’t blight our chances by tempting fate and not rewarding Cavendish justly for his efforts. The good lord does keep a watchful eye on such matters, and you can’t be too careful. I’ve erred in judgement too many times and paid the price with my doomed marriages. I will not make the same error with dear Jane. I demand a fresh start.’

‘Very well, Your Majesty. Your wishes shall be respected.’

The king rose and limped from the room in search of his new queen. Cromwell breathed a sigh of relief. The king was becoming more and more irascible by the day. He looked out of the window and planned how he would break the news to the council, that their latest victim was to be spared. They were a bloodthirsty crew who didn’t like to be denied their day of judgement.

Cara and Edward rode to Tower Hill where they were due to meet Swifty to hear the latest news from George.

York, present day

Cara tried to summon all of her power to remain in Tudorville, but it was no good. Once again, she found herself in the future. Back in a bleak world with no George. There was no point fighting reality. She rushed up the steps to Sylvia’s office, two at a time.

‘How are you, my dear?’ Sylvia stretched out her hand to clasp Cara’s, and then they hugged. ‘You look out of puff. Let me get you a glass of water.’

‘I’m sorry it’s always an emergency when I book in with you! Hopefully one day I’ll be able to come and see you just for the fun of it.’ Cara rolled her eyes and smiled in the way of an apology as she accepted the glass of water and took a quick gulp.

‘No problem, emergency is the nature of my calling. I’m intrigued to hear the latest. What’s going on?’

‘So much has happened since our last reading, I’m not sure I’d know where to begin; we’d need a couple of days.’

Sylvia beckoned Cara to take a seat, and leaned forward, eager to hear more. She thought herself truly blessed to have the best job in the world.

Cara filled Sylvia in on the situation with George, how his life was at stake in Tudorville and how she’d returned to find he had disappeared from the present-day timeline.

The psychic’s eyes widened. Cara was the most fascinating client who had walked through her door in the twenty-five years she’d been in the business.

‘So you see, I’m desperate for any guidance you can give me. I need to save George from execution so he won’t be deleted from the future. What I’d like to know is if you can see anything that I’m missing. It’s all so confusing; I’m sure I don’t see everything. I woke up this morning thinking about you, wondering if there’s anything you can tell me that will help me to save us all from disaster.’

‘Let’s do a reading and see what the cards tell us. This situation is way beyond my tiny mind. We need all angels on deck.’

Cara nodded. As ridiculous as calling on angels seemed, she was grateful for any divine assistance they could summon.

Sylvia shuffled the cards. ‘I’m using a blend of decks.’

Cara clasped her hands together. She was becoming quite familiar with the cards, and a sense of peace descended on her as she watched Sylvia’s hypnotic hand movements.

Since meeting George she’d begun to accept that divine assistance was always available and it wasn’t down to her to make everything happen. It was a new worldview, and it gave her comfort.

‘Angel Gabriel is present with us today. He has something to tell you,’ said Sylvia as she laid out the cards one by one onto the shiny, wooden desk between them.

Cara’s chest tightened as she tried to breathe normally. She waited, her heart pounding.

‘It’s a warning. This card indicates that all is not as it seems.’

‘You can say that again,’ said Cara. She took a deep breath and giggled. ‘Sorry I’m nervous. Please go on.’

‘I’m getting the message loud and clear that you must tread lightly and go slowly. You believe one thing is the case, but it’s untrue. By taking the wrong action, you will cause irreparable damage.’

Cara pondered the card, unsure what to make of it. Their whole future depended on her not messing this up. She would either save George or leave him for dead if her plan wasn’t successful. What other option could there possibly be? What was she not seeing?

‘This next card indicates the depth of your Twin Flame connection. But there’s more. I can’t decipher the exact meaning, but the spread would seem to indicate that you and George are more than uni-level Twin Flames. But. . .’ Sylvia paused, her eyes closed again as she swayed gently and surrendered herself to the experience.

Cara could feel the energy swirling around them, and she felt herself slip into a light trance. The air was warm, not freezing, like when she entered the vortex.

‘I’m receiving a message that you are multi-generational Twin Flames. This is a rare phenomenon. I’ve never heard of it before, but it makes sense given your two shared timelines.’

‘I see,’ said Cara. Not really seeing at all but hoping to make sense of the jumble of Sylvia’s insights.

‘What about saving George? Do you see it is possible to restore him to the present day?’

Sylvia’s skin glowed, and her face wore an ecstatic expression. ‘George is not lost. He will be saved. It’s out of your hands.’ And then her eyes flickered open, and it was over.

‘Was that helpful? I don’t even know what I said. All I know is it was channelled through me more strongly than ever before,’ said Sylvia, visibly shaken.

Cara thanked her, paid and rushed back to her car, more confused than when she went in. If it wasn’t up to her, then what was she to do? Did the message from the Angel Gabriel mean that as she wasn’t in Tudorville, she must trust her 1536 self to break George out? She had set the plan in motion so it could be continuing, regardless of her being unaware of it. But she couldn’t know for sure without going back. Frustration mounted as helplessness gripped her. This wasn’t the time to give in to overwhelm. She must find a way to save George, but what was the meaning of the mysterious warning?

Cara drove home, numb. She dragged her weary frame out of the car and into the cottage, flicked on the lights and the radio to distract herself as she prepared a light supper of scrambled eggs on toast. After only a couple of mouthfuls, she pushed the plate away, feeling nauseous. She went upstairs and drew a hot, bubble bath, to try and relax but lay there agitated and pulled the plug out five minutes later. She would go to sleep and forget about everything. As much as she wrestled with the idea, it seemed there was nothing she could do for George at this point, except wait. Sleep would help to pass the hours until the vortex called her back in time. Then she’d know what to do.

Twisting and turning in bed, she found it difficult to get comfortable. She was mentally and physically exhausted but couldn’t fall asleep. For a brief moment, she longed for the days before she’d met George. Her life had been peaceful then; dull but calm. And now he was gone, and she would face a future without him unless she could find a way to bring him back to life in this timeline.

‘Cara. Cara. Please come back to me.’

She awoke to the rich timbre of George’s voice and began to weep; such was her yearning for him. His beautiful voice was tormented. Checking her phone, she saw it was three in the morning. It had been so vivid. Disappointment filled her senses as reality flooded back, and she realised it was just a dream. They were still separated by time. And then the vortex enveloped her, and in a moment she was gone.

Cradle Tower, London, 1536

George lay shivering on the lumpy mattress in his cell. Such was the sudden wave of despair that engulfed him; he called out, ‘Cara. Cara. Please come back to me.’ He rarely shed tears, but he was powerless to stop them spilling down his cold cheeks. The pain in his chest was intense. It wasn’t Cara’s fault, but he felt as though she’d abandoned him. He couldn’t bear another empty day in this cell, awaiting his death, knowing he’d never see her or his children again. He had lost all hope. There was nothing left to live for.

Cara and Edward had secured lodging near to the Tower of London. It was the middle of the night, but Cara was unable to sleep any longer. She could feel George’s pain as if it were her own. Sylvia told her that Twin Flames share a telepathic bond and can feel and hear each other even when separated. She knew he needed her now, but she couldn’t go to him. She’d be arrested, so she did the next best thing. Cara threw her cloak over her long white nightgown and headed towards the Tower. She must be near him. If there was any chance he might be able to sense she was near, she was willing to take the risk.

A couple of guards snoozed by the Tower gates, and all was eerily quiet. The full moon glowed high in the sky and cast a golden hue over the ancient castle walls. Cara was overcome with emotion and fell to her knees, grazing them on the hard cobbles, as she clutched the necklace George had given to her as a gift upon their engagement. She feared she couldn’t take much more, but she must be strong for him. He had sacrificed himself for her and the children; she must not let him down.

‘George. George.’

She stood up, silently crying out to him as she leaned against the thick stone wall. A veil of tears streamed down her face. She mustn’t alert the guards; she’d be no use locked up in the Tower alongside George, even though she was tempted to throw herself on their mercy in the hope of catching a glimpse of him. Standing there in the dark velvety night with the moon dancing above the towers, she felt strangely closer to him than she had in weeks. Was it possible he could feel her presence? She was comforted and didn’t know how long she stood, chained to the spot, her heart heavy. She prayed for God’s mercy. Had he forsaken them?

Some hours later, first light crept over London, and she drew her cloak tightly around her shoulders and slipped back to her lodgings before the Tower inhabitants began to stir.

London, 1840

George whistled as he busied himself with preparations to leave for Madrid. Always a happy fellow, there was a new bounce to his step at the delightful prospect of spending months or possibly longer, with Cara in Spain. He hoped they would have more time alone together than they managed to have here near the court. His royal post was demanding, and he was frequently away on business. Cara wasn’t able to join him as it would not have been fitting, so the trip promised to be a wonderful interlude for them.

He wrote a letter to his good friend, Carlos, asking him to look for a suitable villa for them in Seville. Madrid would be a temporary stop, but it would be sensible to have their own place in Seville.