Chapter Eleven
We end up as a group of six. Me, Bessie, Cecily, William, Bartholomew, and Lady Rochford (who absolutely missed her true calling in life to work in espionage).
She knows the palace like the back of her hand and has taken us through no fewer than ten shady hallways and down three flights of stairs until we step out into the brisk night air.
She, Bessie and I are all dressed in plainer clothes than usual, with long hoods and capes keeping us mostly in shadow.
When we slip out through a creaky garden gate, I breathe deeper than I have in a week.
We’re free. Just for tonight, we’re free.
“I can’t believe we’ve snuck out of the palace,” Cecily quietly screeches in elation. “Do you think we’re the first to do it?”
“We did it last night,” Bartholomew says.
“I went involuntarily,” William adds.
It’s a good long walk from the castle to the revels.
Lady Rochford and Bartholomew argue for most of the way, but the trek is more than worth it.
The open space is lit by torchlight, music is playing, and there are entertainers everywhere—some even juggling fire.
The row of tents is nearly half a mile long, with countless vendors selling trinkets, food, drink, and some other carnal services that may or may not be legal here.
“Could we try some honeyed lamb shank?” Bessie eagerly asks as we pass a group that’s eating. “I’ve always wanted to try lamb right off the spit. Will you join me, William?”
William nods. “I do enjoy a lamb shank.” Bessie takes his arm, fully prepared to lead him off, when Lady Rochford pulls them both back.
“No! We are not separating. We are staying together and then we are going back to the palace as soon as we’ve had a drink.
” She’s breathing harder than usual but freezes when she sees a small circle of revelers playing dice.
She looks away, then turns back, twisting her neck slightly.
“On second thought, let’s all meet back here in an hour.
No one is to go off on their own. No one get hurt. Be here in one hour.”
She swiftly walks off in the direction of the gambling, and we stand in mystified silence for several seconds as a result.
“All right, see the rest of you in an hour.” Bessie and William walk off next, and Bartholomew offers his arms to me and Cecily.
“Shall we, ladies?”
We set out as a trio, heading deeper into the line of tents.
A laughing couple rustles past us, and the woman hands me a cup.
I smell it, and I’m eighty percent sure that it’s some kind of spiced wine.
I take a small sip and brace myself, but the drink goes down smooth.
I take a large gulp, and Cecily and Bartholomew share a look.
“Honestly, that was really good,” I tell them. “We should find more.”
I pull them along with me, determined to find the Tudor equivalent to a dive bar. If this is my one night of freedom, I’m going to revel the shit out of it.
Forty minutes later, Cecily and Bartholomew have had two drinks each, and I’m three cups in.
We find ourselves at a large gathering area.
The music is thumping, and there’s a massive bonfire.
Dozens of people are dancing—and not toe-pointing choregraphed dancing, but moving their bodies and having fun dancing.
Bartholomew chugs his drink and tosses his cup to the ground. “All right. This is what we’re here for.”
He grabs ahold of me and Cecily and pulls us into the mix. The crowd comes together in a wave of excitement. The three of us can’t stop laughing as we sway and jump, moving to the sounds of lutes and drums like they were Diplo.
I lift my hands and close my eyes. For a second, I could be home, out dancing at some sketchy club that Zoe dragged me to after I refused to come out of my study cave for months.
I smile as I think of her. The crowd surges and I’m jostled around.
When I open my eyes, I can’t find Cecily or Bartholomew.
I keep looking, even calling their names, but I can’t spot them anywhere in the throng of people.
I move out of the crowd, standing along the edge in the hopes of getting a better view.
Half of my eyeline is on the bonfire when I suddenly see Simon through the flames, walking on the other side.
My breath catches. He doesn’t see me yet, and I move toward him like I’m being pulled by a magnet.
But then I stop myself. I get that nervous swirling sensation in my belly, the one that always seems to manifest right before I decide to do something risky.
I think of disappearing into the crowd. I could just ease away and be gone. I start to do it. My foot is inching backward when Simon looks up. Our eyes meet in the jumping sparks of the bonfire, and in that split second, we both know that I’m not going anywhere.
Simon is startled at first, but it doesn’t last. It takes him all of two seconds to stride forward. He makes his way around the fire, stopping when we’re only a few feet apart.
“Catherine? What are you doing here?”
I try to appear nonchalant and not tipsy, gazing out at the surrounding festivities. “I decided to venture out a bit.”
“Clearly,” he says with a strained chuckle. “Everyone is still celebrating your marriage.”
“Are they? And here I thought it was my birthday.” I take a sip of my drink, and Simon lifts his cup to do the same. “Is that you drinking to my future happiness?”
“Always.” He places his now-empty cup on a log behind him, and I pass him mine to do the same. He glances around before speaking again. “How did you even get here?”
I give a little shrug. “I’m mysterious like that. Are you going to tell me I should go back to the palace?”
He continues to watch me, his gaze light but intent. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to,” I tell him. “Lady Rochford gave us an hour.”
“Lady Rochford is here with you?” he asks, amazed. “The surprises never cease.” Then, “In that case, should we have a look around while there’s still time?”
Simon and I have time. It’s a really nice feeling.
I give him a nod and follow his lead as we begin to head back in the direction of the entrance.
We have a fair walk ahead of us, but we slow down near a table of jewelry.
It isn’t diamonds or rubies on display here—more beads and wooden charms, or special woven ribbons for your hair.
One bracelet catches my eye, the sea green color of the beads against the linen cord reminding me of my favorite beach.
I touch it with the tip of my finger before moving along, and Simon falls into step beside me.
“Let me guess: This outing tonight was your idea?”
“And what makes you say that?” I ask teasingly.
A crooked edge pulls at his mouth. “Just a feeling I have.”
We twist through a cackling group of revelers, and Simon’s hand brushes my wrist, making sure I stay beside him. My stomach flutters at the sensation. “I like that you’re comfortable talking about your feelings. Emotional intelligence is a good strength to have.”
He looks down at me to catch my gaze, and I have to crane my neck up meet his. “You bring it out in me,” is all he says.
A flickering wave swooshes through my abdomen. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”
“No,” he answers confidently. “Just you.”
A smile tugs at my cheeks, but before I get the chance to reply, a fight breaks out between two revelers beside us.
The shoulders of one of the men knocks into me hard, and Simon immediately shoves him with so much force that the man goes tumbling to the ground.
Before I know that it’s happened, he’s blocking the entirety of my body with his – a shield between me and the world.
More fighting erupts, but Simon takes my hand and pulls me away, moving us into a nearby tent a few yards off.
The entrance flap drops down behind us as we move to stand in the center of the empty tent.
We’re all alone now. Everyone and everything is shut out around us as we gaze at each other in adrenaline-spiked silence.
The commotion outside slowly dies and fades, being replaced by the chords of music once again.
There’s room in the tent but we don’t use it.
We’re so close to each other. Only one of us would need to step forward for our chests to touch.
Simon lifts his arm slightly, and the tips of his fingers brush mine.
“Do you want to leave?” he asks. There’s a rasp to his voice.
It draws me in and under as I shake my head.
“No,” I manage. “I don’t want to leave.” Our hands weave together. The air around us feels so thin that I wonder if it’s there at all.
“Do you know how many times I have imagined us alone like this?” Simon brings his hand up, running the tips of his fingers under my chin, barely grazing the surface of my skin. “Thoughts of you fill my mind.”
I should stop this. I know that I should.
If the wrong person saw us hidden away in here together, we could be killed.
But Simon wasn’t executed with Catherine in the past, so he should be safe this time.
Maybe that’s just what happened when Catherine was here.
Maybe she and Thomas Culpepper flaunted their affair, and that was why they got caught.
Simon and I can be careful. What happened to them doesn’t have to happen to us.
Looking at Simon now, I step forward until our bodies meet. I’ve never felt a pull like this. I doubt I will again. My arms feel heavy as I raise my hands to his warm chest. His heart is thundering under my palm, and I want to make it go even faster.
Simon gazes down at my face like he’s trying to memorize me—the curve of my cheek, the suppleness of my mouth. “Are you scared?” he asks.
I tilt my head as I look up at him. The closer we get, the more intoxicated I feel. And we’re so close now that my body is humming. “No,” I tell him.
Simon’s smile is almost restrained, yet his eyes hold nothing but hunger. “You’re fearless, aren’t you?”
I take a beat before I answer. “I never used to be.”
He slides his hand behind my neck, drawing me all the way forward. I take a quick, shuddering breath and close my eyes. I don’t care how much this will hurt once it’s over. I’m going to let it happen.
Our lips touch, my mind sighing finally.
Simon’s mouth moves over mine in an unhurried rhythm that lulls me into a deeper haze.
I slip my hands farther up his chest, and the firm surface trembles under my touch.
When I rake my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, I’m rewarded with a muffled groan in his throat.
His languid nips increase in pressure, and I match every slide of his insistent mouth.
His lips slant over mine as his tongue strokes inside.
A dizzy, coiling sensation knots in my stomach.
I slip my tongue forward to meet his, and he drags me impossibly closer.
It’s like I’m free-falling. If I had a parachute, I’d throw it off.
He keeps one hand pressed to the back of my neck while the other slides to my hip.
His grip tightens on the waist of my gown as he pulls me up flush against him.
Lightheadedness clouds my mind and all I can think is that giving in never tasted so sweet.
I can feel every inch of Simon against me, including his hard length.
He nudges closer as his fevered mouth travels the line of my throat.
I forget that anything exists outside of this.
All my worries and fears evaporate into a searing fog.
We’re invisible to everyone but each other.
I arch my back and mold my body into his.
He has to duck low to reach me, his lips never parting from my skin and savoring every inch he can reach.
He drags a hand up over the fabric of my bodice as a low tugging feeling starts to unfurl inside me.
I inhale sharply when he squeezes my breast. More.
Everywhere. That’s what I want and where I want it.
Words seem far away, so I bring his other hand to the stays at the back of my dress.
Maybe he can rip them open. His middle finger slips under one of the strings when a voice calls out over the music.
“Catherine?”
It’s a girl’s voice, right outside the tent. Simon and I freeze, neither saying a word until we hear it again. “Catherine? Where are you?”
It takes me two seconds to realize that it’s Cecily.
“I can’t stay,” I blurt out. I begin to backstep in a panic, but Simon slips a hand to the small of my back. He holds me steady, his eyes a mix of hunger and control.
“We’ll leave together but separately,” he says, his voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. “You go out through the front, and I’ll leave from the back. I’ll stay unseen as I make sure that you reach your companions and that you all get back to the palace safely.”
He lets me go, and I follow his instructions even though it physically hurts to leave this tent.
Still, I lift the flap and walk. I’m a little wobbly as I exit, and the music-filled air hits my flushed face.
Everything is a blur. The people. The lights.
And Cecily’s body as she hurls herself into me, swearing that she doesn’t know how we got separated.
Lady Rochford is glaring at me over her shoulder, and I repentantly step in front of her.
“Is our little adventure done with, then?” she asks.
I nod and straighten my hair. She shakes her head and spins me around to begin walking back toward the palace, pulling my hood down in front of me.
“Keep your wits about you,” she says. “In this court, those who are governed by their hearts are the first to lose. You are playing for your life now, Catherine, and the game never stops.”
Her words send a nervous wave through me, helping to cool my overheating skin. I know that she’s right. I need to focus.
I do my best to appear composed, and not like someone who was minutes away from have moaning, screaming, summon-the-ancestors tent sex with a courtier named Simon Gainsford while in the completely wrong century.