MAIDEN in the Tudor Court. June Francis

      

      Maiden in the Tudor Court

      His Runaway Maiden

      Pirate’s Daughter, Rebel Wife

      June Francis

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      JUNE FRANCIS’S interest in old wives’ tales and folk customs led her into a writing career. History has always fascinated her, and her first five novels were set in Medieval times. She has also written fourteen sagas based in Liverpool and Chester. Married with three grown-up sons, she lives on Merseyside. On a clear day she can see the sea and the distant Welsh hills from her house. She enjoys swimming, fell-walking, music, lunching with friends and smoochie dancing with her husband. More information about June can be found at her website: www.junefrancis.co.uk

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His Runaway Maiden

       Prologue

       January 1502

      Alex steadied his restless horse with a firm hand but, just like his steed, he was impatient to be on his way.

      ‘You understand what I want you to do?’ growled the Earl of Douglas.

      ‘Aye,’ said Alex, meeting the Scotsman’s gaze. ‘You want me to act as your spy.’

      ‘I’m led to believe that you have a particular talent for gathering information and you will be well rewarded for your troubles. I had a particular fondness for your mother and propose to give you the house and land that she loved in recognition of you as my son.’

      Alex thanked him in a dry voice, thinking that a house on the east coast of Scotland, close to the border with England, could prove useful, but such ‘recognition’ from his natural father was a little late in arriving. But the journey had not been a waste of time—the earl had provided him with information about the McDonalds that had shed a light on a matter that had vexed him during his investigations in London six months ago.

      ‘You have memorised the password?’ asked the earl.

      ‘Aye. I’m not a fool.’

      ‘Nay, you just showed a bad lack of judgement in the woman you chose to lavish your attentions on,’ growled the earl. ‘You’re not the first man to do so, and neither will you be the last.’

      Alex’s jaw clenched and he wished his beloved grandmother had not been so frank in her missive to the earl about Ingrid. His romantic attachments were certainly none of his father’s business and, looking at the man before him, he wondered what it was that had attracted his own mother to him. However, it had been his grandmother’s dying wish that he make himself known to his father. Perhaps to make amends for the falsehood she had told him as a small boy, something that he had believed to be true until the day she died.

      ‘Well?’ demanded the earl.

      ‘I am to make myself known to the elderly Lady Elizabeth Stanley and she will see to it that I am enlisted in her troupe of performers for the proxy wedding of the Princess Margaret to your King James of Scotland at Richmond Palace. You trust this woman?’ There was a touch of irony in Alex’s voice.

      The earl frowned. ‘She is kin by marriage to the wife of one of my allies, and both are related to King Henry’s stepfather, the Earl of Derby.’

      ‘Aye, so you have already said, but even those closest to us can prove false,’ said Alex.

      ‘According to your grandmother, she was also a highly regarded customer of your grandfather for several years.’

      A vague memory stirred in Alex’s mind. ‘Where will I find her? If she is the person I remember, she was fond of travel.’

      ‘She is spending the twelve days of Christmas at Lathom House in the Palatine of Lancaster.’ Alex stiffened, but remained silent as his father continued. ‘If the weather worsens or you lose your way and find that she has already left by the time you arrive there, then make all speed to her mansion in London.’ The earl gazed at the shadowy, powerfully built figure beneath the dark, leafless branches of the trees. ‘If my enemies were to learn of your relationship to me, then your life could be in danger, so take care. We must stop the piracy in the northern seas so the peace pact can go ahead.’

      Alex agreed, but his expression remained impassive. He had lived with danger for years, risking his life on several occasions during his travels gathering information for his Swedish grandfather and his country; but it was in London that Alex had come closest to losing his life.

      ‘Hopefully, I’ll find that all is as you say,’ he murmured.

      ‘Aye. Fare thee well, then, laddie.’ The earl clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Trust no one. A man can so easily be persuaded to reveal secrets when between the sheets.’

      Alex ignored this sally and bid his father ‘Adjö!’

      As he set off on the road south, his thoughts were not of his mission, but of the beautiful Ingrid and Harry, whom he had cared for like a younger brother, but whom he suspected had betrayed him for love and money.

      His grandmother had told Alex not to pursue revenge. She had called Harry that crazy English boy, but did not believe him duplicitous. You must seek the truth, she had said with her dying breath. Part of him had wanted to yell at her, But you deceived me, just as they did, and this day you have taken something precious from me that was lodged in my heart and helped to make me the man I am. But instead, he had quashed his hurt and anger and gathered her emaciated body in his arms and wept, for she had cared for him since he was a babe and had loved him unconditionally.

      Despite her words, the desire for revenge still burned in Alex’s heart and he decided to seek out Sir James Appleby, who had a manor in the Palatine of Lancaster, and see if he could help him find the treacherous couple.

       Chapter One

      They were coming!

      With a rising panic, Rosamund Appleby gazed about her, searching for a place to hide. Her eyes alighted on the oak chest, carved with field mice and conies and curling tendrils of woodbine, and she hurried over to it. Bundling her faded brown homespun skirts about her thighs, she climbed inside the chest and hastily closed the lid. The slap, slap, slap of their leather-soled shoes on stone came nearer and nearer. Their voices grew louder. She buried herself amongst the garments in the chest and, scarcely breathing, prayed they would not find her.

      ‘Where in the devil’s name has she gone now?’ demanded Rosamund’s stepmother, Lady Monica Appleby. ‘I checked her bedchamber and she was not there.’

      ‘You frightened her, Mama. She fled like a rabbit with a ferret on its heels and has probably left the house.’ William giggled. ‘Edward said six months ago that