LIBERTINE in the Tudor Court. Juliet Landon

Pickering, and we’ll take it in easy stages, shall we?’ He removed his mask at last. ‘The introductions are over. Your education begins here. Now, the musicians are starting up again, the galliard, and you must dance with your captor.’ He stood back to release her, holding out his hand.

      She shook with outrage, more than ever aware that, for all her plans, this was going disastrously wrong. She would not give him the satisfaction of her immediate obedience; instead, a myriad of schemes fought for the right to make her as difficult, rebellious, intransigent and downright impossible as any woman had ever been or could ever be, just to show the arrogant savage what he was up against. Seething with vexation at her own lack of opportunity, she ignored his hand just long enough to see a slight movement of his body, a warning that she had better give in.

      Haughtily, she placed her hand in his and felt his warm fingers close over hers. She had never seen him look so handsome. Or so dangerous. ‘My captor only for this dance, Sir Fisherman,’ she said, darkly. ‘A net is not the best means of catching water, you know. You’ll have to do better than that before you start your self-imposed role as tutor.’

      ‘Oh, I will, Maiden. I will,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll do much better than that, believe me. I won’t even need half a chance.’

      ‘Not a ghost of a chance.’ She allowed herself to be led into the formation for a galliard, though her mind was churning over the fact that so far he had offered no explanation or apology for last night, not even a reference to it. Which showed him to be both heartless and mannerless, a man to whom Hester was more than welcome, if she wanted him. From now on, she vowed to herself, she would not only place Hester in his path, she would hurl her bodily into it, whether she wanted him or not.

      He was, as she had seen before, an excellent dancer, and more than once during the lively galliard, she felt the Queen’s scrutiny as she received whispered information into one diamond-weighted ear. As a partner, he could not have been bettered; graceful, sure of his movements, strong and athletic, and during those brief moments of physical contact, she could almost believe that their animosity was a thing of fiction. He would not let her go, but kept hold of her for the next dance, and she was too close to Her Majesty to make a fuss.

      The coranto, with its leaps and little running steps, was one in which the Queen herself was an expert, an even more intricate measure than the gay galliard. Here the man could vary the steps at will, taking his partner with him as long as she concentrated. Adorna came close to containing her anger in the heat of the exercise, particularly when he held her above him with his hands around her waist, both of them in complete unison, at one with the rhythm, the steps, the lifts, as if they had rehearsed together. None of which should have been possible between two people so incompatible on every other level.

      For the sake of good manners, not to mention the Queen’s presence, she was obliged to swallow further biting comments with the dainty tid-bits he offered her from the banquet prepared in the chamber next door, though it was she who drank liberally of the wine being offered. More than once he reminded her that it was undiluted, that the Queen herself always took water with it, but the impulse to gainsay him at every opportunity had now taken on the dimensions of a crusade against his tyranny, and she took far more of the wine than she needed to quench her thirst, just to thwart him. He need not treat her like a schoolboy. Education, indeed!

      It was at the informal banquet that she saw Master Peter Fowler from the opposite side of the chamber. She could have sworn he had not been there earlier, but then his duties could have been the reason for that. All the same, she was relieved that he had not seen the undignified duel between herself and Sir Nicholas, though it appeared to be the presence of the latter at her side that prevented Peter from coming to speak to her. She smiled at him, but her smile was acknowledged only by a bleak expression of discontent that slid from her to Sir Nicholas and back again. She made a move to go to him, but found that the firm hand on her waist was manoeuvring her round to speak to other guests, as if on purpose to deflect her interest, and she knew then that the rivalry between the two had begun in earnest with neither her consent nor approval. It looked as if Peter had been warned off and that he had accepted the instruction, being in no position to do otherwise. She made a note to herself to reverse the situation as quickly as possible, but when she next looked, Peter was nowhere to be seen.

      More than once, in the hours that followed, the idea of seeking her father’s protection came and went. It had always been a useful gambit, always successful. But for once, and for a medley of strange and disturbing reasons, she was glad that her father had not been present, the same reasons telling her that, this time, it would be best for her to handle the problem alone.

      ‘You’ve had enough,’ Sir Nicholas said, in a low voice, returning the full glass to the server.

      Adorna tossed her pale hair over her head and reached out to retrieve the wine from the man’s hand, downing it at one go before he could move away. She handed him the empty glass with a smile. ‘I think I’m the best judge of that, Sir Shiffer…shiff…Fisherman,’ she said. ‘Or had you intended to instruct me on what to eat and drink, too?’

      His reply was lost as the room fell silent, the ladies sinking into billowing clouds of lace, feathers, silk and jewels, the men to their knees like dwarves in a rainbowed forest. The Queen was leaving. She halted in front of Adorna.

      ‘But for you, Mistress Pickering,’ she said, ‘one of our Fishermen would have had an empty net. We have you to thank for stepping into Lady Mary’s shoes. That was courageous, as it turned out. You are not hurt, I hope?’

      Adorna looked at the forty-two-year-old face, still remarkably handsome and shining with intelligence through piercing topaz eyes. ‘Your Majesty is most gracious,’ she said. ‘I’m not in the least hurt, I thank you, though I do seem to be perpetually wet these days.’

      The Queen’s laugh was merry and tinkling. ‘But I notice that you made it a little more difficult for Sir Nicholas to haul you up, this time. Was that because you do not care for the mode of capture or because you do not care to be netted by Sir Nicholas?’

      ‘I am not yet ready, Your Grace, for any man to capture me.’

      ‘I’m glad to hear that.’ The Queen nodded. ‘Then we are of the same mind on that score, mistress. I agree that we should not make it too easy for them.’ She walked on, smiling until the doors closed quietly behind her.

      Sir Nicholas placed a hand on the small of her back, continuing from where he had left off. ‘No,’ he replied to her facetious question. ‘Anyone who can converse so clearly with the Sovereign after as much neat wine as you’ve had needs no instructions from me. Even if it was nonsense.’

      ‘It was not nonsense, sir, it was…’

      ‘Yes, it was. You are ready for a man.’

      ‘Now who’s talking nonsense? You know as much about that, sir, as you know about fishing. Nothing at all. I bid you goodnight.’ She kissed several friends on the way to the door, as was usual, but Sir Nicholas was not one of them. Indeed, she was relieved to find herself at last in the peace of the tiring-room where only Maybelle and a handsome young man were having a quiet conversation in a dimly lit corner. The clothes were all in order, and her own garments had been laid out ready for her. The young man bowed courteously and left. ‘Is he waiting for you, Belle?’ Adorna asked.

      ‘Yes, mistress.’

      ‘Then just help me out of this thing and into my kirtle and chemise. If I throw that cloak around me I’ll not look any different in the dark. Get your young man to go home with you and take my other things at the same time. I’ll slip through the palace garden as soon as I’ve gathered my wits together.’

      ‘Didn’t you enjoy it, then, after all? Lift your arms.’

      ‘Slip it downwards, Belle. No, I didn’t. And my head’s reeling. I need to sit still a moment.’

      ‘Too much wine?’

      ‘Too much everything.’ Her tongue’s usual agility had begun to fail her, suddenly. ‘Hurry up. No, leave my loos and shippers.’