Mistress to the Crown. Isolde Martyn

put my money on a monastery refectory.

      One of the doors behind me opened and yet another serving man of huge stature emerged with a cloth in hand. My escort chuckled at my astonishment.

      ‘Aye, no one small is ever employed here. Take a look through!’

      I was expecting something sordid like a daybed flung about with cushions and furs, not the silver goblets set out on the glossy buffed table. A carved chair fine enough for any nobleman stood at the end of the board between two great candleholders, and the cushioned benches would have seated a half dozen. White and red dragon heads with fiery tongues and lashing tails were painted on the walls.

      ‘These lower rooms are for guests who wish to dine privily with friends, et cetera. A lot of deals are done here, I can tell you. The Welsh like this room, because of the dragons, but we also have the unicorn, dolphin, peacock and lion chambers. The Scots always favour the unicorns. Now this way, if you please.’

      And what did mercers choose? Did my father ever come here? Lord, I hoped not. I could have sworn it was he who first told me this was an earl’s dwelling.

      ‘Do I need to go back into Basing Lane when I leave, sirrah?’ I asked as I followed the huge fellow up the spiral stairwell adjoining the hall.

      He grinned. ‘Like that, is it? There’s a postern into an alley that will take you out to Bread Street or there’s a stone staircase in the far wall that will deliver you further down Basing Lane. Yonder’s the chamber for Master Ashby. Third door along.’

      I paid him a groat and ignored the lascivious gleam in his eyes as he bowed and wished me a pleasurable stay.

      Left alone by the rail, I stood beguiled by the peace that surrounded me. Come the evening, the servants would light the four candelabra that hung around the tree and I imagined this gallery would look beautiful and mysterious with the flicker of candles dancing across the cavernous ceiling. But not for me. Not yet. And I was glad. There was something calming and reassuring about the light tumbling lazily through the grisailled glass of the high upper windows, a sleepy serenity about this place that was as false as its purpose. The murmur of men’s conversation reached me from one of the dining chambers below my feet, and through the open door of another came the sound of platters being cleared as quietly as possible.

      Beyond the thick stone walls I heard the deep bell of St Paul’s and the tinnier chime of St Mildred’s striking the hour. This very moment I had the chance to flee, but my yearning other self held me fast like a determined sister. I walked along the gallery to the door of the bedchamber. No lover answered my knock. Biting my lip, I tried the latch and let myself into my future.

      The chamber designated for ‘Master Ashby’ was the most spacious bedroom I had ever seen. Meadowsweet rushes were freshly strewn across the floor. Upon one wall hung a stained cloth of a huntsman and his hound, the wooden ceiling was spangled with a delicate profusion of white butterflies and crimson flowers, and scented candles flickered in the two tall wooden candelabra on either side of the bed.

      Ah, the bed! The bed was vast, large enough to accommodate at least five. With a jolt, I recognised the striped satin bed hangings of lilady and primrose, and then I laughed. Oh, by the Saints, I was about to sacrifice the virtue of my entire life within inches of Ralph the Younger’s curtaining!

      ‘What is the jest?’

      I squealed in shock as Lord Hastings stepped laughing from a recess that had escaped my notice. The warmth of his smile made me feel beautiful and welcome.

      ‘It is these,’ I laughed, giving the tethered drapery a playful tug before I curtsied.

      ‘Devil take it,’ he groaned, ‘you are not going to tell me their price?’

      ‘No, but I’ll have you know the man who imports this made me a very generous offer today,’ I boasted wickedly, setting back my veil. ‘A tester and coverlet of best brocade – providing I lay with him beneath it.’

      ‘This to him.’ He raised an insulting finger. His mouth was a narrow slit of determination as he studied me, and his blue gaze was deep enough to drown in. There was restraint in the way he stood, as though he fought against invisible chains to reach out and embrace me. ‘Still certain, Elizabeth?’

      I swallowed, realising that he had already discarded his day clothes. A blue robe, loosely tied about the waist, was all that screened his naked body.

      ‘Satisfactory?’ he teased, mistaking my stare. ‘Bought from your father and stitched by the house of Claver.’

      My silkwomen’s rivals! Never mind. I let my gaze climb from his bare calves up to the gold haze of hair across his chest. ‘I was thinking of what lay beneath, my lord.’

      ‘Well, so am I.’ He was eyeing my neckline, the only patch of skin showing beneath the cords of my cloak. ‘Am I to climb the ramparts or …?’ He gestured to the curtained recess. ‘There’s a wrap behind there.’

      I imagined other women using it. ‘Ramparts, please.’ I half-turned to the window, like a good housewife. ‘Shall I snuff the candles?’

      ‘No.’ Male and a dash indignant. Surprise must have flashed across my face before realisation enlightened him. ‘Lord love us, Elizabeth, have you only done the deed in darkness?’

      ‘Yes,’ I hung my head and swallowed. Would this be a disaster? I was so miserably tutored, and a man like this, so experienced, so worldly.

      ‘I can blindfold you. It might be the right thing.’ And amusing too, his tone hinted.

      ‘As it pleases you.’ Uncertainty was beginning to undermine me and with it a tiresome trembling as though my body was as nervous as my mind.

      ‘Well, first let’s unpeel you. No, let me!’ He stepped behind me and his body touched mine as he unfastened the cords of my cloak from around my neck. It was sensuous having him so close, so intimate. With husbandly dexterity, he eased off the cap, wire and veiling that covered my hair and gave a whistle of admiration.

      ‘By the Lord, you certainly have an angel’s beauty.’ His breath was sweet upon my cheek and neck. He kissed me behind the ear.

      ‘Hmmm.’ I purred, letting my head fall back slightly. ‘I rather like that. Can you do it some more, please?’

      ‘My poor starved kitten.’ He kissed me on the other side and then in the little hollow between my neck and shoulders. Already his fingers were round my waist, unfastening the knot of my silken belt. My gown was eased up and tossed across the end of the bed. His adroit fingers tested the ties of my underskirt and then rose instead to sprawl across my breasts. His thumbs caressed my nipples, sending waves of delicious feeling to between my thighs. I sighed with delight as his right hand slid down over my belly into the shield of tiny curls.

      ‘Have you never done this by yourself, sweetheart?’

      ‘I have, my lord,’ I admitted.

      Hastings laughed and turned me to face him. He was utterly naked, but before I could see him properly, he kissed me. I had never been kissed in such a way in my entire life. The fire and wildness in it melted me to my very soul. I wound my arms about his neck. He slid his hands down my back and held me hard against him. I could feel his prick hard against my lower belly, and when we paused to draw breath, I put my hand down to feel him. Compared to Shore, he was huge.

      ‘I thought you said you were a new apprentice, sweetheart.’

      ‘Book learning,’ I lied.

      ‘Which library?’ he teased. Our foreheads were touching. He was loosening my hair and combing his fingers through it so it shawled my back. Oh, if only marriage had been like this.

      Then with a laugh he bent swiftly, and suddenly I was lifted in his arms like a rescued maiden and laid upon the coverlet of the bed. With a knee upon the bed, he sprang up beside me, turned me over and loosened the back laces of my chemise. Then with my breasts free, he began to tease the tips of my nipples with his tongue. I was able