A VERY TUDOR CHRISTMAS Read Free Page A

enthusiasm. She knew she should feel it herself, and perhaps she would soon enough. If she could let go of her silly dream of being Lady Erroll.
    “It’s surely not certain I will go yet,” Meg said.
    “Oh, you will! And maybe one day, when I’m older, I shall join you there. Wouldn’t that be so merry, Meg?”
    “Aye,” Meg answered quietly. Before they went back through the doors, she glanced back one more time. But the garden was still empty. Surely he had never been there at all. “Merry indeed.”
    * * *
    Robert drew in his horse once he was sure he was hidden by the trees and looked back to the moonlit house. Margaret still stood poised on the doorstep, staring out at the driveway, and for an instant he was sure she saw him there. The wind toyed with the dark satin fall of her brown hair and caught at her skirts. She rubbed at her arms as if she was cold, but she didn’t turn away.
    And he had to fight himself with every ounce of strength he possessed not to wheel his horse around and gallop back to her.
    “God’s blood,” he muttered as his fists tightened on the reins. He knew it was a bad idea for him to come to Clifford Manor, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to see her again, and he’d been so sure that once he did he would realize that whatever strange enchantment she’d cast over him when they’d danced was just that—an illusion.
    How could it be otherwise? The queen’s court was crowded with beautiful women, witty, sophisticated women it was all too easy to laugh with and tease. To lure to his bed.
    And Margaret Clifford was so young, so wide-eyed, so free of courtly guile. When his sister had teasingly suggested he dance with the “country mouse,” he’d thought it might be amusing for a few minutes.
    Never could he have anticipated how it would all feel. Her trembling hand in his, the dark eyes looking up at him, her smile, her lithe grace. Her laughter, so open and real, unlike the practiced trill of those court ladies. Enchantment indeed.
    And when they’d walked around the hall together after their dance, she’d asked him what he did at the court and he found himself telling her things he had hardly dared even think of. Of dreams and ambitions his parents and friends thought him too indolent to pursue.
    Yet Margaret had listened, asked him solemn questions—believed him. Robert had never known such a feeling.
    And that was why he could not go back to her now, no matter how much he longed to. If he went back now, begged her to be his, presented his suit to her parents, he would know he wasn’t worthy of her. He had to prove himself in order to win her. To give her the life her pure heart and true beauty deserved. His family had a fine name but no fortune now. They thought he should marry an heiress to help them, but he was sure he had the keys to their salvation within himself.
    He had to, if he wanted to marry where he chose.
    This voyage to France was the first step. He would show the queen, his family, Margaret, that he could do so much more than dance and preen around court. He would make his fortune, then come back for her when they could be truly together.
    The note he had given the maidservant to deliver to Meg would surely tell her what he could not say face-to-face. He could only pray now that she would wait for him, would write to him that she felt the same.
    “Wait for me, fair Margaret,” he whispered, and spurred his horse into a gallop, leaving Clifford Manor behind.
    * * *
    “Nay, we mustn’t!” the maidservant said with a giggle. She backed away from the footman until her hips rested at the stone edge of the well in the kitchen garden, hoping he could see her bosom in the moonlight, prettily displayed above the edge of her smock. He had to follow her now!
    And he did. He seized her around the waist, dragging her close to him as she giggled even louder. He growled as he buried his face in her bosom, his beard tickling.
    As he tossed her apron aside, the