Betrayal in the Tudor Court Read Free

fact, these miniatures were very poor reproductions indeed.
    But as she approached Castle Sumerton thoughts of her parents were replaced by fearful curiosity. The large keep with its climbing turrets captured her breath. She could not imagine playing hide-and-seek here. She took in the vast expanse of lush green forest that surrounded the fortress; it made it seem sort of isolated as opposed to the open, sprawling green fields that had made up the Burkhart lands. Somehow this comforted rather than intimidated her.
    Taking Father Alec’s hand, she allowed him to lead her into the great hall, which was being set for a feast. Servants bustled everywhere. The hall was being swept and sweetened, trestles set up, plates laid, and orders shouted. Cecily looked toward the cathedral ceiling, one side of which was outfitted with three large windows allowing the light to stream in and dance across the floor. She stood in one of the rays, watching the flecks of dust float and sparkle in the sunlight. She smiled.
    “Ah! She has arrived!” a jovial voice cried, rousing Cecily from her reflections. She turned to face a well-built man in his early thirties sporting a close-cut beard, wavy brown hair that curled about his neck, and twinkling blue eyes. His countenance was kind. Cecily was immediately disarmed.
    She curtsied. “Lord Sumerton.”
    Lord Sumerton dipped into a bow. “My dearest little lady,” he said. “We mourn the loss of your parents; Baron Burkhart and I were educated together with the Wyatts of Kent.” His eyes softened with fondness over a memory, perhaps of the carefree days of youth. He returned his gentle blue gaze to Cecily. “Please know that we will take good care of you and hope you will be very happy with us here at Sumerton.” He took her hands in his, offering a bright smile. “I should like to present my family.” He indicated a slim, fair woman beside him whose blond hair was pulled back beneath her gable hood. Her sleepy brown eyes were bleary and unfocused. “This is Lady Grace, my wife.”
    Another curtsy.
    “And these are my children. Aubrey and Mirabella.” Lord Sumerton gestured toward the children. Lord Aubrey offered a quick bow. He was fair haired and wiry, his smile slow and sweet. His cheeks flushed when he looked at Cecily. She smiled and curtsied in return.
    Lady Mirabella was slender and tall, her black hair cascading down her back in soft waves. The green eyes peering out of her olive-skinned face were keen as they scrutinised Cecily. She shivered as she offered a curtsy.
    “You will share the nursery with them, Lady Cecily, until you are older,” Lord Sumerton told her. “Matilda is our nurse.” He nodded to a short, buxom young woman with bouncing red ringlets who tossed her a reassuring smile. “And of course you know our tutor and chaplain, Father Cahill.”
    Cecily offered a fond smile to the priest whom she had placed all her trust in since this peculiar journey began. It comforted her to know he was a fixture in the household; perhaps it would make her adjustment easier to bear.
    “Children, take her to the nursery and get acquainted,” ordered Lady Grace in soft tones. “We will send for you at supper.”
    “Yes, my lady,” they chorused. Cecily threw one pleading glance at Father Alec, as though begging him to stop them, to stop her life from moving forward, to suspend the moment of bittersweet uncertainty and anticipation a bit longer before Reality began.
    Father Alec only smiled.
    Cecily averted her head, allowing herself to be shown out of the hall and up a flight of narrow stairs to the nursery. It was a room far lovelier than her nursery. The tapestries depicted cherubs surrounding the Blessed Virgin, all enveloped in a light so welcoming Cecily longed to be embraced by it. The beds were dressed in sumptuous white lace with cornflower blue velvet curtains to match those that were drawn across the bay window. The floors were covered in soft bearskin rugs to