Dryden's Bride Read Free Page B

heard of any such consent. But the Duke of Gloucester and Bishop Beaufort wielded a great deal of power among the lords of parliament. If either one were to choose a suitable husband for Catherine, and a guardian for her small son, the lords could be persuaded to approve a marriage.
    And the “winner” of the power struggle could then control the king through the boy’s stepfather.
    “It is of no matter, my lords,” Catherine said with a sigh. “ Mon petit Henri and I are not in London. We are beyond the sway of any of his uncles.”
    “For now, at least,” Hugh muttered under his breath as he wandered to a far window seat while Nick and Catherine continued to speak quietly together. A little boy, dressed in rich clothing, toddled about the solar, throwing a leather ball at some standing pins, then running to retrieve it and replace the pins, only to throw it again. Before he knew it, Hugh was caught up in watching little King Henry, reluctantly admiring the two-year-old’s patience and ability.
    It was unfortunate that his father hadn’t lived to see the boy grow up, hadn’t lived to give him brothers, and to keep the predatory powermongers at bay.
    But that was the way of things, Hugh thought. Death claimed them all. And sometimes it was better if death came sooner rather than later.
    Outside the window, the sky was blue and a flock of common brown sparrows swooped together, enjoying the play. Mirthful noises drew Hugh’s attention down to the bailey, where a game of camp-ball was inprogress. Goals were set up on either end of the lawn, perhaps sixty yards apart. Several young boys with sticks were riding squealing pigs, and trying to hit a large ball into the opposing goal. This was a variation on the game that Hugh had never seen and he gazed down with curiosity. Crowds of people had gathered ’round to watch the play and were laughing at the antics of the players.
    And in the midst of it all was Siân Tudor.
    She had changed clothes since he’d last seen her, and was now wearing a gown of vibrant blue…the same shade as her eyes. Hugh willed himself to look away, but the sunlight caught the golden strands in her russet hair and he was struck by the radiance of her person. Had he seen any such brightness of color these last few years?
    Hugh doubted it. He’d seen only the colors of war in France, then the dismal darkness of Windermere’s torture chamber.
    Shaking off the thought, he watched Siân Tudor as she moved among the players, her lucent voice occasionally floating to his open window, her lithe movements drawing his eye, her joyful enthusiasm bewildering him. What reason, he wondered, had she to be so jubilant?
    Likely no reason at all. She was obviously an empty-headed, frivolous child.
    Siân clapped her hands and stopped the play, unaware of her audience up high in the tower above her. “Not legal!” she cried, trying to contain her laughter at the silliness of the game. It was unlike any form of camp-ball she’d ever played, but the pigs had been herded into the bailey, and the thought of riding themhad been just too comical to resist. “You must guide your sows back to the line of pumpkins and begin again!”
    “Aw, m’lady,” one boy cried as his teammates clamored with him, “you are ever changing the rules! We were so close—”
    “Nay, Jacob Johnson!” Siân yelled, laughing out loud now, “you may not argue with the judge, or you’ll be further penalized!”
    “But—”
    “No exceptions,” Siân interrupted his plea. “Now! Go on!”
    The game resumed as Siân ran alongside the field of play, turning one wayward pig back into the fray and helping another boy back onto his “mount.” She enjoyed sporting with the children, organizing games and outings. It was what she had done at Westminster to while away the dull days as her brother worked out plans for her future. Never had it occurred to her that he would buy her into a nunnery.
    She was trapped. Without a proper