The Tudor Bride by Joanna Hickson Page A

for help as she clattered into the stable yard at a hectic canter. It seemed that the horse-mad lady-in-waiting had been persuaded to assist Catherine in taking a secret dawn ride in the Windsor deer-park, which had come to grief when the queen had been knocked from her horse by a low branch. King Henry had been sent for, but had not yet arrived because at sunrise he had crossed the river to inspect the latest Thames navigation works. He must have missed Catherine and Joan sneaking out of the royal stables by minutes.
    ‘I am perfectly all right. Do not cluck like a mother hen, Mette!’
    Catherine was right, I was fussing around her in trepidation, feeling her brow and propping her feet on a stool. ‘Well your grace, if you would care to tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to help,’ I fretted. ‘Should we send for a physician, I wonder?’
    I would have liked to give her a more thorough examination, but was very conscious that we were not alone. Several high-ranking courtiers had interrupted their breakfast to offer help and were hovering anxiously in the background.
    ‘My back hurts a little, that is all. I was knocked clean off my horse!’ Catherine’s indignation had increased in proportion to the number of people she could see in the room. ‘Blessed Marie, Mette, send all these spectators away! There is nothing for them to see.’
    She had dropped her voice to a hiss, but it still carried to every ear in the room and most of the courtiers began to drift away, muttering to each other.
    ‘Truly, Mette, I am not badly hurt, just shamefaced because I am entirely to blame for my bruises. I wanted to gallop, to be free!’ She winced as she shifted on the cushions. ‘I daresay the king will scold me thoroughly.’
    ‘Certainly he will and with some justification!’ King Henry heard her words as he strode through the door. The small gathering of remaining courtiers dipped their knees as he passed. Frowning fiercely, he bent over his wife and kissed her cheek, placing one hand on her forehead in concern. ‘I am happy to see that my worst fears appear groundless. I had dreaded to find broken bones at least. Please tell me there are none.’
    Catherine’s expression was that of a small girl found with her fingers in the sweetmeats. It was only with a visible effort that she met his gaze, shaking her head. ‘No, my liege, none. I am sorry you were brought back from your business unnecessarily.’
    King Henry continued to stand over her, like a tutor over an unruly student. ‘I heard that you fell from your horse in the park. What in Heaven’s name made you ride out without even a groom, Catherine?’ Turning to me, he demanded, ‘Did you not notice she had left her bed, Madame Lanière?’
    So flustered was I by this sudden verbal thrust that I neglected to make any deferential move, simply staring dumbstruck at the king before dragging a garbled response from my frozen brain. ‘Er, no, your grace. That is – I usually rouse the queen soon after first light but I had not yet entered the bedchamber.’
    ‘Oh do not blame Mette, my liege! Do not blame anyone but me, it was my idea!’ cried Catherine. ‘I am not a child to be watched every moment of the day and night. I simply wanted to go for a ride with my lady-in-waiting without everyone else knowing where I was. Now let us have an end to this and allow me to retire to my chamber and lick my wounds!’
    At this she kicked away the stool and rose gingerly from her chair, allowing me to support her in a painful progress towards the door. There were dirt-marks on her skirt, but I was relieved to see no sign of blood. She stopped halfway across the room to speak to Lady Joan, who stood shifting from one foot to the other, biting her lip and looking guilty. Dishevelled and also splattered with mud and dirt, it was clear that it must have been Lady Joan who had been persuaded to tack up the horses for this dawn escapade. Catherine put her hand on the