February 13, 1542

I

stood beside Elizabeth. The new emerald green shoes I’d been given by my attending maids crunched in the thin layer of frost that covered the ground. Earlier in my dressing suite, one of the servants whispered that the color matched that of my eyes. I wasn’t sure I believed her.

The newly risen sun did little to brighten the overcast sky that cloaked the scaffold on the Tower Green.

“Never before have I seen so many people in one place,” Elizabeth mused. “And here we are, in the front row to the Queen of England’s execution.”

The fancy breakfast of quail’s eggs and French toast soured in my stomach as Elizabeth chattered on, almost giddy. “Surely this woman is the most hated of all His Majesty’s queens.”

Knots pushed burning bile into my throat. Still, Elizabeth continued. “It has been widely whispered that even her own uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, now despises her. He calls her, among many other things, a common prostitute.”

Thankfully several people pushed between us, bound for the scaffold, and saved me from having to respond to my cousin. Like a leaf fighting the current of a rushing river, I struggled not to be picked up and carried along with them. The lace-trimmed handkerchief I’d been given was lost in the process.

“Drat!” I yanked off my gloves and dropped to my knees. Feverishly, I patted the trampled ground to no avail. Frozen twigs and grass poked my hands mercilessly as I peered through the exquisitely shod feet of those who were also privy to the royal execution. However, none stooped to lend a hand in my futile search.

A husky voice, slightly French, met my ears. “M’lady.”

I glanced upward. A leather-clad man stared back at me, my handkerchief dangling helplessly in his grasp. His eyes bore down on me with an almost tangible weight.

I accepted the lacy fabric with trembling hands. Our skin brushed, and fire trailed from his fingertips and sizzled where our skin met.

Something stormy in his eyes, cold and steely blue, took my breath and tightened my chest. “T-thank you, m’lord.”

Black locks curled across his forehead, and the hint of stubble shadowed his angular features giving him a mystical look. He stared at me hard, so hard that it took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to crawl between the fancy feet of those around me just to escape it.

After what seemed an eternity, he spoke again. “Miss, I am no one’s lord.”

I winced at the harshness spat forth with his words.

The mysterious man in brown turned on his booted heel and disappeared so quickly I wondered if I actually conversed with him at all. Elizabeth knelt at my side and grasped my elbow. With her help, I found my way back onto my feet.

Her eyes widened as we squeezed back into our place on the front row. “Cousin! What ever were you doing, groveling in the dirt?”

“Someone bumped me, and I lost my handkerchief,” I sputtered. The man in brown reappeared, squelching my words.

It was real.

His slick black head broke the surface of the audience as he trotted easily up the scaffold steps. His brown leather riding boots scraped together in an odd tune. My heart quickened to a racing pace as I watched him.

He knelt, his back to me, before a fat man in purple stepped to the forefront of the scaffold stage and readied the block. In doing so, he effectively blocked my view. My palms felt cold and wet inside my gloves.

Probably from patting the ice, I told myself. Still, I sensed a change.

“Bridget?” Elizabeth’s voice was insistent in my ear. “Bridget!”

Like an ocean wave, silence crashed down upon the monstrous crowd as it parted on some unspoken cue, making way for a solitary man. Behind him trailed two women. The first, cloaked in a dark velvet cape that trailed the icy ground behind her. The second, clad in only a simple white robe, which billowed a bit as she walked. The woman in white hugged her arms across her chest and glanced about, like a mad dog, through empty eyes.

Slowly, the unlikely trio made their way effortlessly through the silent crowd and ascended the tumbledown stairs.

“They are executing Lady Rochford first,” I breathed as the figure in white, the doomed Jane Boleyn, stepped toward the chopping block. Forgetting the odd emotions that moments before had overtaken my body, I dropped my voice low so only my cousin could hear. “Do you believe what they say, that Lady Jane gave information to Master Cromwell, which in turn led to her husband George’s beheading?”

“Surely she did,” Elizabeth whispered back. “I know her sister-in-law, Anne Boleyn, was a light young woman, but I don’t believe she was involved in an incestuous relationship with her own brother.” She glanced at me and pulled her cloak tighter against the chill. “Do you?”

I opened my mouth, but so did Lady Jane. I closed mine to listen.

“Good Christian people, I come hither to die. But I do so with complete and utter faith and trust in God, whom I have committed many sins against from my youth upwards.” With a jump, she paused and glanced back as though someone had tapped her shoulder. However, nobody had.

Visibly shaken, Lady Rochford continued. “I have offended the king’s royal Majesty very dangerously, so my punishment today is just and deserved. I am justly condemned by the laws of this realm and by Parliament.”

Elizabeth leaned close. “Will she cry?”

I ignored her.

The tremble in the voice of the condemned grew louder. “All of you who watch me die should learn from my example and change your own lives. You must gladly obey the king in all things, for he is a just and godly prince. I pray for his preservation and beseech you all to do the same. I now entrust my soul to God and pray for his mercy.”

She paused once more and scanned the audience. “Do pray for me.”

With a gauzy cap covering her hair, she wore the look of a cornered fox. And the bloodhounds were coming.

The knotted ends of string flipped about her thin shoulders as her dark eyes continued to search the crowd, from face to face.

Elizabeth nudged me. “It’s as though she’s looking for someone familiar.”

I glanced at Elizabeth. “Wouldn’t you?”

Elizabeth shrugged thoughtfully as we turned our attention back to the scaffold.

Lady Rochford’s gaze darted along the front row. Chills shook my spine when her eyes met mine. She smiled broadly. A light seemed to turn on in her once-empty eyes, and she wrung her hands at her middle. Elizabeth’s gasp was almost as loud as mine.

Lady Rochford arched her eyebrows and raised her voice. “Shall I say more?”

Is she asking me?

I shook my head gently and returned her smile. Mine wasn’t as bright.

The chills that had shaken my spine coursed over my flesh and turned my blood to ice as Lady Rochford dropped to her knees. Still, she held my stare. Perhaps it was her familiar smile that bothered me most. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“She’s gone mad,” Elizabeth confirmed in my ear. “I believe it. I do, truly.”

Jane’s head sank onto the stained block. Hues of dark magenta, left by those unfortunates who met their eternity upon that very block, colored the wood. Lady Rochford adjusted herself, fidgeting about like a child, until her eyes found mine. Her mouth spread into a wide grin, once again bringing with it icy fingers of fear that tickled my throat.

The headsman, cloaked in a dirt brown cape, stepped forward. A gleaming double-edged axe lay against his shoulder. From behind a hooded leather mask, his icy gaze followed that of the condemned until it met mine.

“It’s him,” I managed through clenched teeth. My palms dampened once again.

Elizabeth’s voice was a whisper. “Hey, is that not the man who spoke to you a moment ago?”