“It do. I done found the pair of them in the forest. I feel I’m close to her. Close to catching her. And when I do...”

The burn of tears lit my throat aflame, but this time, they didn’t wet my eyes.

A moment later, the door scraped across the floor before clicking shut.

The axe gleamed in the firelight behind Jean as he opened the bedroom door. With no windows from which to escape, I ducked deeper into the darkest corner.

“Bridget?”

Fear closed my throat.

Jean’s voice was a hiss in the black. “Bridget!”

Finally, a rogue tear slid down my cheek.

“Come out, Bridget.”

I peeked out from my hiding place. I couldn’t place the expression on Jean’s face and wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Come Bridget.” Jean extended his hand. “We must go.”

The Royal Forest

A Secret Place

“J

ean?”

“Shush,” he grunted.

The arboreal canopy thickened, blotting out the silver twinkles against the black night, as Jean drew me down a forest path that only he could see. The understood rule was a roar in my ears: absolute and total silence. I measured my breathing and tried not to pant at the pace Jean set for us. It was as though wherever we were going, we were already late.

Uneasiness quaked beneath the chestfuls of heavy pine air and twisted and turned in my stomach like a surfeit of eels. The thought of breaking away from Jean’s grasp tickled the back of my mind.

Does he mean to turn me in for His Majesty’s handsome reward? This man who kills for money?

The world was sooty and seemed to be closing in.

Perhaps if I slip my hand from his, I can simply fade into the black—

Before I could put my plan into action, Jean slowed to a stop. “Right about here,” he muttered. He reached out with a fist and banged on what I thought was a tree trunk. A pool of soft yellow candlelight warmed the darkness from a window I hadn’t realized was there till now.

I slipped my hand from Jean’s, but the thought of escape scurried away like shadows from the newborn light. As my eyes adjusted, I studied the rock building, perfectly nestled in this ancient grove of gnarled trees. I ran my hand down the worn cobblestones. “Why, this is a...” I turned to Jean. “A chapel?”

Jean’s voice was a whisper, quiet as the breeze. “This is Father Gabriel’s home. He moved from London into this old chapel when His Majesty began burning Catholics. I come here for confession after every execution. And sometimes in between.”

My racing mind struggled to keep up with his words.

“You’re... Catholic?”

Jean took my hands in his. “Marry me, Bridget. Be mine. Always. For I was yours the moment I held your handkerchief this very morning.”

A splintery wooden door creaked open, and the space was filled at once by a small man. His face was weathered and wrinkled, and a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Ah, Jean St. Bromaine. Welcome again, my son.”

The old man extended his knotted hands in greeting, his fingers as gnarled as the very trees that enveloped his chapel.

“Evening Father. Forgive us for coming so late.” Jean knelt on one knee before Father Gabriel. “This is Lady Bridget. She was chosen as His Majesty’s next queen.”

“I see. So why is she not at Court?” Something in Father Gabriel’s round face told me he already knew.

Jean kept his head bent low. “Lady Bridget believes that her appointment as the wife of His Majesty is but a slow and inevitable sentence of certain death. I feel she is correct in her observation.”

“As do the good people of England,” Father Gabriel agreed. Letting go of Jean’s hand, he turned and extended one to me. “My child.”

Taking it, I dipped to one knee. “Father Gabriel.”

Jean continued. “Father, I wish to take Lady Bridget as my true and only wife. Now. This night. If she shall choose to have me.” He peeked back at me.

Realizing my ignorance in doubting his intentions, my lower lip began to tremble. Here he was, putting his life in perhaps even graver danger than my own. For when the King’s men discovered Jean missing, not to mention having taken me to wife, I knew in my heart that, should we be captured, Jean’s relationship with Dudley would take on a wholly new level of meaning in the dank recesses of the royal dungeon.

“I will never doubt you again,” I whispered. “Not now, and not when you become my true husband tonight.”

Once again moisture welled in my eyes and sent my world a-shimmer. The strange emotion that appeared whenever Jean was near had a name. I knew it now. That name was love.

Jean’s strong-jawed face broke into soft planes of pride and pleasure. From behind my veil of watery emotion, it appeared that a tear tracked down Jean’s cheek as well.

Jean sniffed and drew the back of his hand across his eyes. “Father, they have already turned out the bloodhounds. And placed a handsome reward on Lady Bridget’s head.”

Father Gabriel helped me to my feet. “Then we ought to begin. Jean, extinguish the candle.” Turning in his flowing white robe, Father Gabriel disappeared into the tiny chapel. I followed as Jean’s hand trembled on the small of my back. Once inside, he pulled the door shut and snuffed out the candle.

Down a narrow staircase lined with a knotted tree branch banister, I had to feel my way through the thick blackness. Jean’s hand resumed its place on my back and gave me courage in the darkness. Still, my heart refused to slow.

A door creaked below, and soft candlelight flooded into the dank stairway. Father Gabriel disappeared into the quaint sanctuary that opened up before us. I hurried down the remaining steps and gasped at what lay before us.

Father Gabriel took his place behind a stone altar, a small silver cross before him. Our Lord and Savior was affixed there by our mortal sins. Candles glittered along the walls, highlighting small statues of the Holy Family. I did the sign of the cross before taking my knees in front of the altar.

In nominae Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.

Jean lowered himself beside me, his head bowed in our shared reverence.

Father Gabriel did the sign of the cross over us and began the ancient Latin recitation that had joined souls together for centuries. Something broken and terrified within my spirit renewed with Father Gabriel’s healing words and soothing voice as the ceremony carried on. Peace, solid and strong in the knowledge of my future with Jean, be it for hours or decades, filled my skipping heart.

The thought of His Majesty’s absolute fury upon finding out what I’d done, with his executioner to boot, tried to niggle in during Father Gabriel’s final prayers.

The Iron Maiden. The Scavenger’s Daughter. The Pear. Tales of people locked in coffin-like cages with hungry rats and left to be eaten alive.

I shook my head. Madness could take its toll wondering what bone-breaking practices were being planned for you. Hellish tortures were exacted day and night in His Majesty’s dungeon at the practiced hands of Dudley and, should the King’s men capture us, the most nightmarish would be reserved for me—and Jean. We would be left begging for the merciful stroke of the headsman’s axe that would no doubt be late in coming, if ever it should.