Boleyn Time by Deborah Cohen

Author:Deborah Cohen
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781648983030
Publisher: City Owl Press

Long, curly hairs tickled Anne’s cheek.

“Thank heaven, she breathes,” someone called to a group of courtiers standing above her.

Anne’s eyes fluttered, her stomach roiling. Her vision was blurred, and a steady beat boomed through her ears, so deafening she might have been inside one of the bass drums in the king’s marching band. She brought a limp hand to her scalp, and a bit of blood came away on her fingers.

“Are you quite alright?” Domenico asked from somewhere far away.

Anne struggled to right herself, but she found she couldn’t sit up. Her body was still too fluid, too infirm to push against the floor.

Now two arms were wrapping themselves around her back, cradling her neck, gentle and steady. Her stomach lurched at the sense of being upright, the muscles in her body quaking. As she swooned, Domenico put a bolstering arm around her waist, holding her there until she could stand on her own.

“You gave us quite a fright, Mistress Boleyn,” he said, the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling with an encouraging smile.

Anne couldn’t help leaning into him. She wasn’t sure what had gone wrong with her experiment, but she was certain she wasn’t supposed to wake up on the floor in front of a group of strangers.

“I’ve not been feeling well lately,” she lied.

Domenico’s eyebrows creased with concern. If she hadn’t known him better, she could almost see true sympathy lurking there. “I am sure you have been quite heartbroken by Leonardo’s passing. He was a good man,” he said gravely.

Anne frowned. Something about his voice, the reassurance of his arm at her side, confused her. Domenico seemed genuinely sad.

“I just need to rest,” she insisted.

“Of course. I shall assist you back to your room.”

Anne had no choice but to agree. She was still far too weak to make the journey across the castle by herself. Bobbing her head in thanks, she allowed Domenico to lead her from the hall, grateful at least to be away from the watchful eyes of the crowd.

“I’m staying in Leonardo’s rooms,” she said weakly, as he led her past the library, the brick walls of the castle still shifting this way and that.

Domenico gave her a wistful nod. “I understand. Being close to Leonardo’s things, his life’s work. It must be a comfort to you. Leonardo taught me so much when I was a young man. Did you know that? I owe him a great deal.”

There was a softness in his tone, a humility she had never heard before. But Anne didn’t encourage the conversation. She was too muddled to think. All she wanted was to get back to bed.

“I knew him years ago in Florence,” he continued. “He was a much younger man then. Quite brilliant. Quite handsome. He was my teacher. He taught me about design, about art, about…life.”

Anne frowned, struggling with this new version of Leonardo’s nemesis. Had she misunderstood him all along? Leonardo had once been Domenico’s mentor too. Although it was many years ago, it was possible there could have been a time when they had been friends.

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