The Irish Princess by Karen Harper

Author:Karen Harper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ireland, Clinton, Historical, Henry, Edward Fiennes De, General, Literary, Great Britain - History - Henry VIII, Great Britain, Elizabeth Fiennes De, Historical Fiction, Princesses, Fiction, 1509-1547, Princesses - Ireland, Elizabeth
ISBN: 9781611292541
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2010-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH

I was pleased enough to escape the chaos at court with Mary Tudor and Mabel, though I admit I would have liked to have stayed to see the king shamed and suffering. He was in a fierce rage and wildly vindictive to boot, at first screaming that the woman who had defied him should have “torment in her death.” Yes, we Fitzgeralds had long known the black heart of the man who was king.

Outside in the clock courtyard, Anthony kissed Mabel and me farewell in much different ways: He gave his daughter a peck on the cheek but bent me back in a long kiss and embrace with whispered words of not being parted ever again “when the king is quite recovered.”

Truly, I wished for neither of those things, but I did then get my wish to someday confront John Dudley, Lord Lisle. For, unbeknownst to me, he stood there in the flesh, wrapped in fur and leather on this brisk autumn morn, the man given the charge of seeing we were safely delivered to Ashridge Manor in the countryside.

Anthony introduced me to Dudley before we mounted. “My Lord Lisle, I am pleased to present to you Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald. My dearest, the king’s loyal servant, John Dudley, Lord Lisle.”

I gripped my fingers together in my fur muff to keep from leaping at him to claw at his eyes. Shuddering—I warrant they thought it was from the chill wind—I stood my ground without a word. Dudley’s hard, dark eyes assessed me; I glared at him, and it was not like me to be tongue-tied.

Anthony looked taken aback and became desperate to fill the brisk air with words. “Lady Elizabeth has served the lady Mary before, and is a special friend to me,” he told Dudley, making me realize again how much power Dudley must have, this king’s henchman, as he had been called. “She’s lived in England for years now, first at Beaumanoir near the Greys. She is guardian and friend of my own daughter Mabel while they are under the aegis of the king’s daughter Mary.”

I recall not what else he said that day, but I do remember that John Dudley told him, “I know her past, even that she was a guest at the home of my niece Ursula and her husband, Lord Clinton, in Lincolnshire this last summer. I assure you, Sir Anthony, I shall take care of her.”

I hoped Ursula had not told her uncle that I had seen the queen with one of her lovers. I still thought, as Anthony helped me mount my horse, that Dudley looked like the very devil, with his pointed beard, sleek, slanted eyebrows, and fiery stare. Perhaps I read too much into his so kindly couched but, to me, ominous words: I shall take care of her.

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