Timeless Falcon 1 by Phillipa Vincent-Connolly

Author:Phillipa Vincent-Connolly [Vincent-Connolly, Phillipa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780034966
Publisher: Phillipa Vincent-Connolly Ltd
Published: 2020-04-29T22:00:00+00:00

My bones ache. I’ve not slept well because Anne has been tossing and turning next to me, all night. Although I’ve only been back a week, I need to adjust to my Tudor life, and fast. As the sun breaks through the boarded window, Anne stretches out under the linen sheets, sits up, then pounds the pillow with her fist and thumps her head back into the crevice she has made.

She groans, staring at the whitewashed ceiling. “I cannot sleep. I have barely slept all night.”

“Why, what’s bothering you?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbow.

“Mary. I wonder how William Carey is coping with the situation, and I worry if Mary is happy with the King.”

“You care for your sister, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, but I also worry about what problems her liaison might create for me.”

“Nothing will touch you, Anne,” I assure her, hoping my tone doesn’t reflect the fact that every day I hide the truth of her fate from her.

“I bumped into William only yesterday when he was leaving the King’s apartments. He seemed in a hurry, probably on His Majesty’s business.” She sighs. “He has no choice in the matter, but I can’t help but be concerned about Mary’s marriage. I hope my uncle Norfolk did not scheme to get her into the King’s bed.”

“Perhaps Norfolk persuaded your father that the opportunity would be a good one for Mary?”

“No. Father is not my uncle’s puppet, and neither is Mary.” She swings her legs out from under the bedcovers, sits on the edge of the bed, and rubs her brow. “I have a terrible headache.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t attend Mass this morning?”

“I should go. We should go.”

I fumble through my bag, grab my make-up pouch, and take out a strip of paracetamol from their box, releasing two pills into my palm.

“Here, swallow these with a little wine.” She takes them and turns the white tablets between her fingers.

“What are they?”

“They will get rid of your headache.” She does as I tell her and, too late, I wonder what effect paracetamol would have on someone who has never had a drug in her life. She watches me fuss around my belongings while I find my brush from the bottom of my bag.

“Even if this gets rid of the pain, I still do not want to go to Mass. I would rather stay here and talk to you.” She tugs her shift off over her head and stands before me naked, goosebumps rising with the cold. These people are more robust than me or my contemporaries. She pulls a clean shift from her trunk and slides is over her head, shoving her arms through both sleeves simultaneously, then adjusts the neckline.

As she dresses, I continue searching through my belongings, until my nails jab against metal. I look in and smile to myself at the sight of the two power banks I brought for my I-Phone.

“What is that?” Anne asks, lacing up the anglets on the side of her kirtle.

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