At that, she heaved a heavy breath. “The queen is by no means who I understood her to be. She is unkind, she is selfish, she is vicious. Do you know that she has kept her cousin Katherine Seymour in exile for nigh on six years, and she with two young sons, for marrying a man the queen did not approve of? I think, mayhap, it is the sons and the husband the queen covets and not the protection of her honor and law.”

I took a deep breath before speaking. “I did not know that.”

“Katherine’s sister Mary Grey is now likewise detained, a young woman who is”—she pointed at her temple—“not complete. Hardly a threat.”

A bit of dismay must have crossed my face because Princess Cecelia smiled for the first time in our conversation, but wickedly. “Perhaps this queen is not all you understand her to be, either. So stay, stay if you insist. I give my permission. But by the time you figure out who this queen really is inside, my dearest Elin, it will be too late.”

She dismissed me with a wave of her hand and went back to directing those who were helping her pack her considerable number of trunks and coffins.

•   •   •

Within two weeks the entire Swedish delegation had packed and was leaving Bedford House. I had told William that I would remain there to see them off, and he promised to send a litter for me and my things later that afternoon. I said good-bye to the ladies one by one, feeling especially torn to be parting from Christina Abrahamsdotter and Bridget.

Bridget and I held one another’s hand until she needed to get into a litter to depart. “I shall miss you desperately,” I said. I did not want to let go of her hand. Had I made a grave error? If so, it was not too late to join them for the return journey. I was homesick already. I might never see Sweden again, nor hear my native tongue spoken, kiss my mother good night, or eat of the small strawberries Brita and I collected each June on the hillside near our summer home.

“You’ve rightly chosen,” Bridget reminded me, seeing, I supposed, the fear cross my face. “Karin and Philip are likely already married. And William loves you well.”

I nodded. “Write to me.” She agreed, and I kissed her on the hairline.

The princess came up to me and I curtseyed before her one last time. “Thank you, my lady, for everything you have done for me,” I said, voice trembling.

She nodded, holding her head erect, and then began to walk away. Before she’d taken more than three steps, though, she turned back to me and spoke with no trace of kindness. “Lord Northampton won’t marry you. He can’t. He’s already married.”



FOUR

Spring and Summer: Year of Our Lord 1566