Chapter Eighteen

"‘I t is announced,'" Charles stated, reading from a scroll sent to him by Eustace Chapuys, his imperial ambassador stationed in England, "‘that Henry of England has a new daughter.'"

Isabella looked up from where she was pressing flowers with Maria. "That's his second daughter, is it not?" She passed a cornflower to Maria, who carefully spread out the petals on a sheet of parchment that was already covered with many others.

"Yes, his second. Elizabeth she is to be named." He paused. "I bet he wishes it were a son." He resisted adding that the pompous king would have been spitting dust at the news of a girl.

"Sons and daughters are both blessings. We should remember that." Isabella kissed Maria on the top of her head. Their daughter didn't seem to notice and carried on concentrating on the flowers.

"Naturally." Charles sipped on his honeyed tea. "Though if he were to legitimize Henry Fitzroy, he would have a son of nearly ruling age."

"I am surprised he hasn't, for he has given him titles."

"This is true." Charles shrugged. "In any case, now he has a daughter whom he will no doubt go to great pains to marry into our family, thinking it will give him power in Europe." He glanced at Philip, who was playing with a set of wooden soldiers and horses Alvaro had made for him. "I am sure we will hear from the King of England soon on that front."

"And what will you say?"

"If it were his first daughter, the one he so wanted me to wait around for…" As if that was ever going to have happened. "Then perhaps."

"Mary?"

"Yes, if it were Mary," Charles said, "I would be in agreement, her mother, Catherine, our aunt, is a good Catholic, but this one, with this new wife…" He huffed. "I am reluctant."

"Why?"

Charles thought for a moment. "I believe it is she who has encouraged Henry to disrespect the pope with all her pressing for England to be free from Rome." He paused, the word heresy feeling dirty on his tongue.

"Queen Anne Boleyn?"

"Yes, she." He nodded. "I knew her once." He set the scroll aside and walked to the fire, tossing on a log. Sparks danced upward. "When I was a boy."

"You did? You never told me."

"No, I have not thought of it for many years." His mind drifted back to living with his dear Aunt Margaret in Mechelan. A young Anne had visited, stayed for several seasons, if he remembered correctly. She'd been bright of mind but outspoken. Well-mannered but with an edge of rebellion.

He remembered one night her talking about Martin Luther and his journey of seven hundred miles over the Alps and down the spine of Italy. How when the young priest had arrived in Rome he'd been dismayed by the Church's extravagance and corruption, and its lack of interest in the plight of the poor. She'd become animated, accusing the Church of thinking itself as powerful as God.

"You appear vexed, husband," Isabella said, standing and walking to him. She stroked his hair, trying to flatten a few strands that seemed intent on sticking up of late.

"When Chapuys wrote to me some time ago, he said she was more Lutheran than Luther himself."

"And you believed him?" Isabella's eyes widened. "That is quite an accusation."

"I have no reason not to trust him. And because of what has happened since." He shrugged, though his brow creased. "It is a truth."

Isabella shook her head and helped herself to a slice of cheese. She stood beside the fire. "It is strange times we live in, with much change in every track of the compass."

"I am all for change in the right direction." He shook his head. "But breaking away from Rome, that will be Henry's downfall."

"His downfall?" Philip suddenly looked up from his toys. "What do you mean, Father? What is a downfall?"

"I mean…" Charles plucked up a bunch of grapes. He tossed one into the air and caught it in his mouth. "That he has done something bad, that things will happen because of it that cause him to fall down."

"What, like the soldiers will come for him?" Philip's eyes widened. "And knock him over?"

"Yes, something like that. Once they have journeyed over the sea to England, that is."

"Then an armada would be better if there is sea to cross." Philip reached for a wooden galleon. It was a toy he'd been given recently and liked to float on the gardens' fountains. "An armada of Spanish ships, loaded with cannons, flags and sails, lots of guns and swords and—"

"Yes, yes, that is enough." Isabella laughed. "Here, eat some grapes. Soon it will be time for your walk with Dona." She passed both children little sprigs of grapes. "And you may take your galleon, Philip, and play with it on the water."

"May I pick some more pink flowers?" Maria asked. "I don't have enough."

"Of course, as many as you need. This is going to be a beautiful flower picture, my sweetness." Isabella smiled and unfolded the crease from a tiny, white petal.

Charles watched his wife. He was constantly amazed by her. She could switch from wise ruler to gentle mother to giving lover from one heartbeat to the next. He hated himself for leaving her for so long. He never would had he known how she'd suffered without him. He vowed never to do so again, though with things constantly simmering around his empire, it would only be a matter of time until he would have to leave her as his regent and pay attention to defense.

"We should have a celebratory feast," he said suddenly.

"We should?" She studied him, a smile tickling her lips. "And what is the occasion?"

"You said had you known I was returning, you'd have organized such an event."

"That is true."

"And it never happened." He reached for her and slid his hands around her narrow waist. "I feel cheated out of my feast."

"You have feasted plenty since you returned." She laughed and set her hands on his chest.

"It is true. I enjoy the Spanish food immensely. It tastes of sunshine." He touched his lips to hers in a soft, sweeping kiss. "But let us celebrate with our friends."

"It is a good idea."

He was pleased she was approving. "And Bishop Gabriel, it is his first time here in Spain. Let us show him how we revel. There are many dishes for him to try. Music for him to hear, dances to learn. Don't you agree?"

"I certainly do. When do you wish for this feast?"

"As soon as possible. How about tomorrow?"

"I can set cook to the task and Alvaro will choose a pig for the table."

"Alvaro?"

"Yes, he always chooses the pig, and he is good at it."

"I can choose the pig." Charles tapped his chest. "It is my feast. It should be me."

"Very well. You choose the pig. Just make sure it is good and fat as well as healthy. Be sure to check its trotters."

"I can do that." And he would because this was the third thing his wife had claimed Alvaro would do because he was so good at it. Much as he liked his old friend, he feared he had rather stepped into his shoes while he'd been away seeing to imperial matters.

Isabella picked up a small, brass bell. She rang it, the sound echoing around the room. "You know you are likely to receive welcome home gifts."

"I am not opposed to gifts." He shrugged. "Are you?"

"No. I find them exquisite, and quite interesting, especially if they are from countries to which I have never been." She lifted a small cloak from the back of a chair. "Philip, come and put this on to go outside with Dona."

Charles walked to the window and looked out at the courtyard, his mind going back to Isabella in the beautiful, white, satin gown he'd brought her from France. She had been a vision in it. All of his dreams come true.

Leaning his hands on the sill, he beat down a wave of heat in his groin. Their first few nights back together had been incredible. Worth the wait…almost. She was so responsive and open to him, her body seeming to join with his as though God had made them for each other and no one else.

Dona's voice was behind him now, shooing the children out with boats and books, boots and cloaks. Isabella was overseeing proceedings.

When the room went quiet he turned.

Isabella was pouring wine beside the fire, the light of the flame flashing through the glass decanter.

"Alvaro," he said, folding his arms. He had to have this conversation. It was irritating him like an annoying mosquito bite. "What does he mean to you?"

"I beg your pardon?" She looked up, surprise widening her eyes.

"Alvaro. He is always at your side and you mention him first when there are things to be done." He stepped up to her. "Things to be done by your husband."

"I do not know what you are getting at." She frowned, picked up her wine, and sipped.

"I think you do." He couldn't help the sharpness in his voice.

"Mm, perhaps I do." She bit on her bottom lip. "But I am choosing to ignore it, Charles." Like his voice, there was a note of irritation in hers. Irritation…or was it a note of warning?

He chose to ignore it. "When you are not in your private chambers he is never more than a few feet from you. Indeed, it was his face I saw next to yours on my arrival at court just days ago. Up at the window."

She kept her gaze steadily on him and sipped her wine.

"And just then," he went on, "you suggested Alvaro to choose the feasting pig. And yesterday, he poured you wine and yet none for me. He passed you the figs and spices—no one else. And later on, when there was—"

"Stop!" She held up her hand. "Stop this now."

He frowned and opened his mouth again.

"I am not jesting, Charles," she said quickly. "You stop this right now because I know what you are doing."

"What am I doing?" He reached for his wine, took a gulp, then set it down with a bang. A drip sloshed over the side and trickled down the stem to form a puddle on the tray.

"You are being jealous. Jealous of the man you left behind to take care of me while you were gone. And now you are bitter because he did just that."

"I am here now! I will take care of you. That is my duty when I am in residence at court."

She pressed her lips together. It was a gesture that severely unnerved him and he didn't know why when he'd faced battles and waded through torrents of icy water, scaled mountains and beaten an angry viper from his tent only a week ago.

"You will stop this," she said firmly. "Alvaro is a loyal servant who has, as you said, been at my side for many years while you have been away. And that was your instruction to him. To do just that."

"Yes, I instructed him to be your servant, not to look at you as though there were no other women alive on God's Earth. To tend to you as if no one else were in the room, not even the emperor himself." He paused, sucking in a breath. "He has never taken a wife and I think I know why."

"Pray tell." She set down her wine. Again, she crossed her arms and her lips pursed.

"I think he is in love with you." There, he'd said it. "He is in love." He pointed at her. "With you."

"And would that be a bad thing?" She cocked her head. "For a servant to love his empress?"

Charles frowned.

"Don't you think that just makes him better at his job?" she said. "Better at caring for me in your absence? This is a dangerous, changing world in which we live. He stood in your place as protector of the head of the realm. You cannot condemn a man for being loyal and diligent." She paused. "Am I right?"

"If he has only ever acted as a servant should." His jaw tensed.

"If you are asking if he has ever acted in a way that could be considered inappropriate, then no, he hasn't. His conduct has always been impeccable." She narrowed her eyes.

"But…I…I just want to—"

"Think very carefully about what you say next, Charles. What you ask next. You might not be able to take it back once it has passed your lips."

He wanted to ask if Alvaro had ever tried to kiss her. If he'd touched her in any way that was less than gentlemanly.

He wanted to ask if Alvaro had seduced his wife, the empress, during the long, lonely nights in the depths of winter or in the heady afternoon heat of summer.

But the glint in Isabella's eyes kept his words firmly in his mouth. As she'd said, he wouldn't be able to take them back if he accused her of adultery. When they were uttered that would be it. He'd have to follow through with his belief.

And that would mean losing his wife.

And if he accused Alvaro of behaving inappropriately, he'd have no choice but to have him hanged at dawn.

"Good," Isabella said. "I see you have returned to using your usual wisdom and good sense on this matter, Charles."

He cleared his throat.

"So we will speak of it no more." She walked up to him and reached for his hand. She drew it to her mouth and kissed his ring. "For we promised ourselves, before God, to each other all of that time ago and it is a promise neither of us has broken."

She looked into his eyes, seeming to see the turmoil in his mind. "And I love you, with everything that I am. And that goes for if you are in my bed or in another country. That love doesn't change. It stays the same. Strong and true and devoted." She leaned in and touched her lips to his, her sweet breath lacing his lips. "You have always been the only man for me, and you always will be the only man for me."

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, slotting it next to her small, black headdress. "Forgive me for my foolish words."

"You were lucky. You didn't say anything that can't be forgiven."

He smiled, relieved that he had such a benevolent wife. "It is complicated for a man to have such a beautiful wife as you. I want in part to show you off to the world but also keep you hidden, for my eyes only."

"Well, some of me is for your eyes only." She laughed softly.

"That is true." He yanked her close, pulling her chest against his. "And perhaps it is siesta time now." He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.

For a moment, she kissed him back, but then she pushed him away, laughing once again. "Perhaps a little later, but as you have just ordered an emperor's feast for tomorrow, there are things I must do. Preparations must get underway."

"They can wait." He snuggled his face against her soft neck.

"No." She wriggled. "They cannot wait, but you must, Emperor." She grinned and turned away. "But it will be worth the wait. You know that to be true."

He groaned and watched her leave the room. It seemed no matter his vast lands and imperial power, his titles, and lineage, his sweet, little wife always managed to assert her authority in some way.