When he’d been racked. His arm had been gruesomely pulled apart and then clumsily healed.
“I was horribly afraid for you,” I said, then my voice hardened. “I hate Mary for doing this to you.”
Colby tapped the scar on his face, which curved from his cheekbone into his short, red beard. “This came from the fighting in France.”
I traced the scar as well. It marred his handsome face but helped disguise any resemblance to his true Tudor father. “Why did you fight for Philip?” I asked him. “Our enemy?”
“For a full pardon and a chance to come home,” Colby answered with ease. “Philip cares nothing for these petty uprisings to put Elizabeth on the throne. He wants Elizabeth to be queen and is taking a stern hand with his wife.”
“She should not have lost Calais,” I said with disapproval. Calais had been the last English stronghold on the Continent.
Colby rumbled a low laugh. “Mary did not lose it. The French took it with their canny attack, when those inside the fortresses least expected it. We marched to try to save it, but to no avail. Calais is French once more. But perhaps not for long. The agreement being floated is that France will return the city in five years or pay a large sum to England for it.”
I had not heard these details, but they scarcely mattered to me. “Elizabeth is furious with her.”
“Many are.” Colby touched my cheek. “As for myself, I am only happy to be home.”
I was happy as well, wanting to drown in the joy of his warmth. I did have to tell him about the child I’d lost, after which he held me tenderly, both of us sharing sorrow.
After a long time, I wiped my eyes and asked, “Did you know that Aunt Kat and I had gone to Fleet Prison?”
“Yes.” Colby’s voice darkened. “I found out after I’d been hustled off to France.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “I wanted to rush back and tear down the walls to get you out, believe me, but Dudley restrained me. He had a better way, he said. He has some influence with Philip.”
I thought about the timing of all that had happened. “Was that why Aunt Kat and I were released without a trial?” I wondered. “Dudley spoke for us.”
Colby nodded. “Very likely.”
“And Philip pardoned you for joining his army. It seems we owe much to Philip of Spain.”
“Yes.” James pulled me close. “Ironic, that.”
I had to agree. “I thought you would forget about all me,” I said as I snuggled into him.
Colby chuckled, his laughter vibrating pleasantly. “Eloise, how could I ever forget you?”
He kissed me for a while after that, both of us contented.
Mary never truly recovered from the devastating loss of Calais. Later that spring she claimed she was again pregnant, although this time her midwives reserved judgment.
When I made a journey to London with Colby in the summer to purchase fabric for Elizabeth, Robert Dudley had us as his guests at St. James’s Palace, and I saw Mary in passing there.
She did not look as though she was belly-full. Instead, Mary was bloated and ill, with a gray cast to her face. Her clothes hung on a body that was swollen at the midriff and bone-thin in shoulders and chest, her face nearly skeletal.
“She is dying,” I whispered to Colby that night. He agreed with me, but we dared speculate this to no other, including Robert.
That visit was in August. By November, everyone admitted what I had seen on that sojourn.
Queen Mary, abandoned and forgotten by her husband, faced her last days.
That November in 1558 is a time I will never forget. On the sixth of the month, Jane Dormer approached Hatfield, surrounded by outriders who bore the queen’s standard. She curtsied low before Elizabeth and offered her jewels Mary had sent as a peace offering.
Elizabeth received Jane in her presence chamber and took the casket without expression. “My sister still lives?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Jane answered with quiet deference. “She is sore ill, but still alive.”
“And she has named me as her successor, at last?”
Jane nodded. “On two conditions, Your Grace.”
