Lady In Waiting: Chapter 12

Eliza smelled like cheap alcohol and flowery sweat. Her lips were soft as they pushed Anne further backwards. The kiss was messy and slightly dry but Anne drank it in. Her mind cleared itself until it was just the two of them. Her mind narrowed to nothing but Eliza. It was peaceful and sweet.

Until she felt Eliza dry heave. The drunk woman jumped up and ran to the window before puking. Anne watched in horror as her lover friend retched into the grass below. After several minutes, she finally stopped, wiped her mouth on the thin curtain and slid to the floor again.

“Water please?” The drunk woman asked.

With a breathy laugh, Anne grabbed a mug from a shelf and poured water out from the wooden bucket it was stored in. When she turned to give Eliza the water, she found her dozing away against the wall.

With plenty of struggle and profanities, Anne managed to drag Eliza from her spot on the floor into the back bedroom. She pushed the woman onto the bed and, with far more care than she deserved, tilted her head to the side. After a moment of thought, Anne slid next to her.

As Eliza snored away on the bed, Anne slipped the thief’s pocket knife out of her leg pocket. Leaning over her body, she straddled her thighs and lifted the knife with two hands above her head.

And then she paused. The knife shook and, with a wet sigh, Anne set the knife back in its sheath. She fell back onto the pillows and silently shook. A sleeping Eliza cuddled onto her back and, intertwined, the two slept.

~

When Katherine awoke, the first thing she noticed was the cold right side of the cot. The second thing she noticed was that Jane Asper was clearly asking to be executed since she had woken her up by drumming her nails on the wooden floor.

Anne Bennet always suggested that she took deep breaths when angry but Katherine had found that closing her eyes and holding her breath until her lungs and eyes burned, then letting the air slowly flow away with the angry heat.

After several minutes, she slowed down her breathing again and reopened her eyes.

And then she realized that Anne was missing. She wasn’t sitting somewhere else and she wasn’t sleeping on the floor. Anne was missing.

Gathering the girls together was easy. They could grumble and complain and whisper all they wanted. She was royalty and she knew what she could do with it since she was only two years old. A riveting speech always helped.

“We are nobles. We are above these rugged fools. We are women and we are mothers. Release your fear and let God guide us. Let us remind them who we are.”

One of Katherines few memories of her mother was her sitting at the queen’s golden vanity with delicately carved roses. Before she had gotten sick, her mother had been a force of nature. As the queen brushed through her daughter’s hair, she said something that had stuck with the princess for the rest of her life.

‘They underestimate women. Underestimate us. When someone makes that mistake, make sure they regret it.’

The guards were really quite bad at their jobs. The minute little Jane Denton started talking to them in that fast, energized voice of hers and twirled her hair, the men were gone.

Jane Taylor and Jane Asper had been scheming together since they were toddlers in neighboring kingdoms. The two were quite alike and Anne Bennet had once whispered her thoughts about separated twins. Scandalous indeed.

The two easily snuck behind the guards, snatched their weapons and left them barricaded in the back room.

Really, the guards were an embarrassment. Henry should really consider who in his gang was truly valuable because the pathetic men in the back would not be making the cut.

The sun was halfway into the sky but only children walked the streets. The adults had all gone to work. Catherine Osmond grabbed some coins and food from the table in the entry room and drew the children out of their path.

Anne Bennet, Katherines dearest friend and favorite accomplice, had gathered the maps from the center table. She stared at them for a minute before folding it tightly and slipping into her bodice.

The women gathered together and walked together in a huddle. Jane Denton shook fearfully but Catherine Denton hugged her into her side. Jane Taylor and Jane Asper guarded the back of the short parade with their stolen sword and club respectfully.

Katherine and Anne Bennet led the way. The two held straight backs and cold eyes.

They walked past rows and rows of houses.

“Princess, do you know what we’re looking for?” Jane Denton asked timidly.

“A house that stands out,” the royal replied.

It was the stable that caught her eye. It wasn’t falling apart. The wood was new and covered two beautiful brown stallions. Her carriage stallions. Katherine was just pleased they hadn’t slaughtered them for food. That seemed like something barbarians would do.

There was no one around. The town was dead. The women slipped into the house with all the care of people who have been told their whole lives they are to be seen and not heard.

Jane Taylor opened the bedroom door and brandished her weapon. Then she froze.

“What is it?” Katherine whispered.

Stepping aside, Jane revealed Henry and Anne were entwined in the bed together. Henry’s pants lay on the floor beside them.

Katherine knew anger. She felt anger when her father snuck into her room. She had felt anger when she’d found her husband and his squire in bed together. Katherine had felt anger when her mother died and no one cared.

This was different. This wasn’t anger. It was something else; something evil that twisted in her stomach and washed her body in cold instead of heat. This was the same feeling she had when Anne had first stumbled back into the cabin and cried at her feet.

This wasn’t anger. It was hate. It was jealousy. It was vengeful.

“Hand me the sword,” she said coolly.

Jane Taylor looked at her with wide eyes. “What?”

“Did I stutter? Hand. Me. The. Sword.”

Anne Bennet took a step forward. “Your highness, with all due respect-”

“Shut up.”

The ladies watched in fear.

Katherine turned to them. “Either you hand me the sword or I take it from you.”

With shaking hands, Jane handed her the sword. Katherine grasped it with both hands and turned around. She walked towards the sleeping man. Raising the sword, she swept it towards the man’s neck. The ladies gasped.

And then Anne Rolfe grabbed the sword by the blade. Blood dripped from her hands and gray eyes met brown.

“Don’t,” she begged, tears slipping out in that beautiful, regal way of hers. “Please don’t.”