A Love For All Time – By Dixie Allen

A Love for All Time is my story about John and Marlena going back in time from 1996 France to 1526 Tudor England during the reign of Henry VIII.

Since most of my characters aren’t typically found in J&M; fanfics and some readers might not love English history as much as I do, I thought a Tudor primer might be in order. 🙂

Called King Hal Bluff, Henry inherited the throne of England in 1509, when he was 18 years old. He ruled until his death in 1547. Early in his reign, Henry wasn’t the cruel, obese tyrant he became known as. The tall red-headed Henry was considered the best-looking king in Europe. He was known for his athletic prowess, but also had a deep love for music and learning. His court fostered some of the greatest intellectual minds of the Renaissance age.

Henry Tudor was not born to be king.

The second son of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, Henry became the heir apparent when his older brother Arthur died. A special papal dispensation allowed him to marry the Spanish princess, Catherine of Aragon, who had briefly married Arthur.

The royal couple had repeated miscarriages and sons who died in infancy. After 17 years of marriage, they only had one daughter, who would later reign briefly and earn the moniker “Bloody Mary.” A devout Catholic, Mary burned at the stake hundreds of Protestants as she sought to stamp out the religious reformation her father had unleashed in England.

During the early 16th Century, it was believed a ruling queen would throw the country into anarchy. Thus Henry VIII was determined to have a male heir. This would lead to his infatuation with Anne Boleyn and ultimately his break with the Roman Catholic Church and the formation of the Church of England.

Henry is known for his six wives, two of which he beheaded, including Anne Boleyn, the mother of the future and glorious Queen Elizabeth I. For his six marriages, Henry produced three children: Mary, Elizabeth and Edward VI, his son by Jane Seymour, who succeeded Henry VIII after his death in 1547. All three of his children ruled England, but despite Henry’s zealous efforts to continue the Tudor line all of his children died childless.

My story begins in 1526 when Henry VIII is falling madly in love with Anne Boleyn. The court was scandalized by the infatuation between the king and Anne Boleyn, the niece of the third Duke of Norfolk, the top peer in England.

In my fanfic, our Marlena Evans finds herself transported into the body of Marley Howard, the eldest child of the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Howard. As the daughter of one of the country’s most noble of men, Marley Howard is one of Catherine of Aragon’s ladies in waiting. As cousin to Anne Boleyn, Marley Howard is a close confidante to the future queen.

Even though she is in Marley Howard’s body, Marlena knows she is Marlena Evans. She grapples with the knowledge that she does not belong in Tudor England and is uncertain about her new surroundings in a previous age. She aches to return to her family in Salem in 1996 and reunite with John.

Also sent back in time was John Black. He is now in the body of Father John Black, a priest in the household of Thomas Wolsey, a Roman Catholic cardinal and Lord Chancellor of England. Wolsey is the premier churchman in England and as Lord Chancellor holds the secular powers too. At this time, Wolsey is the real power behind Henry VIII’s throne.

Wolsey wants to become Pope, and John hopes to stay in his service and go to Rome with Wolsey. While of low birth, John Black has high aspirations of becoming a bishop or a cardinal in the Catholic Church. But a beautiful blonde may derail those ambitions.

Unlike Marlena, John Black doesn’t realize he has been sent back in time. He is however, having flashes of his life as hero of Salem. These memories are troubling to the priest as he struggles to grasp their significance.

Will John ultimately remember his time in Salem? And if he does, will they get back to 1996?

As my story unfolds, you will see that John and Marlena were sent back in time into the lives and bodies of similar long-ago lovers for a reason. To correct the mistakes they made in Salem that led to them being apart in 1996, they have to correct the mistakes of the original doomed couple from Henry VIII’s time.

But the love *we* shared was something special. There never was and never could be anyone to fill the special place you hold in my heart. I love you. I know now I always have and I always will. John Black, February 1996.

*******************************

Paris, France. Aug. 8, 1996

Marlena could barely breathe, her heart and chest ached so much.

“How will I go on?”

Stefano was determined to kill John and was using a mock jury to accomplish his insanity. Tears cascaded down her face as she clutched the ornate iron bars of her prison. She told herself she had to stay calm and strong. John would want that. The images of the two precious cherubs flashed in her head. It seemed so long since that day in the DiMera gardens when Brady brought her that ratty sweater and Belle flashed her sweet smile.

“I’ve got to find a way back to the children. That’s all that matters now.”

Then she saw the man she never thought she would see alive again.

“John, you are alive!”

John burst past the guard, knocking him unconscious. “Doc!”

He ripped the keys from the goon’s belt, opening the doors to free his beloved. He clutched her as tight as he could.

“I’ve got you Doc. I’ve got you!”

They both looked to the stairs where they could hear the tramping of boots and excited voices.

“This way!” he exclaimed.

John shoved open a door as they headed into the dark tunnels beneath the City of Lights, both moving as fast as they could. A musty stench filled the air. Their shoes clacked on the cobblestones beneath their feet.

“Hurry John! Stefano’s men are gaining on us. Hurry!”

Suddenly, the tunnel branched off into five directions. John pulled Marlena toward the left one, almost carrying her.

She was overwhelmed by a rush of feelings, anxiety, terror and love. He wasn’t dead. He didn’t die! All those thoughts she had in that horrible cell when Stefano led her to believe John had died and then just now when she thought he had been beheaded. She couldn’t believe she had allowed Kristen’s pregnancy, lies and manipulations to stop her from telling John that she had read his letter and she loved him so much.

Out of nowhere a small wood door appeared. Then another and yet another. As if some unknown force was guiding him, John turned the knob of the left door.

It opened with a creak!

They found themselves in a room that dated back to the Middle Ages.

“Doc, listen there is something I have to tell you. I know we must get away but I don’t know if we will this time. I can’t take a chance again. I have to tell you now. I love you sweetheart. I love you from the moment I first saw your hazel eyes and I will love you until the day I die,” he fiercely said.

“I know Kristen is pregnant with my child. And I know it’s not fair to tell you this. You probably don’t want to hear this. But I have to tell you this. You have to know you are my one true love. And always will be. That’s a fact. It isn’t right but I want you, me, Belle and Brady to be a family. I know it’s selfish, but I love you so much.”

“Oh, John,” she sighed, her eyes glistening with fresh tears that threatened to fall. “I knew you loved me but I have so wanted to hear it myself.”

“You knew?” he said in bewildered surprise. “How?”

She hurriedly told him about reading his letter and why she delayed telling him. But before she could tell him how Kristen helped Stefano kidnap her and the extent of her lies, they jerked to the noise of oncoming footprints and voices just outside the door.

“Baby, we are going to finish this talk and then I’m going to kiss you so hard. I never want to let go of you again. I’m going to save of us from that mad man. I promise you,” he said.

John looked wildly around the room.

Dust-covered goblets stood on top of a desk, underneath a faded red, purple and gold tapestry that hung from the wall, a tapestry that must have once been a work of art. He would never know why but something powered him forward and he jerked at the tapestry. Lo and behold, behind it laid a gold door.

They rushed forward, venturing into the dark, dank air that hadn’t felt the presence of humans in almost 500 years. Marlena couldn’t see and groped wildly for John. He found her hand and clutched it tightly, their fingers intertwined together. They were running as fast as they could in the dark, their hearts pounding, their breath in their throats. They must have run for a quarter of a mile through the twisting, damp labyrinth.

At the last possible moment when they rounded yet another curve, Marlena saw the barest image of her and John’s reflection as they passed by a large mirror. John tripped and they pitched forward, crashing into the mirror.

Marlena heard the tingling of glass and if it was possible it went even darker. It was as black she had ever seen and would ever see again.

“Doc, I love you!” John yelled.

She felt herself falling, trying so hard to hang onto his hand.

“John, I love you. I always will. Don’t forget that,” she screamed back not sure if he would hear her. If he would ever hear her again.

A great roar of air rushed around her. It was like a cyclone, twisting and swirling her around. And as mightily as she struggled to hold on for dear life, it tore her hand out of John’s. Would they ever clutch hands again?

“This must be a dream. A horrible, horrible nightmare,” Marlena thought. “Wake up Marlena. Wake up.”

But it was no dream. She was falling rapidly, she felt certain to her death as the air pressed around her. She knew what forever felt like as she kept falling and falling. She couldn’t feel John’s presence anymore and that scared her as much as the horrible darkness, the hurricane-like wind and the fall.

She wondered if this was what Roman felt like when he plunged off that cliff so many years ago. She thought of her twins. And she thought of Carrie, Brady and Belle.

Then, the fall stopped. Every bone in her body was jarred as she came crashing down. An intense pain swept over her. A mental anguish like she hadn’t ever felt. The loss of her family, her children, her beloved. She knew she would never see them again. How would Belle and Brady survive without their parents. Would Stefano kidnap her darling Belle. The darkness that had stripped John away from her finally engulfed her as she lost consciousness.

And the last thing that slipped from her lips was:

“Belle!”

---

Marlena felt the heat from the noon sun against her face, and the itchy feeling of grass against her arms and underneath her neck and palms.

She could hear gay laughter, the sounds of music from an unusual instrument and a gurgling stream, but she couldn’t command her eyes to open. They felt tied shut.

“John? Where is John?? What happened to John?!” she frantically thought.

“Stop it Marley. Our Lord is coming. You must get up quick,” the voice sharply said.

Marlena couldn’t place the lilting voice. Who was she? Her hands touched the heavy fabric of her skirt as she struggled to push herself up. Why couldn’t she open her eyes? Where was John?

Her head ached from the questions she had.

A booming voice made her head throb that much more.

“Nan, sweetheart. Quit playing hide and seek. Come. Come sit beside me and play your beautiful lute like no one else can in my kingdom.”

“Who is Nan,” Marlena thought to herself. “Where am I? And where is John? John!”

But she realized the strong, powerful voice didn’t belong to Stefano as she initially had thought. It was an English accent.

“Marley! You must rise now. Marley, come on!” Nan hissed, also in an English voice.

“Nan, sweetheart. There you are,” the voice said. “What is this? You aren’t alone. Who is this fair creature who doesn’t curtsy for her Lord?”

Slowly, Marlena’s eyes began to open. She blinked in the intense glare of the sun. She could see the outline of a tall, imposing figure standing over her. She turned her head slightly so his figure blocked the sun to allow her to see better. She then saw a small, slight reed-thin, dark-haired girl standing beside him, wearing the oddest clothes.

“That must be Nan,” she thought. And, Nan certainly appeared anxious, a dark cloud of desperation covering her face. But the clothes. They seemed so out of place, like they came from a museum.

She turned her gaze back to the man.

Then, Marlena blinked even harder trying to understand the images forming before her eyes. She yet again blinked, hoping that the initial image would go away and be something different. An image she had only seen in history books.

“No!! It can’t be. No!” she screamed to herself.

She told herself that the stockings, the dated tunics and shoes had to be from a museum reenactment. But something instinctively told her that wasn’t the case. That what she was seeing, as bizarre and as impossible as it was, was now her reality and it wasn’t just a terrible nightmare as a result of hitting her head.

The sun caught the brilliance of the red ruby on his hand and the glint of red in his hair and beard. His massive hand was outstretched, offering to help her up from the ground.

“No! This cannot be happening,” Marlena thought. “It cannot be! That cannot be England’s Henry VIII.”

And her last thought before the comforting darkness overwhelmed her yet again was:

John! What happened to John?

Father John Black dipped the quill into the ink well when suddenly a noise caught his attention. The red robes of Cardinal Wolsey were angrily bustling and hissing as he quickly strode down the corridor of England’s finest castle.

Even though the cardinal had yet to enter the room, John knew the most powerful man in England was in a state of anger. But undaunted, he continued with his task of translating Proverbs 31 from Latin into English.

“Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.”

An image of he and a flaxen-haired woman standing outside a church in the rain near a statute of Mother Mary flashed before him.

John shook his head. He was wearing strange clothes, she in a long flowing white nightgown. Who is she?

Since he had woken that morning, John had felt strange. His bones ached and he was tired, as though he had run from the Scottish border to London. And he felt strangely ill at ease, as though his life had changed overnight and he just didn’t know it yet. Now, this image of a woman he didn’t recognize and he wasn’t wearing priestly clothes. He was wearing clothes like he had never seen before. Who is this beautiful captivating maiden? Why did he want to kiss and hold her and never let go?

John’s reverie was interrupted by the slam of a door thrown open. Wolsey’s face was purple, having obviously worked himself into a fury. His plump, well-cared for hands continuously were clenching and unclenching.

“Nan Bullen must be a witch as they say. She’s enchanted the King. He has run off to see her like a dog in heat when I have important affairs of the state to intend to. The Pope is in danger.”

John raised his head cautiously.

“Your Grace….”

“John, thou must prepare to leave for Court this afternoon. I must speak to the Queen about a letter intercepted for the Spanish Ambassador.”

“Aye, my Lord. I will prepare at once.”

John quickly finished up the passage before going upstairs to the priests’ quarters. He momentarily wondered if the maiden would be at Court but surpressed it quickly. He had vowed he would not be a corrupt worldly priest like so many of his brethren. He intended to serve His Excellency, the Pope, at the Vatican one day.

---

Hever Castle, Norfolk.

The sound of a crackling fire. A soft voice murmuring “Marley.” Marlena came to with a start.

She sat up wildly, exclaiming, “John!”

But he wasn’t there.

Instead, her eyes found a pale, thin dark-haired girl. Her vision blurred as Marlena remembered what she had seen and heard. No! It could not be Henry VIII. She remembered running through those dark, dank Paris tunnels and then a roaring wind ripping her and John apart. Forever?

A tiny sob escaped from her lips before she could tell herself to buck up.

“Marley, sweetheart, who is this John you are calling for? I did not knoweth you had a suitor at court?”

Marlena laid back on the pillows, struggling to find a coherent answer. She realized she was hot and flushed. The fire was blazing and yet it wasn’t winter.

“Anne, darling, is she awake?”

“Yes, mother. She hasn’t said anything besides, “John.” I have never heard her mention John before. She hath an odd look in her eyes. She’s not acting herself. Tis worrisome.”

A plump, kind-faced woman came into Marlena’s view.

“Marley, dear, how do you feel? Does your head hurt?”

“Where am I? Who are you?”

The two women exchanged furtive glances.

“I am Elizabeth Boleyn, your aunt. This is Anne Boleyn, my daughter. You are at our home in Norfolk, Hever Castle. You fell and hit your head this afternoon, and were unconscious. Do you not remember that?”

Marlena quickly gathered her wits about her.

“Yes, why yes, of course I do. How silly of me. I remember the King was upset with me because I didn’t curtsey to him,” she said in a rush. “Is he still mad? He won’t behead me like he did ……”

Oh my, Marlena thought to herself. The light-hearted joke she intended to make was a horrible idea. If this is indeed *THE* Anne Boleyn, this could become treacherous She knew through her history books how her short life ended but Anne obviously didn’t know.

“Behead you? Whatever would give you such an idea? He might box your ears or exile you from Court but our most kind, wonderful Excellency would never do such a thing to you dear Lady Marley Howard,” the older woman said.

Marley Howard. So that was her name. But who was she? And how did Marlena Evans end up in her body? And why? Marlena’s head began to ache again with all the implications and questions. So many questions and no answers.

“Now do you feel like sitting up? You doth need to eat supper. Our Lord must return to Court and you and Anne will be expected to accompany him tomorrow,” Elizabeth Boleyn said.

Hot tears built behind Marlena’s eyes, threatening to fall. She was angry at her situation, angry in impotent frustration. How on earth was she to get back to 1996, her children and John? Who was Marley Howard? Was John dead? She never thought being rid of Stefano could be such bitter agony. And Henry VIII was just as deadly and mercurial as Stefano DiMera ever was.

---

Hampton Court

John dreaded going to court. So much gaiety that could be tempting. Yet, he also did not respect the spirit of indulgence that pervaded Henry VIII’s court. His wife, Katherine of Aragon, was a remarkably pious woman, devout in the Catholic faith, except she preferred to surround herself with Spaniards or those with close ties to her homeland of Spain.

While he waited for the Cardinal, John returned to his translation. He truly loved being a priest, believing he was called to do God’s bidding. I Corinthians 13:12, 13

“For now, we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

An intense feeling of foreboding swept through the priest. He felt that he had done a terrible wrong, had hurt someone deeply and needed to beg God’s and hers forgiveness. Hers?! He felt like he was looking through a dark murky glass when for a moment the image cleared and flashed before his eyes. This time he was in his priestly robe standing before a woman lying on a bed. She looked near death. She was pale and her eyes were closed. He was pleading with God not to take her, not to take the mother of his children.

His children?!

He quickly gritted his teeth and ordered his mind to forget these heretical immoral thoughts. He jabbed the pen into the ink well.

“And now abideth faith, hope and love. Of these three, the greatest is love.”

Now the woman was rushing towards him, putting her head underneath the executioner’s blade. Proclaiming her love for him and to remember their love and their children’s. Next, he was at a French court. He was holding her tightly as he could, smelling deeply the sweet scent of her blonde hair that was piled high on her head in curls. A feeling John had never known before began in his throat and spread through his body. He wanted to kiss her, taste her, make her his. To tell her that she would never have to fear Stefano, that he would never hurt her again.

Stefano?? Who was Stefano?!!

Unsettled at these carnal and most peculiar and unusual of thoughts, John was grateful when the Cardinal suddenly appeared.

“John, I am concerned about the King and his devotion to the Queen. I hath made arrangements for you to be placed at court as a priestly minister to his King,” Wolsey said. “You won’t return with me.”‘

John was unsure how to take this news, whether he wanted to be part of the daily life of court. He didn’t want to minister to the lusty and boisterous King who drank too much and ate too much and certainly hunted too much. He enjoyed his quiet solitude studying the Lord’s words and Scriptures.

“Yes, Your Grace. I would consider it a most high honor and I welcome it,” he heard himself say.

“Good. I know I can count on you to serve constantly as my eyes and ears. I need someone who can avoid Court’s worldly temptations and buxom maidens. I’m worried that this Nan Bullen is different from his other mistresses. Because she is not yet his mistress. I know the King is concerned because he does not have a son. He does not think the English people will accept his daughter, Mary. He does not believe a woman can rule over England. Unfortunately, I think he is right. If Anne Boleyn says she will not be his mistress and will only be his queen, I fear what our impetuous ruler will do. I need you to keep a close watch John You must ensure that does not happen.”

John bowed his head.

“You can trust me my Lord. Your faith in me will not be displaced,” he said.

The cardinal and his priest then headed for the barge that would carry them across the Thames to Court.

---

Hever Castle

Marlena could hear the soft sounds of Anne’s lute as she entertained the King below. His jovial laugh as he flirted shamelessly with Anne worried Marlena. It was a dangerous, deadly dance those two were playing.

But she had her own concerns, which were paramount. Her own survival. How she managed to make it through the strange dinner with its 16th Century customs and foods she would never know. She was tired and anxious to get to bed so she could wake up from this nightmare and find herself home safe and secure in Salem.

Yet, since Elizabeth and Anne had left her room she had a queer feeling come over her. That she wasn’t going back to Salem. She had to reach down deep inside and fight through this. She also felt strongly that John was near her, that he was alive and also sent back in time with her. But where? Where was John? She needed John.

Marlena walked past an ornate mirror. She stopped to see her reflection, curious about the jeweled gown and corset that cut into her chest. Sometimes, she didn’t think she could breathe she was bound so tight in the medieval clothes. She hated the foul smells that the rushes on the floor and the spices strategically placed throughtout the manor couldn’t mask. And oh my, how she missed air conditioning and longed for a good bath. She shuddered thinking about the primitive outhouse she had used. Outhouse being a nice description. Hygiene was not a big part of English life in the 1520s, she thought with a sigh. Then she looked up.

Her hazel eyes recoiled at what they were seeing. She quickly looked up and down at her reflection in the mirror. She blinked hard.

No! It can’t be! How many more surprises would she get?

The image looking back at her stunned her. It was an image she had not seen in 20 plus years. It was an unlined, youthful face. The hair was soft and long, not a hint of gray. Her face was glowing as much as it was the day she married Don. The face was of Marlena when she was 20 years old.

Hampton Court

Summer 1526

He gently laid her down on a green carpet of pine needles and grass, her warm inviting smile shining so brightly The sun caught the shimmer of her champagne-colored blouse. He buried his face in her long blonde hair, drinking in the smell of lilacs and honeysuckle. He nipped her ear lobe, breathing deeply, “I love you Doc.” She shivered and giggled. She began moaning slightly as he ran his tongue and mouth up and down on the left side of her beautiful swan-like neck. Her skin was softer and finer than the silk of her blouse. His kisses became more fervent as his desire built. He pulled back, his deep blue eyes locking with her soulful hazel eyes. Eyes that were darkened with passion and desire. He pulled her arm out kissing and sucking each finger before lavishing kisses up every inch of her arm. He then turned his attention to the right side of her neck, showering it with attention and kisses that became more sloppy as his passion built. She was twitching and moaning underneath the magic of his touch. Just before he bent down to kiss her pouty mouth and taste her sweetness, she murmured, “Oh Roman, make love to me. Let’s begin our honeymoon in West Virginia my sexy husband.”

John bolted upright, his heart thundering in his throat. He looked wildly around the room but the vexing damsel from his dream wasn’t beside him. Instead, in another bed across the room snoring was Cardinal Wolsey. He signed deeply. He was shaking with fear and desire. Drenched in sweat, a drop fell from his brow onto his lips. But he didn’t taste the salty flavor. He tasted the mystery and fulfillment of her kiss.

---

Hever Castle

Near dawn

Blame not My Lute! for he must sound

Of this or that as liketh me

For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me

Though my songs be somewhat strange

And speak such words as touch thy change Blame not my Lute —

Sir Thomas Wyatt 1503-1542

England’s finest poet was watching streaks of mauves and pinks break the black velvet night sky. Thomas Wyatt was troubled at the flirting he had seen over dinner the night before between Anne and Henry. Anne, he sighed deeply. Oh, how he did love the bewitching woman. She was his muse, the soul that drove him to write his beautiful songs. He would have married her because she was his passion. Alas, he already had a wife. And so did Henry. But he was the king and Wyatt was just a knight.

His solitude was broken as he saw a wisp of a woman walking beside the gurgling stream. How sensuously does Marley Howard walk, he said to himself. Wyatt had to ask himself why he had never noticed her before. She always seemed so quiet and meek, a studious church mouse. But in recent days, a vivaciousness had come over her being. She seemed more beautiful, more intriguing as though her heart harbored a deep passionate secret.

Marlena had risen before dawn in hopes of sneaking down to the nearby stream undetected. She felt so dirty and filthy. It had been almost a week since she had had a bath or shower. Oh, how she longed for the steamy tingling feeling of a good hot shower. And a fresh change of undergarments. She wore the same white cloth pantalets and undershirt day after day. She had been aghast when Elizabeth and Anne had laughed at her when she asked to take a bath. Marlena was stunned to learn medieval women viewed bathing as unnecessary and exposing one’s self to sickness and possibly the devil.

And a thousand viruses, bacteria and God knows what else, she thought wryly to herself. And she had already been exposed to the devil, she said with a slight laugh.

Quietly slipping into the stream, the cold water nearly knocked her breath away. She walked toward the middle where the water came to her collarbone. She used a scrap of cloth as a makeshift wash cloth. Ah, how wonderful it felt even if the water was cold. It reminded her of the cold blast of water when she had fallen into the waters at Aremid.

Don’t think such thoughts Marlena, she told herself. She concentrated on remembering happier times. She thought of the sparkling pool of water in West Virginia and the love she and John had shared that day. A turtle dove from a log into the water bringing Marlena back to the present. The present, she thought with a ironic laugh. The past. She could feel her skin wrinkling in response to the cold water. The water quickly caught the reflection of her face.

A face she almost did not recognize. A face from 20 years prior. Why had she gone back in time?? Why did she look 20 years younger?

Stop it, stop it, she thought to herself, shaking her head.

She ordered herself to think of the heat and passion of the hot springs. There was steam that day but more than just from the springs, she thought.

She scrubbed every inch of her body as hard as she could, not knowing when the next time she could do so. And she begin to softly sing a song from her junior high school days thanks to the memory the little turtle conjured up.

Imagine me and you I do.

I think of you about day and night

It’s only right

To think about the girl you love and to hold her tight

So happy together

If I should call you up, and invest a dime

And you say you will belong to me

And ease my mind

Imagine how the world could be

So very fine

So happy together

I can’t see me loving nobody but you

For all my life

When you’re with me baby the skies will be blue for all my life Me

and you, you and me

No matter how they toss the dice

It had to be

The only one for me is you and you for me It had to be

So happy together

She had to chuckle at herself now. She couldn’t remember the last time she had sang, much less that 1967 song by The Turtles. Song Sung Blue with Liz perhaps? O Holy Night at St. Luke’s after John returned Belle to her?

And hearing her voice reminded her of why. Singing was not her forte, definitely. She crept from the chilly waters to the green bank where she had left her clothes. She felt so refreshed and almost looking forward to the day’s journey to London Towne.

She bent over pulling up the pantalets and had begun putting on the undershirt when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She gasped out loud as she heard a voice say, “M’Lady, tis a most strangle song indeed you were gracing us with.”

She twirled around to find dawn’s light capturing a leer that would put Stefano’s in Paris to shame.

“Your Majesty! I, I, did not know,” Marlena stammered as she struggled to get her shirt on.

“Mistress Howard, why art thou in this stream at this hour of the morrow? “Henry queried. “And what manner of song were you singing?”

Her shirt properly in place, she dropped to a deep curtsey. She had watched Elizabeth’s carefully the night before and was gratified that she executed it properly.

“Your Excellency, I pray your indulgence. I felt unclean and the waters were most inviting. The song was just a trifling one I heard from the cook,” she said, amazed at her ability to bald-faced lie and speak in the style of 16th Century English.

“I see. Doth thou usually creep down to the stream before dawn?”

“No Sire. Please forgive me. Now I pray you that you will grant me my leave,” she said. She wanted to get as far away from his stare that had burned her chest where his glowing amber eyes had lingered.

She felt even more unclean than she had before her pre-dawn swim, her hands subconsciously touching her neck.

---

That night

Greenwich Castle

John walked a respectful distance behind the cardinal as they entered the room where Henry waited for them. Both men bowed seeking the King’s blessing to rise.

“Your Grace, I would like to present a fine young priest that I reckon one day will be a bishop serving ……..”

“Thomas, I have a matter of grave concern that I wish to speak with you about,” the king said to his cardinal.

“Yes, Your Grace. But first if I may have your indulgence. This is John Black. I trust him like few others and would like to ask leave to have him placed in your household. I know your heart is troubled that you do not yet have a son and he can minister to you on a daily basis in a way that I cannot,” Wolsey said smoothly.

“Your Excellency, I consider it a great honor to serve you. You are a blessing to England and have made it a wonderful place for us all. I trust that God’s light will shine on you and your Queen soon and bring forth a son and heir,” John said. “I would consider it the ultimate call to pray with you for that.”

“Aye. That’s precisely the issue that I wish to speak to you about Thomas,” Henry said.

The cardinal motioned ever so slightly for his young priest to stand in a corner.

“I don’t think prayers will solve this vexing problem. The Queen is past the childbearing age. She is barren I fear. God has spoken to me and I must speak to you about this,” Henry said with a heavy sigh.

John looked up curiously as he watched the cardinal and the king. He didn’t realize the history he was about to watch unfold. Right now, he was more focused on banishing from his mind the images of the beautiful maiden who was haunting his dreams. He could almost taste her, touch her. Ashamed, he realized that the mere thought of her was bringing him to arousal. In the presence of the King and the great Cardinal! He gritted his teeth and listened more intently.

“It is a matter of my conscience. I have a heavy burden on my conscience. I’ve lived in sin with my brother’s wife for 17 years,” Henry said.

John’s head shot up as he watched Wolsey’s mouth struggle to voice coherent words much as a fish out of water gasps for breath.

“What a Queer fancy! The Pope himself granted an annulment between your dead brother, Arthur, and Catherine because the marriage was never consummated. He was too sickly, too weak. And the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella was too young. Your marriage with the Queen is as legal and binding before God and the Church as if your brother had never existed,” Wolsey stammered in a rush. “Poor Arthur. He was the eldest but he was never as strong and bold and brave as your Grace.”

“Aye. But the evidence shows otherwise. We have had still-born children or children dead before they were a year other than Mary. And she’s just a girl,” Henry spat out. “A King of England must have a son. My people will not accept a Queen. It’s civil war when the throne goes to a woman. Our history has shown that. I cannot leave my kingdom to Mary. No. God has told me this marriage is not right,” he said.

The air was tense as he paused. John wondered how his cardinal was going to handle such a delicate situation. He could not believe what his ears were hearing. The Queen was a God-fearing most pious and loving woman. She had never hurt anyone and yet the King was tossing her aside because he did not consider her a good brood mare. It was all because of that witch Nan Bullen, John thought. She has enchanted the King. A spell he was praying God would break.

Wolsey cautiously said, “Sire, I understand your grave concerns. It’s regrettable. There is no alternative. This is the path you must take.”

“Must I? Perhaps it was an error for Pope Julius to annual the marriage. Perhaps Pope Clement can be persuaded to re-examine the issue and declare that the marriage was annulled in haste and error,” Henry said.

The Pope. John wanted to serve him some day. Would this matter of the King’s conscience or the maiden of his dreams be his undoing?

The Cardinal swayed slightly on his feet. “But Sire! This is no simple matter. A pope does not declare a previous pope wrong. And the Queen is Clement’s aunt! Would he declare she has conceived out of wedlock and her daughter Mary is a bastard? He would gag at the thought. He would perish it and you must perish this thought your Excellency.”

The famous Tudor temper erupted. He swung a goblet across the room, it crashed near John’s feet. But John did not flinch. He was too horrified, trained too well to show outward emotion.

“By God’s nightgown Thomas. I mean to get out of this God-forsaken marriage. God has told me this is wrong. I must have a son. I must have a male heir. You WILL MAKE IT HAPPEN!”

“Ah, ah, Your Grace I think — I know– it won’t be simple, it will be difficult but you know I will carry out your will to the best of my ability,” Wolsey said quickly, unsteadily.

Satisfied, Henry curtly nodded and strode from the room.

The cardinal sank to his knees, his red robes billowing out across the stone floor. “Dear Lord, help me in this madness. Help me Lord.”

John walked across the room and helped the cardinal up by his elbow. “God will hear our prayers. This wickedness will not come to past. It must not come to past.”

“John, you are correct. I pray to God that he will guide you and help you ensure this heresy does not come to past. Damn that Nan Bullen. Damn her. This is my worst fears realized,” he said. “I knew she would not settle for his bed, that she would want his kingdom.”

“A woman,” John sighed, momentarily forgetting about his dreams. “What man could believe a woman could so wreck such mischief and cause a man to want to throw away his entire life, his integrity, his calling. She must be descended from Eve to lead him astray like this. I cannot imagine a man so cursed and led by lust as our King is today.”

---

Marlena’s teeth clattered together. Her head ached from the constant chattering from Anne about the wonderful things that Henry had done during his visit to Hever Castle.

Marlena could barely hear her sentences due to the clattering of the horses and the carriage. Carriage putting it nicely, she thought to herself. If she had longed for a bath, now she would dearly sell her soul for a nice quiet comfort filled ride in John’s Jeep Grand Cherokee. Her teeth would jar together for the rest of her life she feared.

“Anne, did you say that His Grace gave you a ring?”

“Indeed, he did. He took the tiny red ruby from his smallest finger and slipped it onto my third finger. He said it was a token of his love and that I would always have his heart,” Anne said. “But cousin, I don’t know what manner he means. I have told him I won’t be his mistress. He has a Queen and that I cannot be.”

Marlena was relieved when the carriage came to a halt, thus sparing her from an answer. What did she say to this girl? Anne was nothing like the history books said and everything like the history books. Marlena kept thinking about the way Henry stared at her exposed breasts that morning. Knowing Anne’s fate, she wanted to shake her and tell her to flee the King’s presence. To run for her life. Yet, she was also mindful that she must strive not to tamper with history, not to change it’s course.

Torches lit the night sky, showing the walkway to the stone castle.

“Oh, how have I missed court and its intrigue. Hever is so boring. It’s so pastoral. I want to dance and dance and dance some more. And cousin, you may see this John. Who is he and why do you call his name in your sleep?”

The object of her dreams was then walking the cardinal to his horse.

Greenwich Castle

late summer 1526

Cardinal Wolsey stumbled backward, catching John by surprise. He turned to see what had startled Wolsey and saw the blonde maiden rush by the cardinal, coming straight toward him.

Her! It was her! The girl from his dreams! What was she doing here?

Anne was caught off guard by the intense look on Marley’s face. She had never seen such ferocity.

“Cousin! What doth possess you so?” she asked.

But Marlena didn’t hear her. She could only see the tall man standing before her, whose arms she needed to feel wrapped around her tightly: Her John’s arms.

Her fingers trembled as she reached up to touch his face. She gasped when her fingers brushed across the faint stubble on his cheek.

“Oh John! You are here. You didn’t die. You are with me. You are here my darling!”

John’s eyes widened at her words. Her radiant beauty was breathtaking. Her hair was dishelved, the dark hood having fallen off as she had raced forward through the nighttime air. Who was she? Why did she call him darling?

For the briefest of moments, his eyes closed. He saw a woman coming out of the mists. He saw him grab her face. He heard him say, “Doc, it’s you. It’s you.”

Then just as the memory came to him, the door in his mind slammed shut.

John looked in bewilderment from the maiden to the cardinal, who was intently watching the scene unfold.

“M’Lady, I fear I am not your John. I know not who you are. Forgive me, but I cannot help you Madam,” he quietly said, his voice shaking with a deeply felt emotion. He felt a connection to her, but how, why?

John slowly pulled her fingers from his cheek and briefly held her hand in a gentle clasp before letting it go. She didn’t move, her hand frozen mid-air.

“But John. It’s me. Marlena,” she sobbed. “How can you not know me?”

Her heart, which had paused, began to pound fiercely. Her blood pressure began to rise, bringing on a ferocious headache. But her head didn’t hurt as much as her heart. Her eyes surveyed the scene, and she let out a tiny gasp.

John didn’t look like he did when she last saw him in the Paris tunnels. The streaks of gray that salted his temples were gone. His figure was tall and taunt. He looked even younger than he did on their wedding day. His eyes, if possible, were an even sharper, deeper blue.

She stepped backward when she realized around his neck dangled a cross and he clutched what appeared to be a Bible in his hands.

This development was something she hadn’t foreseen. She had feared she wouldn’t find John, she would be exiled to this medieval world all alone. She had feared never seeing him again, never holding him again, never hearing his deep reassuring voice again. She never thought it was remotely possible he wouldn’t know his heart’s truest love.

He has to remember. His heart has to remember. She longed to rest her head on his shoulders, smell his scent, feel his arms encircling her, squeezing the breath out of her while building a fortress against the world.

“Belle! John, you have to remember Belle. You have to remember our…

“Marley, dear heavens why are you acting so strangely,” Anne exclaimed. “My Lords, please forgive her. She struck her head several days ago and obviously has not recovered. Please grant us our leave and do not allow us to cause you to tarry your matters any further.”

Anne swept into bows to the cardinal and then to John.

“Madam, no harm was done. I just trust Lady Howard will recover soon,” the cardinal smoothly said.

John was frozen in place, finding it impossible to breath. His heart told him to hold her tight, but his brain told him that he didn’t know her. Didn’t know what her mad ramblings meant.

Suddenly, he found his voice again.

“Madam, I am so sorry for your discomfort. I hope you find relief from your pain. If I may be of any service, allow me to do so. God bless you Lady Howard,” John said haltingly.

The two men then walked away, with John glancing back just once.

Marlena jolted violently when he said that to her. Numb from shock and devastation, she barely noticed as Anne tugged her into the great hallway of Greenwich Castle. The cold stone floor couldn’t absorb the coldness in her heart. She wanted to die. In her darkest hours, Marlena had never felt this feeling before — not even when the devil held onto her very soul, not even when Roman had plunged to what she thought was his death, not even when Sami spat in hatred at her and Roman cast her out of her own house.

But she was completely alone now, away from her children and her family in the most foreign of worlds. And the man she loved and her best friend looked at her blankly, not recognizing the mother of his daughter. She wished the ground had swallowed her up and she had died in those Paris tunnels. That couldn’t have been worse than this nightmare, she thought bleakly.

Anne was chattering — trying vainly to sound normal — but Marlena barely heard her.

“Our officials duties in the Queen’s service will not begin until tomorrow morn. But darling Harry, I mean the King, has invited us to join him at tonight’s masque. We will wear costumes and dance and dance and dance. Oh, it’s good to be back in court. I couldn’t stand the quietness, the country in Hever. Our English Court may not have the beauty and grace and wit of the Paris one, but it’s not a boring country life either,” she said.

Marlena couldn’t stand it anymore. She wrenched her hand from Anne’s and ran and ran and ran as far and as fast as she could, her velvet soles making no noise as they scampered across the great hallway and out the door. Marlena continued to run from her demons until a water barrier stopped her progress.

She was outside near a tree by the Thames, but was oblivious to the scene’s charm, the lights twinkling off the waters and the doves singing.

The sobs came and came in great waves. She bent over, almost double. The tears fell in torrents until her vision blurred. She jerked on the long crimson red sleeve that dangled past her wrist to wipe at the tears, but with no success.

“Damn it! Oh God Why? Why. why is this happening? Why have you taken me from Belle. She needs her Momma. She needs ME! Sami needs me. Eric, Oh God, Why,” she angrily screamed in frustration and pain. “How much more must I bear?”

So intently wrapped in her coccoon of pain, Marlena didn’t notice the shadow by the tree. She didn’t see the dark eyes peering at her, closely watching her every move, every vented word.

---

John strode into the Queen’s Chambers past her lady in waitings, outwardly showing none of the inner turmoil he was feeling. At the cardinal’s behest, he had come to present himself officially to the Queen. Yet, the woman’s grief was on his mind. She didn’t seem crazy. Her mind seemed sharp and clear even if her words did not. He instinctively knew her beauty belied her intelligence and strength of character. And yet he didn’t know her as she claimed. Or did she? An inner part of his being was turning over that memory, “Doc, it’s you.”

The youngest daughter of the great warriror rulers, Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castille, surveyed the young priest.

“Come. Sit. Lord Wolsey says you have a particular talent for offering insight into the Lord’s scripture,” she said.

John momentarily took his mind off the maiden, to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Your Excellency, I would consider it a great honor if you would allow me to serve you. I do not know about a great insight…” he said caught off guard when she began to laugh.

“You appear so earnest young John. You must always serve the Lord, but while at court we must endeavor to loosen you up, to enjoy God’s beauty,” she said.

John was startled by this, unsure. But he plunged ahead, determined to get his bearings at Henry’s court.

“Aye Madam. And one of God’s great beautiies is your presence,” he said with a slight hint of false flattery. “My master has said you areth good with cards and would offer a sporting challenge.”

“You play cards do you? And worship the Lord? And do you dance too? Methinks the Cardinal has found a fine addition to court,” she said. “A man of God not afraid of the earth.”

The queen was not the stuffy woman he had pictured, certainly not haughty. She had a kindness about her that he knew he was going to like.

Catherine of Aragon had been six years old when her parents had financed Christopher Columbus’ adventures and she was on the eve of her 16th birthday when she stepped off the gangway in England to marry Arthur, Henry VII’s eldest son. Despite the passage of time, her hair remained thick and golden. Her naturally pink cheeks and white skin were still as true as when they had captivated all of Europe. Arthur had died, but his youner brother had married her shortly after becoming Bluff King Hal. Catherine had heard the comments that Henry wanted to make Anne Boleyn his mistress But she did not worry, secure in her place as Henry VIII’s queen.

John acknowledged to himself that the repeated pregnances had marred her pleasingly plump figure, turning it soft and dumpy. But age did not diminish the sparkle of her eyes, the proud regal tilt of her heard. The daughter of Spain’s warrior king and queen would fight Anne Boleyn to the bitter end for her marriage, her husband’s bed and her daughter’s legacy as heir to the throne. He wondered if the king were truly aware of her fighting spirit, and understood either of the two strong-willed women who would do battle for him and his throne. And what about the lass who would do battle for his heart, he thought.

The flaxen maiden danced before his eyes again, the feel of her fingers burned into his cheek. He could still smell her slightly musky scent, and even more he wanted to hold her. He wanted to brush away her sorrows and make her smile. Why was he feeling like this? Why?!

“Tonight there will be a great masque. They say it could be the most beautiful since our son was born,” the queen sadly said. “They were still dancing when he died in his crib.”

John looked up sharply. “Madam, I knowest that thou has carried a great burden. But the Lord will grant you the strength to bear it. And I trust he will bless you with a son one day.”

“Nay, John, I fear not. I am nearly 40 years old, past a woman’s prime. I hear the whispers. I see the sly looks. That witch Nan has ensnared him, they say. But there is only one Queen. My Lord will tire of her as he has others. And our daughter, Mary, will sit on the throne of England,” she said.

“And that thought comforts me. It gives me cause to celebrate. She could go down as the first and greatest female ruler in English history. But enough of that. Now let us talk about tonight’s masque. An idea has come to me.”

Catherine might be the most pious queen in Europe and certainly the most religious. But she wasn’t immune to a handsome man’s charms and looks. And after years of enduring Henry’s wandering eye, she saw nothing wrong with showing him she had not lost her allure.

“Father John, I want to dance tonight. I was once known as the best dancer in court. I want to reclaim my place. I want to participate in the masque as a lady of court, unknown as the Queen. Will you join me tonight? Will you honor me as my guest?”

He was surprised by the request. He momentarly wondered if *she* would be there and would they dance, then John quickly swore at himsef for thinking such a thought.

“With pleasure Madam I will accompany you,” he said, not knowing what fate had in store for him that night at the masque.

---

Self-pity wasn’t in Marlena’s nature. She loathed it. She threw it off when others would have embraced it But as strong as she was, she had her breaking point. The stress of Stefano’s near attack, the fear of watching John beheaded, the fear of never seeing her children again, the horror and terror of being thrust back in time and now John’s rejection was almost more than she could bear. It was almost too much to bear. The sobs continued to roll until she was hiccupping and tiny gasps were all that could come out of her mouth.

“Pretty lady, who has broken your heart so?”

Marlena tried to bolt away, but he grabbed her arm and held strong. She had worked herself into such a state of grief, she couldn’t say a word. In mute anguish, she searched the face of the stranger standing before her.

He had a long, thick black beard and black as night hair. But it was his eyes. They sparkled and shone with a deep passion and feeling. He appeared thin but his grip on her arm showed his incredible strength. Slowly, Marlena remembered. She remembered seeing him hovering around Anne at Hever. Sir Thomas Wyatt, England’s great poet, she thought

“Darling Marley, he is a priest. Does he have your heart? Do you love him?” he said.

“Yes, I love him,” she softly said, finally finding her voice, shocked she was telling him this.

“Priests do stray. Wolsey has two illegitimate children, but Black seems made of sterner stuff. Some wonder if he aspires to be pope, which causes him to foresake wordly temptations. He is not a man of the earth,” the poet said.

Wyatt couldn’t believe the affect she was having on him. He could feel tiny tremors in her arm, her breast heaving from the after effects of the sobs. The crimson brought out the glorious golden sun-spun color of her hair. But it was her hazel eyes that captivated him. He wanted to kiss away at her tears.

So caught up was he in Marley that he had forgotten about the tiny crreature curled up in his pocket. Until the hound whimpered, and poked it’s blonde nose out. She sweetly smiled at the two humans, blissful to the one’s pain and the other’s captivation.

“What? What is that,” she said.

He picked the yellow hound up by it’s neck, placing it into the palm of her hands. The puppy sleepily wallered in the cup of her hands, enjoying the warmth.

“Well darling Lady Howard, this tiny pup was destined for Lady Boleyn. But something tells me you need it more. I had planned to present it to her, but me thinks she would not object to sharing it with you. This little friend needs you as much as you do she,” Wyatt said.

Thomas seems nice and seems to care, she thought. The puppy scrapped its paper thin tongue across her palm, tickling her. She giggled reflexively.

“Ah, I see the pup has already worked it’s charm and helped dry those tears. A suitable present.”

“Indeed, I may have him?”

“You may have *her.* If you agree to come to tonight’s masque and dance the first dance with me. If you will do me that honor, you may have her,” he said.

Marley couldn’t resist the puppy’s charms or his nice manners. Both’s warmth was contagious.

“Oh my, certainly. What is her name?”

“Rosemund. For an enchanting maiden I saw one fine rosey morn,” he said obliquely referring to Marley’s morning dip.

“Rosie,” she sighed. “What a lovely name. She gives me hope for the future, for rosier times. “

To herself she thought, “And God knows this woman needs a best friend to confide in.”

“Now my lady, remember the agreement. You must dance with me,” he said.

“That I will in gratitude for the wee little Rosie,” she said with her first genuine smile since she had arrived in Tudor England.

She couldn’t help wonder to herself if John would be at the masque, what would she say to him? She longed for him so much she ached all over.

“Wipe those tears for the rest of the night. You are far too comely of a maiden to cry so. No manner of man, much less a priest, should cause such an outburst,” he said. “A knight, a lord should hold the key to your heart, quicken your breath and bring the pink to your cheeks.”

Wyatt clearly was moved by her beauty, charms and vulnerability. He was hoping Marley would become his muse since he had apparently lost Anne to the King.

He continued: “Fate clearly has much more in store for you than tears and sobs. Court should bring you intrigue and love, not heartache. Tonight we will dance, laugh and be merry. And perhaps the lips you grace at midnight will be those of your true love.”

Greenwich Palace

Summer 1526

Marlena apprehensively opened the heavy oak door. The tiny pup whimpered and nipped her palm ever so slightly.

“Ouch,” she whispered.

Was this the right room? Something instinctively told Marlena the door led to her room she shared with Anne. But she didn’t know how she knew that. And that scared her.

There was so much she didn’t know, so much she didn’t understand. She slowed walked in, the door slamming shut behind her. This caused a bark from the pup.

“Shush Rosie. Shhh.”

She sighed in relief when she saw no one was in the room. Marlena quickly surveyed it, glancing over the two large four-poster beds, the desks and ornate chairs with their plush purple velvet cushions. She saw HER trunk at the foot of one of the beds and the gown Anne planned to wear to the masque tonight draped over the other bed.

It was her room! How did she know it was?

When Thomas Wyatt had told her he had to prepare for the masque, Marlena had reluctantly left the banks of The Thames and followed him back to the immense palace. In the grand foyer, he had bid her “adieu,” and said he would see her at the masque. An unknown force led her through winding corridors with flickering candles, barely lighting her way. She had found herself outside this room on the palace’s second floor.

She softly laid Rosie down on the bed. The pup stumbled to its feet, sinking into the softness of the down mattress. Rosie crawled almost to the pillow at the foot of the bed, where she nestled down with almost a sigh of contentment. Marlena sat beside the pup, stroking her golden fur.

“Why? Why didn’t John remember me? Why doesn’t he know me?” she cried in desperation to Rosie.

For Marlena, it was even worse than in 1991 when she had returned to her family only to discover another woman had replaced her in their bed and her children’s lives. She felt even more alone than she did when she had slept in the roach-infested motel room.

“I don’t understand. Is this some horrible nightmare I can’t wake up from. Why Rosie am I back here in Tudor England? Why do I look 20 years younger? Why does my body feel 20 years younger? How am I going to get back to my children? They need me so much. Will I ever get back there? Oh God what am I going to do? Why doesn’t he remember our love?” she sobbed.

Marlena pulled the puppy into her arms to caress it and hold Rosie, her tears dripping onto Rosie’s fur. The puppy suckled her finger.

Somehow, the puppy’s soulful loving eyes calmed her. She put her back on the pillow and stood up to explore her new room.

She noticed a cherrywood armoire. Inside, she found Marley’s silk chemises and linen petticoats. Behind them were her dresses. She fingered the wools, velvets and silks, noting they felt more lush than those she was use to wearing. One in particular caught her eye. The color of the undergown was a deep midnight blue and stars made of silver silk thread were sewn into the fabric. The upper gown was a lighter shade of blue, while the puffed sleeves were the same color as the undergrown. The material was cut away at the neck, and probably cut very low, Marlena thought.

She didn’t understand the Tudor style of dress. It wasn’t prudish, no doubt, but yet it was. The dresses were very long and skimmed the floor and the sleeves fell to the wrists. But the necklines were cut daringly low, exposing as much as possible. The bodices were incredibly tight and the skirts shaped like bells, which only brought more attention to the bosom.

She shut the armoire and headed for the walnut trunk, kneeling down to open it. Engraved in the gold were the initials MAH. Elizabeth had the servants pack the trunk before they left Hever so Marlena was curious to see what was inside. On top laid an exquisite girdle adorned with sapphires and diamonds.

She lightly laughed at the Tudor style of wearing a girdle outside on top of a dress. Whoever Marley Howard was, Marlena thought, she certainly wasn’t poor.

Then, she caught her breath. She brought the candle closer so she could see better. A beautiful solitaire diamond, the size of a bird’s egg, was on a thick gold chain. Inside a velvet satchel was a matching pair of diamond and gold earrings. Definitely not poor, she thought. A fur was underneath along with more chemises and petticoats. She pulled those out, placing them on the floor beside her. She was intrigued by a crystal flask filled with an amber liquid. She took a quick whiff and was pleasantly surprised by a citrusy combination of honeysuckle and jasmine. Sixteenth century cologne I bet, she thought.

Her attention was then caught by three leather-bound books. Her curiosity raised, she pulled them out, flipping through the one on top. It appeared to be a Catholic prayer book and the second one a Bible. The third one was more unusual. Instead of script, its pages were filled with handwriting. A woman’s handwriting.

Her brow furrowed, she tried to make out the words.

Alas, what shall I do for love?

For love, alas, what shall I do?

Sith now so kind I do you find

To keep you me unto

Underneath that she had written: Marley Ann Howard, eldest daughter of Thomas and Elizabeth Howard, the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk.

“So Rosie, Marley Howard is a duke’s daughter. What kind of duke do you think. A rich and powerful duke. Did he keep his head or did Henry have it chopped off?”

She noticed the diary began in 1524. She was more curious about Marley’s recent days since she didn’t understand how she had ended up in her body. One entry from earlier in the summer caught her eye, and she felt the breath leave her as she began to read it. Her hands broke out into a clammy sweat as she read the words Marley Howard had written.

---

Escorting Queen Catherine on his arm, John with a flourish entered the grand hall. More than two hundred people filled it as they waited the start of the masque the queen was hosting.

Their true identifies were concealed by costumes, disguises and masks. John felt ill at ease out of his priestly robe. Instead, he was wearing a black felt hat with a low crown and curled and slashed brim. He wore a white shirt gathered at the neck and a red doublet slashed down the front. His jacket was a well-fitted wool one lined with the finest of silks. His face was covered by a red and gold mask that matched his jacket.

“Many thanks to Your Grace for the loan of the clothes,” he murmured.

“Certainly, John. We must enjoy the banquet and your presence will ensure that,” she replied.

John helped her to her place of honor at the head table. Even though she wore a costume and mask, the queen’s appearance was unmistakable.

“I do not see the King. We know he enjoys delighting us with surprise appearances at our masques. Let us proceed,” she announced.

Almost immediately a servant arrived with the first course for the queen and her guests. As he waited for the servant to ladle the steaming foods onto the queen’s plate, John was unsettled again by yet another vision of the woman with hair the color of pale honey. They were close, their bodies swaying together. He could feel her breath on his face.

“I’m not going to pretend that I don’t love you Doc and you can’t pretend you don’t love me because we made love. And the fact is: I want to make love to you again.”

The intensity, the conviction in his voice troubled John. Who is this woman? Why does she mean so much to me? Why am I having these visions. Why do I call a woman “Doc?”

It took all his will power not to scream this out in agony to the throng of noblemen and women.

He jumped when the Queen asked if the swan were not to his liking.

“John, you doth not look well. Is the delicacies not to your taste?” she queried.

Struggling to recover from the vision, he could only nod. He could have been eating straw instead of a first course of boiled capons, a breast of mutton, a piece of beef, seven chevins, a swan, a pig, a quantity of veal, two roast capons and a custard.

He gulped large quantities of the French wine as he did his best to shove all thoughts aside of the woman from his dreams and her remarkable resemblance to the Duke of Norfolk’s daughter. But deep down, he knew he would see her at the masque. And, he wanted her and it would take all his might not to hold Marley Howard tightly as they danced. At this thought, he swallowed another mouthful of wine.

---

Marlena felt light headed as she read the entry in the journal. What did this mean?

“Cardinal Wolsey came to see Father to discuss a possible marriage for me. He does not know Father hateth him. The great cardinal led us in a mass and I could not keep my eyes off the priest standing beside him. He was so comely with dark blue eyes that seemed so intelligent. His hair was thick and shiny. I wanted to kiss his lips. I cannot imagine why his presence quickened such feelings inside me. I do not think he even noticed me and that grieves me. This priest stirred something in me that pleased me and methinks should vex me. Father teased me about it. He said Father John Black would have no interest in me and I, the daughter of the realm’s premier duke, should have no interest in him. Bethink Father is right but I fear my heart cannot enough marvel at the sight of John Black.

So engrossed in the musings of Marley Howard, she didn’t notice the door open and two figures enter. Not until it slammed closed and Rosie barked was her concentration broken. But Henry and Anne were so caught up in their intense conversation they ignored the pup and didn’t see Marlena sitting on the floor.

“Nan, Darling, Sweetheart, let me declare my love. Let me show you my love,” he said passionately.

“Mais Non! I beseech your Highness most earnestly to desist. I would rather lose my life than my honesty, which will be the greatest and best part of my dowry I shall have to bring to my husband.”

Momentarily taken aback, Henry paused before replying. Anne Boleyn was the first woman to say “No” to him. She fascinated him. He didn’t think it were possible, but her denial made him want her more.

“Well, Madam, I shall live in hope.”

“Sire, I cannot injure a princess of such great virtue that our queen possesses. Mais Non, I understand not, most mighty King, how you retain such hope! Please leave me. Be gone! Your wife I cannot be, both in respect of mine own worthiness and also because you have a queen already. Your mistress I shall not be!” she declared, her dark eyes flashing.

“Aye, Anne, I shall leave you. But mark my words. My Queen you will be My heart shall I dedicate to you alone,” he said with force and determination. Then he strode out, gently shutting the heavy door behind him.

Once the door closed, Anne’s face crumbled. She slid down on the floor, her skirt poufing up around her. She didn’t notice Marlena who put the journal in the trunk, covered it with the clothes before quietly pulling the lid down.

“Dear God, what have I done? This bodeth no good,” she muttered.

“Anne,” Marlena said with hesitation.

Her cousin quickly sprang to her feet, giving her a haughty but startled look. “What doth thee want? What doth you hear?”

“I know you love him. Or you love his throne. And he loves you and would cast off his wife for you,” she said truthfully.

“Aye,” Anne replied. “I do not know what to do or what will come of this.”

This was something Marlena didn’t want to reply to since she knew what was suppose to come. Off with her head, she thought. But seeing how her entire world was topsy turvy, she didn’t know anything anymore. She just knew she had to find John tonight and make him remember her. She needed him to help her with this crushing fear that was more powerful than Stefano had ever invoked in her.

“What about you and that priest? You hath acted most queerly tonight,” Anne said.

“I know. Please forgive me. My fall hath affected me most strangely. I, I, have forgotten how to dance the virginal and the other new dances of the court. Will you teach me hastily?” Marlena asked. “I must dance my best at the masque tonight.”

---

With trepidation, Marlena entered the great hall. A servant had brought scraps to Rosie, who eagerly ate them. Marlena had left her sleeping on a pillow she had placed on the floor by the bed. Rosie had given her a good luck nuzzle before she left. She hoped that she could remember the intricate steps and hand gestures Anne had demonstrated to her.

Dancing in the 16th century was quite different from the waltz or the jitterbug. It was more akin to the changing partners of square dancing.

She thought with an unladylike snort, “Wonder what Henry would think if I broke out into the Twist and twisted and shouted?”

Settle down Marlena, settle down, she grimly thought. You will get through this if it kills you.

She scanned the room hoping she would see the tall physique she knew so well, better than any other. She swallowed her disappointment when she didn’t recognize him. He has to be here. Just has to be!

Looking around, she was dazzled by the wealth and opulence on display at Henry’s court. Candles were set in the center of highly polished silver and gold plates hung along the walls. The reflected light blazed out over the splendidly dressed diners, goblets and cutlery. More than 20 tables were spaced throughout the room, each groaning underneath the weight of heaping trays of meat and fish.

Marlena recalled in dismay as a steward walked by carrying a tray with a large whole-footed swan and two drakes. Another steward hoisted a tray covered with fruits and sweets. The fresh smell of roses, tulips and other flowers filled the air.

Her, that’s her!

Even though she wore a mask, John knew it was Marley Howard. The blues of her gown brought out her radiant skin. The curve of the dewy kissable lips told him it was indeed Marley.

Stop it, he told himself. Stop it. She’s probably betrothed to one of the king’s finest peers and you have your vows. You have the church. She’s obviously a troubled lass who needs ministering and prayers, not kisses. He tried to convince himself of that but he wasn’t quite yet certain. Almost as troubling was the feeling of wanting not just to kiss her but to hold her and talk to her underneath an ancient oak about theology, geometry and history. He knew she had a brilliant mind and would be a great conversationalist. That along with her beauty was a most tempting combination.

“Marley, we are late for dinner. The first dance is about to begin,” Anne said.

Almost simultaneously, the court musicians burst into song. Marlena took a deep breath hoping she had mastered her quick lesson in Tudor Dance 101.

A man in a sage mask bowed before her, and brusquely took her hand to his. Off they went in the rat-tat-tat of the quick steps to the lute. He twirled her around, almost making her dizzy. She knew it wasn’t John even though he was tall enough. His touch was too rough, not gentle enough. Perhaps he was the King? Then he passed her off to her next partner.

John could hear her skirt rustle, smell her perfume as he pulled her up next to him. He wanted to groan outloud in frustration. This must not be happening, not this soon in the masque. Yet he carried on with the dance.

He lifted her high up into the air, until her waist was level with his eyes. He swirled around in circles before slowly lowering her down. As she slid down against his chest, her lips came near his. It took all the strength of his churchly convictions to ward off the urge to suck her lips.

Despite the cover of their masks, their eyes locked. She leaned forward so close her forehead was near his mouth. His knees felt weak. They were weak.

“Oh, Marley,” he moaned, reaching out to touch a soft golden lock with a shaking hand.

With sure fingers, she touched his lips, feeling their outline. Instinctively, his tongue swept across the pad of her finger, his mouth pulling it into his mouth.

“John,” she whispered.

He couldn’t believe the words he heard himself say in a rush.

“I can’t stand to be away from you. I need your love. God help me.”

Greenwich Castle

Summer 1526

“Oh God forgive me, but I want you so much Marley. I want to kiss you, devour your lips and smell the sweet smell of your hair,” John said.

He could not comprehend what he had just heard himself say. As her mouth widened in surprise, he just wanted to plant a tight kiss on her, ravishing her dewy soft lips. Her hand caressed his cheek as her tawny eyes searched his.

“But….I cannot. I must not feel this way about you. Why am I feeling this way,” John groaned. He jerked back as if he had seen a serpent in the Garden of Eden.

Before Marlena could answer, the music stopped and the throng of 200 plus in the Great Hall burst into applause. So startled were they both, they jumped.

John looked around, guilt darkening his face, to see if anyone had seen a priest acting so immorally.

But a flushed Anne and a sweaty Henry were in the center of the room acknowledging the applause for their performance. Only two pairs of eyes hadn’t been trained on them. John was relieved to remember his mask obscured his identity and a jealous Queen Catherine apparently was too busy watching Henry dance with Anne to notice his own behavior with the Duke of Norfolk’s daughter.

Marlena had thought John was going to remember her, but then the clap of thundering applause had broken the moment. She reached out to touch his arm, her fingers lingering on the stiff silk of his crimson sleeve.

“John, I, I need you too. And I want you to hold me. I, I need you to hold me. Please. We have to talk. We must talk darling,” she said.

“No! No, I cannot. I must not. Do not call me John! I am a priest! I have wronged God and I pray for his forgiveness. Now, Lady Howard, I must wish you a merry evening and God speed,” he said.

He slipped away to join Catherine, Henry, Wolsey and others at the head table.

A forlorn Marlena dejectedly walked to the table where Anne sat. Marlena hoped the shifting shadows cast by the candles hid her tears. She watched John turn to the Queen as she chattered with him.

Marlena thought her heart would break as she watched a wide smile split his face, lighting up the room more than the thousand candles ever could.

What is he doing talking to her? He should be beside me, smiling at me, laughing with me and dismissing the horrible dream I had about life at Henry VIII’s court!

Then the determined side of Marlena flared up. He will remember. I will make John remember and we will get through this nightmare — TOGETHER.

“Cousin, the man beside our Queen has caught your fancy deeply has he not,” Anne queried.

“Yes, yes, he has,” she sighed in reply. She turned to Anne whose dark eyes were probing Marlena’s.

“Is the masked man beside our Queen your priest, John, and Wolsey’s pet priest?”

Marlena ignored that question. “What about you Lady Boleyn? The other man sitting beside our Queen is captivated by you, and you by he! You certainly had the rapt attention of the King and his court with that dance. You may not be his mistress, but the court will rumor as much,” she said.

“Aye. But I am not. We knowest it. And more importantly, God and Henry knoweth it.”

“A dangerous game you play cousin,” Marlena remarked as she reached for a goblet of wine. She winced as the strong taste slid down her throat, but still tossed almost all of it back. “A game for a crown?”

“Thou art perceptive cousin. Henry may wear a crown, but he is no different from any other man. He wants what he can cannot have,” Anne said with a swish of her black hair.

“But that crown makes you want him. And see him as different from other men, does it not.”

“Indeed. But tis not just the crown. He’s sweet and warm. Our King has a warm heart with much to give,” she said.

“And much power to take,” Marlena quietly noted.

Within a few minutes of the conversation ending, Marlena could hear the blood pounding in her ears and the room swayed slightly. Marlena had never had a high tolerance for alcohol and the wines were even stronger than she was accustomed to. She had learned that water was forbidden due to pollution and wine was served with all meals in heavy quantities. This meant most of those at court wandered about in an alcohol-induced fog.

Marlena ate her meal in silence as she listened to the chattering of Anne with the others at their table. She could have been eating straw instead of endless courses of venison, crayfish, prawns, oysters, mutton, conger-eel, swan, crane, quail, dove, partridge, goose, duck, rabbit, apple-filled fruit custards and lamb. Watching others, she saw they took no more than three bites from any dish.

Ah, so that’s how they ensure everyone doesn’t drop dead of high cholesterol at the end of one of these feasts, she thought with a slightly audible chuckle.

So intent was Marlena in her thoughts she didn’t notice John’s eyes frequently staring at her with a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity.

Tension throbbed at the head table as Catherine glowered at Henry. The Spanish princess would never rebuke him publicly for his dance with Anne, but her silence more than conveyed her anger.

But Henry didn’t care, his eyes hungrily raking over Anne.

John was so shamed by his behavior he kept gulping the claret in hopes it would rid his mouth of the taste and feel of sucking on Marley’s fingers. But his body betrayed him.

His loins ached to dance with her again, to feel her skin pressed against his. He wondered if her breasts would be as soft as her silky hand and how it would feel when goosebumps erupted on her dusky pink nipple as he circled his tongue over it. He then nearly whelped outloud at the thought of a clandestine meeting with her in some hidden closet deep in the castle.

So consumed with such thoughts he didn’t notice Cardinal Wolsey rising to his feet and only looked up when he clapped his hands together. The buzz that had filled the hall slowly came to an end.

Wolsey gestured toward a servant at the back of the hall to enter with a gleaming tray bearing a silver pitcher and a bowl piled high with a red fruit.

Despite the flickering candles, Marlena couldn’t see what he was carrying. The sweet smell hit Marlena first before she saw what the servant hoisted as he walked by. A fruit that had been an aphrodisiac for she and Roman and John. A fruit both tangy and sweet.

“Oh my God,” she said audibly. “You’ve heard my prayers God. He will remember. He has to remember, this has to make him remember. It’s an omen, just like in Miami. But this will *be* a good omen. It has to be God.”

With a grand flourish, the servant deposited the tray in front of Henry. The smell of the strawberries wafting through the air caused John’s forehead to furrow in deep concentration.

He didn’t know he particularly cared for strawberries, but his stomach was in knots at the sight of them and his heart thumped erratically. Something told him that the strawberries were important to him, but he did not know why. He could not imagine why the red berries would trouble him so. The memory was elusive, a quick silver he could not grab and hold onto.

He looked up quickly and saw Marley intently gazing at him. Her lips were as blood red as the fruit and he wanted to taste her lips after she had partaken of the dessert. The thought of such a powerful sweetness made him slightly dizzy.

It’s the claret, John, it’s just the claret, he told himself.

“Your Majesty, if you would be so kind to allow your humble servant to present a new dessert for your enjoyment. This dessert unites two dishes into one delectably sublime one,” Wolsey said, as he rubbed his thick palms together in gleeful anticipation of his sovereign’s delight.

He raised the pitcher, the thick white liquid slowly cascading down. The cardinal covered the strawberries in cream until the pitcher was nearly empty.

John felt himself go into a trance-like state. He was watching the cardinal, watching Marley but he felt as if he were somewhere else. He saw the images from another moment in time play out in his mind, felt as thought he had been there, felt and tasted all the sensations but he knew he had not.

He could hear a woman’s husky voice as she sang “I want you in my life for all time. Caught up in the Rapture of love,” and he could hear a crackling fire. He was warm, but not from the fire’s flames. The source was the woman who looked the mirror image of Marley. She was lying on top of him, their naked bodies intertwined. A wave of passion flowed between them.

He nibbled and bit on her ear, smelling the musky fragrance of her golden mane. She reached down and pulled up a strawberry, placing it in his mouth. She then dipped her finger into the bowl of cream, swirling them around before smearing the cream across his mouth. He thought he would explode with desire when she began licking and sucking his mouth. And he did explode inside her as she thrust against him, moaning, “Roman, Oh Roman.”

Innately, he brought his hand to his mouth as if to feel the sticky substance and the impression of her lips. He looked down to Marley and mouthed a question, “Roman?”

Marlena felt her whole body tingling as she realized John was remembering their lovemaking to that gloriously sexual song. She felt an electric-like arc between the two of them. Then she froze as she caught the cardinal’s dark eyes probing hers.

“Wolsey, indeed, I am honored by your offer of such a dessert. Who would like to taste it first to ensure it’s a dessert fit for a king,” Henry bellowed.

A great man of God might have brought the dessert to his table, but Henry never would take any chances with poison. All of his food must be sampled first.

Marlena instinctively knew that and felt herself scrambling to her feet. She could not resist this chance to jog John’s memory. She knew the strawberries were a brilliant stroke of luck. An omen.

“Sire, I would be greatly pleased to taste this magnificent offering,” she said with her head held high, as gasps broke out.

A surprised Wolsey, looked around uncertain, unsure whether a woman should be given the privilege of tasting the king’s food. Before he could react, a tipsy but determined Marlena had pushed her way to the front of the room on wobbly legs. Despite the alcohol, she dropped to a semi-curtsy before the King and his attendants sitting at the raised long walnut table.

“Our Lady Howard. We must admit our surprise but our admiration of your forthrightness and spirit. One so brave must not be turned away,” Henry said, slightly aroused as remembered how desirable her naked body had looked in the dawn’s light.

“Come. You may taste the dessert. But a man must also,” Henry ordered. Turning to an astonished John, he waved toward the tray, the candles catching the gleam of the ruby on his hand that shone as bright as the strawberries.

“You, Father John, and Mistress Howard must offer Wolsey’s strawberries to each other,” the monarch commanded.

John’s blue eyes widened in shock. Did his ears deceive him? Did his king just order him to feed Marley the dessert that caused such frenzied passion in his vision?

He noticed her large passion-filled amber eyes searching his as he moved near her on quaking legs. Was his vision becoming a reality?

They both reached for the bowl simultaneously, his tanned fingers grazing her ivory ones. The dark hairs on his hand glinted in the candlelight. She pulled up a strawberry, plucking off the wrinkled green leaf at the head. His eyes watched as drops of cream trickled off onto the table, making him want to taste her cream. He felt himself hardening, growing taunt against the fabric of his breeches. Seeing this caused the corners of her mouth to lift up. He hastily grabbed a berry, dipping it into the cream at the bottom of the bowl.

“Would you like a strawberry, Lady Howard?” he said with a shaky voice.

“I’d *like* a strawberry,” she said with a clear and strong voice, her face beaming.

But before he could react, she impulsively acted yet again that night.

Her hand reached forward, placing the dessert into his open mouth. He covered it up with his mouth, snaring her fingers for the tiniest of moments. This thrilled her and caused her mouth to quiver.

He felt as though he had done this before. Their eyes never leaving each other’s, John placed the end of his strawberry against her waiting bottom lip, lightly rubbing it across. She shuddered with desire. He then placed the berry into her mouth, and she bit into it. He pulled the remaining portion out and deposited it into his own mouth, savoring the taste. He then sensuously wiped his finger across her bottom lip, smearing the cream. Her skin felt so smooth against his rough now sticky finger. And as if possessed, John pulled his finger now bearing the cream that had been on her lip and licked it off, wishing that instead he was licking it off her mouth.

“He’s going to kiss me,” Marlena thought. “He knows there is a connection. He knows his heart belongs to me. Has he remembered? Has John remembered me and our love? He’s going to kiss me just as slowly and tantalizingly as he did after we returned from West Virginia.”

John would never know if he would have bent down and hungrily ravished her mouth as his heart told him to do because a laughing Henry, with a twinkle in his eyes, clapped John on the back.

“Well done, my friends, well done,” he said with gusto.

Henry then led everyone in applause for the couple — everyone but Wolsey and Catherine and Marley’s glowering father, the Duke of Norfolk. The three, scowling, looked on suspiciously.

“Come, let’s eat my lords and ladies this special Wolsey dessert. Master John and Lady Howard have enjoyed it, now we must. May this be the first of many special memories with our new dessert,” Henry bellowed.

“But first, we must lift our glasses in a toast. To special, sweet memories.”

“To memories,” the throng shouted in response.

John handed Marlena a gemstone-encrusted goblet before getting his own. Underneath her watchful eyes, John saluted her with the soft, sexy smile that always made her knees weak — with or without the influence of alcohol.

“To sweet memories Lady Howard. To memories,” he toasted.

Author’s Note: Believe it or not, strawberries and cream apparently originated at Henry’s court.

One of the books giving me much guidance — thanks to a great suggestion from Romy — is “The Writer’s Guide to Everyday Life in Renaissance England from 1485 to 1649” by Kathy Lynn Emerson.

I bought this book *after* I began my writing my alt so you can imagine my surprise when I discovered this section while reading about the foods and dishes served at Henry’s court. Fit in nicely with my alt and J&M; needless to say. Here’s the passage that had me gasping:

“Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, who was also archbishop of York, is credited with making strawberries and cream popular in Henry VIII’s time.”

Greenwich Castle 1526

A grove of oak tress behind the stone palace beckoned Marlena. Blackbirds roosted in the thick branches. The ebony sky was overcast, obscuring the stars.  

Marlena thought it was appropriate. The sky matched her mood. It was inconceivable to her that she could be that close to John and he still didn’t recognize her.

 Yet when he toasted her as, “Lady Marley,” she knew the strawberries had not been the salvation from this nightmare she had sought. They had not been a good omen after all. She bolted from the Great Hall, unable to grasp the humiliating scene unfolding before her eyes.   She never thought it was possible to feel more betrayed than the night she knew John was with Isabella in Mexico. But this was worse. Because then, she had the sweet arms, support and love of Roman. She had Roman to turn to then. Now, she didn’t have anyone but the pup Rosie.

 “Oh, how can he not know me? He said in the tunnels in Paris that he loved me and wanted to spend forever with me and the children. Did he not feel it? Did he not truly love me? Did he love Kristen more. Oh God, no, that’s not possible. He loves *me.* It was *me* he thought of before the gas chamber. It was me he wrote was the only one who fill that special place in his heart. But obviously, our love is flawed,” she sighed.   John had spoken of good omens before they had left Miami, but instead both of their worlds had been turned upside down. As they had grown close over the special dessert and had kissed so passionately on the Miami beach, she had believed the trip would end with them reunited truly as man and wife in every sense. Instead, she had discovered John wasn’t legally her husband and he had turned to Isabella in his own devastation.

She began pacing the sloping ground between the trees and the river. So intent upon the memories and her sense of helplessness, Marlena couldn’t admire the beauty of small boats skimming through the waters, their drivers’ torches briefly illuminating across The Thames London’s thatch-covered buildings. She didn’t notice the rank smell from the polluted waters that spoiled the serenity.

 He watched her silently and couldn’t understand the obvious pain she was experiencing. She had seemed so intently focused on him, her eyes aglow with anticipation. But as the ringing applause nearly drowned out his toast, he heard her loud gasp. She turned pale and was very still for a moment. Without a sound, she spun away and fled the room, her midnight blue skirt puffing up behind her. She was gone. As Henry VIII had commanded the dancing to resume, John covertly joined in until he was certain no prying eyes were upon him. Against his better judgement, he followed his heart and discreetly pursued the troubled maiden. But the near frenzy she was in as she grooved a path into the soft soil gave him pause. Was it a mistake to seek her out?

Wrapped up in her private agony, Marlena didn’t notice the crunching of the oak leaves as once again a mysterious force pressed him forward. She gasped when she felt a warm hand on her bare shoulder.

“My Lady, I doth not intend to frighten you.”

 She wanted to yell in frustration. Why couldn’t they talk normally. Why couldn’t this nightmare end and she wake up safe and sound in her own bed in the penthouse with John beside her?   

John was startled by the power the feel of her cool skin under his warm palm had on his body. Miniature drops of sweat broke out on his temples and forehead as desire coursed through his blood. He took a deep breath, and with the pad of his thumb lightly brushed away one of the many tears drying on her beautiful face.  

She lifted her chin, wanting to order him to remember her and to remember their Belle.   

The priest decided honesty was the best option and without a second thought plunged ahead in baring his soul for the first time to a woman.   

“Lady Howard, I am troubled. I have these visions of a woman. She looks like you and yet she isn’t you. She looks to be your older sister. I fear I am losing my mind. I wanteth you with all my being.”

Marlena breathed deeply before responding. How did she tell him he was remembering their life almost 470 years from now. He would certainly think she was mad. She was beginning to think she was indeed insane. She didn’t understand exactly what was happening. Obviously, both she and John were sent back through time somehow. She shook her head at the implausible idea. Yet, here she was at Henry VIII’s court. She knew who she was, she knew their life in Salem. He didn’t. And, apparently, they were both dropped into the bodies of people who existed back in 1526 Merry Olde England. She felt a dull ache form behind her left eye as the thoughts crowded her mind.  

Wordlessly, she shook her head. She struggled to find the words to respond, and yet she couldn’t.   

Seeing her hesitate, John didn’t wait for her reply. He grasped her tightly clenched fists in a protective hold as he looked deep into her amber eyes.

 “Since I was 15, more than 10 years ago, I have not desired a woman. I was called to do God’s will. To do his work. Not the work of the earth, not the earthen flesh. And then, you began haunting my dreams and my senses are awakened. Why is that Marley? Why?” he shouted.

She tried to pull her hands away, but he clutched onto them as if he were a drowning man clinging to a passing limb. Her lips quivered before she resolutely set them as she matched him with her own honesty.

 “Perhaps John, God is telling you that he has another plan in store for you. Perhaps you truly need to be awakened and serving the Church is no longer your destiny. Can’t you see, can’t you feel what’s here between us. Don’t you feel it? How can you not feel it, my love?”

 Suddenly ashamed at the passion building in him and the strong impact her impassioned words had on him, John jerked his hands away. Uncertain as to what to do with his hands, he instinctively tore them through his thick coarse hair.

 Marlena wasn’t about to give up. Not knowing what else to do but convinced she could rekindle his memories, Marlena leaned forward. She lightly touched her lips to his.

He was taken back but even more so when he felt her warm lips part and her tongue dart forward, wrapping around his suddenly hot tongue.

She could taste the wine. She deepened the kiss, which he welcomed and greeted with equal ferocity. She relished sucking on his mouth, exploring it finally for the first time in more than three years. She often had dreamed about this, and now it was really happening. Her heart was pounding in time to his.   Instinctively, he wrapped one hand around her back and pulled her tight against him. John took control of the kiss and eagerly swept his tongue through her mouth. He thought he was going to explode as he felt carnal feelings he had never known before. So drawn into the kiss, he didn’t notice her fingers entwining around his.

In the distance, the bells of Westminster Abbey and London Tower began tolling midnight. But neither was aware as they relished in their passion.

He brought her hand to his mouth, gently kissing each finger before trailing a path of feathery kisses up to her arm. She shuddered convulsively as he ignited feelings that had been smoldering for years. He kissed her face, her ear and the back of her neck, which he lightly bit. This caused her to moan and catch her breath.  “Oh John,” she murmured.

 The moan caused him to lift his head, gazing into her eyes for a moment. He paused before swooping his lips down on hers.

She nibbled on his lower lips slowly then passionately, which worked him into a frenzy. He pulled his hand from her golden locks, sliding them into the front of her dress. John couldn’t believe how her skin felt softer than satin. His fingers couldn’t get enough of gliding across the smooth ivory skin of the swell of her bosom. He wanted to taste her, to make her squeal with unexpected delight. He’d never touched a woman so intimately before, and yet, he felt the stirrings in his soul of a memory of uncontrollable love as the rain beat down outside where they had laid.

 He lowered his molten-hot mouth to her cool silky skin and sucked every inch as if a thirsty man lapping from a gurgling spring in a desert. His warm breath against her skin and the dance his lips were doing caused her to shiver uncontrollably. She wanted to show him her desire and invoke his memory. She bent down to suck his ear and neck, making tiny raspy sounds against his dry earlobe. She felt herself contracting from intense longing when she took in his musky sexy scent. She caressed his neck with light kisses before nipping it, leaving tiny red marks in the wake. John smiled slightly as he felt her wiggling underneath his probing tongue. He knew she needed him as much as he wanted her. He moved his right hand up to push her dress further down so he could fondle her other breast. The sounds he heard in response told him that he was pleasing her like she had never been before, which led to an even greater explosion of goosebumps across his skin.

 His eyes flew open when he felt her fingers pressing and massaging against his breeches where he throbbed in anticipation. He thought he was going to erupt and take her there and then. So overcome with the need to possess her and fill her with his manliness, he didn’t feel the release that was staining the scarlet fabric. She knew from his thudding heart and the succession of quick gasps that he was nearing the point of no return. She was certain that would make him remember. With single-minded determination, she jerked his breeches down. She pulled away so she could lower her mouth to his sticky taunt skin. The wicked licks from her tongue encircling him caused him to howl. This fortified her to redouble her efforts to show him how much she loved him, how much she wanted to satisfy him. He had never felt this type of intensity and felt all his senses exploding into one as a result of her warm tongue slathering his tingling, aroused skin.   Then, he remembered. He was a priest. What was he doing? Why was he behaving like a common dog in heat? Why did he want so badly this woman?

 John made the sign of the cross, silently pleading with God for his forgiveness.   Marlena looked up, searching his passion-filled eyes. When he dropped his blue eyes away from the sight of her bruised lips, heaving naked chest and touseled hair in obvious embarrassment, she knew she had gone too far. He ached at the sight of the kneeling Marley, trying vainly to recapture his gaze.   She was devastated that she didn’t see recognition but rather mortification in his eyes. She couldn’t accept or believe that her John wasn’t in front of her. Instead, he seemed almost like a stranger. Yet, she knew what he was going to say before he uttered it.

She scrambled to her feet and reached up to touch his wet lips in an effort to silence his apology, but he caught her hand. Large tears began to fall from both pairs of eyes, as she shivered in the cool summer night.

 “My deepest regrets Lady Howard. You, you,” he stammered still flush from their tryst. “Are exceedingly tempting and you make me feel in manners I hath never felt before. But it’s wrong. I can have only one mistress. And that must be the Church. I have wronged you Lady Howard. I should not have followed you. I cannot see you again. And if we must see each other at court, we must not look at each other again.”

 He then quickly pulled his breeches back into place, smoothing the rumpled fabric with trembling fingers. He dropped to his knees, his back to Marlena. He bowed in prayer. She couldn’t believe the words her John was saying.

“I have sinned Lord. Please forgive me God, FORGIVE ME LORD GOD!” he exclaimed in a hoarse, anguished voice.

In utter despair, her knees buckled and she collapsed, writhing on the ground.  The dark night was pierced with a convulsion of sobs she couldn’t stop from wracking her prone body.

August 9, 1996.

Near Paris, France.

Lawrence Alamain was pouring over Alamain Industries financial reports when a brisk knock broke his concentration. Thinking his beloved Carly had forgotten her key, he uncoiled from the desk like a leopard and strode to fling open the door to the French chalet with a flourish.

“Darling, did you….” Lawrence trailed off. The usually aplomb Lawrence was taken back when he saw Carly wasn’t standing before him. But the faces were familiar ones.

“Commander Carver! And to what do I owe this honor? And my Aunt Vivian and her trusted Ivan. I did not know you were in Paris. Ah, but something tells me this is not a social call. Is there some old Salem score to be settled Commander Carver hmmm?” Lawrence said.

 Brushing aside some loose auburn hair, Vivian hesitated before answering. “Lawrence, I do not know how to say this. We, we have some dreadful news. Stefano, Stefano has,” she said, her voice trailing off.

“Can we come in Lawrence?” Abe asked efficiently.

 “Certainly, forgive my manners. Come in. Brandy anyone? Aunt Vivian, you certainly look as though you could use a brandy.”

“Yes, yes, Lawrence that would be good.”

 As Lawrence poured the beverages trying to imagine the horrible news that they brought, he didn’t notice his 12-year-old son, Nicholas, creeping into the drawing room to listen. Vivian sank into a Queen Anne drawing chair, burying her face into her hands. A watchful Lawrence eyed her coolly as a tense silence enveloped the room. When Abe was certain she was too distraught to explain their sorrowful tale to Lawrence, he swallowed hard and then began.

“We did not want you to hear this first from the newspapers. There is no easy way to say this. Stefano was holding Marlena captive, again. I know it seems surreal. But he had kidnapped her yet again. They were here in Paris. John and I came to Paris to free her. Somehow, we don’t know exactly how, Stefano managed to kidnap John too. This is where things really get surreal,” Abe said, pausing before continuing.

“Marlena? Dear God. Stefano was always obsessed with her and the Bradys. I had no idea that they were here in Paris. But Aunt Vivian and Ivan, why are you here, what do you have to do with this?” he said.

She bit her lower lip as she struggled to find the words to answer his questions. Ivan put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, which gave her the strength to press ahead. “It is an impossible nightmare Lawrence. Ivan and I are lucky to be alive. Stefano was a madman. He was putting John on trial in an underground catacomb he had below Paris. He had a jury of miscasts, midgets and freaks. He, oh God, he was going to kill John. He had his head in a guillotine, he was going to cut off his head Lawrence! And he would have if Ivan and I hadn’t come in,” Vivian said, her voice faltering.

Lawrence silently moved forward to take her hand as tears finally overcame her and she broke down in sobs. Ivan patted his madame in an effort to comfort her. “Madame, was truly a heroine Lawrence. You would have been proud of her. She helped John to get free,” he proudly said.

 “So where are John and Marlena now?” Lawrence queried in his usual dry, smooth tone.   “We don’t know. John said he was going to save Marlena and rushed off to get her from the cage where Stefano was holding her. That, unfortunately, that was the last we saw of him,” Vivian dejectedly said.

“Cage? Mon Dieu, this tale gets more and more sordid,” he noted. He walked toward the bar to freshen Vivian’s brandy, reckoning she needed the fortification. As tears dropped from her eyes, Nicholas slid forward to protectively wrap his arms around his beloved aunt’s neck.

“Oh Nicky, darling, Oh Nicky, it is so good to see you again mon cherie,” Vivian said, raw emotion coloring her voice As she looked into his bright eyes, she sobbed that much harder. After handing Vivian another brandy, which she accepted with shaking hands, Lawrence began pacing across the drawing room floor in his well-tailored wool suit.

“What do the authorities say? Surely they have some idea? Did Stefano kidnap them again,” he spat out.

Inside Abe’s stomach churned in knots. But outwardly, his dark serene eyes did not betray a trace of his anxiety. He was too well trained to show his fear for his two best friends, and he wanted to keep the others as calm as possible.

 “Paris police are still investigating. But their investigation has been complicated by a series of gas explosions that rocked the tunnels. Rachel Blake, Kristen’s mother, is in the hospital in serious condition. She was able to give us some idea of what happened. She and Kristen were trying to find John and Marlena when they were trapped by the explosions. She saw Stefano and his men searching for John and Marlena who had disappeared seemingly into thin air. Then, a particularly strong explosion rocked the tunnels causing beams to fall. Rachel couldn’t get to Kristen because of the beams. Apparently one fell on Kristen, causing her to miscarry. Her poor mother could hear her desperate cries for hours , but couldn’t save her. She bled to death before we could free her and get her to the hospital,” Abe said in a rush of emotions.

A gasp from Nicholas caused Lawrence to cast a worried glance in his son’s direction. “What about Stefano?”

“We found some of his goons. We think he escaped but honestly we really don’t know,” a frustrated Abe said, the worry finally breaking through to cloud his handsome, kind face.

“So he has John and Marlena then,” Lawrence concluded logically.

“We don’t think so. Stefano seemed too distraught according to his goons. They were chasing John and Marlena who went deeper into the tunnels. We think they dashed into a room to hide from them. And then apparently just vanished. The only sign that they may have been in the room was the men heard a crash and when they entered the room found shards of broken glass from what must have been a large mirror. And, a torn tapestry was on the floor. Other than that, we have nothing to go on,” Abe said quietly, as he rubbed his hands together in frustration..

“They’ve been gone for almost 24 hours now. Lawrence, I am afraid it does not look good. Paris authorities are assuming the worst and are releasing to the French media the missing persons report tonight,” Abe replied.

“Mr. Abe, do you think they were hurt in the explosions,” Nicholas interjected as he clung to his sobbing aunt who huddled further into the chair.

 “Son, we don’t really know. Stefano’s men said they went deeper into the labyrinth. We’ve searched as many rooms as we can, but still can find no sign of them. We think they were below the area rocked by the explosions. But we just don’t know Nicky. We don’t know why they haven’t surfaced yet. French authorities aren’t giving up. And I will *never* give up until we have proof. But frankly, it is looking bleak,” Abe said in a tight, tense voice.

Concerned for his son and aunt, Lawrence crossed the room at a brisk pace. Helping his shaking aunt to her feet, he gestured to his son. “Aunt Vivian, I am quite sure you are tired and overwrought. Let Abe and Ivan and I hash this over. Why don’t you go upstairs with Nicky, okay,” he said as more of an order than a question.

“Nicky, why don’t you take your aunt Vivian and show her your recent discovery. We just returned from England to celebrate Nicky’s birthday and he found something wonderful, didn’t you Nicky? He was doing family research for a school project, and found at an old bookstore in London the most outlandish writings by our ancestor. The diary was written during the 1500s, but wasn’t found and published for another 300 years apparently. It’s really quite extraordinary,” Lawrence said as he uncharacteristically babbled away to those in the room.

Vivian could only nod her head as Nicky led her upstairs to his bedroom. She had heard tales of Stefano as a mad man but she never really knew the extent of his madness. And, now, the reality was almost more than the usually strong woman could bear. She had never known she was fond of John, but now she felt so incredibly worried about him and Marlena. But seeing her darling Nicky had brightened her spirits slightly. She couldn’t believe he was 12 already, and he had grown so much since she had last seen him three years ago. Yet he was still her precocious, handsome bright-eyed Nicky who she just adored.

She sank down in a chair, oblivious to the Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretsky posters staring down at her. An excited Nicky skipped to a bookshelf where he grabbed a tattered red leather-bound journal.

“Aunt Vivian, I’m sorry about Uncle John. Please don’t cry. I hope this will make you smile. This is so neat. It’s about a lady who married into our family and her mother from a long, long time ago. She writes all about it. The lady, Eleanor, married a prince of Alamania. She had been the daughter of an English duke. Just before embarking for Alamania, she discovered her own mother’s diary, which had a few surprises for her,” Nicky said with a laugh.

Vivian cast a slight smile in his direction. She wasn’t really interested in this diary, but if it pleased Nicky she was more than happy to listen.

“It’s a tragic love story, but it’s neat. Dad says they were a lot like Romeo and Juliet but I don’t know what that means, do you Aunt Vivian?” Nicky said, chattering away in hopes of getting his aunt’s empty eyes to perk up. “Why don’t you read some to me? I’d like that. I’m glad to be with you and I’ve missed you so much,” Vivian said before scooping her grand-nephew up in a fierce hug.

When she finally let go, they moved to his bed, to settle down as his boyish voice filled the air as he read the words from the 400-plus-year-old diary of Eleanor Stafford Alamain, daughter of the Duke of Buckingham of England and wife of Prince Geoffrey of Alamania.

 This is about a time long ago. A country still trying to recover from the emotional and physical scars of the War of the Roses. Even though it was decades ago and seems a distant memory lifted from the pages of the history books, it’s almost like yesterday for me. I will never forget the day in 1556 that Samuel and I found our mother’s diary and read her words in disbelief. We discovered the journal as I was packing to leave England for my new home in Alamania near south France where my groom awaited me. As a daughter of England’s two most noble households and great-granddaughter of King Edward IV, Prince Geoffrey was eager to marry me. I did not want to leave my brother and my homeland to marry a man I had met only twice, but it was the required duty of the daughter of a royal duke and duchess. The journal was at the bottom of a trunk hidden away in a dark corner of the attic. The cobwebs indicated the trunk had been there since my mother died in 1541. As we scanned the first pages, I immediately recalled my mother’s joyful laughter and her long blonde hair that tickled my face as she played with me. Then, I remembered the sad but valiant smile and the tears that flowed endlessly the last time I saw her more than 15 years ago.

As we read our mother’s words, the horror slowly sunk in. It seemed impossible that these passion-filled words of a tragic love and a sacrifice too great to comprehend were written by our mother. If they had not been written in her own hand, I dare say I would not have believed. And yet there they were. She sought solace and comfort in recalling happier days during those long, dark two years when she was held prisoner in the Tower of London–her only crime being the man she was forced to marry. Our father. And yet, he was not our father from what mother had written in her journal. The diary told of meeting and falling in love with the man who is now the Archbishop of York, second only to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer. Both men are now sentenced to die because of their Protestant faith. Inside the journal was two letters my mother had written to her lover, John Black. Samuel had insisted on carrying these letters to him personally. I could not understand his fervor. I was still too much in shock to realize that Edward Stafford, the fourth Duke of Buckingham was really not our father. A priest was! A Protestant priest! And he was to die tomorrow.

As a devout Catholic, I had been overjoyed when our beloved Queen Mary signed the death warrants for Cranmer and Black who had done so much for Protestantism for the two previous kings. Black had helped Cranmer author that blasphemy known as the Book of Common Prayer. Now I did not know what to feel. I was numb from the overwhelming words of my mother’s diary. The only child of Catherine of Aragon and Henry VIII, Queen Mary –Bloody Mary as she is known now — was determined to stamp out the Protestant reform unleashed in England by her father.

 That was why my father — or the man I believed was my father — had sought to overthrow Henry in 1539. He had wanted to reunite the country with the Roman Catholic Church. As a direct descendant of the youngest son of Edward III, my father believed he had more rights to the throne than the Tudors. And he believed his claim was strengthened by his marriage to my mother, Marley Howard, granddaughter of King Edward IV. A loveless marriage that she was forced into. And led to her premature death.

My father, Edward Stafford, lost his head when he was unsuccessful in overthrowing Henry VIII. Samuel and I were spirited out of England to France and my poor mother was imprisoned for two years in the Tower. My mother believed Henry would send her to the block because of her close ties to his second wife, Anne Boleyn. But the executioner’s sword is not what killed her. She died of a broken heart. She could not live believing she would never see again the children she adored, the only link to her lover.. Our father wasn’t really a traitor. Instead, he was a heretical priest!

My mind was overwhelmed as I grappled with this realization. Even after Henry died in 1547, we remained in France. But after Henry’s only son, King Edward VI, died in 1553, we returned because we thought — mistakenly as history would prove– the country was safe again for Catholics. Samuel and I were given places of honor at court. The bill of attainder was reversed by Parliament, returning my father’s lands and title to my brother. A title he didn’t deserve because he wasn’t really the Duke of Buckingham’s son according to my mother’s journal. My beautiful, sweet mother. Who had carried on an illicit tryst with a priest and then was forced to marry my father to ensure her twins were not born bastards.

All my images of my mother had been shattered by the words she had penned on parchment in a dank cell. Who was my mother, this woman I thought I knew? She was Marley Howard, the only surviving child of the Duke of Norfolk and his first wife, Anne of York, a daughter of King Edward IV. Edward IV’s oldest daughter, Elizabeth of York, married Henry VIII’s father. I was a great-grandchild of Edward IV just like Mary and Princess Elizabeth. I was a royal princess even if I did not have the title. And as such, I was prepared to marry a prince and at last obtain the title of princess.

But first I had to watch the man who I had discovered was my biological father die. I will never forget Saturday, March 21, 1556, as long as I live.

Queen Mary commanded her court to watch the death of the Protestant heretics as a warning to anyone who might sway in their devotion to the Catholic Church. She had no way of knowing she was ordering me to watch my father die. If she had known the details of the secret meeting the night before between John Black and his two children, she might have ordered our deaths too. A meeting Samuel had insisted upon and I agreed to under protest and only begrudgingly for Samuel. But I would go to my grave thankful God had allowed me to meet the man who sired me. My darling Samuel impassively held my hand as we watched the archbishops tied to stakes. Clad only in long white cotton shirts, they tried not to shiver in the damp spring air. Cranmer was in his seventies while my father was 55. Both their heads had been shaved. Both men made a firm reaffirmation of their Protestant faith before the bonfires were lit. Cranmer didn’t last long, succumbing to the smoke and flames within 20 minutes.

But our father was not so fortunate. The faggots laid at his feet were green and damp from the spring’s heavy rains. The gray smoke would not thicken enough to render him unconscious. Yet he would not beg those standing around to fan the flames to speed his death as so many heretics did. Through the haze, I could feel his clear blue eyes watching me. Even though time had creased his face and he stopped slightly, he was still the proud man with soulful eyes who had snared my mother’s heart and soul. And now his soul was about to join hers.

We waited for the gunpowder hanging around his neck to explode and send him to an instant death, but unmercifully it would not. The stench of his burning skin tainted the air and yet he did not scream in agony. The flames from the bundles of twigs lapped at his feet and ankles, and yet he remained calm. I shuddered violently when I saw a flame leap to catch the sleeve of his shirt, quickly turning the white to brown then black. The melted away fabric exposed his tan, lean arm. I gagged from the smell of his burning flesh.

And yet he did not die. He must have been in impossible-to-imagine agony in his own hell on earth, but he did not show it. He did not flinch or jerk or shake as the flames ate away at his skin. Stoic and proud to the end just as my mother had been in the Tower.

Finally, he spoke. The murmuring crowd grew silent as his clear voice powerfully cut through the smoke. “Good Christian people, I am come hither to die. I pray for the soul of our Queen. And I heartily ask ye to pray for my soul. Death is a fate I deserve, but not for the sentence imposed by the crown. Nay, I’ve committed a much more egregious wrong and for that I deserve to die. I did not denounce my Catholic faith so many years ago because it was my belief then or to be a self-serving servant to our late great King Hal as so many said. I did so because of my love for my beloved Marley.”

A rattling cough of death forced him to pause. With pain-filled eyes, he stared at Samuel and me. I swore I could see love radiating from them. Love shining at me and my brother. Still, I was surprised at his final words.

“And yet my sweetheart Marley was denied to me. I should have fought harder. Because I did not, I beg the forgiveness of her family. I truly believe the Church of England is the true church. I have been a faithful servant to it since our late great King Henry created it. I consider myself blessed and fortunate to have served God and his true church. I have been blessed and received more honors than I deserve. I humbly submit my soul to God. I die the Archbishop of York, but I’d rather die the husband of Marley Howard and in her arms.”

As a gasp arose from the crowd, a coughing attack quelled the voice of the archbishop. Many in the crowd cast furtive glances mine and Samuel’s way, recognizing our mother’s name. I pressed my lips together as I tightened my grip on Samuel’s hand.

Then a most peculiar thing happened. A supernatural phenomenon occurred. The dark clouds parted and a bright light shone from the heavens down upon the bonfire. In a hoarse voice, John Black began crying out,

“Sweetheart. Oh Marley, I can see thy face. Marley, Oh Marley. How do I love you my darling Marley. I love you. I always have and I always will. I could never stop loving you Marley! Never my Marley! I did love you more than the Church, Marley. I did. There was a special place in my heart that the Church could never fill. Only you my love. Please forgive me my Marley. You are my Marley, always and forever. Take me to heaven with you my love.”

And with that, the flames leaped into the air as a raging inferno, fueled from an unknown source. I could not see him through the flames and then the explosion from the gunpowder finally tore his body apart in the most grisly of fashion. No one would believe me but maybe Samuel. Yet I know I saw his soul leave his body and embrace my mother’s before they disappeared into the clouds. The sky turned from gray to black, unleashing a torrent that doused the flames in just a moment. Before turning away, I saw the ashes of the letters from my mother that my father had clutched in his hands.

Two days later, it still seemed like an awful nightmare when in Dover Samuel and I boarded a boat in bound for Alamania. As I waved goodbye to England forever, I clutched my mother’s journal in my other hand. I hoped during my long voyage I could read her words and understand this extraordinary love from which my brother and I were born. It seemed to be a love for all time, and yet it did not survive their time. It was a love gone wrong that brought innumerable pain for two souls and created a lifetime of mistakes.

And I wondered….what if…..what if he had received that first letter 25 years earlier instead of 15 years after my mother died. What if he had not led her to believe he had chosen the church over her? What if they had put aside their guilt and their pride? What if a series of miscommunications and acts of selflessness and selfishness had not led to them being apart. If he had received the letter before my mother’s marriage, how would mine and Samuel’s lives been different. Would my mother have married the Duke of Buckingham and raised Samuel and I as his offspring? And would my true father have become the Archbishop of York?   I suppose I will never know what would have happened if time had been more kind to their love. But I will always wonder what if they could have gone back in time and corrected their past mistakes. What if they could have done it over again and got it right. What if they could have started fresh and new. Could he have foresaken the church for her and could she have forgotten her noble life at court for him? Could they have lived happily ever after?

 As Nicky finished reading the last sentence, his father’s voice boomed from below. “Nicky, it is time for you to go to bed. Your Aunt Vivian has had a long day. You both need your rest,” Lawrence ordered.

“Aw, Dad, do I have to? The journal was just getting good,” Nicky pleaded. The teen looked toward his wide-eyed and alert aunt who was obviously quite mesmerized by the story. “Isn’t it just the neatest thing Aunt Vivian?”

“What did the letters Marley wrote to her lover say? What happened when they met with their father before he was burned?” Vivian blurted out after a pause.

“Oh Aunt Vivian, you just won’t believe it! There’s so much more. Just lots and lots more,” he said gleefully.

Lawrence, who now stood in the doorway, said with a slight smile, “And there’s plenty of time for you to read it to your Aunt Vivian, Nicholas. Hopefully, she will stay on for a day or two. But first you both must go to bed. You need your sleep and I dare say your Aunt Viv is far more exhausted than she realizes. You both have had enough excitement today. Eleanor’s exciting tales of John and Marley are only 450 years old. They will certainly wait for you to get a good night’s sleep.”   

“Oh, all right Dad. But Aunt Vivian you promise you will stay. Promise me! And I’ll read you more of the journal,” Nicky begrudgingly said. Stifling back a yawn, Vivian nodded her head. She couldn’t help but smile broadly at her nephew bouncing up and down in front of her. “I’d be honored to stay and visit with you my darling Nicky. And listen to more of your enchanting tale about this tragic couple and why they didn’t end up happily ever after. “

 And under his breath, Lawrence quietly remarked, “Unfortunately, that sad long-ago couple reminds me a bit too much of my own priestly brother and his beautiful lady shrink.”

September 1526

Greenwich Castle

Birds in the thick branches of a walnut tree chirped outside an open window, even though it was still dark out. The stench from The Thames wafted up to the window, but the rosemary and violet mingled with the rushes on the bedroom floor masked the rancid smell.

The bickering of a swallow and lark cut through Marlena’s cocoon of sleep. She languidly stretched against her fluffy down pillow, with a slight smile on her face. Rosie shifted against her, the pup snuggling closer toward her mistress’s warm body.

In contentment, Marlena recalled her delightful dream. She could feel John’s hand clasped around her waist and his breath against her face. His lips hovered close to hers. She reached up to lightly brush his cheek as they exchanged looks of contentment. With proud smiles, they both looked down at Belle, who was softly humming as she played in a swing in front of them. Marlena didn’t think she could be more happy, more loved. Or more fulfilled.

Marlena bolted up in her bed. Alone. The blood roared in her ears. It was not real. It was just a dream. It was a dream that had tortured her for months now. She dreamed it often as Stefano had held her hostage in a cage, she thought with a shudder. Then, bleakly she remembered she was no longer a captive of Stefano’s, but now a prisoner of circumstances far beyond her control. Circumstances from more than 450 years ago.

With a tiny whimper, she scooped Rosie up and cradled her. Her best efforts to jog John’s memory had been a dismal failure. Almost two weeks had passed since that awful night of the masque. She had seen John just briefly twice, once during a morning Mass and then in the Queen’s chambers. His eyes seared her soul, and she knew he was avoiding her. She had tried to contrive encounters, but to no avail. A lone tear slowly slid down her cool cheek.

In the four-poster bed across from Marlena’s, Anne rolled over as her dark black hair fanned against her pillow. As if on cue, a servant pounded on the door. “Six o’ clock. ‘Tis time to arise m’ladies.”

With a groan, Marlena slipped from her cozy bed. She covered Rosie with a small blanket before heading to the small, windowless privy. As she had done every morning for the past two weeks, she took a step across the threshold and wrinkled her nose in disgust as she contemplated the “garderobe” or “Jordan” as some euphemistically called the glorified chamber pot. To say she missed a toilet that flushed was putting it mildly. She didn’t know where the seemingly bottomless pit drained to, and really did not want to ponder the nasty thought. But she had a sneaking suspicion it was one of the reasons The Thames had a most unpleasant odor to it.

Marlena had to admit she did enjoy the Tudor custom of using lavender-scented water to towel off her face, hands and arms. She just wished she could soak in a tub of it.

“Marley, thou must hurry. We mustn’t be late for Mass,” Anne barked.

“Yes, indeed. I am through. Your turn,” Marlena said as she stepped out.

Anne shot her a look. “What hast gotten into you this morning. Tis a most odd way to speaketh,” she yelled over her shoulder as she hurried into the privy.

Marlena gritted her teeth. Sometimes the Renaissance words rolled off her tongue to her amazement, then at others she lapsed into the words of her time causing puzzled looks from others and great consternation on her part.

She headed to her chest where she drew from it a beautiful silk dress in hunter green. Marlena was so tired of getting trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving Day in wools and silks with long sleeves. She longed to slide on a pair of denim jeans and a crisp white cotton shirt. Instead, she put on a fresh linen shirt then her petticoats. Finally, her dress. Then standing before the mirror on Anne’s dressing table she arranged her French hood. The pounding in her heart told her she would see John today. She felt like a giddy schoolgirl on her first date as she gussied up in hopes of snaring a look from her love. The French hood that Anne had made popular at Court suited Marlena. She smoothed the black pleated velvet into place after arranging it toward the back of her head just past her ears. It flowed down to her shoulders. The hood was held in place by a ornamental border similar to a headband. Marlena had three of these, and for today’s festivities she chose one with circlets of pearls and emeralds.

“Anne, darling, arest thou excited about the joust to day? I am. I have never seen,” Marlena trailed off without completing the sentence.

“Oh mais oui! Harry says he will sport today in a special device in my honour. I cannot wait to behold what that is,” Anne said as she emerged from the privy, her nightgown rustling around her. “And thou neverest knoweth. Perhaps your priest who thee so fancy will be there hmmm?”

Marlena could only glare at her, her wit deserting her. Anne skipped to her own chest as she quickly dressed. “Areth thou hungry? I am famished! I hope the morning meal includes oranges. I have a hankering for oranges with my pastries,” she said.

“Apples and strawberries. I abhor the puddings, but love the biscuits and fruits. Apples and oranges are good. But strawberries are my favorites,” Marlena said more than a tad wistfully.

“Then, Vite! Vite Marley! We must hurry. Don’t for get your cushion! Once, I had that misfortune. Those splinters were most painful,” Anne said with a grimace.

“This is going to be an exciting day. Henry will joust in my honor and be my champion come evening. I fear the Queen will glower in that fine Spanish temper of hers, but she will only have that to keep her warm tonight,” Anne predicted confidently.

If only they had known the disaster to come, both Anne and Marlena might have hid underneath the covers that day. Instead, they jauntily headed for morning Mass, one of at least three the Tudor court celebrated each day.

The hours crept by slowly for Marlena. She and Anne joined the other ladies in waiting in the Queen’s Chambers after Mass. Marlena kept pricking her finger as she worked on needlepoint while Anne played a melancholy tune on her lute. A daydreaming Marlena drew a sharp rebuke from the queen when she asked her to read from the Bible and did not respond quickly enough to the royal command. She could not stop thinking of John, wondering what he was doing and if he were longing for her. Thus, she eagerly jumped to her feet just before noon when Catherine commanded her ladies to prepare for the joust.

Marlena had attended Buffalo home games at her alma mater, the University of Colorado. It was with that image in mind she headed off for the joust. But upon arriving, she quickly concluded the only similarity was the rectangle-shaped tiltyard that the combatants jousted on was about the size of a football field. Anne and Marlena jostled their way through the throngs to where the nobility sat on the wooden double-tiered viewing stands. She made a mental note to thank Anne for reminding her to get her velvet cushion embossed with the House of Norfolk crest because it was obvious the wooden slab would get uncomfortable quickly.

She looked around eyeing the thousands crammed into the stands. Her breath caught in her throat. How was she going to find John in this enormous crowd? She had no idea so many people would come to a joust. She did not know what the Tudor population was, but it was obviously more than she had thought!

Then she spotted him! Her heart did flip flops as the sun bounced off his dark locks. John had always been a sexy man, but if possible the twentysomething Tudor version was even more handsome. Instead of his usual long, flowing black robe, John was clad in white satin, white velvet and silver damask. He was down below her in the combat area, and seemingly miles away. Black and white fences, perhaps six to seven feet tall, separated the spectators from the combat area. She was surprised to see him on the tiltyard. In one hand, John was leading a horse while carrying a 12-foot lance in the other. On top of the horse outfitted from head to toe in metal armor was a tall obviously athletic man Marlena didn’t recognize.

“Nan, darling. Who is the Lord with the priest?” Marlena queried.

“Oh silly goose! Thou doesth not recognize the visage of the Duke of Suffolk, the vaunted Charles Brandon?” Anne snapped.

A puzzled Marlena contemplated this information. “Brandon? No, I do not recall a name such as that?”

“Oh shush. Of course you do. He is the king’s brother- in-law. He is married to Mary Tudor, Harry’s youngest sister. Hath thou also forgotten she is the former Queen of France. Some would whisper traitorously that Suffolk is the fairest man, most virile in England,” Anne replied.

“Not that I would know,” Anne said with a light-hearted laugh.

Suddenly, a trumpet sounded and a triumphant Henry appeared on horseback at the gate opposite John. A gaped- mouth Marlena marveled at the awe-inspiring sight. That day he was certainly not the obese tyrant that he would become later in life. Instead, he was truly handsome Bluff King Hal, worshipped by his people. Marlena could not comprehend the ostentatious wealth and grandeur. The king was in silver, white velvet, gold damask, black satin and black velvet. His horse was outfitted to match him. But what had the crowd murmuring was the cloth shield hanging from his saddle. In gold letters was the device, “Declare I dare not,” and a man’s heart engulfed in flames. The crowd fell silent as Henry turned to face the viewing stands where Anne coolly looked down with a half smile on her face.

John followed the King’s eyes, but then moved past Anne to spot the blonde temptress beside her. Instinctively, his palms grew sweaty. He had struggled mightily since that night on the Thames not to go to her. It had taken all of his willpower to force the image of her, the taste of her and the smell of her from his mind. He had spent many hours prostrate praying for God to banish those thoughts from his mind.

But just the sight of her made him nearly lose control. The green of her dress brought out the fire of her eyes and the black velvet hood showed off her flawless skin. He just wanted to race up to the viewing stands and take her in his arms and smother her in passionate kisses. But all the praying in the world could not stop his body from doing what seemed just as natural as breathing even when his mind was screaming “You must not do this.”

After a nod to the Duke, John smoothly made his way through the crowd that covered him up from Marlena’s view. She wondered where he had disappeared to, but then she felt John’s presence. Her arm burned as his brushed against her. Uncontrollable love and passion built in her eyes as she turned sideways to look at him. But Anne spoke first.

“Father Black. What an honor to have your company. I know my blushing cousin here is just enchanted by it. Are you championing the Duke today or our King,” she said with gaiety in her voice.

“I pray for a mighty joust that delivers the combatants safely from harm,” he said in a husky voice that caused Marlena’s heart to jump.

“Is this your first joust my Lord?” Marlena asked.

“No indeed Lady Howard. My father took me to many of them when I was just a young lad. I remember particularly the jousts to celebrate the birth of Prince Henry more than fifteen years ago. Most grand and spectacular. Tis a shame that the child died far too soon. I pray incessantly that God will bless the royal union with a male heir. I knowest tis the Queen’s most fervent desire,” John said in a low voice as he wiped the sweat off his clammy brow.

Marlena shot a glance at Anne to see her reaction to that, but Anne was staring straight ahead in stony silence. All three seemed to welcome the loud cry commanding the jousting participants to take their places. The next several hours passed quickly for Marlena. She and John said little to each other, but both felt intensely the contact as they would rub or bump into the other. The noise from the bustling crowd also made conversation difficult.

Still, decorum told John he should say something to the comely damsel. Even if he did not know what to say.

“Mistress Marley, thy dress is particularly fetching. Tis good to see you. I have missed you,” he said simply in an almost strangled voice.

Taken aback, Marlena did not know how to respond initially. She looked down to notice her hands were clenched in tight fists, and reflexively dropped her hands down beside her dress. She then looked up to gaze straight into his dark blue eyes peering into hers. For a moment, she felt as though he was reading her soul then the yelling from the crowd caused the moment to be broken.

“Truly, John, hearing that surprises me. After our last encounter, I thought thou would never wish to see me again. But I am glad to hear you say that. I miss you too,” she said, her body tense with anticipation.

His next move caught her off guard, but astonishingly enough did not surprise him. He effortlessly slid his hand around hers as the folds of her dress hid their clasp from nearby prying eyes. His sweaty fingers trembled slightly before tightening over hers.

With a shy downward look, he said, “Perhaps Marley thou will grant me a dance at the next masque? Or share a strawberry dessert?”

Before Marlena could answer, the crowd jumped to its feet. Both Marlena and John rose to cheer lustily. So caught up in the moment and analyzing the meaning of his words, she did not realize at first the two combatants racing toward each other were Henry and Suffolk. The pounding of the horses hooves filled the air then the crack of Henry’s lance as it splintered against the duke’s armor. The duke turned his horse to charge toward the defenseless King. The blow from the lance struck Henry around the shoulders.

In slow motion, Marlena watched Henry sway slightly then topple from his specially crafted black leather saddle. In horror, she saw him land face down in a ditch along the combat area. An eerie silence engulfed the shocked throng as they collectively held their breath while watching the prone body of the King.

A quivering Anne clung to Marlena’s hand as both Anne and John began praying audibly for the King. “Get up Henry. Rise up!”

Suffolk galloped to the King. He leaped from his horse and rolled over the King who laid still. The Duke yanked off Henry’s helmet and visor to reveal a face turning a dreadful bluish-purple as a result of the water the unconscious King had swallowed.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. They are going to let him die. Why isn’t someone giving him mouth to mouth? Why are they not doing anything to help him?” Marlena cried out.

A bewildered Anne and John watched as Marlena surged through the crowd, scampering over two fences. She knew she could not let him die. Her medical training in overdrive, she pushed past those seemingly marble statutes kneeling beside the King in prayer. She raised him up to force the water from his mouth and without a qualm she lowered hers to his to begin the desperate resuscitation efforts.

“Mouth to mouth?” John wondered. He kept turning the phrase over and over in his mind. What did that mean to him? “Why did such a peculiar phrase sound so familiar. What is Marley talking about?” he said out loud.

Suddenly, he was flooded by a memory that frightened him by how powerfully he felt it. He was startled when he heard himself whisper, “Smith Island.” He could see the memory as though he had actually experienced it. Clad in black priest clothes, he knelt over a naked wet woman, fervently trying to pump oxygen into her lungs. He remembered a desperate, overwhelming kiss that caused him to struggle for his control and sanity. So caught up in playing the memory over and over, he did not realize that he too was pushing through the crowd to the tiltyard below. He did not consider his rash actions, he just knew innately that Marlena needed his help. That the King needed to be given “CPR” in addition to this “mouth to mouth.” What these phrases were he did not know. With a shudder, he realized he did not want to know what they meant and why he knew them. He knew he needed to concentrate on the King.

Marlena barely looked up when she saw John standing beside her as she fought in despair to save Henry. She only paused when she heard him order back the men trying to interfere with her efforts to get back. She saw him drop to his knees, his white hose quickly turning black from the mud. In position, he ferociously yelled, “Marlena, let me help. I’ll give him CPR while you keep the mouth to mouth going. We must not let him die. We must save him!”

After several excruciatingly long minutes, just when they were both falling to total despair and their fingers were completely numb, Henry coughed then sputtered.

“Cease. Tis all right. Play on,” he croaked as he at tempted to regain his royal dignity. He tried to sit up, but Marlena quietly dissuaded him in a soft voice and a firm hand to his chest.

John and Marlena locked relieved eyes. So grateful to have saved the King, neither noticed the skeptical and distrusting looks in the eyes of the Duke and noblemen standing above them in a small circle.

“We did it Marlena! We did it,” John cried out before grabbing her in a tight hug.

An exhausted Marlena laid against his arms, savoring the victory. Neither quite yet grasped the consequences that would come from their rash actions in employing modern medicine to save Henry VIII from an untimely, premature death.

Early the next morning after the joust

A blinding pre-dawn rain lashed the medieval chapel as a deafening thunder rolled through the countryside, shaking the trees. Inside the chapel, the prone figure was oblivious to the storm and the cold from the Italian black and white marble seeping through his black priest’s robe.

A rosary clutched in his hand, John lifted his eyes momentarily to gaze beseechingly at the altar. He sought shelter in the chapel hours before the storm’s arrival, praying to God to banish the feelings the sensual Marley aroused in him. As he made the sign of the Cross, John began the prayer in a low, husky voice.

“Breathe into me Holy Spirit, that all my thoughts may be holy. Move in me, Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy. Attract my heart, Holy Spirit, that I may love only what is holy. Strength me, Holy Spirit, that I may defend all that is holy. Protect me, Holy Spirit, that I always may be holy.”

So deep was John in prayer, he did not notice the figure lurking in the chapel’s shadows. The great Cardinal intently looked at his underling, jealousy glowing in his dark eyes. Wolsey waddled toward the priest, who did not hear the rustling of the cardinal’s scarlet robe.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,” John began fervently.

“Father John, I beg your pardon. I must interrupt your prayers to have a word with you. His Highness is commanding that you come to his Privy Chamber with the utmost of haste,” Wolsey boomed.

This command was not unexpected, but John still raised an eyebrow in surprise. “The King wishes to speak with you about the most peculiar events during the joust,” said Wolsey in answering the unspoken question.

His knees numb from the hours he spent prostrate on the marble floor, John stumbled to his feet. “I humbly thank thou for coming to fetch me,” he said with a reverent bob to the cardinal.

He was taken aback that the cardinal would himself handle such a menial task, rather than dispatching another priest to tell him of the King’s command. What John did not know as they walked toward the Privy Chamber was that the cardinal glowered inwardly at the King ordering him personally to find John. He had been sound asleep just after midnight when a sharp knock on the door to his Hampton Court chambers ended his peaceful rest. The King had orders for him to take a barge to Greenwich Castle. Because the tide was coming in, it took Wolsey hours to navigate the Thames to Greenwich only to discover his exalted mission was to find a missing priest. A mission that took just a matter of minutes to accomplish by looking in the most obvious of places. A bile-like resentment built in the cardinal’s throat as he felt his carefully crafted vise-like hold on the willful King loosening.

The two men wordlessly moved past the ax-wielding guards silently guarding the thick oak door to Henry’s Privy Chamber, the large ornate room next to the king’s bedroom where he ate and held meetings.

“Father John, my mission is complete. I heartily wish you Godspeed in your audience with the King. Thou must not forget your own original mission. We expect frequent and complete reports on the status of the King and his marriage. The Pope in Rome is hearing dispatches that greatly concern his Excellency. And if he is troubled, we are troubled. Thou must not forget that,” Wolsey said in a tight voice. With a nod, he marched off in a swirl of his robes that bustled angrily.

With a feeling of foreboding pounding in his temples, John gingerly opened the heavy door. He first caught sight of a bejeweled gold throne and its deep royal purple cushions. Then, he realized the throne was unoccupied. But the room wasn’t. The blood roared to his face as he saw her. He had never before seen her hair loose and cascading carelessly down her back, and it had a devastating effect. French hoods had kept its golden glory hidden. Clad in a simple form-fitting milky white cotton gown, she obviously had been jerked from bed for the audience.

Marley turned around to face him. At the sight of her serene fawn-like hazel eyes, he stumbled for the second time that morning.

“John,” she said as she rushed forward to catch him by the crook of his arm. As if a mute, he could only lock eyes with her. Then with great effort, he found his tongue.

“Good morrow Lady Howard. Fancy meeting you here,” he said with the crooked smile that always melted her heart. So caught up the pulse-pounding sight of her uptilted breasts and curved hips, John did not realize he had used an unusual phrase he had never before uttered.

Marlena noted his arousal with a quick grin, but focused on her explanation to the king. She had tossed and turned most of the night, replaying the scenes from the joust over and over in her mind. Anne had raised the specter of charges of witchcraft, and Marlena had fretted over this. She had just fallen in a deep sleep, when Marley’s frantic father, the Duke of Norfolk, had burst into the room with the news that the King was awake and demanding to see her immediately. She knew she had just a few precious moments with John before the King would arrive demanding answers.

“About yesterday, I am so sorry to involve you. But I had to save him. I could not let him die. He would have died, and I knew how to prevent that. I could not have lived with myself if I had not tried to revive him,” Marlena said softly. “I knew how to save him. I cannot tell you how I knew. But I did and I had to do it. I had no choice, John, you have to know that no matter what happens. No matter what you have to know that.”

The blare of trumpets and clamping of feet caused them both to jump and then stiffen. As the King and his closest advisors, including the Duke of Norfolk, swept into the room, John and Marlena dropped to their knees in deference to their Sovereign. With an undecipherable glint in his gray eyes, Henry regally settled back against the velvet cushions on his throne, surveying the room’s occupants. For a man who nearly drowned the day before, he looked in remarkably robust health.

“Be gone. Leave us oh wise men, councilors and father. Leave Father John and Lady Howard to our audience. Rise priest and Lady Howard so I may see your eyes as you answer our questions,” Henry commanded while clapping his beefy palms together. After the others crept out, a silence engulfed the room as the two sized up the king and the king scrutinized John and Marlena. The inscrutable looks he threw their way prompted John and Marlena to move closer together until they were standing side by side, their arms almost touching. She wanted to reach out and clasp John’s hand, but dared not be so bold.

“We doth not wish to seem ungrateful, for truly without thy aid yester morrow would have proven disastrous. However, we as a goodly Christian prince who hath been proclaimed Defender of the Faith cannot condone witchcraft. Lady Howard and Father John, did thou use witchcraft?”

Without hesitation, Marlena plunged forward in answering the question she had wrestled with during those sleepless hours.

“Your Majesty, I pray to God Almighty that he will open your most kind and fair of hearts to see into my soul so Your Grace will believe the truth. I, er, we, employed advanced medical knowledge to save Europe’s greatest Prince. Tis not witchcraft that came to our aid. Twas science,” Marlena said in a clear, strong voice.

“Science? How is it possible twas science that device employed Mistress Marley? None of England’s finest physicians have seen such techniques. They say witchcraft is the only explanation. And where would a noble lady such as yourself learn such science?” Henry queried in a voice that surprising did not sound puzzled.

John cast curious glances at both of them as he realized he was watching a battle of wills that both appeared to enjoy. He did not like how Henry’s gaze dwelled on Marley’s enticing curves enhanced by the clingy almost transparent gown. John had never felt such a feeling before, and it unsettled him. He shook his head to clear his senses to ensure he concentrated on Marley’s calm words.

“King Henry, it is called CPR. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It clears the throat and provides the unconscious with desperately needed oxygen while restarting a heart that is not beating. It twas a vision from God. He knew that England was not ready for the young Princess Mary to assume the throne. He knew England would be plunged into unspeakable chaos and civil war if the most gracious King she has ever known did not continue to rule well and long,” Marlena said with an unwavering voice, instinctively knowing her salvation depended on playing to the king’s well-known ego.

“Indeed. Go on. Describe the vision,” Henry said, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. He was obviously engrossed by the captivating and intelligent Marley. And, she touched on a subject that troubled him: his lack of a male heir and what would happen to England if he befell an untimely death.

“John and I began to pray mightily for your Highness’s safety and that he would spare you. We clutched our hands together and prayed with our entire beings. Then, God told me what we must do. I shared that with John. We really had no choice Sire. God said this was a medical technique that doctors in Europe are just now discovering, but we had to use it now to save you. I believed the vision Your Grace. I believed I had no choice and CPR was the only way to save you,” Marlena said with a voice ringing with sincerity and conviction.

Henry thoughtfully rubbed his thick red beard as he contemplated her words. John did not know *what* to think, other than being stunned by her obvious sharp mind. Would the King accept her explanation? It made no sense. It did not really happen that way. He instinctively knew that. He was there. He knew she had not told him what to do. Those visions that had come to him were impossible to explain and yet so clear he almost believed he had lived them himself. Yet John also knew her explanation was their best hope of avoiding charges of witchcraft. He admired her pluck and nerve. She was obviously more than just another beauty at court.

Even the King knew her explanation rang hollow. Yet, there was enough of a grain of truth in it. He felt a familiar stirring in his loins. He wanted to believe this enchanting wench, who he found so attractive. The fire that shone from her eyes and her spunk was exactly the type of thing that he found exciting in Anne. He believed that Lady Howard was sincere in wanting to save him. Was it witchcraft? It was the only plausible explanation, and yet his heart and mind told him she was honest when she said it was not. Then what was it? His heart also told him that Lady Howard had a special gift of seeing into the future and foretelling events to come. He wanted to use that gift to his advantage and to undermine his enemies.

With a bemused look directed both inwardly and at Marlena, Henry said, “Fair enough Mistress Marley. Your King is in your debt. Both of your debts. We do not let our debts go unpaid. It would please us greatly if thou would attend a special hunt today. The stables have some fine horses that are in need of exercise. We desire to go into the country and have your company for what we hope will be an unforgettable afternoon.”

Without a backward glance, Henry strode from the throne room leaving two astonished gape-mouth individuals. Then the king unexpectedly returned. “Father John, while we appreciate your sincere devotion to God, cast off the priestly vestments for the afternoon. We need not a confessor. We will order the royal tailors to find clothing. Mistress Howard, perhaps you will share your CPR vision with the two royal physicians in the event it is ever needed again. If European doctors are truly about to discover this, why should not the English ones be ahead of the times?” he said, followed by a short laugh that rang off the room’s high ceiling.

***

Just after noon in the English countryside

The wind tore through Marlena’s hair as the thoroughbred beneath her galloped after an elusive stag. The autumn sun warmly shone down on the four figures riding across lush pastures and through thick forests.

Marlena wondered what Belle and Brady were doing now. Did they think she and John were dead? Who was looking after them? What was happening in dear ole sleepy Salem? She wished so hard that she could close her eyes and open them to discover John and herself vacationing in England with their children. Sighing, she looked over at John, grinning madly atop a black stallion. They had not had a chance to talk after the king left, others quickly returning to the room. The duke had been relieved and surprised that the king had accepted her explanation. Before the wily duke himself could demand more answers from his eldest daughter, Anne’s arrival rescued her. She brushed off her grumbling uncle by saying they needed to prepare immediately for the hunt. The duke had reluctantly allowed Marley to depart, believing they could talk during the hunt. But to the court’s surprise, the duke and cardinal’s dismay and Marlena’s delight, Henry had commanded that the four would enjoy the afternoon without his usual entourage.

Halt!” Henry cried out to the other three. “Ba! The stag has escaped successfully. We shall rest and resume the hunt after a respite. This doth appear a most excellent spot.”

Pulling hard on the reins, Marlena managed to draw up her horse immediately. Scanning the countryside, she did a double take at the large field she was beside. She glanced over at John to see if he was moved by the sight of the crop, and noticed he was chewing on his lower lip. He slid off his horse and strode over to hers to help her down. As she tumbled into his arms, he whispered, “Strawberries doth appear a part of our fate Marley. Perhaps we shall sample the juicy berries again this afternoon?”

Her already flushed cheeks grew more red as desire coursed through her body. She felt so right in his arms. He wanted to kiss her rosy lips with abandon, and might have lowered his lips to hers if Anne had not discreetly cleared her throat.

“Marley, help prepare the meal for our lords,” she said with a smile. Henry closely watched Marley and John as he pulled his mother-of-pearl inlaid lute from his saddlebag.

“Let us dine! The ride hath worked up a great hunger in your King,” Henry said in his customary booming voice. He clasped John on the shoulders and ordered,” We shall survey the field of strawberries as they prepare our meal.”

From the corner of her eyes, Marlena watched them stride off together. She inhaled the crisp air filled with the scent of the sweet red fruit.

“Cousin, thou ride as if born to the saddle,” Marlena said in a conversational tone, hoping to avoid probing questions from Anne.

A warm breeze lifted Anne’s ebony hair as her sparkling eyes narrowed to study her cousin.

“The King is more naive than I would have thought if he accepted your story about medical technique. He may believe it, but I do not. Marley, you have not acted yourself for weeks now. There is a different air about you. You are no longer quiet and meek. Besides being bold and adventuresome, you are in love with the one man you cannot have. I have a better chance of marrying Henry than you have your priest!” she exclaimed.

“Anne, do not trouble yourself with my life. Focus on your own life. You have enough worries without concerning yourself with mine,” Marley said sharply in a tone that clearly conveyed her irritation at Anne’s suggestion.

Before Anne could reply, a beaming Henry returned, sweeping Anne into his arms and twirling her around. “Sweetheart, we are at last out of the sight of the Spanish cow. Let us enjoy this day, for us! God has sent us a magnificent day and we shall not tarry in wasting a moment of it! Come sit priest and ladies. Let us partake of the fine foods prepared by the royal kitchen and displayed most handsomely,” a buoyant Henry said.

With a shy smile at Marlena, John helped her to the blanket spread on the grass next to the strawberry field. After sitting down, she arranged the folds of her skirt around her feet while watching the others. John scooted closer to her, causing her breath to catch in anticipation.

“We are glad for this day Your Grace. Thank you for allowing us to share this glorious afternoon,” John said with unusual gusto.

Henry replied with a dazzling smile as Anne and Marlena passed out the meats and vegetables. John hoisted a bottle of claret and four goblets. “To our King and his hunt!” he toasted.

For the first time in weeks, Marlena felt her body relaxing. She savored the delicacies. A ravenous hunger led her to almost inhale the venison and wolf down the breads and cheeses.

“Easy. It will not grow legs and run into the forest,” a smiling John said with a whisper as he refilled her goblet. Marlena felt an electric charge as their fingers touched while taking the goblet from him. Her voice low she replied, “And you John? Will you disappear again?”

Before a startled John could reply, Henry cut short the moment. “Father John, we know thou were present the day I spoke with Wolsey about the matter troubling my conscience. What doth thou say?”

A thoughtful John contemplated the question, framing his words carefully before responding. “Your Grace, I understand your desire to have a male heir, but the Bible is clear. The sanctity of marriage is not a trifling to be cast off at will.”

“Ah, yes. However, we have been studying God’s words and found a particularly troubling passage,” Henry said. With a flourish, he pulled a small book from an inside pocket of his jacket.

“Leviticus 20:21 states, ‘And if a man shall take his brother’s wife, it is an unclean thing: he hath uncovered his brother’s nakedness; they shall be childless.’ Clearly, God condemns me having married my brother Arthur’s widow. The proof is in the stillborn sons and sons who died after living a matter of days,” Henrry said, his mouth twitching with emotional anguish.

“But Sire, Your Majesty is not childless. The Queen produced a darling daughter, the Princess Mary. To say you are childless defies logic Sire,” an impassioned John rejoined.

“A daughter cannot rule England. Our King needs a son. England has had but one queen, Matilda, and that threw us into civil war that took years to recover from,” Anne interjected in an icy tone. “I can give him a son.”

“A son that will not be legitimate,” John replied calmly.

“Why would the Church not grant a divorce on the basis of this Scripture?” Marlena asked, wishing she had paid more attention in her history classes to the lessons on Henry VIII and his six wives.

Turning blades of grass over in his fingers, John thoughtfully replied, his voice betraying his worry that he was treading on dangerous ground. “Pope Julius provided a special dispensation based on divine providence. For Pope Clement to overthrow that would be sacrilege. It would violate God’s commandments. That Scripture clearly intends when a man commits adultery in bedding his living brother’s wife. His living brother’s wife, not his dead brother’s wife. Our king legally marrying his dead brother’s widow is entirely different circumstances. No sin was committed and the marriage is not childless.”

Both Anne and Henry reddened in anger, bristling at the priest’s words. Words they did not want to hear.

Before either could snap at John, a solemn Marlena said, “My God believes in marriages filled with love. Divorce is an awful evil, but tis sometimes a necessary evil. If two people are no longer in love and want to be with other people, sometimes a divorce is the only solution. Adultery is a difficult thing for any partner to accept, especially when they know you love someone else and truly wish to be with that person. I cannot believe God would condemn people to that kind of life. Sometimes tis impossible to continue on with the marriage no matter how hard one tries or wants with their whole heart for it to succeed.”

She paused, thinking of the repercussions and devastation wrought by Don’s affair and then her own affair. “Besides, did not King Saul and King David have not more than one wife? If God’s chosen in David had more than one wife, what would be wrong with our beloved monarch doing the same,” she said with a lighthearted laugh.

This eased the tension, and caused all to chuckle in response. “Lady Marley, thou possess more than just beauty and charm. Tis good to see someone besides my darling not afraid to say her peace to her king,” an appreciative Henry said as John subconsciously nodded in agreement. “Perhaps you can do what other men have been unable to do and plead to Rome successfully my case for a divorce hmm?”

His brow furrowing, he gestured toward John. “And indeed most men hide their true feelings when in the presence of the king. Your honesty should be rewarded priest. The Church needs more true men of the cloth whose chief concern is not padding their own pockets and robbing from the poor. We will find a bishop seat for you. Once we return to court, prepare to go to Cambridge to study with Thomas Cranmer. Then perhaps you will return to court as bishop of Lincoln.”

A beaming John enthusiastically thanked the king as Marlena leaned back weighing the king’s words to herself. Oh dear God, this will mean he will not be at Court. How God will I endure this separation? I cannot imagine being alone in this nightmare. How will John remember me if he is not at Court?

“Now let us no longer concern ourselves with Godly matters, but more earthly ones. I have composed a new song I shall play for your entertainment,” Henry said, a boyish enthusiasm overtaking him. “Tis called If Love Now Reigned.”

He gathered up his lute, and plucked its strings as his melodious voice rang out. Anne snuggled closer to her love as John stole a touch of Marlena’s fingers.

If love now reigned as it has been

And were rewarded as it has seen,

Noble men then would surely ensearch

All ways whereby they might it reach

But envy reigns with such disdain

And causes lovers outwardly to refrain,

Inwardly, most grievous and sore:

The fault in whom I cannot set,

But let them tell who loves does get.

To lovers I put now sure this case:

Which of their loves does get them grace?

And unto them which doth it know

Better than I do, I think it so.

As the last note echoed off the lute’s strings, the three burst into exuberant but sincere applause. A smiling Henry nodded in satisfaction. “Tis a song composed for Nan. The court shall hear it at the next banquet since tis met with your approval.”

A mischievous Henry turned to John, “Did you love before you became a priest?”

A blushing John shook his head in the negative, the light wind tousling his dark locks.

“And now? Do you love now?” an impish Anne pointedly asked. Discomfited, John paused before answering.

“Oh Nan, you are indeed a witch,” Henry said in a jovial tone. “What about you Lady Howard? Do you love someone?”

Disappointed that John had not answered the question, Marlena considered her own response, thinking an appeal to the King’s pride was in order. “A damsel cannot help but love our gracious and most handsome of King. But since his heart is taken by another, I fear that my prince may not come.”

John could not help but again marvel at her wit.

“A most clever answer Lady Howard,” the admiring King said. “The Queen tells us your fingers are quick and sure with needlepoint. But when the other ladies in waiting entertain with songs of merriment, you do not. Why is that Mistress Marley? In the past, your sweet voice enchanted the court.”

Caught off guard, Marlena did not know how to answer initially. Singing certainly had never been her forte.

“Your Grace, God did not bestow upon me a voice of sparrows. Indeed, the jarring voice would break stained glass,” she said.

John stifled a laugh at this admission. He reached through the folds of her silk skirt to give her hand a quick squeeze, knowing that her words were virtually a dare to the king.

“We doubt that Lady Howard. But we shall be the judge. I order you to sing for us,” he said with a thin smile, watching her reaction closely through hooded eyes.

“Sing?” croaked Marlena.

“Indeed Lady Howard,” replied the king.

She had hoped to avoid this moment. She had no idea what to sing. She turned to Anne for support, but she refused to meet her eyes. Marlena knew Henry would not take “no” for an answer. She struggled to think of a song she could sing, not knowing well enough the words to those performed at court. She cringed at the thought of her singing. Singing what? She looked off the distance in desperation, then it hit her. Taking a deep breath, she called upon the words from her favorite group to rescue her from the awkward moment.

“Aye, my Lord. I will sing for you if it pleases Your Grace. Tis a trifling song, one taught by my father’s servants who perhaps learned it from the seafaring merchants. Tis indeed different from the songs of court, tis a lighthearted song of peasants,” a desperate Marlena said, hoping the king would believe her second whopping lie of the young day.

She started off slowly. Then as she found the right notes, she sang with relish and her voice rang out over the fields:

Let me take you down, cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields

Nothing is real and nothing to worry about

Strawberry Fields forever

Living is easy with eyes closed,

misunderstanding all you see

It’s getting hard to be someone besides me but it all works out,

It doesn’t matter much to me.

Let me take you down,

cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields.

Nothing is real and nothing to worry about

Strawberry Fields forever

Her voice moved John, striking a chord with him. The vision of the woman in the champagne-colored garments came to him again. They ran laughing through the forest, before he laid her down on a carpet of pine needles and lavished her succulent lips with kisses.

No one I think understands me

I mean it must be hard

That is you can’t you know understand but it’s all right,

Let me take you down,

cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields.

Nothing is real and nothing to worry about

Strawberry Fields forever.

While singing, she began to think again of Belle and her family. Keeping her guard up was tiresome and draining. She wanted to stop being Marley Howard and return to 1996 as Marlena Evans. She wanted to wake up in her bed, and laugh while telling John about this weird dream she had about them and Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. Her wistful hazel eyes brimmed with tears.

Always, no sometimes, think it’s me,

but you know I know when it’s a dream

I think I know I mean a “yes” but it’s all wrong,

that is I think I disagree

Let me take you down,

cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields

Nothing is real and nothing to worry about.

Strawberry Fields forever.

Strawberry fields forever.

A beaming John led the cheering. While her voice was not as lovely as Henry or Anne’s, it was not the disharmonious one she had claimed. She was surprised to discover going back 450 years in time had improved her vocal chords.

“We must say Mistress Marley, thou was not truthful with your King. For some liars, it would mean the Tower and off with your head! Tis your lucky day though for we shall not condemn you to that fate,” Henry said, his gray eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Twas a lovely trifling song. We shall tell the Queen to expect you to sing when she craves amusement. We will order it if thou doth not,” the crafty king said. Marlena swallowed hard at this, but drew comfort from John. Standing, Henry pulled Anne by her hand to her feet.

“We shall leave to enjoy a walk before resuming the hunt. We need some time alone without the prying eyes at court,” he said with a complacent smile toward Anne, who he hoped to persuade that afternoon to become his mistress without waiting for a crown.

With an odd smirk, Anne said, “Perhaps you two shall answer the king’s question honestly to each other while alone.” The two strolled off, leaving John and Marlena to an uncomfortable silence.

John raked his fingers through his hair as he watched Marlena packed away the silver goblets and plates. After minutes passed, he spoke first. “Leave that. Let us go to the strawberry fields that you sang about. I have a hankering to have a taste of the sweet berries.”

And your sweet lips was his unspoken and naughty thought.

She made no reply, but an uncertain Marlena began walking toward the field, a few feet ahead of him. At the edge of the field, she stopped, staring at the red fields that extended to the horizon. She reached down to pull off a few berries from their vine, straightening to enjoy the faint breezes rippling across the green leaves

“Beautiful. Just beautiful,” he breathed into her ear, promptly causing goosebumps to break out across her skin. “And I do not mean the strawberry fields. I mean your lustrous hair that smells of roses and sunflowers. I mean your lips that are more red than the strawberries.”

“John, I, do not understand,” she began, turning to face him. He reached down to caress her soft cheek while putting his other hand around her willow-like waist, drawing her closer.

“Marley, I do not understand either. I pray to God for hours for the strength to withstand your charms and beauty, and then he throws us together. Tis more temptation than I can bear. I think of your golden hair spread over my pillow. I tremble with shame, and yet I cannot resist the desire to explore your mouth that tastes of honey. Perhaps God is telling me the priesthood is not intended for me, that I am a dismal failure as a priest when all I want is to be your lover,” he said with a husky, raspy voice, his breath warm on her face.

Her aching body stood still, realizing paradoxically he was talking in both the language of her John and that of the priest. Looking at him with wide eyes, Marlena prayed for God to answer her own prayer. He cocked an eyebrow. “Your silence is most unexpected.”

“I do not know what to say. After the night on the Thames, John, I’m frightened. I’m scared of being tossed aside again. I love you with my whole heart. I want you,” she said simply. “I need you.”

“But I know you are a man of God and will reject me. That is a terrific pain to bear. But oh, John, how do I want you. I know my love could make you happier and fill you up more than the cold, lonely life of being a priest. I know you are a red-hot lusty man who should not be bound to the lifeless world of a monastery,” she said slowly with emphasis on her last sentence.

Unsettled by the words that echoed in his mind and heart, John was unsure of his answer He instinctively took the strawberries from her hand. Plucking the leaves from them, he lifted one to her mouth, which she opened to receive the strawberry. He watched her blissfully enjoy the fruit. The sight of her tongue as it snaked out to lick the juice from her rosy lips caused his desire to explode. He lowered his head, his own tongue encircling hers. Delighting in the taste of the berry in her mouth, he increased the tempo of his kisses. She hotly greeted the thrusts of his tongue, her own warm tongue searching his mouth.

He jerked back. “Marley, I love you. I have fought it. I have never felt this way before. God help me, but I love you. I cannot imagine loving anyone, not the church, not God, not anyone as much as I love you,” he moaned.

Joyously, she whispered her own reply, “I love you, my darling. Oh how I love you.”

Wordlessly, he pulled her against him, his tongue tracing the outline of her moist lips now swollen from his hard, hungry kisses. “Where do we go from here John?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“I don’t know baby. Honestly, I do not know. I cannot forsake my duty to God. I cannot just cast that off. Yet, I cannot ignore my feelings when I am around you. My love for you will not disappear no matter how much I try to focus on my vow of celibacy. All I know now is I want to kiss you forever by these strawberry fields and never let you go my darling,” he said with a ferocity she had not heard since the night on the plane. Her bright eyes filled with tears, as she reached her arms around his broad shoulders to hug him tight and drink in the smell of his hair.

Hypnotized, he licked her neck and savored her smell and taste. Brushing back her hair with his fingers, he blazed a series of kisses across her neck where her pulse throbbed. Her hands dropped to trace the contours of his lean thighs. As her quivering body arched against him, John eased her oval face back to again explore her smooth mouth. His tongue darting forward as he covered her mouth with his. He rubbed the bare skin of her shoulders. His fingers dropped to explore the satin smooth skin just below her neckline. A panting Marlena moaned in response. Her nipple quaked to his touch as her hand in response splayed across his firm chest. Shuddering together, their bodies moved in harmony. Time seemed to stand still as their kisses deepened and lengthened. A hummingbird flitted past the two swaying beside the field of strawberries. The tiny creature paused, its dark eyes curiously surveying the scene. Then it swooped past John and Marlena and gracefully flew over the strawberry fields as the hummingbird continued searching for nectar.

“My soul be damned,” John said with an audible groan. “This feels so right. Love truly does reign, even in the heart of those chosen by God.”

“If Love Now Reigned” lyrics by Henry VIII of England.

“Strawberry Fields Forever” lyrics by John Lennon with the Beatles. They are slightly modified.

December 1526

Framlingham Castle

Norfolk, England

A forlorn Marlena watched gray sleet pelt the window before sliding to the ground where it mingled with a thick blanket of snow. The weather perfectly matched her dejected mood, she thought. She had been depressed for weeks now, ever since she was exiled from court.

Shivering slightly, she pulled her cloak tighter around in a vain effort to ward off the cold that crept through the gloomy medieval castle. For the hundredth time that afternoon, she wished for a little heater to warm her frozen toes and fingers. A fire blazed in the main hearth in the great hall, but it did not suffice in chasing away the cold in the desolate, drafty castle built by the Normans.

She longed for John’s crooked smile and strong arms. She needed his twinkling arms to banish the melancholy mood that gripped her soul.

She could not help but wonder what John was doing now. Had he gone to Cambridge to complete his studies? Had he been ordained as a bishop yet as expected?

Did he long for her or had he forgotten her? Did he still think of her as Marley Howard instead of Marlena Evans? She feared the answers.

Those questions had danced around in her head for weeks now, no months, as she had idled away time in stifling boredom.

That bright autumn day in which John and she had joined Henry and Anne on a glorious picnic seemed so long ago.

Her happiness had been short-lived before word reached her father about the passionate kisses she and John had shared. Her father had sent her away in disgrace to the family home.

Her father. Her family home.

She shuddered involuntarily. Initially, when she thought of Marley Howard’s life as her own, it had naturally startled her. Had even frightened her. It still did, but she had to admit she was becoming use to the thoughts. She no longer cried herself to sleep every night. She still thought of her children, Brady, and her life in Salem. That life seemed so far away, almost a dream that she might or might not experience again.

Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that she could not give up. She had to cling to the belief that one day she would wake up in her own bed in 1996, and that she and John would overcome Stefano and Kristen’s deceptions and trickery to live happily ever after.

Happily ever after. The stuff of fairy tales. Marlena had never put much stock in Hans Christian Anderson’s world of princesses and castles, but now she desperately wanted to believe in fairy-tale-happily-ever-after endings to seemingly impossible nightmares.

Deep down, she knew she had survived much worse than living in Tudor England as Marley Howard. She knew she had been more desperate, more fearful for her life. At least now, she was not despairing of dying, unless, of course, one could die from a lack of electricity and indoor plumbing, she thought with a chuckle.

She was clothed and fed regularly. Still, she did not know if she had ever felt more lonely in her life. And yes, a small part of her acknowledged more scared. Then, her mind drifted to the cold, dark, and empty pit. The anguishing weeks as Stella toyed with her and the absolute devastation that followed when she believed the pit would be her crypt. Marlena had all too often faced death, it was something she was almost accustomed to, in a weird way. But never before, and hoped she would never again, be as certain of death as she was in the pit. That knowledge strengthened her.

And just like so many times before, John had come to her rescue. That intangible connection and bond had saved her.

Unfortunately, she sighed, this time is different. The bond has been severed. John does not even know he is her John, and she has no idea if he did how he could build a time machine and thrust them forward 470 years. With a tiny chuckle, she thought it might be more appropriate for Gene to play rescuer this time.

What a depressing thought, she couldn’t help but think. Why were she and John not together now? They should be supporting each other. He should be cracking bad baseball jokes – yet again – to cheer her up, and she would valiantly do her best not to clench her fists to show her fear.

Wallowing in pity was not Marlena’s style. She swore it would not be, even now. But as the weeks had inched by, she could not help it. Her mind would dwell on her family and what Sami, Eric, Carrie, Belle, and Brady were doing. Just like she did when the ISA kidnapped her, she fantasized about what they were doing, being reunited with them and life five years from now.

With a small sob, she wondered if the family had mourned her and John? Did they think they were dead or worse had deserted them? Her head ached wearily as it always did when she got in a rut and dwelled on this.

“Why is Marley crying brother?” asked a tiny voice. Startled, Marlena looked up to see peering in the doorway the tiny figure of Grace, her younger sister. Guiltily, she wiped away the tears from her dry cheeks while wishing for some Neutrogena. “Honey, tis not tears. The bright snow blinded me, that was all,” she said, forcing as much gaiety into her voice as possible.

The blue-eyed cherub scampered to Marlena’s lap, cuddling up against her. “No more cry,” she said.

“Okay. No more cry,” Marlena said softly, stroking Grace’s soft blonde hair that was so like Belle’s.

A bright-eyed boy wandered into the bare room. Eleven-year-old Henry Howard was the duke’s eldest son and was already the Earl of Surrey. A title that meant little to him and everything to his father. Surrey was a mischievous boy who would rather play outside in the snow than study Latin. “Marley, where’s Rosie? I want to play with her,” he announced boisterously.

“Rosie is resting hon. She is not a horse to be ridden, despite what you thought yesterday. We must leave her be,” she replied with a bemused wink to Grace.

A elegant voice called from the great hall. “Henry, Grace. Come now. You must finish up your lessons and prepare for dinner.”

“Go now,” Marley whispered. “Thou must obey mother.”

Mother. She called Elizabeth Stafford Howard mother. However, she was not her mother anymore than she was Marley Howard’s mother. Her ash hair was streaked with gray, but Elizabeth Stafford Howard, the Duchess of Norfolk, was still a beauty. She retained her regal aura at all times, as befitted a daughter of one of England’s most royal and established families.

Thinking about her stepmother automatically caused Marlena to remember the conversation she had overheard just before her father hauled her away from court.

The conversation between the Duke of Norfolk and Cardinal Wolsey had unnerved her. She still had not come to terms with it. She, rather, Marley, was the granddaughter of a king. A mighty warrior king from what Grace and little Surrey had told her.

She wanted to escape from it all, dash into John’s arms. Why couldn’t they run away together? She did not even get the chance to say goodbye to him. She had been looking for him in almost a panic.

She sought to warn him that the cardinal’s spies had alerted her father to their afternoon by the strawberry fields and that her days at court were ended. Those evil-grinning spies had ridden up and pulled John away before their passion had carried them too far. Then, they had obviously tattled to her father.

Once she returned to Greenwich Castle with Henry and Anne, the duke’s rage had left her shaken. She was suppose to have been packing, but anxiously searched the castle. She had hoped to tell John the truth, make him believe he was John Black, Salem hero, and not some Tudor priest!

Instead, she had stumbled onto a conversation that seemed difficult to believe even now. Luckily, she overheard the voices and pressed herself against a stone wall before the duke and Wolsey had seen her. That they were even together surprised her, since Anne swore they were bitter enemies. She wished she had paid more attention in history class. Her eyes had glazed over in history class when Mrs. Johnson had talked about the Lancasters and the Yorks. To her, the War of the Roses was a movie starring Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas. That certainly wasn’t the case in England in 1526. Marley’s young brother, Surrey, had looked at her incredulously when she asked him about the war between the House of Lancaster and the House of York. The young lad mistakenly thought, to her relief, that Marley was quizzing him to see if he remembered his studies.

He dutifully explained how Edward III had died in 1377, leaving the throne to his young, unfit grandson. Then, Surrey rattled off how the country had been torn apart for more than a 100 years with fighting among Edward III’s descendants for the throne. The details of the civil war in England escaped Marlena. It confused her. All she could remember was it ended when Henry VIII’s father seized the throne, even though she gathered he had questionable claim on it. Which is where she came in. Or, Marley Howard that is.

Sighing, she wished she did not have to know about it. Did not have to care about some long ago civil war. But then her mind would come back to her eavesdropping.

Despite her best efforts not to recall it, the Duke of Norfolk’s and Wolsey’s voices continued to reverberate in her head.

“Tis not just the good Howard name that troubles thee Norfolk. Nay, thy ambitions have been stirred,” the crafty cardinal said in an odd tone.

Marlena could not see the duke’s reaction. Instead, she heard silence then the scrape of a chair’s legs as the duke apparently stood up.

“Thomas do not leave. Thou canst deny my words, but the joust was quite a fearful time. A reminder from God. What would happen to England if Henry died prematurely and a nine-year-old girl was declared queen. The people would not accept it,” Wolsey said calmly.

An agitated Norfolk interjected, “Halt. Tis treason. You will have us in the tower Wolsey.”

“Treason, aye, but such thoughts thou has had,” Wolsey replied in a harsh tone. “The joust and the sight of a still Henry on the ground awakened those thoughts.”

His voice more calm, Norfolk replied, “Tis my fear. I fear another civil war dividing brother and sister. England was torn apart before. I fear she cannot endure another dynastic battle.”

“Indeed Thomas. Indeed. If the country accepted Mary no more than they accepted Matilda who would that leave as the next sovereign?” Wolsey softly said. Though quiet, his voice had an ominous quality that Marlena could not help but detect.

His voice dropped so low that Marlena had to lean forward to hear, pressing herself into the clammy castle wall.

“Shall we review the options? Margaret is Henry’s oldest sister. But she is Queen of the Scots, and England would not accept a Scottish king. Mary Tudor, the King’s youngest sister, would be greatly troubled to build popular support wouldn’t she Norfolk?”

Marlena could not see the great cardinal, but could only imagine the gleam in his eye as he relished cornering the duke, his fat hands folded in front of him.

The duke’s leather boots clamped against the cobblestones as he paced the floor of the small chapel. His voice showed the cardinal had touched a nerve: he had such troubling thoughts.

“Tis Treason Wolsey this talk. Henry will have a son and there will be no more civil wars,” Norfolk said haltingly.

“I pray for that too, Norfolk. But we must be reasonable. Your father and his father greatly benefited from those civil wars,” Wolsey said, spacing his words evenly.

“And greatly lost when my father sided against our king’s father, the last monarch. We lost the duchy of Norfolk and all our land holdings. I lost my title as earl, a title my son claims now. God rest my father’s soul. He fought hard to rescuer those for his family. It took him years to win the king’s confidence back. As duke now, I must not chance losing it again,” Norfolk said in a rush.

As if he had never been interrupted, Wolsey continued in a smooth tone. “Henry VII was the Lancaster’s last male hope. The Tudor family’s reign dies if Henry VIII passes on without a male heir. And who would that leave? Unless the little princes in the tower suddenly appear as men, the Yorks have no male heirs. Or do they Norfolk?”

Princes in the tower? Marlena vaguely recalled some childhood readings on that. The Prince and the Pauper or something like that, she thought. Shaking her amber locks, she reminded herself to focus on the conversation at hand.

“Our King’s mother was the eldest daughter. Elizabeth of York. The throne could have been hers. Henry VII’s sagely married her, solidifying his nebulous claim to the throne. Who was the next daughter, Thomas? Anne. Your first wife.”

Even outside the room, Marlena could hear the hiss of Wolsey’s robes as he circled his prey.

“God rest her soul,” a mournful Norfolk said. “She was a princess. It was a good marriage for me. But it was not just a marriage of convenience. I loved her from the moment I saw her at her father’s funeral at St. George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle.”

“Aye. But she did not die childless. No, Anne and you had a daughter, Norfolk. Oh, you can pretend to all of court that Marley is Elizabeth Stafford’s child. But I know differently. People may not remember, but I do. The king does. You were 40 years old and married young Elizabeth Stafford not even two months after Anne died,” thecardinal smugly said.

Losing his temper, Norfolk shouted in a voice hoarse with emotion. “Tis not safe for Marley. People need not remember that a granddaughter of Edward IV still lives. That’s too close to the throne.”

“But Thomas,” Wolsey purred. “Marley, while, yes, a York princess, is just that. A princess. She is no prince. She would need a marriage to solidify her claim, just as Elizabeth of York did when she left political asylum to marry Henry VII, the last Lancaster male heir left after the wars had killed so many claimants and pretenders. Then who could Marley marry? There is the son of Katherine of York, the third daughter of Edward IV. Doth thou consider his claim stronger than Marley’s? Yes, he is the son of a younger daughter, but he is a son. Still, they are first cousins and the church would be troubled to grant a dispensation for such a marriage, particularly in light of our current king’s marital predicament. Norfolk, who does that leave?” Wolsey confidently said in a velvet tone edged in steel. “Ah, dear Norfolk thou did not have to look far to find the answer did thou? Thou wife, Elizabeth Stafford’s younger brother. Edward Stafford, duke of Buckingham. Would be a most brilliant of match. Their father was executed just four years ago. And for what Norfolk?”

Bristling hostility tightening his voice, Norfolk replied, “Treason. Stafford was arrogant. A lofty man, he presumed himself more entitled to the throne than Henry. He was a fool!”

“Surely thou remember Norfolk what he said? He proclaimed that he was a noble man who would be a good and just royal ruler. Without question, he had a strong claim. He was indeed a direct descendant of Thomas of Woodstock, the Duke of Gloucester, the youngest son of Edward III. Ah, wise Edward III. Twas his death in 1377 that plunged England into the madding war of roses between the houses of York and Lancaster. Indeed, the young Stafford is of royal blood and could make a strong claim to the throne if Henry were to die or were weakened politically by his failure to produce a male heir,” Wolsey said confidently.

“Enough! Cease such talk Wolsey. Tis too dangerous,” Norfolk urgently exclaimed.

But Wolsey continued over the duke’s protestations. “And Buckingham twas popular with the masses. A dignified man, he would have been accepted easily as king. He was reckless though. Tsk, tsk. Twas off with his head.”

“An execution you engineered!” Norfolk interjected.

“Ah, Norfolk, Buckingham’s young son, Edward, would too no doubt have just as much of a claim to the throne as his father. You know that do you not Thomas? You mulled over what would happen if Henry dies. The answer came to you so clear did it not? Doubling up the claims to make one good one, why Norfolk that would be a stroke of brilliance. A most excellent maneuver chap! You intend to marry Lady Marley to the young Duke of Buckingham and put your daughter on the throne. They will be your young puppets as you will be the master behind the throne.”

Marlena quickly put her hand to her mouth to cover the gasp that threatened to escape. Her eyes widened as her ears strained to hear the rest.

“Madness Wolsey. Tis madness you are talking,” Norfolk, his voice rising an octave, an unspoken acknowledgment coloring his words.

“We both know tis madness. Tis treason. Tis the truth, is it not Thomas?” the crafty cardinal said. Wolsey lowered his voice so that Marley feared she would not hear his next words.

“Tis my fear too Thomas. That our king will die young and without a son. I doth not wish that for the country. Or worse yet an uprising from his great plans for a divorce from Catherine to marry your niece, that concubine Anne Boleyn, will force him from the throne. Henry is a most excellent ruler. He is good for England. But if the unfortunate is God’s will, we must be prepared. You will need help. You will need to keep a suspicious king’s mind occupied and away from realizing your plans. When young Stafford and Marley marry, the king will immediately leap to the right and proper conclusion. Threatened, he could throw them in the Tower. Unless, of course, he is otherwise occupied with matters of state or his great divorce from the Spanish queen. Still, recent events say those are not the only problems to your plan. You will need help in keeping John Black away from your daughter. She is in love with him Norfolk. You know that don’t you? I can help you make all your dreams come true. I can keep the young lovers apart. Or I can urge them on, spoiling your plans. One brief whisper in the king’s ear could wreck your plans. Or I can keep Henry from realizing your treason until it’s too late. I can do all that. I can help you play kingmaker. Your daughter can be queen. But for a price, of course, my friend.”

Marlena nearly groaned out loud at this outlandish story she had found herself thrown into.

Anticipating Norfolk’s reply, she had concentrated on the voices coming from the room. As providence would have it, the queen and a bevy of ladies in waiting headed down the hallway at the same time. Their babbling voices had drowned out the duke’s reply. At the sound of the others, the two men had broken off their conversation. Marlena quickly melted into the crowd and successfully avoided detection.

And now months later, she still cursed the interruption. She wanted to know the duke’s reply. Did he agree to the unholy alliance or dismiss it out of hand? Was Wolsey right? Did the duke plan to put his daughter on the throne?

A grand trumpet heralded the arrival of someone important, and ended her internal debate. She halfheartedly wished the king would make an unexpected stop. She knew the ensuing chaos in the household would at least drive away her doldrums. Henry was nothing if not an entertaining albeit complex puzzle. Then, she resignedly thought her father must be returning home for an unannounced visit. It was near Christmas after all.

Minutes passed. She heard murmurs from Elizabeth and a husky voice that belonged to a man other than her father or the king. Still, she was caught off guard to look up from her chair by the window to see a steward attired in the king’s royal colors and badge standing just feet away. A flustered Elizabeth floated nearby, her eyes darting from Marlena to the parchment in the man’s hands.

“M’lady. The king dispatched me this morrow to bring this message to you. To prove tis not a false report, he ordered me to show you and Duchess Norfolk this ring,” he said with a flourish.

The man held out his hand. In the middle of his palm, a red ruby winked at Marlena. The gold letters “HR” were stamped on the sides, glistening in the fading afternoon light.

Elizabeth honed in for the letter, but at the last possible moment the steward pulled it out of her reach. “I fear Duchess that my orders are to deliver this letter personally to Lady Marley and allow her to read it privately.”

With a bow, he handed the paper to Marley, who took it with trembling fingers. He knelt at her feet for a moment before rising up and almost forcefully carrying away a protesting duchess.

She wanted to rip into the papers. They were folded over, wax with the king’s symbol shutting it away from prying eyes. Carefully but as fast she could, she broke the seal. The florid prose in black ink was difficult to read, especially trying to decipher words that were spelled nothing like the modern English version.

Lady Marley, these shall be to advertise you of the great loneliness that the court has had since your departing. Good, honest people doth be a scarce commodity. We admire your pluck. Your lovely voice are sorely needed. Tis regrettable that a pleasant afternoon twas so marred. Young Black returned a fortnight ago to court after completing his studies at Cambridge. The Pope has sent notice he shall confirm in our appointment of Black to Bishop of Lincoln. Tis a most stupendous honor. A marvelous priest, God obviously has set great store by him. We concur in that. Greater rewards could come his way, even more than the Catholic Church shall bear for him. Yet the priest seems heavy hearted. He pines for his friend, Lady Howard. He startles as if on fire when thy name is mentioned in conversation. Mine own sweetheart Anne doth not laugh the same. She misses thee. We doth too miss thy companionship. Thy time tis spent in vain at Framlingham. Tis Christmas. Thou doth not need to miss the joy of court during this most wonderful of times. We have a most special masque planned for Twelfth Night. Your king has spoken to your father yester morrow to appraise him of the royal command. Your king commands thee Lady Marley to return to court at once. A kiss will be expected as the reward. God speed and safe journey Lady Marley. Written in the hand of the man who is your king, Henry Rex.

Stunned, Marlena could only form her mouth in the circle of an “O.” Her heart raced at the thought of seeing John again. That he had missed her! And, he was a bishop! Her John, a bishop? Hysterical laugher wanted to pour out of her at such a thought. In her excitement, she dropped the papers, which fluttered to the floor. Only then did she notice the second sheet contained a different handwriting. One that looked vaguely familiar….

John’s!

She scrambled to pick it up, her eyes scanning it quickly. Marlena burst into a fit of nervous giggles. She could not read it! The king’s penmanship had been challenging. But this was a disaster! It was obvious the note had been written hastily and by someone who would make Dan Quayle and George Washington look like champion spellers. Foreboding rising like bile in her throat, she struggled to read it, fearing the worse. After re-reading it nearly a dozen times, she thought she had deciphered the words.

Dearest Marley. Our Grace kindly hath granted me a special request to enclose this message. He hath promised that your eyes only shall read this. My conscience hath been greatly troubled that you have suffered for my wayward behavior. I pray to God for the strength to keep my heart pure and tame my passion for you. I mean you no harm. I love you Marley. I cannot deny that. A moth to a flame. Yet I know a person of such low birth dare not dream of a life with a duke’s daughter no matter how much I long for that.

I could not offer a meaningful life to you who deserves so much. I could not ask you to sacrifice so much for so little in return. I may very well always love. I am sure you will love other men, but I dare selfishly hope I shall hold a special place in your heart. Tis something special we shared. I will redouble my efforts to keep my vows, to be a good holy man, and messenger for God. My life and destiny is with the church. Your life is with someone of equal rank. His Grace is commanding your return. I pray we shall be friends. I take great joy from your company. I pray that I can enjoy that without longing for you. I must be a good man to God. I must deserve the honor he has bestowed upon me. He has chosen me to do this work. Unfortunately, he did not chose you for me. I wish you only the best and again humbly plead for your forgiveness for the heartache and embarrassment I have rained down upon you. You did not deserve such. Twas my fault for allowing my feelings to overcome. Thou areth a beautiful woman with beautiful kisses. Some knave shall be very fortunate to win your hand. Humbly yours, JB.

Thrown for a loop, Marlena did not know what to make of the latest turn of events. Thunderstruck, she could only stare at the words dancing before her tear-filled eyes.

A discreet cough from the steward caught her attention.

“Lady Marley, forgive my intrusion. His Majesty has ordered your return at once. The duchess has taken the liberty of packing your things. If we are to arrive back at court before dark, we must leave at once. The afternoon light tis getting short. A storm is coming. T’would be a misfortune to wait until tomorrow morn. We must leave at once.”

Barely noticing her shaking legs, Marlena quickly crossed the room to stand beside the messenger. “Thank you sir. Let us leave at once. I just need to secure my dog Rosie, the most kind, loyal companion a maid shall ever have. Then I shall be ready to leave post haste.”

After stopping to hug tightly her siblings and nod at her stepmother who clucked her disapproval, Marlena headed outside in the crisp winter where a mare was already saddled for her. She settled Rosie on the saddle with her then she and the steward embarked on their reckless journey.

They had been riding for almost two hours before dark began creeping up on them. So excited about returning to court and leaving the dank castle, Marlena did not notice the gathering storm clouds or the howl of the north wind. The steward, however, did and urged his stallion to pick up his pace and whistled to the mare likewise. Before long, Marlena began to notice the snow was whipping into her face, blinding her and covering her mouth and nose. She wiped the white powder away with a gloved hand. She noticed her fingers were stiff and hurt. She then touched her face again, realizing it was numb.

“Can we make it?” she shouted to the messenger.

“Tis not much further to Windsor Castle where the king is. If we hurry, we can make it.” But the psychiatrist in Marlena sensed his disquiet. She was startled to realize winter storm clouds obscured the stars, the only sound the crunching from the horses hooves on the icy snow. But the thought of seeing John that night kept her warm.

An oddly primitive warning sounded in her brain just before the crack of a large ice-covered branch fell just behind them. In a flash, she turned around to look up at a oak tree covered in icicles. The tree swayed slighly before before tumbling to the ground with a loud crash, spooking the mare.

Marlena barely had time to let loose with a scream of alarm when the mare bolted. She raced across the snow, sliding at times. Rosie’s cries and barks only increased the mare’s terror. She cantered on until she was miles from the messenger, who had bravely tried to catch up.

Petrified at the insane ride and trying vainly to slow the mare down, Marlena did not see the low hanging tree until it was too late. The branches slapped her face. She barely had time to register the stinging to her right check before she felt herself tumbling to the ground. Rosie yelped in terror. The last thing Marlena heard was the sickening crack as her head slammed into a rock protruding from the snow. A frightened Rosie crouched over her mistress’ body, licking her face hoping to get her to rise and play. Rosie’s paws turned crimson red from the puddle staining the otherwise pristine snow.

Windsor Castle

A blizzard raged outside, but inside the palace’s ancient walls few paid it much mind. Fires crackled, wine was passed freely and much merriment was had by almost everyone at court. John, however, could not join in. He could not shake the feeling that something terrible had occurred. It was a feeling he had felt just once before: the night of his mother’s death.

A blast of cold air swirled through the grand hall as a disheveled man stumbled through the door. Irritated, Henry ordered the musicians to stop the volta and the dancers to halt their steps. Then, he recognized the visage as belonging to the messenger he sent to Framlingham that morning.

“Pray young man. Where is Mistress Howard? Did thou fail to meet the King’s order,” Henry said in a voice laced with displeasure.

The steward fell to his knees before Henry. His head bowed, he whispered, “Tis true Sire. I failed. A storm blew up sooner than we thought would. The mare, Mon Dieu I doth not believe this is happening.”

“What! Tell us,” Henry replied sharply.

The servant struggled to get out the words. “Your Majesty. The mare spooked from the storm, the thunder. She got away. I tried for hours sire. I cannot find Lady Howard. Thou can take my life. But I had to return without her. Tis cold Your Grace. She cannot survive out there long. We must organize a search party.”

At the steward’s words, John felt as though a bayonet had been plunged into his heart. He could not catch his breath. In shock, his brain went numb. He could not comprehend that Marlena was missing in this horrible blizzard. He immediately fell to his knees in prayer, pleading that God not punish Marley for the letter he dared write.

Norfolk pushed his way through the gasping throng.

“My Lord! My daughter is lost? How could thou let this happen,” he cried as he raised his sword to smote the steward.

Henry quickly moved his arm to disarm the duke. “Thomas, tis not necessary. That will not accomplish anything or bring Marley to Windsor.”

He carefully weighed his next words before saying them, knowing they would upset the duke and Anne. “I fear the storm is too great. We cannot risk more lives. We shall pray to God that she finds shelter and can be found tomorrow. In the mean time, let us go to the chapel royal and pray for her safety. We shall say a brief prayer then retire so we can depart early tomorrow to search for Lady Howard at daybreak.”

John shuffled behind the crowd. Once they disappeared into the chapel royal, he raced toward his room. He needed to change quickly into warm, thick woolens and find some for Marley. He did not want to disobey Henry, but he could not leave Marley out there alone in the blizzard all night. He knew he had to find her, even if it meant defying the king. He pondered his next course of action as he changed his clothes and gathered the items he would need. He then sank to his knees to plead desperately that God would prepare him for his journey and help him find Marley alive before it was too late.

An hour later

The castle was dark with most of its occupants slumbering as the king had commanded. A few candles flickering on the walls lit the way for the stealth-like figure moving swiftly through the corridors. With a deep breath and a final prayer, John moved passed the palace guards into the king’s ante-room where he was surprised to find Henry awake reading state papers. Troubled by the thought of the fate of Marley, Henry had been unable to sleep. After praying privately for her safe return, he had begun reading the dispatches Wolsey had compiled on the great scholars of Europe and their thinking on whether he had grounds to legally divorce Catherine.

“Yes, Bishop Black?” he said evenly while surveying the priest.

“My Lord, I hesitated to disturb your rest, but this is a matter that I could not in good conscience wait until morrow. I pray your indulgence and understanding. She’s very special my Lord. Very precious to me. I would be shattered without her. She saved your life. Please allow me to save hers. I believe I can, but I must act swiftly Your Grace.”

After listening to John’s heartfelt request, Henry snapped his fingers. Henry Norris, the groom of the Stole, quickly materialized. Curtly nodding to both men, Henry rapidly said in a staccato voice, “Awaken the master of horses. Take the bishop to the royal stables. Grant him any royal steed he desires and make certain he is fully supplied for his journey. Make good time Norris. Vite!”

After a quick bow, Norris scurried toward the master of horses’ bedchamber. A knot in his stomach, Henry tiredly closed his eyes before locking his gaze into John’s determined eyes that burned brightly. “God speed Black. I blame myself for ordering her return now instead of waiting for the storm to pass. Twas selfish, but we were assured that they could return in time. I pray you find her and bring her back safely. The court truly misses Lady Howard’s laughter and high spirits.”

“Thank you Your Grace. Your kindness is much appreciated. I shall bring her back safely, God willing. And I pray he is merciful,” John said in a low and impassioned voice.

In the Norfolk countryside

His heart thudding in his mouth, John squinted across the white horizon. He had long lost the feeling in his face. The blizzard had turned the road to Norfolk into an icy bog. He could not even be certain he was on the road. But he knew he had to press on. He knew that life was not worth living without Marlena and that she could not survive the night if he did not find her. He was so confused by the jumble of feelings. He felt a combination of guilt, desperation and overwhelming love. He kept seeing her broad smile, smelling her perfume. Even though he could not see through the blinding snow, he pushed the thoroughbred to slowly continue on. He tried to swallow the lump his throat, but it would not budge. At the top of a ridge, the horse unexpectedly balked. Caught off guard, John pitched forward, fast first into the snow. He felt himself rolling over and over as he slid down the snow-encrusted hill. He screamed out loud, “Noooooo. God Noooooo. Marley!” Just as he came to rest at the edge of an embankment, he slid forward into a yawning hole. Before losing consciousness, he realized he was hearing the agitated barks of a dog.

Rosie’s yelping broke the heavy air hanging over the still night. The blizzard finally stopped dumping snow from the overcast skies. Rosie paced around the body crumbled on the ground. She muzzled Marley’s face, using her own tongue to lick away the snow. With a moan, Rosie settled against Marley’s body, which involuntarily moved toward the warmth.

Marlena did not know how long she had been unconscious. Her head felt as though someone had split it open with an ax handle. She was vaguely aware of a whining Rosie curled against her before losing consciousness again.

The next time Marlena woke up, she realized if she did not do something she was going to freeze to death from her cocoon of snow. With a muffled groan, she tried to sit up and use stiff and numb fingers to brush away the snow from her tired, aching body. Nauseated, she couldn’t and fell back with a cry of agony as pain shot through her head and body. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus on something other than the white ground.

Suddenly, she noticed a bright yellow light coming towards her. It grew brighter. She first thought she was back in the pit and she had just dreamed she was in Tudor England. But in recognizing the golden coat of Rosie and feeling the cold snow against her body, she knew she was not in the pit. And yet, the light was eerily reminiscent of the one she saw in the pit.

Blinded by it, she did not see the figure hovering over her. She did hear Rosie’s furious barks. Then she heard a voice she knew better than her own.

“Marnie. Wake up. I’m here.”

Her own voice steadier than she could ever imagine when asking such a preposterous question: “Sam, is that you?”

“Yes, Marnie darling. It’s me. It’s Sam. I’ve come to talk to you. To warn you.”

Winter 1526

The Norfolk countryside in southeast England

John blinked rapidly as he struggled to regain his bearings. He was lying face down, and was quite exhausted. He knew his body had taken a pummeling, and he just wanted to drift off into a deep slumber. The heavy snow blanketed his head, which throbbed in pain. He didn’t know how long he was unconscious, but instinctively knew only a few minutes had passed. However, it had been long enough that he couldn’t feel his toes or his fingers, which frightened him.

Where was he?

As he pushed his way out of the snow, he shook his matted dark locks and wiped the freezing liquid from his numb face. He winced as his face burned to the touch. Pink liquid streaked his fingers as blood from a gash above his left eye mingled with the snow. Then, it rushed back to him: Why he was out in the frigid air on a potentially suicidal mission.

“Marley!” he yelled out into the dark night. The twinkling stars that studded the ebony sky mocked him. “Marley!”

Silence gripped the night.

“Make haste John. Thou must find her,” he said as he ground his teeth, mentally steeling himself to ignore his aching bones and bruised face smeared with his blood.

“Before it’s too late,” he whispered to himself.

If possible, his heart ached more than his skull. He tried to tell himself that she was just another lost soul who he was concerned about. But he knew she meant far more than that to him. He loved her. Too much actually, he thought with a slight shake of his head.

Sharp pains shot through his elbows as he pushed himself up from the ground. His clothes were soaked and he shivered uncontrollably. He stood on shaking knees, scouring the horizon for signs of his stallion. Making the sign of the cross, he pleaded with God to help him find her. Alive. After gathering up his supplies scattered across the frozen ground, he began to trudge through the snow, cursing the horse under his breath for abandoning him. He didn’t know where he was going. He trusted God to help him find her. He had to trust God. He had no other alternative, but to cling to his faith.

With every agonizing step, he screamed her name in puffs of frozen condensation until his voice was hoarse. He knew with each passing moment that her chances of survival grew fainter. Yet, he shuffled on through the snow that reached to his calves. Then he spied a flickering light illuminating the white landscape.

Perhaps he wanted so desperately to find her that it was a trick of his mind. Maybe it was just a farmhouse in the Norfolk countryside. Yet, his heart was about to explode in his tight chest. Squinting, he peered at the golden light.

“Marley Howard! Can you hear me is that you? Answer me Marley! Where are you? I need you Marley!! Oh bloody hell, Marley where are you?” he cried out despite his raw throat. Finally, a response came. An unexpected one.

John could clearly hear the excited growls of a frightened dog. A dog? He whistled. This produced even with more barking soaring through the calm heavy air. Like a bolt of lightning, it came to him.

ROSIE!

The yelping sounded as if it came from Marley’s dearly beloved pup. It had to be. Just had to be. He estimated the barks were about a half mile to a mile away. As crazy as it sounded, he knew that dog’s bark.

“Rosie stay there! Protect Marley. I am coming Rosie!” he exclaimed, his voice booming from the depths of his soul. He refused to entertain the notion that it was too late. He was frightened that only the dog’s voice returned his cries, but couldn’t think about it.

As fast as he could manage, he fought his way through the snow toward the light. He stumbled several times, nearly passing out from the pain reverberating through his body. But nothing would stand in his way. He had only one goal: saving Marley. Defeat was out of the question.

————-

An agitated Rosie hopped around Marlena’s body, her paws red from the blood that had seeped from the back of Marlena’s head and marred the pristine snow. Wordless, Marlena stared at her sister’s hazy form suspended above her. Whimpering, Rosie nuzzled Marlena’s face with her cold nose, which was rewarded with a half-hearted pat.

“Shush Rosie,” she replied with a sharp edge in her voice. “Be quiet girl.”

The warm light that kept coming closer and closer terrified Rosie. Barks poured from her furred body as she stared at the hovering apparition.

“Shh little doggie. Do not be afraid. I have come to help her. Marnie. It’s me, Sam. I am here to warn you. To save you.”

Oddly enough, Marlena didn’t question her first instinct that her sister’s ghost was visiting her on the plains of the English countryside.

“Warn me? Sam, I already know I am in some twilight-zone nightmare. Did I die in Paris, and I have been stuck in Purgatory? Are you taking me back to my family? To my precious Belle and Sami and Eric. They need me Sam, I need them. Why is this happening to me, why won’t this nightmare end?,” Marlena sobbed hysterically.

The golden figure stopped in front of her twin. Sam encircled Marlena in a tight hug, her warmth radiating out to bring Marlena’s frozen body temperature up. With shimmery fingers, she dabbed at her twin’s tears.

“I know. I know. Don’t cry Marnie. You know I can’t stand it when you cry. Tis frightening I am sure. But you are being so strong. You are strong Marlena. I have to keep frost bite from setting in until John gets here.”

“John? Where is he,” she exclaimed, whirling around to scan the darkness.

“Marlena! Get a hold of yourself!” Sam snapped impatiently. Dropping her voice, she said, “Marnie, hon, you are here for a reason, a purpose. You must believe me. Yours and John’s lives have become so complicated. If fate had not interceded during your mad dash through the Paris tunnels, you would have been doomed to make many mistakes that would take years to correct. You two were heading down a foolish path where Kristen and Stefano and your grown children would have manipulated and controlled your lives. Fate stepped in to change your destiny. And that of another couple in another time.”

Gap-mouthed, Marlena struggled to find the words to respond, but couldn’t. She knew in her heart that Sam was right. She herself didn’t understand how she had let Kristen control her actions. Why didn’t she tell John the truth about the letter before that ill-fated trip with Rachel. When she had the chance, why didn’t she tell him how much she loved him and she knew he loved her. And why didn’t he tell her himself in Aremid? Why had she put Kristen’s baby before her own daughter?

In a calm voice as if instructing a wayward toddler, Sam continued, “You two love each other. Without question, with your entire soul. But over and over, you let guilt, commitments to others and poor communications stand in the way of yours and Brady and Belle’s happiness You belong with John, Marnie. Not Kristen. And Roman forgives you Marlena. You now must forgive yourself and admit you love John more than any other. His love is consuming is it not Marnie dear?”

Marlena nodded her head wordlessly, still trying to absorb the bizarre scene.

“I won’t scare you by telling you the horrible things that would have happened over the next few years and how it would take three long years for you and John to become man and wife. The important thing is you have been given a chance to correct that, to fix that,” Sam said urgently.

This was too surreal for Marlena. Pain shot through her head in blinding streaks. She couldn’t quite grasp the words she was hearing. Bile rose in her throat, and she struggled to swallow it. She kept petting Rosie whose hair stood on end, guttural sounds emanating from her throat. Marlena told herself to breathe deeply, that Sam wasn’t really there. She was just hallucinating as a result of an obvious concussion. Maybe now she would finally wake up in her bed in Salem and Stefano in Paris and Henry VIII would be distant nightmares.

“Oh Marlena, this is no nightmare!” Sam exclaimed as she read her twin’s mind. “As impossible as it seems, this is no dream. You really are in England during the time of the Tudors and Henry VIII. And I have been sent to you. To explain why. And what you will need to do to get back to your family in Salem.”

“But why Sam? This makes no sense!” Marlena blurted out. “If I had to go back in time, why couldn’t it have been the Roaring Twenties or some time when they had electricity and hot water?! And it’s been months now. Does my family think John and I are dead?”

“Whoa, one question at a time. Yes, you are back in time. But it’s a parallel reality. They are occurring simultaneously. I know this will sound queer Marnie, but you have to believe me. What seems like months to you here is actually days to your family back in 1996. Well, make that ahead in 1996,” Sam said with a slight giggle that echoed off the snow. “Your family thinks you are lost in the tunnels as a result of an explosion. They still hope, they still believe you are alive. Each year here equals a day in 1996.”

Marlena rolled her hazel eyes and shook her blood- and snow-soaked hair. “Sam, this is impossible. This is insane! Oh, just get a grip Marlena! Buckle up girl. I am *not* talking to my sister’s ghost and I am *not* in 1526 England. This is not happening to me. This is part of some drug-induced nightmare that Stefano has thrown over me. He is trying to control my mind, break me down and wipe out my memories. He is doing to me what he did to John,” she said violently.

“Oh Marnie, what must I do to make you believe? You have to believe. This *is* real. Stefano has nothing to do with this. This is about you and John. It’s about righting old wrongs and creating an improved future,” an exasperated Sam said. “This is important. You need to understand.”

“Righting old wrongs? What in heaven’s name does that mean?” Marlena said, annoyance coloring her voice as she fought turning green from the nausea.

The ghostly figure pulled back as she cautiously considered her words. Sam ignored the lump in her throat.

“Marnie, sweetie. There was another John Black and his love, Marley Howard. Very similar to you and John. In fact, you could say they were reincarnated in a later life as fate hoped you and John would produce a different ending. This other couple loved each other madly and passionately, but family commitments and stubborn pride led to a tragic ending for them. He couldn’t put aside his commitment to the Catholic Church and blind desire to be a cardinal and pope. And, she was not strong enough. She didn’t go to John. She let him sacrifice their love. She helped him. And Marley let her father bully her into marriage to a man she didn’t love and would never love.”

“To the Duke of Buckingham?” Marlena questioned, her voice wavering in confusion.

Startled by the question, Sam could only nod her head. She knew not to say too much, but she also knew she had to convey the enormity of the situation.

“Yes. To the Duke of Buckingham. A marriage that only caused her heartache and loneliness. And, eventually her death,” Sam replied in a surprisingly sterile tone.

“Why did she marry him? She could have entered a nunnery. She could have made John realize that he loved her and was more devoted to her than he ever could be to the church,” a perplexed Marlena asked.

“Why did you let Kristen scheme and connive her way into an engagement with John? Why didn’t you tell him about the letter you read?” the angel calmly replied. “Why did you stay with Roman when in your heart you knew you loved John more. Why didn’t fight for your love and your family?”

“Marnie, the important thing is you know you are here to correct the mistakes of the past. And when you fix the tragedy of the medieval couple, you will set straight your own life. And your future with John. You are bound to repeat the mistakes of the past if you do not learn from them. I can’t tell you what to do. You must follow your heart and make things right.”

“What? I can’t go back to my own life until I make things right with this other couple? This makes no sense Sam! This is macabre!” Marlena yelled. “John is a priest! He doesn’t know me! He fights our love. Why doesn’t he know me? Why doesn’t he remember? Why do I and he doesn’t? There is no way this John will put aside his vows for our love.”

With a soothing tone to her voice, Sam answered, “John will remember. When it’s time. Your love can overcome anything. It can conquer the toughest challenges, if you trust and believe in your love.”

With a loud sob, Marlena said, “But Sam, I want to go home. I don’t want to be here. I don’t know about this time and its strange customs. It’s so foreign to me. And I see Anne and I know she is doomed. Off with her head! I see Henry, and just want to scream at him that you’re going to become a gross, obese tyrant with six, seven wives. And kill two or three of ’em! It’s hard Sam. It’s hard to live with. I don’t want to get up in the morning. I just want to curl up and die!”

“Marlena! Don’t say that! Everything will be ok, I promise. Yes, you must be careful. You are here to change your and John’s past and future. But you must guard against changing the future of other people. You can’t tell Anne and Henry their destiny. You must not. Their lives and others’ lives are not to be tampered with. As difficult as it is, you must exercise great care. You can’t change history. You must not. The consequences would be far too dire.”

Both heads swung around as they heard a distant but distinct cry.

“Marley! Where are you? Marley! Answer me! Here Rosie! Come on Rosie, let me hear you girl.”

Rosie had been curled at Marlena’s feet. But at the sound of John’s hoarse cry, she jumped up and barked a response.

The ghostly figure grew even more pale as she hurriedly said, “I must go Marlena. John is coming. But remember my words. You must believe in your love….”

“I love you Sam! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me here alone,” Marlena exclaimed in desperation. “I can’t stand this. I want to go home!”

With one last tight hug, Sam murmured, “I’m not leaving you alone Marnie. DJ and I will watch over you. We are always here darling. But you have John. Make the most of this special opportunity with John. Learn from it, have no regrets. No more guilt, kay? The guilt must end. Trust in your love. For each other. Then, and only then, can you go home to your family. That time will come, I promise you that. You will have a renewed life and return with a new understanding and wisdom. Use this time wisely to create a second chance. And never forget this: Yours is truly a love for all time.”

With a whoosh, Sam disappeared into the clouds. A frantic Marlena bawled as she had never before. It was too much to bear. Her head splitting in agony, she succumbed to the waves of nausea.

“Don’t leave me Sam. Come back. Save me from this never-ending nightmare. I need you,” a broken Marlena wept.

John thrashed through the snow toward the barking dog. As he rounded past a grove of trees, he drew up. His heart suddenly stopped as he saw the waif-like figure lying in the snow. Lying still. Eerily still.

“Oh my God. Marley!” he screamed. He plowed through the snow, tripping on a large rock protruding from the snow as he neared her. He couldn’t bear the thought of her frozen dead. He fell to his knees, recoiling as he saw she was covered in blood and vomit. He bent down to listen to her chest, which rose slightly. He struggled to remember the thing she called CPR she had used on Henry, but maddeningly he couldn’t. He pushed aside Rosie, who greeted him with salty frantic licks.

“Down girl. Come on Marley, easy, come on,” he said intensely. Her face burned to his touch. Hastily, he tore a strip of cloth from his cloak to wipe her face clean, uncovering angry red lines crossing her right cheek. John gingerly felt the egg-sized bump forming at the back of her head. He dabbed at the blood that still trickled from her wound. At this, she moaned.

“Oh thank you God. Thank you sweet Jesus. She’s breathing,” John chanted. Gathering her up in his aching arms, he lurched to his feet. Ignoring the leaden feeling in his legs, he pushed through the snow toward the cave he had seen when cutting through the forest. He prayed the Lord’s Prayer outloud and at least 20 Rosaries, holding onto his faith that God wouldn’t take this angel from him. A panting Rosie led the way, blazing a trail for the hapless couple.

John ducked into the cave, sighing in relief when he found no bats or wild animals inside. “Thank you God. Thank you for your wonderful blessings.” He gently sat his love against the wall, planting a soft kiss on top of her wet hair. “It’s tiny, Rosie, but it will have to do,” he said hoarsely to the dog who looked at him with eager expectant eyes. “Now do I make a fire first or get her out of those wet clothes?”

Suddenly, a feeling of deja vu lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. “What on earth,” he said audibly. “Why does this seem so familiar? How utterly fanciful.”

Sweeping aside the thought, he concentrated on the task at hand. His fingers were numb and didn’t want to cooperate. His throat was raw and he swayed on his battered legs. He ignored the blood that stained his palms. He rubbed them together as best he could, the calluses on his hands making rasping noises that caused Rosie to growl at the invisible enemy. He willed his burning fingers to search the saddlebag where Anne had packed thick woolens and a cream undershirt for Marley.

“Come on Doc. Wake up. Hang in there. We’re going to get through this together. I am not going to your funeral my friend. That would be too cruel. Do you hear me? Wake up! Fight girl fight. I need you to wake up for me,” he ordered.

He felt along her silky legs and arms for broken bones, and sighed in relief when he discovered none. Making the sign of the cross and asking for divine understanding at what a bishop blessed by God was about to do, John peeled the burgundy dress from her body. Once the soggy garment was off, with trembling fingers, he removed her ivory undergarment. His fingers slowly pulled it past her sensual ankles before tossing it aside. With a gulp, he admired her tantalizing curves. He couldn’t help but gawk at her body. Even though he was a priest, he was still a man. And this was the first nude woman he had ever seen. Something about this woman made him forget his priestly vows. He was a bishop chosen by God and the king, and yet she still drove him crazy. The intelligence that flowed from her bright eyes, her pouty lips that curved into the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. He remembered the night beside the Thames. The feel of her molten mouth, and how it made him throb with desire. The way her touches drove him into frenzy that still caused him to wake up in a cold sweat. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her satiny cool skin. Then, realizing her rosy nipples were covered in goosebumps, he forced himself to dismiss his carnal thoughts and use a blanket to dry off her body. He began to lightly towel her hair.

“Marley, this may hurt, but I have got to do this. I must get your warm,” he muttered, mentally berating himself for his lustful stupidity. “Think with your head Black.” He held her quaking body against his, sucking in his breath. She felt so wonderful in his arms. So right. He forgot about the Church when this near her. The fear of losing her crystallized his feelings. He had known he loved her. But in a rush, he realized he would always love her. More than anything or anyone. He wanted to hold her tight and never let her go. He kissed her lightly, savoring the honey-like taste. Involuntarily, his tongue slipped out to graze her swollen blue lips.

Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. She looked up at him, briefly focusing on his concerned face before her eyes rolled back in her head. Her head lolling and bobbing, he used his large hands to hold her steady. The wound must have reopened as he had removed her dress, because blood oozed onto his fingers. “Oh sweetheart, you’re bleeding again. I know you must be hurting, but it will be all right. I will never leave you. I pledge you that my love,” he murmured. He bent down to hear the words she mumbled.

“Roman. Save me Roman. Oh Roman, you’ve come to rescue me. Don’t ever leave me Roman. Don’t ever leave me again,” she groaned in a voice filled with despair.

His brow furrowed, John struggled to make sense of what she was saying. His heart galloped at the sound of a word that was so familiar and so foreign. Hot tears pricked at the back of his red-rimmed eyes. He was glad he was leaning against the wall, because his knees buckled and the blood drained from his head.

Roman?! Who was this Roman that Marley was calling for? It killed him to think of her calling for another man. Why wasn’t she calling for him? Did he not matter to her? He had risked his life to save her and realized the depth of his feelings, but she wanted another. It tore him apart. She had her heart in his hands. And his heart lies bleeding as his love cried out, “Roman!”

December 1526

A cave in the English countryside

The acrid smell of smoke seared John’s nostrils. Wood and glass rained down as inky black smoke billowed toward the heavens. The blast had knocked him to the ground, and he struggled to his feet.

Shivering, he stared in disbelief at the orange flames licking the star-studded sky. “Marlena!” he screamed as he surged in desperation toward the inferno. He had to save her from the conflagration. He couldn’t lose her again.

“Marlena! Can you hear me? Marlena!” The only reply was the fire’s malicious roar. “Oh God, don’t take her away from me. Please God. NO! Marlena!!”

With a fierce shudder, John jolted awake. Sweat poured from his glands. His heart cantered out of control. Low growls from Rosie bounced off the cave’s walls. With contemptuous suspicion, she eyed him. The yellow ball of fur glared her displeasure at her slumber being interrupted so rudely.

A dream. It was just a dream. Gulping air passed through his sore throat into his aching lungs, he studied the sleeping Marley. “But if twas a dream, why seemeth so real?” he murmured outloud.

He lowered himself back to the cold ground. With a rush, he remembered her hoarse cries for the mysterious Roman. The single word had ripped his heart to shreds. The name haunted him.

“She doth not call for you Father John. She needs you not,” he said in a broken whisper. Still, he needed her, his Marley, his love.

Hesitating for a moment then pushing aside his misgivings, John pulled himself close to Marley in an effort to keep her warm. He savored the blissful feeling of their bodies curled together. She shifted slightly, but did not wake up. Unbeknownst to him, she was reliving her own nightmare. She was on the doomed plane, seeing the pale face of her husband below. Frightened that she would never see her beloved or her children again, she could only plead for his help. “Roman!” she exclaimed in terror as she pressed her hands and face against the window, the torrents of rain blurring her view. The plane went into a death spiral bound for the raging ocean. The storm’s fury drowned out her futile shrieks. “Roman! Oh God, Roman!”

Her mumblings were barely discernable, but they blasted John’s eardrums. Considerable time would

pass before John could fall asleep again. The troubling images from his dream juxtaposed with

Marley’s cries for the unknown Roman kept replaying in his mind. He could not help but wonder if this other fellow were her lover. A cruel headache built behind his eyes and held a vise-like grip on his temples. He knew his head hurt physically due to the fall and the cold. Still, he also knew the mental agony only made it worse. His head could not possibly hurt as much as his heart did.

A cold lick to her injured right cheek forced Marlena’s eyes open. “Ouch,” she whimpered.

Rosie stood over her, flicking her tail through the frigid air. Her sparkling cocoa eyes clearly conveyed she was bidding her mistress to rise and play with her. Marlena bit her lower lip as she surveyed her surroundings, trying to ignore her slight queasiness and aching noggin. “Where am I?” With a start, she realized a man was snoring beside her. “John!” she exclaimed.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he drawled in a sleep-coated voice that caused her heart to skip a beat.

“Where, where are we?” she asked tentatively.

He rolled over, propping himself up on an arm as he eyed her seductively.

“Doth thou not remember last night? Thou were in the snow, a bloody mess. Both of our steeds deserted us. Found this cave and built a fire. We’re both lucky to be alive Lady Howard. You owe your life to Rosie,” he said.

“And you,” she sighed.

Silence settled in the dank cave as memories from the night before flooded both their minds.

Reflexively, she reached up to touch her head where she discovered the cloth that John had wrapped around her wound. She winced in reaction to the sharp pain her wayward fingers produced.

“Careful. Blood has seeped through, but dried. Thou doth not want to break open the scab. You need not reopen the wound and bleed again,” he noted quietly. “You doth not want a scar marring your lovely face.”

“Thank you John. Thank you for coming to save me and not leaving me alone,” she said appreciatively with love shining from her tawny eyes.

“Don’t you know I would pass through burning hoops of fire to save you? I would die for you,” he said zealously, almost violently.

He was rewarded with a brief smile that induced a foolish grin. Then, he remembered the word that had left his heart in bloody tatters.

“Who is Roman?” he asked with a cotton mouth. “And why would I call you Marlena?”

Startled by his unexpected questions, Marlena did not know how to respond. She was unprepared for his questions. Her eyes twitched then she furrowed her brow. He wished he could read her thoughts. She moved to roll away, but John reached out pulling her back so they were facing each other.

“Who is Roman?” he repeated even more tersely this time, a gleam of perspiration breaking out across his forehead. The only sound came from the fire’s dancing flames. Marlena’s mind raced through any and all possible explanations but the truth.

“Why do you ask?” she responded matter of factly, deciding that buying time with a question of her own would have to do. She shoved herself up to sit Indian style and grabbed a nearby stick, which she twirled aimlessly around her fingers.

As the seconds stretched out, she jabbed the fire with the branch. She hoped stirring the embers on the edge of the fire would gain her time, distract him from his question.

“Stop. You are going to ruin the fire,” he sharply said.

“How do you ruin a fire?” she quizzed him, hoping for the right answer.

“By putting it out,” he asserted authoritatively.

So stunned that his subconscious obviously remembered, she dropped the stick into the fire.

Not realizing she was incredulous from his words, he pressed on with the topic pestering him.

“This Roman. You cried out for him last night. Repeatedly. And what kind of name is that anyway?” he questioned her in a tight voice.

“He, he, well, he, he was a man I knew,” she said simply, her obvious distress peering through.

“Did you love him Marley?” John himself could not believe the jealousy that darkened his question.

With the faintest of smiles, Marlena replied with deceptive calm, “Yes. Yes John, I did.”

The words grabbed his heart and pounded it into the ground. If he thought his heart was aching before, she had shredded it and left it bleeding to death without hope of salvation. Then, he seized on her answer.

“You sayeth you did. Doth you love him now?” he said forcefully.

“No. I love you John. Only you,” she whispered. She wrapped her trembling fingers around his strong hand. “I love you my darling.”

It was his turn to fight to find the right words. “Marley, I’ve got a special feeling for you. I know, uh, I know I care about you. But it doth not change anything does it Marley? I am a priest. I am committed to God. A woman like you should be cherished. Cherished, uh, should be cared for,” he said in a thick and unsteady voice. He did not remove his hand from hers, instead reaching up with his free hand to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

She repeated his words in her mind. “A woman like you should be cherished.” The phrase sounded hauntingly familiar.

“West Virginia!” she gasped out loud. He *was* remembering. It wasn’t her imagination or wishful thinking on her part. She clapped her hands together. It took all of her might to rein in her emotions and not shout with joy.

“West Who?” he said with an arched eyebrow. Her earlier answer did not entirely placate him. He still had a nagging feeling about this “Roman” that he could not shake. But his heart rate had returned to normal.

Marlena’s had not. She remembered seeing Sam and hearing her words. She could not stand the uncertainty. “Let’s right those old wrongs right here and now in this cave and get me back to my family

and 1996 already!” she screamed internally. Her head felt as if it were being bludgeoned and waves of nausea swept over her. But she would not let caution stop her. She was tired of playing it safe. She had played it safe for too long now. Far too long.

She held her breath for a moment, then forged ahead. “So what if you are a priest John! You’re a man too. Why did you have to be a Catholic priest?! Why can’t you be a Protestant priest?” she cried. “Protestant priests marry. Why can’t you? You could still be a man of God and be with me. We can be together

John! We love each other. We should be together and not destined to live without love, without each other!”

Flabbergasted, John could only stare gaped-mouth at her heresy and make the sign of the cross. “Lady Howard! Tis sacrilege. Thou must not utter such heretical thoughts. There is only one true religion. The Reformation will fail. God has commanded that his chosen ones must not marry. I cannot believe the audacity of your unclean thoughts,” he said in a harsh, raw voice.

“Tis not unclean! Catholicism is no more different and no more special than Protestantism. And at least Protestant priests can marry!” she pouted, almost in tears. “We can be together John! Our love can overcome anything! If we just let it.”

She trailed off, almost astonished by her own words.

Tired of the bickering, Rosie barked to get their attention. She nudged John in frustration then pranced to the front of the cave, wagging her tail in anticipation. John gratefully took the opportunity she offered to flee the tension and the unsettling feelings that her words invoked.

“The wee Rosie wants to venture outdoors. Thou can rummage through the saddlebags and find food for

breakfast. I will take her outside and see if there are any houses near here or search parties looking for us. We will make it back to court safely, somehow, m’lady,” he said with nary a hint of emotion. An exasperated Marlena could only nod an acknowledgment.

“Oh John. You must remember and you must remember soon,” she whined as soon as he was out of earshot.

She exploded into torrents of tears that only served to exacerbate her excruciating headache. “God, why? Was that really my sister Sam I saw last night or a nonsensical hallucination induced by my concussion? It seemed so real. Her words seemed so real. God, did you send an angel to watch over me? Please. I want to go home! Help John believe in us, help him believe in our love. See his way clear. And soon God!”

Rosie bounded ahead in the snow drifts that came up to the top of her long legs. John thanked God that the wintry precipitation had stopped and the sky was clear. He knew that would help save them, bring the rescuers faster. Despite his best efforts to focus on getting back to court before they froze to death, John

could not entirely push aside the feelings stirred in his heart by Marley’s words. “Protestantism,” he mumbled. “A Protestant priest?”

A bluebird swooped overhead before perching in an ice-covered oak tree where it twittered noisily. John was oblivious to the chatter. The tumult of the last 12 hours was almost more than his brain could comprehend. So much had happened since word had come that Marley was missing in a blizzard. He was so happy to hold her again. Yet, a wind of change swirled around him. His soul instinctively whispered that his life would never be the same.

And, the frightening part was he realized he was not sure he wanted life to be the same. “Mon Dieu. Help me,” he prayed.

Her back was to him when he returned to the cave half an hour later. She crouched before the fire, her arms tightly wrapped around herself. His heart skipped a beat at her vulnerability. Happy but tired from her run, Rosie contently snuggled up next to her mistress.

Without looking at Marlena, John poked through the unopened saddlebag for bread, meat and drink. “You did not eat,” he said with a tone of reproach.

Sitting down beside Marlena, John offered her his flagon, which she politely declined. “Thou must drink to preserve your health,” he urged.

“But tis wine. With my concussion, I should not drink alcohol,” she explained.

“A what?” he questioned gently, worried by her wan expression.

“A concussion silly. I hit my head, probably on a rock. That is what caused my nausea and headaches and memory loss. A concussion is what happens when you receive a severe blow to the head,” she parroted.

“Thou doth make no sense. A what?”

“Oh never mind,” she said, irritation hardening her voice.

Bemused, he offered her bread, which she accepted with an almost-reluctant nod of gratitude.

“Indeed, Lady Marley, how does a lady of the court, of privilege and wealth, have such knowledge of medicine that you possess dear lady? I must admit that intrigues me.”

“I, uh, I studied it. I read my father’s books,” she stuttered. “I find court life stifling. I wish I were a man and could be and do whatever I want. I wish I were the boy my father so desperately wanted for he and my mother to have.”

Even though it was not the way Marlena felt, she was startled by how easily and passionately the words rolled off her tongue. She wondered if the real Marley Howard felt so restricted. She felt an odd feeling overcome her as the words tumbled out.

“Elizabeth is not my mother. My mother was Princess Anne Plantagenet. She died when I was very young. She was King Edward’s daughter. My father longed for a prince. He felt he could put a grandson of the former king on the throne. They had a son, Thomas, but to their great sorrow he died young. That left me. A living child, but a useless daughter. Then my mother died before she could produce another Yorkist heir. My father can never look at me without showing his grave disappointment,” she spat out bitterly.

Sorrowfully, he ran a finger across her lips.

“Hush dear lady. I do not want to see your hurt. You are not useless Marley. Doth not ever think that. Tis hard when we lose our mothers young.”

His sympathetic and understanding comment caught her attention. She lifted her head and considered him with tear-filled eyes. “Tell me about your mother John. You have never mentioned your mother or your father for that matter.”

It was his turn to look away as bittersweet memories overwhelmed him.

“Rachael Black was the dearest, sweetest, kindest woman. She nurtured me and pushed me. She offered such guidance. She was so smart and so wise. Her laughter filled an entire room and her smile was brighter than the Star of Bethleham,” he said with great pride.

“Tis because of her I became a priest. We were poor. And impoverished people don’t have much of a life

except as servants. I would have been doomed to a menial, boring life of peasant-farm work. My mother did not want that for me, she wanted betterfor me. She knew that would be my life unless I entered the priesthood. If you are not born to privilege and wealth, as you were Marley, priesthood isthe only chance in which peasants may better themselves and escape from feudalism’s fields. I needed a benefactor. Mine was

Wolsey. He owed her. She said without her that his ambitions would have come crashing down. He would not have become a cardinal. She knew his faults, but she also knew his tutelage was better than the life I would have had. I believed she wouldn’t lead me astray. On her deathbed, my sweet mother asked Wolsey to take me into his household. She obtained his pledge to see that I was elevated and given the opportunities that the Church affords. I owe everything to the dear lady,” John said in a quivering tear-smothered voice.

“How did she know the great cardinal? Why would he honor a poor woman’s request? Why did he owe her? He does not strike me as a compassionate and beloved servant of God,” Marlena probed.

John paused to consider his reply carefully. It was not a subject he was comfortable discussing. Indeed, so seldom did he discuss that he could not remember the last time he had. Then again, everything was always different with Marley Howard so that he was discussing such a private matter with her was no longer a surprise.

“I am a bastard. Go ahead. Look on me with abject horror. While I do not know who my father is, I know he was a powerful man that Wolsey owed a debt to. A moral debt? A debt of money? I doth not know. I do not care to know. I accepted the favor. I just knew through me and by taking me into his household, he was fulfilling that debt. Or more likely that guilt,” he grudgingly said, anguish lacing his voice.

“Guilt?” she inquired. “Is Wolsey your father?”

That prompted a short brusque chuckle from John. He weighed his thoughts carefully before responding.

“Oh, I sincerely doubt that. When he looks at me with guilt in his eyes, I do not think it is that kind of guilt. More likely he caused my father’s death in his quest for power and to be the real power behind the throne of England. Wolsey would cut down any man who would stand in his way. My mother never told me who my father was. And I never cared to know. I just know he was close to the previous King, and she promised that Wolsey and Henry would look after me,” he said in a low, now composed voice. “My father twas evil. I fear I will carry that evil and I did not want to know more.”

“Evil?” Marlena said in disbelief, her hazel eyes widening.

John uncomfortably looked away. His back was turned to her as he answered. “Doth thou not believe the sins of the father are visited on his children? We are our father’s children and inherit their sins. I fear my father was evil and I pray to God that I can overcome the evil inside of me. I want to be a good man and do God’s will. By being a priest and doing God’s bidding, I knoweth I shall overcome that evil inside of me. Otherwise, I am doomed.”

She reached up to touch his shoulder, her fingers splayed across the back of his brown cloak as if to reassure him. His words did not ring true. Something instinctively told her that John was not entirely forthcoming with her or was at least omitting a crucial piece of information. Still, she did not press the issue further. His contradictory words left her unsettled, bewildered. It was almost as though they inexplicably had pierced her soul.

Determined to change the subject, he finally asked the question that had been eating him alive for months now. “What about you and Buckingham? Everyone at court thinks your marriage will happen any day. When are you marrying him M’Lady? I hope you’re happy, and yet…Oh, it kills me to think of you with another man.”

His fervent words caused her head to snap up and her hand to drop down to her side. “Edward? I could not love, I could never love him. Never. My heart cannot lie. I cannot marry without love,” she said forcefully. “No matter what my father demands.”

The ominous tone in her voice surprised John. “Your father inspires strong feelings in you. Want to tell me about it?”

“Not especially. For similar reasons as you do not wish to discuss yours,” was her curt reply that clearly said she would brook no more inquiries on the subject.

“Marley, I do wish we could put who we are aside. I wish for one day I was not a priest and you were not a Howard heiress. I wish we were just two peasants in love with no obligations to anyone other than each other. But we aren’t. I do wish I could be just John Black for one day. I wish I weren’t Bishop Black and you were not intended to be the Duchess of Buckingham.”

There were those words again. She remembered him saying to her in West Virginia, “Couldn’t I just be John Black for one day?”

The injustice of it all overcame her. This marriage she did not want. This life she did not want. She bowed her head, but he could hear the muffled sob. He scrambled over to her, clutching onto her. Her golden tresses tickled his face. As he brushed her silky hair, he inhaled the smell of summertime roses.

This is wrong. He knew it was wrong, but he did not care. Her warm skin drew him closer. He leaned in and captured her mouth with a passionate engulfing kiss.

“Oh John,” she moaned. Rosie snoozed through their kisses. John thought he could break it off, hold back, until she touched him there. He was gone. He lost all hold on his priestly decorum. He could not hide his obvious arousal. “Oh God forgive me. Oh, how I love you Marlena,” he groaned seductively against her lips. Her reply was to kiss and stroke him harder. He lowered his head, yanking down the sleeve of her dress to bare her shoulder. The sight of her heaving chest made him long for her even more. He slathered kisses around her shoulder, nipping her skin lightly with his teeth. He tantalizingly worked his way up her neck, her groans fueling his passion. He cupped a hand into the front of her dress, massaging her satiny breast, her nipple marble hard against his sweaty fingers.

Her pulse jerked against his tongue as he ravished her neck then nibbled her earlobe. Completely forgetting who he was and where he was, he could onlythink about his desire for her. “Do you want me?” he breathed into her ear, causing more goosebumps to explode against his fingers.

“Oh yes, John. I want you. Now and always. Love me baby,” she throatily replied, her puffy lips quivering from his passionate kisses.

His cobalt eyes searched her smoldering amber ones. The naked desire in her eyes made him lose what little control he had left. He throbbed, no ached, as an overpowering need for her coursed through his body. His desire for her overrode anything else. He knew he had to have her, have her now, the Church and his vows be damned. He had swore he would not be like Wolsey. He would not have a mistress. He would be pure, give himself only to God and the church. That was before he knew Marley. Then his self-control, commitments to the church, his vows and his God were forgotten.

“I want you. I must have you my love. And have you I will!”

The fates were against him. Or maybe for him. Before he could act on his desire that had caused him to abandon all reason, they heard the stamping of hooves outside.

Still, neither was in a hurry to let go, to end their kisses. He longed to fulfill his declaration and could not

believe he would not. His body had not accepted the sounds his brain had registered. Then the familiar booming voice forced them both to scramble to their feet and smooth their rumpled clothes into place.

“Bishop Black! Lady Howard! By God’s will, make your presence known!”

“Yes, your Grace. We are here. Cold but safe,” John panted.

He furtively said to Marlena, “I told you we would make it back somehow. Be happy. If the wind of change comes down your way again, girl, and you need a rescuer, I’ll be here for you.”

“Thanks be unto God! Our prayers were answered! Very brave you are dear priest. Lady Howard is most fortunate to have such a hero,” a beaming Henry said as he barged in, the cave becoming more cramped by his resplendent presence.

“I am most fortunate Your Grace. Thanks be praised. If not for my love, my life would have ended bleeding to death while lying covered in snow. God has indeed heard my prayers,” Marlena replied as she searched John’s questioning eyes.

Westminster Abbey, London, England. Dec. 23, 1526

Adeste fidelis, laeti triumphantes

Venite, venite in Bethlehem

Natum videte, Regem angelorum:

Venite adoremus,

Venite adoremus,

Venite adoremus,

Dominum.

Cantet nunc io,

Chorus angelorum,

Cantet nunc aula caelestium;

Gloria, gloria in excelsis Deo.

The harmony from the Benedictine monks swirled heavenward, past the chandeliers weighted with candles that flickered in the drafty abbey. The voices built to a crescendo that shook the magnificent stained-glass windows and warmed the frosty air.

Latin had never sounded so beautiful to Marlena.

She knew instinctively her college professor, Dr. Jones, would have beamed with pride. Not only did she recognize the Latin words to “O Come All Ye Faithful,” but she could softly sing along in the language she had studied as a young high school and college student. The irony nearly doubled her over with laughter.

If Dr. Jones only knew it wasn’t just for medicine she was using the Latin! He had drilled her on the ancient words, proclaiming the knowledge would come in handy some day.

Betcha he never thought the some day would dawn about 460 years earlier, she merrily thought.

Marlena should have been more solemn, but she could not contain her mischievous grins. She only hoped the Queen did not take note of her smirk, but the haughty glances Catherine shot her way said otherwise.

It was High Mass after all. A time for reverence. Yet, it was Christmas. The damp air crackled with the sensation that it was a happy time for Marlena to remember and savor. Since returning to court, she felt a huge weight had been lifted from her frail shoulders. Even her scowling father in the choir box opposite hers could not dampen her spirits.

She breathed deeply the smell of wood that permeated the great abbey. She pretended to study the stone floor as if deep in contemplation of the archbishop’s reading when actually she was day dreaming for the thousandth time about her and John’s ride back to London.

He had oh so carefully hoisted her onto the stallion’s roan back before swinging up to join her. Once he had settled into place, he had swiveled around in the black leather saddle and had tossed her a wink and broad smile. Before her fluttering stomach could return to its proper place, he clucked, “Giddyup,” and they had sailed off to London.

Relishing the warmth of his body and his musky smell, she had clutched onto him. She had laid her cheek against his brown cloak, ignoring the rough fabric that itched her face raw. Marlena was glad just to hug him tight without interruption or reprimand.

Her reminiscing continued without Marlena even aware of John, who was finding it harder and harder to resist staring at his love. From his vantage point on the side of the high altar, he could glance down at the congregation in the stalls. And could not help smiling inwardly at the adorable picture. Her head bowed, golden hair swaying around her shoulders, velvet-clad feet swinging back and forth slowly and crooked smile lighting up her face.

Her fantasies finally ended as she realized his blue eyes were peering at her, but she coyly refused to look his way. Instead, she strained her neck to gaze up at the carved and gilded vaulted ceiling that towered more than 100 feet overhead. “Whoa,” she murmured. “How do they get the candles in those wooden holders up there so high?” A swift kick and shush from Anne silenced her musings. Uninterrupted, the archbishop continued in a monotone voice that would have put the most stalwarts of Catholics and the hardiest of souls to sleep. Even pious Catherine appeared to stifle a yawn.

Once she was sure John had returned to concentrating on his task at hand, Marlena furtively glanced sideways to where he stood. He looked even more beautiful than he had in his glorious white and gold robes at Billie and Bo’s ill-fated wedding. He took his priestly duties so seriously, she noted to herself. As seriously as he did his wedding vows, she thought with a sigh.

Finally, the archbishop ended his portion of the mass to the congregation’s great relief. The red-robed figure donned his cardinal’s hat then lumbered to the top of the altar. Imperiously, he scrutinized his flock. Pursing his lips and his triple chins jiggling, he began the sermon. Wolsey did not need a microphone to project his voice throughout the abbey. But Marlena wished for electricity to keep the creeping shadows at bay or central heating to warm the abbey to an even 74 degrees Fahrenheit.

She realized it wasn’t just modern conveniences that made Westminster Abbey different from when she had visited it with Kim and her family in 1993. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was not in the nave. Instead of the impressive black-and-white tiles, there was a stone floor inlaid with mosaic and porphyry. No Poet’s Corner for tourists to visit in droves. Many of the abbey’s impressive monuments were still hundreds of years away with the recipients not even born.

Marlena was so zoned out that she squeaked when an unexpected clatter arose in the nave. John instinctively lurched toward her, but halted when he realized the source of the commotion. He smiled cheerily at the burst of pipers into the abbey. Turning to Wolsey, he murmured, “Tis time for the annual tradition in which all classes are equalized for the holiday season. The dances and games will begin soon enough.”

Drums rolled and trumpets blared as a tall figure clad in velvet and cloth of gold stood in the massive doorway. Snow swirled around him. A gold-and-black mask and cap of feathers concealed his face and hair, but his tall height told his identity. “Lords and Ladies, we present the Lord of Misrule!” shouted a courtier.

The congregation tittered in excitement. Amid the gasps and laughter, Anne excitedly whispered, “Tis Henry! Aye, I had noticed his absence from such an auspicious occasion.” Marlena nodded her agreement. Inwardly, she wished the medieval Christmas custom had not vanished in later years. It seemed so much fun.

The procession weaved through the middle aisle with courtiers, fools, hobbyhorses, pipers, gibbets, stocks and other asundry figures dancing behind their leader.

Waving a tinsel crown, the brightly costumed figure danced through the nave to the chancel. Marlena giggled at those who could not decide whether to bow to the king as tradition dictated or risk his wrath by indicating they had figured out the Lord of Misrule’s true identity.

“My Lords and Ladies, we banish any solemn thoughts. Tis a time for joy and gaiety!” Henry yelled.

Turning to Wolsey, he ordered,”We command good cardinal that thy clergyman provide proper obeisance to the Lord of Misrule!”

Also correctly sizing up the Lord of Misrule’s identity, Wolsey motioned to the rector that the service was ended.

“My Lord, your wish is our command. Let the court make merry,” Wolsey smoothly intoned.

A smug Henry nodded in satisfaction. “Come one, come all to Westminster Palace where King Henry the Eighth has ordered a Christmas feast unlike any seen before in merry England!”

Dancing, Henry led much of the congregation out to the courtyard, as Catherine’s entourage more sedately followed. Marlena grabbed the folds of her silver dress as she prepared to stand.

Inexplicably, the procession sparked a tiny memory. She fought to remember. She gripped the stall, sweat coating her palms. Then she remembered the first time she had seen the abbey! Or rather, Marley Howard had.

The gaiety continued around a pensive Marlena, but she was not aware. She was reminiscing about events from two decades prior. The abbey was shrouded in black. For an unexpected funeral. A bereft nation struggled to grasp that their young queen’s life was robbed prematurely. Mourners’ wails made her shake. Her own mother’s icy fingers clutched her tiny clenched fist as they paraded past the open coffin and the grieving family.

Graybeards mumbled that the abbey would never again see such mourning for a young life taken so suddenly. They said so beloved was the flaxen-haired Elizabeth of York that England could never again love a princess so deeply and grieve so terribly.

In the chaos from Henry’s appearance, Marlena slipped unseen by all but one from the choir stall. She did not head for the front door with the other ladies-in-waiting. John watched curiously as she trudged beyond the high altar, but instinctively knew not to follow.

She wound past Edward the Confessor’s tomb and other chapels. The silent statues and stone effigies unsettled her, but she pressed on. The long and brisk walk left her winded, but finally she reached her goal. She drew up before the splendid gilt-bronze gates underneath an arched doorway. She flicked her tongue across parched, chapped lips.

Deep in concentration, she studied the lions, dragons and Tudor, Lancaster and York badges and roses adorning the intricate gates. “Silly goose! No ghost is lurking to spring out and yell, “Boo,” she chided herself. Fortified, she made her decision not to abandon her

mission.

Marlena expected creaks and groans when she shoved on the door, but the gate opened smoothly. She paused before going up the wide flight of steps. Once inside the chapel, she could only stare gaped mouth at the vestibule vault. Her sage eyes naturally flew upward to the ceiling covered in intricate carved tracery. Small torches lit the room and the world renowned chapel ceiling. So delicate were the stone carvings that they appeared as airy lace.

She vaguely recalled touring the architectural tour de force with Kim and her family, but it did not seem as clean, lime washed and fresh. The gold and colors certainly weren’t as vivid.

The room’s awe-inspiring centerpiece was her beacon. As she headed for it, she admired the richly gilded wooden choir stalls, the painted windows, and decorative banners hanging from the pinnacled canopies. Carved saints, prophets and historical figures ran all around the room.

If possible, it was colder inside the chapel than outside. The roof and windows leaked, and pools of ice lay beneath them, opaque and thick. A shivering Marlena pulled her cloak tighter and tried to ignore her little puffs of breath smoke.

Still, she was undeterred. She crept toward the fence of wrought iron and bronze. It towered as if a tiny cathedral.

She scrolled a trembling index finger across the chilled metal of the gate. She paused to admire the detailed bronze figures embossed in the door, guarding the two inside.

Her shivering fingers burned from the metal of the door leading to the last resting place of the previous monarch and his consort. She eyed the lock, but her luck prevailed when the door swung open.

Her breath caught in her throat. The finished product was more beautiful than she thought possible. Golden angels guarded the silent figures. Both were gilded golden images. Each had their hands posed in pious prayers. Marlena irreverently noted that the woman’s facade was depicted accurately on a queen of hearts card in a box of playing cards. The sculptures were clad in flowing robes, the swirls of fabric appearing almost like real cloth. The stone floor probably was harder and colder than ice, she decided.

She ruled out kneeling to pray for the souls of the two. Silently making the sign of the cross, she contemplated the female effigy. Elizabeth of York. Daughter, sister, wife and mother of kings. Eldest daughter of Edward IV. Henry VII married her to ensure his place on the throne. Her golden son now reigned. And aunt to Marley Howard.

The effigies were of her aunt and her uncle. The effigy was her mother’s beloved oldest sister. Her aunt’s. The thoughts roared in her ears, frightening her. Hers and Marley’s personalities were melding into one. She knew she was accepting her other personality’s history and experiences. “What a loss. All for a son,” she murmured.

She reflected on her mother’s soft sobs after her father gently told her that Elizabeth of York had died nine days after her stillborn daughter. Marley was too young then to comprehend what her mother bitterly spat out.

“After Arthur died, Elizabeth had to conceive again! She and the King believed they had to secure the Tudor dynasty with another son. Henry is the only living son now. Mon Dieu, she gave her life for her country, for her husband. Oh Thomas!” Anne had moaned as the irony hit her.

“Today was her 37th birthday!”

Her mother’s words seemed even more ironic when juxtaposed against her own fate. After 12-year-old Thomas III died in 1508, her parents tried repeatedly for several years to conceive again to ensure the Norfolk line. And just like her sister, Anne Plantagenet Howard died shortly after delivering a stillborn child.

Remembering her own guilt and responsibility, Marlena wept. Her tears splashed onto the metal where the liquid quickly congealed.

“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York,” she recited.

Deep in thought, Marlena screamed when she felt a hand on her arm. She whirled around so fast that she fell against Torrigiani’s monument to the fallen monarchs.

“What does thou pray?” he queried.

“Shakespeare. It is from one of his plays,” she absentmindedly replied, her startled mind still churning and her lungs aching.

“Shakespeare? A new poet?” he asked in a brusque tone, becoming aroused by her flushed cheeks and heaving bosom.

Marlena stifled a groan. Drats! She had to be more careful. Now she was in a real pickle. Shakespeare would not coin the phrase for almost another 100 years.

She fell back on the age-old feminine wile of flirting. Batting her darting eyes, she performed a mini- curtsey. “Your Grace! I pray your indulgence for inspecting their highnesses’ tombs without your permission. I remember your mother fondly and know you miss her love and guidance. I know she would be so proud to see how gallantly and adroitly you reign glorious.”

Henry always succumbed to flattery. “Tis most kind Lady Howard. We must admit surprise to discover you here. We sought time of reflection. Tis the first visit we have since the King Henry VII Chapel was completed, and we had this unparalleled memorial to our royal parents, ” he said as he stroked the slumbering still lions at his parents’ feet. “My father began it and at his dying request I finished it.”

His overpowering presence made the small chamber cramped. She needed air. She effortlessly walked backwards into the chapel proper. He followed wordlessly.

In silence, they both strolled around the room. The minutes passed, but she waited for him to speak.

“I often wonder what it was like when our mothers, our grandmere and aunts sought sanctuary here during King Richard’s reign after the princes in the tower vanished,” he noted almost involuntarily to cover up his true thoughts.

“Your Majesty, tis a surprise. Your Grace seldom acknowledges our kinship. Doth it trouble you that we are cousins?” she quizzed.

Shifting his bulk to hide the discomfort from his arousal, he balanced himself on the balls of his feet. He momentarily contemplated his answer.

“Aye. The truth is not what you think, Marley. We are secure in our throne. But we wish we were not cousins in the eyes of the church. We wish to make thou our mistress!” he boldly proclaimed.

She burst into peals of laughter. She found his unexpected response hysterically funny, so much that she could not catch her breath. Indignant, he cast off any pretense of regal aura. Stamping his right foot, he commanded, “Hush! Tis treason to mock the king. We could have your head!”

This quieted Marlena’s laughter but did not still her spirit. “Your Grace is truly a most kind ruler and the fairest of men in Christendom. Any lady would be honored by your flatteries and attention. That is not me. Sire, my heart only desires to be with the man I love. I do not desire your majesty. Surely, you yourself understand that since you want to cast off the queen and marry my cousin. Or at least bed her.”

He sputtered in response. “That is most different! Tis for the kingdom. Tis England’s future at stake. You are a noblewoman. You must not lust after a priest you cannot ever have like a love-sick cow. You are to marry Buckingham.”

“My Lord! Do you love Anne? Or do thou see her as a brood mare? What if she does not produce a son? Would you want to cast her off too?” she retorted.

“Heresy!” he bellowed.

She sadly pondered his word. She walked in a circle, before pulling up close to the glowering Henry. She looked up into his red-rimmed, almond-colored eyes with their flecks of gold.

“Henry Rex, you will have a daughter and name her after your mother. My aunt. Elizabeth the First will be a great ruler like England has never seen before or since,” she said with conviction.

He stepped back, unnerved by her words. Marlena herself could not believe she had just told him his future, defying Sam’s warning. Her heart begn to thump faster.

Henry’s own heart knew that she was telling the truth even though his brain said it was impossible.

“Areth thou a witch?” he hoarsely asked. “Is Catherine the mother or Anne?”

She chuckled lightly. “Forgive me sire, but if I were a witch, do you think I would tell you that? That would only ensure my death. Being burned at the stake is not an end I fancy for myself. I think not. Twould be worse than giving you my head, I fear. No, I am not a witch. But I speaketh the truth. More I cannot say, I fear, I have said too much already.”

Unpredictably, he was content with her answer. He reached out a steady hand, the red ruby on his pinky sparkling. He touched her shoulder, before tucking loose hairs behind her ear. “Somehow, I believe you would bargain with the devil himself.” His words brought a flash of images. Maison Blanche. Stefano’s beefy hands sliding along her silky skin. His hot vile-tasting tongue probing her tender mouth. She shook her head, forcing herself to forget. “Yes, sire, I would indeed bargain with Cardinal Wolsey,” she quipped.

Henry erupted in guffaws. “Clever thou areth Lady Howard.”

An unseen man had stood behind in the hall leading up to the chapel, spying on their bickering. He found himself unsettled, wondering what led her to make such claims about Henry’s heir. John even wondered if she were a witch, because he believed her. He just did not know how and why she knew. There was no reasonable explanation. Still, the pause between them seemed a good time to interrupt their conversation. “Your Grace, I pray thy forgiveness. The courtiers and ladies of the court await the return of the Lord of Misrule to the festivities,” John said crisply. “The queen has noticed your absence and is asking for you my Lord.”

“Catherine, Catherine! Must she forever plague my every waking moment?” Henry grumbled. “Very well, priest. I shall return and leave Lady Howard in thy capable hands. Tarry not long,” he said.

Taking Marlena’s hand, he softly laid his lips against her wrist. “Tis most enjoyable as always cousin. You are forgiven for entering without permission. We must speak again of your gift for predictions. And my future son. You must tell me about my son and his great reign.” He swept out of the chapel with just the tiniest of backward glances, the corners of his mouth raised in a half-smile.

Wondering how much John had heard, Marlena swallowed hard. She turned to face him only to discover he was scanning her face, curiosity filling his. But he left his unspoken question to hover. “Jealous, my Lord,” she queried, fluttering her charcoal-colored eyelashes.

“Doth I have reason to be? I think not. I am just a priest, tis impossible for me to compete with a king’s riches and charms,” he muttered. “You said he was the most handsome of men. Tis a battle I would lose, challenging the king.”

Her cool fingers edged up to trace his blue-tinged lips. “It’s not the king who has my heart, John. It’s you my darling. Only you. And always will be only you.”

John reached up to grab her hand, enclosing it in his warmer one. Staring deep into her eyes, he said nothing. But she read his azure eyes and soul. She knew he shared her feelings.

“The king is right Marley. We cannot tarry. The others will be asking, speculating,” he gruffly said.

She hoped he would snare a kiss before they left the chapel. Instead, he led a disappointed Marlena from the room but did not drop his hold on her right hand. They quietly walked side by side through the empty abbey. John decided he wanted to contemplate her predictions more, before probing her about them.

Once they reached the front door, they both braced themselves for the rush of winter air. He briefly let go of her hand to shove open the heavy oak doors. They stepped outside into the snow, their eyes quickly watering and cheeks reddening.

John squeezed her hand tight before leading her about 20 yards toward the nearby Westminster Palace where the others had left for the Yuletide festivities. Suddenly, he stopped, feeling 10 years younger. He quickly scooped up the frozen precipitation and lobbed a snowball at her uncovered head, snickering at her off-color protests. She dashed around a tree, grabbing some snow herself and firing back quickly. She formulated a strategy of retaliation.

“John Black, you’re going to pay for that! You will rue the day you picked on me, you big oaf!” she yelled at him, but her grin belied the

severity of her threat. He sprinted toward her, shoving snow down the front of her dress. Laughing, he ran off. She chased in single-minded pursuit, pushing him into the abbey’s outer wall.

She fell against him, looking into his wide questioning eyes. He felt her chest stir against him and could not resist. Her shuddering breasts and twinkling eyes left him nearly insane. John picked her up and pinned her against the wall. Bishop or not, he bent down, fully intending to capture her dusky lips in his. Then, her view shifted, and she looked past his shoulder. Fear, surprise and terror filled her eyes. Her knees shook against him. “It cannot be. Ghosts. Here. Cannot,” she gasped.

John glanced up, catching sight of the trio. With a grimace, he focused on John Lawrence Dudley. The mere sight of his broad shoulders and dark hair sparked anger in him. Dudley was the depiction of his mother’s abuse and betryal. The living reminder of the evil that lurked inside of him. Then, he noticed Marley’s intended moving rapidly toward them. Naturally, he misread her fear and shock for shame.

“I understand Marley. Thou doth not want to jeopardize your marriage to young Buckingham. I overstep my bounds. I apologize that I allowed my love to cloud my judgment and compromise your reputation,” he said quietly and regretfully, dropping his arms from around her shoulders.

He handed her a handkerchief to sop up the melted snow from her chest, but she did not take it. In exasperation, he realized Wolsey’s henchman Thomas Cromwell would be all too eager to tattle to the cardinal about the scandalous scene he had stumbled upon.

Marlena continued to stare at the three men walking toward them. Demons unleashed from the darkest recesses of her mind. “Buckingham?” she asked in a fright-filled, confused voice. “Who is Buckingham?”

Him. She could not believe she was looking at one of her worst enemies. At his hands, she lost so much. The clothes were different, the hair style certainly changed from the last time she saw him. But the malevolent visage was the same.

So intent on the thinner of the two dark-haired men, she had not noticed the third man. His curly sandy-colored locks glistened in the afternoon sun that broke through the overcast gray sky. “Oh God. It cannot be. This nightmare has to end already. Not him too!”

Grief, anger and betrayal roiled through her stomach. Her mouth tasted like metal. Unbridled possessiveness consumed the Duke of Buckingham’s eyes as he stared at his intended and the priest. He had heard the rumors but had shrugged them off. His eyes narrowed as he sized up the intimate pose. “Bishop Black, stand back from Lady Howard. You soil her impeccable reputation with your unseemly behavior,” he sneered.

John bristled, taking a threatening step forward. Buckingham’s tone and words enraged him. He paid no more attention to Cromwell and Dudley, so intent was he on his rival.

Marlena did not hear the words. She only heard the voice. Oh God that voice. Sam did not warn her. Bile gurgled in her throat. “Marley? Are you going to faint?” John asked, clearly concerned. Moving back to her, he encircled her quivering tiny waist with his arms. “What

is it my love?” Distraught, she couldn’t answer the question. John could not believe Buckingham alone had created such turmoil in her. Marley feared so little. He knew the duke would not dare raise his hand to her or harm a hair on her head. But her fear and distress was so palpable that he could smell it, taste it.

“Sam did not warn me,” she whimpered. She fought black waves of nausea. “Ghosts. No, it can’t be. They’re dead.”

John thrust his hands onto her ashen cheeks, jerking her chin toward him. “Damnit, Marlena, you’re scaring me! Talk to me, damnit!”

The names drummed in her ears over and over. She croaked, “Orpheus. Oh my God. Richard.”

Chapter 15: Stille Nacht (Silent Night)

December 23, 1526

Westminster Palace

London, England

Congealed masses of smoke hung motionless above Westminster Palace’s chimneys, appearing frozen against the slate sky. Laughter and shouts echoed from the palace’s courtyard called the Green Yard, just outside the Great Hall.

But the still watcher paid no heed to the Yuletide revelry. Instead, he silently focused his attention on the disturbing scene unfolding before his brooding eyes outside the great abbey’s Henry VII Chapel.

The third Duke of Norfolk reflected on his family’s fortunes under the previous king and now his son. He stewed and wondered if his plans to overthrow Henry VIII were about to come to naught. He held his breath while waiting to see how far the young duke would go. Edward Stafford, the fourth Duke of Buckingham, obviously had not reacted well, understandably so, to spying Marley, his intended wife, carrying on with John Black.

“Damn *that* priest,” Norfolk spat out. He would not allow a bastard priest to spoil his great plans. He could not allow, nay would refuse to allow, a dalliance between his daughter and John Black to thwart his glory. His first wife, Anne, had disappointed him bitterly by her failure to bear him a healthy son. Defeat was inconceivable. He would secure the throne through their pitiful, useless daughter. A daughter, not the hoped for, prayed for son, he growled to himself. He need not depend on Buckingham if Anne had done her duty as his wife. But she had failed to give him a heir, and by Jove, he would not allow Marley’s recklessness to bring his carefully plotted conspiracy to ruin.

But what to do? He had already tried banishing Marley to Framlingham, and that did not work. The king had sought her return and less than a month later she was cavorting with *him* again. Norfolk lightly rubbed his aquiline nose with a chilled finger. His normally sallow complexion was turned ruddy by the harsh wind. Snow crunched underneath his leather boots as he paced back and forth.

The ever-conservative Norfolk wore his dark hair long and past his ears. The long-abandoned fashion gave him subtle distinction and emphasized his connection to a feudal past. With Henry sporting a beard, many noblemen had adopted a similar fashion. Not Thomas Howard, England’s greatest soldier and a renowned statesman. And he planned to add kingmaker to his accomplishments.

Outwardly, Norfolk appeared as an intelligent, unpretentious, kindly man, which belied his cunning and ruthless ambition. He was famous for getting along with all classes, including his serfs. But those who trusted and accepted him as an amiable soldier-statesman did so at their own peril. He and his father had shown no mercy when they had slaughtered the Scots at Flodden Field, which included butchering the Scottish king, James IV, with his own sword. That he happened to be Henry VIII’s brother-in-law made no difference when the fallen king pleaded and begged for his life. He had personally plunged the weapon into the hapless king. And he would show the bishop of Lincoln similar mercy, Norfolk vowed though gritted teeth.

The source of his ire was unaware of the evil thoughts rolling his way from England’s premier nobleman. Instead, he was all too clear of the hatred projected from the Duke of Buckingham. Murmuring words of comfort, John carefully let go of Marlena to face the scorned suitor.

Kissing Marley in public had to be one of the dumbest things he had ever done. And yet, it had felt so right. Still did, as he stared down the blazing eyes of her betrothed. John briefly wondered if God would hear his prayer and get them out of this mess with the least amount of embarrassment and disgrace. He feared that God would not spare him because John knew he deserved the shame. But, *she* did not deserve the humiliation. He was mindful that Thomas Cromwell and Lawrence Dudley also hovered nearby.

Her words kept ringing in her ears, but Marlena could not believe her eyes. She could not catch her breath, and that had nothing to do with the frigid temperatures. Time slowed down. Gaped-mouth, she stared up at the tall man. Her mind did not comprehend the tense, quiet, almost fierce words John and Richard were exchanging. Well, the man she knew as Richard. He was clad in Tudor-style clothing, still the height, blond curls and ramrod bearing were the same. She knew him as Richard Cates in 1985, but who was he to her in 1526? And which Richard was before her? The murderous, lying scoundrel willing to kill her friends or the smart, tender, understanding lover who mended her broken heart?

“Richard,” she croaked again. Four pairs of eyes turned to her, all sporting quizzical expressions. She gulped hard as she was once again reminded two had uncanny resemblances to Lawrence Alamain and the villain she knew as Orpheus. She felt in her bones the presence of great evil, but coming from which man and why? It was too much for her mind to absorb. As her knees began to buckle and she swayed unsteadily, the man she knew as Richard Cates rushed to grab her elbow and prop her up. John took a step forward then drew up in place as a horse would. It ripped his heart out, but battling her fiance to hold her would only make matters worse. Yet, it killed him that he could not brush her hair and rest her head on his shoulder.

Instead, bile rose in his throat as Buckingham did what his heart screamed to do.

“Shush, Marley, shush,” Buckingham said soothingly as he stroked her moist tresses. Sending sharp glances at the three, “Leave us,” he ordered. “Black, I will have you thrown into the Tower for your disgrace. Stay away or you will risk losing more than your bishop’s crown and priest’s robe.”

John raised a clenched fist and stepped forward menacingly only to be stopped by the thinner, slighter of the other two men. “Bishop, tis a scandal you do not risk. For your reputation’s sake and Lady Howard’s,” Cromwell urged.

Marlena blankly stared at the man who had destroyed her home and ripped her away from her family. It was like the passage of time had not touched his looks. He still oozed evil, but yet it did not repel her.

“Remember your place as a man of God,” Dudley exhorted. Marlena had always sensed Lawrence Alamain’s silent admiration of her brains and beauty, and that hadn’t changed even though his identity may have.

Taking a deep breath and screwing his upper lip around, John paused in response to Dudley’s reminder. He locked eyes with Marlena whose eyes silently pleaded with him. Reading her thoughts wrongly, he resignedly turned to his competitor. “Buckingham, thou dare not challenge me. You would not risk dirtying your pretty, privileged knuckles for a fight thou are sure to lose. You are not man enough to take on me. And do not deserve to marry her.”

Buckingham’s rejoinder fell into the still winter air as John swiftly took long strides in retreat to the abbey, as Dudley and Cromwell scampered to keep up.

*No, don’t go! Don’t leave me!* she cried to herself. She needed answers. She needed John. And she was scared to death the man she knew as Richard Cates was really Edward, Duke of Buckingham. The man she was to marry. A dull ache built around her left eye and across her forehead.

For his part, Edward was unsure how to proceed. The less gallant part of him wanted to slap her hard and repeatedly for her betrayal. And the shrewder part of him wanted to kiss her so hard that she swooned and forgot John Black existed. Or perhaps he should resort to subtle compassion, sympathy for her plight in which she was taken advantage of by a priest.

Trying to buy time, Marlena asked the man supporting her,”Pray tell, my Lord, who were the two with Bishop Black?”

It was not what he expected to hear, an apology and explanation would have been a nice start. But he humored her. “Thomas Cromwell, lawyer and counselor to the king, and Lawrence Dudley.” Try as he might, he could not eliminate completely the jealous edge to his voice.

Edward did not explain who Dudley was: the son of a hated man who died in ignominy. Dudley’s father’s fate had determined his son’s life. It was too close to the fate of his own father and now his own life.

“Why were you crying out ‘Richard?'” he asked. “Few know my father wanted to name me for the fallen King Richard, but dared not risk such treason and instead settled for his golden brother, Edward. Your grandfather. But *she* called me Richard. Why did you?”

Before she could form a coherent answer or ask who *she* was, Westminster Abbey’s bells rang, drowning out her request that he repeat his question. Suddenly, a rushing throng swept by. Deciding the confrontation over Bishop Black was best saved for another time, Buckingham pulled her into the chaos as they joined the others in dashing toward the goal. They pulled up in front of an enormous oak, which the great Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, stood atop.

“Lords, ladies and clergy. Tis time to roll the great log into the Hall for the Yuletide festivities!” he exclaimed. Uncertain of what was about to happen, Marlena turned to Buckingham, who was shouting and clapping exuberantly. The breath caught in her throat as she realized he sported the same huge smile and twinkling eyes as when she and Richard Cates had fished together. His eyes were brighter than the North Star. She could see a small glimpse of his bronze skin below his Adam’s apple. She had expected a serious, somber man. Instead, she was taken aback to realize he was enjoying himself as much as anyone. “Lady Howard, pray I take thy leave to engage in this all-important endeavor, but I desire to sup with you at your place of honor tonight.”

Before she could recognize her potential folly, a charmed Marlena nodded her permission. He nestled her hand against his navy brocade vest, before chastely kissing the top of her hand.

He then ran off to join the other men huffing and puffing as they pushed and rolled and pulled the huge tree trunk through the snow. Marlena giggled as a few men fell backwards into the snow, cursing their luck. She noted they looked like giant beetles turned over on their backs, their legs flailing in the air. She scanned the crowd for a sign of John, but he was not there. Once the men got the log inside, Marlena joined the other ladies of court in traipsing indoors.

Initially intent on looking for John, Marlena needed a few moments to register the grandeur of the Great Hall, but she gasped out loud when she did. Huge candles on the mantel and large sideboards lit the room. The largest hall in England, and probably Europe, it was 240 feet long and almost 68 feet wide. The ceiling towered nearly as high as the abbey’s. The huge span was supported by a row of posts — eleven on each side — leaving a central aisle about double of the width of the side aisles. In honor of Christmas, the Great Hall was decked joyously with ivy, bay and laurel. Red berries and green leaves adorned the columns. It smelled like Christmas with a hint of incense.

Of the many glittering figures in the hall, the grandest of them all came forward to use ceremoniously last year’s log to light this year’s. “The Lord of Misrule commands his loyal subjects to make merry. Eat, drink and enjoy,” Henry shouted.

Catching her watchful stepmother’s eye, Marlena slid into her place next to Elizabeth, just below the head table. Elizabeth nodded her approval at her stepdaughter, thrilled that she and her randy brother, Edward, were spending time together. Covertly, Marlena glanced all around the room, but still no John.

Instead, he was prostrate in one of the abbey’s small side chapels praying for the Virgin Mary and saints’ forgiveness and understanding. His cheeks burned red from his humiliation, and he was oblivious to the chill creeping into his skin. Quietly but fervently, he prayed for strength to resist temptation. He prayed that he would survive the test and prove worthy as one of God’s chosen. Trying to draw nearer to God, he made his plea to the Virgin Mary in Latin.

O Vergin benedetta, sempre tu

Ora per noi a Dio, che ci perdoni,

E diaci grazia a viver si quaggiu

Che’l paradiso al nostro fin ci doni.

The sinister lurker translated the words to himself. “Oh blessed Virgin, pray to God for always, that he may pardon us and give us grace, so to live here below that he may reward us with paradise at our death.”

His black eyes cut through the icy air. John Black stood in his way. Through his defeat, he could grow closer to Wolsey and the King. Marley Howard was his weakness. A weakness he would exploit. Lust for a woman had brought to ruin many a man of God. And, Thomas Cromwell vowed to add the Bishop of Lincoln to the sordid pile of broken lives and dreams. More evil than Wolsey, he was plotting his benefactor’s demise, clearing the way for him to capture unchallenged the malleable Henry’s ear. His spies had caught wind of Norfolk’s plot. He would crush them too if necessary. He coveted the title of the real power behind the throne.

The throng inside the Hall “oohed” and “ahhed” as England’s three dukes, Buckingham, Norfolk and Suffolk, hoisted and carried the steaming boar’s head into the room. Mindful of the honor bestowed on them, they coordinated their careful movements to ensure the safe arrival of their precious cargo in front of Henry, who licked his chops. “Your Majesty, may this prized animal bring you and your household much luck and riches,” Suffolk smoothly said.

With a bow, Suffolk took his seat at the table of honor. Norfolk and Buckingham too bowed and then headed for the nearby table containing other members of the Howard and Stafford families. An uncertain Marlena tried to gauge Richard, er, Edward’s mood. She feared his wrath, guessing a woman did not have much control over her life in 1526. Instead, she was rewarded with an all-too familiar smirk. “Lady Howard, tis an honor. I trust this will be the first of many Christmases together.”

Gulping at this prospect, she glanced quickly at the center table groaning with the weight of pans of roasted animals and fowls. Servants wheeled in specially made carts to carry pies, which were an amazing nine feet around and weighed 165 pounds. The pies were stuffed with geese, rabbit, duck and pigeon. In a show of conversation, Norfolk proclaimed to the table that as many as 24 pounds of flour were used to create the savory delicacies.

Soon, the dishes were coming ’round and ’round. Digging in with her gold-plated fork, Marlena enthusiastically chewed the fragrant and tasty morsels. Wine flowed heavily, making the conversation even more entertaining. At one point, she found herself laughing hysterically at Buckingham’s descriptions of Henry dressing as the Lord of Misrule. She doubled over as he described the monarch’s struggles to get into the tight-fitting costume after too many holiday indulgences, righteously blaming his tailor whose ears were boxed repeatedly for the misfortune. He had erupted when one button flew off striking Wolsey in the eye with a pa-DING. Buckingham reported that Wolsey had immediately bristled and blustered, but quickly stifled his irritation when he realized from whom the button sprang. The visual brought tears of laughter to Marlena’s eyes. The usually smooth Wolsey was caught off guard and uncertain if the king would blow up at his initial curses, Buckingham said. Instead, Henry just scowled his displeasure at Wolsey, forcing those in the room to cover their mouths to contain their own chuckles. The table tittered as Buckingham announced that the vain king truly believed no one would recognize his red beard or tall presence, and everyone actually would think that the Lord of Misrule was the French ambassador rather than their monarch. With an embarrassed start, Marlena realized she had forgotten about John. Guilt soured the taste of the pie. She gulped wine in an attempt to force it down.

With a clap of his palms, Henry commanded his subjects’ attention. “Mistress Anne shall serenade us. My sweet,” he beckoned toward a cushion-laden chair just below him. Anne rose from the center of the room, but cast her eyes down in a seductive look toward her would-be lover and suggestively swished her skirt as she crossed the great hall to furtive whispers and sharp looks.

As Anne deftly plucked the lute’s strings, John quietly slid into his place near the Queen. A slight rustling of her dress noted his presence. Outwardly, he stoically observed the performance. Inwardly, he raged to watch how closely Buckingham sat near Marley. He possessively stroked the top of her hand, nearly sending John into convulsions. His meditations and prayers were all but forgotten. His resignation to their marriage was an afterthought. He wanted to beat the life out of Buckingham, choke him until he turned purple. His pretense of accepting him as her lover was over in a red-haze cloud. All he could think about was anger and hate. Until, he felt a tight squeeze of his hand. He slightly turned to Catherine, and posed his silent question with an arched eyebrow.

“He wishes to humiliate me in front of the entire court with his concubine. But I am a royal daughter of the great Ferdinand and Isabella. He will fail,” Catherine of Aragon scornfully said. She tilted her head further. “He will fall out of love with her and return to me, oh my great Harry.”

To his increasing discomfort, she visibly grew sad as she contemplated her pathetic circumstances. He could tell she was recalling happier times when she was the love of her husband’s life and the apple of his eye.

“Dear Queen, the Virgin Mary hears your prayers and she will answer them. Your marriage is legal and valid in the sight of God,” he murmured as the song ended. “Never lose sight of that, dear lady.”

John grimaced in disgust as Henry smacked his lips and then wiped the back of his hand across his greasy lips. Hoisting his goblet, he shouted, “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen. Merry Christmas one and all!”

“God Save the King!” rolled through the room. “Merry Christmas Your Majesty!”

He smiled the grin of an egotistical man who lapped up the unconditional love of his subjects, knowing he controlled their lives, their very existence. Mischievously, he decided to needle the woman who had burrowed under his skin today in his father’s chapel. He would show her. With a flourish, he gestured to the table just below.

“Mistress Marley! Your King commands a song. Play cousin,” he boomed. Her cheeks reddening to crimson, she turned first to her father then Edward in abject horror. “I cannot sing or play the lute,” she hissed to no one in particular. “This is so not right.”

“Play thy shall daughter. The king commands it and play you shall,” Norfolk ordered all but pushing her out of her chair. A wordless Edward gave her a quick kiss on her pallid cheek, then led her to the chair, with its burnished gold pillows embroidered with the letters “HR” still warm from Anne. The flames from the great fire crackled and sputtered, breaking the silence.

She carefully arranged her silver dress before picking up the lute. She fumbled with its strings, not even wanting to hazard a guess as to how to pluck them. She knew it was hopeless to think she could conjure up the melodic sounds that Anne had. After a few dull sounds, she gave up. Instinct would not guide her through playing the lute. The off-key notes caused a few murmurs and skeptical looks. She placed the instrument on the floor at her feet. Straightening her posture, Marlena searched out John’s azure eyes, drawing strength and assurance from them. He had studiously avoided looking as Buckingham had guided her to the chair, but he could not resist once he realized she was tentative, nervous and perhaps more than a little scared. “You’ll do fine,” he mouthed.

She nodded in appreciation and then muttered, “Here goes nothing.”

Then with an internal apology to the original author, she plunged into one of the few songs she thought she could come close to singing on key. And yet again, the melody coming from her own vocal chords astounded her.

Silent Night

Holy Night

All is calm

All is Bright

Round Yon Virgin Mother and Child

Holy Infant

So tender and mild

Sleep in heavenly peace

Sleep in heavenly peace

She paused, uncertain of the next stanza. She struggled to remember the second line. The stares made her uncomfortable. Just as she was prepared to give up, the words flowed into her mind and onto her tongue.

Silent night, holy night,

Shepherds quake at the sight.

Glories stream from heaven afar,

Heav’nly hosts sing Alleluia;

Christ the Savior is born;

Christ the Savior is born.

Silent night, holy night,

Son of God, love’s pure light.

Radiant beams from Thy holy face,

With the dawn of redeeming grace,

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth;

Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.

Her clear voice held the last note before softly trailing away. Then silence finally interrupted by raucous applause. She found herself swept up in a huge bear hug from a jubilant King, who had rushed to her side.

“My loyal subjects, the court has a new songbird. Lady Howard has kept secret her talents for far too long. Tis treason to deprive her king of such sweetness,” he laughed.

Marlena could only smile faintly as she wiped away tears of relief that she had not made a fool of herself in front of more than 500 people.

The beauty of her song had touched his heart. John wanted to shove the king aside and hold her tight and bestow congratulatory kisses. Instead, he stole away, wanting to complete his secret mission unseen before the others realized he was missing.

Hours later, an exhausted Marlena stumbled into her partially dark room, having dodged a sloppy kiss from what’s his name. All but certainly drunk from heavy doses of wine, she fumbled to light a candle.

“Rosie, tis, been some day,” she said. “It’s after midnight so it’s now Christmas Eve! Merry Christmas, love.” Hit with a hiccup, she couldn’t stifle a giggle. She plopped down beside the golden bundle, stroking her soft hair. The pup rolled over, snuggling further down into her green velvet pillow. Yawning, she reached for her gown that her maid had left thrown across the foot of her bed. That’s when she noticed the package.

“What is this?” she wondered out loud.

Hands shaking, she undid the red satin ribbon. Two pieces of jewelry tumbled out. She gasped at the sparkling diamonds winking at her. The light of the candle caught their brilliance, throwing shadows across the wall. “Oh my,” she whispered. Rosie whined at the intrusion of her golden slumber, willing her mistress to bring back the soothing silence.

Her initial caught her eye. She fingered the “M,” which was almost the size of her left palm. A letter made of silver and covered with diamonds and intended to adorn her bodice. “Oh my goodness,” she cried. She examined the second piece. In her right hand, she rested the solid gold, puffed locket. It was encrusted with diamonds and rubies.

Her hands shook violently as they folded back the creamy parchment. She steeled herself to recognize that it was a gift from her father or what’s his name that wasn’t Richard but she was too drunk to remember. Still, she could not help but pray it was a gift from the heart.

The words swam before her eyes, but she instinctively recognized the handwriting. Forcing herself to concentrate, Marlena grasped the words much faster than the last time she read a letter from Tudor John.

I wish I could bring you great jewels worthy of your beauty. I wish I were not a priest, but God chose me to be his servant. I must keep his commandments. But when I thought you had died in the snow, I wanted to die with you. Loving you has completed me. My love, you deserve only the best. I regret I cannot give that to you. I know you will marry him, and I wish you every happiness. Selfishly, I wanted you to have a token of my love and to know the love we shared was something special. I cannot help but wish I could keep a small part of your heart, that you do not give it all away. I hope this always reminds you of me, even when with him. When you are alone, may this remind you that you are indeed loved. Always

Somehow her mind drifted to a hut in Mexico…and that awful, heart-wrenching goodbye. And just as then, tears shimmered before her eyes, making it difficult to see. One tear slid onto the paper, smearing the final “S” into a black line that flowed down the page. She furiously brushed away the tear before it did further damage to the note. Her actions caused a key to tumble out from between the pages.

Thoughtfully, Marlena picked it up. Fingering it, she wondered what to do with it? As if a light went on over her head, she realized it unlocked the locket. Just as he had unlocked her heart. And she had unlocked his. She fought to pry open the locket because the key did not want to cooperate. Perhaps the alcohol made the task more difficult, she thought. “A ha!” she exclaimed once it opened. She bent over to read the engraving inside and ponder its meaning.

Proverbs 31:10 Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.

In his moonlit small room, a disgusted John threw off his woolen blankets. He knew it was a useless tossing-and-turning battle. He could not get her face out of his mind’s eye. Her smell. The feel of her lips against his. The way her silky hair brushed against him. The feel of her curves underneath his hands.

Hoping to quell his thoughts, he crossed the stone floor to his desk where a Latin Bible and a scroll were spread across it.

“Aye, translations is the medicine for thy soul John,” he muttered.

He began where he had left off at First Corinthians. Dipping his quill into the ink, he concentrated on the tiny scratches as his hand moved across the parchment. He was nearly done with chapter 13 when he stopped. He had to read the 13th verse a second time before comprehension slowly stirred inside his soul. Keenly awake now, he studied the ancient words. Perhaps he misunderstood the Latin. No, he was reading the words correctly. He had read them before. He had just never *known* them before, but now a bolt of lightning surged through him, and he did.

And now abideth faith, hope and love, these three, but the greatest of these is love.

Was it an omen? A good one? Marley said there was but one kind. Was God mocking him? Or answering his prayers? Why had he turned to this chapter? This verse? Perhaps, it was a message from the Devil, a trick of Satan’s. Did he dare believe that God was telling him his love for Marley was indeed greater and holier than his vows to the Church. No, it cannot be, he told himself, shaking his head violently. Impossible. Yet, it felt as though the universe had paused, silently awaiting his answer. An answer his soul already knew.

“Greater than *faith.* The greatest of these is love,” he murmured into the still night air.

*Love.*