A Royal Kiss and Tell

So when Henry shifted his gaze to Leo and demanded to know what he was doing in the kitchen at that hour, Leo discarded all the excuses his brain instantly produced and opted for honesty. “I’m taking her, Henry.”

Henry blinked. And then he laughed. The sort of laugh one makes when one finds something very incredible. And when he did, the cook and the footman turned into dervishes of efficiency in filling buckets with hot water, presumably for the birth of Henry’s child. “Are you mad? You can’t take her.”

Leo remembered thinking in that moment that he sincerely hoped he’d not have to fight Henry, because he was certain Henry would thrash him but good if it came to that. He’d give it his best, of course—his father had insisted Leo and Bas learn to box at an early age—but he didn’t have the heart for fighting. So he’d braced himself for it, then said in English to Jacleen, “Get your things, lass.”

She hesitated. She looked at the cook. The cook was making a tremendous effort not to look back.

“Go,” Leo said, and then in Weslorian, “if you want to be free of him, you’ll do as I say. I give you my word you’ll be safe with me. I won’t touch you, Jacleen, but we obviously can’t dawdle here, given the situation.”

She looked panicked and turned to the cook, her expression pleading. In a bid to buy her a bit of time, Leo said to Henry, “I must admit, I’m rather surprised. I should think a man of your stature need not lower himself to this.”

Henry’s chest puffed and he glared at Leo. “Oh, I see,” he sneered. “You’ve never diddled a servant, then, Your Highness.”

Leo was momentarily silenced because while he’d never forced himself on a woman—the regard had been entirely mutual...or at least that’s what he told himself—he had indeed diddled a servant. He would examine his bad behavior another time. “At least I didn’t buy a servant girl to have at my leisure.”

Behind him, the cook dropped something.

“You shouldn’t be so judgmental,” Henry said. “If you were married to a woman who is either pregnant or tired at every moment of every day, you might sing a different tune.”

“I rather suspect Jacleen is tired, too.” Leo turned his head toward their audience, but this time, he made eye contact with the cook in a desperate bid for her help. But when he turned back to his old friend, Henry had advanced on him, and Leo could see the rage in his eyes. He mentally prepared as best he could to take a hit.

“You’re high and mighty, Leo. Have you forgotten that I saw you with a serving wench in Cambridge? You held her up against the exterior wall of the public house, you may recall.”

“That,” Leo said, holding up a finger, “was different.” And then he’d tried to think how, exactly, it was different.

“At least Jacleen has a roof over her head and food in her belly.”

“How magnanimous of you. What a veritable saint you are, Norfolk.”

Henry’s eyes darkened. He clenched his jaw and said, “You’ll pay the price for this. Your father wants good relations with England, but I can see to it that never happens.”

“I am prepared to pay the price,” Leo said. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, and to his relief, Jacleen had disappeared. Maybe she wasn’t coming back. But then she suddenly reappeared on the periphery of his sight, clutching a small black bag and shaking as if she had the palsy.

“Palda Deo,” he muttered. Thank God. He stepped away from Henry. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Norfolk. I will see myself out.” And with that, he reached his hand for Jacleen. She was reluctant to take it, so he gestured with his fingers that was what she was to do, then gripped her small hand in his.

Henry made another sound of disbelief, then bellowed, “You can’t just walk out of here with one of my servants!”

“She’s not a servant—she’s a slave,” Leo said.

Henry stepped into Leo’s path.

Leo groaned. “I really rather hoped we might avoid this,” he said, but he knew that he would not avoid what was coming. Henry took a swing and landed it squarely on Leo’s jaw. An explosion of pain blinded him for a moment, but by some miracle, he didn’t topple over.

He let go Jacleen’s hand and swung back, connecting with Henry’s chest, and followed that with a slap upside his head. Henry came at him with both hands, but before he could put them around Leo’s neck, one of the maids raced into the kitchen.

“Your Grace!” she cried, arms flailing. “It’s time!”

Henry did not go to his wife at once but bellowed more things after Leo and Jacleen, mainly about how Leo would never be welcome in Britain again. The poor Weslorian girl was trembling so hard that he worried she’d collapse. But then Henry had seemed to decide he best go meet his child, and the bellowing ceased.