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And then before I could say more he was off with a whoop to swing Joan away from James and drag her along the curve in the river at high speed. And then even Alice, who had brought Young Henry down to see the jollity. He did not single me out again, for which I was glad.

I sat on the bank and watched, Young Henry tucked against my side. And when I shivered, my Master of Household strode across, shaking out a length of heavy woollen weave to wrap around the pair of us, anchoring it against the breeze with much efficient tucking. When I murmured my thanks, he bowed gravely in acknowledgement, sternly unsmiling, returning to his position.

As the wagons were repacked and we prepared to return to the castle, whose towers beckoned with promises of warmth and comfort, I retained enough presence to thank those who had added to our festivities—the minstrels, the servants, the long-suffering pages, who had been at our beck and call all day. I did not think Edmund would necessarily remember them, and it was my household after all.

‘Master Tudor.’ I summoned the young man who had stood, silent and watchful throughout. ‘Do you have any coins?’

‘I have, my lady.’ Searching in the purse at his belt, he dropped into my outstretched hand a stream of silver.

I dispensed them with my thanks.

‘You must tell me what I owe you,’ I said.

‘There is no need. I will note it in the accounts, my lady.’

His eyes were as dark as obsidian, his voice a slide of pleasurable vowels and consonants, but brusquely impersonal.

‘Thank you,’ I said hesitantly.

‘There is no need, my lady,’ he said again. ‘It is my duty to see to your comfort.’

The winter evening’s twilight was falling fast and I could see his face only obscurely, the planes of his face thrown into harsh dips and soft shadows. It seemed to me that the corners of his mouth were severely indented, almost disapproving—or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

A voice reached me, calling out to my left.

‘Come and give me your opinion on this important matter, Queen Kat!’

I went joyfully where I was summoned.

I looked in my reflecting glass when we returned. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright, and not from the exercise. My thoughts were capricious, and all centred on Edmund Beaufort. I had wished he would not single me out, but was irritated when he did not. His wit, his outrageous compliments set fire to my blood, but then I found them too personal, too over-familiar.

I was swept with an urgency, a longing: I could barely wait to rise from my bed to experience a new day at the wilful hands of this man who had erupted into my life.

And then came the long evenings and nights, the days when it did not grow light and the twelve days of festivity drew close. The day before Our Lord’s birth dawned, and the castle was shivering with anticipation. Perhaps I was the one to shiver, uncertain of what awaited me but exhilarated in equal measure.

I had had one Christmas with Henry, in Rouen, a rather sombre, religious affair, heavy with tradition and formal feasting and celebration of High Mass. And then I had spent Christmas alone at Windsor after my son’s birth. We had made no merriment that year for I had not yet been churched. Neither did I recall any moments of festive joy as a child. This year would be different. This year Edmund Beaufort was at court. There was a distinct air of danger when we met together before supper on Christmas Eve. Not menace, but a waiting, a standing on tiptoe.

‘We need a Lord of Misrule,’ Joan announced. With James at her side she had blossomed like a winter rose. ‘We cannot celebrate without a Lord of Misrule.’

We were standing in the Great Hall around the roaring fire, still in furs and heavy mantles after a foray along the riverbank. It was a tradition I knew of, such cunning and malice-laden creatures who turned the world upside down.

‘I will be the Lord of Misrule,’ Edmund announced, posturing in a fur-lined cloak of brightest hue. He looked like some malign being from the nether world.

‘You can’t,’ Joan responded promptly. ‘Tradition says he must be a servant, to make mockery of all things. You don’t qualify.’

‘I change tradition.’ Edmund stared around the group. ‘Who can stir us all to a frenzy of delight better than I?’

‘I thought you had to be chosen,’ James observed as he breathed on his fingers. ‘A heathenish practice…’ he grinned ‘… but one I’ve learnt to live with.’

‘Chosen? I choose myself.’ Edmund’s brows rose, as if he was daring anyone to defy his decision, and then his stare fixed on my face. ‘What do you say, Queen Kat? Am I your Lord of Misrule, from this day on?’

‘Not allowed.’ I shook my head solemnly, caught up in the game, but I thought there was more than a hint of petulance in the set of his mouth when his heart’s desire was denied him. There was no laughter in him. His scheming was not going as he wished, and I felt a mischievous urge to thwart him, whatever his intended plot. ‘You know how it works,’ I stated.