“If you mean Charles Stuart,' Frances's voice rang out clearly in the hall, 'then calling him "he of whom you were speaking" is hardly a brilliant disguise. And if that is your idea of deep concealment then I don't anticipate great success, on the day of which you have spoken, or any other day, actually.”

“I am sure your piety does you great credit, Margaret. But certainly, if God is speaking to the king, then He has not chosen the best time for this conversation.”

“There are women that men marry and there are women that men don't," Anne pronouned. "And you are the sort of mistress a man doesn't bother to marry. Sons or no sons." "Yes," Mary said. "I expect your right. But there clearly is a third sort and that is the woman that men neither marry or take as their mistress. Woman that go home ...alone for Xmas. And thats seems to be you my dear sister. Good day.”

“I told you, I don't want you riding with me.""Which is why I waited," Frieze explained patiently. "To see what direction you were going in, so that I could make sure I took the opposite one. but of course, there may be wolves, or thieves, highwaymen or brigands, so I don't mind your company for the first hour or so.”

“I don't think your God has ever advised you otherwise. You hear only what you want. He only ever commands your preferences.”

“Good Evening , Sir John. I hope that you will accept a little gift from me.'I should be honored, Your Majesty.'I want to give you a little carved stool from my privy chambers. A pretty little piece from France. I hope you will like it.'I should be grateful.'It is for your daughter. For Jane. To sit on. She seems not to have a seat of her own but she must borrow mine.”

“I can’t sleep,” he says so quietly that only I can hear. “I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep.”“Nor I.”“You neither?”“No.”“Truly?”“Yes.”He sighs a deep sigh, as if he is relieved. “Is this love then?”“I suppose so.”“I can’t eat.”“No.”“I can’t think of anything but you. I can’t go on another moment like this; I can’t ride out into battle like this. I am as foolish as a boy. I am mad for you, like a boy. I cannot be without you; I will not bewithout you. Whatever it costs me.”I can feel my color rising like heat in my cheeks, and for the first time in days I can feel myself smile. “I can’t think of anything but you,” I whisper. “Nothing. I thought I was sick.”The ring like a crown is heavy in my pocket, my headdress is pulling at my hair; but I stand without awareness, seeing nothing but him, feeling nothing but his warm breath on my cheek and scentingthe smell of his horse, the leather of his saddle, and the smell of him: spices, rosewater, sweat.“I am mad for you,” he says.I feel my smile turn up my lips as I look into his face at last. “And I for you,” I say quietly. “Truly.”