Page 8 of The Uprising
‘Impressed with yourself, are you?’ Cara snapped.
‘No, I’m stunned that you are angry at me for something I apparently did five hundred years ago, something that might even be, well, just a dream. Something that probably isn’t true. I’ve heard it all now.’
‘Damn right, I’m angry. It makes me doubt everything we share. How could you do it?’
‘And in this dream, did you check there’s any truth in these accusations before you built your case for the Crown Court? I mean, do you have any proof, or is it just servant girl gossip with which you’re condemning me, I meanhim?’
‘Well, I went to the queen’s rooms, and Margaret confirmed it without any hesitation, and she was embarrassed to tell me, poor woman. She said she had hoped it would blow over without me finding out, but she couldn’t keep it from me once I asked. Margaret did her best to defend you, saying you love me, and it means nothing.’
‘Smart woman. I’m certain it means nothing—that is, if it even happened, which I seriously doubt,’ he said.
‘Well, that’s easy for you to say...off with your fancy woman and keeping the no-good king sweet as he cheats on his new wife. His mistress is this Marianne’s friend, which is how you came to hook up with her, by all accounts.’
‘I’m speechless.’
‘Me too. It’s ruined everything. I had such beautiful memories of our relationship there.’
Cara’s distraught face was too much for him to bear. He sighed and then reached for her hand. ‘Try not to be so dramatic. Can we agree not to jump to conclusions, please? We have to remember we were different people in a different age. If we hold each other accountable for every mistake we made in Tudorville, we're going to make life unbearable.’
‘I hope I never return to Tudorville. I’m scared to travel back, and have it confirmed that our love was all a lie. I thought we were the perfect couple.’
‘We were—I mean—we are the perfect couple. It would take more than a hot floozy to come between us.’
Cara jumped out of bed and stared at him, her almond-shaped grey eyes blazing. She turned away abruptly and slipped her arms into her silk robe and tied the ribbons, so it concealed her nightdress.
‘Where are you off to now?’
‘I’m going to take a shower and try to make some sense of this. I feel horrible.’
‘Okay. Although, please remember, this is most unfair. We went to bed, and all was fine, and I wake up to this madness, even though I’ve done nothing wrong and am exactly the same man.’
‘I’m sorry. I know it’s crazy, but you with another woman is too much for me to bear.’
George shook his head again. It was probably only a dream, but if it were true, what the heck was he supposed to do about George being a bit of a player in Tudorville? He sipped his coffee and resumed reading, but he had trouble focusing on the words.
Hampton Court Palace, London, 1536 - Tudorville
Cara nestled under a blanket in her favourite chair in their bedchamber. She was reeling with shock and struggled to warm up, no matter how closely she huddled to the orange glow of the fire. She couldn’t get her head around George having a mistress. As the hours ticked by, her anger smouldered to new and dangerous levels. She wished he would come home before she exploded. There was still no sign of him, and she imagined he was with the gorgeous Marianne.
She wished she could have stayed with George in their cottage in York, even though they were both upset. He wasn’t the one who had physically made love to another woman. Now she would have to deal with the consequences of her discovery, and she was exhausted with the flitting back and forth. This is how it had been when she first time travelled—she never knew when she would be swept between timelines. It was incredibly disorientating, and she knew she must resign herself to being at the whim of the vortex.
She couldn’t even look up Marianne online. On this fateful day at Hampton Court Palace in 1536, all she had to go on were a few sentences of gossip, and a sad, yet believable confirmation from a friend.
What the hell was he thinking?
Unable to concentrate on reading, she eventually nodded off and awoke with a thudding heart to the sound of the opening door. The dying fire sparks spluttered and popped from the depths of the embers, and her anger rekindled at the sight of George.
‘You waited up for me. How lovely.’ His face lit up and he crossed the room swiftly to her side and knelt down to kiss her.
Cara turned her face away and his kiss missed its destination.
‘Whatever’s the matter, my love?’
‘Where have you been, my lord?’
George’s happy, open expression clouded over. He hated being questioned, especially when she used that tone. It closed him down and provoked him.
‘Why do you speak to me so?’
