“You did not hurt me, my lord. Perhaps you frightened me at first, but you did not hurt me,” she reassured him. He was vulnerable. As vulnerable as any mere man, despite his kinghood. How strange it had never occurred to her that a king for all his royalty was no more than a simple mortal. A powerful mortal, but a mortal nonetheless. It made what she had just endured, and would endure in the future, just a little bit easier to bear. “Should we not rejoin the court lest the lack of our presence be spoken about, my lord?”
“You will call me Henry in private,” he said, taking her arm, and leading her forth, they rejoined the court.
“God’s foot,” swore Charles Brandon softly to the Duke of Norfolk as he saw them walking across the lawns, “so he’s finally had a taste!”
“What makes you think it?” returned Lord Howard.
“He has suddenly become jovial, while the lady is sweetly subdued. Aye, he’s had the first taste, and from the looks of him, ’twas not enough. He’ll want more!”
“Now the question is,” replied the Duke of Norfolk, “whether she will last as long as my lady Tailboys, or my niece Mary. And will she too give him a son? It is all to the good. Each time one of these pretty diversions gives him a boy, he becomes even more convinced of the rightness of his cause in ridding himself of his Spanish queen. If his holiness will just cooperate with us, we will soon have some nubile young princess wed to his grace, and spawning England healthy sons.”
The May Day festivities continued under the benevolent rule of the court’s fair Queen of Beauty and Love. There was a wrestling match, and the king challenged all comers, beating them handily. Blaze rewarded him with a laurel crown and a warm public kiss. There was a mock joust, the tips of the lances being couched carefully. Blaze and the king sat beneath the awninged pavilion sipping sweet golden wine while the combatants fought until only the Duke of Suffolk remained, emerging victorious from the fray to receive a jeweled cup from the May Queen as his reward.
“What, m’lady, no kiss to the champion?” teased the duke.
“Nay, my lord,” Blaze answered quickly. “My kisses are reserved for my lord, the king, alone.”
The butts were set up, and many of the men stripped their elegant gowns off so they might shoot in comfort. The king was an excellent archer, and very much enjoyed the sport. He proposed a contest, but his gentlemen laughingly declined, saying that no one could triumph over so fine an archer as Henry Tudor, and they preferred to shoot for the mere sport of it.
As afternoon slipped into evening tables were set up upon the great lawn at Greenwich, and a country-style banquet was held, to be followed by more dancing upon the green. Gradually, however, the guests began to slip away into the shadows in pairs, and the king leaning over said softly so that only Blaze might hear him, “Go now, and make yourself familiar with your new apartments, sweetheart. I will come to you soon.”
She did not argue, knowing it futile, but instead arose, saying softly as she did, “Give me an hour, my lord. I would bathe first.”
His nod was barely discernible, and she hurried off.
“Was she worth the wait?” murmured his brother-in-law, Charles Brandon, silkily, slipping into the seat that Blaze had just vacated.
A small smile touched the king’s lips. “Aye!”
“And if, Hal, you compared her to Bessie or Mary, how would she fare?”
“She is better, brother Charles, for other than her husband she has known no man. She is as sweet as a virgin without being a virgin, yet her lack of experience holds great charm. I shall enjoy teaching her the things she obviously does not know.”
“You are to be envied, Hal. Lady Wyndham is a rare little creature. I wonder how well you will like your creation, however, when you have schooled her to your satisfaction.”
“She will be the closest thing to perfection as any woman can get then, Charles,
and
she will still be mine.”
The Duke of Suffolk laughed, and affably raised his goblet to toast his monarch, half in admiration, half in envy. Henry accepted the toast with a boyish grin, but his mind was on his ladylove.
Despite her situation Blaze would have had to be a saint not to adore the beautiful apartment which was now hers. It was not overly large, but it was spacious and comfortable. There was a lovely Day Room with its oak-paneled walls, large leaded-paned windows that overlooked the River Thames, and a fireplace. The polished floors had wool carpets in dark blue and reds that had been given the king by a group of London merchants. The furniture was made of gracefully carved golden oak. There were porcelain bowls of fresh flowers and potpourri set about to freshen the air in the rooms, and the candles set within the silver candlesticks were of the purest beeswax.
Blaze also had a small paneled dining room with a table that could seat a dozen along with a fine sideboard. There would be times when the king would want to eat privately with her, or perhaps she or he might choose to entertain friends. There was a dressing room for Blaze’s growing wardrobe, and a separate room for Heartha. Both the dining room and the tiring woman’s sleeping chamber had their own fireplaces.
“Such luxury, m’lady! Never have I seen the like, even at RiversEdge,” said Heartha, awed.
“Indeed, such luxury, Heartha, but at what price?” said Blaze sadly.
“ ’Tis no shame to you, m’lady, that the king has chosen you for his pleasure,” the tiring woman responded. “You are a widowed lady, and the queen is already put aside.”
Blaze shook her head silently. Heartha had as quickly put away her country morality as had Bliss’s servant, Betty. She looked about her lovely new bedchamber. The bed was extraordinarily big as it must be in order to accommodate as large a man as the king. Henry was not fat, but he was tall, and big-boned with a thick neck and limbs like tree trunks. The bed Was hung with crimson velvet draperies, and the linen sheets were scented with lavender. The bedchamber walls were of oak linenfold paneling, and there was a large fireplace opposite the bed whose bedposts were carved round with vines and flowers, and quite pretty. There were matching candlestands with silver tapersticks on either side of the bed, and there was a long table before the large leaded-paned windows that overlooked the river, as well as several chairs in the room. Despite the generosity of the furnishings, there was still more than enough room within the chamber to walk about.
A large oaken tub was set up within Blaze’s dressing room, and with Heartha’s help she bathed herself in warm violet-scented water. Heartha dried her mistress with towels that had been heated before the fire, and then dusted her with delicate powder. She then slipped over Blaze’s head a diaphanous night garment of sheerest black silk whose long skirt was a mass of narrow little pleats. The gown had long sleeves that fell to points over her hands, and a V neckline that revealed more than it concealed.
“Where did this nightrail come from?” demanded Blaze. “It is certainly not one of mine.”
“It is a gift from my lady FitzHugh, mistress,” replied Heartha. “She sent it this afternoon with strict instructions that you were to wear it tonight. I ain’t never seen one quite like it meself.”
Blaze laughed at Heartha’s words. How very like Bliss to send her such a thing. “Nay, Heartha,” she answered her servant, “nor have I ever seen anything like it. It looks like something that a French courtesan would wear, but no matter. If my sister thinks it proper, then who am I to say, being but a country mouse to Bliss’s court cat.”
“ ’Tis good to hear you laugh, m’lady,” said Heartha. “I know you’ve not been happy these last weeks.” She took up a brush, and seating her mistress, began to brush her hair.
“I have decided not to fight my fate, Heartha. How can I, under these particular circumstances?” responded Blaze.
Heartha brushed her lady’s hair with long strokes until it shone with warm golden-brown lights. Suddenly a door hidden within the paneled wall of the bedroom opened, and the king, dressed in a quilted blue velvet chamber robe, stepped through into the chamber. Startled, Heartha dropped the hairbrush, which clattered to the floor.
“And whom have we here, sweetheart?” said the king with a smile. He was being his most charming.
Blaze arose and curtsied. “This is Heartha, my tiring woman, my lord king.”
Heartha, regaining her wits, curtsied low before Henry.
“And have you been with your mistress long, Heartha?” asked the king.
“Since she was wed with my lord Edmund, sire,” said Heartha. “I was born at RiversEdge.”
The king drew a small gold ring from his little finger, and held it out to the servant. “Take this small token of my thanks for your loyal service to Lady Wyndham, Heartha. I know that you will continue to care well for her.”
Heartha’s mouth fell open with her surprise, and only when Blaze sharply poked her did she reach out, and curtsying once again, take the gold ring from the king. “Oh, thank you, your grace! Be sure I will continue my good care of my lady,” she babbled as she backed from the room.
“You have quite taken her breath away.” Blaze smiled. “ ’Twas a kind thing to do, my lord. She will remember it always, and someday tell her grandchildren that the king actually spoke with her, and gave her the ring from his finger.”
“She has children?” he asked.
“Several, but she is widowed, and they grown and serving the Wyndhams also.”
“Let me look at you,” said Henry, and set her back from him. Slowly his blue eyes moved over her form, and then he said, “The gown is most provocative, madam. Walk about the room for me,” and when she did, he smiled broadly. “I can see your beautiful bare legs when you walk.”
“The garment is a gift from my sister,” said Blaze.
“The lovely Lady FitzHugh knows well how to gild the lily,” the king remarked, “but I can see the gown does not please you.”
“Perhaps, sire, I find the gown a bit too obvious,” Blaze said quietly. She was no longer quite so afraid of the man before her. Only the feelings he engendered within her were frightening.
The king reached out, and with a deliberate motion tore the black silk gown from her, and flung the pieces into the fire, where they disappeared with a quick
hisssss
. Blaze, shocked, nonetheless moved not a muscle.
The king studied her for what seemed a long time, and then he said, “This was how I longed to see you, as God made you in nature’s estate, and I am not disappointed.” He drew her across the room to set her before the pier glass. Standing behind her, he slipped his arms about her so that he might cup her breasts within his hands. The weight of the warm flesh against his palms was almost unbearably sensuous.
“What magnificent tits you possess, madam,” he murmured, and bending down, placed a kiss upon her rounded shoulder. His thumbs encircled her nipples in a leisurely fashion.
Blaze sighed deeply, and as she did so, she felt a familiar languor spreading through her limbs. What was it that he did to her to arouse such feelings within her body? She had no love for him. He was her king. He had threatened her child’s welfare unless she yielded her body to him. He had forced her cruelly, and yet at his touch her body was afire. Did all women behave so? She leaned back against the king, and her round breasts pushed themselves forward within his tender grasp. Through half-closed eyes she saw him smile.
“So, sweetheart, you begin to feel desire already, do you?” His lips began an exploration of the curve of her slender throat, lingering at the soft junction between neck and shoulder. “Ah, lovey, you set my heart afire!” Turning her about, he lifted her up into his arms, and carrying her across the bedchamber, he laid her gently upon the large bed.
Blaze lay quietly watching the king as he first removed his quilted robe, and then his white silk nightshirt. Her eyes widened at his nudity. If her body was beautiful to his eyes, then his was magnificent in hers. His shoulders were wide and well-proportioned. His chest was broad, and covered in a mat of tight reddish-gold curls. It tapered down to a neat waist, and slim hips. His legs were long and very shapely. They, too, were covered in red-gold hair. At the junction of his belly and his thighs was a triangle of auburn-gold curls from which jutted his manhood. Seeing the weapon that had earlier probed her flesh, she was amazed at its size, and that he had been able to enter her at all.
He laughed at her look, amused by her silence. “Aye, sweetheart, here is the big boy that earlier played havoc within your sweet sheath! Look on him, and know that he is well-rested and once again hungry for the taste of your body. He’ll not be so quick now, either, for his earlier bout with you has but whetted his prodigious appetite.” The king flung himself down upon the bed, and pulled her atop him so that she was looking down into his face, the nipples of her sensitive breasts brushing against the stiff curls upon his chest. “Now kiss me, my little country girl,” he begged her. “I long for your pretty lips.”
She bent, her mouth closed over his in a shy kiss. She had never been atop a man, and her cheeks grew warm with the thoughts her position aroused in her. He kissed her back, his lips demanding, his tongue pressing into her mouth to tease her so she was assailed by feelings of both passion and of guilt. He felt her hesitation.
“Nay, sweetheart,” he whispered against her mouth, “don’t go away from me. Do you not know that I love you, Blaze?” Gently he rolled her over onto her back, and his eyes looked into hers. “Your king loves you, my pretty little country girl. He lays his heart at your feet. Would you scorn him, lovey? Could you be that cruel?”
“Sire, it is your poor wife I feel guilt over,” Blaze said, not quite daring to believe the wonderfully romantic words he had just uttered. Did she dare believe him, or was it merely something a man said to coax a reluctant lover? Her lack of experience was so damned regrettable!
“Darling Blaze,” the king said, “I have no wife. My own clerics assure me that the marriage performed between me and the Princess of Aragon all those years ago was not lawful in God’s eyes because she had been wed to my brother, Arthur. That is why God has denied me living legitimate sons. My
marriage
has been a terrible sin, and in fact it was no real marriage. My sons by Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn are but God’s way of showing me that with a lawful wife I may have the sons I so deeply desire.