Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) (21 page)

"Meanwhile, you shall have a new title. You are, after
all, my wife in all but name... and other important matters, which are only our
own business." He winked at her and she grinned. "It’s important that
your rank be suitable when you accompany me."

"Then in that meantime, we shall hunt in the North
woods." She declared, thrusting her shoulders back and defiantly leveling
her chin. She cared not, if people would hiss, because no matter how much they
might grumble, she would be Queen.

O
ctober’s brisk air was full of the sounds of jays, who
made their presence known as noisily as crows. The Party had come quite a way
into the King’s gaming grounds, had ridden long until Anne declared time for a
snack. George halted his horse and jumped down from the saddle. The piece of
apple he dug from his bag quickly disappeared into his steed’s mouth. The beast
gave a snort of gratitude.

"Ho, Anne. I see your stomach calls louder than the
urge to hunt." He just had to tease her.

"It is your belly I worry over, brother. I heard it
growling a few paces back." She fidgeted her gown into place as she
dismounted.

"Have you a yearning for food, my King?"

Henry didn’t answer straight away. Instead he beckoned to
the servants at the rear of the party. They scurried forward to lay out quilts
and blankets and food. Within moments a different set of men had set up a
golden canopy to protect their sovereign from the rays of the sun and wayward
bird droppings. He settled onto the ground and motioned George to sit with him
and Anne.

"I’ve been hankering for wine long before your
brother’s stomach made the call. The ride has given me a terrible thirst."

George took the flask from Nan’s hand and poured Henry a
goblet of wine.

"Pass me the cheese as well, Nan, if you will. And mind
you don’t bite a chunk from the edge this time." He grinned at her.

"Mind ye spill not the wine on his Grace’s grand
doublet," she answered, flashing green eyes toward the goblet that had
already been filled to the brim. George jerked back on the flask, spilling wine
on his hose. His loud curse made Henry laugh loudly. He let Anne sop the liquid
with a napkin.

"Ah, George," she said.

"It’s a lucky thing you’ll not be accompanying me to
Calais. You’re as clumsy as a porcupine."

"Ah, but those critters are terribly cute, are they
not? And that waddle they have, I’ve yet to see aught so endearing."

When Anne rolled her eyes, George nudged Henry. "Surely
our Anne needs no help embarrassing herself in Calais, does she your
Grace?"

"That she does not. I’m so certain her sharp tongue
will entrap her, I’ve ordered three servants along with her to hold it
still."

"Only three? You’ve high hopes then, of her ladies’
strength."

A cock pheasant fluttered somewhere near when Henry let out
a belly laugh. It made Anne jump, but within seconds she regained her
composure, and the wry twist to her mouth.

"You gentlemen seem so bent on slurring me, that you’ve
forgotten that sharp tongue is in front of you. Shall I use it now, or hone it
a bit more?" She snapped.

"Ach, Anne. You’ve lost your humor." Henry said
and stuffed a roll into his mouth. George caught his eye and knew as he did
that Henry used the roll to keep from laughing. George couldn’t give in yet.

"Truth be known, Anne, I too think your wit has dulled.
You failed to see the humor in King Francois’ choice of women for the
trip." His study of her face rewarded him. The sallow tone took on a
distinctly whitish cast.

"And what is so funny about that cur inviting his
mistress? I tell you, my accompaniment to Calais was to show me as the lady I
am. Damn the man that he’d refuse to bring his wife, and request that his whore
companion me." The graceful arch of her brows disappeared as they leveled
in fury.

"I think it was funny." George goaded.

Henry broke in, "Anne is right, George. She was to go
so we could gain her some sense of propriety. If Francois brings his mistress
rather than his wife, it will reflect badly on our Anne."

"Yes, brother. I’m right." She stuck her tongue
out and George threw a hunk of bread at it.

"Do you think I didn't know that?"

"I think you know little," she answered.

"And what I know, you taught me," he said. She
waved her hand in the air,

"It’s easy to teach a fool, dear brother. Easier still
to teach a man."

Oh, she wouldn’t get away with that. He was about to
retaliate when she popped a chunk of cheese into his open mouth.

"See, you open your mouth, and we women fill it."

A
nne may have been left out of the diplomatic festivities
at Calais, but she did go. As a means of compromise, Henry and Francois had
decided that no women should take part in the political events. But later, four
days of celebration lay ahead for the Kings and their entourages. Anne sat with
her ladies at supper thinking how fortunate she was that Henry had appointed
Thomas Cromwell in Wolsey’s place. Since Cromwell had taken office, Henry
acquired a new title. Now he was not only King, but the Supreme Head of the
Church and Clergy of England. All the clerics in the realm were made to swear
an oath to him. Bishop Fisher, however, refused and that sent the entire
country to mumbling as well.

If he’d supported the decree, perhaps events wouldn’t have
occurred as they did. Only weeks after Fisher’s outburst over the affair, his
cook sprinkled some noxious powder into his soup, killing beggars that fed at
the house and making Fisher himself extremely sick. Rumors abounded that the
Boleyn faction and possibly she, herself, had been responsible for the
poisoning.

Henry tried to squelch the rumors by ordering the cook put
to death. She shivered at the thought. She was innocent of the former, but
surely because of those rumors she was responsible for the cruelty of the
cook’s execution, for to stop the rumors Henry had him boiled slowly in oil. He
obviously thought something so horrible would eradicate suspicion of him and
his mistress, or at the very least strike fear into his subjects so they
wouldn’t speak of it. But now, as she sat at the table dressed in her finest
gown, she refused to think more on it. The time had gone, and brooding over it
could only sadden her.

The expanse of room was nearly filled with servants coming
and going. Bells rang sharply as every now and then a cook ran through to chase
the dogs from the tables. The sound of dull thuds as they were given vicious
boots accompanied quick yelps. Anne sighed heavily. This occasion was supposed
to be austere. Even her gown hadn’t escaped a dog’s paw, and suffered a dirty
imprint. She kept brushing to remove it. Many of the gowns were made of
cloth-of-gold, but she decided her gown would look more dazzling if it were
underlaid with crimson satin. It was a present to herself to help her get over
the disappointment that Marguerite hadn’t come.

"You look enchanting," Henry whispered to her as
he passed by to present Francois with a gift. She smiled in return and took a
drink of wine. At the beginning of the feast she had been introduced by her new
title, The Lady Marquess of Pembroke, and was treated as the first lady of the
feast. No courtier present would misunderstand the significance of the role as
it was traditionally Catherine’s position. Her pride was not lessened by the
fact that everyone present was either part of her own small court or Henry's.
At least among her own, she was Queen. These ceremonies were a little less
solemn than the diplomatic ones, but as she watched Henry pass a gilded clock
to Francois, she realized them to be as important as the ones just held. And
perhaps, from her own viewpoint, imperative. If Francois treated her
respectably and accepted her rank, it may well smooth some of the hostility
abroad over Henry's great matter. Which was what Henry hoped for—an ally.

"I'm a little nervous," she whispered to her
sister who had agreed to accompany her. Mary's tiny mouth pursed in concern.

"No need to be, Francois knows you, he'll not
disapprove." She touched Anne lightly on the arm.

"You don't know that; he's married to Catherine's niece
now, since Claude's death. And since his brother-in-law is the emperor of
Spain, he may not dare to accept me and disturb the uneasy peace." It
annoyed her that she had to explain this to Mary. Had it been George, he would
have understood the undercurrents without being told.

"You worry over much." Mary tucked her amber locks
behind her ear and batted her eyes at a nearby Frenchman. Anne sighed, since
Will's death, Mary had returned to her old ways. A husband would have to be
found for her as soon as the crown was gained, and Anne could wield that power.

"At least things bode well for Henry," she
remarked, poking her sister’s satin covered arm discreetly to get her
attention. "He's managed to have his son educated at Francois'
court."

"Humph," Mary responded. "Little Henry
Fitzroy will get more education there than he bargains for." She returned
her eyes to the lithe Frenchman.

Anne had to grin, thinking of the gangly, blond
twelve-year-old walking through the halls for the first time posed an
interesting picture. She would give her favorite slippers to see his wide-eyed
surprise at some of the more risqué paintings.

But by now, Francois was smiling and embracing Henry, who
himself wore a wide grin, and she decided it was time to settle her tongue. She
watched as Henry stood away so the French King could pass a blue velvet cushion
to his Provost. A quick wink from Henry suggested the cushion was meant for
her. She straightened her back consciously, waiting for the Provost to come
near. She could see that atop lay a beautiful diamond, lying bare on the
cushion as if that were the setting. She could barely stifle a murmur of
delight when he placed the gift in her hands.

"I'm honored," she breathed, looking down the
table and directly into Francois' eyes. Surely this meant his acceptance and
blessing

"As we both are," Henry spoke, his delight evident
in the way his voice carried.

"But now, I think it time for some fun,
non
?"
He addressed Francois who nodded quickly. His haste in agreeing didn't surprise
Anne—Francois had always been ready for fun.

"Then, let's begin the dancing!" Henry hoisted his
goblet of wine and with its raising, the musicians took their cue. Anne led her
ladies to the floor as the dance began. But before long, Henry came for her. He
whispered into her ear so low she strained to hear.

"May I walk you to your room, this eve, dearest?"

"Of course, my love." She felt so ecstatically
happy that she may even let him inside for a while tonight. He took her hand
and led her from the room. She said nothing as he took the wrong turn to his
own quarters.

"You may sleep in a room fit for a queen tonight, if
you desire." He studied her eyes.

"And where are you to sleep, my King?" She teased
him. After all, she couldn't give in too easily. Instead of answering, he swept
open the door and led her inside. It seemed his manner suggested he wanted to
be alone, for the servants within all scuttled to the opposite door, some of
them turning down the bed on their way out, others lighting a few strategic
candles, still others blowing some out. The air in the room felt slightly
cloistered, and the faint aroma of must rose to her nostrils as she meandered
through the rushes. Henry had given much thought to this room, probably intent
that his mistress would finally become that. Green velvet hung from the walls
and swathed the windows, embroideries graced the chairs and bed. The waxen
smoke from the few burning candles lent an additional mystique. Upon closer
inspection, she noticed the embroideries all depicted some form of
transformation. A butterfly emerged from a chrysalis on the quilt, while nearby
and surrounding the bed stood embroidery bars depicting various scenes from
Ovis' "Metamorphoses."

"It’s beautiful," she breathed in much the same
tone as she had upon sighting the diamond.

"It’s meant to lend truth to the most beautiful event
of my reign," he whispered into her ear. His breath tingled on the flesh
of her naked neck. She lifted her face to meet his.

I
t was too much to bear alone. Anne hurried through the
dimly lit corridors of Whitehall castle to find her lover. He would know what
to do, or at least, she hoped so. She found him in short time, closeted in his
privy chamber with the lutenist, Marc Smeaton, who plucked absently at the strings.
Hal Norris laid out Henry’s clothes for the mid-afternoon hunt.

"Rex," she said. He stood awkwardly as she burst
in. Apparently, he had been rummaging through one nostril, and didn't enjoy
being found by his mistress in such a state.

"Anne..." He surreptitiously wiped the back of his
hand against his nose. "What brings you in such a hurry?"

"Rex," she said again, flung herself into his
arms. "May we be alone for a moment?" She squeezed him tightly around
the belly—she was a little too short to reach his chest when he stood. He
squeezed her in return.

"What is it dearest? Is something wrong?" She
could feel him wave his hands at his grooms and heard them rustle to the door.

"No, love. It is something quite wonderful." She
looked up into his face, pulled at his beard playfully.

"We're going to be parents!" She chuckled at the
shock that stole his face, and laughed harder when an incredulous splutter sent
sprays of saliva over her head.

"Parents? But that means..."

"I'm with child!" She left his arms to spin around
the room in a mad rush of energy. Face to ceiling, the muraled plaster blurred
into the oak wainscoting ’til it was all one great gray, happy mess.

"With child?" His face lit like a candle in a
darkened room. Too excited to speak, she merely nodded.

"With child," he said again.

"Can we be sure?"

"I'm nearly two months gone." She smiled, coming
back to him and taking his hand.

"You're to be a father, as sure as I can be." His
jaw hung and she grinned.

"I knew those nights in Calais would transform
you," he said. "From friend to lover, and now lover to mother."

"Hardly Calais, dearest, that was over three months
ago. I think it was from our stable excursion." She blushed faintly,
tickled his groin. "You remember, beneath the loft?" She shuddered emphatically.

"Well, Calais may not have transformed you to mother,
but it was certainly a good beginning. Now I must transform you from mistress
to wife, eh? Now that we've a child to worry about, and who can secure the
throne, we must legitimize him. That is, if you wish it?" His face clouded
with concern and he touched her chin with his finger, lifted it to watch her
face.

"Would you marry me, my love?"

She smiled, unable to even nod. "When?"

"Immediately. We have only to arrange it. Of course, it
will have to be secret, until I can get the clergy to finally decree my
original marriage invalid." He pushed her away absently, and began pacing
the room in thought.

"We must secure Catherine's withdrawal," he
muttered to himself, fidgeting with his beard. A few red wisps fell to the
floor. Then suddenly his large frame was careening throughout the room in a
crazy fit of excitement, and on his second turn had her in his arms and twirled
her until she thought she would faint from dizziness. Then as if afraid, he halted
and studied her.

"Oh. Perhaps it’s not good for the babe. You've a
couple of moons left before the danger point has passed."

"I'm sure the child will be as healthy as his parents'
appetites." She winked, thinking if this was all she had to do to get the
divorce moving, she should have done so six years ago.

"But for now, you realize, I can no longer satisfy
yours?"

"Nor would I want you to," he murmured, pulling
her close, breathing into her hair. "I'll not take any chances with this
Godsend. And now I know I was correct all along, for God has just proven it to
me. How can the clergy disagree?" He squeezed her hand tightly, then
released her.

"You must excuse me, my dearest, I have a marriage to
arrange."