"Stop right there!" Mark Smeaton interrupted, obviously impressed,
for he finally put down the tankard of ale he'd been so relishing.
"It looks as if we have a virtuoso on our hands!"
The others smiled warmly, and her smile blended right in, as a rush
of true belonging warmed her heart.
After a delightful practice session, the group dispersed and she
headed for her apartments. Now a page was guiding her into the
King's inner chamber, where she took a velvet-cushioned seat. The
oak-paneled walls intimidated her with their dark and imposing
regality.
She got up again and circled the room a few times, taking gulps of
air, trying to calm her breathing. The rapid thump of her heart
reverberated through her entire body. It was another private
audience with the King–she hoped he didn't expect too much. After
all, she was nowhere as accomplished a musician as he.
The Yeomen of the Guard opened the heavy wooden doors and the King
entered the chamber, illuminating its atmosphere with his royal
presence. He was a burst of radiance in his waistcoat of cloth of
silver, quilted with black silk, the sleeves puffed with wavy
slashes at the wrists, his breeches drawn out with taffeta, his
stockings a dark red, tucked comfortably into a pair of black velvet
shoes. He approached Amethyst and took her hand. "Come, Lady
Amethyst."
He turned and she followed. Through a short-paneled corridor they
walked, a row of flambeaux glowing along the walls. Their feet
padded over an exquisite Oriental tapestry threaded with gold, which
she never would dream of using as a carpet on the floor. They
stopped at a heavy oak door which Henry opened with a key he'd
pulled from his belt, and he stood aside to let her enter the
chamber.
The leaded glass windows were pushed outward to grant access to the
gentle whistling of the birds in the tree outside. She could hear
voices and the neighing of horses in the courtyard below. The cool
evening breeze washed over her refreshingly as she inhaled. A row of
paintings in gilded frames covered one paneled wall surrounding a
fireplace before which sat two overstuffed chairs. An intricately
carved table running the length of the opposite wall was covered
with writing paper, quills, and inkwells.
The fading sunlight threw lacy shadows on the floor through the
delicate artistry of the table legs. Around the corner she glimpsed
the massive bed, its curtains open to the velvet covers and plush
pillows. A pallet lay crosswise at the foot of the bed. Dear God,
he'd invited her into his bed chamber!
Snatches of the musicians' conversation ran through her head..."All
Catherine has to do is go to the privy, and he takes the opportunity
for a romp with Bessie...Bessie hasn't been his only play toy…" She
stiffened. She had to get out of his bed chamber before the entire
kingdom began tattling behind her back—oh, God, how it would hurt
her family.
"Your Majesty, I mustn't..." She twirled to face him and nearly fell
into his arms. He gently guided her over to one of the chairs before
the fireplace and they both sat.
"Be calm, Lady Amethyst, I do not bite."
She gathered her skirts and took a deep breath. He reached into a
velvet-lined box and lifted out a gold rope on which was suspended a
teardrop pearl. The chain glimmered as it caught the firelight, and
the pearl radiated a milky white glow like a midsummer's moon.
He walked around her and fastened it behind her neck. The pearl
nestled perfectly between her breasts. The hairs on her neck stood
on end and she quivered delightedly as his fingers brushed her skin.
"A welcome gift. Welcome to court."
The shimmery gold felt like silk against her skin. She lifted the
pearl and upon close inspection she could see it gave off a rainbow
of glimmers as it rolled delicately between her fingertips.
"This is lovely, sire. Thank you ever so much."
"Just a token. A groom will be in shortly with some wine."
He must have sensed her apprehension because he moved his chair back
a trifle before sitting. "Amethyst, you are a lovely woman. There
are so few of your kind here at court."
"So few lovely women, or women in general, Your Majesty?"
"Both. You know your Aunt Margaret Pole is the Princess Mary's
governess. She tells me she misses her family deeply and would like
if one of her nieces could join her. Amethyst, I would like you to
come to court. To be a court musician, just as your mother was when
you were but a child. You were no doubt too young to remember, but I
recall several state banquets at which your mother played her lute
and sang for us. I was quite young myself, but I remember her serene
voice and how her fingers made the strings dance."
That word,
serene
. Her mother's voice was serene. She'd been
looking for that word all her life to describe her mother's lilting
voice, with rich tones of melancholy shaping every phrase.
Then his unexpected invitation finally registered in her mind, and
it all converged on her at once—the glitter of court pageantry, the
sumptuous banquets, the lavish surroundings, but with that came
closeness to the King, the reputed womanizer... But of course she
would accept; she wouldn't dare refuse.
"Aye, I would love to join my dear Aunt Margaret and even get to
know the Queen and even Princess Mary!" she blurted out. "But you
would invite me to be part of the King's Musick, Your Majesty? Only
having heard me play but once?"
His eyes had darkened again. "Oh, I've never forgotten that day in
your conservatory at Warwick. You didn't merely play, my dear. That
instrument became a part of you; you gave it a life of its own.
There is a place at court for as long as your love for music
prevails. You may take a journey back home to bid your family
farewell, then I shall expect you back in a fortnight."
He commanded her so gently, she suddenly realized what made these
wenches swoon under his spell. Who would dare refuse such a charming
man!
"Why, that sounds lovely, Your Majesty. I would be honored to take
the position."
Just then a groom entered with a pitcher and two goblets on a tray,
and headed for the table behind them. He started to pour, but the
King, in a barely visible gesture, waved him away. He rose and
poured them each a gobletful himself.
She took a small, cautious sip, for she'd never had unwatered wine
before. She knew wine was a respectable, elegant drink, meant to
complement meals, enhance the taste of meats and fish, and create a
heady glow. But this wine was not merely strong, it was downright
pungent, burning a column of fire through her body, making her
cheeks flush with its swelling warmth.
"Port, from Portugal. The very best." He sipped his slowly,
luxuriating in its aroma and verve, and she could see his tongue
rolling languorously around his mouth. He was surely a man who
enjoyed life's sensual pleasures and took his time to let each of
his senses revel in the stimulus of the moment.
Before she realized it, he was refilling her goblet and she was
taking larger sips, warming the sweet liquid in her mouth, letting
it burnish her gums and tongue before slipping down her throat,
where it seemed to linger before spreading through her insides.
She began to smile at the comfort and warmth she felt, at the beauty
of the man before her, of the raw maleness he exuded, awakening the
woman entrapped inside her like the bud of a rose.
Her inhibitions banished by the warm alcohol inside her, she began
searching his eyes to see if indeed she could detect any elusive
force behind his gaze, which began to match hers with the same
growing fervor.
Maybe those chips of golden ice floating in the amber orbs were
picking up her every thought, because he moved closer, put down his
goblet and crooked a finger under her chin. She responded to his
touch the way her body was responding to the wine, invitingly,
openly. She welcomed his mouth upon hers, as he parted her lips with
his tongue and thrust it inside, slowly, and she tasted his warmth
mingled with the wine's perfumey essence.
He clasped her shoulders and she rose, her fingers intertwining
through his lustrous hair, their mouths still playfully exploring,
not yet having demanded that crushing possession. She knew not where
she was going, but she no longer cared; he was the King and she was
thoroughly at his command.
The wine had dulled nothing; on the contrary, it had awakened her
senses, making her more receptive to him. Their embrace tightened,
and his fiery touch caused a moan to escape the depths of her
throat, as his hands wandered and lingered.
"Why has not a beautiful creature like you been wed?"
Not giving her a chance to reply, his tongue tickled her earlobe and
his whispered words came just as hotly: "You are by far the
loveliest woman at court. All the others look like tarnished silver
in comparison."
She wondered if that comparison included the Queen. "Why, thank you,
sire," was all she could think of to say, flattered and embarrassed
at the same time, with a trickle of fear now teasing her.
"I would possess you as my very own, lest any other man lay eyes on
you, and enjoy your beauty as I do."
She construed his choice of words. Mark's words 'play toy' whipped
through her head. "Do you propose to lock me up with the rest of the
royal treasury, my lord?" she forced a playful lilt into her voice.
"Nay, I shall let you come up for air occasionally," he quipped,
pouring them more wine, which she didn't make a move to touch. "But
now that you are here, I don't believe I can bear to let you out of
my reach." He sat and pulled her down onto his lap.
"I can't sit by your side on the throne with you, sire."
"But you can sit by me during private moments...like these." His
lips, moist and hot with wine, nibbled at her neck. She fought the
growing arousal churning inside her.
"I thought we were going to play music, sire."
"Ah, music. I love my music, but the music of lovemaking brings me
rapture that a mere instrument never could. I make my best music
with the body of a beautiful woman, making her my instrument,
creating exquisite harmony with my own. Let me put you to music,
Amethyst." His voice dripped with innuendo, but she ignored his
suggestive tone.
"I'm not feeling very...musical right now, my lord. 'Tis a trait
peculiar to all artists, as you must know... The mood must be upon
me."
Her attempt to slide off his lap intensified his swelling passion.
"I have within me strings that are vibrating strongly enough to
create an outburst of sound, a duet of which you have never
seen...or heard. We shall be within the throes of a fantasia you
never knew existed outside a conservatory!"
"Nay, Your Majesty, I can't! This just isn't right; 'tis so
unexpected, just please... Please let me go."
She could see him dismissing her angrily, and in the same breath
calling for Bessie, or whomever he fancied at the moment.
He seemed too startled to retain her and she nearly fell out of his
lap in a scramble to compose herself and stand dizzily on her feet.
"I must preserve my honor."
"Well, then, who better to honor you than your King? What better
sword for your sheath than a royal one?" The twinkle in his eyes
returned with the melodic tone of his voice, as he reached for his
wine and once again, partook of its pleasure almost as fervently as
he'd done her.
"Please, sire, give me...give me more time. This came as such
a...surprise!"
"Very well. I shall wait. I am a king, and patience is my greatest
virtue. But I am also a man, and patience wears thin, so I don't
expect you'll torment me again."
"Nay, sire, I've no wish to torment you. It's just, well, I am
untouched and unschooled in the musical arts to which you are, er,
commanding me."
"I see."
"I hope you do, sire," she said with a blush.
"I have no wish to command any subject against their will."
"Thank you. I am not saying it is against my will, only that it is
so great an honor that I can scarcely grasp what is being asked of
me. What it might mean to me and my whole family to become so, er,
intimate with your inner circle and the King's Musick."
"I understand."
"I hope you do. I may only be from the country and not brought up at
court but I know only too well what it means to have a poor
reputation.
"I do understand, truly. As I said, I have no wish to force you."
"Thank you for giving me time."
"Then you will return at my next invitation?"
She blushed. "Aye, sire." She found herself curtsying, nodding,
eagerly anticipating their next meeting, but dreading it just the
same.