Later in her own retiring chamber, she thrilled at the feel of his
mouth against hers, almost ashamed of the way she'd responded. Then
she thought of her family and her honor.
She shook her head and sighed. No, as much as she wanted to be with
him as a woman would be with the man she loved, she could not become
one in a string of the King's mistresses.
She hurried back to her chamber. If she was fleet of foot, she could
be back on the road in no time and intercept her luggage before it
ever arrived. She would head back to Warwickshire by the fastest
means possible and that would be the end of the King's mild interest
in her, of that she was sure.
She suppressed a small twinge of regret and ran for her cloak.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Warwick Castle, July, 1521
Amethyst prided herself on her swift action and how she had put her
own family's interests above her own desires to be at one with the
King, body and soul. Alas, her sister saw only her own livid anger.
"You swine!" Topaz took Amethyst by the shoulders and shook her
violently. "You went running to court after him, that bastard of a
king, you, my sister, who ought to hate him as much as I do! You
went toadying up to the offspring of our father's killer!"
"You knew I was invited to his birthday festivities," she protested,
trying to struggle free.
"But I didn't think you'd actually degrade us all by attending! And
until you promise never to associate with the likes of him again,
you are no longer my sister!"
"Topaz, you cannot tell me what to do!" she hissed, breaking her
sister's vice like hold at last.
But Topaz was already stalking from the room, leaving her scent of
rose oil behind.
Amethyst dined alone that night in her bedchamber, stuffing herself
with hot buttered scones, jellied tarts and delicate pastries. She
needed the solace, the comfort, of hot sweet food. Then she began to
feel dizzy.
Her mind simply ceased to function; she couldn't remember what day
it was, what the signs of the Zodiac were. Her brain was wrapped in
a dense fog, a cloudy curtain that would not let her think straight.
She stumbled to her bed and lay down, only to feel a violent nausea
rising to her throat. She leaned over the bed and retched.
Her chambermaid rushed over to her, flung herself across the bed
behind Amethyst, and held her hair back. Amethyst threw up her
dinner, and what seemed like her entire insides. With a weak groan,
she lay back on the bed as her maid pressed a damp cloth to her
face, and, completely spent, drifted off into blackness.
The next day, the sickening nausea rose to her throat with every
breath. Sabine sat at her bedside, forcing some sweet gooey syrup
between her lips, but the aroma simply made her retch more—what, she
didn't know; she had nothing left inside her.
"Poison...she poisoned me..." she managed to whisper, for even using
her voice was a major effort, an expenditure of energy she simply
didn't have.
Sabine moved closer to her daughter, stroking the hair off her face,
fanning it across the pillow like the feathers of their great
peacocks.
"What is it, dear? What about poison?"
"Topaz...she poisoned me...because I...went to see the King..."
"Oh, no, no..." Sabine's soothing breath feathered over Amethyst's
face as she rocked her gently. "She would not dare."
"She did, she did."
The next day she felt weaker still, unable to keep anything down.
Sabine called for their physician, Dr. Stokes, who bustled into the
room, pulling the drapes aside, letting a stream of sunlight enter
the musty room.
"No, please, shut out the light!" Amethyst groaned, her voice a
cracked wail of pain. She doubled up as another stab of agony shot
through her stomach.
The doctor jabbed a needle into her heel, bleeding her into a silver
bowl at the foot of the bed, and forced some hot thick liquid into
her mouth.
She gagged and spat, but he held her head between his palms with a
vice-like grip, forcing her jaw shut. The nausea rose to her throat,
and she retched violently, arms and legs spasmodically jerking under
the heavy covers, her head thrashing from side to side, but barely
able to move under the confining strength of his grasp.
"You will swallow that, my lady, or I shall open your gob like a
bird's beak and force it down your gullet with me fingers," he
shouted, above her moans of protest and pain.
Finally, a breath of the fresh breeze allowed her to relax and her
throat gave way, the warm liquid coating her tortured, twisted
insides.
The doctor relinquished his grip on her jaw and pushed her head
gently back onto the pillows.
"Give her that every sunup and sundown and at high noon. Make her
swallow it by any means necessary if you wish her to live." He
handed the bottle to the thunderstruck Sabine, grabbed his black bag
and dashed from the room.
Amethyst's heavy lids closed. The soft breeze and sunlight faded
farther and farther away, as her mind drifted into an empty void of
blackness in which she saw nothing, felt nothing, and heard nothing.
The pain was gone, and her body felt delightfully lithe and supple.
Nausea was no longer a burden enmeshed within the confines of the
flesh and bones she dragged about; she was a feather, a lucid puff
of vapor with no eyes, yet able to see a radiant glow before her,
colorless, but brilliant.
She felt herself smiling, but she had no mouth with which to laugh,
and when she wanted to retreat, the light itself faded to dimness
and she once again faded with it.
The drapes were drawn, the window pulled shut. A candle flickered in
the corner. The bed curtains were parted just enough so that Sabine
and the priest could see the withered body lying still under the
sheets.
Matthew entered the room silently, and then Emerald, both wiping
tears from their eyes, their faces contorted with grief. Topaz was
tending some sick animals on a nearby farm and had not come to see
her sister once no matter how much her mother had pleaded with her
to be there at the end.
The priest said a few words and sprinkled holy water on the slight
figure. Sabine could hear her breathing, could see the expression of
pure peace on her daughter's drawn face.
"She will leave us peacefully," the priest whispered. "She will
enter Heaven tonight and there will be no pain."
With a sob, Sabine turned and fell into Emerald's arms. Mother and
daughter wound their arms round one another, each lost in her own
private grief.
Matthew went to stand by the bed, stunned at how so vital a young
woman could have withered virtually overnight into this wraith of
herself. Placing one hand on her chill brow and one over her heart,
he began to pray fervently that the good Lord would spare her. That
He would take whatever strength Matthew could spare and bring her
back to all those who loved and needed her.
The women's weeping paused as a slight noise came from the bed and
Matthew removed his hands and jumped back in shock.
Amethyst sighed and her eyes opened.
She could see the shadowy figures at the foot of the bed, the priest
in his black robe, holding up a chalice of some sort, chanting
softly in Latin, his head bowed, and beyond him, Emerald's honey
beige hair piled on top of her head, her face a confused contortion
of grief.
She closed her eyes and continued breathing, more and more deeply,
filled with a sense of warmth and new-found purpose such as she had
never known before.
When her mind again opened to the real world and she knew she was
not in some faraway dreamland, she opened her eyes, sensing a
presence in the pale golden light of the candle on the bed stand.
She could see Emerald sitting at the edge of the bed, smiling down
upon her gently. Slowly the nausea began to recede, to cease its
cruel and savage racking of her weak body, and she asked for a cool
cloth.
Emerald wrung out the cloth and wiped her down, the cleansing making
her feel almost human.
The next morning, her throat muscles loosened and allowed her to
swallow a few spoonfuls of soup or porridge without heaving it all
back up again. Emerald always seemed to be there, keeping a vigil by
her bed, hugging Amethyst close, and she could hear Sabine at the
foot of the bed murmuring prayers of thanks.
"Amethyst, you almost left us, He almost took you, but He gave you
back to us," Emerald whispered as Amethyst's eyes fluttered open,
welcoming the warm sunlight that spilled into the room.
"Please open the window, I want to breathe fresh air," she pleaded,
"Bring me flowers; 'tis so stuffy in here."
She opened her eyes and before her was a basket of hyacinths,
pansies and marigolds mixed with roses from the garden, compliments
of Matthew, who had penned a charming note to her. "That was very
kind of him."
"He never left your side," Emerald said with a tender smile. "He is
truly a most kind brother."
"Aye, brother," she said pensively, feeling a warmth against her
breasts that made her shudder with desire and shame.
She took one soft petal between her fingers and let its velvety
smoothness soothe her. Over the next few days, more tokens of esteem
came from far and wide, from everyone except Topaz.
Yet it was not her enmity, but the very love of all her family that
began to make her feel cold inside, trapped.
As she gradually regained her strength, she found she was able to
lift her head without that blast of dizziness, and as soon as she
was able, began directing her maids to repack her precious
belonging. She was leaving, and would escape at midnight out through
the window if she had to, in order to outwit Topaz, who had wanted
her dead rather than see her as friends with the King. Let alone
mistress…
She could not let her sister or the rest of her family know she was
going back to court to be with Henry, no matter what.
A messenger arrived with a polite summons from the King. She sent
her regrets, saying that she had gone back for a family emergency
and had herself become very ill, and that she would commence her
journey as soon as she was able.
Her hand trembled as she penned the note; her heart was a stir in
anticipation of her new life at court. She had fled the passion that
flared within her at the very thought of being with the King, and
tried to do her best for the sake of her family. She had nearly lost
her life in the process.
But now she felt she had been given a second chance at life, one so
precious she would be a fool not to take it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Over the next few days, Amethyst's appetite began to return, and
that sickening rise of bile gave way to the hollow gnaw of ravenous
hunger. How good it felt to hear the familiar stomach rumble, to
actually crave a sweet sticky tart, to enjoy those spurts of
mouth-watering when the aroma of a roasted chicken wafted through
the room.
She took her first swallow of solid food, a plump drumstick, as
she'd requested something she could eat with her hands, to gnaw at
it like a starving animal. She sank her teeth into the warm roasted
flesh and chewed, savoring the smoky taste, happily letting the
grease smear her chin. Her stomach filled to the point of satiation
quickly, exhausting her, and she fell into a contented, satisfied
slumber, her body efficiently nourished at last.
Each day she forced herself to rest, eat, get well, so she could
leave for court as soon as she could and be with Henry once more.
She had no doubt what becoming his mistress would entail, with all
the scandal and yet honor for her family. But it was for the man
himself she was pursuing this course of action, Henry and no other,
for he had touched her heart and mind and was sure this was her
destiny.
The day before her planned departure for court, she took one last
walk through the rose garden, touching the petals with her
fingertips, inhaling their sweet scent, glancing back at the castle
with a wistful sadness. Her eyes misted over, blurring the rows of
towers and protective walls.
Although she was leaving to start a new and exciting life in the
intimate circle of royalty, she would miss the close familiar warmth
of home. She plucked a white rose from its stem and twirled it
between her fingers. She would take this rose with her as a
reminder, hoping that by the time the rose withered and died, she
would be so caught up with court life that her homesickness would
vanish.
The flower was white, a Yorkist rose. So many had died for that
symbol. She herself had nearly done so thanks to the unbalanced mind
of her sister. But the Tudor rose was red and white. Henry had
restored their wealth and possessions. There was room at the court
for both factions if only they would put aside their old resentments
and help him build his modern new world…