This time she was prepared. This time, she was ready to say yes. But
she would go to him on her own terms. With a fluttering heart, she
dressed for him in her new pale blue silk robe, creamy chemise and
matching white gown, slashed in front to show a frilly blue
underskirt. She basked in the comforts he'd provided her, pinching
herself to make sure it wasn't another of her girlhood dreams.
Aye, she would see him tonight, to have another of their delightful
chats about astronomy and religion, to laugh with him, to enjoy his
charismatic personality, but in the end she would not give in to his
carnal demands. She was here for the King's Musick, but no more,
especially when he already had a pretty blonde mistress. She'd
finally encountered the elusive Bessie at a distance and glimpsed
nothing more than the torches' light glinting off her platinum hair.
But she was real enough and ensconced in his life. She would brook
no rival, nor end up cast off like Mary Boleyn.
Every practice session of the King's Musick produced another wave of
juicy items—he and Catherine were indeed estranged; he was becoming
infatuated with a sister of one of his former mistresses, and he was
bringing his and Bessie Blount's illegitimate son to court!
With all these thoughts swirling through her head, fueling her pride
and determination not to yield to him as a lover, she spread her
skirts neatly about her and waited, for she did not want to seem too
eager to see him, nor too teasing and coy. By now she knew if she
continued to ward off his advances it would only be a matter of time
before he banished her from court—according to the King's Musick,
he'd dismissed many an unwilling maiden for leading him a merry
dance.
Her anger and pride gave way to sadness as she gazed upon her
opulent surroundings, the richly-paneled walls, the oaken carved bed
with its richly-embroidered canopy and coverings, the glittering
jewels about her neck, wrists and fingers.
Why did he pursue her? Didn't he have enough women? Even though he
was the King, he was still a man—and how much could a man possibly
handle?
Why couldn't things be simpler?
Why couldn't Henry have
been an ordinary country gent with whom she could enjoy the ritual
of courtship instead of being another object of the King's desire?
As badly as she wanted to stay here at court and enjoy his alluring
presence, his image still frightened her. She stood for several
tense moments, her fingers clamped round the door handle, torn by
her hesitancy and her desire to please the man she'd grown to adore.
Her hesitancy won.
She did not go to him. She scribbled a quick note of apology and
gave it to a page to deliver to him quickly before she changed her
mind or he came looking for her.
She undressed, folded her skirts and robe carefully. She pulled on a
simple linen nightdress and climbed into bed, calming herself as she
nestled into the feathery down mattress. Henry was a gentle,
understanding man, and he had said patience was his greatest virtue.
A few minutes later, her inner chamber door opened. Thinking it was
one of the grooms coming in to kindle the fire, she ignored him.
Then she felt the bed sagging. Someone was sitting at the edge.
She sat up and could see his figure illuminated by the fire's soft
glow. It was Henry.
"My lord! What...what brings you here?" she gasped, clutching the
sheet to her bosom and cowering away.
"What indeed?" His voice hinted at annoyance, but was smooth and
even. "Why did you refuse my invitation, Amethyst?"
"I...I thought it better this way, my lord."
"What way? To remain untouched for the rest of your days? Why do you
refuse me? Do I not appeal to you?"
"Aye, of course you do! But my feelings...they are so jumbled. And
there are other matters–"
He moved closer to her and she moved back.
"Tell me of these jumblings, Lady Amethyst." His voice was low and
soothing. "I do not want you to be unhappy in any way. What bothers
you?"
"Well, sire, 'tis..." She pulled the bedcovers modestly over her
breasts and could feel his eyes burning even more intensely into
that one area that left even more now to his imagination. "...many
things, namely, you're a married man."
"Lately it has been in name only, Amethyst. Catherine and I are at
the point of estrangement, as you can plainly see for yourself."
"I knew that for some time, sire, but still, she is your wife. Then
there is Bessie Blount."
"What of her?" he said with a shrug.
"Is she not your mistress?" she demanded.
He waved the matter away as if it were of no importance. "She had
been, on and off, for many years. No longer. In fact, Wolsey is
about to marry her off to a gentleman named Tailbois within a
fortnight. You will no longer be seeing Bessie Blount at court. She
and I are finished, truly."
His tone remained low and conversational; absent was any anger or
passion of a man speaking about the end of an affair of more than a
decade.
"But you have a son by her."
"Aye, so I do. But Henry Fitzroy is illegitimate. I made him the
Duke of Richmond, but that is all he can ever be. Besides, Henry is
nearly twelve. I sired him before I even knew you existed. Why would
you resent him?"
"I do not resent him! It's just...all these things I'm finding out
about you, I find out through others. I would so much rather hear
them from you. And all the things I discover make me fear being just
as cast off as Bessie Blount one day."
"Ah...now I see. You want a ritual courtship. You want a gent on
bended knee to woo you in the garden and serenade you under your
chamber window in the moonlight," he said, not unkindly.
She emitted a laugh, much throatier than she'd liked. The bedcovers
fell to her waist as she relaxed the grip at her breast. "Aye, that
would be nice. But more than I can hope to expect."
"So that should serve to unjumble your thoughts?" he asked softly.
She sighed and shook her head. "Nay."
"What, then?
"I should not even being having these feelings. We should not," she
amended, as he began to inch closer in the bed. "When you invited me
to join the King's Musick, I thought my sole duty would be to
perform with the King's Musick."
"You think quite a bit, don't you? Well...I shall put all thoughts
out of your head but thoughts of our bodies uniting and belonging."
"But that may serve for the moment. Then there is tomorrow to be
faced."
"Aye, I was never one to refuse an early morning romp," he said with
a lusty grin.
She grinned despite herself but said impatiently, "Nay, that is not
what I mean and you know it! I mean, the courtiers will talk behind
my back, and the Queen will resent me."
"Catherine cares not what I do, Amethyst. Our marriage lost its
luster long ago. I want you, Amethyst. I do not want Bessie, or Mary
Boleyn, or anyone else. Just you. So let me make you mine, my
darling."
He swept off his cloak and pulled her covers away gently, admiring
her curves under the thin nightdress.
"Please, sire, not tonight."
His lips were upon hers, her jumbled thoughts faded and she could
only take in the sweet scent of his lavender shaving water, the feel
of his strong arms around hers, his lean thighs as he climbed upon
the bed. She felt him against her.
She pushed him away and bolted upright.
"What is wrong now?" he exclaimed, shoving aside the pillow she'd
wedged between them.
"Please, my lord, your visit was so unexpected... And now this!"
"Do not play games with me, Amethyst. I can plainly see the way you
look at me, the glances we exchange, the touches, the innuendo in
just about every word... Then when I come to your bed you refuse me!
It is too much for a man to bear."
"But I came here as a musician, not as your mistress!" she protested
once again.
He smiled, though his eyes remained two golden beams of anger. "Your
innocence is utterly charming, Amethyst. It makes me crave you even
more."
He laughed. "But how can you have been so...innocent? You are unlike
any woman who's ever come through these palace gates, who have
literally stumbled at my feet and let me whisk them off to my bed
for the thrill of a royal romp. Perhaps the values in Warwickshire
are pure indeed."
She raised her chin proudly. "I like to think so, sire. I am not
even a Londoner, though I was born in the Tower, I suppose I am a
native Londoner. But since you gave us back our castle, Warwickshire
has been the only place I've ever called home."
"Aye, you are pure of heart indeed. You may not realize it,
Amethyst, but your body gives one signal while your mind speaks
another. When you get them synchronized, then we shall continue."
He kissed her lightly on the hand, stood, and straightened his
garments and the bed clothes stiffly.
"Does that mean I can stay on at court, sire?" she asked, not
letting a hint of entreaty invade her tone.
"I shant have it any other way. As I have said, I am a patient man,
and I want you and no other as my mistress." He grabbed his cloak
and strode out of the chamber, closing the door behind him.
"Of course!" she hissed. What the King wanted, he got. But there had
been no talk of love or a future or any consequences that a liaison
between them might produce. He was planning on her being the next
Bessie Blount.
She was furious with him for mocking her innocence and doubly angry
with herself for the feelings that were becoming harder and harder
to fight off despite all she knew about him. Why, oh why, did she
have to feel so alive every time he was near? And why could he not
just be an ordinary lord, instead of the King of England?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Henry was in and out of council meetings over the next few days, and
Amethyst saw him only once, from her perch in the gallery. He
regarded her with a frosty indifference, and she took this as his
message that he was indeed waiting for her to come to him when she
was ready.
They ran into each other in the hallway late one night after the
court had retired. She was returning to her chambers and he was
roaming the palace, as he often did when he was unable to sleep.
"Good evening, Amethyst." Through the semi-darkness she could see
his hair was tousled, as if he'd been to bed, and unable to sleep,
had risen again.
"Sire. I trust you found the music entertaining tonight."
"As always."
"I heard the Queen was ill?" she asked, wanting to remind him that
he still had a wife, but also, reflecting her genuine concern for
the Queen.
"She's...not feeling quite right. She's been confined to her
chambers."
"Is it serious?"
"Nay, she sometimes feels the need to retreat from the fanfare and
delve deeply into her scriptures and Masses."
She could tell he didn't want to talk about his wife. Catherine was
becoming somewhat of a non-entity at court. Even when she did join
the King at the high table, she seemed to be in a world all her own.
"My lord, I thought about that last evening when you...entered my
chambers."
"I do not plan to wait forever, Amethyst, but I shall never force
myself upon you," he said in clipped tones.
"How can you expect me to be like all those others, sire?"
He glared at her impatiently. "If by now you still think I consider
you a mere wench, you are more obtuse than I ever thought possible!
I would have banished you from court long ago had it been mere
lust."
"But it is so perverse."
"What on earth is perverse?" His voice rose and the flames seemed to
jump in response. "What is perverse about two people who are
genuinely attracted to each other expressing their feelings? 'Tis
the most natural act God has given us humans the ability to
perform."
"Not when one of them is married," she protested.
"Are you saying you plan to wait until Catherine dies before you
will let me take you?"
His bluntness shocked her. "Nay! I do not wish her ill! But I do not
want to hurt her or any other woman."
"Catherine is the least of our worries. She does not come into this.
We no longer live as man and wife. Do you understand that or must I
spell it out for you as well?"
She sighed heavily. "Are you and the Queen truly estranged, my
lord?"
"We have been having many problems for quite some time now. Long
before you ever arrived at court. So you have nothing to reproach
yourself for."