"Your Majesty, I cannot see how that can be so."
"It is simple. Read Scripture. It states clearly in Leviticus, 'Thou
shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy brother's wife; it is thy
brother's nakedness.' and 'If a man shall take his brother's wife,
it is an unclean thing: he hath uncovered his brother's nakedness;
they shall be childless.' We are not married. It is that simple. I
shall approach the Pope and obtain an annulment."
How simple could it be, she wondered, but then again, he was talking
as if the Queen Catherine were a fly he could simply brush off his
cloak. How simple it had been for Henry's father to purge her father
from the face of the earth! Please, God, don't let Hal turn out that
way! she entered a silent plea.
"Then I shall be free to marry again and bring forth the heir this
country so desperately needs."
"The country needs? Or
you
need, Your Majesty?"
He licked wine off his lips and plucked another handful of grapes
off the vine. "You are getting to know me, you feisty little
spirit!" He smiled and winked at her, his eyes sparkling in the
firelight like the jewels that glittered on his every finger.
"What man, from the King down to the lowliest stable boy, doesn't
want a son? However, for me it is more than a personal wish. I have
a duty to carry out, an obligation to my kingdom, to the ages."
"And how does Queen Catherine feel about it?"
He cleared his throat and for the first time since she'd entered the
chamber, his gaze left hers. He stared into his wine goblet. "She
doesn't know yet."
"You discussed it with me, a mere court musician, a servant, before
bringing it before your wife, the Queen, the victim?"
His eyes returned to hers, and bored straight through to her soul.
They were fiery, his temper piqued. "I am the victim here, not she!"
His voice, though remaining calm and even, took on a quality of
indignation. He was not one to shout to make a point; it would be
ever so un-kingly. He needn't ever shout.
"'Tis I who shall suffer, along with my realm, because she cannot
produce an heir! She will be well provided for. She will not want.
What more would she have of me?"
"Why, I do not know, Your Majesty. I know the Queen not at all. I've
not met her more than three or four times, and we've exchanged no
more than the most simple of niceties. But if it must be, then all I
can think she would ask for is dignity."
The smile returned but did not touch his eyes. "And that she will
always have, my dear, for Catherine is true Spanish royalty. That
she will always have."
She sipped her wine, feeling the King's gaze on her all the time.
"Besides, you are no longer a mere court musician, Lady Amethyst.
You are my special confidante. One to whom I can turn when this
great matter goads me, and goad me it will, knowing Catherine, who
will probably fight this to the death. I feel I can trust you, and
you will never judge me."
"Thank you, sire. I will always be here for you should you need
someone to confide in."
"More wine?"
"Nay, thank you." Amethyst could not handle any more wine now; her
mind was reeling too much. What the King talked of seemed an
impossibility. She'd always thought marriages were forever. Her
mother had stood by her father throughout his entire life, a
prisoner just as he had been. No matter how much misery and sorrow
she'd suffered, Amethyst knew her mother would never have ended her
marriage.
"How will you convince the Pope that your marriage should be
annulled, should he use the fact that you and Catherine have a
living daughter to refute your reasoning?"
"Mary is a lovely lass, but a punishment, a well-deserved punishment
for my sins did God bring down upon me for marrying my brother's
widow, and also by giving my mistress a son. I shall use the
precedents throughout history; there have been several... Henry the
Fourth of Castile was granted a dispensation to discard his first
wife for not producing an heir. He was given the right to try a
second wife, and a third, and even to go back to his first, until he
was given his rightful heir. I am sure Pope Clement will do the
same. He is a man; he realizes how important it is for a king to
have an heir. We do not want another Battle of Bosworth, do we?"
"Nay, sire!" Certainly she didn't. Topaz's wishes were another
story. It was what her sister was living for—a virtual reenactment
of the Battle of Bosworth. Only this time she would emerge
victorious, standing, head held high, waiting to be declared queen
as the crown rolled out from under a bush to be placed on her head,
Henry's corpse flung over a horse, as Topaz had repeated Richard
III's fate in that Bosworth scene so many times... She shuddered at
the thought.
He began pouring, then stopped when his goblet was half full. He
took a deep breath, and she could see he was carefully planning his
next words.
"What I feel for you is not simply lust. You are a gentle, sincere
woman, so different from the others. In truth, I do not want you to
be my concubine. I want you to be my wife, Amethyst."
How more simply could he have said it? It wasn't a flowery romantic
proposal on bended knee in the moonlight as she'd always dreamed.
But then, what she'd never dreamed, never in all her years of
endless reverie about the King, was that he would ever want her to
be his wife!
It wasn't a question at all; it was another kingly command, as he
commanded his servants to carry out his orders: "Trim my beard,
fetch my doublet, become my wife." It was all within the power of
his birthright to make demands on his subjects. He didn't have to
ask anyone for anything. Nevertheless, she was thrilled all the
same.
"Your Majesty...I know not what to say."
"Say aye, and be done with it. Would you not like to be queen?"
Simple, oh, so simple, was King Hal's life, from the time the crown
had been placed on his head.
"Your Majesty...you're...still married," she stammered. She reached
for her goblet, nearly knocking it to the floor, and gulped the wine
like water.
"I am not married. Have you not been listening to a word I've said?
An annulment is all I need. Then I shall be free."
"But, sire, you need a princess, someone of royal lineage, one of
your peers. I am not worthy of the honor. Look who I am. Look who my
father was!"
"You are not who you are because of who your father was."
"But
you
are who
you
are because of who
your
father was," she replied just as conclusively.
He nodded and pointed a finger. "And that is the sadness of it all,
Amethyst. That is the burden I must bear. But I am still a man, and
am falling in love with a beautiful woman whom I wish to marry.
Yorkist, Tudor, what difference does it make when we are in love?"
A world of difference, especially to her sister… "Please, sire, this
is so sudden. Pray give me some time. I have to sort through my
feelings. Mistress is one thing, but wife, queen, well, it is beyond
anything I can ever imagine."
"I do not want to rush you, Amethyst, but our lives on earth are
pitifully short. I am a mortal, just like everyone else, although
the courtiers and subjects look upon me like some type of God."
"It is because you are so imposing, so regal... That is what brought
me to you at first. I hadn't even seen the warm, sensitive side to
you yet, not until that first day at Warwick Castle when you met me
in the conservatory. If only all the others could see that side of
you."
He shook his head grimly. "Nay, they never shall. They shall never
see the anguish I suffer, the decisions I agonize over for the
betterment of the kingdom. You understand now why I need someone at
my side, not another Wolsey, but someone to whom I can open my...my
heart to, not just my mind and my will."
"Oh, sire, I shall always be here for you!"
"Then sit beside my throne as my queen," he urged, kissing her hand.
"Please let us wait until these other matters are resolved."
"But are you now convinced of how badly I want you? I am willing to
make you my queen, not a mere mistress. Amethyst, I want to make
love to you." His hand was grasping hers, and she fluidly rose to
meet him as they stood together, and her arms circled his neck of
their own accord.
Their lips met briefly, in a painfully short kiss which he ended
abruptly, leading her over to the bed. They lay down together, and
he gently removed the wimple from her head, letting her hair tumble
in a golden waterfall through his fingers.
"Your hair is like silk," he murmured into her ear as she responded
to his soft caresses and the tiny kisses he was planting on her neck
and throat. His breathing became more rapid and she could feel his
manhood stirring beneath the satin robe. Her thighs parted and her
hips began a slow primitive thrust against his. It all felt so
instinctual, so natural; she'd never done this before, yet she knew
it was right.
He slowly removed her bodice and skirts and they lay in a glossy
pool upon his satin sheets as she opened the front of his robe and
unlaced his shirt. The air was cold against her bare breasts for but
a moment, until he tore off his shirt and covered her with his
torso. She whirred dizzily with the touch of his warm skin against
hers. His fingers fanned her breasts and she pressed up against his
throbbing urgency.
"Such lovely rosebuds," he whispered, and his mouth closed on one
breast, causing her to gasp with the soaring heights to which he was
bringing her slowly.
"I am afraid, sire," she whimpered, as his lips trailed a hot blaze
down her abdomen, then nestled between her thighs, and she wound her
fingers through his hair, her legs clasped round his head as her
body spasmed in ecstasy.
"There is nothing to fear. All will be well."
She pulled his head up and moved down to meet him. "But I really do
want you," she sighed, running her hand down the smooth mat of curly
red hair on his chest, down to touch his member for the first time.
It throbbed, just as she did inside, with urgency.
He entered her slowly, and she gasped as he pushed through her
maidenhead, a sharp stab of pain giving way to a burst of fireworks
as he thrust gently, slowly, and her hips joined his in an erupting
surge of passion. He was hers, all hers, helplessly entranced within
her, stripped naked of his jewels and velvets and satins.
He was a beautiful, rugged man pouring his passion into her, but he
was still the King, whom the entire realm bowed to and obeyed. She
closed her eyes, each breath a gasp, each exhalation a cry of
rapture, and nothing existed but their bodies, their closeness,
their bodily fluids as well as their cosmic beings mingled,
entwined, united.
He exploded inside her and she cried out, then retreated into dreamy
delirium, his head upon her breasts, his body spent, his breaths
rapid, yet subdued. She had become his at last.
"My lord, I have never been with a man before," she confessed once
more, feeling ashamed at her lack of ability to please him the way
she thought she should have.
"'Tis all right, Amethyst. You gave me a most precious gift and I
appreciate it," he said with a warm kiss and obvious pride as he
looked down and saw the evidence with his own eyes.
She blushed and bit her lip. "What if Queen Catherine finds out
about us?"
He laughed, reaching over and pushing a few strands of hair out of
her eyes.
"Surely you jest! She has nothing to say. I can bed whom I please.
It is she who prefers to remain chaste and spend the best years of
her life with priests and Bibles. She has never held a tennis
racquet nor tossed a pair of dice in her life. She knows not how to
live."
"Neither do I, sire. This whole life is so new to me."
"Ah, you will get used to it. Already you are looking more courtly,
with the new gowns and jewels I have given you. You are the pride of
the King's Musick. Do not worry about Catherine. Leave that to me,"
he mumbled.
"And I want to stay the pride of the King's Musick, in the eyes of
court," she said. "Please do not tell anyone of us...yet."
"As you wish, dear lady. This shall be our little secret for the
nonce. But now that I have at last won my heart's desire, forgive me
if I have better things to do than talk of the opinion of others. I
would know your opinion. Som my sweet, how like you this, and this…"
"Mmm," she sighed, losing herself in the rapture once more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alone at last after her momentous evening with the King, Amethyst
grabbed a leaf of parchment and a pen and inkwell and began
scribbling a letter to Matthew. It was an instant reaction, as she
knew no one else in whom she could confide. She needed an outlet
desperately, and Matthew was the one she felt she could always turn
to, as he had come to rely upon her.