Henry met Amethyst for a quiet supper in his privy chamber after his
first meeting with the Cardinal.
"And how fares Campeggio? Was he as awestruck and overwhelmed with
admiration as everyone else who is graced with your presence?"
Amethyst asked, knowing how much the King loved to lap up all her
flattery. It had become a sort of foreplay; it actually seemed to
arouse him.
"He is a senile, bent-over old bird with two filmy eyes each facing
in different directions. He coughs up into an old linen cloth every
two minutes, and has the gout so badly he has to be borne through
the streets upon a litter. Not only that, he hardly speaks a word of
English! Wolsey acted as an interpreter, for even I could not
decipher his obscure dialect, and I possess quite a command of the
Italian language."
"So do you think this brainchild of Wolsey's will bear fruit? Will
Campeggio's presence here work in your favor?"
"Aye, I truly believe so," he replied, sliding an oyster into his
mouth. "The best news he brought with him was that Clement suggested
to Catherine that she enter a convent. He would banish our marriage
in a heartbeat should she do that."
She emitted a gasp of delight—finally, something that resembled a
solution!
"Why, that is wonderful news, sire! Catherine is so devout already,
she may as well have taken her vows at birth!"
"My sentiments exactly. She will continue the religious life, I
shall be free to remarry, Campeggio can go on his merry way, and
Clement and I can resume our...heh, heh...amicable terms. I so
dislike being on the wrong side of His Holiness," he said, a belch
erupting at the mention of the Pope, the timing impeccable. They
shared a quiet laugh and fed each other the remainder of the
oysters.
Later he sat at the window seat, sipping wine, the setting sun's
gentle glow drifting in through the diamond paned windows that
afforded a view of the hills in the distance.
Having changed into her black satin nightdress, she approached him
from behind and slid her arms round his neck. "A beautiful view,
isn't it?" she cooed, as they shared the dying day. "The entire
kingdom is yours, and the entire night is ours."
She turned him round and dug her fingers into the soft satin of his
robe, kneading his hard muscles underneath. Their lips touched, and
his tongue met hers, teasing, tormenting, causing her breath to
diminish into short gasps. "Henry, I want you now. I want to make
love to my King."
And then, in reality just as it always was in her dreams, in waking
and in sleeping time after time, he lifted her into his powerful
arms and carried her to the bed, placing her gently on the edge,
then climbed in next to her, swiftly reclaiming her lips.
As his delicate scent intoxicated her, she closed her eyes and
beheld soaring fireworks behind her lids. She caressed his golden
red hair with one hand and his lean muscled form with the other,
opening his robe to reveal the taut waistline and the light hairs on
his chest. Lowering her head to his torso, she ran her tongue over
his stomach, opening his robe farther up along the way.
Now his breath was coming harder, faster. He moaned and turned to
face her, his fingers playing over her body like a harp, bringing
out every strain of sensuous passion in a sonata of love.
He halted her and pulled off his robe, hanging it over the edge of
the bed. "Now it is my turn to disrobe you," he said, smiling down
at her, lowering his head to reunite their lips, his hands
everywhere, expertly touching her most sensitive areas.
Gracefully, he slipped her chemise over her head. Her fingers sought
his hose and tugged; now all that was left to conquer was the
undergarments, which slid off as easily as if they'd been oiled. He
arched his pelvis, moaning her name softly as his fingers traced
thin lines of fire over her curves, and down between the soft
sensitive flesh of her thighs.
She could feel his heart pounding against his chest wall, in perfect
rhythm with his breathing. Her senses were taking leave of her,
slowly, with every inch she explored. She slipped her hand beneath
his hose, lightly touched his manhood, feeling the heat from her
hand seep into the hardening member. She clasped her fingers around
him and caressed him with a slow back and forth motion, feeling the
hardness mount with increasing intensity.
She slipped her hand further down, between his legs, fanning her
fingers over the entire area, causing him to moan with pleasure as
his body involuntarily shuddered. She slipped the hose off his legs
and slid down, her lips still throbbing from his demanding kisses.
The second her lips touched the end of his aroused member, he
clutched her shoulders tightly. She drank in the musky scent of his
body as it mingled with the sweet wine they'd just imbibed. Her
passion was uncontainable.
She wanted all of him, everything he had to give. As she pulled the
pins from her hair and let the ends tickle his neck, their explosive
coupling shattered the night.
As she lay in the afterglow, she thought how perfectly matched their
passion was, and began to count the days until she could remove the
pebble and give him the son he craved for at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"Damn that woman! Damn her and her self-righteous Spanish smugness!"
The pewter plate missed Amethyst's head by a safe distance, crashing
against the door frame just as she reached the King's retiring room.
She lifted her skirts and carefully stepped around the bits of
pastry and clumps of fruit on his priceless Oriental rug.
"What happened now, sire?"
What possibly could have happened?
What shifty scheme could Catherine have contrived within the last
twenty-four hours since we last met?
Amethyst felt herself empathizing more and more with the King's
irritation at Catherine's tenacity. The more in love she grew with
the King, the harder it was to tolerate any delay in being married.
"Come hither, just close that door and come hither and let me look
at you!" She shut the door softly. It was late, the servitors had
dispersed, and the Yeomen of the Guard were way down the hall
flanking the outer chamber door, out of earshot.
All was quiet, but Henry's anger issued forth an intensity she could
sense from across the chamber. She turned to look at him in the
candles' glow as he flopped on the bed, flung his shirt off and sat
bare-chested, heaving great angry sighs. The mat of hair covering
his chest narrowed to a tantalizing pattern towards his hose, which
molded to his thighs. He ran a hand over his chest and with one
swift stroke swept off his hose. She felt a thrill rush through
her—at his commanding presence, at the raw passion he unfurled when
encountering anything that mattered to him—whether he loved it or
hated it, the King was never indifferent to anything.
She wanted to hold him close, feel his warmth seep into hers, feel
the thick hair, smooth it back from his face, kiss his forehead, the
searching lips. Wordlessly he held out his hand and she rushed into
his arms. The moment was filled—with their bodies and their
desperate want for each other.
As she melted into him, he fondled her breasts over the silky
material of her chemise, and made a mad rush of desire course
through her, starting with her fingertips, shooting down to her
toes.
She let him devour her hungrily, as he blanketed her with his
powerful body and poured all his pent up frustration into her, until
she was sure he felt no more, and afterglow once again subdued him.
"Now tell me what Catherine did...calmly, my lord."
"Catherine...I've forgotten. I do not wish to bring her into my bed
chamber, in body or in spirit."
"The problem will still be there tomorrow. Perhaps you will feel
that if you tell me now, it will become my problem. I shall hold it
for you tonight so that you may sleep. After all, we do share these
endless disappointments together. Perhaps if we divide it between
us, it will be half as frustrating."
He smiled, kissed her forehead and bunched her hair in his fingers
so tightly it pulled at her scalp, letting go just as immediately.
"She refused the Pope's suggestion to enter a convent. Then she
displayed the first I've ever seen of her attempt at humor since
I've known her... She actually made a joke, deliberately this time."
"What was it?"
"She refused the suggestion of taking the veil, saying she would
live out her days in holy matrimony into which God had called her,
and nothing would change her mind. But, she said, but...and this is
the part that made me laugh...she said she would enter a convent
only if I took monastic vows and lived as a monk. Mary would be the
sole heir and would reign over the kingdom."
"And she meant that as a joke, sire? Queen Catherine does not strike
me as the kind of woman who would make jokes, especially in a matter
as grave as this. She knows you need an heir. How in God's name
could you possibly produce one while living as a monk? She meant it
as no joke! She meant as a self-serving solution that would allow
her to save face!" Her voice took on an irritable edge that betrayed
her growing anger.
He looked at her with that hint of annoyance as he did whenever she
questioned his judgment. "I must take it as a joke, Amethyst. Or I
shall not retain my own wits. She knows bloody well I could never
take vows of poverty, chastity, never to hold a woman in my arms
again, to forsake my kingdom, the kingdom I was born to rule! She
has lost all credibility with me now. No matter how she meant it, I
took it as a pathetic attempt at humor, had my little guffaw, and
now I must move on to the next step. The Papal court meets tomorrow.
I shall have my say and there will be no further joking."
"Then the court will take their sweet time making their decision."
"What do you want me to do, Amethyst? Do you want to elope to one of
those wild rugged islands of the New World and live among the
savages where no one knows us?" he thundered, punching his pillow.
"Nay! But you are letting your subjects walk all over you!"
"The Pope is not my subject! It is his hands that hold my life!"
"And Catherine's and her nephew's and Campeggio's!" she shot back,
counting them off on her fingers.
"Get ye out of here, Amethyst, before I put you over my knee and
spank you! I have enough people trying to lead my life without
listening to your whining! Now be gone!"
Stunned, she stepped back as though she had been slapped. She could
see Henry regret his harsh words as soon as he uttered them, but he
was not a man to back down. She gathered her skirts and as much
dignity as she could muster and swept out of the room in a swirl of
angry tears, her hair streaming out behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
On the morrow, just after Henry departed for the trial at
Blackfriars, Matthew came to court to pay Amethyst a visit.
She embraced him warmly. He smelled of the woods and lavender soap
and she breathed in his freshness with something akin to relief.
"Oh, 'tis so good to see you, Matthew!" she sighed into his cloak as
he swept his hat off and tossed it onto the nearest chair in her
receiving chamber.
He looked tired and drawn. His short French haircut was growing out
and a lock of hair fell across his forehead. She impulsively reached
up and gently pushed it aside, looking into his eyes, as green and
shiny in the glinting sunlight as the newly sprouted leaves of
spring. She eased the cloak from around his shoulders. He smiled.
"You look tired, but so relieved," she observed.
"My looks deceive you. It does my heart good to see you. But in
truth, I am still worried sick for the lads."
She nodded and squeezed his hand. "And I also. I would ask the King
to invite them here, but court is no place for children. They are
better off at Warwick."
"I beg to differ. With Topaz's poison permeating their minds, how
can being surrounded by a bunch of capering courtiers be worse?"
A servitor brought in a wedge of cheese and hot buttered bread along
with goblets of ale. Matthew picked at it and sipped the ale.
"It is because their heads are so full of lies that I would be
worried every moment of the day that they might blurt out a
repetition of one of her insults or treasonous mutterings and then
there would we all be."
"Aye, there is that. They would probably hate the very sight of the
King after all she's said about him."
"I know I am biased, but really, while he has his faults, he is
certainly not as bad as my sister makes him out to be. But you
needn't just take my word for it. I am anxious for you to meet the
King," she said. "I believe you will find much to talk about,
hawking, hunting, tennis, all the outdoor sports that you both love.
Just do not mention Topaz."