She lowered herself to the pillows, onto her back against the
cushiony fluff, and waited in panting wonder, her heart pattering
intensely against her ribs. Her eyes locked on his face, and his
features came into sharp focus. Just looking at him sent a surge of
excitement through her.
But her vision blurred when his mouth descended to fasten over her
eager lips. A moan escaped from deep within her, and she surrendered
to his demanding kisses. Her arms stole up around his neck, and she
felt his pulse beat match the rampant pace of her own.
"Please," she begged, as his mouth left hers and trailed a fiery
path along her jaw, down her throat. His hot, exploring tongue
licked the salty slickness of the skin between her breasts. His lips
moved to cover a pink nipple, and he nipped it gently. Then his hand
kneaded the flesh of her other breast, his mouth following to suckle
at the rosy tip.
Amethyst sighed and entwined her fingers in his tousled hair,
tugging his head lower and lower. He darted his tongue over her
abdomen, making her muscles clench spasmodically, and a flame
ignited in her soul as he sought and found the center of her desire.
She would never be more ready; she craved for him to fill her, to
make them one. He seemed to sense her immediate need, for he covered
her trembling body with his and parted her thighs with his knees.
He looked deeply into her feverish eyes and the next instant his
virile hardness invaded her tender flesh, and the roaring of a
thousand storms swelled in her mind and tore through her senses. The
muscles of his back flexed beneath her clutching hands as he surged
into her again and again. The world spun in a swirling vortex, and
explosions of joy exploded in her heart.
She sensed he had denied his own satisfaction until she achieved
hers, and now she knew he was at the threshold of fulfillment. He
called out her name, and she held on tightly, as feverish thrills
ripped through her soul.
He was hers. Body and soul. And she his, for as long as the world
would let them remain thus.
They lay in bed, their bodies warm and moist, the soft sheets
clinging to them, their hands intertwined. "Amethyst, I would like
you to take occupancy of the adjoining apartments to my own, so I do
not have to traverse the entire palace to reach you," Henry said
quietly.
She felt a hot blush flood her cheeks. "Oh, sire, I couldn't. That
would brand me as your mistress for sure, and that I cannot have."
"But you are my mistress," he said, his tone of of mild
exasperation.
"I would have hoped you regarded me as much more than that, my
lord."
"You are, love. But you are my mistress, too, in the eyes of the
world. You fulfill my desires to the point of satiation. I need no
other woman. You are the object of my desires. My soul mate and
bedmate. And floor mate and tub mate."
"But only while we are alone, like now. In the eyes of the court, I
wish to be but a minstrel, a servant."
He gave a short, braying laugh. "Do you not think the court has ears
and eyes, Amethyst? By God, the very walls may as well be of
parchment, for all the good they do to conceal the goings-on and the
cavorting."
A stab of hurt went through her and she snatched her hand from his
grasp, wrapping the coverlet around her. "You consider our time
together cavorting, sire?"
"Nay, you know my feelings for you go much deeper than that,
Amethyst...but the rest of the court... They all know by now how I
feel about you."
"You haven't told anyone!" she asked with a mounting sense of
horror.
He shook his head. "Nay, I've heeded your wishes and not told a
soul. But when this great matter of mine is settled, I shall
announce our betrothal to the world among the fanfare of trumpets,
the clanging of every church bell in the realm, the booming of a
thousand cannons!"
"They know I am your close companion and confidante, sire, but do
they know what goes on in the privacy of our chambers?"
"Oh, Amethyst, by now, how could they not know?"
"I come to your apartments very late at night."
"And you do not leave until morning. They are not blind, Amethyst.
Or deaf," he added under his breath.
"But I do not want to be known as the King's whore!" she protested
tearfully.
His brows drew downwards. "Anyone who dares to call you that will be
banished immediately. I find that now, as it has become obvious that
we have grown close, you are treated with more respect. The King's
confidante and special lady is a far cry from his whore. Especially
now that I have banished Catherine from court, no one sees you as
her rival."
"I just wish to preserve my honor, my lord, as far as I can,
considering the position I am in."
"And what position is that, my lady?"
"Of a woman very much in love to a man already married, and such a
public figure that we may not do as we please the way the rest of
the world may, but must bide our time and let no scandal attach to
our love if we can help it."
He smiled. "As you wish, Lady Amethyst. We shall keep our apartments
at a distance for the sake of your propriety. Lord knows I need the
exercise."
She grinned at him. "Thank you for being so understanding. And in
return for your wonderful generosity, allow me to say that I hope to
keep you fit in a far more delightful way than merely walking the
halls of the palace, my love."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As the first rays of light were floating through her windows, she
fought wakefulness as she gradually surfaced from her delightful
dreams. Disoriented at first, she realized she was in her own bed.
Alone.
The King had probably been up for hours. She pictured him dressing
quietly, slipping out of her chambers before the servants were up,
taking special pains to keep from waking her. She turned and faced
the pillow he'd slept on. A strand of his red-gold hair lay on the
pillowcase.
She reached out and placed her hand gently on the fabric, pulling
his pillow to her, hugging it, inhaling his wonderful manly scent.
The realization spiraled within her, like tulip petals fluttering
through her insides. She was no longer enamored of the bejeweled and
powerful monarch reigning over the kingdom from a velvet-seated
throne known to his subjects as King Henry VIII. She was simply in
love with the compassionate, sincere man that few subjects would
ever be privileged to know, the man named Henry Tudor. Oh, what a
wondrous destiny fate had in store for them both, now that they were
so in love.
Several weeks later, while practicing with the King's Musick, the
door opened and in walked Mark Smeaton, very late for rehearsal. He
was followed by a young dark-haired girl, her hair tumbling down
about her shoulders, a bright yellow satin gown in striking contrast
to the blackness of her hair and eyes. She like a striped bumblebee,
all black and yellow and her haughty stare certainly carried with it
the promise of a sting.
Amethyst had seen her before; she'd been one of Catherine's
ladies-in-waiting, who had stood out because of her Frenchified
rather than Spanish manners. What was she doing here in the music
chamber? The court had more than enough minstrels.
As Mark rushed to his place and adjusted his music stand, his
companion sat quietly near the door.
"Mark," Amethyst spoke up, putting down her lute. "Aren't you going
to introduce us to your lady friend?"
"Oh, I'm very sorry!" he looked up from his sheet music, as if he'd
forgotten she was there. "This is Anne Boleyn. She loves music, and
wishes to watch us rehearse."
"Well, if it's all right with the other musicians," Amethyst said,
glancing around the room at the disinterested nods and shrugs. When
no one expressed any dissent, Amethyst said, "'Tis a pleasure to
welcome you to the King's Musick, Mistress Boleyn."
Anne bowed her head ever so slightly, as if a full bow and sweeping
curtsy would have been inappropriate for someone she considered of
equal rank, even though the entire court knew Amethyst was the
King's closest confidante.
"'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Lady Amethyst." Her voice was low and
soft, a bit uneasy, and she spoke with the slightest shade of a
French accent. The dark slanty eyes continued to stare, and the thin
lips gave a hint of a forced smile.
"Do you have aspirations of joining the King's Musick?"
What
else could Anne do now that Catherine was being banished from the
royal household?
she wondered. Perhaps the King would
consider placing Anne in Amethyst's service once they were married…
She needed no more ladies-in-waiting, however; she was fully
staffed. As she sized up the little minx, she decided that the King
could do well by sending Mistress Anne back to wherever it was she
had come from. She'd felt a tinge of uneasiness ever since Anne had
walked into the chamber and settled in like a piece of the furniture
and the more she saw of her, the more she felt sure the young woman
was a threat in some way to the placidity of her life here at court.
Anne shot Amethyst a wary glance as a hand reached up to clutch a
lock of her dark hair. Her billowing sleeve fell away and Amethyst
could see a tiny nub jutting out from her little finger. "I am not
sure, although I feel I can contribute a great deal to your troupe."
"Well, that will be for the King to decide," Amethyst replied,
dismissing Anne's presence by strumming the opening bars of her
favorite song on her lute, and banishing all thoughts of the girl as
she lost herself in the music.
But later that evening, she recalled the young bumblebee. "Who is
this Anne Boleyn?" she asked Henry as they dined in his chambers
late that night.
"Oh, just one of Catherine's former ladies-in-waiting." He waved a
hand through the air before plucking up a wing of pheasant.
"Why was she sitting in on our rehearsal today?"
He frowned. "Was she distracting you?"
"Not in the least. She came in with handsome young Mark Smeaton and
sat—"
"Mark Smeaton?"
"Aye. They came in together, he being very late for rehearsal. So
she was certainly distracting him and she should not be allowed to
engage your servants in such dalliance that they are distracted from
their duty."
He'd stopped chewing, his eyes narrowing to the calculating slits
she'd become so used to.
"Ah, well, she loves music. I told her she can stay on at court for
a while longer, then she'll be going back home to Kent. Anne holds a
mystique that the courtiers find intriguing, but if she does not
wish to stay at court, she need not stay."
"But who...who is she, Henry? And why the French accent? I'm deeply
curious."
He wiped his mouth before replying. "She spent a great deal of her
childhood at the French court. The Boleyns are direct descendants of
Edward the First. Her mother is Elizabeth Howard, whose grandfather
died fighting for Richard at Bosworth. Her father Tom was an envoy
to the Netherlands when I became King."
"Her sister was Mary Boleyn, was she not? One of your mistresses?"
she asked quietly, trying to keep an edge out of her tone.
"A fleeting spark of my energetic youth many years ago," he replied
airily. "She is now safely married to William Carey, a gentleman of
the royal privy chamber. I also gave her brother George a position
at court."
"So the family is united in their goal, that is, their social
climbing efforts," she said, feeling a tightness in her chest.
"The Boleyns are good people, Amethyst. Her stock is solid, and she
is talented and well-read. Not as much as you, of course. I would be
so pleased if you would let her sing with you once or twice... She
does so love to sing. She plays the virginals as well."
"Does she indeed," she replied brusquely, recalling the damaged
little finger. "We do not need another musician, my lord."
"My Lady Amethyst, are you jealous of an insipid little buttercup?"
Henry teased.
She blushed hotly. "Nay! Of course not. She seemed, well, rather
hostile to me, that's all."
Henry shrugged off her remark and reached for more pheasant. "She
feels very out of place now that Catherine is gone. Just make her
feel welcome for just a while longer until her family decides what
they wish to do."
"Speaking of a while longer, what of your divorce proceedings?"
"What of them? Nothing has happened since you last asked me
twenty-four hours ago." He tore into the wing more voraciously,
shutting her out.
She knew how her questioning irked him. But it had been so long
since they'd heard anything. If only the Pope would say aye or nay,
at least she would know one way or the other what her future would
hold. If she had to wait for the Queen to pass away, well, she was a
fair bit older than Henry but she could still live for years, and
Amethyst did not want to wish anyone ill, let alone dead.