Wolf Bride (2 page)

All the ladies sank to the floor as the king entered, their heads bowed, and Eloise followed suit.

Rising on his command, Eloise glanced at the king with sudden apprehension. Would he speak to her again today?

Although her family was too obscure to make her an eligible match, the king’s eye had lighted on her more than once in the three years since she had come to court. But then King Henry seemed to study all the queen’s younger ladies with interest, admiring their figures and their hair, their dancing and their features, as though weighing up each one as a potential companion for his bed.

Indeed, King Henry had taken more than one lady-in-waiting as his mistress since his marriage, much to Anne’s fury.

Yet what could the queen do but accept her humiliation? Henry was the king, and the king’s word was law.

Anne had risen too, and was curtseying to her royal husband. He raised her, kissing her hand in a leisurely fashion. It made Eloise wonder how he had wronged the queen this time, for he was rarely courteous towards his wife these days.

‘How is your head today, Anne? Still aching?’ His sharp eyes slipped to her belly, a little rounded under the stiff yellow-gold gown. ‘And how is my son?’

Anne muttered some polite reply, but the king did not seem to be listening. His hungry gaze was already roving the room. Soon it found Eloise.

His Majesty came forward, smiling indulgently at Eloise. One hand stroked his neatly trimmed beard, the other rested on his hip, where the heavy folds of his richly embroidered suit hid his liking for sweetmeats.

‘You keep so many maids of honour, Anne, I cannot number them all. What is this pretty thing’s name?’ Cromwell came forward to murmur discreetly in his ear. The king nodded. ‘Ah, Eloise. I remember now. A sweet young maid from the North Riding.’

She curtseyed very low, though his lascivious attentions made her skin crawl. ‘Your Majesty honours his poor servant too much.’

‘Where such an honour is deserved, it can never be too much.’ The king seized her hand as she rose, kissing her fingertips, his touch lingering on her skin. She did not know where to look, so stared at his vast doublet, the contrast of red velvet beneath the slashed yellow sleeves, and the ornate gold chain that hung about his neck. ‘Your father has come back to court at last. Have you spoken with him yet?’

Eloise was startled. ‘My father is here?’

Sir Thomas Cromwell came to the king’s elbow again, his sallow face expressionless. ‘Your Majesty? I believe the queen wishes to speak with you about the arrangements for your forthcoming tournament.’

Gently and with due reverence, Cromwell steered the king back towards his wife, then turned to look on Eloise thoughtfully.

‘Your father, Sir John, has returned to court in the company of his neighbour, Baron Wolf,’ Sir Thomas told her coolly.

It was clear to Eloise that the king’s chief minister did not wish Henry to become too interested in her. For this intervention, Eloise was most grateful. She herself took no pleasure in the king’s flattery, but knew that it would be just as dangerous to spurn it as accept it. They said he had hunted Anne Boleyn in the same persistent way before she gave in and became his mistress, refusing to believe any woman would not please her king by lying with him, virgin or not.

‘I believe your father intends to make a match between you and Lord Wolf, and has come to beg the king’s blessing on your impending marriage,’ Cromwell continued. ‘For myself, I trust it will be a happy and fruitful union.’

She blanched. ‘My . . . my marriage?’

But Sir Thomas Cromwell had already moved on, having not heard – or tacitly ignored – her question. For King Henry was not speaking with his wife according to his intention, having spotted Jane Seymour instead amongst the queen’s ladies. He was now eyeing Jane in such a lewd fashion it brought colour to that lady’s cheeks, though she did not seem reluctant to receive his attentions. Cromwell did not interfere, but watched them carefully. It was no secret that he disliked Anne. Perhaps he hoped the king would push her away in favour of Jane Seymour if this new pregnancy ended in yet another miscarriage.

Eloise did not hear another word that was said until King Henry had left the queen’s apartments, for she could not quite believe what Sir Thomas Cromwell had told her.

She remembered Lord Wolf from her childhood; a grim, disagreeable old man, he had been forever in a bad temper because his son was either away serving the king on campaign or else plaguing his heart out with his dissolute ways.

Surely her father could not expect her to marry such a man? Lord Wolf must be nigh on sixty years of age, and thrice widowed already.

‘I must speak with Simon at once,’ she muttered, taking her friend Bess aside while the other maids gathered excitedly about the queen to discuss the king’s visit. ‘If Her Majesty asks where I am, will you tell her I am unwell and have retired to bed?’

‘Of course.’ Bess looked concerned though, following her to the door. She was a sweet-natured girl, but biddable with it, and did not approve of Eloise’s secret meetings with Simon. ‘But do nothing rash, Eloise. If your father has arranged a marriage for you, it is pointless to pursue Simon. He is a younger son and has no hope of providing for you.’

‘Wealth is not everything,’ Eloise said hotly. ‘We love each other, and that is all that matters.’

Simon was her most perfect man. Dark-eyed, fair-haired, he might not be a knight, or set to inherit a vast fortune, but he was handsome and clever, and always knew how to make her smile again when she was unhappy. Only a year apart in age, they had been more like brother and sister when she first came to court, but in the past year, things had grown more serious between them, until Eloise found she was quite in love with him. His quiet humility was what she admired most about Simon. Although his father was a baron, he did not strut about like the other young men at court. The youngest of five sons, he was largely ignored by his father, so came and went as he pleased, and had wooed her with a gentle patience which she found deeply pleasing.

After sending him a note, Eloise hurried to their favourite meeting place, a small privy garden on the north wing of the palace. It was a beautiful spot in any season, though she preferred it in spring, with the flowers just opening their buds. Today, the January weather was chill and sunny, no wind but a slight bloom of frost on the flagstones as she swept through the cloisters, her yellow gown raised slightly to avoid soiling the hem.

To her relief, Simon soon appeared, ducking his head as he passed through the arched doorway to the cloisters.

‘Eloise!’ Simon clasped her hands, kissing them as the king had done earlier, though now she thrilled at the warm lips against her skin. ‘You look flushed. Are you in trouble with the queen again? I have warned you not to be so free with your speech. She will not tolerate impertinence, even less now that she and the king are so estranged.’

‘My father has come to court,’ she told him urgently, ‘and intends to offer me as a bride to Lord Wolf.’

Simon nodded. ‘Yes, I have seen Sir John.’

‘You have seen my father?’ She stared. ‘Have you spoken with him?’

‘Not spoken, no. But I saw him with Lord Wolf only this morning.’ Simon shrugged. ‘They say King Henry has given his blessing on the match. The queen may not wish to release you from her service, for she dislikes it when her maids are wed. But she will bow to the king’s will in the end.’

Simon turned her palm upwards and kissed it lingeringly, teasing her skin with his lips. She thought he would at once suggest that they marry in secret, but instead he looked up at her with a sorrowful smile.

‘I know this marriage is not what you had hoped for. But perhaps you will find a comfortable life with Lord Wolf, even if there is no love between you. I hear his family have become very wealthy since the fall of the church. Not that such gifts of land are undeserved, for his lordship has served the king well these past ten years. He is a brilliant soldier, by all accounts.’

‘A brilliant soldier?’ she repeated, shocked by this careless acceptance of her fate. ‘Is that all you can think of, when I am to be enslaved forever to this stranger?’

A thought hit her and she frowned. ‘Wait, Simon, you must be mistaken. Lord Wolf is an old man, all but bedridden. How could he have served the king in battle so recently?’

Simon laughed, shaking his head. ‘That was Wolf’s father, my love. The old lord died at Yuletide. His son is the new baron.’

‘His son?’

A vague memory came to her of a sullen, grim-faced youth watching her play as a young child, sitting astride a wall in their old apple orchard. Had that boy been her prospective bridegroom? She had seen him again maybe once or twice when growing up on her father’s estate. But he had been away so often, fighting for the king, she had barely known him.

Not quite such a terrifying prospect as an elderly noble, it was true. But he was not her beloved Simon. And if he had spent the past ten years on a battlefield, she doubted they would have much in common.

She knew it was rare for a girl to choose her own husband. But Simon was at least of noble birth, and she had hoped her father would look kindly on their match.

‘I hardly remember him.’

‘I told you, he’s been off soldiering for years.’

‘He’s a stranger, I know nothing about him. Though I do remember there was some scandal . . . He was betrothed when I was still a child. But the girl ran off with someone else before they could be wed.’ She looked at Simon wonderingly. ‘Maybe that’s why he never married, for he must be almost thirty years of age.’

‘No doubt he will be eager for an heir, then,’ Simon mused, tracing a finger across her lips.

Simon did not seem to care that she was being married off to this stranger, that she would soon be sharing another man’s bed. She did not understand. Did Simon not love her? How could he remain so calm in the face of this disaster?

‘I cannot even remember his name,’ she pointed out, trying not to be angered by his calm demeanour, ‘and now I must marry him? It is unjust.’

‘True,’ Simon agreed sombrely, ‘but it is your father’s will.’

She raised her face to his, looking for some sign of grief or torment. ‘But do you not love me, Simon? I thought we were to be wed.’

‘Oh my sweet fool,’ he muttered, suddenly his old self again, his eyes dark with passion. He gripped her by the waist and pulled her close. ‘Of course I love you. How can you doubt me?’

Simon kissed her fiercely. She felt her fears dissolve under that searching mouth, her lips parting daringly to admit his tongue. His kiss deepened and she clung onto his shoulders, her head spinning pleasantly.

‘You are so very beautiful, Eloise,’ he whispered against her cheek. ‘I am only surprised no other man has tried to claim you before now.’

His lips slid down her neck to the low-cut bodice of her gown, kissing the soft skin there just above her breasts. He groaned her name under his breath, clasping her more tightly. Then his hand moved slowly round to cup her breast, squeezing it, but gently, as though afraid she might repulse him.

For once Eloise did not push him away, telling him they must wait until they were married. Instead, she allowed him to caress her, sighing with pleasure as his fingers sought her nipple through the stiff fabric and played it skilfully.

‘Simon,’ she breathed, and raised her head, kissing him back.

Perhaps he was right: this was no time for doubts and arguments. He was her beloved, and she was his. Their lives would be intertwined forever. But whatever Simon was planning that would allow them to be together, she wished he would share it with her.

Simon had pushed her against the wall in his passion, kissing her more forcefully, and she had not protested. But now the stones felt cold against her back, and she shivered, opening her eyes to the grey sky above them. His knee pushed against her gown, nudging her legs apart.

‘No, Simon, we must not,’ she groaned.

‘Why not?’

He kissed her palm then placed it firmly against his own body, showing her how aroused he had become.

‘It is cold, I grant you that, but we will be quite safe here if we are quick. There is no one about to see us. They will all be in the presence chamber at this time, attending the king.’

‘But . . . we are not yet married.’

‘Who cares for that?’ He kissed her again, his tongue pushing into her mouth. Then, as if sensing her reluctance, he sighed and raised his head. ‘What’s the matter now? Come, speak your heart to me. Are you afraid Lord Wolf will discover you are not a maid on your wedding night?’

She stared, speechless with astonishment that he could consider making love to her and still allow her to be married off to a stranger afterwards.

Speak her heart to him? It was hard enough not to let the hurt and anger show on her face. Had Simon no intention of marrying her himself? She had foolishly assumed by his kisses that he intended to suggest an elopement and a secret wedding before her father could intervene, but apparently such a thought had never been in his mind. He had used her. And he had not finished the task, it seemed.

‘Do not distress yourself, my dearest Eloise,’ he whispered in her ear, his hand once again caressing her breast, only this time in a more lewd manner, pinching her nipple. ‘I can teach you a trick that will make your husband think you are still a virgin. The queen herself must know it, for she was surely no maid on her wedding night. Yet the king found nothing amiss.’