Wolf Bride (25 page)

Exhaling sharply, he slanted his mouth over hers, the driving pressure of his kiss leaving her in no doubt of his desire. A second later, his hand tangled in her hair, jerking her towards him. His tongue pushed between her lips, urgent and devouring, stroking along her own tongue, sucking on it until she moaned, then plumbing her depths with silken invasion.

Something inside her caught fire. Flame licked about the edges of her heart, sending her blood thundering through her veins. She tried but could not recall feeling like this with Simon, though his kisses had always pleased her. With Wolf, everything was different. It was like being kissed by a god: an angry god, whose moods were unpredictable and unfathomable, but whose perfect body had been carved out of the warm, living stone of human desire. And she could think of nothing but lying beneath him after the way he had withdrawn from her.

She explored his mouth too, sucking on his tongue, pleased by the strangled groaning noise he made, and did not even care if he thought her wanton. She let him see that he could do whatever he wanted to her, shamelessly rubbing and stroking his body, lost in their long, hot kisses.

Only when her fingers trailed lower, trembling below the waist, did Wolf finally catch her hand and twist it away behind her back. They stood like that a moment longer, both panting, shaking with need, pressing against each other compulsively.

Then Wolf drew a slow, shuddering breath and turned his head to whisper in her ear. ‘Because the two men who were outside intend to return in less than an hour’s time to take you to Thomas Cromwell, to be questioned about the queen.’

She drew back to stare at him, all her desire falling away as his words sank in. ‘Wolf,’ she managed thinly, then could not think what to say.

His look was grim, but he did not release her. ‘There is no help for it. You must answer Cromwell’s questions and give your testimony. It will be hard. The hardest thing you have ever done. And if you want to come through this unscathed, you will have to trust me.’

‘Of course.’

‘I need you to trust me implicitly. To remember what I tell you, and obey without question, to put your life in my hands.’ His sharp blue gaze pierced her. ‘Can you do that?’

She sensed an odd, fulminating restraint in him and grew suspicious. ‘What is it, my lord?’ Her eyes widened when he merely looked at her, his face brooding. ‘What do you know?’

‘I fear the queen cannot be saved,’ he said bluntly, keeping his voice low. ‘I have never seen the king so brutal, so adamant that he will have his revenge. He believes the world mocks him for a cuckolded husband, and his fury makes him cruel. He calls her a witch and a whore, and his own daughter a bastard. He is angry and intends someone to pay for his disgrace.’

‘Queen Anne is to die? You are certain?’

He hushed her cautiously, glancing at the door. ‘Not so loud. You must take care what is said here, there are many spies at court. The queen will not die alone. Do you understand me?’

No, she did not. ‘But, Wolf, I cannot . . . I cannot make it worse by telling what I know. It is not in me to condemn her with my testimony.’

‘She is condemned already by those who judge her. The charge will be high treason, for which a woman’s punishment is to be burnt alive – if the king commands it. And her lovers will die with her. Even her unfortunate brother Lord Rochford is in the Tower, and may face death along with his royal sister.’

She staggered, holding onto him for strength. So the rumours she had heard about George Boleyn’s arrest had not been false and malicious, as she had supposed.

‘No, no,’ she whispered. ‘It is not true. There has been no unnatural love between them. I have seen them together, and it was a brother and sister’s love, that is all.’

‘I believe you,’ he said shortly, and she saw contempt on his face. ‘But this is the filth that must be made known to the world before a queen can be executed.’

She was horrified. ‘His Majesty means to have her dead at all costs, then?’

His voice dropped, and once more he glanced over his shoulder at the door. ‘Thomas Cromwell has persuaded the king that execution is the only path to take if he wishes to marry Jane Seymour.’

‘Jane Seymour!’

He looked at her, his eyes blue shards of ice. ‘That is not all. The rumour goes that you were party to some of these adulterous meetings.’

‘No!’

‘So unless you wish to join your mistress in death,’ he continued coldly, ignoring her outburst, ‘I suggest you do precisely what I tell you.’

She waited, closing her eyes in pain. What kind of world was this where an innocent woman could be condemned to death, and her friends with her, simply so a king could remarry?

‘You must tell them you heard and saw nothing. I do not care if you saw the queen naked and at play in her bed with every man at court, you must lie under oath and say you were not privy to Her Majesty’s dealings with any man whatsoever.’

His gaze searched her face, as though hunting for her weaknesses.

‘It will not be easy,’ he warned her. ‘They will drive you hard to incriminate the queen. But whatever questions they put to you, however hard they press you, or essay to trip you up with clever words and tricks, you must say nothing. For if you suggest that you had secret knowledge of her adultery, you too may face the axe. Is that clear?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed at once, relieved that he had not asked her to tell the truth. For then she would be forced to admit she had seen the queen kissing and being intimate with other men. ‘But Wolf, I do believe her innocent. Anne has flirted, yes, and made unwise choices in her friends. But I never saw her take any man to her bed save His Majesty.’

‘Hush.’ He laid a stern finger across her lips, then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. ‘Tell me nothing of the queen, I do not wish to hear it. You will be questioned and that will be an end to it. After today, whatever happens, we will never speak of this again.’

She nodded, and he removed his finger, almost reluctantly. They were standing so close her body ached for his touch. A touch she knew she might never feel again, for he seemed to hold her in so much contempt. She wished she could hate him in return. But in truth she did not know what to feel, nor how to look at him without wanting him, for her heart was all topsy-turvy.

Was this how love felt? Could she truly be in love with her husband?

Not that it mattered one jot. Wolf did not love her. No, nor ever would now. This matter of the queen’s adultery had tainted her with the same unspeakable disgrace, and by extension, her new name of Wolf. He would never forgive her for that.

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ she whispered.

‘For what?’

‘For this stain on your family’s honour . . . The name of Wolf . . .’ She could hardly speak, her throat burning with tears. ‘I have marred all.’

His hands stroked up and down her shoulders, his expression grim, but for a moment he did not speak. That moment of silence seemed to stretch between them forever, leaving her desolate and more convinced than ever that he wished she were not his bride. Then his head turned sharply towards the door, as though he had heard a sound in the corridor.

He paused, his eyes narrowed as he listened, his brows knitted together in a dark frown, before looking back at her.

‘Eloise, it is best if we do not . . .’ He hesitated, his voice suddenly rough. ‘I shall not come to your bed tonight. Do not wait for me to return, but sleep and rest yourself.’

Her chest was so tight she suddenly could not breathe. ‘My lord?’

‘You are exhausted.’ His hands dropped to his sides, curling into fists, as though he could no longer bear to touch her. ‘The long journey south, and now this trial . . .’

‘No,’ she choked, shaking her head. She seized his hand and pressed it against her breast, wanting him to feel the soft, warm swell above her thudding heart. ‘There is nothing amiss with me that you cannot heal, my lord.’

He stared down at his hand, lying so invitingly on her breast, the tight bodice leaving little to be imagined, her nipple peeping over in courtly fashion. She saw his throat move, swallowing. ‘I thank you for the compliment, madam,’ he said huskily, ‘but fear I cannot oblige you.’

Withdrawing his hand, he bowed, apparently oblivious to her silent agony, then walked away into the bedchamber. A moment later she heard him call through the adjoining door to his servant’s quarters, who hurried in to help his master change out of his hunting gear.

She was still motionless with disbelief when Wolf came back to the threshold of the bedchamber, the fine white shirt unlaced and hanging open to reveal his muscular chest and flat belly. He paused with his hand on the door, talking to his servant over his shoulder. Then he glanced cursorily in her direction and their eyes met.

She did not think Wolf had ever looked at her so coldly, as though he had already put her aside in his mind, dismissing her as no longer interesting to him.

It was like being skewered by an icicle, Eloise thought, and put a hand to her belly in sudden unbearable pain.

Wolf stiffened, watching her in silence. His handsome face was brutally devoid of emotion, not even a flicker in his eyes to give any hint of what he was thinking. Then he turned away and closed the door, shutting her out.

Wolf stood with his back to the wall in the long shadows of the interrogation chamber, arms folded, his face deliberately impassive as he listened to his wife give her testimony.

It had been difficult to obtain permission to be present during her questioning, but he still had the king’s ear, thank God. That influence counted for something, even with this taint on his wife’s reputation. Cromwell had raised a crooked brow when he entered the room, guiding Eloise to her allotted place, but had said nothing. Perhaps Cromwell was wary of angering the king, whose temper was so uncertain these days it felt as though the entire court was holding its breath.

Eloise stood before Cromwell in the centre of the room, her back very straight, hands clasped together as if praying. Which she might well be doing, he thought, his eyes on her face. For she must understand now that her life depended on this testimony.

‘Sir, I swear again that I have never seen Her Majesty Queen Anne closeted in private with any man. To my knowledge, the queen has always been true to His Majesty, and never looked at any other gentleman.’

The scribe’s quill scratched rapidly over the paper as he took these words down, to be used as evidence at the queen’s trial. The man glanced up occasionally at Eloise, his lip curling as though he did not believe a word she said. Wolf felt his hands clench into fists, and had to remind himself to remain calm. But he looked at the scribe with loathing, wishing he could beat that impudent expression off the knave’s face.

Cromwell leaned back in his chair, studying Eloise’s face. He too was impassive, though his words showed that he shared his scribe’s disdain for her evidence.

‘Lady Wolf, I can understand why you should wish to protect your mistress the queen. Indeed, your loyalty is commendable. But it is wholly unnecessary. We already have it on good testimony that Her Majesty has been frequently seen in the company of other men since her marriage.’

There was a pause: Cromwell waiting, no doubt, for Eloise to speak further, perhaps incriminate herself. Wolf waited too, barely breathing, willing his wife not to give anything away. But Eloise was not so easily intimidated.

When she remained silent, the king’s advisor sighed. ‘Several other of her ladies,’ he continued quietly, ‘have admitted to having seen courtiers entertained privily in the queen’s apartments, often late at night when the king was absent from court. Indeed, the musician Mark Smeaton has already confessed that he knew the queen intimately, and that she was not unwilling to accept his embraces. Yet you refute his confession, my lady, and expect us to believe you had no knowledge of these secret assignations.’

With a sudden show of spirit, Eloise raised her chin. ‘Because that is the truth, sir.’

Wolf almost smiled, and was glad his face was shrouded in darkness. Well said, my bride.

‘We have heard that you are intimately acquainted with Sir Thomas Wyatt. Is this true?’

‘It is not, sir.’

‘You have never been . . . private with him?’

There was colour in Eloise’s face. Her gaze flickered helplessly to Wolf’s face, though he must be but a shadowy figure to her, out of reach.

‘No!’

Cromwell too glanced at Wolf, a certain hard amusement in his expression as he wilfully impuned his wife’s honour.

Bastard.

‘It seems strange that we should have such an account of you then . . .’ The king’s advisor fingered the paper in front of him ruefully, then set it aside and rustled through the other sheets, in conference with his scribe, as though hunting for one paper in particular. At last, the scribe muttered something, dragging out a loose sheet from a separate roll of documents, and Cromwell accepted it with a nod. ‘But no matter. We can return to that later, if needs be. For now let us move on, shall we? There is yet much testimony to be covered.’

Sir Thomas Cromwell drained his wine cup in an unhurried fashion, then wiped his mouth fastidiously with a white damask napkin. He spread out and consulted the sheet of paper handed to him by the scribe, his gaze slowly scanning through what appeared from a distance to be a list of names.