by Diana Rubino
He stretched indulgently and lay next to his new wife as she ran her hand over his nightshirt of fine Holland cloth, the fabric straining against his muscles.
"We shall create many beautiful children. We have time aplenty, our entire lives ahead of us. Oh, my darling," he soothed, stroking her hair. "I want to give you all the splendid comforts in my power to give you, as well as all the love in my heart. There will be plenty of time for children once we get to enjoy each other–"
"A son. I want a son who looks just like you," she urged throatily.
"What of a girl like her lovely mother," he said with a smile.
"A son first. An heir."
"I am not in my dotage yet, my love–"
"Life is so uncertain," she said, her tone chill. "We need a son."
Flattered at her instance, he let his own desires off the tight rein he had held them upon for the sake of his virgin bride. "Aye, a son, my love. Anything to please my lady."
"You are truly one of a kind, Matthew." And she knew he was. In a land of political alliances secured by wedding vows, love was as rare as spun gold. He held her tightly, and she'd never known such comfort as she was feeling in this man's arms. She wrapped her arms around him and let his warmth seep into her.
He gently caressed her arms with his fingertips and slowly met her lips. She responded instantly to his penetrating warmth. Closing her eyes, she caught the faint scent of his hair and pressed her body to his as her arms encircled his waist.
Her lips tingled from that teasing, too-short kiss as her fingers laced round his neck and she pulled him back down to her. Searching his lips, wanting desperately to reclaim them, she whispered, "Matthew, I want you now..."
He cut off her words with another urgent, demanding kiss as they locked in a tight embrace, his mouth covering hers hotly.
He gently cradled her head in his hand. As she lay on her back, gazing at the sliver of moon through half-open eyes, he removed her clothing piece by piece, more quickly than she could have done herself. She reached out and stroked his hair.
In an instant he was naked, beside her. His hands were touching her everywhere at once, gently at first, then becoming more probing and urgent as she began to respond.
She ran her hand over his body, sensing his need. He explored her with his mouth, flicking his tongue over her ears, her neck, her breasts, and she tried to pull him closer, to feel his body against hers, in hers.
Suddenly he stopped and she caught her breath. Miniature volcanoes were erupting everywhere he'd touched her. He reached over to the table next to them and grabbed a small white jar. He opened the lid and waved it under her nose like a perfume bottle. She detected the faint aroma of mint.
"This is creamy and wet and will taste wonderful," he said softly, as he dipped a finger into the jar and stirred the contents with a slow, circular motion.
"What is it?" She moved her leg and a warm stream of moisture tickled the backs of her thighs. Desperately wanting him to touch her again, she rotated her hips towards him as he lowered himself to her side.
"'Tis a special mixture of honey, herbs, and oils of hyacinth and sunflower, and will ease your pain, for I must break your maidenhead," he whispered, taking his finger out of the jar and smoothing the creamy substance between her breasts and all the way down to her navel. It felt cool and slippery.
He put his head down and with his tongue ran over the line he'd made with the cream, rubbing more over her body. He spread it over her breasts, down her stomach and between her thighs. It seemed to get warmer to the touch, and hotter still when he ran his tongue over where he'd creamed her. Her body was a pillar of fire, her breath ragged and gasping as he halted his oral caresses and sat upright.
"Here...take some." He handed her the jar. She dipped her finger into the soft cream and eagerly stroked his body with it. He gently drew her to him and she started kissing and licking his chest, savoring the delicious sweetness of honey. His body was slippery as he pressed against her.
He moaned softly as she fondled him and took gentle laps of the cream like a kitten with a bowl of milk. As the delicate fragrance whirled round them, he laid her on her back once more. She saw cones of light through the windows as his head brushed against her breasts, her belly, then farther down until he was between her thighs. Wrapping her legs around his neck, she felt her entire body pulsating from that one central point.
When he lifted his head, she reached for him. She guided him to her ready opening, wrapped herself around his lean body and took him in, bit by bit. As he gently but determinedly probed against her maidenhead, she thought again of the son she so longed for. A brief pain tonight is a small price to pay for the future I deserve, she reasoned.
Then all reasoning gave way as Topaz slid her hands down the length of his broad back, gripped the taut flesh of his buttocks, and pressed him to her. He moaned with pleasure as the barrier was breached, and they rocked against each other until they exploded together in a fit of passionate agony.
They lay touching on the soft pillows, her hand stroking his damp body. He was one solid wall of muscle, the product of many years of vigorous athletic training. His physique was powerful and commanding, yet smooth as marble and graceful in movement.
"Are you breeding yet, my lady?" he asked, kissing the tip of her nose.
"I hope so, but let's try again, shall we, just to make sure…"
He laughed in husky delight, eager to make her his once more. Yet even as he did so, he wondered at the strange emptiness in her expression which belied her passionate response and words.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kenilworth Castle, August, 1513
"Bring hot water, linens aplenty, and make haste! Topaz is about to birth!"
Amethyst whirled around from her bedside vigil and ordered the chambermaids as Topaz's groans became high-pitched wails of agony.
"'Tis all right, love, the midwife is on her way. She's just coming, I can hear the hoof beats now!" Amethyst moved the heavy drapery aside and peered out the window facing the inner courtyard. There she could see Mrs. Ellen slipping off her mount. A servant was now guiding her through the front entrance. "She's here!"
Almost afraid to look, Amethyst forced herself to turn and face her sister, to help her in this most crucial time. Even though she knew nothing about the birthing process, she just wanted Topaz to know she was there. Sabine was propping Topaz up on goose down pillows, while her chambermaid was running a cloth over her face and pushing back damp strands of auburn hair.
"Here, I'll do that." Amethyst took the cloth from the maid and dipped it in the bowl of cool water. She looked down at her sister's face, devoid of the radiance that always graced her lovely complexion.
"There, there, is that better?" she soothed, trying to keep her trembling hand steady as her sister's cries of pain intensified.
"Oh, Jesu, it feels like I'm being torn...apaaaart!"
Though she felt her sister's pain as if it were her own, Amethyst couldn't help but wonder if just a tiny bit of theatrics was being thrown in—Topaz was the sister most gifted with dramatic flair, after all.
Just then Mrs. Ellen burst through the door, ordered a fresh bowl of water and soap, and laid her black bag on the table next to the bed where Topaz lay, looking so small, swallowed up in that cloud of pillows, sheets and draperies. She sprinkled wallflower juice on the linens, as it was known to ease childbirth pain.
Amethyst pressed a goblet to Topaz's lips. It spilled over and ran down her chin. She sputtered and coughed, and that must have done it, because at that instant the midwife announced the appearance of the child's head.
"Take our hands!" Amethyst shouted, above Topaz's screams.
Her sister squeezed Amethyst's fingers so tightly she thought the bones would break. In an instant, Topaz relaxed her grip and with a sigh, threw her head back on the pillows in triumph at the sight and began laughing weakly.
"You have a son, Lady Topaz," announced Mrs. Ellen from the foot of the bed.
Amethyst's first sight of her nephew was the midwife holding him by the feet, a bloody blue-red body covered with a glossy sheen. The midwife began wiping him down, and the pinkish hue of healthy flesh came into view along with a loud squalling cry, the babe's first breath.
Amethyst heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, he's just lovely, Topaz. Your son is just lovely. He's got a head of thick coppery hair, just like you!"
"I did it. I did it. His name is Edward," Topaz whispered, so faintly that only Amethyst could hear. "Edward Plantagenet. King Edward the Sixth." She then turned her head away, and with a languorous smile, drifted off into oblivion, leaving her sister staring down at her in shocked dismay. King Edward the Sixth?
CHAPTER NINE
Warwick Castle, Christmas, 1516
Sabine held her first grandson in her arms and swept through the great hall, watching the servants readying the castle for the holiday festivities. This Christmas was going to be like none other at Warwick Castle—King Henry VIII and his court were coming to visit!
She placed little Edward on the floor and watched him toddle towards his pet cat. He is so much like my Edward, Sabine thought sadly, who had never lived to see his youngest daughter. Now here was his first grandson, his namesake, his hair the same deep brown laced with threads of gold and red, those same blue eyes, the dimple indenting his left cheek when he smiled, which was often.
Amethyst entered the great hall, carrying a silver-and-gold entwined necklace dripping with sapphires. "Mother, do you think this is too fancy to wear in front of King Henry? After all, we do not want to outshine Queen Catherine!"
Sabine laughed. "I'm sure you will not, my dear. However, I hear the Queen is very pious, and does not wear her jewels whilst on progress. Wear it if you wish. I trust the King will have much else to do whilst here than spend more than a few moments in polite conversation with you lasses anyway."
Amethyst lowered her head in disappointment. "But I so hoped he would listen to me play the song I wrote for him."
"If time permits, dear. We shall see." She patted her daughter's cheek.
"If only Father were here to meet the King." Amethyst seemed to have read Sabine's mood.
With a sigh, Sabine looked about the great hall, at the oaken-paneled walls with their intricately carved design, the ceiling that rose two stories, and the galleries above. A stab of remorse shot through her, for her Edward had left here at age eight, never to return. But she knew he was in heaven looking down on his grandson, enjoying every moment of the child's life here and at Kenilworth.
"How long will they stay, Mother?"
"Just until New Year's Day. These royal progresses are very carefully planned, and they will be moving on to another noble's domain once they have taken their ease here."
"Kenilworth perhaps?"
"God forbid." Sabine crossed herself. She feared for her eldest daughter if that were the case, for she was sure Topaz could never hold her tongue and keep her treasonable opinions to herself for more than an hour or two in Henry's company.
"Windsor Castle will probably be their last visit on this progress, as the roads will be impassible ere too long. We've been lucky so far in that the winter's been mild, but it should be in like a lion soon."
"I trust His Majesty will be spending much of his time with Aunt Margaret," Amethyst said, as she remembered Margaret's titters of delight when she broke yet another royal seal and unrolled one of many letters from the King, chirping, "He says I'm 'the most saintly woman in England!'"
Her mother laughed in a worldly way. "I can't help but wonder if that was because Margaret had sent Cardinal Wolsey five thousand marks for the King's wars with France," Sabine said. "'Tis a saintly enough sum indeed. 'Tis good, though, the mutual admiration is still going strong as ever, and Margaret carries her newly acquired title and riches with aplomb, I must say. We've all got to stay in the King's good graces, my dear, so we would do well to imitate her goodness and piety and not aspire to higher than our station. We are after all mere women in a man's world."
Amethyst understood the unspoken message in her mother's tone. She was worried for Topaz, too. Topaz had her young son so convinced that his name was Prince Edward, that prince had been the child's very first word.
"The entire shire is buzzing with news of the King's visit here, Mother," Amethyst said. Her throat was dry with excitement even after yet another sip of water. "They'll all be trampling upon us like an invasion!"
Sabine smiled, and Amethyst could see her own excitement reflected in her mother's eyes. "Just consider our family very fortunate, my dear. A visit from court is a great honor. Though one that will not come cheaply, so we will need to practice economy wherever we can without seeming as if we are stinting."
"As much as I'm going to miss having Topaz here, in a way I'm glad she's staying with Matthew at Kenilworth. Who knows what kind of trouble she would stir up if she got on her high horse."
"Oh, I don't think Topaz would dare cross the King to his face. I'm sure she wouldn't want to see history repeated. But she can certainly stir up gossip behind his back."
Amethyst put down her water goblet and took a sip of mead instead, wondering why the thought seemed so disturbing all of a sudden.
The courtiers began arriving in mid-December—the jesters, privy chamber attendants, clerks of the wardrobe, Queen's maid of honor, ladies-in-waiting and ladies of the bed chamber, the King's Yeomen of the Guard poised for duty at the doorway to His Royal Highness' chambers.
Amethyst stood at the top of Guy's Tower, at the southeast corner of the castle, the direction from which the royal party was travelling. She hugged her cloak about her and pulled her ermine hat over her ears to block the icy wind that was whipping round the tower. The tower afforded a sweeping view of Warwickshire, the winding River Avon and the surrounding countryside.
The timber-framed houses of the adjoining villages stood bunched together as if huddled against the cold, thin streams of smoke trailing from their chimneys. The parcels of land were strewn with patches of brown through the spiky tree branches. The sun offered a grayish tinge of light.
Then she saw the procession lumbering up the hill towards the castle grounds, a parade of stallions draped in cloth of gold. Although the majority of the party had already arrived, this procession was quite long. She wondered if there would be enough food after all, for the party now numbered in the hundreds. When the gold-trimmed royal carriage reached the foot of Guy's Tower, Amethyst turned, ran along the rampart walk, down the winding staircase, and stood catching her breath at the bottom, forcing puffs of steam from her lungs.
Just as the party entered the gatehouse, she ran across the courtyard and up to her chamber where her maids fitted her with a much too cumbersome head-dress, but in the presence of royalty, a sheer necessity. Ribbed bands of silk covered her forehead and let a bit of her dark blonde hair show through. Framing her face, the wired framework was covered with a broad silk band, a veil of silk looped in back. Her satin waistcoat was embroidered with seed pearls over which she wore a purple satin gown, opened down the front, exposing the waistcoat. Her slashed sleeves showed the silver waistcoat sleeves underneath. Round her waist she wore a beaded belt terminating in a silver pendant lined with rubies.
Checking herself once more in the looking glass, she twirled round, the rustle and swish of the rich satins making her feel almost like royalty. Amethyst searched the private apartments to find her mother and Emerald.
"They're here!" she shouted, when she found her mother in her chamber, her maid of honor securing Sabine's head-dress. Just one more visit with her maid to make sure the slightest wisp of hair didn't hang astray, and she was ready.
In the great hall Amethyst took her first look at King Henry since he had swept by her in Westminster Abbey. She was presented to Queen Catherine first. From her pyramidal head-dress lined with diamonds to her purple robe turned up at the sleeves displaying ermine, she had all the charm and grace of royalty. Amethyst re
turned Catherine's smile with a genuine one of her own.
She was then presented to the King. She dared to look into his eyes once again, that clear gold, that playfulness yielding just a bit now to maturity. A tentative smile brightened his face, and he nodded almost in recognition, as if he'd seen her before, but not knowing where. His eyes sparkled with a luster like his cloth of gold doublet, trimmed with sable and open down the front displaying a French chemay underneath, ornamented with an intricate needlework pattern in black silk.
Gathered at the sleeves, a splaying of frills peeked through. The shirt was open at the neck, exposing a mat of red-gold hair across his chest. The skirted doublet gave way to the sturdy legs adorned with slashed breeches to the knee. His hose was woven with gold threads. His shoes were of black leather, in the new duckbill fashion, widened at the toes, gold puffed silk within the slashings of the leather, showing part of the gold hose inside. The slashings were adorned with diamonds. He literally sparkled from head to toe.