by Diana Rubino
"Ah, you will get used to it. Already you are looking more courtly, with the new gowns and jewels I have given you. You are the pride of the King's Musick. Do not worry about Catherine. Leave that to me," he mumbled.
"And I want to stay the pride of the King's Musick, in the eyes of court," she said. "Please do not tell anyone of us...yet."
"As you wish, dear lady. This shall be our little secret for the nonce. But now that I have at last won my heart's desire, forgive me if I have better things to do than talk of the opinion of others. I would know your opinion. Som my sweet, how like you this, and this…"
"Mmm," she sighed, losing herself in the rapture once more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alone at last after her momentous evening with the King, Amethyst grabbed a leaf of parchment and a pen and inkwell and began scribbling a letter to Matthew. It was an instant reaction, as she knew no one else in whom she could confide. She needed an outlet desperately, and Matthew was the one she felt she could always turn to, as he had come to rely upon her.
They'd been corresponding regularly ever since her arrival at court. She had written her first letter to him whilst the King was still on progress, and recorded her immediate impressions, the polite yet impersonal mingling in the great hall, the magnificent Windsor Castle with its gateways and central round keep. Her chambers were sparsely decorated yet tasteful, her bed soft and feathery, her chambermaids cordial and sincere.
Matthew wrote back that Topaz was being cool and detached as of late. He took it as an ominous oracle—she'd been distant and aloof ever since that last revelation of her plans. She now spent all her time either with the animals, with the boys, or locked in her study—conspiring, as they both knew, and doing little to act as a true wife.
She'd written back, telling him not to fret. But, God's foot, did this stream of events go topsy-turvy! She now found herself telling him of her relationship with the King, and the pen flew scratchingly across the parchment, pouring out her doubts and fears as well as her fervent desire to please the King in every way.
Now do not let this shock you, dear Matthew, but the King is determined to free himself of Catherine by having the marriage annulled...and has asked me to be his wife. Me! Amethyst, the daughter of the murdered and martyred Earl of Warwick, the future queen consort! He cares not about my background, but most importantly he knows not of Topaz. I cannot in good conscience consider marrying someone who engages in endless dalliances with every maiden of his fancy, while still married to the Queen! No doubt he would carry on the same pattern of behavior should I ever agree to marry him...but does anyone dare refuse the King of England? But dear God, Matthew, I do love him so! Please pray for my soul!
She did not know what else to write, for already his news was old. Who knew what would be happening by the time her letter reached him? Oh, how she wished he were there for her, just as she had been there for him that day in the rose garden.
She sighed and sealed the letter carefully with wax and her own personal seal. How different her life was now, only a few short months after her brush with death. Topaz, her own sister, had tried to kill her. Now she was the King's mistress and had the prospect of becoming queen herself being dangled in front of her.
Which made her, more than ever, her sister's rival.
Then there was Matthew. Images of her near death experience and how she had been pulled back from the brink continued to haunt her. Her brother in law's messages, gifts, all had been tokens of esteem more lover-like than brotherly.
Was it possible that Matthew…
But no. What man who had ever loved her sister could look twice at another woman, let alone herself. Nay, it was unthinkable.
And yet as their hands had touched that day….
She reached for the letter, suddenly ashamed. Almost threw it in the fire. Instead, she went out in search of a servant to have the missive dispatched at once.
She had become the King's lover. There was no going back. And so she would remain, until he tired of her, or she was crowned queen…
CHAPTER TWENTY
Richmond Palace
"Sire, I simply adore being your personal musician..." Amethyst declared truthfully, her fingers poised over the keyboard in Henry's conservatory while he tuned his lute. "But..." She hesitated, turning to him. He looked up and held her gaze, urging her on.
"Yes...but what?"
"I believe the other minstrels are a bit slighted. I do not want them resenting me, too, for they are my closest companions...apart from you."
"Oh, is that all?" He laughed, his voice touched with relief. "The other minstrels aren't as gifted as you, dear lady. They cannot sing like you, they cannot pour their hearts into the strains of my own compositions as you can. You have what they do not—a feel for my music, an understanding of why I wrote it, the emotion behind the busy runs up and down the scale, taking the extra trouble to add the pretty mordants, the significance of writing one piece in a major key and another in the minor."
"Do I, sire?" She had noticed, lately, that his music was losing its gaiety, its lightheartedness. It was transforming itself from light entertainment to an expression of the King's deeper emotions, becoming more sorrowful, more sullen. Lately his music was an outlet, not only of his creativity, but also of his anguish.
"Indeed you do, my lady. What I've told you, I have not shared with another."
When their eyes met once again, he smiled, and she noticed for the first time a furrow in his brow she'd never seen before. He is troubled, she thought. We both are.
A few weeks later, they were riding through the fields east of Windsor. It was a perfect day for riding. The October breeze was warm and dotted with pockets of coolness. The landscape was a rich tapestry of vivid browns, burnt oranges and muted golds, bursts of color in radiant rejoinder to the sun's golden rays, the sky a clean blue backdrop. The wind sighed through the trees, and they obeyed its command.
Their palfreys flew over the lush fields and Amethyst's mount galloped alongside the King's, keeping up so perfectly that they were able to engage in conversation all the way.
"Shall we picnic here?" he asked, signaling to the grooms and servants that had joined them.
She nodded and he helped her down from her mount in a most lover-like manner.
They settled under a sprawling oak, its burnished leaves fluttering to the ground like fragile shreds of parchment, and spread a linen cloth on the ground. The grooms busied themselves with their repast out of earshot while Henry and Amethyst enjoyed a private interlude.
"I've told Catherine," he stated simply, flipping open the basket lid and extracting a small drumstick, which he handed to her.
Her stomach churned and she licked at her lips, for her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She'd dreaded this inevitable day. She tried to keep her voice steady. "And...what did she say, my lord?"
"After an emotional outburst that quite unnerved me, she began screaming and raving, half in Spanish, no less. Eventually, when she became coherent, she refused to believe me. She looked at me as if I were making the entire thing up, for my amusement, like I'm a bloody mummer.
"I explained it all to her...how the Pope erred in issuing the dispensation for us to marry. I told her how it was torturing my conscience that we were not truly man and wife, and I explained that all the theologians and canonists agreed that we were living in mortal sin. She refuses to believe any of it. Catherine, of all people, the one I thought would understand, all she has to do is re-read the Scriptures for the millionth time. God's truth, she rattles it off like she wrote it herself."
"Does she doubt the credibility of all the churchmen you'd consulted, a woman a pious as Catherine?"
"That is what makes it all the more difficult, because she blamed Wolsey for the whole thing, for instigating a plot, and for influencing me into believing our marriage is not valid, for delving too deeply into Scriptures and misinterpreting them, twisting them to serve his own dogmas, and finding things that simpl
y weren't there.
"Then she accused him of wanting to cast her aside so I can marry a French princess and produce an heir to reign over France and England. I must say, her accusation on that point might have been valid a few years ago. Wolsey has always believed that the King of England should rule France, as in the past. But in the end, she believes we are both victims of Wolsey's cunning devices.
"The truth is, Wolsey was as shocked as anyone when I first approached him with the idea. I would suppose telling Catherine that it was entirely Wolsey's idea would ease this strain a bit. But Wolsey has been such a faithful servant to me, my naming him the perpetrator would just turn him against me...and God knows, I do need Wolsey more than ever."
"There usually is one partner who does not desire the annulment. 'Tis rarely a mutual break, my lord. But despite all her reasons, I am sure she will see that it is best for both of you, and your agenda can no longer include her."
She hadn't meant to sound vindictive towards Catherine. As a reasonable person herself, she thought everyone should be reasonable.
"When, Amethyst, when? I cannot see her backing down without a long, hard fight. She is adamant. She insists she had never been married to Arthur. She guards that virginity she maintained in their marriage bed as if the crown jewels were 'twixt her thighs... Then I tried to convince her we were without issue, that all our children had died."
"But what of the Princess Mary?" she reminded him gently.
His handsome mouth turned down. "That is exactly what she said! What of her indeed? A daughter cannot rule! She will marry into foreign royalty, and with it goes the entire kingdom! Why cannot you women see what a disaster that would be?"
"We women see certain things a bit differently, my lord," she said regally. "We only see love and what we can do to secure a happy future with the people we love."
He turned away and slapped his palms on his thighs. "Are you with me or against me on this, Amethyst? What is your choice? I want it before we go any further!"
Another demand. Why did every question have to be put this way? "Why...I wish whatever will make everyone happy, sire..." Merely telling King Henry what he wanted to hear wouldn't work in this instance. It would catch up with her in the end, she knew it. "I want you to be happy, as well as the Queen and Princess."
"That is impossible! That woman will never be happy!" he exclaimed, shaking his head in exasperation, looking helpless, even mortal, in a way she'd never seen him before. But of course—it was the first serious dilemma he'd ever had to face in his life. "And she poisons my daughter against me–"
"She has no need to do so. The child feels cast off by a father who sees her as a mere girl and an obstacle to his desires."
"By God, you witch, whose side–"
"I take no sides. I wish no one to be unhappy, but you are right, England must be safe. My own wishes have naught to do with the matter at this point. I love my life with you and while it is not perfect, it is more than I ever could have dreamed. So do what you think is best. You will work it out, my lord. I know you will. You have that special way of doing everything."
He always loved hearing that; he seemed to need the constant reassurance. She always felt safe enough telling him that. He reached over and embraced her tightly.
"I pleaded with her not to repeat any of this to anyone, lest her nephew Charles stick his nose into it."
"Then surely you will not require my answer for quite some time, my lord."
"Ah, you wish to keep me in suspense for the duration of the untangling of this travesty of a marriage?"
"No, sire..." She shook her head. Why did he have that uncanny knack of making her sound like the villain? She hoped to eventually master her way round that. "I just meant that we should take one step at a time. I still have a lot of thinking to do and if we go public with our relationship at this time, well…."
"What is stopping you, Amethyst? You know how badly I want you, and I daresay you want me. We are well suited for each other, we appreciate each other's talents and beauty and style and grace," he listed what sounded like his own virtues, easily lifting her to his lofty heights with him. "Come, what is really stopping you? There is something, I know it. Why do you not wish to be my queen?"
Escaping his impatient gaze, she turned to the beautiful day, the pearly ribbons of clouds above her, the orange clusters in a distant vegetable patch, felt the soothing shade of the graceful oak under which they sat, their horses grazing contentedly beside them, the servants at a comfortable distance. She placed her uneaten drumstick on the plate and thought carefully.
"I want very much to be your queen, sire, but several things stop me. You may not believe you are married in your heart, but in the eyes of the Church and the kingdom, and most of all, the Queen, you are still very much her husband. The Queen is much loved of the people. And until this matter is solved, either by the Church or whomever you must consult to end it, I do not feel you should expect me to consider marrying you. And to ensure that I wouldn't bring forth an illegitimate child to trouble things further, I've been to a physician in Richmond. He inserted a pebble into my womb."
He looked surprised. "And it bothers you not?"
"Nay...I am not even aware of its presence."
"Well, if it begins to give you any kind of pain, I want it removed immediately... Perhaps to replace it with a prince."
"Not while you are still married," she said firmly.
"I daresay the very day this marriage ends... So will that pebble."
"Another obstacle is a problem of mine," she dared to day.
"Oh?"
"My sister Topaz. I've been loyal to my sister all my life, and always empathized with her when everyone else ignored her. But she believes she is the rightful heir to the throne by way of our father. Our father would have been king had your father not dethroned Richard the Third."
He gave a tight smile. "Well, that's quite a moot point at this point in time. For my father's army did defeat Richard, because some of Richard's men deserted him at the very last second. It was a precarious victory, but a victory nonetheless. The crown itself has no loyalty, no respect for bloodlines. It sits upon the head of the latest victor."
"Aye, you are right, sire. Your father did kill Richard and take his crown, altering the succession. But Topaz never recognized it as such. She believes she's still royal and Henry Tudor was a mere pretender."
"So she must believe you are royal as well."
"It matters not what she believes. I respect her opinion but I do not agree with her. I merely wish to warn you of her ambitions and if she sees me as, er, in the way of them, she can try to make trouble for us."
"What about her lads?" he asked quietly.
"I know not, sire." She had enough to tell him without bringing her two mentally abused little nephews into the picture. "She has been talking of this for years, since we were children."
She shuddered at the thought of Henry's reaction— treason, it was, pure and simple treason, and punishable by torturous death. But she hoped her growing closeness to Henry would be Topaz's salvation. "Please, sire, she's a country lady who harbors great resentment, yet she is my sister, and I love her dearly...I want to help her get over this madness. If you truly love me, please forgive her and pardon her, and understand that my reluctance is not due to a lack of love for you but a care and concern for all of England. Either way, divorcing Catherine and marrying me, we are looking at civil war, and it is not a pretty sight."
"'Tis all right, Amethyst." He calmly continued eating his capon, tearing into a piece of bread and breaking off a wedge of cheese. "There is nothing to forgive. I fear her not. I've got real enemies, the people who refuse to support my break with Catherine, the Pope for one. We might see civil war before this decade is out. But worry not. It will not be your fault, and I shall handle it."
He wiped his hands on a linen napkin and dug into the basket hungrily.
"But sire...that is my problem. You must stay safe! You must also
protect the Princess Mary! You must keep her safe!"
"I worry not about Mary," he said between chomps on another chicken leg. "She is safe enough. If Mary were a boy, well..." He chuckled through his mouthfuls.
"So you do not consider Topaz a real threat, then?" she asked quietly.
"Nay, my dear. However, I understand your dilemma. She is your sister and I am your King. I shall respect your wishes and not pressure you to make up your mind this minute. Such a beautiful day calls for a ride in the country, not affairs of state. We will discuss it at length on the morrow, perhaps. But for now..."
He rose and she gazed admiringly at his lean body as he stretched, the taut muscles straining under the riding doublet and hose. "Let us continue, for it will be dark soon."
So relieved at his calm reaction, she took that last drumstick from the bottom of the basket and dug in.