by Diana Rubino
"So do you think this brainchild of Wolsey's will bear fruit? Will Campeggio's presence here work in your favor?"
"Aye, I truly believe so," he replied, sliding an oyster into his mouth. "The best news he brought with him was that Clement suggested to Catherine that she enter a convent. He would banish our marriage in a heartbeat should she do that."
She emitted a gasp of delight—finally, something that resembled a solution!
"Why, that is wonderful news, sire! Catherine is so devout already, she may as well have taken her vows at birth!"
"My sentiments exactly. She will continue the religious life, I shall be free to remarry, Campeggio can go on his merry way, and Clement and I can resume our...heh, heh...amicable terms. I so dislike being on the wrong side of His Holiness," he said, a belch erupting at the mention of the Pope, the timing impeccable. They shared a quiet laugh and fed each other the remainder of the oysters.
Later he sat at the window seat, sipping wine, the setting sun's gentle glow drifting in through the diamond paned windows that afforded a view of the hills in the distance.
Having changed into her black satin nightdress, she approached him from behind and slid her arms round his neck. "A beautiful view, isn't it?" she cooed, as they shared the dying day. "The entire kingdom is yours, and the entire night is ours."
She turned him round and dug her fingers into the soft satin of his robe, kneading his hard muscles underneath. Their lips touched, and his tongue met hers, teasing, tormenting, causing her breath to diminish into short gasps. "Henry, I want you now. I want to make love to my King."
And then, in reality just as it always was in her dreams, in waking and in sleeping time after time, he lifted her into his powerful arms and carried her to the bed, placing her gently on the edge, then climbed in next to her, swiftly reclaiming her lips.
As his delicate scent intoxicated her, she closed her eyes and beheld soaring fireworks behind her lids. She caressed his golden red hair with one hand and his lean muscled form with the other, opening his robe to reveal the taut waistline and the light hairs on his chest. Lowering her head to his torso, she ran her tongue over his stomach, opening his robe farther up along the way.
Now his breath was coming harder, faster. He moaned and turned to face her, his fingers playing over her body like a harp, bringing out every strain of sensuous passion in a sonata of love.
He halted her and pulled off his robe, hanging it over the edge of the bed. "Now it is my turn to disrobe you," he said, smiling down at her, lowering his head to reunite their lips, his hands everywhere, expertly touching her most sensitive areas.
Gracefully, he slipped her chemise over her head. Her fingers sought his hose and tugged; now all that was left to conquer was the undergarments, which slid off as easily as if they'd been oiled. He arched his pelvis, moaning her name softly as his fingers traced thin lines of fire over her curves, and down between the soft sensitive flesh of her thighs.
She could feel his heart pounding against his chest wall, in perfect rhythm with his breathing. Her senses were taking leave of her, slowly, with every inch she explored. She slipped her hand beneath his hose, lightly touched his manhood, feeling the heat from her hand seep into the hardening member. She clasped her fingers around him and caressed him with a slow back and forth motion, feeling the hardness mount with increasing intensity.
She slipped her hand further down, between his legs, fanning her fingers over the entire area, causing him to moan with pleasure as his body involuntarily shuddered. She slipped the hose off his legs and slid down, her lips still throbbing from his demanding kisses.
The second her lips touched the end of his aroused member, he clutched her shoulders tightly. She drank in the musky scent of his body as it mingled with the sweet wine they'd just imbibed. Her passion was uncontainable.
She wanted all of him, everything he had to give. As she pulled the pins from her hair and let the ends tickle his neck, their explosive coupling shattered the night.
As she lay in the afterglow, she thought how perfectly matched their passion was, and began to count the days until she could remove the pebble and give him the son he craved for at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"Damn that woman! Damn her and her self-righteous Spanish smugness!"
The pewter plate missed Amethyst's head by a safe distance, crashing against the door frame just as she reached the King's retiring room. She lifted her skirts and carefully stepped around the bits of pastry and clumps of fruit on his priceless Oriental rug.
"What happened now, sire?" What possibly could have happened? What shifty scheme could Catherine have contrived within the last twenty-four hours since we last met?
Amethyst felt herself empathizing more and more with the King's irritation at Catherine's tenacity. The more in love she grew with the King, the harder it was to tolerate any delay in being married.
"Come hither, just close that door and come hither and let me look at you!" She shut the door softly. It was late, the servitors had dispersed, and the Yeomen of the Guard were way down the hall flanking the outer chamber door, out of earshot.
All was quiet, but Henry's anger issued forth an intensity she could sense from across the chamber. She turned to look at him in the candles' glow as he flopped on the bed, flung his shirt off and sat bare-chested, heaving great angry sighs. The mat of hair covering his chest narrowed to a tantalizing pattern towards his hose, which molded to his thighs. He ran a hand over his chest and with one swift stroke swept off his hose. She felt a thrill rush through her—at his commanding presence, at the raw passion he unfurled when encountering anything that mattered to him—whether he loved it or hated it, the King was never indifferent to anything.
She wanted to hold him close, feel his warmth seep into hers, feel the thick hair, smooth it back from his face, kiss his forehead, the searching lips. Wordlessly he held out his hand and she rushed into his arms. The moment was filled—with their bodies and their desperate want for each other.
As she melted into him, he fondled her breasts over the silky material of her chemise, and made a mad rush of desire course through her, starting with her fingertips, shooting down to her toes.
She let him devour her hungrily, as he blanketed her with his powerful body and poured all his pent up frustration into her, until she was sure he felt no more, and afterglow once again subdued him.
"Now tell me what Catherine did...calmly, my lord."
"Catherine...I've forgotten. I do not wish to bring her into my bed chamber, in body or in spirit."
"The problem will still be there tomorrow. Perhaps you will feel that if you tell me now, it will become my problem. I shall hold it for you tonight so that you may sleep. After all, we do share these endless disappointments together. Perhaps if we divide it between us, it will be half as frustrating."
He smiled, kissed her forehead and bunched her hair in his fingers so tightly it pulled at her scalp, letting go just as immediately. "She refused the Pope's suggestion to enter a convent. Then she displayed the first I've ever seen of her attempt at humor since I've known her... She actually made a joke, deliberately this time."
"What was it?"
"She refused the suggestion of taking the veil, saying she would live out her days in holy matrimony into which God had called her, and nothing would change her mind. But, she said, but...and this is the part that made me laugh...she said she would enter a convent only if I took monastic vows and lived as a monk. Mary would be the sole heir and would reign over the kingdom."
"And she meant that as a joke, sire? Queen Catherine does not strike me as the kind of woman who would make jokes, especially in a matter as grave as this. She knows you need an heir. How in God's name could you possibly produce one while living as a monk? She meant it as no joke! She meant as a self-serving solution that would allow her to save face!" Her voice took on an irritable edge that betrayed her growing anger.
He looked at her with that hint of annoyan
ce as he did whenever she questioned his judgment. "I must take it as a joke, Amethyst. Or I shall not retain my own wits. She knows bloody well I could never take vows of poverty, chastity, never to hold a woman in my arms again, to forsake my kingdom, the kingdom I was born to rule! She has lost all credibility with me now. No matter how she meant it, I took it as a pathetic attempt at humor, had my little guffaw, and now I must move on to the next step. The Papal court meets tomorrow. I shall have my say and there will be no further joking."
"Then the court will take their sweet time making their decision."
"What do you want me to do, Amethyst? Do you want to elope to one of those wild rugged islands of the New World and live among the savages where no one knows us?" he thundered, punching his pillow.
"Nay! But you are letting your subjects walk all over you!"
"The Pope is not my subject! It is his hands that hold my life!"
"And Catherine's and her nephew's and Campeggio's!" she shot back, counting them off on her fingers.
"Get ye out of here, Amethyst, before I put you over my knee and spank you! I have enough people trying to lead my life without listening to your whining! Now be gone!"
Stunned, she stepped back as though she had been slapped. She could see Henry regret his harsh words as soon as he uttered them, but he was not a man to back down. She gathered her skirts and as much dignity as she could muster and swept out of the room in a swirl of angry tears, her hair streaming out behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
On the morrow, just after Henry departed for the trial at Blackfriars, Matthew came to court to pay Amethyst a visit.
She embraced him warmly. He smelled of the woods and lavender soap and she breathed in his freshness with something akin to relief.
"Oh, 'tis so good to see you, Matthew!" she sighed into his cloak as he swept his hat off and tossed it onto the nearest chair in her receiving chamber.
He looked tired and drawn. His short French haircut was growing out and a lock of hair fell across his forehead. She impulsively reached up and gently pushed it aside, looking into his eyes, as green and shiny in the glinting sunlight as the newly sprouted leaves of spring. She eased the cloak from around his shoulders. He smiled.
"You look tired, but so relieved," she observed.
"My looks deceive you. It does my heart good to see you. But in truth, I am still worried sick for the lads."
She nodded and squeezed his hand. "And I also. I would ask the King to invite them here, but court is no place for children. They are better off at Warwick."
"I beg to differ. With Topaz's poison permeating their minds, how can being surrounded by a bunch of capering courtiers be worse?"
A servitor brought in a wedge of cheese and hot buttered bread along with goblets of ale. Matthew picked at it and sipped the ale.
"It is because their heads are so full of lies that I would be worried every moment of the day that they might blurt out a repetition of one of her insults or treasonous mutterings and then there would we all be."
"Aye, there is that. They would probably hate the very sight of the King after all she's said about him."
"I know I am biased, but really, while he has his faults, he is certainly not as bad as my sister makes him out to be. But you needn't just take my word for it. I am anxious for you to meet the King," she said. "I believe you will find much to talk about, hawking, hunting, tennis, all the outdoor sports that you both love. Just do not mention Topaz."
His eyes darkened at the sound of his wife's name. "Do you take me for an oaf? I wish my journey to take me back to Kenilworth, not through Traitor's Gate."
She gave an airy wave. "The King is not in the least bothered about Topaz. He believes she is all talk. He knows her not. That is a great relief to me; I thought he would certainly restrain her somehow and take her much more seriously than he has. He has been so caught up with this divorce that he has not had a moment to spare for much of anything else... Except his most basic needs, of course." She lowered her lids and looked away.
"I have heard nothing in weeks," Matthew said, blushing. "Topaz has said naught since her visit here to you."
"I cannot help but think the longer she delays, the more organized and devastating it will be if and when it finally comes," she said in an appalled whisper.
He shrugged on shoulder and said in a low tone, "She has but few supporters. However, this could not have come at a worse time. The King has some enemies, and I daresay that with the divorce proceedings, tongues are beginning to wag. There is a great outpouring of sympathy for Queen Catherine. Topaz might be clever enough to use it to her advantage."
"Perhaps. But they are two very different women and though I love my sister, she is certainly not queenly material, shall we say, compared with the Princess of Aragon. I do feel sorry for her being cast off after so many years and understand the people's position.
"I dare not say it to the King, but I hardly believe the Pope is going to bend. I am there when he needs me, I comfort him in his time of need, and make him forget his troubles, but I am becoming as frustrated as he. Every time it looks like we've opened a door, another slams in our faces. It's gotten to where we've been short with each other, not meaning it, of course, but these times are so tense. I would love to marry him, but, well, it just seems as far away as the moon at the moment."
"Amethyst, it has been some time now. Do you truly believe he is going to attain this divorce?" he asked gently.
She heaved a deep sigh. "Sometimes it seems hopeless. But Henry is a strong-willed man. I believe he will achieve his goal. But at what cost, I know not."
"And you?"
"Well...when the divorce is final, I shall wait a respectable time, then I shall accept his marriage proposal. But not before."
"Don't you think you'll have done enough waiting?"
"Oh, by then the frustrating part will be over with! Once Henry is free, nothing will stand in our way," she said with her usual bright optimism.
"And how long do you intend to wait out this frustrating part, as you say?"
"As long as it takes."
"It may be years."
"Oh, nay, Matthew. Something will happen within the year..." Her voice trailed off, lacking any conviction, as she thought of what Matthew had just said. She'd never thought of putting a time limit on it. But perhaps that was what her beloved Henry needed to get things moving just a bit faster. "...if indeed Catherine ever lets him go."
"I believe it will be the Pope's decision, not Catherine's," Matthew said.
"Oh, 'tis so many people," she sighed. "Emperor Charles the Fifth, Holy Roman Emperor, is Catherine's nephew and does not take to the idea of his aunt having lived in sin. With this working against Henry, it makes things very difficult."
Matthew shook his head and gazed past Amethyst out the window.
"I want to be everything to him, his lover, his friend, his confidante, the mother of his heirs, and his queen. But I must expect repercussions."
Matthew's gaze returned to her. "I still haven't told anyone. Not your mother, no one."
"Thank you, Matthew, for your trust. I shall tell them in good time. And Lord knows we have plenty of it at the moment. Even if things go well today, it will be some time before we could make our love known to the world. And I still fear Topaz and her plans. She is willful and stubborn, but she is still my sister and I love her. I can only imagine what the news of our engagement would do to her."
She shivered as she recalled how close she had come to dying, and what she suspected her sister's role had been in her brush with death. She looked at Matthew, whom she remembered had touched her, prayed over her, helped bring her back to the land of the living. Topaz had certainly picked a fine man….
"Aye, you are safer here on the King's side. If this plan of hers ever does come to be, at least she can't kill you."
"Are you saying you believe the King would?"
"He's the King, Amethyst. He can do anything he pleases,"
he said as if to a child.
Dear God, he sounded just like her mother and her Aunt Margaret did throughout her childhood whenever they referred to her father's fate. Henry would never do such a thing to her, just as no one could ever conceive of the King's frustration over the powers thwarting his need to be free of Catherine. But of course they couldn't they see that, no one knew her Prince Hal as intimately as she did. Or at least hoped she did…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
That evening, a subdued tone enshrouded the great hall as the court supped, listened to music and dispersed. Matthew was presented to the King, who feigned interest in Matthew's ramblings-on about his estates, falcons, and tennis game with detached half-heartedness.