by Diana Rubino
She felt the softness of the velvet brush her thigh as he lifted her skirts, tickling the soft flesh with his fingertips.
"Amethyst, there is nothing stopping us now," Henry murmured into the silky strands of her hair wound around his fingers, his breath ragged with desire for her. "I am a widower. I am free, free at last. So at last, you are free to be my queen."
An uneasy prickle ran down the length of her spine that had naught to do with his expert lovemaking. "Aye, my liege, but—"
He cut off her protests with a crushing of his lips to hers and soon they both closed their eyes and heard nothing but each other's increasing breaths. His other arm delicately wrapped around her bare shoulders, his warmth seeping into her skin, her body cool, his body warmed by the sultry night air.
Her body began to burn with desire. She was throbbing from the inside out. He flicked his tongue across his teeth and his eyes bored into hers, gently searching her face, her hair, exploring her features an inch at a time. Her hand opened and rose to touch his cheek.
Her fingers, gently curved, extended and touched the red-gold stubble on his chin. Her lips parted of their own volition, her mouth watered, wanting to drink in those luscious lips, to explore his face, his hair, and once more, to make him know how much she wanted him like this, as he had been in the past, youthful and carefree as they had both once been.
He lowered his head and his parted lips touched hers so softly, fitting perfectly with hers, just as always. His tongue slipped between his lips and sought hers as they kissed more deeply, in as perfect a rhythm and coordination as any they had danced together. Her arms went around his neck and she felt his hair, like thick stands of silk against the sensitive padding of her fingers.
His arms encircled her waist and he brought her ever so gently to him, their bodies conforming like plaster to a mold. His head tilted to one side and his tongue penetrated further. She struggled to breathe, her heart pounding furiously, her eyes darting in all directions underneath her closed lids, sending wild splashes of color and sunbursts against black nothingness. He moaned softly and she could feel his manhood growing more rigid as his desire mounted.
"You are beautiful, Queen Amethyst," she heard him murmur, as softly as the lapping of the Thames against the palace walls.
"My lord, I am not yet..." she whispered, her lips brushing his. As his mouth devoured hers, she felt a rush of desire course through her body. As his hands gently touched the curves of her shoulders, her hand landed lightly on his thigh and she gently stroked the smoothness of his hose. Then their arms wound round each other in a tight, clinging embrace. She wanted him to consume her with all his energy, passionately drinking her in, quenching his yearning thirst. She let him mold her to the contours of his body and make her his own once more. He covered her body with his as she yielded to his caresses and hungry lips and gave in to the delight only he could fill her with.
Now he began fondling the sensitive tops of her thighs, and she wanted desperately to feel his flesh against hers, within her. He slowly peeled her undergarments off, his fingers probing gently at her moistness, flattening his palm against her straining body as she pressed herself against his hand.
He pulled his hose to the knees and their lower bodies met, her thighs parting for him as he crushed them with the mammoth blades of his wide pelvic bones. He drove into her, again and again, and she met each thrust, her back arching, wanting to meld with his flesh, become a part of him at last, body and soul, with no other woman between them again. Not now, not ever.
They cried out together as he poured his passion into her, and he remained within her long after they were both sated.
"Amethyst," he panted, "I love you like I have loved no other woman. I cannot wait for you to be my queen."
"Oh, sire, please, there is one thing I must do first..." Her breath regained its steady rhythm as their bodies calmed, and he lifted damp tendrils of hair from her neck, brushing them back onto the pillow.
"Please listen to me." She knew now that Mary and Elizabeth were both bastardized now that his second marriage had come to such a bad end, so that once again the future king or queen could well be hers at some point soon.
He frowned in confusion. "What is stopping you now, my dear lady? I am free at last. A proper widower, now that my first wife is dead, with no hint of any scandal of divorce. Anne was detested, and no one will mourn her, least of all men. Now I am free to start over, and do it right this time. I want to share my life and my kingdom with you, and I need an heir. The entire kingdom ridicules me as never having chosen a queen who could provide me with a living son—"
"Nay, sire—"
"But more than that, the kingdom needs a proper queen, one ruled by compassion, not consumed by ambition. My throne is incomplete without a queen perched atop hers. Not only that... Well, the truth is—" He took a deep breath and looked straight into her eyes. "The truth is that my life is incomplete without you by my side. It was Hell being married to Anne for the sake of duty and children. Every time I did my duty, I had to force myself by thinking of you. That little witch made my skin crawl, with her dark eyes and sneering ways.
"So please, my love, do not say me nay. I did wrong by not coming after you to Warwick because of my pride, and I have bitterly regretted that decision every moment since. I got naught but a daughter and the most wretched misery with a she devil in my bed. So please, love. The time is now, Amethyst. Please, say yes. The wedding and coronation can be within a fortnight and we shall live as one at last, free to bring our love into the light of day so that all may share in its blazing glory."
She was near tears at the romance of his words, but was more determined than ever to carry out her plan. "Sire, I want nothing more than to be your wife. But before we marry, I must ascertain one thing. I would not dare disappoint you again just as, well, your other two wives have done. When I become your wife and when the crown of England is placed atop my head, I want to be carrying your child, the future king. I want to ensure that your wish for a son comes true, and only when I am sure the future King of England is within my womb, will I consent to marry you."
He shook his head, his gaze earnestly beseeching. "But that is not necessary, my dear, I know we will bring forth many princes... And even a princess or two if you desire. We needn't wait."
She propped herself up on an elbow and ran her fingertips down the smooth contours of his muscled chest, brushing over the springy mat of thick red hair. "It will not take long, sire. The truth is that, well, I decided I wanted your son more than anything, and had the pebble removed by the same physician who put it in as a barrier to conception. And I know my body just like any other woman, and am blessed to be very regular and healthy in my courses. My longing for a son will be fulfilled before the next full moon lights up the sky. I just know it."
He chuckled, reaching over for his wine goblet, and held it to her lips. "All right," he spoke as she sipped. "We've waited this many years. Another month or so shan't matter all too much. As long as we can spend every night of our betrothal in the exquisite throes of passion that will ensure the creation of our first child, I can certainly wait. The past is over. I want to cast those two disastrous marriages into the Thames and consider this night with the woman I love a fresh beginning."
She nodded happily. "Speaking of fresh beginnings... If you're quite done quaffing that drink, we have a life to create." She set down the goblet and slid her lithe body over his, wrapping her legs about his waist, eagerly feeling his urgency once again and matching it with her own.
But all of her plans were for naught. A month later, she was not yet breeding. Or a month after that. Two more moons waxed and waned, and still the miracle of a newly created life did not bloom inside her. She began to come to the terrible conclusion that it had not indeed been the fault of the women he had wed, who had certainly given him enough daughters, both dead and alive, even if not living sons. She thought of her own sister, who had had two sons without trouble, her own mo
ther, who had borne three healthy girls.
Despite the horridness of the thought, she was starting to come to the inescapable conclusion that the King was the one who was not able to perform as he should in these matters. Perhaps he was cursed and a son was to be denied him by the Heavenly powers. Or perhaps there was something amiss causing only girl seed to spring to life? Many of his women had been in the prime of their lives, but few had bred. It had to be Henry… But to dare to even suggest such a thing would not only hurt him deeply in an unforgivable way, it was tantamount to treason.
Sheer desperation drove her to sneak behind the King's back. She secretly planned a visit to his private physician, Dr. Butts. When she was sure the King would be tied up in council meetings, she took a barge to the physician's home in Chelsea and anxiously sprinted up the path lined with bluebells, straight to his door.
A servant led her into his private chambers, where he sat behind a huge desk, writing. The walls were lined with shelves holding bottles of every size and shape, mortars and pestles, and jars of powders and herbs. He put down his quill and focused his pale gray eyes on her. "Lady Amethyst, what can I do for you? What ails you?"
"Dr. Butts, we must keep this entirely secret. No one must ever know."
"You have my word as a doctor. All my patients' visits are kept strictly confidential. Now tell me... Are you in pain?"
"Nay, not yet. It is a common affliction among women, Dr. Butts. I fear I am unable to conceive."
He tapped the desk with clean fingernails and motioned for her to sit. "How long have you been trying?"
"Several months now, Doctor. We know it is not him. He has sired several children already. 'Tis I...and I cannot bear the thought of being barren, of never giving him what he desires most. Whoever gives him a son will be the one he loves forever. I want this so badly. You must help me."
"Perhaps you are trying too hard. You are very anxious and it is keeping you from conceiving."
She stared at him in confusion. "But the anxiety is all in my head. What has that got to do with my womb?"
"A great deal. It is not widely believed, but several Italian physicians have theorized that illnesses...all kinds of ailments, from the sweat to ague to simple fatigue, can be brought about by anxiety, manifesting itself in an illness in a completely different part of the body."
"Fascinating," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "Aye, it is true, I am ever so anxious. But there must be something you can give me in the meantime... Some mixture of herbs I can take to help get me with child."
"I shall see." He rose and plucked several bottles from the shelf along with a mortar and pestle. He mixed the herbs and powders together, pounding away with the pestle, and poured the concoction into an empty bottle, which he sealed with a stopper.
"Clary and hyssop to calm you, anise and coriander to rid your system of any invaders that may be blocking the way. Drink this in hot water like tea, three times a day and if you are not with child in two months, come back to me."
"Two months! Oh, Dr. Butts, I simply cannot wait that long!"
He laughed shortly. "We mortals can only do so much, Lady Amethyst," the doctor said, brushing the fine brown powder from his hands. "The rest is up to you and your man, that you keep at it, so to speak, and to God."
"But how can God not want me to have the child I so desire?" she asked, cradling the bottle in her hands as if it were a magic potion determining the difference between life and death.
"We know not why He punishes us," the doctor replied. "I am but a physician. I carry out His work. I am His mere servant. He picks up where I must leave off."
"Is there anything you can give me that will guarantee a boy?"
Dr. Butts' opaque eyes smiled at her as he shook his head, chuckling. "My dear, I am a physician, not a magician. But try a lot of violet and rose oil."
"You mean drink it?" she asked eagerly.
"Nay, dab it on your throat and between your breasts! Sprinkle it on your bed linens! It gets most men growling!" He waggled his brows suggestively.
She laughed then, and finally started to relax. "Thank you, Dr. Butts, I appreciate the advice, but raising his...his level of interest is not my problem," Amethyst said, rising to leave. "'Tis the result I am desperate for." She said a silent prayer that the results of her desire to carry the King's heir were within the bottle she now held. Then she headed back to the palace to resume setting the King a growling.
She'd reached the last dose—and she swallowed it full-strength, without the dilution of hot water this time. It had a horrible metallic taste similar to blood, which she'd tasted many times, having had a string tied around each loose milk tooth, the other end tied to a door, and upon its slamming, had ended up with one less bothersome tooth, but a mouth full of blood, the taste of which a child never forgot.
Grimacing, she held the bottle up to her mouth and tapped on the bottom, licking the inner rim in order to get every last trace into her system—but to no avail.
Another visit to Dr. Butts and a stronger potion yielded the same results—and she remained barren month in, and month out.
"My lord, I am as desperate to produce an heir as you are," she sobbed into Henry's robe on the eve of her sixth flux since vowing to give him what his wives couldn't.
"'Tis all right," he sighed, stroking her hair lovingly, but she detected that absence of patience. The calm, almost amused tone was finally giving way to the anxiety she'd been feeling all along.
Still she refused to become his queen until she was sure she carried the future monarch within her.
"I know what I must do, sire," she said resignedly one night after a bout of lovemaking that was now becoming a necessary duty to produce a desired effect rather than the pure pleasure it had once been.
Wearing nothing but the circles of rubies about her throat, waist, and fingers, she separated their bodies and pulled the sheet around her.
"What? Do a fertility dance out in the garden?" he said with a grin, stroking down her bare back with his broad hand.
She said the words she had been thinking with increasing frequency, though they nearly choked her. "Nay, you must take another woman as queen consort."
He sat up at once in complete indignation. "I shall not! You are the only woman I want. I do not wish to have you on the sidelines again whilst another woman parades around here as queen consort."
She shrugged one shoulder, though pretending a lack of care over the issue was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. "I did it before, didn't I? But those other times it was against my will. Now I am doing it willingly. As much as I would like to have it myself, I want you to have your heir, sire. I know how desperate you are. I love you too much to stand in your way. I am not being fair to you, or the kingdom to tie you down so. Therefore, I must step aside."
"But there is still time—" he started to protest.
She shook her head. "We are none of us getting any younger."
"But think what you could do as queen?"
"I am thinking of my duty to the realm, which is why I am willing to suggest this."
He gathered her into his arms. "Oh, Amethyst, you are the most understanding, compassionate woman God has ever created. When those other women did nothing but take from me, you've been so willing to give."
"As a matter of fact, I have someone in mind," she said.
"Who?" he asked after a time, suddenly not so shocked at the idea as he had been a moment before.
She tried to stifle and angry, jealous pang when she spotted the two sparks light his eyes as he studied her in the darkness. At last she said, "My new lady in waiting, Jane Seymour."
Formerly Anne's lady in waiting, she was now in the service of Amethyst. A genuine, friendly soul, she was always so eager to please. A plain, homely girl, she paled in Amethyst's glowing aura, but she would be a perfect consort for Henry...
"She is such an insipid little creature! I could never see her as queen. She is too meek, too unassuming."
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"That is why she is exactly what you need and why you and I would be the better for her on the throne. With all due respect, sire, look at your former wives. Jane is as unlike them as night is to day. She has no power, nor does her family. They do not seem hungry for it either as so many are, and her father is an old friend. Just remember the only reason you would consider taking Jane as your queen... You need an heir. She is young and full of life."
He sat silently for a moment, but at last sighed heavily. "Oh, Amethyst, I do not want to admit it, but you are right. But remember... Nothing betwixt you and I will change. Jane... If indeed she does become my queen consort, she must let us continue our relationship."
"Of course she will, my lord," she stated. "After all, we are giving her everything she could wish for." The least she could do in repayment would be to stay out of the way and let her husband be with the woman he loves.