“Such luxury, m’lady! Never have I seen the like, even at RiversEdge,” said Heartha, awed.
“Indeed, such luxury, Heartha, but at what price?” said Blaze sadly.
“ ’Tis no shame to you, m’lady, that the king has chosen you for his pleasure,” the tiring woman responded. “You are a widowed lady, and the queen is already put aside.”
Blaze shook her head silently. Heartha had as quickly put away her country morality as had Bliss’s servant, Betty. She looked about her lovely new bedchamber. The bed was extraordinarily big as it must be in order to accommodate as large a man as the king. Henry was not fat, but he was tall, and big-boned with a thick neck and limbs like tree trunks. The bed Was hung with crimson velvet draperies, and the linen sheets were scented with lavender. The bedchamber walls were of oak linenfold paneling, and there was a large fireplace opposite the bed whose bedposts were carved round with vines and flowers, and quite pretty. There were matching candlestands with silver tapersticks on either side of the bed, and there was a long table before the large leaded-paned windows that overlooked the river, as well as several chairs in the room. Despite the generosity of the furnishings, there was still more than enough room within the chamber to walk about.
A large oaken tub was set up within Blaze’s dressing room, and with Heartha’s help she bathed herself in warm violet-scented water. Heartha dried her mistress with towels that had been heated before the fire, and then dusted her with delicate powder. She then slipped over Blaze’s head a diaphanous night garment of sheerest black silk whose long skirt was a mass of narrow little pleats. The gown had long sleeves that fell to points over her hands, and a V neckline that revealed more than it concealed.
“Where did this nightrail come from?” demanded Blaze. “It is certainly not one of mine.”
“It is a gift from my lady FitzHugh, mistress,” replied Heartha. “She sent it this afternoon with strict instructions that you were to wear it tonight. I ain’t never seen one quite like it meself.”
Blaze laughed at Heartha’s words. How very like Bliss to send her such a thing. “Nay, Heartha,” she answered her servant, “nor have I ever seen anything like it. It looks like something that a French courtesan would wear, but no matter. If my sister thinks it proper, then who am I to say, being but a country mouse to Bliss’s court cat.”
“ ’Tis good to hear you laugh, m’lady,” said Heartha. “I know you’ve not been happy these last weeks.” She took up a brush, and seating her mistress, began to brush her hair.
“I have decided not to fight my fate, Heartha. How can I, under these particular circumstances?” responded Blaze.
Heartha brushed her lady’s hair with long strokes until it shone with warm golden-brown lights. Suddenly a door hidden within the paneled wall of the bedroom opened, and the king, dressed in a quilted blue velvet chamber robe, stepped through into the chamber. Startled, Heartha dropped the hairbrush, which clattered to the floor.
“And whom have we here, sweetheart?” said the king with a smile. He was being his most charming.
Blaze arose and curtsied. “This is Heartha, my tiring woman, my lord king.”
Heartha, regaining her wits, curtsied low before Henry.
“And have you been with your mistress long, Heartha?” asked the king.
“Since she was wed with my lord Edmund, sire,” said Heartha. “I was born at RiversEdge.”
The king drew a small gold ring from his little finger, and held it out to the servant. “Take this small token of my thanks for your loyal service to Lady Wyndham, Heartha. I know that you will continue to care well for her.”
Heartha’s mouth fell open with her surprise, and only when Blaze sharply poked her did she reach out, and curtsying once again, take the gold ring from the king. “Oh, thank you, your grace! Be sure I will continue my good care of my lady,” she babbled as she backed from the room.
“You have quite taken her breath away.” Blaze smiled. “ ’Twas a kind thing to do, my lord. She will remember it always, and someday tell her grandchildren that the king actually spoke with her, and gave her the ring from his finger.”
“She has children?” he asked.
“Several, but she is widowed, and they grown and serving the Wyndhams also.”
“Let me look at you,” said Henry, and set her back from him. Slowly his blue eyes moved over her form, and then he said, “The gown is most provocative, madam. Walk about the room for me,” and when she did, he smiled broadly. “I can see your beautiful bare legs when you walk.”
“The garment is a gift from my sister,” said Blaze.
“The lovely Lady FitzHugh knows well how to gild the lily,” the king remarked, “but I can see the gown does not please you.”
“Perhaps, sire, I find the gown a bit too obvious,” Blaze said quietly. She was no longer quite so afraid of the man before her. Only the feelings he engendered within her were frightening.
The king reached out, and with a deliberate motion tore the black silk gown from her, and flung the pieces into the fire, where they disappeared with a quick hisssss. Blaze, shocked, nonetheless moved not a muscle.
The king studied her for what seemed a long time, and then he said, “This was how I longed to see you, as God made you in nature’s estate, and I am not disappointed.” He drew her across the room to set her before the pier glass. Standing behind her, he slipped his arms about her so that he might cup her breasts within his hands. The weight of the warm flesh against his palms was almost unbearably sensuous.
“What magnificent tits you possess, madam,” he murmured, and bending down, placed a kiss upon her rounded shoulder. His thumbs encircled her nipples in a leisurely fashion.
Blaze sighed deeply, and as she did so, she felt a familiar languor spreading through her limbs. What was it that he did to her to arouse such feelings within her body? She had no love for him. He was her king. He had threatened her child’s welfare unless she yielded her body to him. He had forced her cruelly, and yet at his touch her body was afire. Did all women behave so? She leaned back against the king, and her round breasts pushed themselves forward within his tender grasp. Through half-closed eyes she saw him smile.
“So, sweetheart, you begin to feel desire already, do you?” His lips began an exploration of the curve of her slender throat, lingering at the soft junction between neck and shoulder. “Ah, lovey, you set my heart afire!” Turning her about, he lifted her up into his arms, and carrying her across the bedchamber, he laid her gently upon the large bed.
Blaze lay quietly watching the king as he first removed his quilted robe, and then his white silk nightshirt. Her eyes widened at his nudity. If her body was beautiful to his eyes, then his was magnificent in hers. His shoulders were wide and well-proportioned. His chest was broad, and covered in a mat of tight reddish-gold curls. It tapered down to a neat waist, and slim hips. His legs were long and very shapely. They, too, were covered in red-gold hair. At the junction of his belly and his thighs was a triangle of auburn-gold curls from which jutted his manhood. Seeing the weapon that had earlier probed her flesh, she was amazed at its size, and that he had been able to enter her at all.
He laughed at her look, amused by her silence. “Aye, sweetheart, here is the big boy that earlier played havoc within your sweet sheath! Look on him, and know that he is well-rested and once again hungry for the taste of your body. He’ll not be so quick now, either, for his earlier bout with you has but whetted his prodigious appetite.” The king flung himself down upon the bed, and pulled her atop him so that she was looking down into his face, the nipples of her sensitive breasts brushing against the stiff curls upon his chest. “Now kiss me, my little country girl,” he begged her. “I long for your pretty lips.”
She bent, her mouth closed over his in a shy kiss. She had never been atop a man, and her cheeks grew warm with the thoughts her position aroused in her. He kissed her back, his lips demanding, his tongue pressing into her mouth to tease her so she was assailed by
feelings of both passion and of guilt. He felt her hesitation.
“Nay, sweetheart,” he whispered against her mouth, “don’t go away from me. Do you not know that I love you, Blaze?” Gently he rolled her over onto her back, and his eyes looked into hers. “Your king loves you, my pretty little country girl. He lays his heart at your feet. Would you scorn him, lovey? Could you be that cruel?”
“Sire, it is your poor wife I feel guilt over,” Blaze said, not quite daring to believe the wonderfully romantic words he had just uttered. Did she dare believe him, or was it merely something a man said to coax a reluctant lover? Her lack of experience was so damned regrettable!
“Darling Blaze,” the king said, “I have no wife. My own clerics assure me that the marriage performed between me and the Princess of Aragon all those years ago was not lawful in God’s eyes because she had been wed to my brother, Arthur. That is why God has denied me living legitimate sons. My marriage has been a terrible sin, and in fact it was no real marriage. My sons by Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn are but God’s way of showing me that with a lawful wife I may have the sons I so deeply desire.
“You, my darling, are widowed, and I a bachelor whose legal rights will soon be confirmed by the pope. I know it! We may love each other freely, Blaze! Do not deny me your heart any longer, lovey, for you will break mine if you do!”
“Oh, Hal!” she cried, knowing that this was madness, but unable to resist him. “Love me, my lord king! Love me!” She would regret this, instinct warned her. He would betray her in the end, yet she had been so damnably lonely since Edmund’s death, and she frankly admitted to herself that she had missed the pleasures of a man and a woman. The king was not to be denied. Why should she not enjoy it? No one in the court thought the worse of her for it. Indeed she was constantly being congratulated for her wonderful coup in gaining the king’s attentions.
Realizing his victory, Henry Tudor covered her face with his excited kisses. His head moved to her breasts, where he tasted and loved first one round globe, and then the other. His teeth tenderly bit at the soft flesh, sending pins and needles of delight through her whole body. He sucked vigorously upon the nipples, causing her to sob with her pleasure. His knee pressed a message between her thighs, and they fell open before him. Fitting himself between her legs, he guided his great manhood to the mark, thrusting into her in one long, smooth movement that caused her to cry out in pleasured pain. Slowly he withdrew himself from her, and then even more slowly he reinserted himself. Each slow withdrawal became like an agony for her; and each time he drove back into her he seemed to push more deeply inside her.
A sound very like a whimper came from her throat, and her nails raked down his strong, broad back. Her hips thrust fiercely back up at him each time he filled her full of himself, and reaching her first crisis of passion, she cried aloud, digging her nails even more deeply into his muscled flesh.
“So,” the king growled into her ear, pleased, “my little country kitten has sharp claws. Then she must like my fucking! Tell me, sweetheart! You do like it, don’t you?”
“Aye! Aye!” she panted. “Ohh, my Hal! Do not cease this wondrous torture! Do not cease it, I beg of you!”
The more he gave, the more she seemed to desire. At last, he thought, he had found a woman whose passion matched his! He would not have believed it possible before tonight that this sweet little country innocent was, beneath her demure manner, a raging tigress. Fiercely he pumped her until finally with a gasp she swooned beneath him, and he poured himself into her parched garden.
The color had drained from her face, but as he lay panting his own exhaustion, it slowly returned. Rising from the bed, the king moved across the room to a table which held a decanter of strong red wine. Pouring out two gobletfuls, he returned to the warmth of the bed, drawing the covers over them both. Gently he drew her into his embrace, cradling her within the curve of an arm, putting a goblet to her lips, encouraging her to drink. Half-coughing, she swallowed the heady wine, finding it an excellent restorative. Sure of her comfort now, he quaffed his own wine down in three gulps.
“You have pleased me, Blaze,” he said finally. “You have greatly pleased your king.”
“You have pleased me also, my lord,” she said.
He laughed, realizing that no woman had ever, ever said such a thing to him. He had always assumed of course that he had pleased his women, but none before this one had openly admitted to it. “You are a breath of fresh air in my life, Blaze Wyndham. I have never loved anyone quite like you in my whole life.”
There it was again! That word. Love. How easily he used it, and yet did he really mean it? What difference did it make? She was his mistress for better or worse until he decided otherwise, and despite her country naivete, Blaze knew that he would eventually discard her. Even if the church did actually dissolve his marriage to the queen, Henry Tudor would not rewed with the daughter of a poor baronet from Herefordshire despite her fecundity. He would marry a princess.
The king dozed, his leonine head upon her shoulder. Beneath the kingly strength was a boy. She saw it now in his face, all naked and unguarded in sleep. She felt almost maternal toward him, and smiled to herself in the dimness of the firelit room. He did not make love like a boy, of that she was certain despite her previous lack of experience. It was a loyal subject’s duty to serve the king, she thought, and so she would serve him with her body in her way as long as it pleased him.
He said that he loved her, and she supposed that in his own fashion he did, or at least he believed that he did. Henry Tudor was not a mean man, and so she knew that one day when he was through with her he would provide for her in some fashion. He would probably choose a husband for her, and unless the man were a beast, she would obediently remarry, for she understood now that a woman needed a man’s protection to survive in this world. Until then she was safe in the king’s arms, and more important, Nyssa was safe. At least in that she had not failed Edmund.
Chapter 10
The summer progress had begun, and the court moved from Greenwich to nearby Eltham. Like Greenwich, Eltham was set within the green confines of a great parkland. Here their days were spent in hunting and hawking, playing at bowls upon the green, shooting at archery butts. The king amused himself by teaching Blaze to shoot, and to his amazement her eye was quite accurate.
“By God, sweetheart,” he told her approvingly one warm summer’s afternoon, “I shall enlist you in the ranks should ever war break out.”
The weather was so lovely that they frequently stayed out-of-doors until long after dark. There were picnics, and dancing, and boating upon a lake that was situated within the royal park. The king often retired early those summer evenings, for he found he was not easily tiring of his new mistress, and he remained fascinated that her appetite for passion was as large as his. Yet there was nothing unwholesome in her attitude.
The Quiet Mistress. ’Twas a phrase that Cardinal Wolsey coined to describe Blaze, and the nickname stuck. Unlike her predecessors, Elizabeth Blount and Mary Boleyn, Blaze Wyndham did not use her place in the king’s bed for a power base. There were those who thought her a fool not to gain every advantage she could during her tenure as the king’s favorite. They could not understand a woman who would not take such a golden opportunity to help advance her family and friends, as was certainly only natural. A few, men like Thomas More, understood that the beautiful young widow had not sought the king’s attention, and though she served the king in her sensual capacity, she preferred to do it with as much dignity and modesty as was possible for a lady in her position. It was certain that she made no enemies, and even those who thought her a fool for her apparent lack of ambition were won over by her sweetness, her good manners, her clever wit, and her charm.
The court moved again, this time to Richmond Palace in Surrey. Sheen Manor had once been located on the site of what was now Richmond Palace. When the king had been a lad of seven, Sheen had burned to the ground one Christmas season when the royal family
had been in residence. King Henry VII had rebuilt it within two years, renaming it Richmond to remind him of the earldom which had been his title before he overcame King Richard III and took England’s crown for himself.
Richmond was a large Gothic residence built about a paved court. The royal apartments were in the privy lodging, which was decorated with fourteen turrets and had more windows than Blaze had ever seen in one building. The court arrived at Richmond to find that Queen Catherine and Princess Mary were in residence.
Blaze was embarrassed. Henry’s reassurances regarding his marital state had salved her conscience until now. The king could not ask the queen to leave lest he appear mean-spirited, and besides, he loved his daughter, whom he had not seen in some time now. Blaze’s apartment at Richmond was therefore placed at a discreet distance from both the queen’s and the king’s.
Catherine of Aragon was forty years old, and the toll of her years of futile childbearing showed cruelly upon her once pretty face, which stared out upon the world from beneath her heavy architectural headdress. Though she wore the most rich-looking and elegant clothing that Blaze had ever seen, her small stature and her plumpness rendered them wretchedly unfashionable. She was sallow of complexion and dark-eyed, and Blaze noted that the king did not speak to her at all when they sat side by side at the high board.
Blaze now sat with her sister and brother-in-law at meals, and Bliss was not silent on the subject of what she considered the queen’s interference. “The old crow,” she muttered one evening as they ate. “Just look at her sitting so smugly by his side. It is only a matter of time until she is cast away entirely, and yet she sits there pretending that all is as it once was.”
“Hush, Bliss, do not be cruel. The queen loves the king. Can you not see it?”
“You love the king too!” whispered Bliss.
“I have not the right to love him, whatever my feelings toward him may be,” replied Blaze.
Blaze Wyndham Page 23