The Jewels of Warwick

by Diana Rubino

  She did not go to him. She scribbled a quick note of apology and gave it to a page to deliver to him quickly before she changed her mind or he came looking for her.

  She undressed, folded her skirts and robe carefully. She pulled on a simple linen nightdress and climbed into bed, calming herself as she nestled into the feathery down mattress. Henry was a gentle, understanding man, and he had said patience was his greatest virtue.

  A few minutes later, her inner chamber door opened. Thinking it was one of the grooms coming in to kindle the fire, she ignored him. Then she felt the bed sagging. Someone was sitting at the edge.

  She sat up and could see his figure illuminated by the fire's soft glow. It was Henry.

  "My lord! What...what brings you here?" she gasped, clutching the sheet to her bosom and cowering away.

  "What indeed?" His voice hinted at annoyance, but was smooth and even. "Why did you refuse my invitation, Amethyst?"

  "I...I thought it better this way, my lord."

  "What way? To remain untouched for the rest of your days? Why do you refuse me? Do I not appeal to you?"

  "Aye, of course you do! But my feelings...they are so jumbled. And there are other matters–"

  He moved closer to her and she moved back.

  "Tell me of these jumblings, Lady Amethyst." His voice was low and soothing. "I do not want you to be unhappy in any way. What bothers you?"

  "Well, sire, 'tis..." She pulled the bedcovers modestly over her breasts and could feel his eyes burning even more intensely into that one area that left even more now to his imagination. "...many things, namely, you're a married man."

  "Lately it has been in name only, Amethyst. Catherine and I are at the point of estrangement, as you can plainly see for yourself."

  "I knew that for some time, sire, but still, she is your wife. Then there is Bessie Blount."

  "What of her?" he said with a shrug.

  "Is she not your mistress?" she demanded.

  He waved the matter away as if it were of no importance. "She had been, on and off, for many years. No longer. In fact, Wolsey is about to marry her off to a gentleman named Tailbois within a fortnight. You will no longer be seeing Bessie Blount at court. She and I are finished, truly."

  His tone remained low and conversational; absent was any anger or passion of a man speaking about the end of an affair of more than a decade.

  "But you have a son by her."

  "Aye, so I do. But Henry Fitzroy is illegitimate. I made him the Duke of Richmond, but that is all he can ever be. Besides, Henry is nearly twelve. I sired him before I even knew you existed. Why would you resent him?"

  "I do not resent him! It's just...all these things I'm finding out about you, I find out through others. I would so much rather hear them from you. And all the things I discover make me fear being just as cast off as Bessie Blount one day."

  "Ah...now I see. You want a ritual courtship. You want a gent on bended knee to woo you in the garden and serenade you under your chamber window in the moonlight," he said, not unkindly.

  She emitted a laugh, much throatier than she'd liked. The bedcovers fell to her waist as she relaxed the grip at her breast. "Aye, that would be nice. But more than I can hope to expect."

  "So that should serve to unjumble your thoughts?" he asked softly.

  She sighed and shook her head. "Nay."

  "What, then?

  "I should not even being having these feelings. We should not," she amended, as he began to inch closer in the bed. "When you invited me to join the King's Musick, I thought my sole duty would be to perform with the King's Musick."

  "You think quite a bit, don't you? Well...I shall put all thoughts out of your head but thoughts of our bodies uniting and belonging."

  "But that may serve for the moment. Then there is tomorrow to be faced."

  "Aye, I was never one to refuse an early morning romp," he said with a lusty grin.

  She grinned despite herself but said impatiently, "Nay, that is not what I mean and you know it! I mean, the courtiers will talk behind my back, and the Queen will resent me."

  "Catherine cares not what I do, Amethyst. Our marriage lost its luster long ago. I want you, Amethyst. I do not want Bessie, or Mary Boleyn, or anyone else. Just you. So let me make you mine, my darling."

  He swept off his cloak and pulled her covers away gently, admiring her curves under the thin nightdress.

  "Please, sire, not tonight."

  His lips were upon hers, her jumbled thoughts faded and she could only take in the sweet scent of his lavender shaving water, the feel of his strong arms around hers, his lean thighs as he climbed upon the bed. She felt him against her.

  She pushed him away and bolted upright.

  "What is wrong now?" he exclaimed, shoving aside the pillow she'd wedged between them.

  "Please, my lord, your visit was so unexpected... And now this!"

  "Do not play games with me, Amethyst. I can plainly see the way you look at me, the glances we exchange, the touches, the innuendo in just about every word... Then when I come to your bed you refuse me! It is too much for a man to bear."

  "But I came here as a musician, not as your mistress!" she protested once again.

  He smiled, though his eyes remained two golden beams of anger. "Your innocence is utterly charming, Amethyst. It makes me crave you even more."

  He laughed. "But how can you have been so...innocent? You are unlike any woman who's ever come through these palace gates, who have literally stumbled at my feet and let me whisk them off to my bed for the thrill of a royal romp. Perhaps the values in Warwickshire are pure indeed."

  She raised her chin proudly. "I like to think so, sire. I am not even a Londoner, though I was born in the Tower, I suppose I am a native Londoner. But since you gave us back our castle, Warwickshire has been the only place I've ever called home."

  "Aye, you are pure of heart indeed. You may not realize it, Amethyst, but your body gives one signal while your mind speaks another. When you get them synchronized, then we shall continue."

  He kissed her lightly on the hand, stood, and straightened his garments and the bed clothes stiffly.

  "Does that mean I can stay on at court, sire?" she asked, not letting a hint of entreaty invade her tone.

  "I shant have it any other way. As I have said, I am a patient man, and I want you and no other as my mistress." He grabbed his cloak and strode out of the chamber, closing the door behind him.

  "Of course!" she hissed. What the King wanted, he got. But there had been no talk of love or a future or any consequences that a liaison between them might produce. He was planning on her being the next Bessie Blount.

  She was furious with him for mocking her innocence and doubly angry with herself for the feelings that were becoming harder and harder to fight off despite all she knew about him. Why, oh why, did she have to feel so alive every time he was near? And why could he not just be an ordinary lord, instead of the King of England?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Henry was in and out of council meetings over the next few days, and Amethyst saw him only once, from her perch in the gallery. He regarded her with a frosty indifference, and she took this as his message that he was indeed waiting for her to come to him when she was ready.

  They ran into each other in the hallway late one night after the court had retired. She was returning to her chambers and he was roaming the palace, as he often did when he was unable to sleep.

  "Good evening, Amethyst." Through the semi-darkness she could see his hair was tousled, as if he'd been to bed, and unable to sleep, had risen again.

  "Sire. I trust you found the music entertaining tonight."

  "As always."

  "I heard the Queen was ill?" she asked, wanting to remind him that he still had a wife, but also, reflecting her genuine concern for the Queen.

  "She's...not feeling quite right. She's been confined to her chambers."

  "Is it serious?"

  "Nay, she sometimes fe
els the need to retreat from the fanfare and delve deeply into her scriptures and Masses."

  She could tell he didn't want to talk about his wife. Catherine was becoming somewhat of a non-entity at court. Even when she did join the King at the high table, she seemed to be in a world all her own.

  "My lord, I thought about that last evening when you...entered my chambers."

  "I do not plan to wait forever, Amethyst, but I shall never force myself upon you," he said in clipped tones.

  "How can you expect me to be like all those others, sire?"

  He glared at her impatiently. "If by now you still think I consider you a mere wench, you are more obtuse than I ever thought possible! I would have banished you from court long ago had it been mere lust."

  "But it is so perverse."

  "What on earth is perverse?" His voice rose and the flames seemed to jump in response. "What is perverse about two people who are genuinely attracted to each other expressing their feelings? 'Tis the most natural act God has given us humans the ability to perform."

  "Not when one of them is married," she protested.

  "Are you saying you plan to wait until Catherine dies before you will let me take you?"

  His bluntness shocked her. "Nay! I do not wish her ill! But I do not want to hurt her or any other woman."

  "Catherine is the least of our worries. She does not come into this. We no longer live as man and wife. Do you understand that or must I spell it out for you as well?"

  She sighed heavily. "Are you and the Queen truly estranged, my lord?"

  "We have been having many problems for quite some time now. Long before you ever arrived at court. So you have nothing to reproach yourself for."

  "Is it because of...your other affairs, my lord?"

  "You are a presumptuous one, are you not?" His eyes sparkled like two stars in the dimness of the torchlight. "Our problems go much deeper than that. My affairs were never any of Catherine's concern. You know very little of court life, my dear. It is as natural as breathing for a man to engage in extramarital affairs. You must expect whomever you marry to do so as well."

  "My father never stepped out on my mother," she protested angrily.

  "He was a prisoner in the Tower! He spent most of his life in chains! It was not like he had many opportunities," he sneered.

  She crossed her arms over her chest angrily. "I would expect my husband to be faithful to me as I shall be to him, my lord."

  "Then I suggest you find yourself a saint, Lady Amethyst, and I wish you luck with your quest." He turned and left her standing there as the torch on the wall between them sputtered and died out.

  Several evenings later, Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial Envoy, arrived at court from Spain. They entertained him lavishly, and the King's Musick played throughout the two-week-long visit.

  Queen Catherine appeared, as she and the Envoy were close associates, and the King danced a great deal, but not with the Queen. They kept an even greater distance, Amethyst noticed. She found it easier to believe they were estranged, and it wasn't a mere ploy to lure her to his chambers.

  When the musicians took a short break one evening, she walked through the great hall to partake of a repast before the next session.

  She glanced in Henry's direction. He was deep in conversation with his council members, the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, and did not see her. When she again looked up, he was staring at her, and their gaze held. Their unspoken signal shot through the noisy hall.

  Desire darkened his eyes, letting off a heady glow that glittered more brightly than the gems trimming his doublet as he regarded her, beckoning, speaking so many emotions in that fleeting glance.

  He seemed to question her with his eyes, and at last she gave a barely discernible nod and pointed in the direction of her chambers.

  He went to her secretly, after all the courtiers had retired. She met him at the entrance to her audience chamber. "Something told me you would come to me tonight, sire," she whispered.

  "Nothing could keep me away, not even my anger." They walked through the labyrinth of passageways and closed doors set into oaken-paneled walls, dimly lit by torches, reached her bed chamber and entered.

  They sat down by the fire and he poured each of them a gobletful of wine from the pitcher on the sideboard. She was beginning to like this strong sweet liquid that turned her insides aglow.

  Being with the King set her heart aflutter, but with a nervous tinge, as she was still so in awe of his regal bearing, his athletic physique, his vigorous, yet gentle manliness, and she lionized him endlessly. But still she was afraid.

  He shifted about, filling his goblet after every few sips, fingering the clasp of his girdle, running his hand through his golden red hair.

  "Your Majesty, Topaz and I made a visit to an almshouse in Whitechapel recently. It was so sad to see how the poor must live."

  "I am aware of their suffering, Amethyst, but in our society there will always be rich and poor."

  "Is there anything the crown can spare to help these people; they literally starve, kill each other for scraps of food!"

  "Aye, tomorrow I shall dip into the treasury and send a delivery to Whitechapel just for you."

  "Oh, it is not for me, sire! It is for your subjects. They would be so grateful."

  "It is done," he said airily, stroking his hand down her arm as though caressing a treasure.

  "Now, I would challenge you to a game of tennis tomorrow, but alas I have no jewels with which to gift you!" she said.

  His gaze fastened onto hers and he stopped fidgeting with his clasp. She wished he would tell her what bothered him; perhaps she could help him.

  "Amethyst, you do have a gift you can bestow upon me, more valuable than any jewel."

  He leaned over and she nodded, knowing. He'd been right; her body was sending signals independent of her mind. All her mind continued to tell her was that he was a married man with a string of mistresses–she would merely become the most current. If only they could share intimacy and each other's lives without this stigma, without the entire court tittering behind her back…

  "What would the arrangement be, my lord?" she heard herself asking faintly.

  "Arrangement?" he echoed in confusion.

  "Aye. Would I need to make an appointment to see you? Would I be last in line because I am the latest addition to your collection?"

  "That is preposterous! Nay, we would see each other when time permits!" he insisted, his face a mask of outrage.

  "In other words, when you can fit me in."

  "I am a king, Amethyst, not a yeoman farmer. Affairs of state take precedence over my personal life and always will. If your body's desires exceed those of mine, then you will have to deal with it accordingly! Otherwise, you can expect me to do my duty as any man should for his woman."

  "I did not mean it that way!" she exclaimed, exasperated the way he summed everything up to carnal animal desires. "I would be taking a huge step, a step I am not sure I wish to take, and so I need to know what you are prepared to offer me by way of being the man in my life."

  "You torment me, Amethyst, and you know it. You have been driving me wild with desire for you, and it seems you are basking in it. Why do you enjoy torturing me so?"

  "I do not wish to torture you! You will never know what it is like to be in my position... A virgin, never touched by any man, now with a king courting me. Already the court thinks I am your mistress, they think things that aren't even true. People are cold to me, and snicker when I walk by."

  This was far from true; although she'd noticed a few furtive glances, no one outwardly treated her with any less respect than the day she'd first joined court. But she had to exaggerate her plight to drive her point home with him. Nothing else seemed to work.

  "Who snickers, who is cold to you? I shall banish them immediately!" he raged.

  She shook her head. "Nay, do not do that. It is expected. It is human nature. Especially in as close proximity as court. I am beginning to
realize that. Courtiers love to gossip...they spin what are obviously tall tales, just to keep themselves amused. They are worse than country folk! That is easy enough to live with. Being your mistress is not."

  "All right, then. I shall do what I must do." He rose, slammed the goblet down, and left in a swirl of ermine and lavender shaving water.