by Diana Rubino
"My lord..." Now what did he mean by this ambiguous statement?
Her heart sank. He was gone. She knew what he meant. This was the end of her stay at court. He'd waited long enough, and she'd given him her answer. Put to him all her worries and fears, been honest with him and far too outspoken, she was sure.
She rose slowly, running her hand over the fine velvet chair, and turned to face the wardrobe. Tomorrow at this time she would be on her way back to Warwickshire with a bruised heart, but at least it would with her honor intact, no matter what anyone said. She would leave her clothed and jewels behind, all his gifts, and depart, none the worse for the experience, but certainly older and wiser.
She dragged her valises out from the wardrobe, and began to pack.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The following afternoon, before Vespers, she was greeted by a page and led into the King's closet. This is it, she thought. This is goodbye.
He sat before the fire, dressed in a simple satin robe of dark burgundy, a gold goblet in his bejeweled fingers. His eyes were dark and shadowy.
"Come sit beside me, Lady Amethyst."
"I know what you want to say," she said softly, waiting for the thundering outburst, the subsequent banishment from court and the rest of her life as a Warwickshire wench who'd refused to compromise her honor, who'd had the nerve to rebuff the King.
He offered her wine, and she declined. He nodded, and took another sip of his own. "You do, do you? Are you a mind reader as well?"
"Nay, my lord, but after last night, I am aware that you have ended your wait for me, and wish me to leave."
His eyes bored into her, but she avoided his gaze.
"Well, this time you are dead wrong," he said at last.
She sat upright, her hands grasping the plush arms of the chair. "You do not wish to send me back home?"
"Nay."
"Truly?" she asked in astonishment.
"You have resisted every gift I have tried to give and refuse to become my mistress. I cannot tell you the enormous respect I harbor for you because of that. You are a special one, indeed. Not only beautiful and talented, but honorable as well."
Relief flooded through her, but apprehension forced her to remain at the edge of the seat. "Thank you, sire," she whispered between parched lips.
"Amethyst, you know very well Catherine and I have been estranged. It is not because of my other mistresses, as you thought. That is no reason for an estrangement. The reason is that I have ceased to love Catherine. She and I have grown apart. Our ideals and goals have long since parted their ways and have followed diverse paths. We cannot talk, cannot see eye to eye on any subject. She is as bent on her beliefs as I am on mine. The other reason for us to separate is much more mundane.
"I need an heir, a legitimate male heir, and Catherine is past her childbearing stage. It was when I came to the realization that Catherine and I shall never produce an heir together that I knew what I must do."
"And what is that, sire?" She was afraid to hear what he was going to say next.
"Set Catherine free so that I may pursue a mother for my heirs."
Amethyst tore her gaze from the two piercing chips of gold that had held her fast. She was finding it hard to take it all in at once. She dared not ask him what he had in mind—she wasn't even sure she wanted to know.
But she was here, in private audience with the King, who was pouring his heart out to her, just like any man remorseful over his mistakes, as she knew now that kings made mistakes, too.
"Set Catherine free... But how, Your Majesty? She is your wife."
"I looked into the matter most carefully, Amethyst, spent many, many sleepless nights poring through many sources, mulling it over in my mind, talking to our great Lord himself, pleading for answers like the most common street beggar, for as I am your King, He is mine.
"It matters not what Catherine thinks, for the succession of the crown must continue, and continue naturally, so that I may leave legitimate and uncontested issue, so that the crown will not roll upon the ground to be plucked up by the nearest or most ambitious pretender. I plan to put an end to my marriage to Catherine in order to secure the succession to the throne properly, for all time."
"But you have a daughter. There is no need–"
"One living child after over a half dozen pregnancies. Yet I have living children, sons, from other women. I am accursed in this marriage and need to put an end to it." He set his goblet down with a determined thud, as if vocalizing his plans officiated them; the first step to carrying them out.
"How, Your Majesty?" she blurted, for lack of anything else to say. But of course he would find a way. She froze at that moment. She half expected him to say what she most feared. But then, he'd said he wanted to put an end to his marriage, not to Catherine.
"I did some research with Wolsey, and came upon the most startling conclusion, quite surprisingly." He was pouring himself another goblet of wine, and munched on a bunch of grapes, popping them into his mouth one after the other, extracting the pips and flicking them into the fire.
Once more, he offered her wine. This time she accepted. "Catherine and I were never married. We were never truly man and wife. As the widow of my brother Arthur, our marriage was never valid in the name of God."
She'd heard that before; it sounded vaguely familiar. Of course, it had been Topaz, who'd spat it out so vehemently with all the other venom she spewed about the King, Amethyst had forgotten it within minutes. So it was true—and how surprised could the King have been then?
"Your Majesty, I cannot see how that can be so."
"It is simple. Read Scripture. It states clearly in Leviticus, 'Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy brother's wife; it is thy brother's nakedness.' and 'If a man shall take his brother's wife, it is an unclean thing: he hath uncovered his brother's nakedness; they shall be childless.' We are not married. It is that simple. I shall approach the Pope and obtain an annulment."
How simple could it be, she wondered, but then again, he was talking as if the Queen Catherine were a fly he could simply brush off his cloak. How simple it had been for Henry's father to purge her father from the face of the earth! Please, God, don't let Hal turn out that way! she entered a silent plea.
"Then I shall be free to marry again and bring forth the heir this country so desperately needs."
"The country needs? Or you need, Your Majesty?"
He licked wine off his lips and plucked another handful of grapes off the vine. "You are getting to know me, you feisty little spirit!" He smiled and winked at her, his eyes sparkling in the firelight like the jewels that glittered on his every finger.
"What man, from the King down to the lowliest stable boy, doesn't want a son? However, for me it is more than a personal wish. I have a duty to carry out, an obligation to my kingdom, to the ages."
"And how does Queen Catherine feel about it?"
He cleared his throat and for the first time since she'd entered the chamber, his gaze left hers. He stared into his wine goblet. "She doesn't know yet."
"You discussed it with me, a mere court musician, a servant, before bringing it before your wife, the Queen, the victim?"
His eyes returned to hers, and bored straight through to her soul. They were fiery, his temper piqued. "I am the victim here, not she!" His voice, though remaining calm and even, took on a quality of indignation. He was not one to shout to make a point; it would be ever so un-kingly. He needn't ever shout.
"'Tis I who shall suffer, along with my realm, because she cannot produce an heir! She will be well provided for. She will not want. What more would she have of me?"
"Why, I do not know, Your Majesty. I know the Queen not at all. I've not met her more than three or four times, and we've exchanged no more than the most simple of niceties. But if it must be, then all I can think she would ask for is dignity."
The smile returned but did not touch his eyes. "And that she will always have, my dear, for Catherine is true Spanish royal
ty. That she will always have."
She sipped her wine, feeling the King's gaze on her all the time.
"Besides, you are no longer a mere court musician, Lady Amethyst. You are my special confidante. One to whom I can turn when this great matter goads me, and goad me it will, knowing Catherine, who will probably fight this to the death. I feel I can trust you, and you will never judge me."
"Thank you, sire. I will always be here for you should you need someone to confide in."
"More wine?"
"Nay, thank you." Amethyst could not handle any more wine now; her mind was reeling too much. What the King talked of seemed an impossibility. She'd always thought marriages were forever. Her mother had stood by her father throughout his entire life, a prisoner just as he had been. No matter how much misery and sorrow she'd suffered, Amethyst knew her mother would never have ended her marriage.
"How will you convince the Pope that your marriage should be annulled, should he use the fact that you and Catherine have a living daughter to refute your reasoning?"
"Mary is a lovely lass, but a punishment, a well-deserved punishment for my sins did God bring down upon me for marrying my brother's widow, and also by giving my mistress a son. I shall use the precedents throughout history; there have been several... Henry the Fourth of Castile was granted a dispensation to discard his first wife for not producing an heir. He was given the right to try a second wife, and a third, and even to go back to his first, until he was given his rightful heir. I am sure Pope Clement will do the same. He is a man; he realizes how important it is for a king to have an heir. We do not want another Battle of Bosworth, do we?"
"Nay, sire!" Certainly she didn't. Topaz's wishes were another story. It was what her sister was living for—a virtual reenactment of the Battle of Bosworth. Only this time she would emerge victorious, standing, head held high, waiting to be declared queen as the crown rolled out from under a bush to be placed on her head, Henry's corpse flung over a horse, as Topaz had repeated Richard III's fate in that Bosworth scene so many times... She shuddered at the thought.
He began pouring, then stopped when his goblet was half full. He took a deep breath, and she could see he was carefully planning his next words.
"What I feel for you is not simply lust. You are a gentle, sincere woman, so different from the others. In truth, I do not want you to be my concubine. I want you to be my wife, Amethyst."
How more simply could he have said it? It wasn't a flowery romantic proposal on bended knee in the moonlight as she'd always dreamed. But then, what she'd never dreamed, never in all her years of endless reverie about the King, was that he would ever want her to be his wife!
It wasn't a question at all; it was another kingly command, as he commanded his servants to carry out his orders: "Trim my beard, fetch my doublet, become my wife." It was all within the power of his birthright to make demands on his subjects. He didn't have to ask anyone for anything. Nevertheless, she was thrilled all the same.
"Your Majesty...I know not what to say."
"Say aye, and be done with it. Would you not like to be queen?"
Simple, oh, so simple, was King Hal's life, from the time the crown had been placed on his head.
"Your Majesty...you're...still married," she stammered. She reached for her goblet, nearly knocking it to the floor, and gulped the wine like water.
"I am not married. Have you not been listening to a word I've said? An annulment is all I need. Then I shall be free."
"But, sire, you need a princess, someone of royal lineage, one of your peers. I am not worthy of the honor. Look who I am. Look who my father was!"
"You are not who you are because of who your father was."
"But you are who you are because of who your father was," she replied just as conclusively.
He nodded and pointed a finger. "And that is the sadness of it all, Amethyst. That is the burden I must bear. But I am still a man, and am falling in love with a beautiful woman whom I wish to marry. Yorkist, Tudor, what difference does it make when we are in love?"
A world of difference, especially to her sister… "Please, sire, this is so sudden. Pray give me some time. I have to sort through my feelings. Mistress is one thing, but wife, queen, well, it is beyond anything I can ever imagine."
"I do not want to rush you, Amethyst, but our lives on earth are pitifully short. I am a mortal, just like everyone else, although the courtiers and subjects look upon me like some type of God."
"It is because you are so imposing, so regal... That is what brought me to you at first. I hadn't even seen the warm, sensitive side to you yet, not until that first day at Warwick Castle when you met me in the conservatory. If only all the others could see that side of you."
He shook his head grimly. "Nay, they never shall. They shall never see the anguish I suffer, the decisions I agonize over for the betterment of the kingdom. You understand now why I need someone at my side, not another Wolsey, but someone to whom I can open my...my heart to, not just my mind and my will."
"Oh, sire, I shall always be here for you!"
"Then sit beside my throne as my queen," he urged, kissing her hand.
"Please let us wait until these other matters are resolved."
"But are you now convinced of how badly I want you? I am willing to make you my queen, not a mere mistress. Amethyst, I want to make love to you." His hand was grasping hers, and she fluidly rose to meet him as they stood together, and her arms circled his neck of their own accord.
Their lips met briefly, in a painfully short kiss which he ended abruptly, leading her over to the bed. They lay down together, and he gently removed the wimple from her head, letting her hair tumble in a golden waterfall through his fingers.
"Your hair is like silk," he murmured into her ear as she responded to his soft caresses and the tiny kisses he was planting on her neck and throat. His breathing became more rapid and she could feel his manhood stirring beneath the satin robe. Her thighs parted and her hips began a slow primitive thrust against his. It all felt so instinctual, so natural; she'd never done this before, yet she knew it was right.
He slowly removed her bodice and skirts and they lay in a glossy pool upon his satin sheets as she opened the front of his robe and unlaced his shirt. The air was cold against her bare breasts for but a moment, until he tore off his shirt and covered her with his torso. She whirred dizzily with the touch of his warm skin against hers. His fingers fanned her breasts and she pressed up against his throbbing urgency.
"Such lovely rosebuds," he whispered, and his mouth closed on one breast, causing her to gasp with the soaring heights to which he was bringing her slowly.
"I am afraid, sire," she whimpered, as his lips trailed a hot blaze down her abdomen, then nestled between her thighs, and she wound her fingers through his hair, her legs clasped round his head as her body spasmed in ecstasy.
"There is nothing to fear. All will be well."
She pulled his head up and moved down to meet him. "But I really do want you," she sighed, running her hand down the smooth mat of curly red hair on his chest, down to touch his member for the first time. It throbbed, just as she did inside, with urgency.
He entered her slowly, and she gasped as he pushed through her maidenhead, a sharp stab of pain giving way to a burst of fireworks as he thrust gently, slowly, and her hips joined his in an erupting surge of passion. He was hers, all hers, helplessly entranced within her, stripped naked of his jewels and velvets and satins.
He was a beautiful, rugged man pouring his passion into her, but he was still the King, whom the entire realm bowed to and obeyed. She closed her eyes, each breath a gasp, each exhalation a cry of rapture, and nothing existed but their bodies, their closeness, their bodily fluids as well as their cosmic beings mingled, entwined, united.
He exploded inside her and she cried out, then retreated into dreamy delirium, his head upon her breasts, his body spent, his breaths rapid, yet subdued. She had become his at last.
"M
y lord, I have never been with a man before," she confessed once more, feeling ashamed at her lack of ability to please him the way she thought she should have.
"'Tis all right, Amethyst. You gave me a most precious gift and I appreciate it," he said with a warm kiss and obvious pride as he looked down and saw the evidence with his own eyes.
She blushed and bit her lip. "What if Queen Catherine finds out about us?"
He laughed, reaching over and pushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes.
"Surely you jest! She has nothing to say. I can bed whom I please. It is she who prefers to remain chaste and spend the best years of her life with priests and Bibles. She has never held a tennis racquet nor tossed a pair of dice in her life. She knows not how to live."
"Neither do I, sire. This whole life is so new to me."
