by Diana Rubino
She faced him the following evening, and to her surprise, his mood was light, bordering on jovial. It seemed to bother him not that the Pope was a prisoner of Catherine's nephew.
"But my lord, this gives Catherine an uncanny advantage! She can manipulate the Pope ruthlessly through Charles in order to secure her marriage to you! How can you be free of her now?"
As much as she respected the Queen, she was beginning to see Henry's side. No one deserved to be forced to live with someone out of spite—the heir apparent excuse notwithstanding. After all, he had Mary, but she planned to give him many sons.
"Bah! I am sending Wolsey to France to help free the Pope. If the Pope cannot be freed, I shall get Wolsey to appeal to the other cardinals and make them see that if the Pope is in no position to consider my problem, I shall hand it over to Wolsey for final judgment. Aha! It will work out after all! See, Amethyst, there is always a way. That is something every king must know, in order to keep his kingdom alive, free from invaders, and thriving. There is always a way."
But even when Charles let the Pope escape from the Castle San Angelo where he'd been prisoner, and the Pope slipped out of Rome in disguise to Orvieto, once more he dragged his heels, afraid, for many reasons, including not wanting to turn Henry or Charles against the Church. So Henry's divorce proceedings were once again thwarted and Henry's impatience knew no bounds.
The following evening, a messenger brought her a folded note. She recognized the severely slanted penmanship.
She broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, her eyes sweeping over Matthew's letter before returning to the top and reading it through once again. "And do you truly want to be Henry's queen?" he'd asked at the end of the letter, after all the newsy bits about the harvest, his orchards strewn with juicy apples, her nephews' progress with their lessons, always saving their confidential correspondence for last.
She penned in response:
Aye, dear Matthew, I do truly love him, and I do want to become his queen. After all the misgivings I harbored these last months, in dread of hurting Catherine and my family, I am convinced that the King is doing all he can to dissolve what he feels was never a marriage to begin with, but it has become increasingly frustrating. He runs into one wall after another. The Pope refuses him, Wolsey drags his heels and there is Catherine's relentless cloying when she comes out of hiding. I feel we are all dancing an endless rondo, going in circles all the time, like a dog chasing his tail, and I wonder if it will ever be solved. I shall let you know, Matthew, but please, do not tell a soul... No one must know until Henry is completely free!
She found Henry late that night in the gardens, as his sleepless nights were now more frequent. "What troubles you tonight, sire?"
He embraced her warmly and his strong arms beneath the velvet cloak obliterated every trace of the brisk autumn chill. "The usual. What about you?"
"I am just very apprehensive of how the kingdom would react to me if I did become your queen someday."
"Any woman who displaces Catherine will suffer a bit of disfavor throughout the kingdom," he said. "But you do not have to live to please the kingdom. I must, of course, but you do not have to."
"Still, my lord, it is quite beautiful the way it is."
"I must agree with that. But you realize I must have a wife who will bless me with a legitimate heir."
"Of course, my lord!" She snuggled more deeply into the folds of his cloak, the soft ermine trim tickling her cheek. "How much longer do you think your great matter will take?"
"That depends on so many people," he answered, sighing, frustration tightening his voice. "But most of all on God."
Henry came to her chambers one evening quite unexpectedly. Amethyst's maid of honor jumped at the sight of him and dipped and swooned and bowed her head so much he thought she was being controlled by strings from the crossbeams up above.
He entered her retiring room where she was reading Matthew's last letter to her.
I am a mélange of emotions. I am so relieved to be unfettered from Topaz's yoke, yet fearful for the lads, over whom she still wields such manipulative sway.
She swept it into the drawer and slammed it shut. "Sire! I didn't expect to see you this evening! I thought you would retire early, what with all the...activity going on lately."
"Aye, it will have taken a day or two off my life before it is resolved," he replied, with a droll cock of his head. "That is why having someone like my Lady Amethyst makes it all the more bearable."
He sat upon the velvet cushioned window seat and gazed out at the river, a black void in a moonless night, the twinkling candles aboard the barges and boats so faint they could have been distant worlds.
"What happened today, my lord?"
She sat beside him and felt that familiar warmth penetrate her being. Aye, he would tell her his problems, vent his frustrations with the Pope and Catherine.
Then he would take her, gently at first, then with a growing burst of passion, he would release all his pent-up energy and obstructions, and all would be well until the cold light of another day plagued them.
"I intercepted several letters Catherine had written to her nephew Charles in Spain. I caught the messenger just as he was about to climb atop his mount. I'd followed him all the way from Catherine's chambers through the halls and down to the palace gates. Perhaps banishment is not the answer. Once she is removed from court, this will go on rampantly. Must I employ spies for lack of trust of my own w..." He halted, as if at a loss for what to call her. "The Princess dowager?"
"You may as well say wife, my lord. 'Tis merely a matter of semantics. For appearances' sake, at least, until this has been resolved."
"You are forever the pragmatic one. But were you in my place, your determined heart would dispel all so-called logic and would yearn to be free. I shall continue to expound my belief. She is not my wife. I am as much a bachelor as the day I was born."
She knew two instances when she was not to argue with the King. When he was angry or when he was hungry. If he was both, she simply left the room.
"What did her letters to Emperor Charles say, my lord?"
"Pathetic, actually, just beyond the boundaries of laughable. Like a sad joke, as when our court jesters imitate beggars and carry out an entire performance around the beggar's routine. 'Tis real life exaggerated to the point of laughability. That is what they reminded me of. She begs him to sway the Pope to declare that our marriage is valid. She appeals to him with memories of their childhood together, how strong the blood ties that geographical distance will not weaken, the strength of the family bond, the sacrament of marriage, then she goes on to quote Scripture...as if the Emperor has nothing else to do than read paraphrased Bible quotes. She should respect the sanctity of marriage! She is a widow, Arthur's widow!"
"She has no one else to appeal to, sire. It is an act of desperation. You needn't intercept any more letters. The Pope will soon see it your way. It is not necessary to thwart Catherine's ineffectual attempts. Then once we are married he will realize how wrong he was to delay ending your first marriage."
"Aye, you are right, in the end I shall prevail, but who needs any more interfering fingers plunging into this pie? I want this to take not one more day than necessary to be done with. As it is already, Clement has refused my request to try the case in England. He insists that it be tried in Rome. Now I've got Charles to contend with. Soon the entire world will be sticking their noses into it! All I want is a divorce, not a reenactment of the bloody Crusades!"
"It will all work out, my lord. Catherine knows what's best for the kingdom."
He smiled cynically. "That's what I'm afraid of."
"I shall not be your queen at Catherine's expense," she said quietly.
"She knows I am not divorcing her because of you. She knows plainly enough that I need an heir!"
Little stabs of anger at Catherine shot through her with increasing frequency. Why didn't she simply let him go with dignity instead of making such a pa
thetic attempt to hold on to what was simply nonexistent? By trying to spite Henry she was hurting the entire kingdom—and depriving it of a future king. She'd become very uneasy after hearing about Mary's recent health problems. Henry needed another heir desperately—and this woman was holding back the natural progression of history!
She shook the thoughts from her mind and took the hand of her future husband. "Come to my bed, my lord. I shall make you feel better."
This was the first time she'd made the first move, and it was worth seeing the King's surprised and delighted expression when she began unlacing the front of his shirt. A look of amazement softened his rugged face.
He nodded, staring into her eyes, the new revelation brightening up the dimly lit room, sparking his aura.
Had he never been seduced before? she wondered. Nay, perhaps not, he was the King, and simply demanded whatever he wanted, not waiting until it came to him.
She felt not like a wanton, for she and Henry were so comfortable together, everything seemed natural and proper, nothing was out of line with anything they said or did. On one obscure, subconscious level, in their most intimate moments together, they were equals.
A hint of playful eroticism emanated from behind his tired, careworn features. His magnetism immediately warmed her blood, drawing her even closer. Within the next instant, she was in his arms, and he was stroking her hair and face, whispering words of adoration into her ear.
"My love." The ambiguous inflection in his voice prompted her to look into those questioning eyes, past that ubiquitous hint of confidence gleaming from within.
"You know I've always dreamed of meeting you, when I was a child, the first time I saw you at the coronation. Sometimes I become embarrassed when I think of how...how much we're..."
"Compatible?"
"That is a very regal way of putting it, my lord."
"There's nothing embarrassing about it. We are two passionate people, and we should be thankful that we can fall into each other's arms and you can make me forget the chaos in the realm around us."
He led her over to her bed as he unfastened her bodice and ran his tongue lightly over the swell of her breasts, causing a gasp of desire to shudder through her body.
"Henry..." Another gulp of air enabled her to speak his Christian name more urgently as his dexterous hands wandered over her flesh. He brushed his fingers over her breasts, weakening her senses, and lifted his body off the bed.
He strode over to the window and closed the heavy drapes, shutting out all but a slice of moonlight that spilled in a cone on the rug.
The entire chamber was now enshrouded in semi-darkness. Soon a comforting warmth began to radiate from the hearth as he lit a fire. Returning to the bed, he finished unfastening his shirt.
"Are you still embarrassed?" he asked, playfully running the tip of his finger over her neck, her stomach, her thighs, until she could hold back no longer.
"Make love to me, sire! Take me right here on the bed, on the floor, on the trestle table, anywhere, just make love to me, I want you so badly!"
He emitted a flirtatious laugh, teasingly slipping his shirt from his torso, ever so slowly. She watched behind half-closed eyes as if she'd never seen him before. Every session of lovemaking was different. He made love to her in each room; atop the virginals in the conservatory, one hand tickling the ivory keys as he brought her to the heights of effulgence with the other, on the trestle table in his inner chamber while feeding her a luscious puff pastry, in his bathing tub full of warm fragrant water. He was deliciously decadent just as she'd always imagined a king should be.
He was now standing over her, sliding his hose over his thighs, tormenting her. Her arms encircled his head, pulling him down to meet her lips. She could no longer bear to watch him disrobe without touching him.
"No...not so fast..." He broke the kiss abruptly and ran his hand over her body before rising, causing her to arch towards him. He stepped out of his tights and she could see the bulge beneath his undergarments growing before her eyes. He scanned her supine body and ran his tongue lightly over his lips, emitting a soft moan.
He was now naked except for the sheer undergarment that barely concealed his loins. She reached out once more, her body arching aching to touch him, and he leapt back, out of her reach.
"Henry, come here, please!" she begged, yanking at her bodice, exposing her flushed chest. Her mouth ached for another of his sumptuous kisses. Yet she could not move as pangs of desire tortured her. "Come here now," she breathed, tilting her head upwards to savor the hard maleness.
"Not so fast, I'm not quite finished." He held up his index finger and went over to her tub, returning instantly with her bottle of bath oil.
"I'm going to spread this all over our bodies," he said, flipping the cork off. He kneeled in front of her and poured the slippery liquid on her chest, massaging it over her skin lightly with two fingers in a circular motion. She closed her eyes and let his hands usurp her entire being. He tugged at her skirts and they gave easily, until the garments were on the floor. Only her undergarments remained, which he slid off as smoothly as the oil had slid on.
"Let me do something to you," she whispered in short gasps as his fingers traced wavy patterns over her legs, her inner thighs, deliberately avoiding her center of passion. "Let me touch you, please!"
"No!" he commanded, tickling her stomach, her thighs, her feet. Her entire body was now covered with the silky fluid, enveloping her heat like a cocoon. Waves of desire engulfed her with every skilled stroke. "Now I'm going to put this on myself."
Her gaze wandered over him as he spread the liquid across his wide chest, over his muscled arms, then slowly ran his hand down to the tops of his thighs. Using both hands, he slowly rubbed the oil into his skin with the same loving motion as he had over her body, closing his eyes and breathing in its sweet aroma.
"Oh, let me do that, let me massage your body with oil," she pleaded, yet he stayed just out of reach, so only her eyes could touch the imposing physique from below.
"I'm finished," he replied, inserting his thumbs into his undergarments and pulling the garment down just so that it revealed the dark shadow around his pubic region. He lightly fanned his fingers over the prominent bulges and kneeled in front of her, kissing her deeply, rendering her virtually breathless.
"Now you can make love to me," he demanded, as their bodies met, their heat mingling with the slippery oil, creating an exquisite sensation that made her want to melt into him.
She sprang up, pushing his hand away gently where it had begun crawling over her thigh. "I would just love to. But you'll have to catch me first!" She sprinted across the room, shouting over her shoulder, "Once you've caught me, I'm all yours!"
"I already caught you!" he shouted back, heaving himself off the bed and chasing her across the chamber, where she leapt over the bed crouched behind it.
"You're not fast enough!" she chanted.
He finally reached her, grabbing her lustrous mane of hair as she twirled to face him. With orgiastic frenzy and wild desire, she yanked at his undergarments, tearing them off his body and flinging them to the floor. He turned to face her and she threw herself into his arms, their slippery bodies struggling, sliding, slithering against each other, drenched with oil, perspiration and need.
Lifting her by the buttocks, he wrapped her legs around his back and took her standing, in the middle of the chamber, candlelight glowing over their glistening bodies.
Later they flopped on the bed and she lay coiled around him, running her fingertips over his wide chest.
"Did you enjoy the chase?" she asked, lifting her face to look into his eyes, still darkened with passion, yet bright with satiation.
"Not as much as the prize," he replied, finding her lips and recapturing them in a deep commanding kiss.
"Please, sire, don't ever call me your mistress," she mumbled, falling into an exhausted sleep.
"Nay, of course not. You are my dearest love, the queen of my heart an
d soon to be the queen of this realm."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wolsey had finally been able to convince the Pope to hold a trial in England by cunningly suggesting he send another Papal legate along. So, after what seemed to the impatient and frustrated King like an eternity, Cardinal Lorenzo Campeggio arrived in London, and he arrived in his own sweet time.
Henry met Amethyst for a quiet supper in his privy chamber after his first meeting with the Cardinal.
"And how fares Campeggio? Was he as awestruck and overwhelmed with admiration as everyone else who is graced with your presence?" Amethyst asked, knowing how much the King loved to lap up all her flattery. It had become a sort of foreplay; it actually seemed to arouse him.
"He is a senile, bent-over old bird with two filmy eyes each facing in different directions. He coughs up into an old linen cloth every two minutes, and has the gout so badly he has to be borne through the streets upon a litter. Not only that, he hardly speaks a word of English! Wolsey acted as an interpreter, for even I could not decipher his obscure dialect, and I possess quite a command of the Italian language."
