Blaze Wyndham

by Bertrice Small

  Love. No, she did not love him. At least not in the way in which she had loved Edmund Wyndham. Her adoring and gentle husband who had loved her with tenderness was nothing at all like this all-powerful monarch who loved her with such a wild and frenzied passion. His great and deep desire still frightened her a little.

  She had grown to like him, however. Henry Tudor was a man for pillow talk, and she had learned all about the childhood in which he had been but second best to his favored elder brother, Arthur, Prince of Wales. He spoke of how, believing it was his dying father’s wish, he had married the Princess of Aragon. He spoke of the pain they had both endured at the loss of their son, the six-week-old Prince of Wales, and the string of stillbirths and miscarriages that had followed. “All sons,” the king lamented. It was then he realized, he told her, that God was displeased with him, and sure enough his bishops had shown him a biblical passage that said a man who took his brother’s wife to wife did an unclean thing. Suddenly, he explained, he knew in his heart that his marriage was in reality no marriage.

  Blaze had listened as he unburdened himself to her of these and other sundry thoughts. He had asked her in his turn many questions, and she had told him of her happy childhood at Ashby of her family with its eight daughters and three sons, her wonderful marriage to Edmund Wyndham, of Nyssa, and of the loss of her infant son when her husband had died.

  “So your mother has borne eleven children, and lost not one,” the king said admiringly. “What fine stock you come from, my little country girl! Would I could make you my wife, and we breed up a large family of sons and daughters.”

  “You must wed a princess, Hal,” she told him, showing him that she truly understood her position in his life.

  The summer progress moved on to Hampton Court. Built by Cardinal Wolsey, and furnished magnificently, it now belonged to the king. Though the cardinal struggled to resolve the king’s marital difficulties, the bureaucracy of the papacy moved slowly, and in an effort to placate his king, and forestall his fall from favor, which was lobbied for by many, the cardinal had parted with his home just a month ago. They stayed but a week, and moved on to Windsor.

  The king did not like Windsor but it fell along his route to Woodstock where he intended going to hunt. Woodstock was small and rustic, and there would not be room for the entire court, most of which along with the queen would be left behind at Windsor. The night before their departure from Windsor, for Blaze was to go with the king, the king’s mistress was bearded by his daughter in a passageway. Blaze curtsied to the nine-year-old Princess Mary, and stepped aside, believing the child and her attendants wished to pass. The girl, like her mother, was of sallow complexion with dark eyes, but her auburn hair was lovely, Blaze thought.

  The princess stared at Blaze with open hostility. “My governess says that you are a bad woman,” the child said fiercely. “You have stolen my father’s love from my mother, and you sleep in his bed, which is against God’s law! For that you will burn in hellfire!”

  Blaze gasped. There was nothing she could say to defend herself from the child, who then stalked past, her attendants smiling smugly at the blushing countess. In the banquet hall that night, however, a page came to tell Blaze that the queen desired her presence. Even Bliss whitened at the news. There was nothing the young widowed dowager Countess of Langford could do but follow the boy to where the queen sat with her ladies. Blaze curtsied low, her head bowed to hide her flaming cheeks.

  “You may rise, Lady Wyndham,” said the queen, and Blaze stood to look into the face of the scorned Catherine. The queen smiled a small smile. “I understand that my daughter, the Princess Mary, showed an extreme lack of good manners and want of delicacy toward you this afternoon, Lady Wyndham. For that she has been punished. I hope you will forgive her. Mary is young. She adores her father, and she does not understand him as we do.”

  “Forgive me, madam,” said Blaze softly. “I mean you no harm.”

  “I know that,” replied the queen. “You are not like the others, Lady Wyndham. I know all about you, in fact. I am not yet as helpless as some would believe. I know my husband, and the things he does to gain his way. Be careful. You are a good woman, I know. Do not let him hurt you, as he has so many others. You may go now.”

  Blaze curtsied once again, and made her way back to where Bliss was awaiting her.

  “What did the old crow want?” demanded Bliss.

  Blaze shook her head. “Poor lady,” she said.

  “What did the Princess of Aragon desire of you this evening, my little country girl?” the king demanded of her bluntly later on.

  “If I tell you,” replied Blaze, “you must not be angry, my Hal. ’Twas nothing serious, and my heart goes out to the poor lady, who has certainly behaved toward me with great generosity.”

  “I promise then,” he said, putting an arm about her.

  “Your daughter called me a ‘bad woman’ early this afternoon. The queen apologized for her, and said that the princess had been punished for her behavior. She said that Mary’s excuse was that she loves you.”

  “The little wench grows more like her mother every day. I should remove her from Catherine’s influence, and the influence of her priests, lest they spoil the child if it has not already been done.” He pulled her into his lap and kissed her, his hand fumbling with her plump breasts. “Put them both from your mind, Blaze,” he told her. “I would make love to you. There is something special that I would teach you tonight.”

  “What is that, my lord?” she asked him.

  They were naked within his chamber, and standing, he tipped her gently from his lap. “I would have you kneel before me, sweetheart,” and when she had obediently complied, he said, “Now take my big boy in your pretty little hands, and place it within your mouth. Suckle upon it even as I suckle upon your beautiful breasts.”

  “Hal,” she pleaded with him, “I dare not do such a thing! Surely ’tis not right!”

  “Obey me!” he snapped. “Immediately!” His voice was hard and cruel, and grasping her by the hair with one hand, his other lifted his half-hardened manhood and forced it toward her reluctant lips.

  Blaze knew she must obey him. Closing her eyes so she need not look upon her shame, she parted her lips and took him within her mouth.

  The king groaned, but the sound was one of pleasure. “Suckle upon it,” he said more gently. “Play with it, using your sweet tongue ... ahh, yes! Yes!”

  She obeyed him, at first unwillingly, but then Blaze found there was a certain naughtiness about what they did that excited her greatly. When the king bid her cease, and laid her back upon the bed to repay her in kind, she gasped with her own pleasure. Never had she imagined that such a thing was possible. His flickering, probing tongue did for her even what his great manhood did. She was totally amazed.

  In the morning it was raining, and it continued to rain for the next few days without ceasing. The king was irritated. “We will return to Greenwich,” he finally decided. “Woodstock in the pouring rain is unbearable, for it is a simple lodge. We shall hunt there in the autumn instead.”

  The entire court gratefully returned to Greenwich, although the queen was sent to stay at Eltham. It was September, and Mistress Anne Boleyn came back to court. The sister of Mary Boleyn, she had been sent down from court to her home at Hever Castle in Kent the year before for her bad behavior. Anne Boleyn was nothing at all like her elder sister, for where Mary was round and plump, Anne was slender almost to the point of thinness. Mary was an English rose with fair skin, warm brown eyes, and chestnut-blond hair. Anne’s complexion was somewhat sallow, her long straight hair black as a raven’s wing, her eyes like onyx. Mary Boleyn was sweet of face, but her younger sister had the sharp features of a little cat. Mary Boleyn was liked for her charming, almost childish good nature. Anne was not well-liked, for she was thought to be overproud, and she had a nasty temper.

  “An ugly crow! A nightbird,” Cardinal Wolsey called her, and Anne Boleyn marked him down as an
enemy upon whom she would have her eventual revenge.

  The Duke of Norfolk looked upon his young relative, and considered best how he might use her to his own advantage. Then he decided it was better to watch and wait before making that critical decision, or before allying himself openly with the wench.

  Henry Tudor found himself quite unwillingly fascinated by Mistress Boleyn. She was no beauty, but she was quick of wit, which he counted an equal virtue. The king contemplated the possibility of bedding his former mistress’s little sister, and found that the sheer peversity of the idea appealed to him. What if he could get a son on her as well? It was an amusing thought, but alas Mistress Boleyn had a suitor in the presence of young Lord Percy. The church was being very difficult in the matter of the Princess of Aragon, and he had a lovely mistress of whom he was still quite fond.

  Yet as he watched Mistress Boleyn making her way through his court, always gowned in the most elegant fashions, and surrounded by a group of amusing young people including Henry Norris, Henry Percy, and her brother, George Boleyn, he was more drawn to her than he would have liked to be. More drawn than he had ever been to any woman, and this caused the king to feel guilt about Blaze, and guilt was not a feeling Henry Tudor enjoyed. Still, he could not be angry at Blaze, for his little country girl was not simply a perfect mistress—the most perfect he had ever had—but she had become his friend and confidante as well. How could he be so mean-spirited as to cast her off so he might pursue Mistress Anne Boleyn? Then it came to the king that what he needed was to find a husband for Blaze so she would not be left helpless to the lechers and roués of his court. He put his mind to it, but he could think of no one worthy enough.

  “What am I to do, Will Somers?” he asked his fool, who was no fool at all, but the only other real confidant in his life.

  “You must cage your lust, Hal,” replied Will, “lest it devour you alive. Lady Wyndham deserves only the kindest treatment from you, and to do otherwise would bring shame upon your name.”

  “But I can find none I consider good enough to be her husband, Will. I would not have her unhappy because my fancy turns elsewhere,” the king replied.

  “Perhaps you should look to someone closer rather than farther from the lady in question,” the fool said.

  “What kind of a riddle do you riddle me now?” laughed the king, cuffing Will Somers a playful blow.

  “I hear on the autumn breezes that the Earl of Langford has come to court this day.”

  “The Earl of Langford?”

  “Aye, Hal! The nephew and heir of your little country girl’s late husband. He seeks an appointment with you, but being of no import, your secretary has put him off, and so he must wait. ’Tis said he has no wife, nor any contract to wed a wife. Could this not be the answer to your very difficult dilemma?” The fool cocked his head to one side, bright-eyed.

  “Are you suggesting, Will, that I should wed her to the Earl of Langford?” said the king.

  “It is a possible solution to your problem, Hal,” Will Somers replied.

  “She detests Anthony Wyndham, my friend.”

  “Why, Hal? Can you tell me why?”

  “She holds him responsible for the death of her husband, who was the earl’s uncle. Then, too, the shock of her husband’s sudden demise caused her to miscarry of their son and heir. She bears Anthony Wyndham a great grudge, Will.”

  “What is the truth of the matter, Hal? Is her complaint a just one, or merely the desperation of a grief-stricken woman?” the fool asked.

  “From the facts I have gathered, and I have sought the truth of the matter, for I will have no murderer, even a highborn one, go unpunished in my kingdom, Blaze’s charges stem from her anger and her sorrow. There is no merit in what she says.”

  “Then,” said the fool wisely, “is it possible her antipathy toward Lord Anthony is in reality an unknown passion toward the gentleman? Hate, they say, is but one side of the coin. Love, Hal, is, however, the other.”

  The king pondered his fool’s words for several long minutes, and then he said, “Most marriages are those that are arranged between two people by others. The bride and the groom do not always begin as lovers, but living together teaches people the value of compromise, does it not, Will? If I wed Lady Wyndham to the Earl of Langford, she would return to a home she loves, and to her daughter. The child’s fortune would be well-managed, for the earl is not just known to Blaze, he is a blood relation to her little girl.”

  “You can also offer her an alternative that is no real alternative. Tell her you would have her do this, but if she is truly opposed to it, that you will choose another husband for her. She dislikes young Thomas Seymour greatly, I believe,” chuckled the fool. “I do not think she could choose him over even Lord Wyndham.”

  The king smiled admiringly at Will Somers. “I think, Will, that you have missed your calling. You are clever enough to be a man of the government.”

  “Nay, Hal,” came the dry reply, “I am not, thank God, enough of a fool for that!”

  The king roared with laughter. “You are right, my Will! You are far too wise, I fear!”

  “Then you will see Lord Wyndham, my lord Henry?”

  “Aye, but we shall not make it an official meeting. Do you know where he is staying at Greenwich?”

  “Nay, Hal, but I can find him.”

  “Do so then, and fetch him to me as quickly as you can. We will see what the earl wants of me, and whether in exchange for it he can be persuaded to marry my sweet and lovely Blaze so that I may be free to pursue the fascinating Mistress Anne Boleyn.”

  “If that be your desire, Hal, then perhaps I do you a disservice in helping you to dispose of Lady Wyndham,” said Will Somers seriously.

  “Ahh, Will, not you too? What is it about Mistress Anne that turns people so quickly against her?”

  “I am but a fool, my lord,” replied Will Somers, “but have eyes. The lady is not as simple a creature as she would have you believe. She will not succumb as her sister did, for I can see in her character that she is a woman of determination who desires far more from life. There has been no gossip from France about her lack of morals as there was with Mistress Mary, whom King Francis called his hackney. This lady is surely a virgin, and even you cannot force a wellborn virgin, Hal. Her price will be high indeed, and you may find that you are not ready or able to pay it, my good lord.”

  “I mean to have her, Will,” said the king. “Whatever it takes to gain Mistress Anne Boleyn for my own, I will gladly pay the price!”

  Will Somers shook his head. He was extremely fond of the king, but sometimes Henry thought more with his cock than he did his very facile brain. Women were his greatest weakness, and if he were not careful, they would surely be his downfall. He bowed himself from the king’s presence, and went to find the Earl of Langford.

  After an hour he finally located Anthony Wyndham, who sat dicing and drinking with a group of young courtiers in a remote alcove. “My lord earl?”

  Anthony Wyndham looked up. He did not recognize Will Somers, for the young man had only come to court at Twelfth Night, as had Blaze. “Aye, I am Lord Wyndham,” Anthony replied.

  “I am Will Somers, my lord, the king’s fool. It has come to his majesty’s ears that you sought to gain an audience with him, and knowing that you have come from so far, the king grants you his time. If you will come with me, I will take you to him.”

  “But the king’s secretary said—” began Tony.

  “The king’s secretary is a greater fool than even I am, my lord. I hope you are not.” And turning, he began to walk quickly away.

  Anthony Wyndham grabbed up his winnings and followed after Will Somers, who led him through the corridors of Greenwich Palace and into the king’s privy chamber by means of a secret entrance, thereby avoiding the royal antechamber with all its gentlemen and its sharp-eyed gossips.

  The king turned at the sound of their entry, and smiling, held out his hand. “Anthony Wyndham, it is good to see you
back with us once more. You sought to see me, I have learned. What is it that you would have of me, my lord earl? Will, pour us some Rhenish! Come, Tony, let us sit down.”

  “My lord, I find myself in a rather delicate position, for since arriving at court this morning, and requesting an audience of you, I have learned things that could render my quest useless, and I certainly have no desire to offend you, my lord,” Anthony said carefully.

  Will Somers handed the wine goblets to the two men, and settled himself upon his stool by the king’s knee. The king was not quick enough to pick it up, for Hal, God bless him, was too self-involved, but he would wager a gold rose noble that the Earl of Langford’s business had to do with Blaze Wyndham.

  “Your tact and your candor do you credit, my lord,” replied the king.

  “Tell me why you have come, and I shall promise you not to be offended by your honesty.”

  “How can we be offended by that which we hardly recognize, Hal?” teased Will in an effort to lighten the situation, and help the earl.

  The king’s laughter rumbled good-naturedly about the chamber, and he took a deep sip of his wine. “True, fool,” he said, and turning to Anthony ordered him, “Say on, my lord earl!”

  “You must surely know, my lord,” began Anthony, “that I inherited my title from my dearly beloved uncle, Edmund Wyndham. Edmund and I were but four years apart in age, and as he was orphaned of a mother at his birth, he was raised by his half-sister, my own mother. After my birth we were raised together, and were more like brothers than an uncle and his nephew.

  “Last autumn I left the court to see to my own lands, which border on Edmund’s. I stayed with him and his wife at their home, RiversEdge. My uncle and I spent several days hunting, and then the day before I was to leave Edmund suggested that, it being a dank and cold day, we stay at home. I, foolishly, teased him into hunting. As we returned home late that afternoon we were deep in conversation, and totally unprepared for the stag that leapt forth without warning from the forest. The dogs went berserk, and both of our mounts reared, but Edmund could not regain control of his horse quickly enough. He was thrown from its back. I jumped from my own beast and went to my cousin. He was dying, my lord, but by some incredible strength of will he lived a few minutes longer.