Blaze Wyndham

by Bertrice Small

  “I knelt by his side, my lord, hating myself as I saw the very life ebbing away in his eyes, and remembering my taunts of the morning that had brought us to this pass. Edmund’s lips moved, and putting my ear to them, I heard him say, Marry my widow, Tony. Protect her, and my children. Then he was gone, my lord.

  “We brought his body home to RiversEdge, and the ensuing shock of losing her husband caused his wife to miscarry of their son. After the funeral she begged my leave to take her daughter and visit her parents for several months to recover from her sorrow. I had not been able to bring myself to tell her of her husband’s dying words, for in her grief she rightly held me accountable for Edmund’s death, and it seemed an indelicate thing to do. I felt that when she returned to RiversEdge would be the proper time to tell her.

  “A week after Easter I traveled to Ashby to escort my uncle’s widow and daughter home. You can imagine my surprise when I found little Nyssa in her grandparents’ care, and her mother gone those four months past to court. Lady Morgan persuaded me, however, that her eldest daughter was better off at court easing her sorrow than she was in Hereford. I told her of Edmund’s words, and she then begged me to leave her daughter at court until the autumn, when Blaze’s period of mourning would be fully satisfied.

  “I thought to come up to court now to reacquaint myself with the lady, to tell her of Edmund’s wishes, and to court her preparatory to our marriage, which can take place after the thirty-first of October, which is the first anniversary of Edmund’s death. I arrived at court but this morning to quickly learn that my uncle’s widow, whom I promised to make my wife, is, ahhh, greatly in your majesty’s favor, and hence my dilemma, sire, as you can surely see,” Anthony finished.

  The king appeared to be lost in thought, and then he said, “Perhaps’tis not such a dilemma, Lord Wyndham. We are two gentlemen, and so I will not mince words with you, or leave you in doubt as to the position Blaze holds in my life. Since the first of May she has been my mistress. Her loyalty to me is without question, and she is well-liked here at court. Nonetheless, I am not a man to deny the dying wishes of one of my subjects. How could I face my God with so large a sin upon my soul? Then, too,” and here the king smiled a smile that said, this is just between us men, “I am not like ordinary men, and my kingly appetite cannot be satisfied by even so charming a lady as Blaze Wyndham.

  “You will keep your promise to your late uncle, and you will please me greatly by marrying the lady when her period of mourning is finished. Let me assure you that her character is of the finest, for in her early months here at court her reputation for chastity was legend. She even needed a bit of persuading to see her duty toward her king. Like my mother, and my grandmother, Blaze Wyndham is a good woman. She will make you a fine wife, and if you will but give me the time to tell her, you will have my leave to court her. I will speak with her tonight, but until that time I would prefer that you remained out of sight. Will will take you to a comfortable room, and everything you need will be provided. That room will be yours until you wed the lady. Your wedding I will shortly decree, and you will be married here at Greenwich, lest the lady escape you again.”

  Anthony Wyndham was astounded by this turn of events. He could think of nothing to say, and so rising from his chair he stammered his thanks, and followed Will Somers from the king’s privy chamber. The king’s fool led him to a small, comfortably furnished chamber with a view of the Fountain Court, and a little fireplace that was already blazing merrily. There was but a small bed within the room, several chairs, and a table upon which were set a decanter of wine and two goblets.

  “No one will disturb you here, my lord Wyndham,” said Will Somers. “You will be brought food, and I shall come when the king has given me his permission to release you.” The fool bowed politely, and departed the room.

  Tony laughed softly to himself. What an incredible day it had been, he thought, and laughed again. Going to the table, he poured himself out some wine, and drinking it half down, sat himself by the fire. He had to be stark raving mad. He had just told the king the most incredible lie, and Henry Tudor had accepted it without so much as a query. He had lied to his king, and for what? For a woman with whom he had been in love from the day he had first seen her. For a woman who hated him, and took the first opportunity to run from him. For a woman who had used her body to gain power and position. For a woman whose purported grief had lasted no more than six months, if that!

  His uncle had died the moment his body had hit the ground on that terrible day almost a year ago. There was no dying request made, nor a promise given. Yet he had said it with such conviction that the king had accepted it as truth. He almost had himself. He was amazed at what he had done. Amazed that even after knowing the kind of woman Blaze Wyndham really was, that he had still lied in order to gain her for himself. And he had succeeded! Dear God, he had certainly succeeded. Now he must wed with her even if he did not want her.

  Did he still want her? He wasn’t really certain. The thought of Blaze in the arms of another man, even if that man be his king, was an extremely unsettling thought. The thought of Blaze in the king’s bed was a worse one. It did not disturb him that she had been Edmund’s wife so much as it disturbed him that she was Henry Tudor’s mistress. He had no intention of turning a blind eye like Lord Tailboys or Master Carey so that the king might swive his wife once he was wed to her. Nay! Marry her he would here at Greenwich, and with the king’s blessing, but they would start for RiversEdge that same day! That permission he would gain from the king before the match was officially struck.

  He laughed once more. There is no room for bargaining left, Tony, he told himself. The match is already officially struck, and ’tis you who did it, not Henry Tudor! Rising, he walked across the room, and pulling his boots off, lay down upon the bed. In his eagerness to see Blaze once again he had ridden hard from Hereford over the last several days, and he was now suddenly very, very tired. He slept so soundly that he did not even hear the young serving girl who tiptoed into the chamber to place a tray of cold meats, bread, and cheese upon the table.

  It rained that night, and the king, sitting back upon his hips atop his beautiful mistress, fondled her breasts thoughtfully. His hardness throbbed its lustful message within her warm body, and he knew that he would miss her. Blaze Wyndham was a strangely wise and loving woman. He had never been more content than when he was with her. She was not a wickedly clever or seriously complex woman as he sensed Mistress Anne Boleyn was. Blaze had given him no pain, nor, he believed, had their relationship continued, would she ever have given him pain. It was a great pity that with her family’s reputation for healthy babies he could not wed with her himself. She would have made him a good queen, a good mother for his unborn sons. God’s will was often puzzling.

  She sensed his detachment from her, and considered what it could mean. She had seen him casting what he believed to be secret glances in the direction of Mistress Anne Boleyn. She did not mind if he grew tired of her, she thought, but dear heaven, not that cat-faced bitch with her wicked tongue! It had already come to Blaze’s ears that Mistress Anne upon hearing Blaze referred to as The Quiet Mistress had said, “She is not so much quiet perhaps as she is dull, my lords.” Nay, Mistress Boleyn was not the kind of woman that Hal needed.

  “What is it, my lord?” she asked him, looking straight at him.

  He immediately focused upon her, and bending forward, kissed her lips. “Let us finish this sweet business first, my little country girl,” he said, “and then we shall talk.” For a few moments he teased her nipples, knowing how their delightful sensitivity roused her. Then he began to pump her fiercely as he had never done before, hammering into her soft core with an almost maddened frenzy of rising passion. Leaning even farther forward upon her, he pinioned her arms above her head, and his mouth ground down almost cruelly upon hers.

  He was the most wonderful lover, she thought, knowing precisely how to arouse her to meet his own desires. He had taught her things b
etween a man and a woman that she had never believed possible in her wildest imagination; and though he had always been strong, and maintained a mastery over her, never since that first day had he been cruel to her. Tonight she seemed to soar beneath his tutelage until finally they were both sated, and lay companionably together catching their breaths.

  He took her hand in his, and turning it, placed a kiss upon the soft palm. “I have arranged for you to be married,” he said bluntly, and she gasped at the thunderbolt he had just hurled at her.

  “Who?” She managed to force the word from between her lips.

  “Anthony Wyndham,” he said, and braced himself for the storm he knew would follow.

  “Anthony Wyndham?” She pulled her hand from his, and sitting up upon her haunches, she looked into his face. “Dear God, what have I done to displease you that you would wed me to the man who murdered Edmund?” The tears began to slip down her rosy cheeks, and he felt guilty, for he hated to make a woman weep.

  “Anthony Wyndham did not murder his uncle, Blaze. I have personally overseen to the investigation into that matter. Surely you are still not angry with him?”

  “Angry with him? I despise him!”

  “Nonetheless he promised your husband, who died within his arms, that he would wed you and protect your children,” said the king. “He has arrived at court this day, and told me all. How can I deny your husband’s dying request? How can you?”

  “I have never heard this before,” Blaze said suspiciously. “I do not believe him!”

  “Why would he lie about such a thing, Blaze? He told me that he could not bring himself to tell you of his promise to your husband because of your great grief with your double loss. He planned to tell you in the spring, but when he came to Ashby you were not there, and your mother persuaded him to let you stay here at court until the autumn, when your mourning would officially be over.”

  “It is September sixteenth, my lord,” Blaze said, and then she cried out, “Ohh, how heartless he is! He has come on September sixteenth! Do you know what this day is? It would have been the fourth anniversary of my wedding to Edmund Wyndham!”

  “I do not think he even considered it, Blaze,” said the king gently.

  “Edmund will be dead a year on All Hallows’ Eve,” she said sadly.

  “You will be married in my own chapel on the fifth of November,” the king said quietly. “I will give the bride away myself. I promised Anthony Wyndham that I would tell you this evening, which, sweetheart, must be our last together. Tomorrow you will receive the Earl of Langford as your intended husband and your devoted suitor. I shall not make him a cuckold, for he is, I know, a proud man.”

  “I will not wed him,” Blaze said stubbornly. “I will not!”

  “Then,” said Henry Tudor, “you will wed Thomas Seymour, but you will wed someone on the fifth of November, my little country girl,” and the king’s voice was equally stubborn.

  “You would not give me to Thomas Seymour? That cockscomb who will brag all about the court of his prowess over you each time he fucks me!”

  The king had not considered that, and so he decided that to continue the threat of Thomas Seymour would be both unbelievable and foolish. “I had not considered that, lovey,” he admitted. “However, I will accept no disobedience from you, Blaze. You will wed Anthony Wyndham! Now, come,” he said, pulling her back into his arms, “let us make the most of the time we have left together.”

  “I do not believe it!” shrieked Bliss upon learning her sister’s news the following morning. “The king has cast you off? It is that Boleyn bitch! I know it! They say she is a damn witch, and this surely smacks of witchcraft!”

  “God’s foot, Bliss! Watch your waspish tongue!” Owen FitzHugh warned his beautiful wife.

  “We are in our own chambers!” Bliss snapped back. “Am I not allowed to speak my mind in private?”

  “Not in the king’s house!” returned her husband. “You have been at court long enough to know the walls have ears!” He turned to his sister-in-law. “This will be for the better, I know it, Blaze.”

  “I did not love him, Owen, and so my heart is not broken. I always knew that one day I would be pensioned in this fashion, but Anthony Wyndham? That is where the trouble lies for me. I still see Edmund’s broken body in my dreams, and the blue face of my tiny swaddled son. Then, too, I worry for Hal’s sake, for Bliss is right. My lord’s thoughts stray toward Mistress Anne, and I fear no good will come of it for the king. You see, Owen, I know better than most that Hal is but a man like any other man. I will agree that he needs a wife to give him his desired sons, and although Mistress Anne will go the same way his sister and I have in the end, I fear she will hurt him before it is all over.”

  Owen nodded, suddenly seeing in Blaze what it was that had so pleased the king. There was a pure sweetness in her that existed in few women, and she was certainly not the fool that so many believed her to be. “He will miss you,” the Earl of Marwood said. “In the dark of night he will awaken, and reach for you, and he will miss you.”

  “What of Anthony Wyndham?” demanded Bliss. “What if what he told the king is true? Surely he would not lie to the king!”

  “That troubles me too,” admitted Blaze. “What reason would he have for lying, and since I can think of none, then I must conclude therefore that he is telling the truth. I do not find it very flattering that he beards Hal and gets his permission to wed with me merely out of a sense of duty. Oh, damn the bastard!”

  There was a knock upon the chamber door, and Betty, answering it, admitted Anthony Wyndham. Owen FitzHugh stepped forward, his hand outstretched.

  “It is good to see you, Tony. I understand from Blaze that we are to be related by marriage.”

  Anthony Wyndham’s eyes swept the room, finding her. For a moment he could not speak. He had forgotten how beautiful she was, but seeing her standing there in her mauve silk gown, her honey-colored curls loose about her plump shoulders, reminded him sharply. Her eyes, however, were icy with their disdain. So she was not happy about this turn of events. She obviously liked being the royal whore, he thought, and anger welled up within him.

  “Greetings, madam,” he said. “The king has obviously told you of our upcoming nuptials.” His voice was cold, and Bliss found herself shivering openly.

  “Last night as we sported ourselves,” replied Blaze unkindly, seeing his look, and recognizing it as contempt. “The date has been set for November fifth, if you did not know.” She glared at him defiantly. How dare he judge her! How could he know what it was like to be a woman, helpless before a king’s power?

  “So the king informed me this morning, madam. He also informed me that your intimate association is now finished. I assume that you remember how a Countess of Langford conducts herself?”

  “As well as I remember how Edmund died,” she replied in a deceptively sweet voice.

  “Let us have some wine to toast this event,” said Owen FitzHugh, and he valiantly attempted to ease what was obviously a tense situation, particularly seeing that his wife was totally nonplussed by the open warfare that had broken out between Blaze and Tony.

  “There is nothing to celebrate,” said Blaze angrily, and she swept past them out of the room.

  Bliss, never at a loss for words, could only stare after her elder sister. Owen FitzHugh calmly poured three goblets of dark, rich wine and handed them around. Then raising his own cup he said, “You’ll find that Morgan women are as hot-tempered as they are hot-blooded, Tony, but at no time are they ever dull to be wed to, my friend!”

  “Owen!” Bliss had recovered, and glowered at her husband. “What a thing to say about my sister and me.”

  “I speak only the truth,” teased the Earl of Marwood, and Anthony Wyndham found himself suddenly smiling.

  “Do you beat Bliss often?” he inquired politely, but his blue eyes were warm and twinkling.

  How very handsome he is, thought Bliss, seeing those eyes now in a different light.

>   “Nay,” replied Owen. “I do not beat her at all, for I have a far sweeter way of moderating her behavior, do I not, my adorable one?”

  “And I oversee his behavior the exact same way,” said Bliss in honeyed tones, “do I not, my lord?”

  Tony laughed now, and said ruefully, “I doubt that Blaze and I shall ever find the happiness that you two have.”

  “Then why do you claim her?” asked Owen FitzHugh.

  “Because he loves her!” crowed Bliss. “Oh, you do, don’t you, Tony?” In the space of a brief moment she had seen the vulnerability on his face when he spoke of Blaze.

  “Aye, I love her. I always have,” came the quiet reply.

  “Which was why you could never see Delight,” Bliss continued, and then, “Oh! poor Delight! She will be heartbroken when she learns that you are marrying Blaze, or does she already know?”

  He shook his head in the negative, and Owen said, “ ’Twill be the best thing that could happen to Delight. She has been mooning about Ashby for two years. Now, perhaps, she will look to some of the young men who have been trying without success to court her.”

  “Oh, Owen, you do not understand Delight! For men everything is so black-and-white,” said Bliss in an exasperated tone. “You have surely been wed with me long enough to know that is not so.”

  “With you, my darling Bliss, nothing is ever certain,” said Owen FitzHugh.

  “Neither is it with Blaze,” replied Bliss, looking to her future brother-in-law. “You will have to meet with her on some common ground, Tony. You cannot go battling to the altar.”

  At the mention of Blaze and their situation his eyes clouded once more. He was now publicly committed to her, and he wondered if he might not live to regret his impetuosity. He had deliberately pledged himself to a virago who obviously hated him. What hope could he have of their happiness under those circumstances? Still, he had to try to bring her to reason. In a few short weeks they would be condemned to spend the rest of their lives together. The thought was a most sobering one, and he recklessly drank his wine down in two gulps.