Blaze Wyndham (29 page)

Her behavior was perfect. Indeed, said Bliss, there had never been such an elegant royal mistress, for Blaze was charming to all, but carefully favored none. She was wise enough to know that it was unlikely the king’s passion for her would last forever, and so she tried not to make enemies.

“I am not the king’s mistress yet,” Blaze protested to Bliss.

“ ’Tis but a matter of time, and we both know it,” said Bliss airily. “Do you think that after you move into your new apartments tomorrow, you will be able to so easily keep Henry Tudor at arm’s length as you have been doing? He is more man than most, and I am surprised that you have kept him at bay this long. God’s foot! Are you not excited? To be loved by a king! What heaven!”

What hell!
thought Blaze silently. Bliss was right, of course, and after tomorrow she could not keep the king at arm’s length. Tomorrow was May first and she would reign at the king’s express command over the May Day festivities. Blaze Wyndham would be the royal court’s Queen of Beauty and Love. Bliss had even brought her very own dressmaker down from London to fashion Blaze’s gown. The woman was an artist in her own right, Blaze admitted to herself, but she detested her fawning manner. Why was it that everyone thought it such an honor to be a king’s paramour? Was she wrong, and they right? Was there any wrong or right about the matter?

The first of May dawned bright and beautiful. Blaze and other young women of the court arose early according to custom to gather flowering branches and bright blossoms from the fields before the dew was off them. They would decorate Greenwich with their floral tribute. A royal-purple-and-gold-striped awninged pavilion with a raised dais had been set up upon the lawn where the Maypole had been erected. After the Mass, which everyone in the court was required to attend this morning, the festivities began.

The king was magnificently attired in a short, close-fitting doublet of spring-green silk brocade, heavily embroidered with gold threads, glittering orange citrines, and golden pearls. Should he remove his outer garment later in the afternoon, the sleeves of the doublet were slashed to show beneath the sleeves of his cream-colored silk shirt, which were all embroidered in tiny seed pearls. Over his doublet the king wore an open gown that came to his knee. It was of forest-green velvet, trimmed in a wide band of thick ermine that ran from the rounded neckline to its hem. It had wide puffed sleeves embroidered and banded in gold and pearls from beneath which the ruffled cuffs of his shirt showed. He wore haut-de-chausses of darker green, while his stockings, which accented his shapely calves, were spring green with narrow bands of gold thread for accent. His square-toed shoes were bejeweled.

His thinning red-gold hair was cut in the French fashion, straight across his forehead, and he wore a flat green bonnet upon his head that was decorated with three ostrich tips. His thick neck rose above his upper garments, and over them Henry wore several magnificent chains of gold, some with emerald squares, others studded with colored gemstones. Upon each of his fingers he wore a fine gold ring, some of which were bejeweled. His costume had been chosen to complement that of his ladylove.

Blaze’s silk gown, which she wore over several silk petticoats, was of a bright spring green with a bell-shaped skirt. Its cream-colored underskirt was embroidered with daisies and primroses fashioned with gold thread, and studded with orange citrines. The entire underskirt was scattered over with small golden-hued pearls, and the sleeves of her gown were slashed even as the king’s were. It was an extremely rich-looking garment and worthy of a queen. She wore a fine rope of pearls about her slender neck as well as the fine golden chain that Bliss had given her on Twelfth Night. At the king’s request her hair was left long and flowing like a maiden’s and unadorned but for a cream-colored silk ribbon embroidered entirely with seed pearls.

“That honey-colored hair of Lady Wyndham’s is extraordinary,” remarked Charles Brandon to the king. “What a pity that caps are the fashion.”

Blaze danced with eleven other young women including Bliss and Lady Adela Marlowe, both of whom she had included in her party, her word being law in this matter, as she discovered to her surprise. So this was power, she thought, considering whether she enjoyed it or not. Perhaps the price was too high. Around and around the Maypole they went, weaving in and out of the intricate figure, their multicolored ribbons held high. When the Maypole was completely wrapped, each lady sought among the gentlemen for a partner with whom to dance upon the chamomile lawn. Blaze of necessity chose the king.

Together they danced first the elegant dances of the court, and then, remembering the day, the more lively country dances. The king was an excellent and tireless dancer and few could keep up with him, but Blaze easily did. For a moment she forgot her situation, and simply enjoyed the day. Soon her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose, and her laughter sounded amid the noise and music of the festivities as he lifted her high, and she laughed artlessly down into his face. Finally in fairness to the others who, at this point, could barely keep up with the king and Blaze, they ceased dancing and, taking goblets of wine from a passing servant, walked among members of the court.

Suddenly there were other men casting secretly envious glances at the lovely Lady Wyndham, despite Henry Tudor, and Blaze was chatting and laughing more easily than she ever had since coming to court. The king watched her, his lust for her growing. Her beautiful bosom was heaving as she now caught her breath. The others watched her too, some even daring to openly covet what Henry Tudor thought of as his, and it was then he realized that until he possessed her fully, she would not really be his. She was so beautiful and so innocent, his little country girl. He had to have her! He would wait no longer! God only knew he had been patient. Sometimes it was better to take command when a woman resisted. Blaze’s laughter rose above the others as her sister recounted a particularly amusing anecdote, and the king’s control snapped.

Grasping tightly at her hand, he pulled her away from the group, saying, “Come, madam! We have other business.” He hurried her across the lawn, not caring about the surprised looks and stares of those about them. He hurried her into the palace, where he led her to his privy chamber.

“What is it, my lord?” Blaze cried, worried that she had offended him somehow, and fearful for those she loved.

Henry slammed the door to the room shut. “
What is it, madam?
I will tell you what it is. You haunt my hours both waking and sleeping! I offer you my love, and you demur! I desire you above all women, and you resist! I have been patient, madam, but I will be patient no longer! I want you for my own, and I shall have you! I shall have you here, and I shall have you now!” He yanked her into his arms and kissed her fiercely, his hard mouth bruising hers with his raging hunger.

Blaze put her hands up to fend him off once more, but the king would have none of it.

“Nay, madam! I will no more accept your reluctance!
No more!
” He half-dragged her across the room to where a long table of polished golden oak stood, and forcing her about so she faced it, he said, “Bend over, madam, and place the palms of your hands flat upon the tabletop.”

“My lord, I beg of you—” she began, but he cut her abruptly off.

“Speak again without my permission, madam, except in passion, and I swear I shall give your child into Tom Seymour’s keeping,” he threatened. “Now do as I have bid you!”

Slowly she placed her palms upon the table, bending slightly from the waist as she did. I must not cry, she silently warned herself. Nyssa’s very life may depend upon what I do. I cannot repulse him any longer, and if I displease him, my daughter will suffer.

The king reached out and lifted her heavy silk skirts with their petticoats up, and tucked them firmly into the waistband of the skirt. For what seemed an eternity there was silence as Henry contemplated her naked posterior, made all the more fetching by her tightly banded dark stockings against the creaminess of her fair skin. “Spread your legs,” he ordered her. “Aye that’s enough. Now bend your pretty neck, Blaze, to make your submission to your king more fully. Aye, sweetheart, very good.”

She felt him unlacing her bodice, yanking roughly at the silk, then moving his hands around to her front to pull away the fabric so that her breasts tumbled forth from her gown. She muffled her gasp. The king fumbled to undo his heavily bejeweled codpiece, and his male organ, already engorged with his lust, burst forth.

Leaning over her slightly, Henry pushed her soft hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. “Do you know how very much your king desires you, sweetheart? You have made me wild with my hunger for you.”

She felt him grasping her about the hips with his large hands, his fingers clutching at the soft flesh. She felt his manhood, hard and hot, probing, searching, seeking to find its way to her feminine passage, and finally successful, thrusting without preamble into her helpless flesh.

“Ahhhhhhh,” groaned the king as he pushed deeply into her, “now has my bird truly found its way into your sweet little nest!” and he began to pump her vigorously with long, deliberate strokes for some minutes. When he had taken the edge from his hunger, he stopped, though he remained lodged deeply within her. Leaning over her so that his weight pressed her partly onto the table, he reached for and found her naked breasts. “How I have grown to love these little apples of yours, sweetheart,” he told her playing with her nipples, pinching and pulling, and teasing until to her great shock Blaze found that her body was beginning to respond to the king’s passionate lovemaking.

“Ohhhh,” she whispered, surprised, feeling her hips, seemingly of their own accord, begin to press back and forth against him.

Henry chuckled, understanding her confusion. His little country girl had not known that even a chaste woman’s body, skillfully loved, would respond to a man other than her husband. He began to work his own lower body in rhythm with hers, all the while continuing to play with her full breasts.

“Ohh, my lord,” Blaze gasped, shamed, but unable to help herself. “Ohhh! What is this magic that you work upon me? Ohhhh!”

“Only the age-old magic of a man and a woman, sweetheart,” he replied. “God’s foot, you are sweet, and so very, very tight! I do not believe that my big boy has ever lodged himself in so sweet and tight a little sheath!” His movements became more furious as he worked her.

Oh, God, Blaze thought, this cannot be! It cannot! I am responding to him as I did to Edmund, yet I do not love him! I do not! Why can he make me feel this way? She was beginning to lose control of her very emotions as she had already lost control of her frail and female body. The king’s huge hardness was probing her deeply, and she felt the pleasing languor of passion beginning to overtake her, catching her up in its whirling vortex. She did not even hear herself begin to whimper, nor did she realize that at her crisis she cried out the king’s name.

Suddenly she found herself in his arms, weeping, and wondering if she would ever be able to understand this world which was so different in its morals and values than was hers. The king’s hand soothed her loose soft hair, and he murmured softly against her ear, “There, my sweetheart, now the dreadful deed is done, and you will never be afraid of me again, will you?”

“How can this be?” Blaze asked. “How is it you can make me feel this way?” She hid her face against his broad chest, unable to look him directly in the eyes.

“My little country girl,” the king explained gently, “a woman’s body is like a fine instrument. Be her face fair or plain, her body is a delicate and sensitive thing. I am a skilled player of this female instrument. Perhaps the most skilled player in the world, although the French François brags that he is, the pox-ridden coxcomb! Perhaps he must brag so, for he is a great, gawking, ugly man, unlike your king.” Henry continued stroking her hair. “This has been just a foretaste of my passion for you, Blaze. Tonight I will come to you, and together we will find even greater pleasures, I promise you.”

Greater pleasures?
She almost swooned at his words. The dark passion she had felt with him frightened her, for it was so all-consuming. The wonderful passion she had felt with Edmund had left her feeling content and strong. With the king she felt drained, for she sensed that he wanted to possess not only her body, but her soul as well. Yet she could not flee him for her baby’s sake.

“Are you recovered enough to stand straight so I may relace you, sweetheart?” the king asked her.

She nodded, and stood quietly while his fingers expertly redid her laces. Silently she walked to a small mirror framed in silver that sat upon another table, and looking in it, saw herself. She did not appear to have changed. Quickly she fluffed her hair, undoing her pearled ribbon, tying it back neatly. She caught a glimpse of him as he replaced his now flaccid male part within the confines of the bejeweled codpiece, but even now his manhood seemed extraordinarily large. She could only imagine what it had been like fully engorged. Tonight, she thought and shivered, she would learn the answer to that unsought mystery.

His hands dropped upon her shoulders, and he turned her about to face him. He was so very tall, she thought, and she felt so very small beside him. “Can you not smile a little at me, Blaze?” he asked, and for a moment she detected a small poignancy in his voice.

He is lonely, she thought, surprised. In the midst of all this great court of his, he is lonely
and
he is sad! This sudden new knowledge, despite his brutal treatment of her, made Blaze sympathetic toward the king. For a moment she had heard the echo of a boy in his voice. Making the effort, she smiled a little smile at him. “You must give me time to accustom myself to this new state of affairs, my lord,” she said softly.

“Tell me I did not hurt you, sweetheart!” he cried, catching her to his great chest. “I could not help myself, Blaze! Suddenly I wanted you, and I could not wait! I am not a man who is cruel to his women. Nay, sweetheart, if I have any fault, it is that I am too softhearted towards the fair sex.”