Philippa Gregory's Tudor Court 6-Book Boxed Set (74 page)

I took a small step closer to him. I leaned toward him. I felt the warmth of his breath and then the touch of his lips on my hair. I did not move forward or back.

“Mary,” he whispered and his voice was choked with his desire.

“Your Majesty?”

“Please call me Henry. I want to hear my name on your lips.”

“Henry.”

“D’you want me?” he whispered. “I mean as a man? If I were a farmer on your father’s estate, would you want me then?” He put his hand under my chin to lift up my face so that he could look into my eyes. I met his bright blue gaze. Carefully, delicately, I put my hand to his face and felt the softness of his curling beard under my palm. At once he closed his eyes at my touch and then turned his face and kissed my hand where it cupped his chin.

“Yes,” I said, caring not at all that it was nonsense. I could not imagine this man as anything but King of England. He could no more deny being king than I could deny being a Howard. “If you were a nobody and I were a nobody I would love you,” I whispered. “If you were a farmer with a field of hops I would
love you. If I were a girl who came to pick the hops would you love me?”

He drew me closer to him, his hands warm on my stomacher. “I would,” he promised. “I would know you anywhere for my true love. Whoever I was and whoever you were, I would know you at once for my true love.”

His head came down and he kissed me gently at first and then harder, the touch of his lips very warm. Then he led me by the hand toward the canopied bed and lay me down on it and buried his face in the swell of my breasts where they showed above the stomacher that Anne had helpfully loosened for him.

♦   ♦   ♦

At dawn I raised myself on my elbow and looked out of the leaded panes of the window to where the sky was growing pale and I knew that Anne would be watching for the sun too. Anne would be watching the light slowly filling the sky and knowing that her sister was the king’s mistress and the most important woman in England, second only to the queen. I wondered what she made of that as she sat in the window seat and listened to the first birds tentatively sounding out their notes. I wondered how she felt, knowing that I was the one the king had chosen, the one who was carrying the ambitions of the family. Knowing that it was me and not her in his bed.

In truth, I did not have to wonder. She would be feeling that disturbing mixture of emotions that she always summoned from me: admiration and envy, pride and a furious rivalry, a longing to see a beloved sister succeed, and a passionate desire to see a rival fall.

The king stirred. “Are you awake?” he asked from half-under the covers.

“Yes,” I said, instantly alert. I wondered if I should offer to leave, but then he emerged head first from the tangle of bedding and his face was smiling.

“Good morrow, sweetheart,” he said to me. “Are you well this morning?”

I found I was beaming back at him, reflecting his joy. “I’m very well.”

“Merry in your heart?”

“Happier than I have ever been in my life before.”

“Then come to me,” he said, opening his arms, and I slid down the sheets and into the warm musky-scented embrace, his strong thighs pressing against me, his arms cradling my shoulders, his face burrowing into my neck.

“Oh Henry,” I said foolishly. “Oh, my love.”

“Oh I know,” he said engagingly. “Come a little closer.”

♦   ♦   ♦

I did not leave him till the sun was fully up and then I was in a hurry to be back in my room before the servants were about.

Henry himself helped me into my gown, tied the laces at the back of my stomacher, put his own cloak around my shoulders against the chill of the morning. When he opened the door my brother George was lounging in the window seat. When he saw the king, he rose to his feet and bowed, cap in hand, and when he saw me behind the king he gave me a sweet smile.

“See Mistress Carey back to her room,” the king said. “And then send the groom of the bedchamber in, would you, George? I want to be up early this morning.”

George bowed again and offered me his arm.

“And come with me to hear Mass,” the king said at the door. “You can come with me to my private chapel today, George.”

“I thank you.” George accepted with nonchalant grace the greatest honor that any courtier could receive. The door to the
privy chamber closed as I curtsied and then we went quickly through the audience chamber and through the great hall.

We were too late to avoid the lowest of the servants, the lads employed to keep the fires burning were dragging great logs into the hall. Other boys were sweeping the floor, and the men at arms who had slept where they had dined were opening their eyes and yawning and cursing the strength of the wine.

I put the hood of the king’s cloak up over my disheveled hair and we went quickly and quietly through the great hall and up the staircase to the queen’s apartments.

Anne opened the door at George’s knock and drew us in. She was white-faced with lack of sleep, her eyes red. I took in the delicious sight of my sister on the rack of jealousy.

“Well?” she asked sharply.

I glanced at the smooth counterpane on the bed. “You didn’t sleep.”

“I couldn’t,” she said. “And I hope you slept but little.”

I turned away from her bawdiness.

“Come now,” George said to me. “We only want to know that all is well with you, Mary. And Father will have to know and Mother and Uncle Howard. You’d better get used to talking about it. It’s not a private matter.”

“It’s the most private matter in the world.”

“Not for you,” Anne said coldly. “So stop looking like a milkmaid in springtime. Did he have you?”

“Yes,” I said shortly.

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

“Praise God!” George said. “She’s done it. And I have to go. He asked me to hear Mass with him.” He crossed the room and caught me up into a hard hug. “Well done. We’ll talk later. I have to go now.”

He banged the door indiscreetly as he left and Anne made a little tutting noise and then turned to the chest which held our clothes.

“You’d better wear your cream gown,” she said. “No need to look the whore. I’ll get you some hot water. You’ll have to bathe.” She raised her hand to my protests. “Yes, you will. So don’t argue. And wash your hair. You have to be spotless, Mary. Don’t be such a lazy slut. And get out of that gown and hurry, we have to go to Mass with the queen in less than an hour.”

I obeyed her, as I always did. “But are you happy for me?” I asked as I struggled out of the stomacher and petticoat.

I saw her face in the mirror, the leap of jealousy veiled by the sweep of her eyelashes. “I am happy for the family,” she said. “I hardly ever think about you.”

♦   ♦   ♦

The king was in his private gallery, overlooking the chapel, hearing matins as we filed past to the queen’s adjoining room. Straining my ears I could just hear the mutter of the clerk putting papers before the king for him to glance at and sign as he watched the priest in the chapel below go through the familiar motions of the Mass. The king always did his business at the same time as hearing the morning service, he followed his father in this tradition, and there were many who thought the work was hallowed. There were others, my uncle among them, who thought that it showed that the king was in a hurry to get the work out of the way and that he only ever gave it half his mind.

I kneeled on the cushion in the queen’s private room, looking at the ivory gleam of my gown as it shimmered, hinting at the contours of my thighs. I could still feel the warmth of him in the tenderness between my legs, I could still taste him on my lips. Despite the bath which Anne had insisted that I took, I still fancied that I could smell the sweat from his chest on my face
and in my hair. When I closed my eyes it was not in prayer, but in a reverie of sensuality.

The queen was kneeling beside me, her face grave, her head erect under the heavy gable hood. Her gown was open a little at the neck so that she might slide her finger inside and touch the hair shirt that she always wore next to her skin. Her sober face was drawn and tired, her head bowed over her rosary, the old slack skin on her chin and cheeks looking weary and pouched under her tightly closed eyes.

The Mass went on interminably. I envied Henry the distraction of the state papers. The queen’s attention never wavered, her fingers were never idle on her beads, her eyes were always closed in prayer. Only when the service ended and the priest wiped the chalices in the white cloths and took them away did she give a lingering sigh, as if she had heard something that none of us had ears for. She turned and smiled on all of us, all her ladies, even me.

“And now let us go to break our fast,” she said pleasantly. “Perhaps the king will eat with us.”

As we filed past his door, I felt myself dawdle, I could not believe that he would let me go by without a word. As if he sensed my desire, my brother George flung open the door at the exact moment that I was lingering and said loudly: “A good morning to you, my sister.”

In the room behind him Henry looked up quickly from his work and saw me, framed in the doorway, in the cream gown that Anne had chosen for me, with my cream headdress pulling my rich hair off my young face. He gave a little sigh of desire at the sight of me and I felt my color rise, and my smile warm my face.

“Good day, sire. And good day to you, my brother,” I said softly, while my eyes never left Henry’s face.

Henry rose to his feet and stretched out his hand as if to draw me in. He checked himself with a glance at his clerk.

“I’ll take my breakfast with you,” he said. “Tell the queen I will come along in a few moments. Just as soon as I have finished these . . . these . . .” His vague gesture indicated that he had no idea what the papers were.

He came across the room, like a dazed trout swimming toward a poacher’s bright lantern. “And you, this morning, are you well?” he said quietly, for my ears only.

“I am.” I shot a quick, mischievous glance up at his intent face. “A little weary.”

His eyes danced at the admission. “Did you not sleep well, sweeting?”

“Hardly at all.”

“Was the bed not to your liking?”

I stumbled, I was never as skilled as Anne at this sort of word-play. In the end I said nothing but what was simply true. “Sire, I liked it very well.”

“Would you sleep there again?”

In a delicious moment I found the right response. “Oh sire. I was hoping I would not sleep there again very soon.”

He threw back his head and laughed, he snatched up my hand and, turning it over, pressed a kiss into the palm. “My lady, you have only to command me,” he promised. “I am your servant in every way.”

I bowed my head to watch his mouth press my hand, I could not take my eyes from his face. He raised his head and we looked at each other, a long mutual look of desire.

“I should go,” I said. “The queen will wonder where I am.”

“I shall follow you,” he said. “Believe it.”

I shot him a quick smile then I turned and ran down the gallery after the queen’s ladies. I could hear my heels going tap
tap tap on the stones beneath the rushes, I could hear the rustle of my silk gown. I could sense, in every part of my alert body, that I was young and lovely and beloved. Beloved by the King of England himself.

He came to breakfast and smiled as he took his seat. The queen’s pale eyes took in the rosy color of my face, the rich gleam of my cream gown, and looked away. She called for some musicians to play for us while we ate, and for the queen’s master of the horse to attend us.

“Will you go hunting today, sire?” she asked him pleasantly.

“Yes, indeed. Would any of your ladies care to follow the hunt?” the king invited.

“I am sure they would,” she said with her usual pleasant tone. “Mademoiselle Boleyn, Mistress Parker, Mistress Carey? I know you three for keen riders. Would you like to ride with the king today?”

Jane Parker shot a swift malicious gleam at me for being named third. She does not know, I thought, inwardly hugging myself. She can triumph all she likes because she does not know.

“We would be enchanted to ride with the king,” Anne said smoothly. “All three of us.”

♦   ♦   ♦

In the great courtyard before the stables the king mounted his big hunter while one of the grooms lifted me up into the saddle of the horse he had given me. I hooked my leg firmly around the pommel and arranged my gown to fall becomingly to the ground. Anne scrutinized me, without missing the tiniest detail, as she always did, and I was pleased when her head, capped with the neatest of French hunting hats with a dainty plume, gave a small approving nod. She called to the groom to lift her up into the saddle and she brought her hunter up beside mine and held him steady while she leaned over.

“If he wants to take you off into the woods and have you, you’re to say no,” she whispered. “Try to remember that you are a Howard girl. You’re not a complete slut.”

“If he wants me . . .”

“If he wants you, he’ll wait.”

The huntsman blew his horn and every horse in the courtyard stiffened with excitement. Henry grinned across at me like an excited boy and I beamed back. My mare, Jesmond, was like a coiled spring, and when the master of the hunt led the way over the drawbridge we trotted quickly after him, the hounds like a sea of brindle and white around the horses’ hooves. It was a bright day but not too hot, a cool wind moved the grass of the meadow as we trotted away from the town, the haymakers leaned on their scythes and watched us pass, doffing their caps as they saw the bright colors of the aristocratic riders, and then dropping to their knees as they saw the king’s standard.

I glanced back at the castle. A casement window in the queen’s apartments stood open and I saw her dark hood and her pale face looking out after us. She would meet us for dinner and she would smile at Henry and smile at me as if she had not seen us, riding side by side, out for a day’s sport together.

The yelping of the hounds suddenly changed in tone and then they fell silent. The huntsman blew his horn, the long loud blast which meant that the hounds had taken a scent.