The Last Queen (9 page)

a man I‟d just met, and whom, in my entourages‟ opinion, I had not yet officially wed?

As if he sensed my misgiving, Philip said, “Come, my infanta. Let us show them

how Spain and Flanders can dance together.”

He propelled me forward. As the drumbeats gathered force, I surrendered my

inhibitions. I excelled at dancing, and the bass dance was one of my favorites, its fluid rhythm and intricate twists and bows requiring both stamina and grace. Philip too

proved an excellent dancer, and I met his every move with ease, as if we‟d danced

together a hundred times before.

He whispered, “You are breathtaking,” and my flush must have reached the roots

of my hair when he disdained the courtly glance to kiss me on the mouth, quenching

my breath. This time, it was more than pleasant. I felt his kiss down to the very

tingling soles of my feet.

About us, the court turned boisterous. All of a sudden, the Flemish courtiers

stood in a exuberant rush, sending platters crashing to the floor as they grabbed any

available woman by the hand, including several of my ladies, and hauled them to the

floor. Within seconds, a mass of cavorting bodies surrounded us. Instinctively, I

pressed closer against Philip, staring in disbelief as the Flemish whirled my horrified

Spanish ladies about.

Philip chuckled. When I followed his gaze to where one of my women was

fending off a drunken lout, I let out an unwitting, nervous laugh. I‟d never beheld

such unbridled enthusiasm before. Uncouth as they were, the Flemish certainly know

how to enjoy themselves.

Philip looked at me. His regard turned somber. “Your countrymen are not

amused,” he said, and my stomach sank when I saw the noblemen of my entourage,

who‟d come to accompany me here and bring Margaret back to Spain, stand in unison

and march from the hall. “You must go now,” Philip added. “I‟d not be the cause of

further reproach from that dragon duenna of yours.”

He guided me through the crowd to where Doña Ana stood trembling with rage.

My other women wrenched free of their uninvited partners to fence me in. My

duenna gripped my arm. “It is time you retired, Your Highness,” she said in a tone

that broached no argument. “Now.”

I stared at her livid face and moved with my phalanx of women to the hall doors.

As I walked out, I looked over my shoulder. Philip stood among his courtiers, his eyes

fixed on me.

I knew it would take more than Doña Ana to keep him at bay.

__________________________________

he moment we reached my apartments, Doña Ana turned on me. “This is

a disgrace! What would Her Majesty your mother think were she here to

T see this? She would most certainly tell you that a few vows in an

antechamber do not a marriage make!”

At the mention of my mother, I went cold. “It was Her Majesty who sent me

here. And the archduchess Margaret herself told me Besançon will hold this cathedral

wedding you insist upon.”

“
Ha!
What does that French pig in his satin know? Did he not insist you remove

your veil with no more ceremony than a pauper‟s daughter?” She wagged her finger at

me, her jowls quivering. “I suppose you think it‟s perfectly acceptable for them to

flaunt you like some trophy. You always did like to be the center of attention.”

“By the Cross!” I cried. My matrons gasped and genuflected. “Are you going to

tell me there‟s something wrong with a simple dance between a wife and her

husband?”

“He is not your husband! You were betrothed by proxy in Spain―
betrothed
―

nothing more. By the law of God― what you wish to do with him tonight is a sin.”

The matrons rustled, muttering. I said softly, “How do you know what I wish to

do?”

“I can see it in you,” she spat. “I see your wantonness. And as your matron, I

forbid you to allow him into this chamber should he dare come to your door.”

“You forbid me?” I met her hard stare. I took pleasure in her flinch, in wielding

for once my own power over her after years of submitting to her. “
Careful
, Señora,” I said. “I am no longer a child to be reprimanded by you!”

“Would you still were, for even as a child never did you dare go so far.” Her face

set like mortar. “If you let him come to you before the marriage is sanctified, I cannot

be held responsible, nor can any of your ladies. We cannot serve you under such

conditions.”

I faltered. I‟d never been without my ladies. All my life, they had been there to

help me with the private tasks other women performed on their own.

I turned to my matrons. They looked away as if I‟d been branded. “As you wish,”

I said quietly. “Those who disapprove should go.” Even as I spoke, I wondered at my

boldness. What would my mother say when she heard about this? Somehow the

thought of defying her from across the sea gave me a small thrill.

My duenna drew herself to full height. “So be it.” She stalked out, followed

immediately by the matrons. I turned to find that only Beatriz and Soraya remained in

the room.

Beatriz said, “We will not leave Your Highness on your wedding night.”

I sighed in gratitude. “Please, help me undress.”

I stood motionless as they replaced my finery with a linen bed gown that had

surfaced unexpectedly in one of the coffers. Soraya went to prepare the bed. Beatriz

draped a topaz silk over my shoulders. “I found this earlier while searching for your

red gown,” she said, and as I sat at the dressing table, she undid my braid and began

brushing out my hair.

I stared unseeing into the polished glass. I had no doubt Philip would indeed

come to me tonight and that I was about to take the final irrevocable step into

womanhood. It wasn‟t too late to change my mind. I could issue the order now, have

the door bolted and have Beatriz send word that the day‟s events had exhausted me

and I must rest.

I whispered, “Beatriz, do you think I am wed before the eyes of God?”

Beatriz paused in her brush strokes, met my gaze in the mirror. “Your Highness

has nothing to be ashamed of. You are wed. It‟s just as well Doña Ana and that gaggle

of crows aren‟t here to spoil your night. I vow they‟d douse the lust of Lucifer

himself.”

I giggled. “You are incorrigible.”

“I speak the truth as I see it. You are his wife, he is your husband, and that‟s the

end of it.” She leaned closer. “And providing you and the fair archduke do what

comes natural to married couples, you could be mother to a prince before the year is

out.”

I gasped, pinched her arm. Beatriz winked at me and turned to Soraya who had

paused with a pillow in her hands. “You! What are you doing standing there with your

ears big as a castles? Draw down those sheets. His Highness the archduke could be

here at any moment and―”

She went still. I too paused as I heard a bawdy song echoing in the corridor.

Beatriz started fussing over my hair again, running her hands over its fiery curls and I

pushed her away. “I‟m fine,” I said, but I couldn‟t look in the glass anymore, my heart

galloping in my chest as I stood.

A knock came at the door. Beatriz looked at me; I looked at her. Another knock

came, louder this time. We didn‟t move. Four more bangs.

“Blessed Virgin, open it.” I said, “Before they bring it down.”

Philip and three of his gentlemen stepped into the room, flushed from carousing,

chemises open to their navels. As one of them made a playful grab at Soraya, Beatriz

lunged. I stopped her marched up to the fool, and slapped his hand away.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” I said, in a tone that would have made

Doña Ana proud. They didn‟t seem to notice I was trembling under my robe.

The slim man who‟d accosted Soraya leered, “It is Flemish custom to see the

newlyweds put to bed, my pretty wench, unless you‟d like us to christen it first.”

The other roared. Had they actually forgotten whom it was they addressed? I

looked at Philip. “My lord, your ways are not yet mine. I ask you to please send these

lords away.”

Philip nodded. “Of course. My lords, off with you.”

The men moaned and tromped out. Beatriz started to move toward me when

Philip said: “You and the girl too. I would be alone with my wife.”

Beatriz curtsied, then took glowering Soraya by the arm and led her into the

antechamber.

The door shut. In the slight draft, a candle by the bed went out.

Now that we were alone, he looked enormous, a giant with hands like platters. I

was overwhelmed with longing for the chamber I‟d shared with my sisters, for the

susurration of their voices in the dark and quiet snores of our ladies on their pallet.

What was I supposed to do? What did he
expect
me to do? I searched my mind for a nugget of useful advice among the stockpile imparted to me. I flashed on my mother.

She always offered my father a goblet when he returned after an absence, and I said,

somewhat breathlessly, “Would my lord care for some wine?”

He gave a soft laugh. “I think I‟ve had enough.” His hand reached for me. “Come

here.”

I recoiled. My mouth went dry. His fingers caught at my wrist, tugging me to him.

As he bent to me, I turned my head away. “My lord, please,” I whispered. “I am

afraid.”

He paused. “You are afraid? I‟d not thought you capable of such an emotion, my

fiery princess.” As he spoke, his fingertips caressed the underside of my wrist. His

touch was light as a feather-tip and yet it felt like a thousand braziers lighting up

beside me.

He was watching me intently. He smiled. “Ah, yes. You are not afraid. You are

just unsure of yourself. But you can feel it, can‟t you, my sweet Juana? You can feel

how much I desire you.”

My heart sounded like horses galloping in my head. I drew a shallow breath,

standing perfectly still as his other hand snaked to my waist and unbuckled my robe‟s

jeweled clasp.

The robe slid from my shoulders, pliant as wings. “
Mon Dieu,
” he breathed, “you

are more beautiful than I imagined.” He lifted his eyes. “And me, my infanta? Do you

find me beautiful?”

I couldn‟t speak a word, but as if he espied the answer in my silence, his smile

broadened and he began to tug at the tangled stays of his shirt.

A surge of unexpected confidence drove me to him. I pried his fingers aside,

disentangled the knots, his breath hot on my brow as I peeled back the linen. His

chest shone in the candlelight. I tentatively set my palms on him, marveling that skin

so smooth could be so firm to the touch. He moaned. I watched his eyelids flutter

and close. As abruptly as it appeared, my confidence vanished. I stepped back,

flustered. What was I doing? He‟d think me as wanton as Doña Ana accused me of

being.

His hand caught me again. “No. Don‟t stop. I promise, I will not hurt you.”

He drew me to him, buried his hands in my hair and pulled it back from my

temples. I felt his arousal press through my leg and I wanted to look, to see what

made a man.

He brought my mouth to him. This time, his kiss was charged, demanding. I

finally did what I wanted to do from the moment I set eyes on him: my arms rose

about his shoulders and I pressed my entire length against him, feeling him tug loose

the stays on my bed gown.

Our bodies‟ innate language took over. I let my hands roam the planes of his

torso with eager inexperience, finding the hidden places that made his skin twitch and

him groan. He crushed me against him, raising the cloth of my gown up my body

until it passed over me in a crumpled mist.

I stood before him. I‟d never been naked before anyone save my women, but I

wasn‟t ashamed. I knew I had a lovely body, my breasts high and firm, my waist

slender and legs toned from years of riding. He confirmed this with his eyes, bowing

his head to tease me with his mouth. I had never imagined such an intensity of

pleasure. I threw back my head as he went lower, rousing a hunger unlike any I had

experienced.

In some distant part of my mind, a warning clamored that this was how it was

supposed to be. I should be waiting for him in bed; he should blow out the candles,

slip in beside me with his shirt still on. It was supposed to be brief, painful, then over.

It should beget a child, not rouse such heat that it felt as thought we might ignite and

consume each other.

But now nothing could quell the desires he had awoken. When he grasped me by

my waist and hoisted me up, I wrapped my legs about him with ferocity, our hips

grinding in a primal dance. He whispered, scalding my thighs as he lowered me onto

the bed.

He paused, his face in shadows. Watching. “Show me,” he said, “show me

everything.”

I let out a sudden laugh, the audible release of my joy nearly as powerful as the

euphoric sensation of lying naked under his gaze. Then I met his stare and reached to

my thighs, parting my legs slowly, with a lasciviousness I hadn‟t known I possessed.

He did not move at first. Then he undid his codpiece and untied his hose, removing

his slashed breeches. His hose slipped to his groin, slid apart, and crumpled at his feet.

I had never seen anything so magnificent.

He was fashioned of sinew and muscle, his skin pure as white stone, his broad