To Love A King

Chapter Three-3

He caressed her arms with his fingertips and slowly met her lips. She responded to his penetrating warmth. Closing her eyes, she pressed her body to his.

Her lips tingled from that teasing, too-short kiss as her fingers laced round his neck. She pulled him back down to her. Searching his lips, desperate to reclaim them, she begged, “Matthew, I want you now…”

He cut off her words with another demanding kiss as his mouth covered hers.

He removed her raiment piece by piece, more quickly than she could have done herself. In an instant, he was n***d, beside her. His hands touched her everywhere at once, gently at first, then more probing and urgent as she responded. As her fingers explored, she sensed his urgency. She pulled him closer, to fuse his body with hers, in hers. But he stopped. She caught her breath. Volcanos erupted everywhere he'd touched her. He reached over to the table next to them and grabbed a small white jar. He opened the lid and waved it under her nose like a perfume bottle. She detected the faint aroma of mint.

“What is it?” Desperately wanting him to touch her again, she rotated her hips towards him.

He lowered himself to her side. “A special mixture of honey, herbs, and oils of hyacinth and sunflower, and will ease your pain, for I must break your maidenhead.” He spread it over her breasts, down her stomach and twixt her thighs. It got warmer to the touch, and hotter still when he ran his tongue over where he'd creamed her. Her body a pillar of fire, her breaths came ragged and gasping as he pulled back and sat upright.

The delicate fragrance whirling round them, he laid her on her back once more. She wrapped herself round his body and eased him in, bit by bit. As he probed against her maidenhead, she thought again of the son she so longed for. A brief pain tonight is a small price to pay for a future I deserve, she reasoned. Then all reasoning gave way as Topaz slid her hands down the length of his back, gripped the taut flesh of his buttocks, and pressed him to her. As he breached the barrier, and they rocked against each other until they exploded together in a fit of passionate agony.

They lay touching on the soft pillows, her hand stroking his damp body. His solid muscles were the product of many years of vigorous athletic training. She opened her eyes and admired his powerful and commanding physique, smooth as marble and graceful in movement.

“Are you breeding yet, my lady?” He kissed the tip of her nose.

* * *

Kenilworth Castle, August, 1513

“Bring hot water, linens aplenty, and make haste, Topaz is about to birth!” Amethyst whirled round from her bedside vigil and ordered the chambermaids as Topaz's groans became high-pitched wails of agony.

“'Tis all right, love, the midwife is on her way, I can hear the hoofbeats now.” Amethyst pulled the drapery aside and peered out the window facing the inner courtyard. There she could see Mistress Ellen dismounting. A servant now guided her through the front entrance. “She's here!” Almost afraid to look, Amethyst forced herself to turn and face her sister, to help her in this most crucial time. Even though she knew naught of the birthing process, she wanted Topaz to know she was by her side. Sabine propped Topaz up on goosedown pillows, her chambermaid running a cloth over her face, pushing back damp strands of hair.

“Here, I'll do that.” Amethyst took the cloth from the maid and dipped it in the bowl of cool water. She looked down at her sister's face, devoid of the radiance that always graced her complexion. “There, there, is that better?” she soothed, trying to steady her trembling hand as her sister's cries of agony intensified.

“Oh, Jesu, it feels like I'm being torn…apaaaart!”

Though her sister's pain hurt as if it were her own, Amethyst couldn't help but wonder if a tiny bit of theatrics enhanced the scene—Topaz was the sister most gifted with the dramatic flair, after all.

Mistress Ellen burst through the door, ordered a fresh bowl of water and soap, and laid her black bag on the table next to the bed. She approached Topaz, swallowed up in that cloud of pillows and sheets. She sprinkled wallflower juice on the linens, to ease childbirth pain. That must have done it, because at that instant the midwife announced the appearance of the child's head.

“Take our hands!” Amethyst demanded above Topaz's screams. She squeezed Amethyst's fingers so tightly she thought the bones would break. In an instant, Topaz relaxed her grip and with a sigh, threw her head back on the pillows and laughed weakly, taking in deep breaths.

“You have a son, Lady Topaz,” announced Mistress Ellen from the foot of the bed. At Amethyst's first sight of her nephew, the midwife held him by the feet, a b****y blue-red form covered with a glossy sheen. The midwife wiped him down, and the pinkish hue of healthy flesh emerged along with a loud squalling cry. Amethyst heaved a sigh of relief.

“Oh, he's just lovely, Topaz. Your son is just lovely. He's got a head of thick coppery hair, just like you!” she praised her sister, smoothing her sweat-soaked hair back.

“His name is Edward,” Topaz whispered, so faintly that only Amethyst could hear. “Edward Plantagenet, King Edward the Sixth.” She then turned her head away, and with a languorous smile, drifted off into oblivion.

* * *

Warwick Castle, Christmas, 1516

Sabine held her first grandson in her arms and swept through the great hall, watching the servants readying the castle for the holiday festivities. This Christmas would be like none other—King Henry VIII and his court were coming to spend the holidays! She placed little Edward on the floor and watched him toddle towards his pet cat. He is so much like my Edward, who never lived to see his youngest daughter, Sabine thought, unhealed grief bearing down on her heart. Now here was his first grandson, his namesake, that same deep brown hair laced with threads of gold, those same blue eyes, the dimple indenting his left cheek.

Amethyst entered the great hall carrying a necklace dripping with sapphires. “Mother, do you think this is too fancy to wear in front of King Henry? After all, we do not want to outshine Queen Catherine.”

Sabine laughed. “I'm sure you will not, my dear. However, I hear the queen is very pious, and does not wear her jewels whilst on progress. Wear it if you wish. I trust the king will have much else to do than spend more than a few moments in polite conversation with you lasses anyway.”

Amethyst lowered her head, her lips drawn tight. “But I so hoped he would listen to me play the song I wrote for him.”

“If time permits, dear, we shall see.”

“If only Father were here to meet the king.” Amethyst seemed to have read Sabine's mood. Sabine gazed about the great hall, at the paneled walls, the ceiling that rose two stories, the galleries above. A stab of remorse shot through her, for her Edward had left here at age eight, never to return. But she knew he watched over on his grandson from heaven, enjoying every moment of the child's life here and at Kenilworth.

“How long will they stay, Mother?” Amethyst fastened her necklace and smoothed the blue stones over her chest.

“Just 'til New Year's Day.” She followed little Edward as he skittered after his cat. “These royal progresses are very carefully planned, and they will be moving on to another noble's domain.”

“Kenilworth mayhap?” Amethyst caught up with her nephew and knelt, taking his little hands in hers.

“God forbid.” Sabine feared for her eldest daughter and her treasonable beliefs. “Windsor Castle will probably be their last visit on this progress, as the roads will be impassible ere too long. We've been lucky so far in that the winter's been mild, but it should be in like a lion soon.”

“I trust his majesty will be spending much of his time with Aunt Margaret.” Amethyst remembered Margaret's titters of delight when she broke yet another royal seal and unrolled one of many letters from the king, chirping, “His majesty says I'm 'the most saintly woman in England!' ”

“I can't help but wonder if that was because Margaret had sent Cardinal Wolsey five thousand marks for the king's wars with France.” Sabine knelt next to Amethyst and gathered Edward in her arms. “'Tis a saintly enough sum indeed. 'Tis good, though, the mutual admiration is still going strong as ever, and Margaret carries her newly acquired title and riches with aplomb, I must say. We've all got to stay in the king's good graces, my dear.”

As they both stood, Amethyst understood the unspoken message in her mother's tone. She worried about Topaz, too. Topaz had her young son so convinced that his name was Prince Edward, 'prince' had been the child's very first word.

“The entire shire is buzzing with news of the king's visit here, Mother.” Amethyst's throat constricted with excitement even after yet another sip of mead from the sideboard. “They'll all be trampling upon us like an invasion!”

Sabine smiled, cooing at her beloved grandbaby, and Amethyst could see her own excitement reflected in her mother's eyes. “Just consider our family very fortunate, my dear. A visit from court is a great honor.”

“As much as I'm going to miss having Topaz here, in a way I'm glad she's staying with Matthew at Kenilworth. Who knows what kind of trouble she would stir up if she got on her high horse.” Amethyst sipped her mead, l*****g the sweetness from her lips.

With the squirming Edward in tow, Sabine swept through the hall, heading for the door. “Oh, I don't think Topaz would dare cross the king. I'm sure she wouldn't want to see history repeated.”

Amethyst put down her goblet, but on second thought, she refilled it one more time.

* * *

By mid-December the lower-ranked courtiers began trickling in—the jesters, privy chamber attendants, clerks of the wardrobe, queen's maid of honor and ladies-in-waiting, the king's Yeomen of the Guard.

Amethyst stood at the top of Guy's Tower at the southeast corner of the castle, searching the snow-blanketed landscape for any sign of the royal party's train of carriages. She hugged her cloak about her and pulled her ermine hat over her ears to block the icy wind whipping round the tower. Up here she enjoyed the sweeping view of Warwickshire, the winding River Avon and the surrounding countryside. Scattered among the spiky tree branches, the timber-framed houses of the adjoining villages stood bunched together as if huddled against the cold, thin streams of smoke trailing from their chimneys. Where the fallen snow had thinned, parcels of land were strewn with patches of brown. The sun offered a grayish tinge of light.

About to turn and go back inside, she glimpsed a gilded flash and heard a wheel squeak. The head of the procession lumbered towards the castle grounds, a parade of stallions draped in cloth of gold. Although the majority of the party had already arrived, this procession trailed on and on, snaking up the hill. She wondered if there would be enough food after all, for the party already numbered in the hundreds. When the gold-trimmed royal carriage reached the foot of Guy's Tower, Amethyst turned, ran along the rampart walk, down the winding staircase, and caught her breath at the bottom, forcing puffs of steam from her lungs.

As the procession entered the gatehouse, she ran across the courtyard and up to her chamber. Her maids fitted her with a much too cumbersome headdress, but in the presence of royalty, a sheer necessity. Ribbed bands of silk covered her forehead and let wisps of her hair show through. She pulled on her satin waistcoat, embroidered with seed pearls, over a purple satin gown. Round her waist she wrapped a beaded belt terminating in a silver pendant lined with rubies.