The Jewels of Warwick (22 page)

 

 

She swept it into the drawer and slammed it shut. "Sire! I didn't
expect to see you this evening! I thought you would retire early,
what with all the...activity going on lately."

 

 

"Aye, it will have taken a day or two off my life before it is
resolved," he replied, with a droll cock of his head. "That is why
having someone like my Lady Amethyst makes it all the more
bearable."

 

 

He sat upon the velvet cushioned window seat and gazed out at the
river, a black void in a moonless night, the twinkling candles
aboard the barges and boats so faint they could have been distant
worlds.

 

 

"What happened today, my lord?"

 

 

She sat beside him and felt that familiar warmth penetrate her
being. Aye, he would tell her his problems, vent his frustrations
with the Pope and Catherine.

 

 

Then he would take her, gently at first, then with a growing burst
of passion, he would release all his pent-up energy and
obstructions, and all would be well until the cold light of another
day plagued them.

 

 

"I intercepted several letters Catherine had written to her nephew
Charles in Spain. I caught the messenger just as he was about to
climb atop his mount. I'd followed him all the way from Catherine's
chambers through the halls and down to the palace gates. Perhaps
banishment is not the answer. Once she is removed from court, this
will go on rampantly. Must I employ spies for lack of trust of my
own w..." He halted, as if at a loss for what to call her. "The
Princess dowager?"

 

 

"You may as well say wife, my lord. 'Tis merely a matter of
semantics. For appearances' sake, at least, until this has been
resolved."

 

 

"You are forever the pragmatic one. But were you in my place, your
determined heart would dispel all so-called logic and would yearn to
be free. I shall continue to expound my belief. She is not my wife.
I am as much a bachelor as the day I was born."

 

 

She knew two instances when she was not to argue with the King. When
he was angry or when he was hungry. If he was both, she simply left
the room.

 

 

"What did her letters to Emperor Charles say, my lord?"

 

 

"Pathetic, actually, just beyond the boundaries of laughable. Like a
sad joke, as when our court jesters imitate beggars and carry out an
entire performance around the beggar's routine. 'Tis real life
exaggerated to the point of laughability. That is what they reminded
me of. She begs him to sway the Pope to declare that our marriage is
valid. She appeals to him with memories of their childhood together,
how strong the blood ties that geographical distance will not
weaken, the strength of the family bond, the sacrament of marriage,
then she goes on to quote Scripture...as if the Emperor has nothing
else to do than read paraphrased Bible quotes. She should respect
the sanctity of marriage! She is a widow, Arthur's widow!"

 

 

"She has no one else to appeal to, sire. It is an act of
desperation. You needn't intercept any more letters. The Pope will
soon see it your way. It is not necessary to thwart Catherine's
ineffectual attempts. Then once we are married he will realize how
wrong he was to delay ending your first marriage."

 

 

"Aye, you are right, in the end I shall prevail, but who needs any
more interfering fingers plunging into this pie? I want this to take
not one more day than necessary to be done with. As it is already,
Clement has refused my request to try the case in England. He
insists that it be tried in Rome. Now I've got Charles to contend
with. Soon the entire world will be sticking their noses into it!
All I want is a divorce, not a reenactment of the bloody Crusades!"

 

 

"It will all work out, my lord. Catherine knows what's best for the
kingdom."

 

 

He smiled cynically. "That's what I'm afraid of."

 

 

"I shall not be your queen at Catherine's expense," she said
quietly.

 

 

"She knows I am not divorcing her because of you. She knows plainly
enough that I need an heir!"

 

 

Little stabs of anger at Catherine shot through her with increasing
frequency. Why didn't she simply let him go with dignity instead of
making such a pathetic attempt to hold on to what was simply
nonexistent? By trying to spite Henry she was hurting the entire
kingdom—and depriving it of a future king. She'd become very uneasy
after hearing about Mary's recent health problems. Henry needed
another heir desperately—and this woman was holding back the natural
progression of history!

 

 

She shook the thoughts from her mind and took the hand of her future
husband. "Come to my bed, my lord. I shall make you feel better."

 

 

This was the first time she'd made the first move, and it was worth
seeing the King's surprised and delighted expression when she began
unlacing the front of his shirt. A look of amazement softened his
rugged face.

 

 

He nodded, staring into her eyes, the new revelation brightening up
the dimly lit room, sparking his aura.

 

 

Had he never been seduced before?
she wondered. Nay,
perhaps not, he was the King, and simply demanded whatever he
wanted, not waiting until it came to him.

 

 

She felt not like a wanton, for she and Henry were so comfortable
together, everything seemed natural and proper, nothing was out of
line with anything they said or did. On one obscure, subconscious
level, in their most intimate moments together, they were equals.

 

 

A hint of playful eroticism emanated from behind his tired, careworn
features. His magnetism immediately warmed her blood, drawing her
even closer. Within the next instant, she was in his arms, and he
was stroking her hair and face, whispering words of adoration into
her ear.

 

 

"My love." The ambiguous inflection in his voice prompted her to
look into those questioning eyes, past that ubiquitous hint of
confidence gleaming from within.

 

 

"You know I've always dreamed of meeting you, when I was a child,
the first time I saw you at the coronation. Sometimes I become
embarrassed when I think of how...how much we're..."

 

 

"Compatible?"

 

 

"That is a very regal way of putting it, my lord."

 

 

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. We are two passionate
people, and we should be thankful that we can fall into each other's
arms and you can make me forget the chaos in the realm around us."

 

 

He led her over to her bed as he unfastened her bodice and ran his
tongue lightly over the swell of her breasts, causing a gasp of
desire to shudder through her body.

 

 

"Henry..." Another gulp of air enabled her to speak his Christian
name more urgently as his dexterous hands wandered over her flesh.
He brushed his fingers over her breasts, weakening her senses, and
lifted his body off the bed.

 

 

He strode over to the window and closed the heavy drapes, shutting
out all but a slice of moonlight that spilled in a cone on the rug.

 

 

The entire chamber was now enshrouded in semi-darkness. Soon a
comforting warmth began to radiate from the hearth as he lit a fire.
Returning to the bed, he finished unfastening his shirt.

 

 

"Are you still embarrassed?" he asked, playfully running the tip of
his finger over her neck, her stomach, her thighs, until she could
hold back no longer.

 

 

"Make love to me, sire! Take me right here on the bed, on the floor,
on the trestle table, anywhere, just make love to me, I want you so
badly!"

 

 

He emitted a flirtatious laugh, teasingly slipping his shirt from
his torso, ever so slowly. She watched behind half-closed eyes as if
she'd never seen him before. Every session of lovemaking was
different. He made love to her in each room; atop the virginals in
the conservatory, one hand tickling the ivory keys as he brought her
to the heights of effulgence with the other, on the trestle table in
his inner chamber while feeding her a luscious puff pastry, in his
bathing tub full of warm fragrant water. He was deliciously decadent
just as she'd always imagined a king should be.

 

 

He was now standing over her, sliding his hose over his thighs,
tormenting her. Her arms encircled his head, pulling him down to
meet her lips. She could no longer bear to watch him disrobe without
touching him.

 

 

"No...not so fast..." He broke the kiss abruptly and ran his hand
over her body before rising, causing her to arch towards him. He
stepped out of his tights and she could see the bulge beneath his
undergarments growing before her eyes. He scanned her supine body
and ran his tongue lightly over his lips, emitting a soft moan.

 

 

He was now naked except for the sheer undergarment that barely
concealed his loins. She reached out once more, her body arching
aching to touch him, and he leapt back, out of her reach.

 

 

"Henry, come here, please!" she begged, yanking at her bodice,
exposing her flushed chest. Her mouth ached for another of his
sumptuous kisses. Yet she could not move as pangs of desire tortured
her. "Come here now," she breathed, tilting her head upwards to
savor the hard maleness.

 

 

"Not so fast, I'm not quite finished." He held up his index finger
and went over to her tub, returning instantly with her bottle of
bath oil.

 

 

"I'm going to spread this all over our bodies," he said, flipping
the cork off. He kneeled in front of her and poured the slippery
liquid on her chest, massaging it over her skin lightly with two
fingers in a circular motion. She closed her eyes and let his hands
usurp her entire being. He tugged at her skirts and they gave
easily, until the garments were on the floor. Only her undergarments
remained, which he slid off as smoothly as the oil had slid on.

 

 

"Let me do something to you," she whispered in short gasps as his
fingers traced wavy patterns over her legs, her inner thighs,
deliberately avoiding her center of passion. "Let me touch you,
please!"

 

 

"No!" he commanded, tickling her stomach, her thighs, her feet. Her
entire body was now covered with the silky fluid, enveloping her
heat like a cocoon. Waves of desire engulfed her with every skilled
stroke. "Now I'm going to put this on myself."

 

 

Her gaze wandered over him as he spread the liquid across his wide
chest, over his muscled arms, then slowly ran his hand down to the
tops of his thighs. Using both hands, he slowly rubbed the oil into
his skin with the same loving motion as he had over her body,
closing his eyes and breathing in its sweet aroma.

 

 

"Oh, let me do that, let me massage your body with oil," she
pleaded, yet he stayed just out of reach, so only her eyes could
touch the imposing physique from below.

 

 

"I'm finished," he replied, inserting his thumbs into his
undergarments and pulling the garment down just so that it revealed
the dark shadow around his pubic region. He lightly fanned his
fingers over the prominent bulges and kneeled in front of her,
kissing her deeply, rendering her virtually breathless.

 

 

"Now you can make love to me," he demanded, as their bodies met,
their heat mingling with the slippery oil, creating an exquisite
sensation that made her want to melt into him.

 

 

She sprang up, pushing his hand away gently where it had begun
crawling over her thigh. "I would just love to. But you'll have to
catch me first!" She sprinted across the room, shouting over her
shoulder, "Once you've caught me, I'm all yours!"

 

 

"I already caught you!" he shouted back, heaving himself off the bed
and chasing her across the chamber, where she leapt over the bed
crouched behind it.

 

 

"You're not fast enough!" she chanted.

 

 

He finally reached her, grabbing her lustrous mane of hair as she
twirled to face him. With orgiastic frenzy and wild desire, she
yanked at his undergarments, tearing them off his body and flinging
them to the floor. He turned to face her and she threw herself into
his arms, their slippery bodies struggling, sliding, slithering
against each other, drenched with oil, perspiration and need.

 

 

Lifting her by the buttocks, he wrapped her legs around his back and
took her standing, in the middle of the chamber, candlelight glowing
over their glistening bodies.

 

 

Later they flopped on the bed and she lay coiled around him, running
her fingertips over his wide chest.

 

 

"Did you enjoy the chase?" she asked, lifting her face to look into
his eyes, still darkened with passion, yet bright with satiation.

 

 

"Not as much as the prize," he replied, finding her lips and
recapturing them in a deep commanding kiss.

 

 

"Please, sire, don't ever call me your mistress," she mumbled,
falling into an exhausted sleep.

 

 

"Nay, of course not. You are my dearest love, the queen of my heart
and soon to be the queen of this realm."

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 

 

Wolsey had finally been able to convince the Pope to hold a trial in
England by cunningly suggesting he send another Papal legate along.
So, after what seemed to the impatient and frustrated King like an
eternity, Cardinal Lorenzo Campeggio arrived in London, and he
arrived in his own sweet time.