The Thornless Rose (21 page)

And what unfortunate creature would now be on the receiving end of her husband’s wrath?

…

Dressed in a bright crimson nightgown, Anne fidgeted as she sat alone in the great bed, surrounded by the queen’s gossiping ladies.

A commotion outside heralded Jonathan’s approach, jangling her nerves. In moments, the queen entered, then he was paraded into the room, red-faced, followed by Dudley and more than a dozen noblemen. Wearing only a nightshirt, Jonathan got in on the opposite side of the bed.

Elizabeth stood at the foot, fists on hips, a look of high satisfaction on her face. “Bring the mead! Thou shalt drink of the honeyed brew, for it doth impart good humors for a bride and groom!”

Two servants hurried forward, placing goblets brimming with golden liquor in Anne and Jonathan’s hands.

“Drink!” the queen ordered.

Anne gave a tentative sip, while Jonathan downed his in one, great gulp.

“Mistress Brandon, by God’s holy wounds, thou must finish it all!”

“Yes, Majesty.” Anne tilted back the glass and swallowed.

Elizabeth promptly burst into applause, followed by her courtiers. “Robin, close the curtains, and let their wedding romp begin, for all to hear and attest.”

Anne choked on the last few drops of mead.
No way!
Her thoughts churned as Dudley shut the curtain at the end of the bed with a flourish, blocking out all view of the crowd. When he moved to her side, she grabbed his doublet and pulled his face to within inches of her own. “I refuse to do this!”

His eyebrows lifted, and he glanced worriedly at Jonathan. “Anne, ’tis a natural part of marriage.”

“No! No! I mean the witnessing. I refuse!”

Dudley smiled. “Ah, but ’tis not truly public with the curtains closed.”

“Of course it is. Look, you’ve seen us to bed. Please, go begin the dancing.” Anne held forth her left hand. “You gave me this ring as a token of friendship. By this ring, then, I beg you, don’t insist on a witnessing. Please!”

Jonathan pulled the curtain shut on his side. “Dudley, I completely agree with her. Close us in, and go tell the queen.”

Shrugging, Dudley snapped shut the curtain on Anne’s side, too.

She sat with Jonathan in the dark, waiting. She heard feverish whispering, then Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Hath our bold miss become a
prude femme?
Ha! Robin, let us be away. I wish to dance.”

Relieved, Anne heard Dudley say, “The queen hath decided to await the good tidings from afar. She hath deemed it not proper for her virgin ears to hear such a base event.”

The crowd protested, then grumbled as they shuffled from the room.

Anne closed her eyes, slightly dizzy from the mead and all the excitement. “I was terrified they’d never leave. We owe Dudley a huge favor––”

“Anne, we must speak.” Jonathan pushed his bed curtain aside, letting some light back in.

She caught his grave expression.

“Despite leaving us alone, they’ll expect proof of consummation.”

Her mind whirled.
Proof? How?
“Jonathan, I know about their customs, but it’s impossible. I’m almost thirty. I’m not a––”

“Right.” His face felt hot, and Anne realized how odd that must have seemed; clearly, she was the one who should feel embarrassed.

He rose from the bed, then walked over to his clothes and removed his dagger from the sheath. With a swift move, he nicked his finger, then smeared blood on the sheet.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Anne protested, staring at the bright stain.

“Just a scratch.” He sucked on his wound. “But that should quell any speculation about the legitimacy of our marriage.”

“It’s none of their damned business.”

He shook his head. “Indeed, it is very much their business. The queen has made it so. Do move off the bed, Annie, and I’ll take the sheet to them.”

He reached out, and she smiled, catching his hand in mid-air. “Hold on. It hasn’t even been five minutes. Think of your reputation, Jonathan—and mine! If you show them the sheet this quickly...”

She expected him to laugh. Instead, his gaze bore into hers, fixed and intense. She tried to look away, but found it impossible. She blushed.

“Don’t go yet, Jonathan. We need more time.”

“If you wish it, Anne,” he pulled her to him, continuing to study her eyes, “but only if you wish it, I can take as long as you like.”

“But I... You mean...?” She faltered.

“You know what I mean.”

He kissed her tenderly, and she surprised herself with a moan.

Anne murmured, “I thought that––”

“I need to lose myself in you—only you, Annie.”

She searched his expression, seeing desire, seeing need—need of her. This marriage wasn’t just his duty anymore.

“I think I would have gone mad had you not come to me.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his body—the drumming of his heart, the strength of his longing—as he kissed her again.

She feverishly returned his kisses, fumbling blindly with the drawstring at her neckline. The nightgown fell away from her shoulders, but caught at her waist. She heard the sharp intake of his breath, saw him staring at her breasts. He leaned over, finding a nipple with his mouth.

“Oh, Jonathan.” Her eyes closed. There was a deep pull in her groin, a delicious tug of desire.

He pushed at her gown until it dropped to the floor, then ran his hand across the silk that still covered her bottom and groaned, pressing himself against her. He looked down, breathing heavily. “You’ve got red knickers.”

“To get the bull’s blood up,” she whispered with a smile.

“Oh, it’s up,” he murmured.

The smile lingered on her face a moment longer, until his lips moved hungrily to her other nipple, and she closed her eyes once more.

He clumsily worked the tie of her pantalets, nearly tearing the fabric as he pulled it away. His fingers trembled as he touched her, finding intimate places, and she moaned again. “I want you, Jonathan.”

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

“So are you,” she whispered back.

He arched back, tore off his nightshirt, and stood before her, his body taut, his gaze unwavering.

Anne reached out, gently touching his scar, slowly tracing his jaw line. Her hands roamed over his chest and moved down his body, caressing until he closed his eyes. “Kiss me, Jonathan.”

Their lips met again, and his arms encircled her. They swayed together, exploring the softness of each other’s mouths, her body throbbing in sweet agony.

Tenderly, he lifted her from the floor, lowered her onto the bed, and stretched himself upon her.

She opened herself to him, yielding to his might, unwilling to think of anything but this perfect moment in time.

Part Three

Chapter Twenty-Two

Anne opened her eyes, suddenly awake. Her stomach rumbled, and she vaguely remembered someone tapping on the door at first light, then hearing the soft bustle of the chamber woman setting a food tray on the table.

Blushing and grinning, the memories of her wedding night came rushing back. After their passionate lovemaking, her husband had given her a lingering kiss, then dressed, gathered the bloodstained sheet, and slipped from the room. Soon, a roar of unbridled approval reached her ears from the dancing below. She realized she must have fallen asleep, then, for she had no recollection of his return to bed.

How could she have fallen asleep so soon? They should have spent the night making love. Anne felt far from satisfied and realized he must have felt the same when he came back to bed, but gentleman that he was...

Now curled comfortably in the crook of his arm, she listened to his deep, rhythmic breathing and then looked up to study his sleeping face. Heavy, dark stubble covered his jaw, and she liked the effect.
He’d look good with a beard
, she thought.
Really, really good
.

She raised herself on one elbow, and her movement disrupted his sleep.

Opening his eyes, he gazed at her for a moment, then smiled, drew her close, and kissed her forehead. “Good morning,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Anne smiled back, suddenly feeling shy. She rose, wrapped the bedspread around her, and pointed toward the table. “I—uh, we’ve got food over there. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Yes, I’m famished.” Jonathan sat up, rubbing his face and yawning.

“Me, too.” Anne grinned despite herself. “Can’t imagine why I’m so hungry this morning.”

“Yes, quite. Excuse me whilst I take care of some essentials.” He covered himself with a sheet, trying to make it seem incidental, and went to the antechamber of their room.

Anne took the opportunity to duck behind a three-paneled screen to freshen up, then wrapped herself again and headed for the table.

Several minutes later, Jonathan came up behind her and kissed her softly on the shoulder, sending shivers of pleasure through her.

“What have you got for us?” he asked.

“Oh, lots. You’ll see.” She clamped her elbows against her sides to hold her coverlet in place, and lifted two plates loaded with cheddar cheese, grapes, blackberries, bacon, and herbed bread.

Turning, her smile faded. Jonathan stood before her almost fully clothed, needing only his doublet and boots to complete the outfit. “You’re dressed?” she asked. “Are we leaving so soon?”

“Actually, well, I just thought—the hospital, you know.”

Flustered, her concentration wavered. She felt the coverlet slip to her waist, then drop to the floor. “Damn.” Anne shoved the plates into his hands, then moved to recover her wrap. Rising up, she noticed his sudden and unmistakable physical reaction to her nudity.
Hmm
, she thought, pausing to consider her options, her boldness returning. She let her gaze roam over him from head to toe, before settling again on his beckoning bulge.
I’m not letting this guy out of here so fast
, she decided.

With a laugh, she let the coverlet fall again. “You’re not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

His gaze swept over her body, then returned to her eyes. It was the first time he had seen her in the full light of day.

“Anne, I... Oh, Jesus, you’re beautiful!”

She smiled. “Yeah, you’re not so bad, either.”

Stepping up, her body swaying not an inch from his, she slowly brought her hands beneath his shirttail and ran them over his broad chest, around his back, pulling him to her, then running them down, under his pants and across his backside.

“Anne, the plates,” Jonathan pleaded as he looked for somewhere to put the queen’s dishes, some way to free his hands.

Paying no attention to his words, Anne took hold of his shirtfront. “Forgive me, my dear,” she said, her smile widening.

In one swift movement, she tore the shirt apart.

“Anne!”

“Shut up, Jonathan,” she mumbled, then wrapped her arms around his back and kissed his chest, his shoulder, the hollow of his neck, enjoying the firmness of his muscles, the salty taste of his skin.

She pushed him toward the bed. He returned her kisses, still holding the plates, stumbling and trying to maintain his balance as bits of food dropped to the floor. When he came up against the edge of the mattress, he fell backward, landing amidst the pillows.

Plates and food, falling, scattering everywhere. Ignoring the mess, Anne lay next to him. Fingers, lips, tongue moving over him, persistent, insistent.

“My, my, you have a problem, good doctor,” she finally whispered into his ear. “Lift your hips. I believe I have a cure for what ails your, uh, thy tallywacker. Is that the correct term?” She grinned.

“Sweet Jesus,” he said, moaning in reply.

Laughing softly, rising up on her knees, she tugged on his breeches, completely exposing his hips, then straddled him and guided him into her body.

Her face to his, lips to lips, soft skin to bearded stubble, she began to move upon him.

…

Anne awoke with a start. It was late, she realized, noting the angle of the sun’s rays at the window. Grinning sheepishly, she propped herself up and kissed her husband on each eyelid, coaxing him awake.

Jonathan shifted, rolled toward her with an outstretched arm. “Come here, Annie. It’s not time to wake up yet. Sleep––”

Strident knocking on the door disrupted the quiet. “Dr. Brandon, I must speak with you,” a woman’s muffled voice called from the hallway.

Hurrying out of bed, Jonathan scrambled to retrieve his breeches from the floor, kicking at bits of fruit and cheese. “A moment, give me just a moment.” Picking up his torn shirt, he grinned at Anne. “You’re a talented woman with your cure-all for my, er, how did you phrase it?”

She grinned back.

“Doctor, please!” The woman sounded desperate. “Please, ’tis my mistress. She’s quite ill, and the court physicians have all gone with the queen.”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed with this last comment. “Anon,” he called out, slipping into his pants. “I shall be but a moment.” He sat on the bed and pulled on his boots.

Before buttoning his doublet, he tried to tuck away the ragged edges of his shirt, meeting with only moderate success as he headed for the door.

Curious, Anne watched from the bed, carefully wrapped against straying eyes, but Jonathan stood with the door only slightly ajar, blocking any view of the woman in the hallway. Rushed mumbling and perhaps a sob were all Anne could make out of the conversation.

He turned back with a deep frown. “Annie, a lady is quite ill. Dress quickly. They’ll send someone to bring you along to her room.” With that, he left, his heavy steps echoing in the corridor behind the rustle of a gown.

Several minutes later, Anne was shown into the darkened sickroom. Jonathan and a serving woman stood by the bed, backlit by the pale glow of a single candle. Stepping up beside her husband, Anne said nothing, simply touched his elbow to let him know of her arrival.

The patient rested on her side, facing away, her long braids fuzzy and unkempt from a fitful sleep. He held her gently with one hand as he touched, almost caressed, her spine. Anne was shocked to see how her skeletal outline protruded against the waxy-looking, yellow skin.

He eased her onto her back. The sick woman didn’t open her eyes. Only the faintest of moans escaped because of the movement.

Anne looked at her gaunt, sallow face and gasped.

“Do you know her?” Jonathan whispered.

Anne nodded. “Lady Amy Dudley, Lord Robert’s wife.”

Jonathan led the servant away from the bed. “Let us speak over here, lest we disturb the lady more.” He held the woman’s gaze. “I believe she has a wasting canker that has traveled throughout her body. I can’t be sure where it began, perhaps in her breast, perhaps within, although I’m afraid it matters not anymore.”

Anne could only watch as the pinch of stress, evident across the woman’s features, suddenly melted into an agony of tears, trembling hands covering her face.

“M’lady hath been ill for so long,” the maid said, “but refused the care of physicians, fearing they wouldst tell Lord Robert. She thought her husband would think it a ploy to win him back and she wouldn’t abase herself.”

“Mistress,” Jonathan said, clearly trying to penetrate her misery. “Lady Amy is a strong woman. That is evident, for few could have lasted as long as she,” he raised the weeping woman’s chin and spoke gently, “but she is beyond help now. Where is her home?”

“At Cumnor Hall. Away north and west of London town.”

“How far?”

“’Tis southwest of Oxford, Doctor, near Abington.”

“She’ll never make it,” he said. “There must be somewhere closer in.”

Shoulders heaving, the maid’s voice was thick with tears. “She was quite adamant. She does not wish to remain at court. She must not die within sight of the queen.”

“But the queen has left for Windsor, hasn’t she?”

“My mistress was unyielding on this! She told me she wouldst rather die in a ditch, than here in this place.”

“Right.” Jonathan frowned in thought. “Then you must see her taken to Cumnor Hall—today. Have a clergyman accompany you, just in case, and send word to Lord Robert.”

“No, he must not be told of this! Though she hath no other family near to stand vigil, still, she would never want his tender hypocrisies.”

He shook his head, sadness marking his features. “Then make her as comfortable as possible, for she hasn’t got much longer to live. I have some medicines that will ease her pain, both on the trip and later, but they are in my office at the hospital. I’ll have them delivered post haste. She will have need of them in the coming days and weeks, if she survives the trip at all.”

…

Nestled against her husband during the ride home, Anne thought about the woman they had left behind. Finally, she asked the question that had been nagging her. “How long does Amy Dudley have, Jonathan?”

“Not long at all, I shouldn’t wonder.” He sighed. “All I can do is give her an opiate to ease her worry and pain.”

Anne rose up, then, and faced him. “The book. We could look it up in the history book! Maybe––”

“No, Anne, don’t.” His tone was stern. “She’ll not survive, at any rate, and you’ll want to start meddling with things that are supposed to happen. We must avoid such actions at all costs.”

“But you’ve looked.”

“And that, I fear, was a mistake. Besides, I’ve locked it away. I shan’t be tempted again.”

“But––”

“Annie, please! Think of the consequences if we interfere with history. I believe we should only use the book if we are convinced our lives are in danger.”

Troubled still, Anne knew he was right as she settled back uneasily against the velvet cushions. “I watched you with Amy,” she finally said. “You have a great bedside manner.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t enough, was it?” He frowned and her heart gave out for him.

“You did your best, Jon.”

Nodding, he gave her a hug. The carriage slowed, then stopped before the front gate of St. Bartholomew’s. Staff and friends poured out onto the street, greeting the newlyweds with cries of delight. Hustled inside, Anne and Jonathan’s moods brightened as they answered questions, acknowledged friendly ribbing, and joined in the laughter of the homecoming.

The main hall was festooned with garlands of sweet herbs, the floor strewn with flower petals, and the table laden with a feast.

While Jonathan checked on Bishop Wright and arranged for medicine to be delivered to Amy Dudley, Mary showed Anne into the Lady Chapel. A corner was cluttered with unfamiliar trunks, but the rest of the room looked lovely. The air was perfumed with fresh-cut flowers in every sort of container, upon every flat surface, and more fresh petals covered the bed—Jonathan’s bed.

Anne felt awkward. This was his space.

Mary cleared her throat. “There, there. Thou shalt get used to married life.”

Anne blushed. “What’s all this?” she asked. “We just got everything put away.”

“I didn’t want to presume how ye’d like to have yer things set up, but they’re all here for thee and the good doctor, anyway. As to the trunks, they were delivered this morn by one o’ the footmen from Whitehall. They’re a gift o’ the queen for the two o’ you.” Mary smiled, knowingly. “Feller said they’re filled with gowns an’ fine attire, that ye might show yerselves proper-dressed when next ye’re called upon to address Her Majesty’s needs.”

Mary stopped talking and seemed to be waiting for a response of some kind, but Anne was silent, still pondering the room.

“Well then,” Mary said, turning to go, “take a moment for a look-see. We’ll not begin the festivities until we see ye both at table.”

Anne nodded as the footsteps faded, her gaze wandering over the scene—the jumble of trunks, her clothing, the gift box of soaps, her leather bag, all imposing themselves on him, on his life. Would he welcome her in? After all, the marriage was technically still one of convenience, their brief closeness after the ceremony perhaps only a bubble of fantasy, of need, not love. And now they were back here, back to reality.

“Is something the matter?”

Startled, Anne spun around to face Jonathan.

“I...uh,” her words stumbled over uneasy thoughts, “you’ve gone above and beyond, er, what side of the bed do you want?”

“The very devil, you are,” he said, grinning as he took her face in his hands. “As long as we share it, I haven’t any preference at all.” He pulled her close. “We’ve a good start, don’t you think? I want you to feel at home in here with me. Decorate however you’d like. This is our room now.”

Jonathan kissed her deeply, then picked her up in his arms. “Annie,” he murmured, his lips in her hair, “oh, Annie, you are my salvation.”

She recalled seeing him in the Abbey and hearing his words of love for her—before she’d ever met him. Was this the beginning? Was he falling for her? Anne suddenly felt shy, like a virgin on her wedding night, and tried to think of a way to get past her unease.