At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (24 page)

For the most part, there was constant noise from the baying of the hounds and the shouts of encouragement from the riders. But from time to time there were lulls when nothing could be heard but distant birdsong and the rustle of leaves overhead. It was during one of these that the king rode back to join Anne and George. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright.

“Go speak to the huntsman, Hastings,” His Grace ordered, and reined in at Anne’s side, taking her husband’s place.

Flustered, Anne kept her gaze averted from her king. She was not sure she wanted his undivided attention.

“You absented yourself from Court for a long time, Lady Anne,” His Grace remarked.

“I assure you, Your Grace, had I had the wherewithal to return on my own, I should have done so. But, as Your Grace knows, and as is
only right and proper, all a woman’s possessions become the property of her husband upon their marriage.”

The king looked momentarily startled, although whether by the notion that women were so powerless or by Anne’s forthright speech, she could not tell. He seemed to be mulling over what she’d said while he patted his mount’s neck and murmured soothing words to the restless beast.

“You may request a loan from my privy purse should you ever have need of it in the future,” he offered.

“I do not wish to be in your debt, Your Grace.”

His lips quirked with an amusement Anne did not share. “Would you also refuse an outright gift?”

Anne did not want to appear ungracious, but she resented the idea that she could be bought. “Perhaps Your Grace might be willing to grant me some unspecified boon at a later date? At present, I have all I could desire—a good husband, thriving children, and the company of the most noble monarch in Christendom.”

“Done,” he said.

Anne was still stammering her astonished thanks when the horns sounded the
requeste.
The hounds had found the scent again. King Henry spurred his mount forward. Almost at once, another rider took the king’s place at her side.

Even before Anne got a good look at him, she recognized Sir William Compton by his distinctive smell, that combination of musky perfume and leather and man that was uniquely his own. It still had the power to set her nerves on edge. Already annoyed, she glared at him when he seized her pommel to prevent her from responding to the call of the horn and the distant baying of the hounds.

Oblivious to her irritation, he grinned at her. “A lovely day for a ride in the wood, is it not, Lady Anne?”

“I
was
enjoying it.”

“We will all be doing a great deal more riding soon. I understand that the king’s summer progress will take us westward this year, and the first part of the journey will be a landscape familiar to you. We will pass quite close to Lady Hungerford’s house at Stoke Poges.”

Although the last thing she wanted was to engage in conversation, Anne forced herself to be polite. Compton was, after all, one of the king’s most influential courtiers, his closest personal servant. Offending him was not a good idea.

“I am certain there will be many stops, at courtiers’ houses and royal manors alike. After all, the purpose of a royal progress is to allow the king and queen to show themselves to their subjects. And to seize upon every opportunity to hunt along the way. Do we travel as far as your home in Warwickshire, Sir William?”

“Compton Wynyates is not yet fit to receive the king.” The rest of the hunt had left them behind and still he gripped her pommel.

“What a pity.” Anne jerked on her reins, making her palfrey sidestep.

Compton let go, but deftly used his horse to block her way.

“I thought I’d heard that you married enough wealth to fund a complete remodeling.”

“The work is ongoing.”

Recognizing annoyance in his clipped speech, Anne thrust the needle deeper. “I should have welcomed the opportunity to meet your wife,” she drawled. “Why is it that you never bring her to court, Sir William? I am certain you must miss her terribly.”

“I scarce think of her at all.”

Anne frowned. He’d wed for money and to get an heir. She’d known that already. Most of England’s nobility and gentry did the same. And yet, for some reason, it suddenly struck her as terribly sad that a man as vital as Will Compton should have had to settle for a loveless marriage. “I am sorry that you are unhappy in your choice.”

“Mine is not a unique situation, as you well know, Lady Anne.” Their eyes met and held.

“Only a fortunate few enjoy true contentment in their marriages,” she agreed. “I have been luckier than most.”

“You did not always think so.”

“I have grown quite fond of George.” And she’d admired his courage when he’d stood up for her with Edward, even if she did still wish he’d been that valiant five years sooner.

“ ‘Content,’ ” Will murmured in a thoughtful voice. “ ‘Fond.’ Those are not words that denote undying passion.”

“Passion is overrated, Sir William.” She made a little clicking sound to set her horse in motion. They had tarried longer than she’d intended.

“You might find more than contentment outside of the nuptial bed.”

“You are blunt, Sir William.”

“Shall I woo you instead with poetry and baubles?” They rode side by side out of the forest and into a clearing.

“I should prefer that you not try to tempt me at all. The cost is too dear.” And yet, in spite of the nervous fluttering of her stomach when she was around him, she realized that she was enjoying their flirtation. She had missed this—the lighthearted banter, the playing at courtship.

“There are ways to elude your watchdog,” Will said, “should you wish to use them.”

“He is not—”

Compton gave a derisive snort. “Lord Hastings does not trust you, my lady. He watches you like the hawk watches its prey, only waiting for the least mistake to pounce.” With a jerk of his head, he directed her gaze to the far side of the clearing and there was George, glaring at them.

Anne sighed. In spite of repeated and often heated denials, George continued to believe that she had betrayed him with Will Compton, and perhaps with the king, too. Even after all this time, he still accepted her brother’s word over hers.

The huntsmen who were with the pack blew the signal that the hounds had the hart at bay. George momentarily forgotten, both Will and Anne urged their horses forward and rode hard toward the sound, arriving in a second clearing just in time for the kill.

The hart, with its sharp antlers and flying hooves, had already maimed one of the dogs. Although King Henry was to deliver the final blow, a royal huntsman approached the animal first, to ensure His Grace’s safety. While the hart was distracted by the hounds, he struck from behind, severing the main tendon in its hind leg.

Laughing, the king stepped in to slit the hart’s throat and help the
huntsmen turn it on its back, so that its antlers pressed into the earth. With quick, decisive movements, one of the huntsmen slit the skin along the length of the neck, slashed downward at each end to form two flaps, and then cut through the flesh, down to the bone. Only after he stood back did the other huntsmen blow the “death” notes for the hart.

The hounds bayed, straining to get to the carcass. They were warded off with short staffs until the horns had done sounding. Then they were set loose and permitted to tear at the flesh of the neck, but only long enough to reinforce their hunting instincts before they were dragged away again and harnessed. When the lymers had been similarly rewarded, the king and his courtiers began their long ride back to the palace, leaving the huntsmen behind to slaughter the hart.

George once again took his place at Anne’s side. She expected him to make some comment about Sir William, but he said not a word. And when he came to their bed that night, he presented her with a rose, all the thorns thoughtfully removed. Then he made love to her with as tender a thoroughness as she’d ever known.

A strong physical attraction had always existed between them, even when they were at odds about everything else. But this night, for the first time in years, Anne felt as free to indulge her appetites as she had during the early days of their marriage. She threw herself fully into the enjoyment of their coupling, daring to touch everywhere with mouth and hands and encouraging George to do the same. When they were finally sated, she felt such a sense of intimacy surrounding them that she was filled with a new confidence. She was certain George no longer doubted her and that she had finally convinced him that she would cleave only to him.

W
hile King Henry sat on the royal close stool, Sir William Compton waited patiently nearby, pretending not to notice the smell that lingered in the small antechamber. The stool was a pretty, costly thing, covered in velvet and padded so that the royal bum did not have to touch the wood beneath, but it was a common jakes all the same. Beneath the hole was a chamber pot that Will would have to empty, after he’d shown its contents to one of the royal physicians.

As groom of the stool, Will was the king’s most intimate body servant, and his most trusted. Gifts of property and generous annuities had accumulated at a steady pace over the last few years. In addition, Will controlled the king’s privy purse. It was an honor, he reminded himself, to serve the king, even in such a menial capacity. Besides, when His Grace was constipated, as he was this morning, he was inclined to share his thoughts. That gave Will additional opportunities to exert an influence over the king’s decisions.

“Shall I send for sweet butter, Your Grace?” Will asked.

King Henry made a face. Rancid butter, especially when mixed with buckthorn seeds, was a sovereign remedy for what ailed him, but the effects of the cure were usually more unpleasant than the original
condition. “We will wait awhile,” he decreed. “In the meantime, I need distraction.”

“Shall I send for my lute?” Will asked. “Or order your musicians to play in the adjoining chamber?”

“Talk will provide sufficient diversion.”

Will did not care for the way His Grace was looking at him. Those small blue-gray eyes had narrowed to slits and a slight smile curved the royal lips.

“Tell me about your latest conquests,” the king commanded.

Henry Tudor had long taken a prurient interest in the amorous adventures of his friends. Although, at present, the King of England was among the most intelligent men in the known world, skilled in languages and music and renowned for his athletic prowess, and these days had no shortage of women willing to couple with him—and would not have had such a shortage, even if he had not been the king—the many years during which his father had kept him close, never letting him experience life for himself, had left their mark. In his youth, he had been forbidden to experience the joys of the flesh firsthand. He’d taken vicarious pleasure in listening to tales of the erotic exploits of those who served him. Demanding explicit details from his friends had since become his habit.

“I do not wish to bore you, Your Grace,” Will said.

“No willing wench in your bed these days, eh? No luck with the beauteous Lady Anne?”

One did not refuse to answer his sovereign’s question, no matter how personal. “She flirts with me, as ever she did, but the only man she allows to touch her is her husband.”

Five years earlier, Will had admired Lady Anne. Since her return to court, he’d been even more powerfully drawn to her. This time around, his interest had not been at all casual. Not on his part. To his own chagrin, Will had discovered that he had deep feelings for her.

“She reminds me that both of us are married,” he added.

“Marriage should not stop a man from taking a mistress, but perhaps you would do better to find yourself one who is young and malleable.”
The king smiled, clearly thinking of the plump, pretty blonde who warmed his bed. Bessie Blount adored her royal lover.

“I should like nothing better, sire, but I fear I have fallen in love with Lady Anne. I care more for her happiness than for my own satisfaction.”

King Henry laughed out loud. “Love is naught but a passing fancy. Make her your mistress and that will soon disabuse you of the notion that her wishes are more important than your own.”

“No doubt you are right, Your Grace, but at present the lady is decidedly unwilling.”

“Are you so certain of that?” The king’s grin widened. “Have you not seen the way she looks at you? She will be more than willing, Will, if you catch her alone at the right time and in the right place.”

The king might have said more, but at that moment there was a tap at the door. At King Henry’s gesture, Will slipped out of the stool room and into the connecting bedchamber. Ned Neville waited impatiently on the other side of the door.

“This is not a good time to disturb His Grace,” Will warned, but even as he spoke his sharp hearing picked up a grunt of relief. “Perhaps in a moment,” he amended. Then he took note of his friend’s expression. “What news, Ned?”

“Nothing unexpected, and yet I wonder what it portends. Word has just come from Rome. Thomas Wolsey, our own beloved Archbishop of York, has been elected to the Sacred College. He is now a cardinal of the Church of Rome.”

“Wolsey.” On Will’s lips, the name became a curse.

From a minor appointment as one of the royal chaplains at the start of the reign, Thomas Wolsey had risen to become one of the most powerful men in the land. The king trusted him. Indeed, he relied upon Wolsey to handle all the dull, day-to-day matters involved in running the kingdom.

Wolsey might be a churchman, but he was no saint. He had a mistress and two children. And he amassed wealth as greedily as any secular gentleman. In the spring, he had started constructing a redbrick,
double courtyard house at Hampton, fifteen miles from Westminster. Archbishops were entitled to palaces, it was true, but this building appeared likely to rival Greenwich or Richmond when it was complete. And it was not as if the man did not already have a fine house in Westminster. York Place had been suitable for an archbishop before Wolsey took up residence there. Since then he had built a new chapel and a massive great hall and made other improvements, as well.