Rosamund (39 page)

Strangely, the king had touched Rosamund. She was astounded to realize that she felt sorry for him. He was a lonely man, and there had been little warmth or real kindness in his life. His mother had loved him, but she had had little to do with him until his elder brother had died. His father had been embittered by the loss of the beloved Arthur and at first,
despite his wife’s wise words, angry that Henry had survived instead. Then the queen had died in a futile effort to get another son. The king had told Rosamund that he always wondered if his father considered him not fit to rule England. If there had been another son, would Henry VII have made a will in his favor and not Henry VIII’s? His grandmother, the Venerable Margaret, was the one person that the king had admired and respected, but she was a hard woman who expected the rules to be followed without exception. No, there had been little warmth or love in the king’s life.

As for the queen—and here Rosamund again felt a twinge of deep guilt—she was incredibly grateful to Henry Tudor for marrying her and making her long years of neglect worthwhile. She idolized her husband, but she did not see him for who and what he really was. Her gratitude was like that of an abused puppy taken up from the kennel and spoiled. She was Katherine of Aragon, and she knew her duty. But she did not know how to really love, and the king needed love more than he needed anything else.

Annie’s head popped around the bedchamber door. “I’ve set up the old-fashioned small tub for you, m’lady. ’Twill save time.”

Rosamund got up and bathed quickly. The sky was already turning light as she finished dressing in her claret silk gown. With Annie by her side she hurried through the gardens and across the palace park. They entered Greenwich and managed to join the queen’s women as they filed into the chapel royal for the morning mass. And afterward, as they broke their fast in the queen’s hall, Rosamund suddenly realized how absolutely exhausted she was. Yet she dared not show it publicly.

The king had been up early to hunt with his friends. One of them wryly remarked that he should visit the queen more often for he was in high good humor today. William Compton, the king’s closest friend, said nothing, but he realized it was something other than a visit to the queen’s bed that had set the king in such excellent spirits. Compton was nine years the king’s senior, and had been in his service since his childhood. He came from a wealthy, but not noble, family, yet was accepted by everyone despite his less-than-stellar family connection.

“You choose not to confide in me over this latest liaison, eh, my lord?” he gently probed when they could not be heard.

“What liaison, Will?” The king smiled mischievously.

“Very well, my lord, I shall keep my own counsel and ask you no more questions. We want no repeats of last autumn’s little fiasco. You do not want a reputation like the French monarchs’, nor do you need be made an object of humorous scorn.”

“Aye, Will, keep your own counsel,” the king said, looking directly at his companion. It was something he rarely did. The king did not like to make eye contact with others, and when he did it was serious business. “My liaison, as you so carefully put it, is an extremely discreet one. It is unlikely to be discovered unless one of us behaves foolishly, and we are both too wise for that. Do you understand me, Will? I want no clever hints among the others, and certainly no prying by my wife’s ladies this time. This is but the king’s affair.”

William Compton bowed servilely, saying, “It shall be exactly as your majesty wishes. Perhaps one day, however, you will tell me, for I will admit to being mightily curious.”

The king chuckled but said nothing more. He was pleased with himself, and he was particularly pleased with Rosamund. He had never in his life known such a warm and loving woman. Why was it that kings could never marry such women! How much happier they and their children would all be if that were so. Kate, God bless her, was so dutiful. He could not fault her, but dammit, why was she so damned reticent in their lovemaking? Just once he would have liked to see her eyes glaze with passion and satisfaction, but he knew it would never happen. She was too intent on giving him a son. She had a religious fervor about it, murmuring prayer beneath her breath as he rode her. He could not fault her, but oh, the hours last night spent in the fair Rosamund’s arms! He could scarce wait for this night to come.

Rosamund watched the king surreptitiously in the hall that night. If he noticed her he gave absolutely no indication of it. In a way it was a great relief. Mercifully, she was dismissed early from the queen’s service, and
together with Annie she hurried back to Bolton Greenwich. There she found her cousin in his hall.

“Come and watch the sunset sky with me,” he called to her, and she joined him. “You look tired, my dear girl.”

Rosamund curled herself into the window seat next to him. “I am,” she admitted. “I have never known such a man, Tom.”

“He is the king, dear girl. Kings are different, or so I am told by those who claim to be in the know. Be warned that once he has a new toy in his possession he plays with it quite relentlessly.”

“You are telling me that I may expect him tonight,” she said. “I must get some rest then before he comes. He is incredibly vigorous in his bed-sport, and then I had to be at the palace in time for the early mass. You know how the queen feels about her ladies attending the mass each morning.” She looked out over the river, now dappled with a glorious and colorful sunset, and sighed. “He is so sad, Tom. He is not truly happy.”

“You must not judge him as you would an ordinary mortal, my dear girl. He is not an ordinary mortal. While he may possess a certain sadness in his character, he is not truly sad. He has what he has always wanted. He is king of England. If Arthur had not so conveniently died, Henry Tudor would have gone out and conquered another land for himself. He has always desired to be a king. And kings often marry princesses who may be very suitable, but are not particularly loving in nature.”

“There is a vulnerability in him, Tom. I am but two years his senior, and yet I feel as if I am centuries older than him. Last night he stormed me like a man taking a castle, but when I had gotten past the shock of it, I realized that all he wanted from me was to love him.”

“Be careful, my dearest girl,” Lord Cambridge warned her. “You are beginning to sound like a woman who could fall in love. You are vulnerable, too, Rosamund. Your husband is not gone a year, and your whole life there has been a man to take care of you. This man, however, is a king. He cannot take care of you because he hasn’t the faintest idea of how to take care of anyone, even himself. Give him your body, but do not give him your heart.”

She sighed again, a deep sound of resignation. “I know you are right, Tom. I must keep my own emotions under firm control.” She lay her head
on his shoulder. “You are my shield and my buckler, cousin. You will defend me against the dragon.”

“Dragons,” he drawled, “absolutely terrify me, dearest girl, and especially the Tudor Pendragon of Wales. So he is vigorous, eh? I am not certain that I am jealous of you, cousin. Is he
big
all over?”

She raised her head from his shoulder, her amber eyes twinkling and filled with mischief. Then she nodded silently.

“Ah, me,” he said. “Some of us are luckier than others!”

“You are terrible,” she replied, rising from the window seat. “And I am going to bed while I may get some sleep.” She kissed his smooth cheek. “Good night, dearest cousin,” she told him, and left the hall. Upstairs in her apartment she undressed, bathed her face and hands, and brushed her teeth. She peed in the china pot Annie brought her, and then climbed into her bed naked. “I might as well,” she told the surprised Annie.

“Who is he?” Annie whispered.

Rosamund shook her head. “I will tell you one day, but not today,” she said. “You must be satisfied with that, Annie. It is better that you do not know for now. Will you trust me?”

“I always have,” Annie said. Then she curtsied. “Good night, m’lady.” The door closed behind her as she departed.

There was still a bit of twilight in the sky beyond her windows. Rosamund listened to the songs of some bird not quite ready to relinquish the day. Her eyes grew heavy, and she slipped into a deep sleep. It was past midnight when she awakened at the sound of her door clicking open. She lay silent until she felt his weight upon the bed, followed by his kiss on her lips.

“I could hardly bear to leave you this morning, fair Rosamund,” the king told her. “I saw you in the hall tonight, and the mere sight of you set my loins aflame, my darling!” He yanked his nightshirt off and slipped beneath the coverlet she held open for him.

She enfolded him in her arms, and his leonine head lay on her breasts. “You must think of me as your refuge, my lord,” she told him sweetly. “Did you hunt today? I did not see you until this evening.”

“I visited my shipyards at Gravesend,” he told her. “I want to build a fleet. England must be a strong sea power, fair Rosamund.”

“Why?” she queried him. “Can we not use the ships of others to transport our goods? We do now.”

“I don’t mean a merchant fleet, sweetheart,” he explained. “I mean a war fleet. We are isolated on our island, and susceptible to attack by our enemies. We need a strong fleet to protect our country.”

“I am far enough from the sea in my Cumbria that I do not think of things like that, Hal.” Her fingers caressed the back of his neck. “A king must be very wise and foresighted, I can see.”

“You must be foresighted in order to keep your Friarsgate safe and profitable. I am told by your cousin that you are the guiding force on your manor. Is that so, fair Rosamund?” He nuzzled at her breast, his tongue slowly licking at a nipple.

She shivered with pleasure, and then said, “I have always relied on the advice of my uncles, but for one—and my husbands. But in the end the decisions are mine alone, Hal, for I am the lady of Friarsgate, and none can speak for me. I must seem forward to you, I know. But that is who I am.” She kneaded his nape now.

“I like women who know their place in this world,” he said. “But I do not like stupid women. While you are the voice of authority on your manor, sweet Rosamund, you are wise enough to listen to the good advice given you by your menfolk. Do you have a priest?”

“Father Mata,” she said, wondering what that young man would think of her current situation. “He is a great comfort to me and to our people, my lord. We could not do without him.”

“My grandmother was like you,” he said. “The Venerable Margaret, but God’s nightshirt, she frightened me to death!” And he laughed.

“She was a great woman, my lord, and I learned much from her while I was in her care.”

Suddenly he raised his big head and looked at her. Rosamund blushed and lowered her eyes, knowing he did not like a direct stare, but the king said, “No, fair Rosamund. You may look at me, for I love to see your eyes filling with passion when I make love to you.” He threw back the coverlet and let his eyes roam over her naked form. His big hand covered her mons, and he said, “You do not pluck?”

“Nay, my lord, it is not a country custom. If it displeases you, however, I shall do so,” she told him.

His thick fingers entwined themselves in her full auburn bush. “Nay, I quite like it. There is something tempting and seductive about it. Nay! I forbid you to pluck.” He lowered his head and kissed her Venus mont, eliciting a fierce shudder from Rosamund who had never been approached in such a manner. When he rubbed his face against her there, she began to tremble. He could not help himself, for she was so alluring, the white heather she wore mixing with her natural female scent. His fingers began to tease at her nether lips, and finding them already pearled with her love dew, he taunted her further. “You are a very naughty lass, fair Rosamund.” His head moved up so that he might whisper in her ear. He licked the sweetly curled flesh, pushing his tongue into its narrow passage even as his fingers pushed past her nether lips and found her love button.

Her senses were very acute. She could feel the fleshy ball of a single finger begin to graze and chafe the sentient kernel of flesh by means of both pressure and friction. Just one finger that fretted her until she thought she would die of the incredible sensations filling her. His lips touched hers. Then his tongue slid over her mouth, licking at it, licking at her face. She moaned, and the sound was one of pure delight to his ears. Suddenly he ceased the wonderful torture and instead thrust two of his thick fingers into her love channel.
“No, no,”
she pleaded with him. “I want more! Please, more!”

Laughing softly, he withdrew the fingers, and covering her slender body with his big one, he pushed himself slowly into her, stopping and looking down into her face. “Did you not get enough last night, my fair Rosamund? Will you drain me again and again and yet again this night as well?” He began to pump her with slow majestic strokes of his manhood. Soon they were both crying out with their shared pleasure. It was almost dawn when the king realized that if he did not return across the park to the palace he might be seen and his secret revealed.

Rising, he pulled on his nightshirt and his brocaded robe. He bent and placed a kiss upon her lips. “If you see me today, my fair Rosamund, you
will think of this night past. I cannot come tonight, however, but soon, my darling.
Soon!”

“Farewell, Hal,” she replied softly. “I will miss you, but if I do not get a full night’s sleep there are those among the women who will know I have taken a lover and wonder who. You know what your wife’s women are like.” And she laughed low.