The Court of Boleyn (Tudor Romance Book 1) (3 page)

   And now he was in bed with her. He stretched and yawned, gently removing her arm from around his waist before getting up and walking naked to the ewer of cold water which stood on the wooden table by the window. He splashed his face and dabbed the wet cloth underneath his armpits and over his chest, dampening the little dark hairs which adorned his lean body. He was tall and athletic; long hours spent in the saddle had given his belly and thighs a tight muscularity. Sunlight burnished the top of his closely cropped dark hair. He had the sudden feeling of being watched and he turned his dark eyes to the bed where his companion was leaning on an elbow watching. A small smile played about her lips.

   ‘What is it?’ he felt self-conscious suddenly.

   ‘I was just admiring the view.’ The girl laughed, showing her pretty dimples again. ‘Fancy coming back to bed for another go?’

   Francis looked at her. She reclined lazily on the bed, all bosom and curls and warmth. It was certainly inviting. At one time he would have jumped back into bed and wasted the morning in her embrace but something inside him felt different this time. He felt empty, lonely almost. This girl was a complete stranger to him. Sweet mother of God, he had
paid
her. His soul longed for somebody to call his own, a woman with whom he could share his whole life, rather than just a quick tumble in a tavern. He found he no longer had the appetite for low hanging fruit. It was time to find a wife.

   ‘Sorry sweetheart.’ He flashed a grin and began to dress. ‘I have to go.’

-

   He broke his fast with a swig of small ale and a crust of bread before mounting his chestnut mare and turning her in the direction of Coventry. The fields were hidden beneath a white layer of virgin snow and Francis wondered when springtime would finally arrive. He rode slowly, allowing the mare to take her time and choose her footing on the icy track. The cold air was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the rhythmic creaking of his saddle and the occasional
caw, caw
of some rooks in a nearby copse. The trees were bare. Skeletal branches were silhouetted against the blue sky. Although springtime was near, the days were still short and he would have to find another inn before dusk fell.

   Despite his sore head it felt good to be on the road; to be free of the cares of court. Since the queen’s latest miscarriage the atmosphere at Greenwich Palace had been strained, almost toxic. He had watched uneasily as Anne Boleyn struggled to maintain an air of gaiety. Oh, she still called for him and Mark to come and play for her in the Privy Chamber. She still smiled and danced with her ladies as she had done in those glorious early days when King Henry still loved her and the whole world seemed tinged with the golden hue of promise. But Francis knew her carefree ways were a sham. Her unhealthy pallor and the dark shadows beneath her eyes told of unbearable fear and anxiety. He could not help but worry for her.

  As the hours passed the gentle rhythm of his mare lulled him into careless reveries. He began humming to himself, composing little melodies which he would try to remember and practice later on his lute. He did not notice the sun slipping behind the treeline of the woods. Slowly, stealthily, darkness began to creep across the landscape.

Chapter Four

Greenwich Palace

‘Light some more candles, Nan,’ Anne Boleyn called to her maid. ‘And bring my best scarlet bodice and sleeves.’ Turning before the mirror, she admired her sharp cheekbones and dark, flashing eyes. Her lips and cheeks were slightly rouged and her ‘B’ for Boleyn necklace dangled from her elegant white neck. How in God’s name could the king prefer that drip Jane Seymour? Well, she would show him what he had been missing. She would lure him away from Seymour and back into her passionate embrace. As she mused on the intensity with which their mutual desire had once burned, a vivid memory suddenly flashed through her mind
.

  
Anne picked up her skirts and ran through the grounds of Hever Castle, heading for the knot garden. He was close behind her; she could almost feel his hot breath upon the back of her neck. Swinging around a tree trunk, she turned to face him with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smile. ‘You sound out of breath, your majesty. Will you admit defeat now?’ The king shook his head. ‘Have mercy on a poor supplicant, mistress. My heart shall die if I cannot kiss your hand.’ Anne laughed and raced ahead, darting nimbly among the topiary. She ducked behind a hedge and tucked her scarlet skirts around her ankles to hide them from view and listened. Silence. Perhaps he had given up. So much for undying love. She screamed as she felt his strong arms encircle her from behind. Twisting around to face him, she kissed him on the mouth. They were both flushed with exertion and desire but Anne pulled herself away and placed her finger against his lips. ‘We must wait, Henry. Have patience.’

   Anne smiled at the memory. She was older now but she was still capable of inspiring love. Surely the handsome courtiers who hung around her apartments were testament to the power she could exert over men. She had seduced the king once, a long time ago. It was not too late to try again.

   That night at supper, she took her seat next to the king at the top table. She noticed that he wore a tight purple doublet which set off his manly frame to perfection. As he leaned over to kiss her cheek she drank in his familiar muskiness, overcome with a primal yearning to lie with him again, to feel his arms around her. ‘We missed you last night,’ she said with a coy smile. ‘I had to dance with Mark Smeaton instead.’

   The king bit into a slice of meat pie and chewed for a long time before replying. ‘Some of us have more important affairs to attend to than dancing, sweetheart.’ He took of swig of red wine and beckoned to Jane Seymour’s brother Edward who walked up to their table with an ingratiating smile. Anne scowled. It seemed she would never be free of that damned Seymour family.

   ‘How do you like your new apartments, Edward?’ The king said. ‘I hope they please you.’

   ‘They suit me very well, your majesty. In fact,’ Edward leaned in confidentially, ‘I was just telling Cromwell how grateful I am to him for moving out.’ As the two men laughed together, Anne felt her head swimming. Thomas Cromwell’s apartments led directly to the king’s apartments via a private passageway. It meant that anyone staying in those rooms would have easy access to the king’s person both day and night. She looked at Edward Seymour’s feline eyes, crinkled with laughter. He was so sly. She could easily imagine him inviting his sister and the king to dine with him in some private supper party. The idea of Henry taking Jane Seymour by the hand and leading her back to his own rooms was unbearable. Once more, she felt the panic rise. Her heart began to race and her breath was short and shallow. She cast a sideways look at the king. He and Edward were deep in conversation. It was if she were invisible. Reaching for a goblet of wine, she drank it down quickly and then cast her eye over the great hall where servants dashed to and fro carrying a succession of dishes laden with exotic food. There were silver platters of grapes; pomegranates; oranges; skinned rabbits; a swan lying in a pool of green soup; a boar’s head with an apple stuffed in its gaping mouth. Anne had no appetite for any of it. Spying her cousin Madge and her sweetheart Henry Norris standing in the corner of the hall, she rose and walked over to greet them.

   ‘Cousin Madge! I see love is in the air tonight.’

   Madge curtseyed and smiled warmly. ‘Your majesty, Henry and I were just talking about music.’

   ‘Of course you were,’ Anne teased. ‘If there is to be a wedding, you will need music.’

   Norris reddened and began to stutter. ‘Yes, yes, all in good time. There will be music, I am sure.’

   Anne laughed and turned to Madge, who was blushing prettily. Her pale pink dress set off her blonde curls giving her the air of an innocent country wench. In such a devious court as this, it would be easy for Madge to fall prey to bad influences. ‘Will you walk with me, cousin?’ The two women weaved their way through the thronging great hall, and out into the torch lit passageway beyond. ‘Come, this way.’ Anne led her cousin out into the frosty garden and they walked up the pathway, further away from the palace. A sleepy guard bowed as they approached but Anne did not acknowledge him. She needed to find somewhere isolated, somewhere away from the prying eyes and ears of the court. Eventually they reached the summer lodge at the far end of the grounds. Anne had spent many happy days here with Henry – playing cards, laughing together, making love on the Turkish rug before the fireplace. The little house looked bleak and empty now, closed up until summer returned. Anne led Madge around to the back door and beckoned her cousin inside.

   ‘It is a long time since we came here.’ Madge said, uncertainly.

   ‘It is a long time since I had the love of my husband.’ Anne sat down on one of the chairs and patted the one beside her, inviting Madge to do the same. ‘Jane Seymour intends to replace me.’

   ‘Madam, no …’ Madge began to protest. ‘I am sure that is not true.’

   ‘Come, now.’ Anne smiled. ‘We both know she is ambitious. Did you know her brother Edward has moved into Cromwell’s apartments? Think about what that means, Madge. That bitch will be in and out of my husband’s bed like a street doxy!’ She sighed heavily. ‘I suppose you would not tell me if you knew anything. You would not wish to hurt me. Am I right?’

   Madge looked down at her hands and trembled. ‘It is true; Jane Seymour aims for the crown.’ She said quietly. ‘But I am sure she has not lain with his majesty. Not yet.’

   In her heart, Anne knew that what Madge said was true. Jane Seymour was not stupid. She would not throw her maidenhead away in exchange for a few pieces of jewellery, indeed Henry would not respect any woman who valued herself so cheaply. Anne herself had shown him the pleasures of a long drawn out courtship. The king was a hunter. He enjoyed the chase and was more than able to wait for his prize.

   ‘I need you to watch her, Madge.’ She said with a calmness she did not feel. ‘Tell me everything. If I am to drive her away from court, I shall need your help. Do you understand?’

   ‘Yes, madam.’ Madge nodded vigorously. ‘I hate the way she treats you. It is not right.’

   Anne smiled and squeezed her cousin’s hand. ‘Content yourself, cousin. Jane Seymour is history.’

Chapter Five

Radley Hall

Cecily Askew stood at the window gazing into the twilight. Everything seemed so flat, so dull. She was wasting her youth in this place. Her rose and gold coloured gown shimmered in the candlelight, and she had dressed her hair carefully, pinning oyster pearls among the rich folds of her golden hair. Not that Edmund would notice. She had begun to doubt whether even Helen of Troy could arouse his interest in the bedchamber. Neglectful man! A small icicle dripped outside the window. She smiled grimly. In a few weeks the snow would be gone and then, with God’s grace, so would she. No woman should have to endure such a cold marriage bed. More and more these days she found herself retreating into her dreams, then planning the little steps she would need to take in order to make them real. She had started putting aside a few shillings from the meagre allowance Edmund allowed her, hiding them in a small wooden chest beneath her bed.

   Whether or not she possessed the courage to flee to the court of Anne Boleyn was another matter. Perhaps she was losing her mind. Perhaps Joan was right and she should stop dreaming; start behaving in the manner of an obedient wife. If Edmund was displeased with her, there must be reason for it.

   Her breath steamed up the mullioned window and idly, without thinking, she drew a heart in the condensation. As the shape formed, a movement outside caught her eye. Quickly she wiped away the steam and peered out. There was a horseman coming up the track!

   His long legs were wrapped tightly about his mount’s sides and he sat tall in the saddle, like a nobleman. From what she could see in the gloom, he wore a plain black cloak, a purple doublet and fine leather gloves. His velvet cap framed a face so fine that Cecily’s heart jumped.

   Feeling somewhat guilty, she reached for the looking glass and checked her reflection. Her cheeks were rosy with health. She bit her bottom lip causing it to redden prettily, then flung the mirror onto the bed and smoothed out her skirts. Casually, she walked down the oak staircase and into the Great Hall to see who the visitor might be.

   It was dark down there. Just one torch flickered in its sconce. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she noticed her husband Edmund standing in the shadows with the new serving man, Tom. She watched as her husband ruffled the man’s hair. There was soft laughter.

   ‘Edmund!’ she called out, over brightly. As he swivelled round to look at her, she saw that his fleeting smile did not quite reach his eyes. She hesitated, noting how boldly Tom looked at her, as if questioning her right to be here. Questioning her right to interrupt.