Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn (16 page)

“I am to be married just as soon as the
arrangements can be made,” Henry said softly, looking away, then
back at me. “Arrangements are already in progress.” He did not
speak of the dread he felt in facing this.

“We must appeal to him immediately. We
must
.”

“My parents agree with him,” Hal said
gently.

“And thou wouldst obey them?” I asked,
knowing the answer. Hal would never bring pain to his parents. He
was as dutiful as I was. I understood duty. It was the one argument
I could not argue against.

“Thy father’s line,” he began, then fretted
that it might sound like a reproach and hurt me. He cleared his
throat, paused, then shook his head in anger and exasperation. “You
are not ‘
suitable
’,” Hal hissed, pressing his face into the
back of my neck. “And I was told the King has someone else in mind
for you, though you know it not.” I could feel dampness where his
face pressed. It was his tears.

For a split second, and for no reason, I
thought back to the evening when I had flirted with the King, and I
felt a cold chill. My eyes widened in terror that I had brought
this down upon the two of us, then I dismissed the thought as vain.
Gnawing at me in the back of my mind, however, were the looks of
recognition I had seen in Henry’s eyes of late. Should I believe
that I was unsuitable for Hal? Technically I was, but pairings such
as ours were quite common, and if convenient to the throne were
most certainly considered “suitable”. Had the argument been that
the King preferred another sort of alliance for specific political
reasons, I might have seen more sense in it. None of this rang
true, unless I viewed it as a purposeful attempt by Henry to keep
me unwed. Nothing else could have caused such rapid upheaval with
such vague and conflicting rationale.

The man Henry said he “had in mind” for me
would never appear at my door. No man but Henry ever would.

Nevertheless, I hated Wolsey as much as
Henry, for his tongue had spoken the words. And as time went on and
my love for Henry grew, I came to overlook that Henry even had a
part in it and fully blamed Wolsey for my grief, much to his
misfortune and my own shame.

I had a choice. Did I prefer to think of
myself as not good enough for Hal? Or did I prefer to think that my
stupid, playful indiscretions were the cause of this?

I far preferred to think my actions were not
the cause. I would be disabused of that belief shortly when Henry
would make his intentions clear, but while the wound was still raw,
I had to believe that my bloodline was to blame, and not I. This
was hard enough to bear. Again, I convulsed with sobs.

Hal looked at me, turned my face toward his
with one finger, whispered “Shhh” and wiped my tears. “Shhh. It
breaks my heart to watch thee weep,” he murmured.

How could I cast loose a man so sweet? I
could not lose Hal. I could no more give him up than I could give
up food and drink. I could more easily give up food and drink, I
thought.

Hal abruptly continued his original thought
in a musing tone of voice. “Yet what
has
been found
suitable—” He said it again to emphasize the word—“what has been
found
suitable
for a man of my station is a bovine creature
with a bad complexion and a bulbous nose. By my troth, that large
round nose doth run,” he added as a conspiratorial aside, his eyes
deliberately widened to suggest innocuous, childlike sincerity.
“Tis indeed a most remarkable nose contrived to excrete remarkable
fluids.”

He said this as if he were selling me that
nose, trying to convince me of its value.

Do not jest about this, Hal, I thought. Do
not make me laugh. I can never laugh again.

Still, a laugh escaped and nearly strangled
me. Even now, I thought. Even in the midst of this, he can make me
laugh. I nuzzled closer to him, and clung to his chest in
grief.

At the sound of a laugh, he took heart and
began to speak as if he were telling a story for my amusement.

“God help me on my wedding night.” His hand
made a gentle, caressing movement across my back. “I do foresee the
need to install myself in my finest of all possible wine cellars
for days before that night,” he sniffed conversationally, “And
quaff it dry.”

I squirmed as the knife pierced ever closer
to my heart.

“There are those who would envy me. I shall
be belching upon the very finest and rarest of all possible
libations—” He nodded at me briskly, with mock enthusiasm. “—which
will then go on to nourish a rose bed as the very finest — and
rarest — of warm summer rains. I shall make a special trip to the
garden, to bestow my treasure upon the bonny blossoms.”

He made a sweeping gesture with his hand and
said softly, encouragingly, “Grow yon roses! Grow!” He turned to
me, and explained himself in voice so controlled it contained not
the faintest hint of irony. He made his voice sincere: “My
betrothed once confessed she has a fondness for roses. I can only
but give them the finest of care, now that they shall be hers as
well.”

I almost giggled at the thought of him
weaving drunk, urinating on his carefully pruned and lovingly
nurtured roses. The picture nearly pushed the rest of it out of my
mind for just a moment. Then his words came back to me, and it was
here that the knife found its mark. The mention of his wedding
night caused my heart to palpitate with panic and despair. The
words “my betrothed” hung in the air. “My betrothed” no longer
referred to me, and the title was my holy right. I could not force
my mind to accept. I erupted once more into frantic, violent
tears.

Hal apologized profusely for upsetting me and
sank into a despondent silence while I sobbed into his chest. A few
moments passed, and he apologized for the disrespectful manner in
which he had spoken to me about his betrothed, then sat silently
once again. He spoke over my weeping a third time to apologize for
talking in such a vulgar manner about such vulgar things as
belching, and noses, and the watering of roses. He had no need to
apologize for that. His vulgarity had been the only thing to bring
a smile.

“She is my betrothed,” Hal amended bluntly.
“But
thou
art my beloved.” He turned away from me and
pressed his fingers to his eyelids.

Defiance began to surface. I would not lose
him. I would
not
. My tears stopped and my face grew cold.
Stiff with determination, I twisted around and placed my hands on
either side of Hal’s face drawing his lips to mine. He responded
reluctantly, then gently pulled away. I wrapped my arms around his
waist and turned my face up to his.

“Stay with me,” I commanded. “
I
am thy
true wife, and shall be in all but name henceforth, if thou wilt
but stay.” I fingered his shirt in an angry attempt to remove
it.

Hal stiffened and gently pushed my hands
away. “No, Anne,” he whispered. “Please, no.”

I had no use for my immortal soul without Hal
and made a decision in that instant to risk it, in order to be his
mistress. It seemed a small risk. God surely knew I was Hal’s one
true wife and would find no sin in this. He surely knew we were
married—I wore Hal’s ring. After our handfasting ceremony it must
be the other woman who committed sin.

Stopping for a moment, I held up my hands for
Hal to see, not even hesitating, my deformity in full view. I was
thinking that Hal had never even blinked at my hand and often
kissed and stroked it. That was one of the things I had always
needed most from him. I pulled the ring off my right hand and
fumbling, placed it on my left.

“There,” I said. “It is done. Before God, I
am thy wife unto death.”

Hal shook his head and looked toward the
ceiling. “Anne . . . no.”

Determined, I reached into my bodice and
pulled at one of my breasts so that the nipple peeked over the low
neckline of the dress. I tugged at and pulled down the shoulder of
my dress to free the breast so it was fully exposed. I took Hal’s
hand with both of mine and softly placed it on my bosom. Hal stared
as if hypnotized and let his hand rest there. I held firm, so he
was forced to feel my heart beat. For a few moments he closed his
eyes and counted his breaths, then suddenly he shook himself awake
and pulled away as if he were touching something hot. I reached for
his hand once more and slowly drew it back. Hal closed his eyes
again and breathed. He allowed his fingers to tentatively explore
on their own.

I stretched up, pressed my lips to his, and
felt him stir. I took my hand away from his, yet his hand remained
where it was, gently cupping and massaging the breast he had never
before touched or seen. I whispered “I love thee,” between long
hard kisses. Hal put his arms around me, and pulled me to him,
kissing my lips and then my eyes, then moving downward and resting
his opened mouth on the nipple of my breast. “I love thee too. Oh
God, I love thee too,” he whispered back. The words were muffled by
my bosom.

“Be my husband, my sweet. Come, be my
husband.”

We both were weeping, now.

His breathing was hard and ragged. We were
facing each other, touching each other in ways we never had before,
urgently while time was left.

I found his waistband and pushed my hand
within. He tilted his head back, his face contorted, with tears
traveling in rivulets down his cheeks and onto my chest. Then I
thrust my fingers down. I touched him and, eyes forced open with
panic, he cried out.

Startled, I pulled my hand free.

My fingertips burned, remembering the
touch.

Hal pushed me away and stood, straightening
his clothing. He motioned to me to pull up my bodice. He did not
assist me, nor did he come close to me.

“The command came from the King,” he said in
a deadened voice, shaking his head and himself into composure. “And
my parents have threatened me. They have already taken this
possibility into account.” He enunciated the next two words very
carefully and almost coldly: “We cannot.”

I wondered what his parents had threatened
but dared not ask because of the look in his eyes.

“We shall hide from thy parents. And the King
will never know,” I assured him, adding, “The King merely said we
could not marry. He did not command us to keep apart. Besides, he
does not punish persons for their lovemaking. What have we to fear
from him?”

“There is much to be feared from my parents.
I need not go into detail.”

Hal grew silent and looked down.

We could not meet in stealth, Hal knew. He
had thought it through. Primarily, he feared the consequences when
we were caught (it was not a question of “if” for
Anne
was
involved in it). I could not be relied upon to take only a small,
secret portion of his time, no matter how frantically I promised it
would be enough. I would want more and more, no matter what the
danger, and I would have brushed aside any risks.

He knew we could arguably have escaped with
one or two marital visits before detection. His fear though was of
a pregnancy and a child he could never claim, and that possibility
was to be feared each time—even the first time—we were together.
Were I to become pregnant, there would be no question of paternity
in anyone’s mind, and such a pregnancy would be in direct defiance
of the King’s orders. Hal feared he would ruin me and be unable to
step forward to salvage me, for not only would we be found out and
punished, but he would be married and unable to rectify the
situation. The “honorable” thing could not be done. He would be at
fault, and helpless in the face of it while his dearest love
volunteered for a life as his whore, and as unholy mother to his
bastards. Hal knew I would do this, and he would not allow me to,
for that would not even have been the worst of it.

He knew there was no point in explaining to
me. My love was greedy, and cared not for logic. It cared not for
safety, nor for sense. Partly because of my leanings toward
indiscretion, he would not risk speaking of a plan aloud, nor even
of devising one, although he had had some passing thoughts of
Ireland or France. He discarded them, for in leaving there would be
damage left behind and two families that would suffer punishment.
He had deduced quite accurately that a trap had been laid and there
was no plan to serve us.

I only seemed to those outside to be the
dominant partner. In truth, it was Hal who possessed the strength,
and he was called upon to draw from it now.

I reached for his hand, pleadingly. He pulled
it away and stepped backward, away from me, protectively hiding his
hand behind his back. He knew the pain would last. He was opting
for a lesser pain. He wanted not to weaken later and come back to
me for more. He wanted not to know what it was he could not have,
and, in this life, it was a wife.

I took a step toward him, and he jumped away,
fearful that I might touch him and shake his resolve.

He tilted his chin up to prevent tears from
spilling, and looked at me for just a second before looking away
again.

“We will just need to make the best of
it.”

The pull was too strong for us. We were in
pain “ . . . of the writhing sort,” Hal would one day muse aloud to
a trusted manservant, draining his stout.

“
Please
,” I said calmly, knowing he
could not abandon me.

“We cannot see each other again.” He did not
say that it had been forbidden; he did not want me to question him.
Hal suspected the reason much as I did, but knew more than I the
extent of Henry’s determination.

Sadly, it made sense to Hal, that the King
should desire his incomparable Anne. He was not angry; he was
resigned and broken-hearted.

“Thou art taunting me,” I laughed
uncertainly. Surely he was only bargaining for the sake of his
parents’ threats and could be brought to reason. If he said
“never”, I could make it mean “sometimes”. From there I could
wheedle more frequent visits. “We shall meet in secret, surely? I
shall make plans anon and meet thee.”