Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) (15 page)

"B
ring out the Whore, that we might see her."

"Nay, give us Queen Catherine."

"Long live Good Queen Catherine!" The chants and
yells unsettled Anne. Damn, that she had sent George home. She was frightened.
Badly frightened. She hunched on her bed, with her legs pulled up to her chin,
thinking, worrying. Three of her women stood frozen to their spots in the
chamber, eyes darting this way and that. The knowledge of their fear made Anne
quake. It seemed there’d be no safety in numbers. The eve had started eerily
enough, and had quickly grown fearsome. The stillness in the air after supper
had seemed strange, yet she had sent George home anyway, to his wife. She
regretted it now. She crouched on the lavish quilt, shivering, chattering. Even
while the yelling continued, she dared only stare at the shuttered windows,
praying and praying they wouldn’t open.

"No whore shall sit on Catherine’s throne!"

"Death to the whore!" There came a loud thud
against the shutters. Anne’s heart flipped. A tiny oath of terror escaped her.
Another whack on the wood. Rocks then, or boots. And just as she thought it,
there came another parry. But this one didn’t end. Just kept thudding and
thumping, thudding and thumping ’til she thought it would go on forever.

"Please mistress..." Nan’s voice broke the horrible
din. For a second Anne stared at her and wondered who she was.

"For the love of God, my lady, let’s leave!"

"Coward, are you?" Anne screamed at her. She rose
to her knees and threw an orange at her. Nan deftly avoided the fruit and
placed an arm across the other girls’ chests.

"No, mistress. It’s yer neck I worry after."

"My neck is fine. Do you think they can crawl up stone?
Do you think they’ll throw a torch in? You bloody, useless witch! We
stay!"

Anne lurched from the bed and took to storming about the
room. She knocked over each chair that stood in her path, scraped her hair
behind her ears repeatedly. When a servant got in her way, she cursed at her.

"We stay!" She yelled and pulled at her fingers.
She barely felt the tears.

"We stay!" She sobbed and threw herself onto the
bed. Another holler startled her as it shot through the window, and for an
instant she forgot her fear, wanted to throw something outside. She scanned the
room, grew angry as she spied the two servants who cowered near the door. Perhaps
she could throw them out. She glared at the young maid who had recently been
sent her—her young cousin Katherine. Damn those wide black eyes and the way
they tripped across the room. She’d be sent back home in the morning, for she
was good for nothing.

"Come out, whore. Let us see the brazen paikie who
wants to steal the Queen’s place." The loud mocking sound of derisive
laughter followed. Oh, enough was enough. She’d had all she could take. In a
flash she was up off the bed and over to the window. She tipped the chamber pot
over the edge. The next thing over was her hairbrush and a pair of riding
boots—with a large hole in the bottom of course.

"Ye’ll not be thinking we won’t use these boots,
wench." A toad-like voice came up the stone.

"Use them all you like," she yelled back down.
"For they were worn by a plagued man."

They weren’t but they’d not know it. She heard a groan of
disgusted fear and grinned. Damn common nuisances. These days the mention of
the plague turned any stalwart man pale. But even her retaliation couldn’t
quell the shivering that had taken over her body.

"Mistress..." Anne rounded on the voice. Nan’s
green eyes were pupil-filled, the black nearly overtaking the mossy green. Her
arms stretched forward like the blessed Virgin.

"Blast you, you cinder-faced witch! What do you want
from me now?"

Nan’s stance altered. Her face crumpled as if it were being
consumed ever so slowly by a lazy blaze.

"I wanted only to warn ye. Now I suppose I’ll beg my
leave from ye." She stared at Anne without flinching.

"Get out, then—and see you never come back!" Anne
punctuated her order with an overripe apple and a series of gross curses.

Henry charged in a few moments after Nan escaped. Anne saw
in his eyes all the rage she felt within. He took one look at the upturned
chairs, the cushions that littered the carpet, and roared like a wounded bear.
Rather than justify her rage, it only served to frighten her.

"How dare they." His voice sounded as a great
bellow within the hollow emptiness of the room. It startled Anne with its
intensity.

"The tremendous audacity, to question me, their
King."

She dared him with a look. Her fear still hovered at the
fringes of her anger, fueling it. "Can you not make them stop?" she
demanded.

"I can." He immediately grew defensive. "I am
the King. I can do anything I please. How dare you challenge me."

"It seems someone must challenge you, before you dare
do anything." She took to pacing. The sound of her heavy, angry steps was
the only noise for a time. Then an accusing thud on the shutter and a cheer
goaded her.

"When are you going to prove to your subjects that
you're the King—instead of allowing them to blame me. To slur me. How can you
stand within these stone walls and listen to them humiliate your future Queen.
To insult your choice in women. Are you afraid? Are you not a man, as any
other? No other man would allow such derogatory remarks be made about their
wives."

She didn’t care that his face grew ever redder. Or that his
fists were clenching tightly at his sides. Her rage had full control of her
now, and she let it loose. And when she saw the lobes of his ears turn fire
red, she pushed him even further. She knew as she did that she wanted to hurt
him, wanted him to feel the bite of her words. He deserved each and every one.
He should know how vulnerable she had become, how raw her heart was over the
whole affair. He should be protecting her, harboring her, not letting this
outright belligerence go on right under his nose and within earshot.

"What else could I have done? You have your own
apartments, your own waiting women. More court is being paid to you than
Catherine. And yet you still complain about the commoners."

He stooped to right a chair. In a flash she was in front of
him, jabbing his chest with her index finger bringing him up straight with
surprise.

"Don't you dare remind me of your wish to set me in my
own apartments. It was your idea, not mine. And it has naught to do with that
mob screaming for my death. You have to do with that. They hate me because you
allow it. You allow them to sully my name and threaten my life."

She threw her hands in the air. "You’re the King for
pity's sake. Act like a King. Make them go away." Her rage was getting the
better of her, and thankfully, it provided the coup.

"Francois would never allow such slanders be spoken of
any woman. Let alone his mistresses, or his wife. And he is French!"

She knew the barb would stick, and she hoped it struck him
full in the gall. When his mouth gaped open, she realized it had. Within
seconds he spun on his heel, and maneuvered his large frame into the doorway.
She only saw his back for three quick seconds, before it retreated down the
hallway.

"So our Sovereign runs like a dog," she remarked
to the two maids who hadn’t moved an inch. She collapsed on the bed and wept.
At some point, amid sounds of hoarse curses and deliberate thuds, she fell
asleep.

"Have ye calmed down now, or should I run for the door
again?" A fleshy finger prodded her awake. Anne tried to open her eyes,
found they were gummed fairly shut.

"Nan?"

"Aye, it’s me." A damp cloth was pressed to Anne’s
eyes; a trickle of warm water seeped into the corners. Her flesh quickly
tingled and cooled.

"Bless you, Nan." Anne licked her lips and opened
her eyes to near darkness. A candle, flickering and sweet smelling lent enough
light to see Nan’s face. Hours then, since the confrontation. Nan’s voice came
quick and mocking.

"Bless me? Oh my soul, I’m not aware ye had the power
to bless. Here I’d thought ye’d only the means to curse—devil-spawn as ye
are." She gave Anne a quick shove on the shoulder to turn her to her back.
Anne grinned at her.

"I’m sorry."

"Aye, ye look contrite." Nan passed her a dirty
hairbrush with a boot print on it. Anne didn’t want to know how Nan retrieved
the object.

"No, I meant it. I thought ye’d... you’d never come
back. I imagined I’d be on my horse tomorrow, searching the streets for
you." She twisted the brush this way and that in thought, then set it on
the bed table. The bed shifted as Nan sat. It dipped down at Anne’s hip.

"Ye’d search those grimy, hostile streets for me?"

"George is always looking out for me—he knew I had few
friends—true friends. I’d like to think he introduced us because he believed
we’d grow on each other."

"Well, it’s rather like having a boil attached to my
skin, but still, I like ye fair enough." Nan’s grin lit the gloom.

"Now, I woke ye only so’s ye’d know they’ve gone on
home. And to bring ye a brew. It’s chamomile. I had cook make it up."

"Don't you think I was calmed enough in sleep?"
Anne goaded. Nan chortled and shrugged.

"So, I suppose I needed a bit of revenge, aye?"
She reached for the bed table where in the dimness Anne could make out a cup of
steaming liquid.

"There’s no poison in it, is there?"

"Poison?" Nan laughed out loud. "If I wanted
to do away with ye, I’d seek a more satisfyin’ manner. Now here." She took
Anne’s hand and wrapped the fingers around the cup.

"Truly, my lady, it’ll calm ye."

After Nan left, Anne took a sip to test the heat. She had it
all gone in a few moments, the simple act of doing something normal set her
mind to a kind of uneasy rest.

Chapter 29

The next morning George rushed in with news that had his
heels set afire.

"Anne, have you heard?"

"Heard what, brother?" She’d had a fitful night
and brooded over her breakfast of salted bacon and eggs. The goblet of cider
that rested beside her plate looked more to her like a cup of urine. He stopped
short in front of her, frowned with his whole face.

"Ach. You’ve a bad temper. And here I’ve come all the
way from home to see you."

She felt the stirrings of humor.

"Maneuvered your way past Jayne?"

"Yes, and you know that to be no small feat." His
eyes crinkled at the corners, and Anne thought of her father. She didn’t know
how she could have missed that resemblance before.

"And so. What’s your news?" She picked at a slab
of meat, spying underneath it for signs of spoilage. Every now and then a
kitchen maid had her say on the King’s great matter.

"Henry has decreed crowds are no longer allowed to hang
about the palace grounds." He sat across from her, picked up her spoon and
chopped at an egg.

"It seems a great horde was calling for Catherine last
eve."

Globs of yoke sat at the corners of his mouth and she stared
at it.

"Do you know the rest of the tale?"

He looked confused.

"The rest of the tale?"

She laughed, oh the irony was just too much.

"The horde called for my death as well."

He stopped chewing, his mouth gaped open so she saw the
grayish mixture on his tongue. It was several seconds before he spoke.

"And so I was home," he said. She couldn’t
understand what he was trying to say.

"So I was home, and you were vulnerable," he said
after a time.

She rested her arms on the table.

"Hardly vulnerable, George. This is Windsor Castle,
guards are everywhere." She lied. She hated admitting how afraid she had
been, that Henry himself couldn’t assuage the panic

He grunted. "Guards or no, the city is getting out of
hand. What is the King planning to do to protect you?"

She grinned, feeling oddly calm after the brooding of the
morning.

"Why, it seems he’s done something after all. He’s
beginning to take an active stand in his own politics."

"You mean the decree."

"Yes, the decree. And hopefully, that’s only the
beginning.

D
uring the next weeks, the Pope escaped his imprisonment
and was reinstalled in Rome. After all Anne’s reading, she couldn’t say she
agreed with the Church’s practices, but it would be far easier for her cause if
the Pope would declare Henry’s marriage invalid. She and Henry had been waiting
for weeks to be told whether an investigator would sent.

"Good news, my darling!" Henry’s voice, like the
peal of a giant nunnery bell, tolled through her apartments. She rushed out
from her closet where she only sat staring anyway, wondering what she should do,
and into the presence chamber. There Henry stood in the midst of a room full of
ladies, beard neatly trimmed, fair face pink from exertion. It was quite a
sight to see England’s King come to her court where she surrounded herself with
French things. Even better was to know he came to do her bidding.

She drew herself up straight, took him by the arm and said,
"What good news? Sit down, love, and tell me."

"The Cardinal—he has arrived in England."

She motioned Nan to fetch some Alsace wine.

"Finally, he's arrived." He huffed into a large
cushioned chair. A great sigh of contentment filled the air around him.

Ah, this was good news. She had begun to think the Pope was
afraid to take action since his escape.

"Is he here, then?"

"Not yet, he's to arrive soon. And you must go home, to
Hever." His manner took on that annoying regal air that gave him license
to have his bidding done. She grew irritated.

"Why should I leave? Wouldn't it be prudent I stay?
What if he acts not impartially?"

"Wolsey is to work with him—he’ll ensure impartiality.
And it wouldn't do for you to be here whilst we try to persuade the Pope's
emissary that I grieve over my marriage's invalidity. I can hardly look sad
with you about, can I?" He took the wine Nan had brought, gulping half of
it in one drink. Anne sighed. Damn, she wanted to be here. He'd so often lost
the energy for the fight, that she was afraid to leave him alone. She couldn’t
risk him taking solace with his Queen, or that he’d grow content once again
with no one to spur his passions otherwise. This would certainly be an easy way
to rid himself of his mistress if he had grown tired of all the trouble she
caused.

"All right," she plopped onto his lap. Wine
spilled down his tunic front, and with a wicked smile, she licked at the spot
where it left a stain.

"Um hmm. It seems you like the idea, after all,"
he murmured, tilting her chin to his face.

"I like it not at all, rather I agree to do your
bidding." She kissed him, dipping her tongue into his open mouth. He
tasted sweet; the fragrance of wine still on his breath.

"You tease me so, with your kiss, Sire," she
breathed into his mouth, hoping her kiss would stir his passions.

"Come to the bedchamber," she murmured into his
ear. She felt his shiver, and rising took his hand. Ignoring the looks of
reproach from her ladies, she led him into the withdrawing room, and into her
bedchamber. The servant replenishing the coal scurried to leave. He undid his
clothes and stood amid the heap of them just beside the bed. She didn't question.
If he wanted her naked, then she would be. It felt good to feel his body so
close. He fidgeted with the nipples of her breast until they were hard and
pointed, then bade her brush them against his chest. How soft he looked, not
hairy, but rather fuzzy. The color of his hair was so light it was almost
smoky.

She rested her hands at his knees, thumb and fingers on
opposite sides, then slid very slowly forward. Her touch became a gentle
massage on his leg, kneading his flesh. When her hands reached the tops of his
thighs, she pressed inward until she cradled his sac with one light touch. She
tickled it very lightly, watching the skin creep and crawl until finally it
stretched across two round, very firm balls. She could hear him moan quietly.
She wanted to rub her entire body all over him, so she could feel the soft
whisper of body hair against her smooth skin. With a long stretch she was atop
him again, moving slowly and slower against him ’til he moaned in her ear.

"Ah Anne, you're a witch." The fragrance of wood
and moss swept through her senses as he caressed her. They lay slick against
each other, not consummating their love, merely heightening it. As the time
came for release, she moved away from him, opening her lips to his shaft,
letting the head swell ’til it filled her mouth. Ah, the sense of power in
hearing him moan so uncontrollably. No other force was as strong as this, to
hold a King literally in the palm of her hand, and have him begging as he was
now.