Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) (6 page)

Too soon he curved his hand about another woman’s waist and
was lost in the tide of gowns.

"I’m sorry about your wife," she said when Thomas
held her again.

"Ach." He waved his hand. "It’s of no
consequence. She's happy doing what she wants with whom she wants, well away
from me. And I'm equally happy."

"Oh,
et q’est que tu fait
? Tell me not, you
still write those hideous stories?"

Laughing faces she saw at the perimeter, women nibbling at
chunks of cheese and sipping delicately at their glasses. They reminded her of
mice and tiny birds. Not at all a glamorous image when both animals suffered
fleas and lice. Then again, perhaps most of the ladies did as well. As the
music ended, he led her to the wall, near a pack of Catherine's ladies.

"Oh, no. I gave up stories long ago," he said.

"It’s a relief to hear."

"Now, I write poetry." He grinned in a way that
made her heart stop, then left her gaping open-mouthed next to Mary.

She watched him walk away, a haughtiness lightening his
steps. How mature he’d grown, how genteel, and she smiled contentedly, more
than satisfied with her effect. The evening was proving quite intriguing. Her
sister's teasing shove nearly put her off balance.

"I see Thomas found you."

"Umm," she mumbled, bored already by the thought
of standing there, gossiping idly about nothing. She scanned the room hoping to
spot Lord Percy. She wanted to be rescued again.

Mary fanned her bare cleavage dramatically. The greater part
of her full bosom strained against the bit of creamy lace meant to disguise the
pink of her nipple. The gown was French fashion, and in Anne’s opinion, wasted
on Mary who never needed fashion as an excuse to reveal her body. Given enough
time, the entire city of London would see it, and in the meantime, anyone with
brass enough to ask, would be granted the sight of a bosom.

For a fleeting moment, Anne wished she wasn’t wearing the
costume. Though it was beautiful, the deep black of Mary’s would suit her much
better.

"He still has a crush on you."

"Thomas?" Anne fluttered her fingers. "Oh,
yes. I supposed I have grown more desirable over the years." She grinned,
unable to keep the delicious sarcasm to herself. "But then, perhaps our
Thomas is merely starved for a woman of virtue."

"Meaning there are naught here about?" Mary threw
her hips to one side and dared Anne with a leveled brow.

"Not nearly naught, but few." Anne slapped her
sister’s arm playfully.

She studied the room. Such oddities could be seen by paying
close attention. Why, just over there, she watched as Cardinal Wolsey, fat
jowls shaking from animated conversation, stood in the middle of a circle of
Spanish envoys. Perhaps no one else noticed, but the Cardinal had grown very
flushed. His usual blanched face had been fed many glasses of wine and budded
like a grape trembling to be picked. He would feel slightly ill in the morning.

Beyond the Cardinal sat Mary Suffolk, Henry’s sister.
Dressed as she was in pearl colored satin, she looked beautifully white, like
an angel. The gold overlay brightened her eyes as they scanned the crowds for
her husband, the Duke. It was obvious she tried her best to look interested in
the conversation of her comrades, but the constant scans of the room gave her
away. She looked fragile and helpless against the broad span of tapestry that
softened the wall.

Anne felt a sudden urge to speak to her, just to hear the
lilting voice that enraptured everyone who listened. But then a crowd of
dancers obscured her view, and she began to search for Lord Percy. She spied
him on the dance floor, the fragile shell of his aristocratic air seemed to be
cracking with the effort of tiresome court pleasantries. She nudged Mary.

"What do you know of that gentleman?" A burly,
dark-haired courtier brushed against her, too close to be accidental. She gave
him a wink.

"Only that he's the most eligible man at court.
Wealthy. Handsome."

"Wealthy?" Such irony—if only her father could
have foreseen the connection the two shared, perhaps she'd be promised to him
now instead of the brash Irishman she’d met last month. She scanned the room,
sighting him among a bevy of ladies beside the faux castle. She wanted to
continue with the conversation, but Mary changed it.

"I see the King is on his way over."

Anne turned discreetly, and saw that indeed he was heading
toward the group, flanked by a dozen courtiers and friends. The urge to bully
Mary got away from her.

"You should be ashamed. Doesn't Will care that you
sport still with the King?"

Since her return, Anne had discovered Henry had married off
his mistress, but Anne wasn't sad to have missed the wedding. it was an obvious
farce.

"Will? No. Why else think you his Grace chose him to be
my husband?"

Anne clamped her lips together, doing her best to keep her
thoughts to herself.

The king clicked his heels together when he reached for
Mary's hand. "Madame Carey," he said. "May I have this
dance?"

Anne mimicked his words under her breath, while managing to
maintain her attention, and a look of interest as he leered at Mary.
Disgusting, how he nearly ate her with his eyes. She pasted a smile on her face
as Mary spoke back, her teasing tone chiding him playfully.

"Now, Your Grace, I would be foolish to say no."

Without bothering to take her leave, Anne turned and walked
away. George would be much better company anyway, and she found him teasing a
group of ladies who clung to his sleeve and giggled like children. Anne sighed;
courtly flirtation didn’t have to mean mindless chatter or outright idiocy.
Couldn’t they at least show some sign of intelligence and discretion? She
pushed her way in.

"George, I see you’ve lost your wife." She grasped
his arm, pulling him away from the clutches of a pale blonde. He kissed the
hand of the one whose clutch Anne had loosened.

"Excuse me, ladies," he said sweetly, "I see
my sister is attending to my welfare." He winked and bowed, then grinned
at Anne, a dimple playing in one cheek.

"I’ve not lost my wife, sister." He led her away
to a quiet corner. "Merely escaped her for a bit."

A lock of chestnut hair, loosed from his blue ribbon, fell
into his eyes. He pushed it back.

She tugged at his sleeve. "Then dance with me, I’m
afraid my fiancé may come for me." A playful slap on his arm regained his
attention when he blew a kiss to the corner of ladies.

"I’ve nothing better to do than rescue you, Nan."
He winked at her and grinned. She felt safe, the young boy had grown to a man,
and his certainty made her feel secure.

George had watched Anne with interest while he entertained
the swarm of ladies who refused to leave him alone. Their chatter bored him but
he pretended to listen raptly, tried to look enthralled by their stories.
Occasionally, he’d muster a glance of the room. The varied textures and colors
were like a hundred autumn leaves courting the wind. Once or twice he caught
sight of Anne, as did most men, he noticed. George grinned as he thought of how
Anne brought out passions in people, always had, whether they found her
attractive or not. She had an indefinable quality that made people either hate
her or love her—there was no middle point. The strange thing was that Anne was
either unmindful of how the men licked their lips absently as she passed, or
didn’t care. The fact that she was oblivious to it made all the difference.

He watched, intrigued, as she danced with Henry Percy. It
was obvious that the aristocrat grew ever more enchanted. His gaze never left
her face, and his fingers curled about her waist a little too intimately. His
entire body shouted that he wanted to bed her. George could hear the yell from
way over here. It was a certainty that Anne wanted him as well, though what
intrigued her, he had no idea. Harry Percy was a dandy. His rather fragile
awkwardness was compensated only by his position. Men would want him, rather
than women, and then only to wed their daughters. He’d have wealth on his
father’s passing, and his sensitivities would make any man feel safe for their
daughters. Ah well, perhaps Anne sensed this and was drawn by it.

After Henry came Thomas. George had glimpsed him moments
ago, standing by the wall, waiting for a chance to take Anne into his arms. His
lust was sealed to his face like a wax imprint to paper. George had to grin.
Thomas had wanted Anne since he was a child, or rather a young adult, and Anne
a child. He’d even purposefully lost every game they played so he’d gain Anne’s
sympathy. Crafty, Wyatt was, and intuitive too. He’d known early on that Anne
was a reckoning force. Once she'd even bruised his eye because he’d dared kiss
her.

After that, he’d brooded and sulked ’til finally she’d said,
"Thomas, if your lip sticks out any further, you’ll risk a raven setting
on it and shitting down your shirt."

Thomas had done a good job of holding Anne’s attention this
evening. She laughed and dared him with a look or two. He’d changed in the
years, and for a moment, George believed his sister was relieved for that
transformation—she never once let her eyes trail away from Thomas’ face.
Instead she watched him with an intensity that made Henry Percy shuffle his
feet enviously. The chattering grew more insistent, and George realized he’d
lost track of the conversation. One of the ladies tapped his sleeve.

"Has your sister truly come from France?" She'd
shuddered delicately, her tiny mouth forming a moue that he wanted to stick his
finger into.

"Barbarians they are, over there. Why, I hear they
copulate like dogs."

He winked at her, touched her elbow intimately though he
didn’t like the way Anne had been lumped into the category. "And I hear
the women yelp with pleasure," he goaded. She blushed a deep pink. He
couldn’t help himself.

"Dear lady, I believe you envision it. I hope you have
me in the scene." He gave her a quick, mocking bow.

When Anne had come for him, though, he was delighted, both
because it gave him leave of the ladies, and because he wanted to discuss her
successful debut. He guided her away from the dance and toward a corner of the
castle.

"You’ve captured everyone’s attention, Nan." He
didn’t feel much like dancing; he’d have to pass her off, and he had too much
to say to her.

"Have I?" She laughed. "I dare say even the
King’s sister pales in comparison to me this eve."

"Your modesty overwhelms me, sister." He bent to
scoop a date from atop the rushes, and though it looked a little squashed,
stuffed it into his mouth. It was hard to talk around the fruit but he gave it
a try. "I can’t say you outshine sweet Princess Mary, though. She’s so
beautifully fair."

He eyed Anne from face to toe. "You look like red mud
has been rubbed all over your skin—why did they not make you a savage?"

He had to duck when she tried to clout his head.

"See? Savage." He didn’t move in time to avoid the
next one. "Ouch."

"Ouch, indeed. You’re fortunate I didn’t put my weight
into it."

"Ah, so you say, Nan. But you’ve no idea who you’re
dealing with these days."

"I know well what I’m dealing with—a coward." He
chewed his lip, held her eye.

"So you chose a coward to rescue you?" She stared
back, smiled.

"I’m sentimental."

L
ater as evening wore to deep night, Anne lay atop a narrow
bed, scratching at her legs. She feared the flea-ridden sheets that stretched
tautly across the filthy straw mattress had never been cleaned. She tossed and
turned, finally wakening her sleeping companion.

"Here, now!" the woman mumbled crossly, her foul
breath creeping into Anne's nostrils, making them flare.

"Sorry," Anne returned, not really feeling
apologetic.

When she had arrived at Hampton Court, amazed at the
grandeur of the many statues and white carved stone, she had instantly formed
an opinion of Thomas Wolsey. It seemed even his castle would outdo the
majority. For a man supposedly humble before God and man, he certainly thought
nothing of displaying his wealth. Tiers of stone and cross stretched to the
heavens, and baked to a pleasant ochre by the sun, crept upwards for three
levels. Though stark and cold seeming, it held a peculiar elegance.

The Cardinal, who was rumored to be almost perversely preoccupied
with cleanliness, was personified in his estate. But later, as she was assigned
sleeping quarters, she discovered his servants were lax in cleaning any area
they suspected the Cardinal would avoid. And in seeing the filth his guests
were to sleep in, she couldn't help but shiver to think how his servants
lived—probably squatting in their own excess and excrement, for lack of desire
to clean. The rushes that were supposed to sweeten the room, and cover the damp
stink of must had instead absorbed the smell of the wet stone they covered.
They hadn't been swept or replaced for many days. The sleeping woman turned to
the wall, jutting her backside into Anne's hip.

That was enough. Anne got up and tramped crossly through the
common room to the door. The hallway was cool, even for March. The tapestries
waltzed shyly with the drafts that embraced them. Instead of rushes, the soiled
and bespattered floor was covered with an intricately woven, yet filthy carpet.
And while the sleeping quarters were mercifully devoid of illumination, here
the walls supported a few torches. Tendrils of black smoke meandered their way
from tip to ceiling. Anne couldn’t help noticing how sooty were the stones of
the wall as she found her way down the hallway.

She wondered for a brief moment whether it would be prudent
to wander through someone else's home. But her better judgment lost to her need
to escape from the cloistering atmosphere of the area where she was supposed to
sleep. As she wandered through the halls of the Cardinal's small castle, she
thought of his apprentice—Lord Percy, was it—and how she had immediately taken
to him.

"Ach, stop it, Anne. No sense pining for a man you can
never have," she whispered aloud, hoping the sound of the words would give
her the conviction to forget Harry Percy.

"Eh?" The masculine expletive sounded quite
unpleasantly surprised. Squinting, she tried to peer down the dark hallway.
She’d already turned a number of corners and, absorbed in her thoughts, hadn't
realized she was in a completely different area of the castle. This hallway was
still fairly well lit, but the elegant tapestries here seemed to absorb all the
light, leaving the air slightly less illuminated than the other hallways. This
passage looked richer, more elegant, more occupied. She saw that she’d trapped
someone.

Or rather, someone felt trapped. He stood frozen to his
spot, hair mussed and on end. A most undesirable state in which to be seen for
sure. She should turn around and give him the dignity of retreating to his
bedchamber. But then, wouldn’t it be grand to see a nobleman flee hastily to
his refuge, nightshirt flying and white legs capering spindly to his haven.

"Good evening," she began, taking a tentative
step. She stopped abruptly when he backed away for every inch she advanced.

"I hadn't thought anyone would be about." It
seemed as good an excuse for roving as she could think of—and an even better
one for holding him there, like a rabbit in a snare.

"Er... Good evening," he returned.

She realized, not too pleasantly, that she was in just as
embarrassing a state of undress as he. She shrank inside her flimsy cloak and
shift. It seemed that as he saw her lose confidence, he advanced a bit,
tentatively at first, then with growing curiosity. What was she doing here anyway,
in the better quarters?

"I—" she began, suddenly at a loss for anything to
say, "couldn't sleep." Well, it was true, was it not? So what if she
shouldn't really be roaming. As he drew closer, Anne could detect the faint
aroma of ambergris and musk.

"Nor I." The tones of a vaguely familiar voice
filled the darkness.

The room lost its chill with the admission. There’d been
something more in the statement, hadn't there? Not just a confession of
restlessness, but also an admission. Like he’d been caught playing with a toy
that didn't belong to him.

She studied him closer. Then she realized who stood before
her—and the realization mortified her. Oh, no, not the King. Please, sweet
Jesu, let it be someone other than the King. What was he doing here anyway, roaming
about this late at night? But the silent question led her to a conclusion. He
probably wasn't out for a leisurely stroll. She decided to act as if she hadn't
recognized him.

"I think I might return to my quarters, perhaps sleep
will come now after my stroll."

"Yes," he answered, a faint note of command in his
voice.

"Perhaps I'll see you in the morning—when we can be
properly introduced." She didn't need an introduction. In fact, she had
already been introduced the summer before. But he would never remember that.
And she certainly didn't feel it prudent to remind him. She turned away.

"Good night," she whispered and after a few
seconds, couldn't help but say, "Your majesty."

She suppressed a smile. Terrible, she thought, to have such
a distorted sense of humor.

Then came an answer, rough and intimate, and equally
perverse, "Good night, Mistress Boleyn."