The Tudor Princess. Darcey Bonnette

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СКАЧАТЬ habit I had ever beheld. The low-cut velvet gown was deep claret, with an orange kirtle the colour of autumn leaves and fitted sleeves to match. Resplendent velvet oversleeves were claret to match the gown, and the boyish velvet cap with a claret ribbon sported a black feather that Scotch advised me to wear at a jaunty angle.

      ‘Oh, Scotch!’ I breathed, clutching the soft velvet of the over-sleeve and rubbing it against my cheek. ‘It’s perfect! Tell me it is easy to remove.’

      Scotch laughed. ‘Very,’ he informed me as he showed me where it laced up.

      ‘Excellent work, Scotch!’ I commended.

      ‘Happy hunting, Your Grace,’ he retorted with a wink of his twinkling blue eye.

      I giggled. ‘This is one prey I’m not letting get away from me!’

      Scotch departed with another bow and I was assisted into my gown, shocking my ladies with the knowledge that I wore nothing beneath it.

      ‘Your Grace, it simply isn’t done!’ they cried.

      ‘Then I am setting a precedent,’ I replied. ‘Soon everyone will be doing it and think me quite a visionary.’

      They clicked their tongues and shook their heads but obeyed and I admitted to a certain freedom as I slipped into the gown without the bother of all those petticoats.

      My hair was left flowing over my shoulders, streaming to my waist in a rippling copper mane. The cap was set upon my head at an angle, the claret ribbon tied beneath my chin. I smiled at my reflection, pleased. The gown accentuated my developing curves, and even my ladies gasped in appreciation.

      Satisfied with my appearance, I removed to the stables, choosing my favourite palfrey and riding her to where Jamie awaited at the edge of the forest. I rode at a deliberate speed, with purpose.

      When Jamie beheld me his eyes widened, his lips parting. ‘Maggie …’ he breathed.

      ‘Your Grace,’ I replied, flashing him a bright smile. ‘Shall we make for the forest?’

      He nodded. To my delight he was unable to remove his eyes from me. I pretended not to notice but thrilled with pleasure.

      We commenced into the forest. Anticipation made me alert to every noise. It was not long before we were on the tracks of a stag, discovering him grazing in a clearing. He raised his majestic head, heavy with its crown of antlers. His brown gaze fell upon us, cautious, questioning. He was still, his muscles tense. At last he flicked his tail and leapt into the forest. The chase began in earnest and I readied my bow as I followed him, my husband in tow.

      The stag turned once more and I drew back, my shoulder aching with the tension in the string. I let it snap. The arrow swished through the air, piercing through the chest of the animal. Brilliant crimson stained his fur as he dropped. A lump swelled in my throat as it did with every kill – as exhilarating as the hunt was for me, I could not help but be moved by the creature’s sacrifice.

      ‘Wonderful, Maggie!’ Jamie cried as he dismounted. He instructed his courtiers to remove the stag to the palace for our evening’s supper. With this executed we stood alone. Our breathing was heavy, the thrill of the kill still surging through our veins. I quivered, trembling with excitement.

      Jamie approached me, taking my hands in his. They were hot, slick with sweat. He shook his head as though in disbelief. ‘My God, Maggie … You’re so beautiful.’

      I smiled, drawing him nearer to me. ‘Jamie …’

      He wrapped his arms about me, his lips descending upon mine in our first true kiss. His lips were hungry, inflamed with a passion I did not know he possessed as he devoured mine. I returned the kiss, matching his passion with my own. His hands roamed my body and I found myself boldly unlacing his breeches and removing his doublet. Freed of our bonds, we stood before each other as God made us, shining with sweat, our chests heaving. I took in Jamie’s body, drinking in its beauty – all angles, all muscles, taut and fine. But he was scarred. His hips were chafed from the iron belt he insisted on wearing, his back a patchwork of white and pink wounds that snaked across his flesh, jagged rivers of pain.

      ‘Jamie, who dared whip you?’ I asked him.

      He shook his head, tears lighting his green eyes. ‘It is a burden I bear gladly – please let us not think of it or anything unpleasant at this moment. Let me look at you … oh, Maggie …’ He drew me to him and I revelled in the silkiness of his skin against mine. We pressed against each other with urgency, kissing once more. His lips travelled down my neck, to my breasts, my belly, my legs. My body was aflame with sensation; I was primal, pagan as a priestess at a Beltane fire. Infused with passion, we fell to the ground and with tender urgency claimed what was our right, writhing with love there in the middle of the forest, on a bed of thick, sweet grass surrounded by thistles and wild roses.

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