The Forbidden Queen. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ his sword and belt beside the glittering chain. ‘What about the gown you were wed in?’

      A man’s response, I thought, but, then, he would not know. ‘I will not. It is borrowed—from my mother.’ I saw his scepticism, so tried for hard logic that might sway him. ‘It is French. I am now Queen of England.’

      Arrested, and for the first time, he laughed aloud. ‘Have you nothing else? Surely…’

      ‘The gown made for me when we first met was abandoned in Paris—when we feared your attack and fled.’

      His brows drew into a frown, as if I had reminded him of unfinished business on the battlefield, then his expression cleared. ‘Clearly I owe you a gown. I’ll send to arrange it.’

      ‘Thank you.’ This was not so bad, and I ran my tongue over dry lips. ‘I would like a cup of wine.’ There were things I wanted to say. Wine might help to dissolve the weight in my chest and loose my tongue.

      He tilted his chin, as if he rarely poured his own wine, or if he considered my request unwise, but proceeded to present me with one of the lovely chased goblets with a little bow.

      ‘Don’t throw this one on the floor.’

      I expected him to smile, making of it an amusement, but he did not, merely returning to pour a second cup for himself. Perhaps it had been an instruction after all.

      ‘The English ladies do not like me,’ I announced, sipping the wine.

      ‘They do not know you.’

      I took another sip. ‘They say my mother is a whore.’

      ‘Katherine,’ It was almost a sigh. Was he shocked? ‘It is not wise to repeat gossip.’

      I sipped again, not at all satisfied. ‘I wish to choose my own damsels.’

      ‘Who would you choose?’ His brows all but disappeared into his hair again.

      ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted.

      ‘I have already chosen them—you have already met some of them at the banquet,’ Henry remarked matter-of-factly. ‘It will be better it they are English as you will reside in England. Lady Beatrice will guide you in your first steps.’

      ‘Will you not be with me?’

      ‘Not all the time.’

      So I was condemned to the company of the unknown Lady Beatrice. I hoped she was not the opinionated brunette. I sipped again, the warmth dulling the ferment in my belly as Henry began, moving with an agile flex of muscles, to address the ties of his shirt.

      ‘May I keep Guille?’

      ‘Who is that?’

      ‘My chambermaid.’

      ‘If you wish.’ He did not care.

      Henry continued to remove his garments until he stood in immaculately close-fitting hose. Nervously I concentrated on the hue of the wine in my cup and dredged up another irrelevant question.

      ‘What is your stepmother’s name?’

      ‘She is Joanna. From the house of Navarre.’

      ‘Will I meet her? Does she live at Court?’

      ‘No. She lives in seclusion. Her health is not good.’ He took a breath as he stood beside the bed, towering over me. ‘Katherine.’ It seemed that Henry did not wish to speak of Madam Joanna, and I thought he was growing impatient.

      ‘Has your mother, in her wisdom and undoubted experience, told you what to expect?’ My eyes snapped up to his face, all the comforting wine-induced warmth dissipating, seeing that his mouth was set in an uncompromising line of distaste, and not for the first time I wished that my mother had been more circumspect in her amorous dealings. My heart sank but I would not pretend what I did not know. Fear crept steadily back to engulf me, like a winter fog rolling across bleak and chilly water meadows.

      ‘No,’ I announced. I thought he sighed again. ‘She said you were so experienced that it would not matter that I had none and was raised in a convent.’ And I found within me a sudden desire to shake him out of his cold self-possession. I gulped a mouthful of wine. ‘She said that you had led a dissolute life.’ Nerves—and wine—made me indiscreet. Anything to prolong the time until he joined me in the bed. By now I was trembling uncontrollably.

      ‘She said you had spent a life of lust and debauchery—before you became king, that is, and abandoned your companions.’

      ‘You should not believe all you hear,’ he replied, and, although his response was even, I thought I had displeased him.

      ‘Did you?’ I asked.

      ‘Did I what?’

      ‘Abandon your companions.’ I had never had any companions to abandon.

      ‘Yes. It was necessary. They were not to my advantage.’

      I drank again, summoning all my false courage as my head swam a little with the warm fumes of the excellent Bordeaux. ‘Am I? Am I to your advantage?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘A royal virgin with a dowry of inestimable value.’

      His gaze moved steadily over my face. ‘I did not know that we were going to talk of politics.’

      ‘I know nothing else to talk about. I have run out of subjects.’

      ‘And drunk too much wine, I think.’ He took the cup from me, but his voice was gentle.

      ‘I don’t feel drunk,’ I said consideringly. ‘Do I need to talk of anything else?’

      ‘You don’t need to talk at all.’ And he pinched out the candles.

      I valued the darkness. It was, at the moment when I became Henry’s wife in the flesh, an experience that I was not at all sure I wished to repeat. The best I could say was that it was brief.

      What did I recall of it?

      Pain, of course: the physical invasion; the weight of his body on mine so that I felt crushed to the bed. But was that not the lot of all virgins? But then there was the uncomfortable unpleasantness of it all that made me squirm. My mother would have her stained sheets, and I supposed I would, with time and frequency, become used to it. And I remembered the overwhelmingness of it: the heat; the slide of his hands, roughly calloused, when he made himself master of me. There was the power of his hard-muscled, soldier’s body that allowed me no time to catch my breath.

      And there was the strange silence, apart from Henry’s heightened breathing as he took his pleasure. Henry spoke not one word to me during the whole event. I recalled no pleasure, on his part or mine. It was, I decided, all very prosaic and unembellished.

      Well, what did you expect? my mind queried fretfully as Henry withdrew, removed his weight and sank his face in the pillow beside me. I had expected some romance, in the manner of the troubadours, some soft words, even if untrue, СКАЧАТЬ