The Queen's Rival (32 page)

They strolled along the long corridor, down the stone stairs, and out into the courtyard where the air was crisp and cool. Perfect for walking, and other things, he thought, with a little self-satisfied grin. He could not wait until they arrived at that wonderful little clearing beside the lake. A hidden jewel, he thought—one his wife knew nothing about. Katherine would not have appreciated that place anyway. Romantic little gestures like that had never interested her. Only two things really did: pregnancy and prayer, and not always in that order.

Bess came out of the little rounded door and moved into the gravel-covered courtyard as Henry stood readying her horse for her, his own personal gift from the Marquis of Mantua, a sleek bay called
Governatore.
Henry had to admit to himself, particularly in this light, that Bess was extraordinarily pretty. He had timed their departure perfectly, the moment Katherine was attending to her devotions. There would not be much time for conversation, at least not here.

“So pleased you could join us,” Henry said as Bess approached him in her green velvet riding gown and matching plumed hat. He was standing with his own prized Arabian, holding fast to the silver-studded reins.

“Had I any choice in the matter?” She smiled slyly.

Henry watched her cheeks flush. Then she lowered her eyes in a way that was surprisingly flirtatious. “I would hope not. It would be a frightfully lonely hunt without you.” He ran his hand along the haunch of the horse, then gave it a little slap. “I have chosen a spirited mount for you. He is one of my newest, my own prized possession, actually. Do you believe you can handle a Mantuan bay?”

“Spirit is a good thing, is it not?” Bess asked with a surprisingly coquettish little smile that instantly stirred his loins. Yes, it had been a good thing he had waited for her to grow into her beauty and her confidence.

For a moment, a mellow ray of sunlight filtered through the tall stand of courtyard oaks and highlighted her eyes—stunning, brilliant blue eyes with long lashes sweeping over them. Oh, indeed spirit was a good thing. So were beauty and her unquenchable desire to please him.

“Shall we be off then?” Henry asked, helping her into the saddle.

“ ’ Tis Your Highness who leads the way.”

He was still holding on to her tiny waist as he said in a very low voice, “Oh, we shall have to do something about your form of address, Mistress Blount. At least in private.”

“I am at your disposal in all things, my lord,” Bess replied, smiling down and very nearly enchanting him completely. It was a sensation Henry shook off swiftly, one full of a sincerity he could not afford to feel.

The little group rode for an hour after that until streams dotted the lush woodlands shaded by tangles of tall dark trunks and heavy branches full of bristling leaves. As her horse trotted behind his, Henry glanced over and saw with concern Bess’s attempts to maneuver an animal obviously more spirited than even he had realized. In spite of his concern, however, it was endearing to watch her silent determination to remain in control. Bess had a beautifully strong pride he had not bothered to see before, and Henry began to realize as they rode that Bess was like a beautiful new rose unfolding before him, with layers like petals peeling back to reveal something new underneath. Perhaps she really was a bit different from all the others, if such a thing were possible. He shook his head and smiled to himself. He was most definitely getting too soft for his own good, especially where a girl was concerned.

The group, led by Brandon, made its way then down a small embankment, thickly carpeted by long grass and well shaded from the sun. Many of the entourage were talking in low tones among themselves, when Bess’s horse suddenly stumbled on a rock and reared up in powerful defense, whinnying out a warning. In that single instant following, the animal dashed forward at a gallop, churning mud, leaves, grass, and fear in her wake.

“Go after her, Brandon!” The king called out the command to his friend who was in the lead as he kicked the haunches of his own mount and sped into a gallop.

“Go with it! Lean into him!” Henry called to her.

He was not certain if Bess could even hear him beneath the wind and the sound of the harness jangling, and the thundering of his own heart. As he and Brandon galloped, neck and neck behind her, Bess’s green velvet skirts flew out like a sail, and she struggled not to fall from the frightened, charging animal.

“I cannot!” she cried out.

“You can!” Henry urged, surprised at his own building sense of panic.

He was nearly upon her, nearly able to grab hold of the reins, when the horse quite suddenly jerked to a halt, tossed its powerful head, and whinnied again, as though to cast off harm. Caught unawares, Bess lost her grip on the reins and was catapulted suddenly forward, landing in a heap on the ground.

“The king! The king comes!”

Henry Norris, the king’s redheaded, freckle-faced principal page, was given the task of being first to the door of a modest two-story thatch and timber cottage that sat in the clearing just past where Bess had fallen. Two of the king’s scouts stood at Norris’s side as the king’s band of friends collected in the small courtyard amid ducks and chickens. The riders were removing their gloves as Henry himself held Bess limply in his arms.

Even from this distance, Henry could hear the pure terror in the voice of the stout, balding man who stood beside his wife and called out a warning to the rest of his family as they stood, modestly dressed, their faces full of shock, at the open front door with an unexpected royal guest before them. There was much scurrying then, along with shrieking, clattering of furniture being moved, and doors slamming, as the man moved forward and his wife disappeared with a little shriek back into the house.

“Your Most Magnificent Highness, my lord, and king,” the man sputtered as he bowed awkwardly, his porcine face still white with shock.

“Yes, yes, all of that. I must have a place for her to rest, and it seems that you are to be so honored.”

Henry’s tone was flippant and he knew it as he stood at the door holding an unconscious Bess. He had not meant to strike such a tone, but he feared for her. He had not thought she had hit her head, yet there was a small gash on her temple that worried him since he had not brought along a physician who could have allayed his fears and properly tended to her.

The house past the low threshold was modest but tidy. There was a large room furnished with only a table, chairs, and a sideboard dotted with pewter pieces. Another room beyond it looked to be a large kitchen, and there was a staircase that likely led to bedchambers upstairs.

Humble, Henry thought, yet it would have to do. He ignored the rest of the family and servants who were all bowing and murmuring as he glanced around the house to survey the scene, then brushed past them all and swept up the stairs with Bess still tight in his arms. She began to moan, but she still had not opened her eyes. Only Brandon followed him, their boot heels clopping on the bare stairs as they quickly walked. The others in the king’s hunting party were directed to remain downstairs.

“Send for my physician at once,” Henry called out to Brandon as he found the larger of two bedchambers and placed her gently on the feather bed.

“ ’ Tis done, sire,” he responded formally.

“And have some wine, a basin of water, and fresh cloths sent up.”

“All of it already well on the way.”

They covered Bess over with a quilt that had been neatly folded on a traveling trunk beneath the window. The room smelled of must, Henry noticed, but there was also the faint fragrance of rosemary from an herb garden below the window, and thus the house was not without a certain charm he might have appreciated in other circumstances.

“Thank you, Charles, for not admonishing me about Katherine,” Henry said as he heaved a huge sigh.

“It is the least I can do, considering.”

“Indeed, you are right about that,” Henry quickly countered.

They both knew what he meant. The bitterness over how he had married the king’s sister without his permission was still too fresh in both their minds.

“Do you. . . love this girl, Hal?” his old friend then dared to ask.

“I cannot afford to love anyone. I have a duty. That is all there is.”

“A duty as king, perhaps,” Charles cautiously observed. “But as a man, do you not have a duty to your heart? I have seen the way you have looked at her for years.”

“I can have no heart, Charles. I have a wife, remember? And England has a queen. Like the end of a story, that is all there is. All there ever shall be.”

Henry looked back at Bess, who seemed to be coming slowly back around finally. Only then did he realize that he was squeezing her hand very tightly.

The woman he had seen at the door came into the room with her two adolescent daughters just then. They were bearing wine, the basin, cloths, and each girl wore an innocent but openly flirtatious smile. Henry surprised himself, realizing that, as the two younger girls left the room, he had barely even looked at them for concern over Bess. That was something new for him. When he glanced back at Bess, he saw that her eyes were open at last—those beautiful blue eyes that always stopped him, even before he’d had a mind to admit it.

“What happened?” she softly croaked.

“You took a rather nasty fall, sweetheart.”

Henry gently lifted her head and helped her take a sip of wine as the woman silently ran a cloth through the water, rung it out, then handed it to Charles Brandon to give to the king.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Not so much as my pride,” Bess softly admitted. “I thought I could ride him.”

“It is my fault for having chosen such a horse, for putting you at risk like that. Forgive me.”

“You did me a great honor. You cannot be sorry for that.” She tried to smile.

Henry took the cloth from Charles, then placed it very gently on her forehead. “I have sent for my physician and for a more tame horse for you to ride back.”

“That is entirely unnecessary, and I cannot hold up the others. They were expecting a hunt. So were you.”

“I care nothing about that. Besides,” he said with a smile, “there shall be plenty of time for more hunting parties. I am sending them all back to court soon anyway.”

“And Your Highness?”

God, he wished she would not look at him, at least not like that. Attraction to her was one thing, but he simply could not afford to actually care.

“Perhaps I shall remain,” Henry answered a little more gruffly than he had meant to. “If you would not object, that is. The mistress below is making some delectable stew or other.”

“It smells delicious.”

“That seems a good thing if you have an appetite,” Henry said uncomfortably.

“I do, my lord, for many things.”

Henry softened a bit more beneath her gaze and the wanton sound of her declaration. Struggling was futile. He leaned across the bed to gently kiss her. He could hear the others still behind him near the door: the wife, the daughters, and Charles. They left the room then, and the door squeaked as it swung to a close on its hinges.

Safe within their private moment, Henry kissed her again, this time more passionately as he slid up onto the bed and lay down beside her. Filled with desire at her nearness, he ran a hand down the length of her body, feeling very carefully for the willowy shape of her beneath her dress, the petticoats, and the cambric chemise. Then suddenly his hand stilled. He could make himself go no further. A moment later, he pulled away.

“What is it?” Bess asked with a soft tone of surprise.

“You are injured.”

“Only my head, sire, I told you. Not the rest of me.” She smiled seductively, her long hair soft around her shoulders now that he had removed her hood and her shoes.

“It would not be right,” he persisted.

“Neither is anything else we have done together, apparently,” she said with a slight note of defeat in her voice.

“It is not that I do not want you, because I do, desperately. But I cannot take advantage of you like this.”

Bess coiled her hands in the hair at the nape of his neck and tried to draw him forward. “That is my favorite thing that you do,” she wantonly teased.

Henry weakened for a moment, kissing her passionately again and pressing his full weight against her. He felt the force of his own desire, but Henry was the sum total of many things beyond his unquenchable lust. He was a son who had learned the power of restraint from a mother he had adored, and he was a boy who had learned to place duty above all else from a father he respected. Achingly, he moved away from her again and, with a little groan, rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

“You do have an increasing power over me,” he murmured truthfully.

“It seems quite the opposite,” she countered, and again he could hear her disappointment.