The Last Boleyn(52)
“All right, everyone to the hall to see Mister Cornish. And do what he bids, all of you, with no arguing, or you will answer to me!” Everyone laughed and trooped off behind the Guildfords.
“I need Lady Carey to play Maid Marian, so you may leave her behind,” the king called out after them suddenly. Mary turned, her heart beating fast. What would Will say? “I know you will not mind,” the king rushed to Will. “Mister Cornish has a lovely lady for you to partner. And when you get to the hall, tell Staff not to get in the dancing either. I have another job for him.” He dismissed Carey with a wave of his hand. “So many details, Mary.”
“What a wonderful idea, Sire,” she smiled up at him. “Did you think of it just this evening? You said nothing of it earlier.”
He took her arm at the elbow and led her to a darkened windowseat in the crook of the huge bay window overlooking the black Thames down the sloping lawns. “I like surprises, my Mary, especially for one I love. Do you approve of being this Robin Hood’s Maid Marian?”
She nodded happily as he put his huge hand on her chin and tilted her head up. He bent to meet her mouth. His kiss was warm, then crushing, and his tongue probed her mouth in the French way. His other hand crept to her narrow waist, then slid up her breasts to the rim of her lacy neckline. He pulled her to him across the polished wood and slipped his hand down into the dress between her full breasts. Her eyes flew open in surprise at his bold tactic here in the public room of the palace. But it was dark and the windowseat gave some privacy. He was king and he had sent them all away—George, her husband, Staff, all.
His breathing was loud and deep. “Mary, I have waited so long, willing myself not to touch you, waiting as I had promised I would. But the king is only a man in love, and he can wait no longer. You would not have me wait longer, would you, my love?”
“I was so happy when you walked into the room tonight, Your Grace. I have been so thrilled this last week at your court. I thank you for, well, for all this.”
I have told the truth, she thought. Can I tell him I do not love him?
“All for me, sweetheart, the happiness, the thrill? It is not because of your new husband?”
“No, Sire. Will is kind and considerate, but the happiness is you.”
He crushed her against his iron chest so tightly she could hardly breathe. His hands ran wildly over her back, down her hips, and one palm cupped her derriere, smashing the voluminous skirts. “Mary, you will yield to me! Tomorrow will be the beginning of our love in truth. Tonight we must join the others and smile and dance and plan for the revels on the morrow. Then, tomorrow night after the masque, after the welcome home banquet, you will stay the night with me and Will goes home alone! I shall send him on a mission if I must. I have waited too long. ’Sblood, I will take you before the whole audience at the feast or on the jousting green if I am held off longer!”
Mary smiled tremulously at him as he released her. She carefully straightened her mussed clothes and hair from his fervent attack. They rose reluctantly to join the others.
“Did you say, Sire, the masque is for a welcome home feast?”
“Yes, my luscious Maid Marian. The queen returns from Beaulieu tomorrow morn. It will be her first night back at court for a fortnight, so it is all in her honor.”
A tiny hurt bit at Mary’s insides somewhere. On the good queen’s first night at home she would dance for her and bow to her and then become her dear husband’s mistress in deed as well as name.
Mary could scarcely believe the swiftness with which the masque fell together. By the next evening everything had been assembled as if through sorcery. The framework of a great machine, which had obviously been employed for other revels, was garlanded with saplings and foliage to create a rich green forest setting which could be rolled out into the middle of the room. Another vast contraption on wheels was built from scaffolding and covered with canvas painted like stone to serve as the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham’s castle where the maidens would be imprisoned to be rescued by the brave band of Merry Men from Sherwood. Costumes for the men and ladies appeared as if from nowhere. Intricate initials of H and C were embroidered on the bodices, entwined with roses in honor of the queen. In the morning the revelers rehearsed their parts and the leads practiced their few lines of speaking with musical accompaniment. The queen’s retinue had arrived in the hour before noon. All was magically ready.
Everyone attended the banquet dressed in standard court dress, for they would don their costumes at a signal from the king. Once again, Mary was too excited to eat, although she kept dabbing at the marvelous porpoise in mustard sauce. His Grace and Queen Catherine sat on the dais with the Duke of Suffolk alone, for the Duchess was not yet recovered from the birth of her cherished new daughter.
“How wonderful to marry for love and still be loved,” Mary said aloud, instantly wishing she had not.
Will Carey had been brooding under a raincloud all day and she assumed it was because he had guessed or been told that tonight he must begin to pay for the bounty which had fallen into his eager hands. “The princess was damned fortunate the king loved Charles Brandon and that the crafty Lord Chancellor Wolsey made him realize that there were other ploys to keep England attached to both Francois and Charles of Spain. The king’s whims toward women blow whichever way and when. That goes for his once beloved sister and poor Bessie Blount who bore his son hidden at a priory, and has been packed away in a swiftly-arranged marriage ever since. You would do best to remember that, wife.”