The Last Boleyn(77)

It was like some play on a trestle stage with a dark forest setting, or some terrible nightmare come to life. Anne’s slender cloaked form was blocked out by Henry’s massive back, but Mary instinctively feared for her. Something was very, very wrong. Anne had evidently refused the offer of the dagger, a foolish affront before the court, no matter what private disagreement she had with her king.

Will Carey suddenly grabbed Mary from behind and pulled her several steps behind a gnarled tree trunk. His face was deathly pale and he could not speak at first. Mary turned her head to stare at the king, disbelieving that Will could have come away so quickly. His fingers bit into the flesh of her arm.

“Damn your little bitch of a sister,” he groaned. He glared at the rough bark behind her head and pushed Mary against the tree. “She will ruin everything. She will be the end of us all.”

“Please, my lord, what is happening?”

“You fool. You cannot mean you do not know. Why did you not head her off? She has taunted and flirted and led him on these months for her own selfish ends. And now, when she reaps the obvious rewards of such sluttish behavior, she draws back, she refuses.” A strange, strangled sound came from deep in his throat and he raised his wide eyes to her shocked face at last.

“His Grace has asked Anne to bed with him?” she got out in a half-choked voice. “Here? At Eltham? With me along?” Her knees began to tremble and she felt as though she still rode the bouncing Eden careening along dark forest paths to some bloody destruction.

“He asked her first last night and told her to think about it until this morning. He just offered her the dagger of his kill, and she refused it thinking it would be as good as her compliance later in his bed. Her father will kill her! Or if he does not, perhaps I shall.”

Their conversation was no longer private as others of the hunt party streamed back to their grazing mounts whispering and shaking their heads. Over Will’s shoulder Mary noted the smirk on Jane Rochford’s face as Mark Gostwick helped her up astride her palfrey. Mary caught Jane’s sharp eye and turned away as she nearly dry-heaved with the sudden impact of reality. Many hated the Bullens; she knew that. Even Jane and maybe Will, ashen-faced and grim-lipped before her.

Then the stunned Careys saw Anne and George ride by only a stone’s throw from where they stood, as if transfixed. Anne had taken to wearing tiny bells on her saddle and bridle, and the gentle tinklings drifted foolishly in the chill air.

Will glanced around the tree and pulled his head back jerkily. “I knew it. Doomed, doomed. He stands there, livid with his fist clenched and Norris, Weston and Stafford stand around like great wooden dummies at the quintain. We had best flee. I will not face his narrow-eyed wrath again for the stupidity of a Bullen wench, any Bullen wench.” He strode off, and she wondered if he meant to leave her here alone.

She took a few steps in the direction in which she had left the untethered Eden. To her surprise, it was Staff who held her horse as she crunched through the crispy brown leaves, and Will was nowhere in sight.

“I thought you were with His Grace,” Mary said, as though nothing had happened.

“I was. Will has gone to fetch his horse. I think, Mary Bullen, the time is finally come for your graceful exit from the king’s august presence. I only hope that somehow, through Will’s tenuous position or your father’s craftiness, you are both able to come back.” He seized her waist and hoisted her to her lofty perch above him before she realized the full impact of his words.

“Leave court? Leave Eltham, you mean. Is Anne to stay? Is she in disgrace?”

Staff’s dark eyes swung swiftly in a wide arc around the clearing in which they stood, she astride, he leaning his chest against her knees as if to reassure her shaking limbs. “I am afraid I mean leave court, Mary. Has Will not told you? That foolish slip of a sister of yours has overstepped and badly. She led him a merry dance, and then hit him square in the face with a refusal. Twice. She is no innocent. She knows better than to tempt a rutting boar, and then try to ward it off with a child’s stick. And, unfortunately, you and Will—and I—must suffer, Mary. I had not thought it would happen this way. By the blessed saints, he ought to just rape her and have done with it, but he has never had his pride stuck full of lances by a lady he desired before. He is hardly a mortal man in that respect and his wrath may fall on you all out of proportion.”

“And has some lady stuck your masculine pride full of lance points?” she heard herself ask foolishly, as though they were just passing a sunny afternoon and in no danger at all.

“Some lady used to, but I think she has come to see the error of her ways with me. If it ever comes to it that I can ask her to be mine after all these years and she tries to gainsay me, I shall force her to my will. She owes me too much and in such circumstances she would never escape me.”

Mary opened her mouth to reply but the words would not come. They stared deep into each other’s eyes, unblinking, and her pulse began to beat a nervous patter which no danger from the king or even her father could ever bring on. “Staff, you must know that I...” She jerked her head up at the crashing approach of a single horse through the nearby brush.

Will emerged and walked his nervous steed close to them. “Where in the devil is your horse, Staff? You said you were coming with us.”

“Yes, Will, I ride clear to Richmond with you,” Staff said, never taking his eyes from Mary though he addressed her husband.