Mary Boleyn had gone to man's bed as a virgin untouched twice before, but neither time compared to the quiet serenity of tonight's consummation.
The first time had been her wedding, a court wedding no less. She had known William Carey for two months before they were wed, but collectively, she had spent only an hour in his company. And suddenly, after kneeling side by side as strangers at the church, they were being pushed into their room as lovers.
He had tried his hardest to make her comfortable. Mary slid awkwardly beneath the bed covers as her husband shot the bolt. The solid thud of the lock sounded ominous -- as if she was being locked in, rather than intruders were being locked out.
When he turned to her, she looked every bit the young virgin. Her face, barely matured beyond the awkwardness of childhood, was as white as the sheets she was swallowed beneath in their gigantic marriage bed.
Before coming to their bed, he turned his back to his child-bride and poured himself a glass of wine. He drained it in one gulp, refilled the cup, and brought it to Mary. She had situated herself in the middle of the bed, forcing him to crawl over the empty space he would soon fill in order to give her the wine. If she hadn't been so nervous, she would have laughed at his furrowed brow as he took care not to spill the drink on the clean sheets.
As she took small sips of the tart wine, her husband prepared himself for bed. She watched him as he pulled off his doublet and freed his shirtsleeves from the waistband of his hose. She had a sudden sense of how small she was. No longer hidden underneath the bulk of his everyday clothes, her stranger-husband looked so much bigger than usual.
A coldness stole over the bed when he crawled in beside her. Anxiety knotted her stomach and soured the wine in her mouth. Mary tried to swallow, but her throat was not working properly.
Her husband turned to her and took the cup from her unresisting hand. Draining the wine that remained, he set it on the stand beside their bed. Suddenly, Mary realized that it was just the two of them alone in this big bed with nothing else to distract them.
"You are very young," he said to her when he turned back to her. He held himself very far away from Mary, making sure that there was no contact between them, and she suddenly wished that he would touch her, just a quick brush of his skin against her own. Maybe then this whole night would seem less intimidating, and her new husband less cold. "Very young, so I will try to be gentle."
And after a few minutes of uncertain fumbling, Mary Boleyn's first consummation was over.
The second time that Mary Boleyn went as a virgin untouched was to King Henry. Of course, it was all illusion, orchestrated by her wily uncle. Although she bedded with her sister Anne as a single lady, everyone at court knew that the lovely Mary Boleyn was a wife, wedded and bedded. Henry himself had joined the parade that brought Mary's husband to her on her wedding night.
But all of that was forgotten. It was as if Mary's marriage to William Carey had never been. And although there was still a certain pageantry to becoming a mistress, it was not quite so public as a court wedding, though all the court knew anyway.
King Henry, although years older and more experienced than the young William Carey, seduced Mary in quite the same way. A glass of wine, a few words, a quick caress and then it was over. The only difference that time was that Mary was already half-seduced by her desire for the king.
And tonight was completely different from the first two seductions.
Neither Mary nor her husband were fooling themselves into thinking she was a virgin anymore. Their five-year separation stood as testament to the fact that Mary was no longer untainted. But neither of them cared much about that anymore anyway.
It had been a month since William came to claim Mary from Hever, and he had been affronted by her less-than-warm welcome. However, instead of ranting and raving or claiming his right as a husband, he had been courting Mary in the sweetest little ways. Their marriage was a mangled, mishandled one, but they were trying to rebuild it.
And part of that meant that there were no pretenses. For the first time in her life, Mary felt like she was being courted just because she was herself. She wasn't a shy, thirteen year old bride who was on the cusp of child-bearing years. She wasn't a sweet, fourteen year old mistress who was enjoying the height of her beauty. She was just Mary Boleyn. And she was beginning to realize that there was nothing wrong with that.
There was no extravagance about tonight either. It was a quiet affair between Mary and her estranged husband. Who else needed to know? For five years, her marriage had been exploited and ignored. Tonight was just going to be about the two of them.
Anne and the King were having a private dinner in Anne's chamber, leaving Mary free to be her own mistress. William knew about the engagement before Mary did, so it was a pleasant surprise to her when she found his note tucked in the stirrup of her saddle.
The King and Anne have ordered a private dinner tonight, which leaves the both of us with an evening of freedom. How about we have our own private celebration tonight instead?
Your husband,
William
Mary slipped into her husband's rooms quite unnoticed. Her grin, which met her husband's own eager countenance, was conspiratorial. There was something enthralling about going to a man's bed without the whole court knowing it. Keeping it a secret made it more exciting, as well as more intimate.
"Are you ready to become my wife in truth?" William asked, and the question would have offended Mary if she hadn't seen the teasing gleam in his eyes.
"I'm not so willing if you insist on teasing me the whole time," Mary replied with a pout that was half affected, half genuine.
"Peace, love," he answered, dropping a kiss on her pouted lips. As he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his chest, Mary could feel the familiar flame of desire course through her blood. "I don't want you angry with me," he said in a conciliatory manner, peppering her face with butterfly kisses. He kissed her eyes shut, and then added, "You aren't nearly so beautiful when you are angry with me."
Mary gave an indignant shout, and began to pull herself out of his grasp. He just responded with a laugh and tightened his hold on her waist. She began to protest, but he cut off her complaints an insistent kiss. It took a few moments for her to respond to his heady kiss, but when she finally reacted, she felt her desire rise with his.
"What a difference five years makes," he broke off enigmatically, but before Mary could ask him what he meant, he had pulled her back to him.
And so, in the humble rooms of William Carey, without any celebrations or revelries or intrigue, Mary Boleyn became a wife again.
And in the middle of the night, after her husband had fallen into a deep and contented sleep, Mary couldn't help but think that maybe she liked it better this way.
A/N- So, I have a confession to make. I am in love with William Carey. The End.
Also, did you all know that there are two different categories for The Other Boleyn Girl stories? One is called Other Boleyn Girl (sans "The", which really bothers the obsessive compulsive person in me) and The Tudor Series. So, I will be posting this on both categories. They will have different titles though, because apparently it's not kosher to have two stories with the same title.
Please review. I hope you enjoyed it, because I was supposed to write my graduation speech, but wrote this instead.