It was a beautiful summer afternoon, the sunshine seemingly casting a golden hue over everything, as if bathing earth in light itself. The trees were perfectly green and dark; the abundance of leaves providing a cool, breezy, comforting shade to those who desired to take a walk. Truly, it was a rare wonderful afternoon, considering the current season.
But the rare beauty of the day mattered little to the three children, who were running about wildly in the wheat field; their small bodies no match for the superior height of the plants. Laughter and excited shrieking practically echoed throughout the field. Take one look at their ruddy faces, their sparkling eyes, their bright heartfelt smiles, and one could instantly tell that they were having the time of their lives. From a distance, two figures silently observed the children.
"I received a formal request for marriage today for Anne." The taller of the two figures, a dark, robust, very meticulous-looking man, stated. "From the Carey family."
"Why, that's wonderful, darling." The pretty, stately young woman beside him seemed pleased. Though she was as simply-dressed as her husband, her manner and the way she carried herself was that of a woman of refinement and tastes, suggesting that she might actually be of noble birth.
"But I turned it down. And offered them Mary instead." The man and his wife began to head towards the children. "Anne's too good for William Carey. She can do much better than a merchant's son." His dark eyes took in the three children bumping around together. He unconsciously grinned as he contemplated how fine his offspring truly, undeniably was; though they had been raised in the country since infancy, they had a look of nobility that hinted that they were meant for great things, and each had a special charm and beauty of its own, giving them each a shine – a shine that he, as their father, was firmly determined to help them develop and nurture to full glowing radiance. George, the oldest child, was a young lad of thirteen, and showed great promise to be a fine specimen of a man when he grew to adulthood. He had dark black hair, a brilliant smile, wonderful wide eyes that gave off glints of sapphire, rosy cheeks, and a lean sturdy frame. Anne was a little girl of nine, but already a beauty to behold – knee-length hair as dark and glossy as a racehorse's mane, a smooth ivory skin, very full red lips, and a perfectly titled nose. But the most striking feature was her eyes, large dark-green eyes that simply sparkled with wit and charm, for Anne was the wittiest, cleverest of the three children, and hence her father's favourite. Mary, the baby of the family, was eight, and a younger, more delicate version of her sister Anne. A pretty little girl with long shining golden hair and striking silver eyes, she was as kind and sweet as Anne was witty and charming. The thing that distinguished her from her brother and sister was her skin; though all three children had fair smooth skin, hers was the whitest of all – as white as snow, with the sheen of a pearl and the smoothness of Chinese porcelain. Her lovely white skin had always been a source of envy and wonder in the family, but she was loved nonetheless.
"What? And Mary can't?" His wife protested gently. "I think you underestimate her."
The man shook his head. "Not true. I think she is the kinder, gentler of the two. Quite possibly the fairer. But to get ahead in this world, you need more than fair looks and a kind heart."
The parents watched as their three children fell down together, disappearing into the tall wheat, and could not help but chuckle at this.
"Well done, Anne. Well done, children." Their father praised them heartily, as they leaped to their feet and began to run as fast as they could for him.
Their mother, Lady Elizabeth Boleyn, watched the exquisite display before her – her three darling children and her beloved husband together – and felt her heart flutter. Treasuring such small moments of perfect, utter bliss was something she had always done, for she knew well that they were short-lived: one day, her children will be grown, get married, start families of their own, and they wouldn't need their parents anymore.
That thought sent a chill down her spine, she didn't like the idea of being separated from them, let alone not needed. But then…c'est la vie.
"Come children, it is time for dinner." She clapped her hands, breaking their bond with their father.
"Yes come." Their father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, stood tall and strong as each of his hands took hold of George's and Anne's smaller ones. Mary's was held by her mother. Truth be known, Mary was not as simple-minded as her father believed her to be; that gentle, sweet nature and naive cherubic expression actually hid fine powers of observation and deduction. Even at that tender, vulnerable age, she already knew that her older siblings, George and Anne, were her father's favourites, mainly because George was a boy and hence the heir to the Boleyn family, and because Anne was marvelously gifted, an enchanting little nymph with an uncommon beauty and wit. Then again, she did not really mind. Favourite or not, she knew that her family loved her dearly, especially her beloved oldest brother and dearest second-oldest sister, both of whom told her everything, and never kept anything from her. She loved them both more than anyone, anything else in the whole wide world. She could not imagine a world without George and Anne, not when they practically made up her entire world. If she could have a wish, it would definitely be that she and her sister and her brother could always be together, always happy together.
However, like all the other wishes that had been made, whether this particular one would be fulfilled or not was not for Mary to decide.
It was for fate and destiny to decide.
From the moment Sir Thomas Boleyn offered Mary's hand in marriage to the Carey family, he had already set off a series of events that would change the lives of his three children forever.
Ten years later…
Church bells rang loudly throughout the village. The midsummer blue sky was perfect and cloudless. Cool, refreshing winds seemed omnipresent. The temperature was right, just right for a harmonious and blessed marriage. Today was the day that Mary Boleyn and William Carey were to be wed.
In Mary's bedchamber, the world had gone mad. What a hustle and bustle there was! Maids and seamstresses practically fussed endlessly over the bride, making final adjustments to her dress. Mary's gaze drifted off to the glided mirror that hung to the wall. At the sight of her reflection, she let out a small gasp. She looked so…so…so…different! It seemed only yesterday that she was a little girl, a little child who delighted in the simplest things, with knots in her golden hair, smudges of dirt on her otherwise rosy cheeks, telltale traces of tree climbing and stream jumping on the hem of her skirts, and a constant earthly meadow scent on her skin.
But the mirror made her realize and finally acknowledge what she had been persistently blind to for years. The vision of a breathtakingly beautiful eighteen-year-old girl, dressed in cream-yellow silk and lace, with her lustrous sweet-smelling hair brushed out golden over her shoulders signifying her virgin state, her ivory-smooth skin glowing with the sheen of a pearl, her striking silver eyes wide and innocent, stared back at her.
She felt like a Princess.
Mary could not wait to show this new and improved version of herself to her sister and brother, both of whom she knew were waiting impatiently for her downstairs. They would definitely be so pleasantly surprised to see her looking so lovely and so grown-up.
"You look exquisite." George's voice was barely above a whisper, as he gave Anne the once-over.
Time and puberty had not only favoured Mary; they had favoured her brother and sister as well.
The twenty-three-year-old George was now a powerful man with a lean, muscular body, covered with a spotless, unblemished skin as fair and smooth as a piece of polished ivory. A strong jaw line that would make any man green with envy, silky ebony-black hair, dark blue eyes smiling behind thick dark eyelashes that should have made him look feminine but only emphasised his masculinity, and a rare smile that could give any woman tingles all over her body. It was no exaggeration to say that he was the living embodiment of dark-haired, dark-eyed, well-built and handsome. The nineteen-year-old Anne was a tall noble creature with an exquisitely beautiful face and the most extraordinary eyes. They were eyes of the most delightful shade of dark green, framed by long chestnut eyelashes, wide and large. They were eyes that saw everything. The brilliant shine in them seemed to suggest how sharpened Anne's wits had become as she bloomed into womanhood. Her strikingly dark and glossy hair was brushed with hundreds of strokes everyday, so that it flowed around her sweetly-rounded shoulders and past her slim waist, all the way down to her knees like a river. Her nose was the same perfect tilt as it had been in her childhood, and her lush lips – fuller than ever and as red as a perfect, priceless ruby – curled into the most enigmatic, yet enchanting smile imaginable. Her body was undeniably more voluptuous, more feminine than that of her younger sister, and though her skin lacked the sheen of Mary's skin, it was still as smooth and white as a dove's breast. Everyone agreed that Anne was the complete opposite of Mary; she was as dark and exquisite as Mary was light and ethereal.
"Not too exquisite, I hope." She remarked to George, as they headed up the stairs for Mary's bedchamber. "Today's our baby sister's day. No woman should outshine her, especially if she is her sister." Both could not help but laugh at that.
They knocked gently at the heavy, wooden door. "Mary? Mary may we come in?"
"Yes."
The first thing George did upon entering was to let out a low whistle. Anne smiled that mischievous, knowing smile that her trademark. "My, doesn't she look stunning." She examined her younger sister from head to toe, taking in the sparkling silver eyes, the bright radiant smile, and the lavishly brushed golden hair. Their mother had made a wise choice in selecting the yellow dress – it brought out the gold of her sister's beautiful hair and set off her small breasts and slim waist to perfection. "Just look at her. Younger than me, prettier than me, married before me. I am eclipsed. I am just the other Boleyn girl." She concluded wistfully, handing Mary a bouquet of hand-picked flowers.
"Hardly. Don't be so glum, sister, you will marry soon enough." Mary said gently, as she hugged Anne tightly. Yes. Anne will marry soon enough. I am sure of it. And she will definitely make a much, much better match than I have. Maybe a count…or a duke…or even an earl. She is the apple of Father's eye, after all, and besides, she is so beautiful, so full of energy, so full of zest for life, so…so…unlike me. She enchants as naturally as she breathes. She attracts men like flies to honey. She has a wit, an intellect that I will never have. Yes, no doubt about it, she will make a match a million times better than mine. Oh well, good luck, Anne…
"So…is this it?" George asked softly. His expression was suddenly thoughtful and sad. "Is this the end of the Holy Trinity?"
Mary shook her head as she smiled at him. "No, George, never. I'll just be married, that's all. Apart from that, it won't change a thing, I promise. Come what may, you, George, are still my brother. And you, Anne, are still my sister. You two have always been my dearest blood-kin and you two always shall be. Forever and ever."
Mary's gentle assurance and her silver eyes sparkling with sincere warmth and honesty clearly took her brother and sister by surprise. Their expressions and smiles changed: softened and warmed, in a moment's time. "Thank you, Mary." Anne said, touched.
George gently wrapped his arms around his two younger sisters. Their hug was a tight heartwarming one. Yes, perhaps Mary had been right. Her marriage will not change much. Come what may, they will forever be siblings. The closest and most intimate of siblings.
While this day promised to be a most happy day for Mary Boleyn, it most certainly was not for Katherine of Aragon, the Queen of England and wife to King Henry the Eighth.
The pale, waned queen lay in her bed, sheets crunched up under her fingertips as beads of perspiration trickled down her brow. The lines on her face and her weariness of her eyes made her seem far older than her thirty-seven years.
"Was it a boy?" Queen Katherine questioned weakly, as the royal physician examined the stillborn child. He merely nodded to the nurse and the queen at the same time.
"I am so sorry, Your Majesty." He said softly.
Queen Katherine had to shut her eyes to prevent any tears from flowing. It was not the first time that this happened, but experience had reduced neither the pain nor the heartbreak. In fact, it only intensified them. She knew that it was her final chance to conceive a son, an heir for her husband and for England, and she had thought it would be a success: her pregnancy had increased her appetite significantly, made her rosy-cheeked, her face plumper and rounder, her eyes brighter, brought a new colour to her skin, and many were the times where she felt the child quicken in her womb. But what could she do now? She had failed in her duty as Queen of England. She had failed in her duty to her husband, whom she knew longed for her to give him a son more than anything else in the world. He would surely be devastated, not to mention extremely disappointed. And she knew herself to be too old to conceive now. Oh, what could she do now?
"No brother for you, to make this country safe. I am sorry. I am so sorry." Queen Katherine whispered at length to her daughter, Princess Mary, who stood by the great bed. This ten-year-old girl was a perfect doll, with the reddish-gold hair of her father, and a grave pale-skinned face that was dominated by the dark solemn Spanish eyes of her mother. As the only surviving child of King Henry and Queen Katherine, she was the only legitimate heir to the throne of England, but everyone knew that her father will never allow her to sit on the throne, no matter what – who has heard of a woman ruling a kingdom? A son was a must for him.
Princess Mary shook her head and put on a brave comforting smile as she gently wiped her mother's sweaty wet brow and pushed the strands of hair away. She knew that her mother had done her very best. She knew that it was simply not meant to be. God must have had a good reason for denying her parents the son they so desperately wanted, and they had to accept that, though Mary herself had often longed to have a little brother or even a little sister whom she could love and care for and play with, especially since she was often lonely, extremely lonely – she lived alone with no company but servants and her confessor, and was permitted to come to court only when her father allowed it, or summoned her. Hence, she only saw her parents occasionally, and did not get to spend as much time with them as she would have liked. It was little wonder that loneliness seemed to be her daily companion. But she had become accustomed to it; she was a Princess of the Blood, and the future ruler of one of the greatest countries in Europe, and hence she knew that she was not entitled to the simple luxuries or pleasures that other girls at her age can enjoy.
Queen Katherine clutched her daughter's hand and placed it on her chest, an expression of gratitude and motherly love spread on her countenance. Then, with all the pride and dignity she could muster, she turned towards the physician. "Tell His Majesty." She would not allow this to bring her down anymore than it had before.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Trying not to look at the queen's ravaged face; the physician bowed and made a beeline to the chamber where King Henry held his councils, knowing that he had been waiting for the news of his wife's delivery.
"Your Majesty?" The physician stuttered lightly. King Henry did not turn to him – so engrossed was he with work that he had not heard him. "Your Majesty." He shouted a little louder. This time, King Henry the Eighth turned to him. His beautiful blue eyes pierced into the physician's dull, grieved ones and instantly he knew. His wife had given birth to another stillborn.
"I am so sorry, Your Majesty." The physician whispered, as he observed the young man's handsome face turn into a picture of bitterness and disappointment. With a supreme effort, King Henry the Eighth forced his attention back to his paperwork.
The wedding went off splendidly. Mary Boleyn, now Mary Carey, was the vision of loveliness singular to all happy brides. Though it was the first time she had met her bridegroom, and she knew him to be seventeen years her senior, she was delighted with him. William Carey was a very proper man of thirty-five, tall and muscular, with intensely dark eyes, a straight fine nose, full lips that revealed snow-white teeth when he smiled, and sharp chiseled cheekbones. His manners were easy and dignified, completely unpretentious. Mary was certain that they were going to be very happy together.
People, consisting mainly of well-wishers, intimate family friends and other guests, danced to the gay music played by the skilful, experienced musicians that had been specially hired for this festive occasion. The bride and bridegroom, hands clasped, strolled along, watching the celebrations in silent contentment.
"Are you happy?" William asked out of the blue, locking eyes with his beautiful new wife.
Mary nodded. There was a heartfelt smile on her lips. "Yes. Very happy, thank you."
William studied Mary carefully, eyes taking in the extraordinary silver eyes, the graceful, slender yet voluptuous body, and the river of golden hair that created a halo around an innocently beautiful, serene face. Such beauty…such grace…such charm…oh…she is too good for me…"You don't secretly wish you'd married someone grander, someone richer? With a title? Like…a count or a duke?" He questioned. There was a hint of sarcasm and self-mockery hidden in his voice. If only he was a grander man. If only he was a richer man. If only he was of noble or royal birth…
Mary shook her head. "No." She replied earnestly, honestly, making her new husband stare at her in disbelief and delight. "I care for neither wealth nor position. What I want is a husband who loves me, and who thinks it first thing every morning, and last thing at night."
With a warm relieved smile, William kissed Mary on the forehead. "Then you have come to the right man." He said gently. "Come, let us have some dancing."
The sunniest day, however, will still have dark clouds, as life is not perfect and never will be. In this case, the dark clouds of this sunshine wedding came in the form of a wedding guest: Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, and one of the most powerful noblemen of the royal court. He was the older brother of Lady Elizabeth Boleyn and hence uncle to George, Anne and Mary. But none of them were fond of him at all, and the respect they always treated him with was partly for their mother's sake, and partly because their fear of him was stronger than their contempt of him. No one can actually blame them for despising their own uncle so much; for Thomas Howard was an utterly selfish man with a heart as cold as ice. He was as vain and greedy as a peacock. He cared for no one but himself. He had an ambition greater than anyone had ever seen in a man, to the extent that even family members are but pawns in the game of power to him. Of course George, Anne, and Mary feared and despised him. Even Lady Elizabeth herself shunned her brother's company and only put up with him for courtesy's sake, for she was wise to his greedy, ambitious nature and knew that he was not a man to be trusted.
If only she could not invite him to her daughter's wedding, for the sight of him only aroused distaste and fear in her, and she knew that he would make a bad guest, with those sharp piercing eyes and that diabolical unnerving smile, but she knew that she had to, for he was after all, still family. And apart from his appearance, his behaviour was relatively faultless.
"Brother." Lady Elizabeth greeted as politely as she could, forcing a smile on her face as the Duke of Norfolk gently kissed her hand.
"Sister." The full force of his cold insincere smile sent chills down her spine. "I bring you good tidings. I think I have managed to persuade the king to come and stay with you on progress. A weekend's hunting in late summer."
"Why, that's wonderful!" Sir Thomas exclaimed. He had not been expecting this, not for a million years. It was like a dream come true. "Thank you. Thank you so much…did you hear that, Elizabeth?"
"Yes." Lady Elizabeth ground out through gritted teeth. She hated the idea, knowing that it was undoubtedly part of her brother's schemes to further his political ambitions. Oh, what the devil does he want now?! He already has what most men will kill for: power, wealth, and position. What more could he possibly want?! Will he never know contentment?!
A beaming, thoughtful smile spread over Sir Thomas' face as an idea struck him. "Finally we can present George, and with luck, get him a position at court."
Lady Elizabeth's insides did a horrible somersault. Was her husband out of his mind? Had not she emphasised relentlessly, endlessly for years that the court, for all its splendour, its luxury, and its pleasures, was in reality the darkest and most sinister place in the world, where even the slightest mistake made could mean the executioner's axe? What was he thinking, throwing their son, his own flesh-and-blood, the boy whom he claimed was his darling, his pride, and his joy, to that treacherous, infinitely dangerous place, condemning him to live a sinful, wasted life of idleness and pleasure-seeking? Thoroughly nauseated by her loathsome husband and despicable brother, Lady Elizabeth hurriedly excused herself and left the room, not wanting to be a part of this terrible, degrading conversation.
The Duke of Norfolk plunged straight into the topic. "These are difficult times. I have it on good authority that Queen Katherine no longer bleeds, but the matter of a male heir is still not resolved. It cannot be long before the king is forced to look outside marriage."
Sir Thomas stared him, clearly stunned. "What? And make a bastard King of England?"
The Duke of Norfolk nodded. "A legitimized bastard. What choice does he have? I have given it thought, and wondered which Howard girl I should place under his nose. Imagine the influence that this would give us. To be blood family to the next King of England. Equally, can you imagine if another family was to achieve the same?" He was referring, of course, to the Seymour family, or more specifically, Sir John Seymour, who was his chief rival in the never-ending quest for power and advancement.
The quick-witted Sir Thomas instantly came up with something. "What about Anne? I realise that as a Boleyn, she is not officially a Howard, but as your sister's daughter, surely she is better than none."
The expression on the Duke of Norfolk's face was one of astonishment and wonder. "But she is your favourite child, Thomas. Wouldn't you prefer her to have a nice, uncomplicated, respectable marriage? Like Mary?"
"If Anne were an uncomplicated, respectable girl like Mary, then I'd say "yes". But she is not." Sir Thomas said grimly. "She's anything but that."
Anne had had everything ready: a bath of hot water, a rich soap that smelt of flowers, a fine flask of definitely expensive rose oil, fleecy towels, a flowing nightgown of virginal-white silk and satin, and an embroidered pink cloak. Bathing was not popular in England; the English thought it perfectly adequate to bathe only occasionally, and the poor will bathe only once a year. But the Boleyn family knew better, and acted differently, very differently. An act of kindness in the past had led them to learn the importance of washing and of cleanliness. Sir Thomas, Lady Elizabeth, George, Anne and Mary all washed everyday, before and after every meal, and even bathed three times a day: when they woke up in the morning, after the hottest hour of the afternoon, and before going to sleep at night. They changed their undergarments regularly as well. Even their servants – each and every one of them – were required to wash and bathe daily, or they would be dismissed. Also, it was made an unbreakable rule in the kitchen that the fruits, meats and vegetables had to be washed thoroughly before they could be cut or roasted or stewed or served.
While such habits and rules were deemed strange by the common folk and often brought up as a topic of ridicule, they gave the Boleyn household constant, excellent health and strength and spirits and freshness. Indeed, sickness seemed to be a thing unknown to the Boleyn family and their servants.
Anne herself lovingly supervised the washing of Mary's long glowing-white limbs, the manicuring of her toes, her filing of her fingernails, the brushing of her teeth, and finally the three-rinse washing of her golden hair. Years of experience had taught her to be vigorous yet gentle, and Mary felt extremely comfortable as her older sister scrubbed and lathered her all over with the soap, pouring ewer after ewer of hot water over her, to keep the temperature of the bath hot and of course to wash her clean.
Mary could not but give a dreamy sigh as Anne helped her from the bath and patted her all over with the fleecy towels. She had always loved bathing, as it not only washed away all the filth and dirt from her face and body; it also gave her fresh energy and vigor. Anne then took Mary's hair, squeezed out all the water, and proceeded to brush it until it gleamed and shone, a shining river of pure gold. Then she helped Mary into the nightgown and made her sit on the bed as she anointed her with the rose oil.
"Are you frightened, Mary?" Anne suddenly asked, as she stared at her younger sister directly in the face.
Mary bit her lip. "A little." She honestly did not know what to expect. She had always been such a sheltered and innocent child. She knew absolutely nothing of sexual intercourse and of the pleasures of the flesh – courtesy of her fiercely protective and reserved mother, whose only advice to her had been "You will be fine, Mary. It might be painful at first, but it will cease to be later on. Don't let any old wives' tales or lascivious gossips amongst the maids frighten you out of your wits."
Mother has a good point. Had not she experienced this before? Had not she survived her wedding night and borne me, Anne and George? Those old wives and wanton maids merely exaggerate the situation because they have nothing else to do than to frighten people of their wits and laugh at their ignorance. Yes, I will be fine…
Anne gently caressed Mary's face, noting how different her younger sister truly was from her for the umpteenth time. "I should be able to tell you what it is going to be like tonight, advice that I should give you, alas I cannot." Clever as Anne was, she was as ignorant as Mary as to what would befall a bride on her wedding night – their mother had guarded their ears and minds well, too well it would seem. "I fear I have failed you as an older sister." A sharp stab of self-disappointment pierced her heart. It was the very first time that she had not been able to give any good advice or steady comfort to the little sister who always looked up to her and counted to her. And it hurt.
Mary smiled her beautiful smile of warmth and tenderness as she shook her head. "I could not have asked for a better sister. You are my dearest friend, my most trusted confidant, and my other-self, Anne, now, always, and forever."
"So are you, Mary. So are you." Anne said quietly, putting on a brave smile as she struggled to stem the ever-ready tears.
The two sisters hugged.
Anne escorted Mary down the long dark halls where they paused for a moment at the door that led into a new bedchamber – Mary's and William's bedchamber. The thought of losing her virginity and innocence forever sent chills down Mary's spine. Were it not for the comforting presence of Anne beside her, and her mother's reasonable, logical words of wisdom ringing in her ears, Mary fancied she would run away.
"It is going to be all right, Mary." Anne assured her, though there was a strange aching in her heart at the thought that it would be the very last time she could look upon her little sister as a virgin, a free woman, a girl who delighted in nature and often did things that were considered inappropriate for a lady of good breeding. After tonight…her dear little Mary would truly become a woman, a wife, a man's property and possession, and start a new chapter of her life…a chapter that may or may not include her and their brother George…Stop it! Anne! Stop it! What are you thinking?! Where have your wits and your reason fled?! Come what may, Mary will forever be your sister, your dearest, your most beloved little sister. If death itself cannot change that, how could marriage? Get a grip!
"Tell me everything in the morning. And don't you dare spare any details." Anne whispered into Mary's ear with her charming Boleyn smile. Mary nodded. "I promise." She had never kept anything from Anne before and never will. "Good night, Anne."
"Good night, Mary." Anne said. It was only after the door had closed did she say, "Good night, my sister. My love."
Her husband, William Carey, had been waiting for her, with an unreadable expression that both frightened and excited her.
He was holding a silver bowl, and judging from the fragrance that wafted from it, Mary knew that it was filled with rose petals. Abruptly, he set the bowl on the table, and hastily started to tuck out his shirt. It was then that she saw that he was wearing only his shirt and trousers, and he was barefooted.
With a swoop, he lifted her up and carried her to the bed. Mary did not know exactly what was going on, though – the seductive yet overwhelming scent of roses that seemed to bath the entire room and flooded her nostrils had made her weak-kneed and drowsy. Then William bent her head back and kissed her gently on her mouth, jolting the eighteen-year-old girl back to reality and causing those striking silver eyes to widen. "You have never felt anything like this before, have you, my Mary, my wife?" William chuckled. "How glad I am to be the first to make you feel like this." He kissed her harder, pushing his tongue against her teeth and forcing them apart. Mary felt a deep warmth flooding through her, a beautiful lassitude that she cannot describe. Her husband's hands were trembling down her back, playing at her waist, and moving daringly over her hips. His touch through the silken nightgown and the thin lawn of her chemise was both shocking and glorious. She responded to the kiss, and let William's tongue move insistently, sensuously in her mouth. William definitely is a man of experience. A tiny part of her mind that had, by some miracle, managed to retain its reason and logic despite the swell of great waves of feelings, concluded. Yes…he is a man who knows exactly what he was doing. I am not the first woman that he has bedded, that's for sure. Oh well…it does not really matter now.
When they finally broke apart for air, Mary could not help but shiver at how brooding and intense her husband's dark eyes had become. That kiss seemed to have unleashed some sort of dormant beast inside him. A beast that is going to devour me completely as if I were a large piece of juicy, succulent meat, Mary thought with a twinge of alarm. I did not expect to go from bride to food on my wedding night…
"There is no need to be afraid, Mary. I will be gentle. As gentle as possible. I promise. But first…there is a nuisance that must be rid of at once." He took off his shirt and trousers. Mary gasped. She had never seen any man naked before, not her older brother, not her father, not any man. She could not but let her silver eyes wander all over his naked body, taking in the broad chest, toned abdomen, muscular arms, powerful legs, and…genitalia seemed too clinical a word for what he displayed. She had hardly recovered her senses before quick yet gentle fingers took off her cloak and unbuttoned her silken nightgown. In the blink of an eye, her cloak, nightgown, and chemise were thrown to a random corner of the bedchamber, and William started to kiss and fondle her small, full breasts vigorously. He slid his hands all over her naked body, venturing daring caresses and teasing strokes here and there. The sensations his fingers aroused in Mary were glorious, but suddenly, they ceased, leaving her desperate for more. She opened her eyes…and realised that William was going to take her, all of her – he had rested his forehead on hers and had positioned himself between her. "Mary, it will be a little painful, but I promise it will go away. I will gentle. As gentle as possible. Just trust me and relax." He smiled, taking her lips in his.
Hoping and praying that it will not hurt her too much, William pushed in. The shock and pain of something being shoved in overwhelmed Mary's body and she gave a little cry. He pulled back from the kiss, allowing her to whimper softly. He kissed her forehead again not moving. He didn't want to move until he was sure that she was fine.
"Are you all right, Mary? Do you want me to stop?" He asked lovingly, wiping the tears from her face. Though she still felt a little pain, Mary shook her head and smiled at him, then pulled his face down to hers for a potent, passionate, fiery kiss. William felt his need start to increase immensely as she continued to kiss him. He had never been kissed like that before, and he had most certainly not expected this pure and innocent girl who was now his wife to be capable of such passion, such fire. So innocent, but in bed, a furnace…what they said about do not judge a book by its cover is true. By God, I have truly been blessed. My wife, my beloved, my dear little Mary is not only beautiful and innocent and trusting, she is sensuality itself…
"William, my husband, my love…" She whispered into his ear. He knew that she was telling him to start, and he wanted to. But after he started to move it would mean that there would be an ending, and he would have to let her go again in the morning. He hated the thought of letting her go. He rested his forearms on her sides, supporting his own weight. Mary let go of his back and held on to the white sheets. She smiled as he pulled into another kiss. He moved, as slowly as possible, to make sure that whatever pain left behind would disappear. Mary felt slightly uncomfortable, but as he started to speed up, the pain flew off of her and only the incredible sensation of love making was there.
He nuzzled her neck as she clutched to the sheets feeling her body building up for something amazing. He was moaning softly muffling his passion with hers. He sped up a bit more, still going romantically. When he felt that the time was close, he looked down to her staring back up at him. God, she was so beautiful. Her silver eyes were shining with love, desire and passion. Her skin was so fair but pink wherever his hands touched her. Golden hair surrounded her like a halo against the pillow her head was lying on. She was still clutching the sheets and panting as he moved. He was equally flushed, his hair was a mess and his body sending him signals of his not too distant completion. None of them moved. Their eyes were fixed firmly on each other.
Suddenly, in a gasp, they were there…
With her well-trained grace, Anne glided into the room where her father and uncle awaited her patiently. There was a polite smile on her face, but apprehension and fear bubbled at the pit of her stomach. If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that trouble was at hand. Yes, there was no doubt about it – her loathsome, inhumane uncle was nothing more than a harbinger of chaos and disorder and extreme unhappiness. Anne had concluded that a long time ago.
But she still gave him the respect she owed to him as his niece, even if she did so bitterly, unwillingly, reluctantly, grudgingly.
"Father. Uncle." She swept them two immaculate curtsies, trying not to look at her uncle straight in the eye – those sharp piercing emotionless eyes of his had always sent chills down her spine since the days of her own earliest childhood. "You two wished to see me?"
Sir Thomas approached her, a warm smile on his face. "Yes." He took her dainty-white hand in his. "An opportunity has arisen; an opportunity that could grant you and our family incalculable wealth and high positions if you grasp it well and succeed in it."
Anne stared, question marks shooting out of her exquisite dark-green eyes.
"What your father means, Anne, is that there is a strain on the king's marriage. In times such as this, a man would tend to find comfort elsewhere." The Duke of Norfolk stated, examining his niece with his sharp icy eyes, taking in the voluptuous figure that was set off to perfection by her gown, the dark, glossy hair, the sturdy, supple neck, the alluring, enigmatic smile, and her stunning dark-green eyes. He inwardly smiled a victorious smile. Yes. This niece had potential…with her exquisitely beautiful face and perfectly voluptuous figure; she could easily win the heart of any man. The king, who was infamous for his susceptibility to beautiful women, would surely succumb to her charms if everyone played their cards right.
"Due to your uncle's close friendship with the king, we are privy to this knowledge that is known only to a few. But it won't be long before every other nobleman starting parading his daughter under his nose –"
The Duke of Norfolk cut him off. "Before we watch others benefit we would soon rather –"
It was Anne's turn to cut her uncle off. "What?! And have him bed me instead?!" She demanded, her dark-green eyes flashing with unmistakable anger and disgust. How could they? How dare they? If they think that she would consent to be a whore who would be discarded sooner or later just for the sake of wealth and position, they can think again.
The Duke of Norfolk nodded, unmoved by Anne's rage. He was a man who thrived only on greed and ambition. He possessed no sense of shame at all. "Yes, Anne. That's it exactly."
Sir Thomas had the good grace to at least look abashed. "Think of the favour he will bestow upon us, upon you, if you become his favourite, Anne."
The Duke of Norfolk nodded again. "Becoming the mistress of the king will not diminish you in anyway, Anne. You could become a fabulously rich lady of the highest rank, marked by the envy and admiration of the whole court."
Anne threw him a glare of such intensity that he raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "There is no woman that can hold a king forever, Uncle, you know it! By God, everyone knows that!!! After he's done with me, my reputation and prospects would be ruined forever!!! Would you condemn me, your own niece, to sacrifice my maidenhood to a faithless man and then spend the rest of my life as a shamed, unwanted spinster just to satisfy your greed, your ambition, your insatiable hunger for power?! You will be the death of us all, Uncle!"
The Duke of Norfolk's face contorted. Then he forced his lips into an awful smile. "You are exaggerating the situation, Anne." He chimed calmly. "Rest assured that when the time comes to finding you a husband, you shall have no want of suitors. By then, you will not only be young, clever and beautiful, Anne. You will also be rich, grand and noble. You could have a duke or even an earl. This I promise. This I assure you." He folded his hands across his lap, watching his niece fall silent.
"So," He rose to his feet, though his eyes were still on her. "Do you accept the challenge?"
A gamut of emotions flashed across Anne's beautiful face. Then…her lush full ruby-red lips curled into a devilish smile…