Chapter 37: Desperate Times(Updated)
Days and nights were as dreadful as the cold and unbearable winter in England. Not a Psalm was said, but prayers were whispered from people who all shared a common purpose-Salome's revival from a deep sleep. She was lost to world, not of this realm-in another unconsciously. Her body lie underneath the covers, as sweat covered her brows, but her eyelids never made the effort to open. She was still, but her heart still beat…faintly. She looked so vulnerable, and Charles had no clue what to do.
One night, when everyone was sleeping, a sudden piercing scream was heard. Salome's ladies became aware of their princess' cries and surrounded her.
"Try to calm her down," Samira told them. The rest gathered around her and try to soothe her, but she tossed and turned, unable to lay still. Her hysterical cries screeched louder, causing them to cover their ears.
"What's wrong with her?" One asked, cringing.
"Don't look at me!" One answered.
"Go fetch the Duke of Suffolk!" Samira commanded two of them to do what she asked. "And hurry!" The girls hastened out the door, in search for the Duke. As Salome continued to scream, the King in his robes appeared, and the rest of ladies-including Samira curtsied.
"Why is she screaming?" He demanded, but scared as well to see his beloved princess in pain.
"We do not know, your majesty. I'm sorry that she disturbed your slumber." Henry walked to Salome's side and found her form shaking intensely. He grabbed her forearms, to prevent her from moving.
"Salome…I'm here for you," he cooed, observing her. He noticed her pale face, losing the color and vitality she held whenever he saw her. And she looked as if her body was in agony, and waiting to be cast off like the rest of her ancestors. The girl he knew long ago and the woman he was observing now, held no comparison. He often thought that they were not the same people. Gathering her in his arms, her head rested on his chest, softly calmly her violent outbursts. Henry laid his head on top of hers and rocked her body slowly.
Something then occurred in Henry's mind that made him ponder for a moment. The feeling he felt holding the woman he loved in his arms. After all this time, Henry could not deny that there was still a deep part of him that desired Salome with all his heart. He would even consider giving up his country, his realm, Anne and her sincere promises of a son; to be with the only woman in the world that could make him feel as he did right now. His heart skipped a beat, as his fingers ran through her silky, black hair.
Samira stood her ground, observing the scene between her mistress and the King of England. She could not believe her eyes of what she was perceiving. There was another man that desired Salome, but hid it well enough for certain situations. Samira smiled a bit, seeing the affectionate side of this great King. Before Samira could ponder any longer, soon the Duke of Suffolk came busting in his beloved's chambers. He entered, encountering Samira at the foot of the entrance.
"Samira…where is she?" Charles asked, desperately. Samira merely pointed and Charles followed, finding his love in the King's arms. Although she was unconscious, the jealousy flared inside of him. Seeing another man's arms around her, for a moment Charles forgot who it was. And in an instant he would have charged at Henry and knocked him out of the way. But, Charles remembered that one slip of their secrecy would mean there necks. Charles took a couple of breaths, before entering the room.
Henry heard the footsteps and looked up at his best friend. He acknowledged him, as Charles bowed.
"How is she?" He asked, readjusting his night gown under his robe.
"I can't say…" Henry admitted, mystified by the situation. "Charles, what's happening to her?" Henry wondered aloud.
"I do not know you majesty. Even the physicians are unable to find a credible solution to her illness." Charles was deeply ashamed of his failure to protect and save Salome. He knew it would always be his fault.
"Did you write to her brother, the pharaoh?" Henry questioned, setting Salome back down on the bed.
"Yes, majesty. We are awaiting his reply," Charles answered, disappointed that he hadn't heard any news from her brother. "What do we do in the meantime, majesty?"
"We wait Charles. It's in God's hands," Henry whispered, running his fingers over her soft cheek. "It's in God's hands," he repeated, softly. Henry turned his face to his friend and said, "Go…and have your rest Charles. I'll make sure she is safe." Charles was unwillingly to leave her, but he knew that he could not disobey Henry's orders. Charles reluctantly bowed, before hastily leaving the room. Henry turned his eyes back to her form. He traced the outline of her forehead, to her outlined shape of her nose, to the curved ears, and down to her soft lips.
"What am I to do if you die? You cannot leave me, Salome," Henry said, in anger. He sat on her bed, caressing her soft skin. "I won't let you leave me again!" Henry cried, tears escaping down his cheek. "Please God, don't take her from me!" He whispered, gathering her in his arms. Her head limply was bent back, but Henry wrapped his arm around her neck. He held her closely to his body, feeling her soft breasts on his chest. Aroused by the fervor she was giving him, he bent his lips down to hers. He did not know if this might be the last moment they will ever have. But if it was, he wanted it to be special. One memory of his that he will never forget. He deeply loved her and nothing could change that.
"I love you, Salome…" He whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. He settled her back in her bed and watched her, before retiring back to his chambers. He loved her...more than anyone could ever know.
Charles sat beside her, watching over her as if he was her guardian angel and nothing could harm her. It pained him to see her so helpless, as his fingers traced the line of her cheek-touching the cold and pale flesh. He envisioned that he would see the rosy, scarlet color illuminate in his touch, alas nothing appeared. Salome was a corpse in his sight, nothing could stir her. Only the beating of her faint heart left hope in his heart that she was still alive, conscious…but still alive.
Night after night, her form laid still, and he watched over her. Even as the moon was perched high at its peak, it did nothing to enhance Salome's beauty. For the color and the vitality swiftly left, when she became ill. Her laughter was not heard, nor her sweet, cunning voice made a sound. Her eyes dared not open, for her to see the pain in the eyes of the people she cared most of all. Even in this time of despair, Charles did not know what to do. He was stricken with fear and remorse, and he found no comfort for it.
Some nights, he would pour himself a drink and by the end of the night, he had forgotten his purpose that very same day. He was a man, sick with love, but thirst for Salome's the most of all women he ever loved. Even Margaret, his deceased wife, could not compare to the throbbing of his beating organ, nor of his manhood, that he felt for this woman. She was a woman. A woman so determined, so different than the rest of the European world, that Charles would fight to the death in order to taste her sweet and succulent lips of unyielding passion.
On this very night, the crack of thunder aroused this very hour. Sending crackles of yellow light to spur in the pitiful darkness of murky clouds and rain. Terrified, the maidens were at the sound. But Charles was unbothered by the storm. Knowing Salome, she would have wanted to go out there and dance in the rain. There he was, sitting adjacent to the bedpost, with her hand in his, clutching in tightly next to his heart. He kissed her very fingers, one by one, as if memorizing her delicate features. He continued to place kisses up her forearm, across her neck bone, and lastly her lips. They was a soft as butter and full of his undying love. Each kiss was laid out as his mark on her, knowing she was the only one to touch his heart. Charles' eyes began to droop, knowing it was that time for him to find some rest. Just as a quiet yawn escaped his very lips, Salome began to shift a bit.
Quite noticeable, she began to squirm across the bed sheets. With her eyelids still closed, she tried to pull her arm back. Charles made no move to let go, and yet she yanked it out of his hands as fast as lightning could snap a branch off a tree.
"Salome!" He exclaimed, surprised at her sudden movement. He rubbed his eyes, and when he was done, he found himself looking into her green orbs. He was shocked and surprised to find himself in the mist of his answered prayers. He was looking deep into her eyes and called her name, softly. But she made no response. She sat up, perched in her bed, with no movement, but her eyes were open….for now. As Charles furrowed his eyebrows, soon his eyes saw the sclera and then he knew something was wrong.