Chapter 17
Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay, but this is my last year in university (BA) so you can guess how busy I am -.-' Anyway, I hope you like it!
Part I - Love
I face the ceiling of my bedroom for the millionth time tonight. As usual, I cannot sleep properly. Well, I would have been more honest if I said that I am afraid to sleep properly, because every time I close my eyes the pictures behind my eyelashes are always the same: me holding my son for the first time, me cuddling him to sleep, me singing him lullabies and breastfeeding him, until the images start to spin vertiginously in my mind and I have to open my eyes before I choke in my own misery.
Tonight is no exception, but unlike the previous nights I simply cannot lie still in my bed. I need some fresh air, so I pull the covers aside very carefully in order not to wake my husband and slowly rise to my feet, walking barefoot towards the window and sitting below its frame, opening it slightly and inhaling the sweet spring breeze of June. I rest my head against the glass and let out a deep sigh of sadness, which is only sweetened by the sight of my beloved baby daughter, peacefully asleep in her cot. I realize how different she is from her missing brother: while he seemed to inherit my light blue eyes and my blond hair, Eleanor would surely become the spitting image of her father, despite her short three months of life, as I could tell by her black hair and blue eyes, exactly the same color as her father's. Speaking of her father, my eyes diverted from the tiny sleeping figure to my own bed, where Thomas laid on his stomach, with half of his face turned to me and one hand resting in the pillow. He had been my strength lately, ever since I lost our son. He never blamed me, although I suspect that deep inside he does, just as everybody else. How can they not blame me, if this was all my fault? I should have stayed inside, I should have not encouraged my poor Mary to join me in my prayers. I should have been there, I should have taken care of my son instead of leaving him in someone else's care. I should have been a better mother, to put it nicely. Now God is punishing me by putting me through the greatest loss of all, the greatest pain a woman can endure, which is the loss of a child. Even if my child is still alive (and God knows how I cling to that hope, against all odds), he is forever lost for me. No more will I see him, or hold him. He is no longer mine: as we speak, he may have been already renamed and given a new family. Although it pains me to admit it, I am no longer his mother. I could never be such, when his tears will be soothed by someone else, his first words will be heard by another woman, his studies will be provided by another family. And that's what pains me the most: knowing that some other woman might have already claimed what should be undoubtedly mine, the miracle of my own womb, the ultimate proof of love between a wife and a husband.
As if he had read my mind, I feel a pair of strong arms embracing me, followed by the familiar scent of sandalwood which I love above all fragrances.
- Are you still having trouble sleeping, my love? – Thomas whispers behind my ear, making me shiver in both sadness and discomfort.
- I cannot stop thinking about our son… about my fault in all this – and before he could stop me, I am not able to keep my thoughts to myself. I tell him how bad I feel, how useless I am as a mother and a wife, of how I would understand (although it would break me beyond repair) if he wanted to divorce me based on my lack of responsibility towards our children. My cheeks burn due to my unrestrained tears as I keep talking and talking, and Thomas's expression grows more and more astonished when suddenly he stops my ramblings by kissing my lips firmly yet lovingly.
- Don't you ever say that – he whispers against my lips.
- What? – I blink in confusion.
- Don't ever say that I have reasons to end our marriage. That you understand if I don't love you anymore. That all this is our fault. This is not your fault, Anne, and please do not think that my love for you has weakened in the past month. Actually, it has only strengthened.
- But… how? – I am truly confused. Has he just told me that he loves me, despite every things in which I have failed him?
- Let me show you – Thomas whispered, picking me up and laying me on the bed like I was made of the most fragile glass. Before I could say anything, my night gown was on the floor and his soft lips claimed mine like a thirsty man craved water in the middle of the desert as I wrapped my arms around his neck. I moaned as his lips descended from my jaw to my neck, my shoulders and my breasts, sucking and biting my skin gently. I giggled softly as his mouth continued to follow the trail of my skin, tickling my belly and my belly button, but my giggles faded and I had to bite my lower lip hardly to hold back a scream of pleasure as his tongue caressed the most intimate place of my being. I dug my fingertips in the sheets and closed my eyes as an overwhelming sensation started to grow inside me. I don't want this to end so soon.
- Thomas… Thomas… - I sigh. – Please…
- Please what, my love? – he lifts his gaze to meet mine, his blue eyes almost sparkling in the dark. – Tell me.
- I need you… Please, Thomas, I need you inside me – I gasped, surprised by my own lack of restraint.
A naughty, playful smile graced his lips before he sat on his ankles and gestured me to come forward. I did as I was told, sitting on his lap and lowering my hips to meet him. We both moaned in delight. It had been so long since our last time together. I wrapped my legs around his waist as Thomas started to thrust harder and deeper inside me, making me bite his shoulder to avoid the scream of pleasure of my overwhelming climax, as I feel Thomas seed being released inside me. After we had regained our breaths, he cups my face into his hands, our foreheads touching:
- Don't ever say that I don't love you Anne, for it is your love that keeps me alive and gives me strength during these times of sorrow – he said in that low, velvety voice of his. I simply nodded.
- I love you too – I said, while nestling in his arms and drifting off to sleep, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.
Part II – Daydreaming
Meanwhile, Anne and Thomas were not the only ones in their household who were having trouble sleeping. Gregory Cromwell sighed as time went by so slowly. In a few hours the sun would rise and that sleepless night would thankfully end. Not that Gregory had not had many of those nights in the past: when he was younger, that was a constant in his life, especially after his mother and sisters' passing, when every time he closed his eyes their dying images seemed to find the utmost pleasure in haunt him and make him miserable. Nowadays, those nightmares were rare, in great part due to the German princess which had entered his life. Even if he lived for a thousand years, Gregory knew it wouldn't be enough to thank her for what she had done for him and above all for his father. If it wasn't for her pleas, his father would be long dead; his headless remains thrown into the Thames, leaving him completely alone in this world. But now, thanks to Anne, all of them had a change to start over again: his father had finally found love after so many years of grief, Anne had an opportunity to have a happy marriage (despite all the pain she was enduring because of his little brother Stephen, Gregory strongly believed the love between Thomas Cromwell and the duchess of Cleves had not weakened a single bit)… and what exactly did he, Gregory Wyckes Cromwell, had in return? Well, apart from a stable and comfortable family life, it seemed like Anne's marriage had left him with a riddle in his hands: Mary Tudor.
When Anne became part of their household, only a blind person could not tell her relief, a feeling that Gregory could totally understand: being only a year older than his stepmother, he could not imagine how he feel if he was in her early position: a fair-looking, sweet-natured lady in her mid twenties married to a disgustingly fat and dangerously moody King already close to his fifties. Although Gregory could certainly understand the political reasons behind such union, he didn't envy Anne's position: in a way, it was a blessing for her to be casted aside by the King. She did not speak much of her early life in Cleves: the only thing Gregory knew was that she was very close to her (now deceased) father, whose health issues made inapt to rule his dukedom. From that moment on, Anne's life had been completely dominated by the strict rules of her mother and her brother. When her brother raised the possibility of marriage between the King of England and the forsaken German princess, her family welcomed it as manna from heaven, even Anne herself did so. Anything seemed better then Cleves, Anne once said. How naïve she had been! She knew Henry was old enough to be her father, but she did not expect him to be so repulsive : not only physically but also concerning his character. Henry VIII had built a fortress all around England, whose walls were made only of fear and terror. Long gone were the days where King Henry and Queen Katherine were the epitome of happiness and fairness in their kingdom. Thirty years had passed since their marriage, and in the meanwhile the royal throne, once occupied by Katherine, had supported the weight of four other women: Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves and now Katherine Howard. Behind them there was a trail of tears, plots, betrayal and sometimes death. With Anne Boleyn the King had probably made one of the biggest mistakes of his life, Gregory thought. He had forsaken a gentle and loved Queen, Katherine of Aragon, based on the lack of a son. Anne seemed to be the solution to his lack of male issue, but in a twist of fate the Boleyns tasted their own medicine: Anne gave birth to a girl, Elizabeth, and then miscarried two sons, one of them allegedly conceived with her brother, Lord Rochford. Such allegations cost Anne her crown and her head. Gregory knew his father was the key in the plot to bring the Boleyn queen down, but in the end it was his head or hers. As much as Gregory felt sorry for Lady Elizabeth, he was glad it was Anne's head the one to be severed from her body.
After that came Jane Seymour. Henry VIII had claimed she was his true love, the woman he had been looking for (not very patiently, Greg added inwardly) all his life. They had married only eleven days after Anne Boleyn's execution. Queen Jane was lovingly accepted by the people, mainly because she was the opposite of her predecessor in all aspects, from her blonde hair and pale complexion to her religious views: Jane was a traditional Catholic while Anne had been one of the pioneers of the Reform. The former's sweet and pious nature had even led the King to reconcile with his two daughters, Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth. Furthermore, the Lord seemed to approve her union to Henry. Less than a year after their wedding, Jane's pregnancy was announced, and the whole kingdom roared in joy when Prince Edward was born, in a chilly October morning of 1537. The king had finally accomplished his dream of fathering a legitimate male son. Unfortunately, the price to pay for his achievement was painful: less than two weeks after the birth of her son, Jane Seymour died from childbirth fever. This was a hard blow to the King, who remained widowed for three years until he finally gave in to his father's advice and married Anna of Cleves, a German duchess whose brother was held in high position in the Protestant countries for being the brother-in-law of the Duke of Saxony, head of the Schmalkaldic League.
However, despite her valuable family ties, the King did not like Anne of Cleves. According to him, she was ugly as a mare, thus the marriage was never consummated. Although he had never voiced it aloud, Greg suspected the reason behind the King's displeasure was way different. Two years ago, when Anne was still on her way from Calais to London, she stopped at Rochester, where tournaments were being held in her honor. Rumors had it that the King entered her chambers dressed as a pageant and tried to kiss her. Surprised and disgusted by the assault, and unaware the King was disguised, Lady Anne did what every young lady would do if a stinky old man tried to kiss her: pushed him away and spat out of disgust. This insulted the King greatly. He was not used to being rejected, so instead he rejected her for exposing the ugly truth: Henry VIII's days as the most handsome prince of the Christendom were long gone. Wounded on his ego, Henry soon started to work on a divorce, using an excuse of a pre-existing marriage contract between Anne and Francis of Lorraine. Many had expected Anne to fight like Catherine of Aragon had done, but Anne chose the prudent way out. She was no Catherine of Aragon, whose parents were the most important Kings of the Catholic world. Her background was far more modest, so she was happy to get everything the King, in his generosity, saw fit to bestow upon her. Briefly after their divorce, the King moved on to his fifth and current wife, the silly young Katherine Howard, whose lack of intelligence and decorum made her the perfect pawn in her family's game, attracting the attention of an old and desperate King. And now that Kitty had succeeded in giving him a son, Prince Harry Tudor, all seemed to go back to normal in the English realm. People would soon focus their praises on her, Katherine Howard, the youngest and fertile girl who miraculously had gotten pregnant by the King. Few were the ones who remembered Henry VIII in his youth, and the newborn prince would never knew he was his mother's life insurance. Everyone would forget the past and focus on the future.
Everyone but her.
Mary Tudor had seen it all: her mother's demise, Anne Boleyn's rise and fall, the reconciliation brought by Jane Seymour, the failure of Anne of Cleves, the success of Katherine Howard. She was someone whose dreams of happiness, marriage, family and joy were destroyed by her father's actions. And now things have gotten worse: the throne she had always claimed to be fit to occupy belonged to another besides Edward: her new brother, the Duke of York, shattering her dreams of becoming Queen by right, as her grandmother had successfully been. She had every reason to be spiteful and filled with hate, but instead of being so, she was ever so graceful and polite… and beautiful, a voice inside his head added dreamily. Gregory had never imagined he would actually meet her, let alone… kiss her. The taste of her lips was still lingering on his, her perfume still surrounding him. She is way above you, said a voice inside his head. She was just shaken by the birth of her brother and the missing of your own brother. It was nothing, and she's probably regretting it now. Or not, thought Gregory, thinking about her reaction after they parted. Was it just a figment of his imagination or she had enjoyed it too? That girl is a riddle, Gregory thought, turning in the bed. A riddle he only hoped he could decipher someday.
III – Lust
Catherine Howard turned in the large crimson bed, smirking as a muscled arm hugged her now flat belly. Thank God it is all over, she sighed inwardly. All those months of pretending were tiresome and boring: a pregnant Queen could not dance, could not enjoy herself. Now that she was free from her burden, that Prince Henry was being taken care of by her ladies, she could finally allowed herself to indulge in her pleasures... being the first one of the list laying with Thomas Culpepper, her true love. She purred in his ear as he supported his chin on her shoulder, kissing her bare skin.
I have missed you so much – he whispered in her golden locks.
Me too, Thomas. Me too – she smiled.
It seems we are forever doomed to meet in secret – he sighed. - How I wished to claim openly my love to you, Katherine!
Thomas, we have discussed this before – Katherine said. - Do not concern yourself with such matter: I am here now, am I not? That's all that matters, my love. And before you say something... - she put a finger on his lips – His Majesty will never suspect. Lady Rochford will cover us.
Do you trust her? - Culpepper arched an eyebrow.
Well, she kept the secret of my pregnancy in secret, did she not? Now come here – Kitty said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Soon she rolled on the bed, positioning herself above him and riding him like an amazon. She could not scream wholeheartedly, but nevertheless she whimpered in pleasure as they both released their pleasure. She would visit him more often, now that the King was no longer obsessed with a son. Her life as Queen of England was about to become boring as a monastic life... if it was not for Thomas. Sometimes, it is so good to be Queen, Katherine thought as she dozed off to sleep.
IV – Suspicion
Charles Brandon sighed in relief when he finally reached the gates of Hampton Court. Another night spent searching for Cromwell's son. Not that he cared about Cromwell: if it was for the Duke of Suffolk, Cromwell would be rotting under the stones of St Peter Ad Vincula. But he was a father too, and the fear of losing his little boy made him churn in discomfort.
Speaking of children, Charles smirked as he looked up to the windows of the castle, Henry seemed to be inspired by the birth of his child. A female body seemed to move up and down, up and down, her outlines drawn by the candlelight. Surely Henry was conceiving another son for the throne of England. Charles diverted his eyes with an amused smirk, not wanting to invade the royal couple's privacy. Then the strangest thing happened.
When Charles looked to the other side, there was someone in the King's bedroom. Someone staring outside the window. Looking more carefully, Charles noticed it was Henry himself, which made Charles almost freeze in confusion. If his eyes and mind were not deceiving him, and the King was standing there... who was the one bedding Katherine Howard?