Part of the reason I wrote this story (other than wanting to write a scene with the king hitting someone over the head with his shoe) was to get a better idea of who the character of Anne might be... in my imagination anyway. I don't write her a lot in my stories, but when I do, I always find her a bit enchanting... more to the actress who played than the real queen who was much more pretentious and elitist.
Anyway, thank you all for the kind and generous remarks. They do bring me a lot of joy.
On with the show...
The warmth of the water soothed sore muscles and stiff joints. It wasn't a large tub for soaking, but for now, within this moment, Anne was extraordinarily grateful for it. With her arms on her knees, she watched the flames of the fire and appreciated the heat in the room despite the gaps in the shutters and the door. Amelia had taken it upon herself to clean Anne's dress as best she could by gently brushing away the dirt that was caked near the hem, the stains of leather and horsehair, and grime from sitting on the stone floor at the monastery.
Exhaustion had a way of sneaking up on her when she least expected it. While it had been Athos leading the mare, walking the distance from the monastery, he had found them a place to rest, warmed her some broth and she had eaten some hard bread and dried fruit. She didn't remember seeing him eat, only gathering wood to keep the fire going and keeping watch while she had rested. Anne admired him; she admired all of them: their devotion, their perseverance, and their strength of characters. They were all flawed in their own ways, but their flaws helped create the men she had grown to depend on, men who stood beside her despite her heritage and breeding, despite her Spanish bloodlines.
Anne looked toward Amelia, felt the water shift against her skin and said, "What was your husband like?" She wanted to hear someone else's voice other than the one in her head.
Amelia looked up from the hem of the dress as she stitched a long rip closed. She paused, furrowed her brow, and then said with a turn of her lips, "He was wild." She shrugged and then continued her repairs. "He was handsome… fierce…. kind and generous. He had never been afraid of anything, and I always knew he would protect me." She cut the threads and checked the strength of the stitches before moving to the next repair. "When he left for war…" Amelia grew quiet, threaded the needle and tied the ends, "I was afraid I would never see him again… He came home in body, but," she shrugged, "not in spirit."
Anne ran her hand up her left arm and rested her chin on her bicep as she watched Amelia repair the gown. "I'm sorry."
"He did what he could — helped me with the children and the daily chores of the farm — but," Amelia frowned, "the war had stolen whatever fire was in him. When he told me about the monastery, I encouraged him to go… I had hoped it would help him find peace," she nodded, as though convincing herself it had been the right choice. "I think it did. It's a simple life, and he's with others who have been through similar experiences — I want to believe they can help each other." She pulled some fabric together and sewed it closed, carefully tucking the frayed edges while keeping the rest of the fabric intact. "At least… at least here I'm close to him… and see him on occasion — it's not much, but he's happier there… Not like he was when I first met him, but happier." She paused in sewing and looked at Anne. "What is your husband like, Your Majesty? Does he treat you well? Is he a good man?"
Anne swallowed and watched the flames of the fire. Her long pause didn't go unnoticed, but she contemplated the question and considered her answer. What could she say? She had a responsibility to him, to herself, and to France. "He's a good man," she looked at Amelia, "at least he tries to be."
Amelia chuckled and said, "I would imagine being the king of France has its benefits… but also some…" she shrugged, "complications."
"Yes," Anne said with a hint of a chuckle. "There are many complications."
"Do you love him?"
The question caused Anne to lower her hands into the water and look at Amelia with a frown.
Amelia continued to stitch the gown and again smiled knowingly. "You were both children when you married… hardly old enough to know much about life, much less love."
Anne rubbed gently at her knee. "If I say that I love him, but I'm not in love with him… would that make me a bad person? A bad queen?"
Amelia snorted, lowered her hands and paused in her sewing, and said, "No… I've known but a few women who have loved their husbands — and a few others who learned how to love them over time — at least those men who allowed them to love," she paused, "who allowed themselves to love in return." She shrugged and then again pierced the needle through the fabric. "They're interesting, aren't they? Men? So stoic, so strong and determined, and yet… when they trust a woman, really value and love a woman, they can be so vulnerable — if," she looked critically at Anne, "we allow them to be." She quirked a sad smile. "That's what my husband lost after the war… he lost his ability to be vulnerable… with me."
Anne tilted her head and watched Amelia as the sewing became more difficult, more challenging, as she thought about the man she loved. He was the father of her children, the man she had given herself to as a girl, and the man she wanted as a woman. She missed him, and while death would have seemed such a simple exit to the crippling pain, she often faced without him, there was a hope she clung to that he would one day return, even if broken.
"Have you ever thought about another man? About finding someone else who might love you as much as he did?"
Amelia cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. "No. I have to have faith that he'll come back to me." She paused, watched Anne look away and stare at the fire. "Is there someone you love? Perhaps someone you shouldn't?"
Anne stiffened and didn't meet Amelia's eyes.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," Amelia said quickly. "I spoke out of turn."
"No… you didn't," Anne said. She looked again at the meager home, the gaps of the shutters, beneath and above the door, the herbs that hung from strings, the mismatched dishes, and the bedding made from miscellaneous pieces of fabric. She wasn't sure if she could live like this for the man she loved. There was something about the comfort, the position, and the luxuries of living her life in the royal court. She didn't have to worry about being cold, hungry, and without a physician. She didn't have to worry about the things she needed, only the things she wanted.
Amelia watched her, saw her remorse, and the loss of something only Anne understood. "Good men are built to protect us," Amelia said, "to defend those they love, those they cherish. My mother once told me that a man can build a house, but it's a woman who makes it a home, and you cannot have one without the other." She stood, shook out the gown, and smiled. "If your husband loves you — whether he is the king, a merchant, farmer… or a musketeer — he'll do everything in his power to protect you. Whoever it was that has caused you harm, Your Majesty, will suffer — of that, I'm sure." She draped the dress over the back of the chair next to the fireplace and grabbed the chemise. "Let's get you out of that tub and into a warm bed… you have a long day tomorrow."