By week four, Charles Brandon was eager to get up and leave the bedroom. This is something he never thought he would ever want... to leave the bedroom. Some of his finest, most favorite, activities take place in the bedroom. However, having to lie abed days at a time with only the four walls to look at is beginning to make him incredibly restless and a little batty. Maybe if he were able to engage in certain activities, then he might be more inclined to not want to leave.
It was the middle of the week and his wife began her meticulous morning routine of cleansing, putting new ointment on, and redressing the wound. Even he can see the wound is looking much better, almost good as new. But Mary doesn't stop there. She also has to make sure his face is cleansed, hair is brushed, and the covers are drawn up around him. She does this for two reasons. One, to make sure he doesn't catch a chill. And two, to make sure he keeps his decency in case a servant girl wanders in.
When she began pulling the covers up, he let out a bit of frustration. "Must you nettle me so? I can fix the covers myself and brush my hair and do all those other things." He knew it was the wrong thing to say when he saw her face. It looked pained and sad. Raising himself up on his elbows, he begged her silently to look at him. She did. Her face turned to his. Not a word was uttered, only their eyes connecting.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but she fled out of the room. Her skirts swished as she left. A sigh escaped him as he laid his head back on the pillows. His hand reached for a book on his nightstand. It's apparent from the title she had left the book there— Sweethearts, Soldiers, and Saboteurs. Some stupid romance of that he's certain. With nothing better to do, he opened to the first page and began reading.
By mid-day Doctor Pearce came to call. The minute the man entered the room, Charles hid the book under the covers. The doctor looked the wound over and murmured an "Umm-hmm". This made him wonder if this is good or bad. Mary entered the room and the man addressed them both. "The wound is looking much better than anticipated. I can tell it's been tended to with care. Which is really good!"
Charles felt like crap the minute the doctor said those words. His little wife has been nothing but efficient when taking care of him. He ought not to have said what he did and means to rectify that as soon as his doctor leaves. So caught up in his thoughts, he failed to hear what the man was saying. But he did catch "I'm clearing you to get up and take small walks about the house and out of doors. No riding, running, anything too excessive that would cause strain to the wound. Understand?"
Nodding, he told the man he did. But looking at his wife, he asked "What about amorous activities?"
With a snort and a light chuckle, Doctor Pearce cleared his throat. He stated "Light amorous pursuits. Nothing too strenuous." Then his attention turned to the lady in the room. The two spoke about ointments and wound cleansers.
Charles, on the other hand, could not wait for the man to leave. Finally, he can get out of bed and out of this room. The doctor came back to his side and took the medicine bag from the bed. He bid the lord and lady good day. Once the door closed, Charles threw the covers back and started to get up. Except he couldn't. His abdomen aches, where the gash is. He groaned. "I need your help," he stated to Mary.
She eyed him and announced "You need me and my nettling ways? I thought you could do all the things for yourself. You said as much this morning." Her skirts swished as she walked to the chest of drawers.
Bother! His arms became crossed. "I regret saying those words the minute they left my mouth. I understand—"
Rounding on him and pointing her finger, she let him know her feelings. "No. You don't understand! You understand nothing of how worried I felt seeing you unconscious, bleeding out, with a gash so deep I could put four fingers in it! There was nothing I could do except pray that you wouldn't die, while the doctor worked on you. Then I had to worry about infection and fever and making the wound not become irritated. So no you don't understand. All I want to do is take care of you and make you comfortable, yet you call me nettlesome." She wiped a few tears from her eyes and turned back around to look for the piece of cloth, she was trying to stitch.
This is the first time he's ever seen her truly angry, especially at him. Even so, she's still the most attractive, adorable creature he's ever laid eyes on. How different her anger is than that of her father and his late wife. Thank God! The weight of her words crashed upon him. He's never had anyone truly care for him the way she does. She takes care of all his needs, even when he's the one who's bothersome.
He willed himself to sit up, using almost all of his strength. Sweat gathered in beads on his forehead. It took a lot of effort, but somehow he managed it. The pain isn't so terrible that he couldn't stand, which he did, and put his slippers on. Once ready, his face screwed up in concentration. Walking is a different story altogether. Having been abed for weeks, it's like having sea legs. Plus the pain from the wound now stings.
The minute a small groan left his mouth, Mary turned around. Dropping the cloth, she hurried to his side. "What are you doing? You've probably popped all the stitches out. The doctor said no strenuous activity." Her fingers danced over his abdomen to the wound.
He stilled her hand by putting his own over it. His finger crooked under her chin and raised it up. Their eyes met. His voice sounded strained when he talked. "I had to get to you. I can't have you mad at me, for very long. I'm sorry I called you nettlesome. I didn't mean it. Instead, I let my frustration of staying in bed get to me and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me."
She nodded and he continued speaking. "I need a wash and a shave. I'm sure I look scruffy and unkempt. Will you help?" His blue eyes bore into hers and she found it hard to move or think.
With her pulse racing fast, she made her mind up. "I'll go get your man-servant, Bruce. I'm sure he'll be a better assistant than me." She twisted herself in the direction of the door. His hand stilled her.
Quiet words left his mouth and seemed to echo in the still of the room. "But I don't want him. I want you and your gentle hands and tender care." Her head nodded with acceptance and her arms fell to her side. A soft OK lingered on her lips. With a light touch, she guided him to the bathroom.
While she ran the water, for the bath, he stripped his breeches off. Once it was done, she held on to his arm to help him get in. "The doctor said to be careful when bathing. You don't want to aggravate the wound with scrubbing or harsh soap." She handed him the washrag and told him "I'll give you your privacy and wait in the bedroom. Just call if you need me."
"I have need of you now," he let her know. His eyes and words encouraged her to stay. She pushed up the sleeves of her soft pink bolero, moved a stool to the tub, and sat down. He wished she had joined him, as she'd done in the past, but he'll take what he can. Lately, she's been very hesitant to engage in any kind of steamy, passionate show of affection. He's recovering from a wound not dying.
Resting his arms on the top of the tub, he shared something with her. "When we were ambushed, and my wound was freshly received, I thought of you. I did something I hadn't done in a long time— prayed. I prayed that I would live to see your face again, to smell your sweet scent once more, and witness the birth of our babe. Then I passed out. I woke up to your voice. At first, I thought it was a dream, but then realized if it were a dream you would not be reading me romantic poetry."
They both laughed and she seized his hand. Bringing it up to her mouth she kissed it and caressed his knuckles. Then she voiced a question that's been on her mind. "Do you know who ambushed you?"
"I don't know definitively, but I have my suspicions. Lord Lewis and I were attacked near the border running along Gloucester. Do you know who's land is next to Gloucester?" She shook her head no. "The Earl of Wiltshire, The Whore's family, as well as the Duke of Somerset."
This made her skin crawl. "But surely they wouldn't do something so heinous. It's not even their land. It belongs to the crown!"
His wife is pure and living proof of walking through the fires of the deepest hells and still turn out to be an angel. "Darling one of the things I love about you is your ability to not immediately see the worst in people. Men like Wiltshire and his ilk only see one thing and that's power. How they can get power and how they can keep it. So I lay before you this scenario." He looked in her eyes to see her before he continued.
"The bastard of the king weds his longtime best friend. It makes her a duchess which could be humiliating, except she isn't humiliated. Instead, she rises to the title given. Do you think that might make them angry?" he paused to ask.
She said yes and began to wash his back, with the soap that had been floating on the water. He pressed on again. "Then this same bastard duchess wins friends and allies at court without really trying. She also makes her husband look so good, that it impresses the king. In front of the whole court, he bestows a large honor on the duchess and her husband. An honor that hasn't been granted in hundreds of years. And I saw what you didn't that night. Both Boleyn and Howard thought it was being awarded to them. Do you think they might be angry and plotting?"
The only thing Mary can think of is "Why do they hate me so much? I haven't done anything to them. They have everything that rightfully should be mine and yet I haven't complained or tried to do anything about it. I have settled myself into my station as your wife. Can't they just leave me alone?" He said no and she asked, "Why?"
She gave him the soap to wash his chest, while she got the suds off his back. "Because you have more royalty in you than any child, boy or girl, The Evil One will ever have. That's a threat to their power. It's already evident by the way the people disprove of her. They will never accept her, which is why they must be forced into it by way of the Act of Supremacy. And even then it only serves to make them bitter. So they have to hurt you and one way to do that is by hurting me. Because I'm a threat too. I'm a wild card. No one knows my true intentions except you."
She got up and returned with a hair soap she made for him, one afternoon. It smells of sage, bergamot, and a little bit of sandalwood. Wetting the bar, she began lathering his locks. "But what if I signed a paper saying I don't want the stupid throne. Just leave my family and me alone."
He laughed at her cheeky statement. "Even if you did, it still wouldn't matter. Which is why I don't want you to change. I don't want you to alter anything of your day-to-day life. I want you to live without any worry over this matter. At some point, the woman and her family will be brought low for all of their misdeeds. We have to keep our heads up and press forward until then. I'm also will upping security too. The only thing that concerns me right now is the fact that we were ambushed. Someone passed the information along and I don't know who that is." He will not rest until he finds the culprit.
This also chills her to the bone. "We have an enemy agent in our midst. I hate liars, thieves, and court espionage. It's so mean-spirited and evil." She scrubbed his hair with her fingers. "But you have to promise me you won't do anything foolhardy. Charles, I could not bear it if something like this happened to you again."
His hand caught her wrist and he placed a tender kiss on the inside of it. "I cannot promise something like this won't happen again, My Love. But if it does, I'll be ready and better prepared. I do promise not to do anything rash." His mind began turning over all the people of his acquaintance here and in Suffolk, anyone who may hold a grudge.
Once she finished her ministrations, he ducked his head under the water. He washed the rest of his body while she retrieved a fresh towel, which he used to dry off. After securing it around his hips, he walked out of the bathroom and sat on the bed to let her treat and redress the wound. This time he only winced a minuscule amount, as compared to other times where he would moan or gnash his teeth to keep from crying.
Before she could leave his side, he lay hold of her waist and kept her still. His eyes stared deeply into hers. He was searching for something, something that sparked like a flicker in her soul. But it was covered up, where usually it's laid bare before him. This stung a little. "Just to be clear, I want you. I desire you." His hand stroked over the place where their child grew. There's a firmness there, a roundness, and it's beautiful.
Her heart melted at his affections as it so usually does. "I know you do. It's just—"
Interrupting her, he wants to know "Just what Mary? Please tell me what's wrong. Why won't you make love to me? Is it me? Is my unshaven face not attractive or is my hair too long? Or do you not want me?" The last part was mumbled and his eyes downcast. He couldn't look at hers for fear of what he might see. When she moved away from him he thought his heart would shatter.
Moving to lie on the bed because she is tired, she asked "Will you lie beside me?" He did, slowly and with caution as if protecting himself. That is not good and it will not do. An unsure, insecure Charles Brandon is truly a sad thing indeed. Sitting up, she took his hand kissed the inside of his wrist as he did hers. Then she scooted closer to him and ran her fingers over his unshaven face.
"I love your face scruffy or not. It's a beautiful face. I also love your hair. True it needs to be trimmed, but there's something rapscallion about it. You almost look like one of those mercenary highwaymen that rob ladies in their carriages. Then they do hot and spicy unspeakable things which lead to them falling in love." Her heart raced just thinking about it and her temperature rose. She began to fan herself with her hand. Oh, God. That may or may not have been a fantasy of hers.
As she spoke his eyes grew large with surprise. It's obvious "You've been reading romance novels again." No way in hell would a vagabond perform loving acts as she speaks of. Quite the opposite he's sure. However, her talking gave him several ideas to use for later. But back to the issue at hand. "So if it's not me, then why don't you want to?" He feels awkward asking about this, but then he's never loved anyone enough to care and never had deep conversations as he does with her.
Running her hand over his face, letting her fingers then dance across his chest, she brought his hand to rest on her thigh. She played with his fingers while she imparted her concern to him. "I keep thinking of how weak you were, how laid out you were. You— You were unconscious and bleeding and it killed me to see you like that. I felt so useless. I just don't want to hurt you because if I did it would hurt me. So I haven't wanted to do things with you until you are truly well again. It has nothing to do with my affections for you. Those are still as strong as ever."
Now it makes sense to him, the things left unsaid. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the weight of abandonment is a ring around her neck. Even though he did not die, he was on the brink of it. He would have left her then. She's feeling those effects still. He only wished he had thought of it, really thought about it, before.
The hand she's playing with ceased its amusement and brushed over her face. His fingers lovingly traced the planes of her nose and eyes and lips. Then he took his hand to the back of her neck and gently applied pressure, so as to make her head move, nudging it down to his. He could kiss her then but waited. His voice spoke with surety. "Darling I'm here and alive. You are the queen of my heart and my home. I promise I will never let you go. I will love you until I draw my last breath and even then I will still love you. I apologize but you can't ever be rid of me."
A laugh mixed with tears left her. "That's good because I can't do life without you. I may have lived before you, but I wasn't really living. You're coming into my well-ordered life rearranged everything so completely that I don't know where I begin and you end. You're imprinted on my heart. You make me feel beautiful and special and I love you."
Their eyes stayed fixed on each other again, catching fire. Wanting to be close to each other their lips touched sparking their already electric chemistry. He's here and he's alive. She's alive and something clicked inside her. It's like everything moved out of her head and into her heart. It's not just a kiss it's life. He's always looking out for her, valuing her as if she's a priceless treasure, making her feel like she's the only one in a room. When he looks at her it's with admiration, honor, and love. A gasp left her lips at the sensation of his own perfect lips mingling with hers.
But the gasp was also her realizing something. Sure she had been sent to her castle banished there, alone. Maybe she didn't choose to be there, but then maybe part of her did. A little part of her chose to be alone, to not fight for herself. She wouldn't have to pick up the pieces of her heart. So she kept it locked until him.
All these months she's loved Charles, but always kept a little piece of herself hidden away— just in case. The whole time she's wanted to be loved, but been afraid to love. Never really knowing how to and afraid of feeling like a failure if she did. But with him it's different, it's easy. It's time to give it all away.
Pulling back, breaking their kiss, heat rose from her stomach to her chest. Both their breathing heavy and labored. She also broke eye contact for a minute thinking over her next move. Raising her eyes to lock with his once more, she took off her pink shrug sweater and let it fall to the ground. Then her dress gave away too and everything else. She noticed the whole time his blue eyes hadn't wandered from hers. Just another way he respects her.
He held his hand out to her and she took it. Then for the first time, she made love to him giving him everything. Even the little part saved up just in case. And it's incredibly freeing as if she had never been closed off, to begin with. His love washed over her like she was the one who had been wounded not him, healing her of every sickness.
She cradled his face. "You're not just another person to me. You're the love of my life. And there will never be a day that I don't want you." Her finger caught tears that leaked out of his eyes. He crushed her to him, not caring about the wound. They both felt loved, wanted, and alive.