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Anne is down, but never out.Ā
Their Lenten breakfast marks at least one cause of her failure: eggs slide over the iron pan and onto their plates, and he, in penitent observance, insists heĀ cannot share her bed, no, not even just for company, we cannot imperil our souls ā¦
Two, she is with child. And so he treads around her as though she were made of glass, and will not share news of the council with her, for fear of āendangering herā.
But she must know what is happening, in the world: she must know, for herself , and for her daughter, and so she pursues him, as though they were courting, all over again, as though she were earning his confidence, all over again.Ā
And soā¦ she has had enough. Enough, of Madge Shelton, blushing at all those secret smiles , enough, of his fickle lack of courage, and insisted upon visiting him, every night, without fail, andā¦ with, fail.Ā
He eats efficiently, and deposits his plate , and slides back into bed , turning to his side, shuffling, punching pillows into shape and slumping against them.
Anne has had to abstain, for courage, and ventures, turning to her own side:
āYou will embrace your pillows, but not I?ā
āThey are softer than you. Andā¦how aboutā¦ why donātā¦youĀ holdĀ meĀ for once?ā
āAre you joking?ā
āObviously you are not as soft as a cushion ofĀ feathers, Anne. What can I do about that?ā
āNo, the other thing. ā
āWhat other thing?ā
āDo you wish to be held?ā
Henry acts as though he has not heard her , nuzzling farther into his pillow.Ā
āDoĀ you?ā
āYes,ā he snipes, voice edgy with resentment, adding, ānotĀ that you would care.ā
She has to summon past feeling: what was it like, before he had betrayed her? What had it felt like, to see his pain, before he had weaponized her love?
WhatĀ wouldĀ she have done?
Tentatively, Anne shuffles closer to him, and winds her arm about his torso.
He freezes, as though wary of the gesture, and then,Ā sagsĀ with relief, and clasps her hand to his chest, tightly as a relic.
āWhat is the matter? What has you so tense?ā his wife asks, kneading at his shoulders and neck.
āHis lordshipā¦ the Earl of Kildare ,ā he explains, as she drives her thumb into an especially tight muscle of his neck, eliciting his seethe, the syllable of each title , a sneer, āhas sentĀ complaintsĀ of his conditions in the Tower to the council.ā
āHow veryĀ wickedā¦when you show yourself more merciful than many a Christian prince in your sparing of his life!ā
āIĀ know, darlingā¦ I know it,ā the King gives, sighing into his pillow.
āSuffering a rebel to live! The Emperor would stamp out such a one in a heartbeat, and so would Francoisā¦ I marvel at theĀ arroganceĀ of these men, thinking to censure you, to endorse the censure of you, by and through the Bishop of Romeā¦ someĀ otherĀ foreign potentate,ā Anne scoffs, whisking her hand as if banishing the thought of their armies (much as she had, in the golden age of their betrothal:Ā let the Emperor come, and find what it is to meet 10,000 of my Uncleās men alone ā¦ that day would dim St Albans to the very recesses of this realmās memory!), āas ifĀ theyĀ would not seeĀ yourĀ actions in a like manner to them, as a declaration for war!ā
As she clings, and descends her mouth to patter kisses upon his neck; familiar, although distant, sensations of their bond return, swiftly, to himā¦
His stomach dropping, and the warm, sensual urge in his groinā¦
She seems to sense his need instinctually, with all the practice of a wife, her hand soothing him the rest of the way along, and his mind empties of all othersā¦before God, he does not need maidens. He has a soulmate already. He never spends himself better than under her reverent, gentle, and knowing care ā¦
