Anne struggled to her feet, assisted by her Yeoman, who had crossed the distance between them in less than a second, and faced Wolsey. “You stole my letters!”
Wolsey smiled, relishing some little moment. He leaned in, stroking her cheek with a finger, his lips wet and pursed. He leaned in, closer again, until he whispered in her ear, “I did not. How many hidden enemies you must have, Anne.”
His breath on her ear, so like a tick’s crawl, made her shudder.
“Oh, Anne, had I known you were to be this much trouble, I would have had you dealt with. I misjudged you. I am surprised a woman as dull as you can hold his attention thus. Your sister certainly didn’t. If you had simply given Henry what he wanted, neither of us would be in this condition. It was your own stupid ideas about God that threaten us. Leave God in the church, Anne, and stick to what women know best.”
Wolsey smirked at her Yeoman. She saw the guard’s hand reach for his dagger, and the gesture alone sent Wolsey scampering.
Her heart began to race, and her neck felt tight, as if a string was being pulled around it, tighter and tighter, until her throat burned and she was blinking back tears. She reached out for her Yeoman as she fell into darkness.
He cradled her in his arms, brushing the hair from her face. He was so gentle. She let her eyes focus on his red beard and remembered it on her cheek. Henry was over a foot taller than she was, and muscular, and she was like a toy held in his arms.
She knew she should be afraid, but he felt so good surrounding her, supporting her. She had no one to rest upon, no one to carry her burdens. She decided to let him hold her, and she would pretend it was safe.
Looking up, she saw she was in a new chamber. The bed was an enormous, perfect square, almost as big as her bedchamber at home. It was gilded and carved, and there were angels in the design: two sweet angels on the footboard holding a bowl. She guessed the design was repeated above her, on the headboard. It comforted her. The only other place she had seen angels was in the chapel Wolsey had built at Hampton Court.
He stroked her arm, smoothing her gown in places, watching her reactions. “It is my bedchamber,” he said.
She started to rise up, grasping at her bodice to see if it was in place, but he caught her hand and kissed it.
“I would never have you that way, Anne. You have nothing to fear from me. Please rest, and let me be your servant today. I am so sorry for the trouble I have poured out upon you.”
Anne remembered everything. “Our letters.” She groaned.
“Sshh,” he whispered. “No one can harm you.” He moved her in his arms so that his mouth could reach hers, and her body rose to melt into his kiss. It was not enough.
“I cannot have this,” Anne said, wanting to cry in frustration. She wanted to be lost forever in here, beneath his coverlet, entwined against him, sheltered. But God’s law said it must not happen until there was a marriage. Why must she be cursed with a heart for God? She groaned again to herself. She wanted nothing more right now than his flesh upon hers, his back turned against the world, spreading himself out over her, so she could see nothing but his face and taste nothing but his lips.
Henry smiled and set his finger on her lips. “I said you would be safe here, and that is even from me.” He grinned. “I will sleep elsewhere. But tell me, why were you listening as I spoke to More and Wolsey?”
“I do not know who betrayed me. I wanted to know my fate, if you were going to discard me.”
“Because of the letters?” Henry laughed softly. “Anne, my first thought was that you had sent them.”
“I would never allow myself to be exposed in this way!”
“I know. I have my spies too.”
She did not know what this meant, but his tone was still kind, and he was still touching her with affection. Anne was confused. Her body craved his touch, was warmed by it. She longed to bury her face in his chest and release all her fears, yet her mind spun, weaving little worries and fears into something bigger, something that demanded she escape. He let his finger move from her arms to her shoulders and across her neck. He bent down for a kiss and she received it, darkening her mind to anything but the pleasure of him surrounding her, his lips on hers. She was greedy for affection; this court had turned so cold. She could not help herself.
It was Henry who pushed her away. “You want me. Why won’t you have me in bed?”
Breathing hard, Anne struggled to awaken her thoughts again, to compose herself, to sit up. He helped her, lifting her off his lap and setting her back against the pillows.
“Don’t you see it, Henry? I alone submit to God. No one else in this court does. They all practice a false religion.”
“You’ve been reading the Hutchins book?” he said.
“Yes,” she lied. She was afraid of the book, of what it might say of her, of what it might say of her brother.