Her Yeoman was there, wide awake, standing and staring. She let out a cry as he turned to her, his face changing in the shadows, a rippling as he came into the light. Her stomach knotted up in fear. No one stirred inside her chamber. He moved to block her path. She saw he had been staring at the tapestry of Sarah and Abraham, and a tear wet his cheek.
He had always had a gentle way about him, escorting her as though his position was not a way of earning bread but of saving her. She had walked behind him all her days since that early May morning when she had been thrust into this new world, watching his broad muscular back, seeing courtiers step aside as he moved confidently through the dimly lit passages, escorting her past every petty dowager, every seducing virgin intent on winning Henry away. He never left her side, never accused, never grasped.
Perhaps she had imagined his goodness. She did not deserve it. Not when she was about to destroy everything precious to her. If God had made His plan clear to her, perhaps she would not be doing this. Time was so short. She could wait no more.
He stood in her path and did not move. Anne looked back at her chamber, the peaceful quiet calling her to return. Her Yeoman shifted his weight on his feet, and the torchlight sent a reflection into the room. She caught sight of the book on her bedside table.
“I will wait for His blessing no more,” she said, gritting her teeth and pushing past her Yeoman.
The hallways were quiet, the flickering yellow torches against the stone walls giving only enough light but no heat. The floors were so cold under her feet that she wished she had slipped on her shoes, but her servants had taken those after they put her to bed. Her skin raised in little gooseflesh bumps, the cold air biting her through the thin shift, drafts of winter finding her again and again. She paused before the great twin doors, the carving of the Tudor rose on them. His guards bristled and shook themselves awake, though both were standing, not expecting to receive a visitor at this hour. Anne thought she saw a smirk on one’s face as he peered at her before settling back into the darkness against the wall. She turned and looked at her Yeoman. He had walked behind her. He did not lead, not down this path.
“Do not wait for me,” she whispered, and with one last breath for strength, pushed against the doors.
There was a flickering candle on a little stand near the doors, and then the great ocean of night. She could hear no one stirring, indeed no one breathing, so her entrance had not disturbed the chamber as she feared. She reached for the candle and held it before her with both hands. It was slick and heavy, and she walked slowly to keep the flame high. She saw a wooden leg of the bed and searched to find the other one. It was a distance away, at least ten or eleven feet, and Anne did not know which end she had found first. She could see bed linens, and she strained to see beyond the shadow into the bed, but could see nothing. She reached out with one hand, touching the edge, and followed it round the leg to the other side. The other leg was just as far away, a good ten feet and some. She crept along the edge, disoriented, her heart beating faster, not expecting to be confused by such a simple thing.
She had waited for this moment since she was a girl, but never had she imagined she’d be groping blindly in the dark for her bridegroom. Never had she imagined she would have neither Church nor husband when it came.
She saw him sleeping. She set the candle on a stand next to him, and he stirred, blinking in the new light. His eyes met hers, and he watched without speaking as she untied the ribbon at her neck, loosening her shift, letting it fall at her feet. His face was impassive. He did not move as she lifted the linens and lay at his side, her hands shaking so hard that the linens made little waves around him.
“Why now?” he asked.
A servant built the fire up in the room. Anne gagged at the pinching smoke of burning wood, her stomach swimming as she woke up. Jane had brought some dry bread, salted twice to settle her stomach, and set it on the table next to the bed. She sat quietly while Anne tried to wake up without getting sick again.
“What must I do today?” Anne asked.
“The cook wants you to approve the menu for Christmas. There are two parties before the day, besides. He’s getting impatient with your delays. Says there won’t be any good meats to choose from.”
Anne groaned. “I can’t.”
She retched over the side of the bed. Jane caught her, patting her back, whispering to another servant. “Bring me some lemons for Anne.”
Anne sat back up, tears in her eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“Shh, shh. Of course ye can. You’ve already made two months. Not much longer till you’re past it. With your permission, I’ll look over the cook’s menu and make recommendations, in your name, of course.”
Anne nodded.