“Good night, my lord,” she responded as he departed her bedchamber through a small private door that permitted him to avoid being seen by her women.
The king hurried through the narrow privy hallway back into his own bedroom. He bathed his private parts with the water in the basin that had been left for just that purpose. His body servant brought him a fresh nightshirt, and when the king had put it on, the man silently wrapped his master in a green brocade robe and knelt to slip a pair of leather house shoes on his feet.
“I will be gone two to three hours, Walter,” he told the man. “Where is the dark lantern?”
“By the outside door, your majesty,” the servant said, and then he added, “My lord Henry, I understand your need for discretion given the incident of several months back, but if there is some sort of emergency in the night—” He stopped and looked questioningly at the king. “What am I to say?”
The king laughed softly. “You have always kept my secrets, Walter,” he said. “I shall not be far. At Lord Cambridge’s house next door to the palace. You will, of course, tell no one, but should an emergency arise in the next two to three hours, you will run through the park to fetch me, eh?”
Walter bowed, smiling. “Yes, my lord Henry,” he said, and ushered the king out of his bedchamber through another small private corridor, down a flight of stairs, and to an outside door. Bending down, he picked up the dark lantern and handed it to the king with a bow, then closed the door behind his master.
Using the light of the dark lantern, which only fell on the path at his feet, the king hurried across his gardens and into the wooded park beyond. There was no moon this night, which made his passage through the trees a slow and cautious one, but finally the garden wall belonging to Lord Cambridge loomed up before him. He could see the little door in the wall, faintly shadowed, and putting his hand on the latch, he lifted it, opened it, and stepped through into Tom Bolton’s garden. Within, even in the darkness, he could see that all was orderly. He made his way along the carefully raked garden paths until he reached the house. His blue eyes moved to find his landmark, and there it was. A small lantern burning brightly by another small door. He set down his own dark lamp, and taking up the small light, he entered the house. Following exactly the directions given him by Lord Cambridge, he made his way upstairs to Rosamund’s apartment. He entered and went through the dayroom into the bedchamber.There she lay!
The king blew out the small lamp and set it down upon a table. He pulled off his brocaded robe and laid it aside. Then he moved to the bedside, and bending, he kissed her face with a half-dozen kisses until her eyes opened and she smiled at him.
“Hal,” she said softly.
He thought it a sweet welcome. “Will you remove your smock for me?” he asked her. “I want to see all of you, fair Rosamund.”
“If you will remove your nightshirt,” she told him. My God! Rosamund thought. Was she a born whore that she was falling so easily into this shameful affair? But she didn’t feel shameful. He wanted her. He had wanted her as a lad, and he still wanted her. He was the king of England, and it was damned flattering. What did it matter as long as the queen wasn’t harmed by it? A brief liaison, and she would be gone back to Friarsgate never to see him again. Sitting up, she pulled off the white linen smock, tossing it aside, and undid her nightcap so that her hair flowed freely. Then she threw back the coverlet, displaying herself to him. “Do I please you, my lord?”
“Aye, fair Rosamund, you please me mightily!” the king said. He reached out for her and drew her from the bed.
How very tall he was. She knew it, of course, but standing before him it seemed even more so. Reaching up, she undid the ties of his nightshirt, opening it wide, her small hands slipping beneath the fabric to smooth across his chest, which was furred with the same reddish gold of his hair. His chest was broader than any she had seen, even clothed. His shoulders were wider. “You are a giant, my lord,” she told him softly. She pushed the nightshirt from him, and it fell to the floor at his feet. He stepped from it, and she saw that his feet, while big, were narrow and almost delicate.
“No woman but my nurse has ever seen me as God made me, fair Rosamund, until you,” he told her.
“The queen?” How she had even dared to utter the word under these circumstances she did not know.
“Prefers my dutiful attentions in darkness and as clothed as possible—andI have never seen her as I have now seen you,” he said.
“Oh,” she replied, surprised and perhaps a little embarrassed to learn such an intimate fact about their marriage. She had not thought the queen would be so prudish with her husband. Particularly with such a handsome, young, and lusty mate.
His big hands clasped about her waist. He lifted her up in order to bury his face between her breasts. “Ummm, what is that delicious fragrance that seems to cling to your skin?” he asked her, nuzzling deeper in the shadowed valley of her bosom.
“White heather,” she told him, steadying herself with her hands on his shoulders. God’s nightshirt, she had missed a man’s tender attentions. She could feel a wonderful warmth beginning to suffuse her body as he began to kiss her flesh.
“It suits you,” he told her. “I shall always think of you, my fair Rosamund, when I smell the scent of white heather.” He lowered her back to the floor, making certain that her ripe, soft body slid the length of him.
She felt his chest, his belly, his hairy thighs. He was hard all over, having the body of a warrior. When he wrapped his arms about her and kissed her, Rosamund thought that she would swoon with the pleasure his lips gave her. His tongue plunged deep into her mouth, seeking her tongue, finding it, demanding immediate homage from her. Her head was absolutely spinning, and she swayed in his embrace.
He held her close and murmured in her ear, “How sweet, how compliant you are with me, my fair Rosamund. You are the perfect female, my darling. You are experienced and passionate, and yet there is an innocence about you that I must possess!” He set her back from him and took one of her breasts into his hand, cupping it so that it rested in his palm like a small white dove. With the fingers of his other hand he delicately caressed the smooth firm flesh. He bent his head and teased the nipple with his hot tongue; then, his hungry mouth fastened over that sentient nub, and he sucked hard on it.
A small cry escaped her. He was the most damnably sensuous man! Owein had certainly loved her, but never like this! He lay her down now upon her bed, and she saw his male member for the first time. It was surely of a goodly size, and obviously most ready for pleasure. She held out her arms to him, and he smiled.
“Such a charming welcome, fair Rosamund. Are you as eager for me as I am for you, my darling?”
“Oh, yes, Hal!” she assured him.“Yes!”
“I must be careful not to crush you, my sweet,” he said.
“I am stronger than I appear,” she said.
“But have you ever taken such a weapon within you as the one now before you?” His hand wrapped itself about his manhood, and he displayed it for her proudly.
“I have known only my husband, Hal. He was surely not as well-endowed as your majesty is, but I am no virgin.”
Carefully the king straddled her, but his eagerness overcame him, and he was unable to refrain from thrusting immediately into her. “God’s nightshirt! Ah, what bliss!” he groaned. “Is there no end to your sweet welcome, my fair Rosamund?”
