Read Online Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) by Thea Atkinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thea Atkinson
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and for a moment, George believed his sister was relieved for that
transformation—she never once let her eyes trail away from Thomas’ face.
Instead she watched him with an intensity that made Henry Percy shuffle his
feet enviously. The chattering grew more insistent, and George realized he’d
lost track of the conversation. One of the ladies tapped his sleeve.
"Has your sister truly come from France?" She'd
shuddered delicately, her tiny mouth forming a moue that he wanted to stick his
finger into.
"Barbarians they are, over there. Why, I hear they
copulate like dogs."
He winked at her, touched her elbow intimately though he
didn’t like the way Anne had been lumped into the category. "And I hear
the women yelp with pleasure," he goaded. She blushed a deep pink. He
couldn’t help himself.
"Dear lady, I believe you envision it. I hope you have
me in the scene." He gave her a quick, mocking bow.
When Anne had come for him, though, he was delighted, both
because it gave him leave of the ladies, and because he wanted to discuss her
successful debut. He guided her away from the dance and toward a corner of the
castle.
"You’ve captured everyone’s attention, Nan." He
didn’t feel much like dancing; he’d have to pass her off, and he had too much
to say to her.
"Have I?" She laughed. "I dare say even the
King’s sister pales in comparison to me this eve."
"Your modesty overwhelms me, sister." He bent to
scoop a date from atop the rushes, and though it looked a little squashed,
stuffed it into his mouth. It was hard to talk around the fruit but he gave it
a try. "I can’t say you outshine sweet Princess Mary, though. She’s so
beautifully fair."
He eyed Anne from face to toe. "You look like red mud
has been rubbed all over your skin—why did they not make you a savage?"
He had to duck when she tried to clout his head.
"See? Savage." He didn’t move in time to avoid the
next one. "Ouch."
"Ouch, indeed. You’re fortunate I didn’t put my weight
into it."
"Ah, so you say, Nan. But you’ve no idea who you’re
dealing with these days."
"I know well what I’m dealing with—a coward." He
chewed his lip, held her eye.
"So you chose a coward to rescue you?" She stared
back, smiled.
"I’m sentimental."
Chapter 11
L ater as evening wore to deep night, Anne lay atop a narrow
bed, scratching at her legs. She feared the flea-ridden sheets that stretched
tautly across the filthy straw mattress had never been cleaned. She tossed and
turned, finally wakening her sleeping companion.
"Here, now!" the woman mumbled crossly, her foul
breath creeping into Anne's nostrils, making them flare.
"Sorry," Anne returned, not really feeling
apologetic.
When she had arrived at Hampton Court, amazed at the
grandeur of the many statues and white carved stone, she had instantly formed
an opinion of Thomas Wolsey. It seemed even his castle would outdo the
majority. For a man supposedly humble before God and man, he certainly thought
nothing of displaying his wealth. Tiers of stone and cross stretched to the
heavens, and baked to a pleasant ochre by the sun, crept upwards for three
levels. Though stark and cold seeming, it held a peculiar elegance.
The Cardinal, who was rumored to be almost perversely preoccupied
with cleanliness, was personified in his estate. But later, as she was assigned
sleeping quarters, she discovered his servants were lax in cleaning any area
they suspected the Cardinal would avoid. And in seeing the filth his guests
were to sleep in, she couldn't help but shiver to think how his servants
lived—probably squatting in their own excess and excrement, for lack of desire
to clean. The rushes that were supposed to sweeten the room, and cover the damp
stink of must had instead absorbed the smell of the wet stone they covered.
They hadn't been swept or replaced for many days. The sleeping woman turned to
the wall, jutting her backside into Anne's hip.
That was enough. Anne got up and tramped crossly
transformation—she never once let her eyes trail away from Thomas’ face.
Instead she watched him with an intensity that made Henry Percy shuffle his
feet enviously. The chattering grew more insistent, and George realized he’d
lost track of the conversation. One of the ladies tapped his sleeve.
"Has your sister truly come from France?" She'd
shuddered delicately, her tiny mouth forming a moue that he wanted to stick his
finger into.
"Barbarians they are, over there. Why, I hear they
copulate like dogs."
He winked at her, touched her elbow intimately though he
didn’t like the way Anne had been lumped into the category. "And I hear
the women yelp with pleasure," he goaded. She blushed a deep pink. He
couldn’t help himself.
"Dear lady, I believe you envision it. I hope you have
me in the scene." He gave her a quick, mocking bow.
When Anne had come for him, though, he was delighted, both
because it gave him leave of the ladies, and because he wanted to discuss her
successful debut. He guided her away from the dance and toward a corner of the
castle.
"You’ve captured everyone’s attention, Nan." He
didn’t feel much like dancing; he’d have to pass her off, and he had too much
to say to her.
"Have I?" She laughed. "I dare say even the
King’s sister pales in comparison to me this eve."
"Your modesty overwhelms me, sister." He bent to
scoop a date from atop the rushes, and though it looked a little squashed,
stuffed it into his mouth. It was hard to talk around the fruit but he gave it
a try. "I can’t say you outshine sweet Princess Mary, though. She’s so
beautifully fair."
He eyed Anne from face to toe. "You look like red mud
has been rubbed all over your skin—why did they not make you a savage?"
He had to duck when she tried to clout his head.
"See? Savage." He didn’t move in time to avoid the
next one. "Ouch."
"Ouch, indeed. You’re fortunate I didn’t put my weight
into it."
"Ah, so you say, Nan. But you’ve no idea who you’re
dealing with these days."
"I know well what I’m dealing with—a coward." He
chewed his lip, held her eye.
"So you chose a coward to rescue you?" She stared
back, smiled.
"I’m sentimental."
Chapter 11
L ater as evening wore to deep night, Anne lay atop a narrow
bed, scratching at her legs. She feared the flea-ridden sheets that stretched
tautly across the filthy straw mattress had never been cleaned. She tossed and
turned, finally wakening her sleeping companion.
"Here, now!" the woman mumbled crossly, her foul
breath creeping into Anne's nostrils, making them flare.
"Sorry," Anne returned, not really feeling
apologetic.
When she had arrived at Hampton Court, amazed at the
grandeur of the many statues and white carved stone, she had instantly formed
an opinion of Thomas Wolsey. It seemed even his castle would outdo the
majority. For a man supposedly humble before God and man, he certainly thought
nothing of displaying his wealth. Tiers of stone and cross stretched to the
heavens, and baked to a pleasant ochre by the sun, crept upwards for three
levels. Though stark and cold seeming, it held a peculiar elegance.
The Cardinal, who was rumored to be almost perversely preoccupied
with cleanliness, was personified in his estate. But later, as she was assigned
sleeping quarters, she discovered his servants were lax in cleaning any area
they suspected the Cardinal would avoid. And in seeing the filth his guests
were to sleep in, she couldn't help but shiver to think how his servants
lived—probably squatting in their own excess and excrement, for lack of desire
to clean. The rushes that were supposed to sweeten the room, and cover the damp
stink of must had instead absorbed the smell of the wet stone they covered.
They hadn't been swept or replaced for many days. The sleeping woman turned to
the wall, jutting her backside into Anne's hip.
That was enough. Anne got up and tramped crossly
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