Read Online The Forgotten Queen by D. L. Bogdan - Free Book Online Page B

me. “But it is a pain that yields itself to much joy; it is a communion of the souls that cannot be achieved through any other act and becomes a closeness you will never feel with any other being.” Her face was radiant with conviction. I marveled that she should feel this way, wondering if I would ever know the like.
    “Ah, Lady Anne, you are a romantic,” observed Lady Surrey.
    “It is a pretty thought, Lady Surrey,” I said. “I like it.”
    “Then take comfort in it, Your Grace, as you do your duty for Scotland,” commanded Lady Surrey as she brushed my hair, arranging it over my shoulders.
    I drew in a breath. The moment had come.
    The king and I were led to the massive bed of state by giggling courtiers and ladies. The Archbishops of Glasgow and York stood at its foot, two old men of stony countenance. I flushed under their gazes, fearful that they would stay to observe the entire act as some had been known to do.
    The covers were turned down and Jamie and I were assisted into the bed, where the covers were then drawn over us to the chest. We were blessed by the archbishops. Jamie folded his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring a prayer to himself. It seemed almost an intrusion that I should bear witness to his private communion with God, a communion I had never experienced during my prayers.
    At the blessing’s conclusion, the archbishops, ladies, and courtiers filed out of the chambers, leaving us alone. Jamie turned down the covers and rose, making toward the buffet, where he poured himself a goblet of wine.
    “Would you like some, little one?” he asked me, his soft tone ever solicitous.
    “I fear I shall fall asleep if I have any more,” I confessed with a nervous giggle. I looked about our suite, my eyes wide with awe. Tapestries depicted the grandeur of the court of King Solomon and the strength of Hercules, certain to be two of my king’s heroes. The glazed windows bore the arms of Scotland and England, and crowns of interweaving thistles and roses adorned the bosses. I drank it all in with delight.
    “Thistles and roses,” I observed with a slight sigh, recalling that long-ago conversation with my beloved Arthur when I likened myself to a thorn.
    “Entwined as one,” Jamie said, but his smile was distracted. He brought his goblet to his lips, downing it. He turned, gazing at me a long moment. I was unable to read his expression; it was distant, wrought with an emotion I could not understand. Pity, confusion perhaps? It did not make sense to me.
    “Would you . . . like to sleep, sweetheart?” he asked then, looking down into his goblet.
    I shook my head. “Of course not, Your Grace!”
    He smiled through pursed lips. Sweat gathered at his brow. He set the goblet on the buffet, making for the window seat, but did not sit. He gazed out and I had the distinct feeling he was viewing nothing of the scenery. He rested his forehead in his hand a moment before letting the hand fall to his side as he drew in a deep breath, expelling it in a sudden whoosh .
    “Your Grace . . .” I leaned up on one elbow. “Jamie . . . have I done something wrong?”
    He shook his head. “No, no, of course not.” He crossed to the buffet once more, pouring himself another cup of wine, taking a long draught, then sitting beside me on the bed. He sighed. “I fear for you,” he confided. “You’re so very small and I’m—” He bit his lip, his face flushing.
    “Your Grace?” I asked, screwing my face up in confusion.
    He bowed his head. “Tomorrow morning they will inspect the sheets,” he explained. “And we must give them the blood proof that our union has been consummated.”
    “B-blood?” I asked, scrambling up toward the pillow. “Blood from whom? Nobody told me there would be any blood!”
    Jamie gathered me in his arms. “Oh, little one, little one, dinna fret. . . .” He swayed to and fro and I took comfort in the steady beat of his strong heart. “We do not have to do it just