The Other Boleyn Girl. Philippa GregoryЧитать онлайн книгу.

      The king was in his private gallery, overlooking the chapel, hearing matins as we filed past to the queen’s adjoining room. Straining my ears I could just hear the mutter of the clerk putting papers before the king for him to glance at and sign as he watched the priest in the chapel below go through the familiar motions of the Mass. The king always did his business at the same time as hearing the morning service, he followed his father in this tradition, and there were many who thought the work was hallowed. There were others, my uncle among them, who thought that it showed that the king was in a hurry to get the work out of the way and that he only ever gave it half his mind.

      I kneeled on the cushion in the queen’s private room, looking at the ivory gleam of my gown as it shimmered, hinting at the contours of my thighs. I could still feel the warmth of him in the tenderness between my legs, I could still taste him on my lips. Despite the bath which Anne had insisted that I took, I still fancied that I could smell the sweat from his chest on my face and in my hair. When I closed my eyes it was not in prayer, but in a reverie of sensuality.

      The queen was kneeling beside me, her face grave, her head erect under the heavy gable hood. Her gown was open a little at the neck so that she might slide her finger inside and touch the hair shirt that she always wore next to her skin. Her sober face was drawn and tired, her head bowed over her rosary, the old slack skin on her chin and cheeks looking weary and pouched under her tightly closed eyes.

      The Mass went on interminably. I envied Henry the distraction of the state papers. The queen’s attention never wavered, her fingers were never idle on her beads, her eyes were always closed in prayer. Only when the service ended and the priest wiped the chalices in the white cloths and took them away did she give a lingering sigh, as if she had heard something that none of us had ears for. She turned and smiled on all of us, all her ladies, even me.

      ‘And now let us go to break our fast,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Perhaps the king will eat with us.’

      As we filed past his door, I felt myself dawdle, I could not believe that he would let me go by without a word. As if he sensed my desire, my brother George flung open the door at the exact moment that I was lingering and said loudly: ‘A good morning to you, my sister.’

      In the room behind him Henry looked up quickly from his work and saw me, framed in the doorway, in the cream gown that Anne had chosen for me, with my cream headdress pulling my rich hair off my young face. He gave a little sigh of desire at the sight of me and I felt my colour rise, and my smile warm my face.

      ‘Good day, sire. And good day to you, my brother,’ I said softly, while my eyes never left Henry’s face.

      Henry rose to his feet and stretched out his hand as if to draw me in. He checked himself with a glance at his clerk.

      ‘I’ll take my breakfast with you,’ he said. ‘Tell the queen I will come along in a few moments. Just as soon as I have finished these … these …’ His vague gesture indicated that he had no idea what the papers were.

      He came across the room, like a dazed trout swimming towards a poacher’s bright lantern. ‘And you, this morning, are you well?’ he said quietly, for my ears only.

      ‘I am.’ I shot a quick, mischievous glance up at his intent face. ‘A little weary.’

      His eyes danced at the admission. ‘Did you not sleep well, sweeting?’

      ‘Hardly at all.’

      ‘Was the bed not to your liking?’

      I stumbled, I was never as skilled as Anne at this sort of word-play. In the end I said nothing but what was simply true. ‘Sire, I liked it very well.’

      ‘Would you sleep there again?’

      In a delicious moment I found the right response. ‘Oh sire. I was hoping I would not sleep there again very soon.’

      He threw back his head and laughed, he snatched up my hand and, turning it over, pressed a kiss into the palm. ‘My lady, you have only to command me,’ he promised. ‘I am your servant in every way.’

      I bowed my head to watch his mouth press my hand, I could not take my eyes from his face. He raised his head and we looked at each other, a long mutual look of desire.

      ‘I should go,’ I said. ‘The queen will wonder where I am.’

      ‘I shall follow you,’ he said. ‘Believe it.’

      I shot him a quick smile then I turned and ran down the gallery after the queen’s ladies. I could hear my heels going tap tap tap on the stones beneath the rushes, I could hear the rustle of my silk gown. I could sense, in every part of my alert body, that I was young and lovely and beloved. Beloved by the King of England himself.

      He came to breakfast and smiled as he took his seat. The queen’s pale eyes took in the rosy colour of my face, the rich gleam of my cream gown, and looked away. She called for some musicians to play for us while we ate, and for the queen’s master of the horse to attend us.

      ‘Will you go hunting today, sire?’ she asked him pleasantly.

      ‘Yes, indeed. Would any of your ladies care to follow the hunt?’ the king invited.

      ‘I am sure they would,’ she said with her usual pleasant tone. ‘Mademoiselle Boleyn, Mistress Parker, Mistress Carey? I know you three for keen riders. Would you like to ride with the king today?’

      Jane Parker shot a swift malicious gleam at me for being named third. She does not know, I thought, inwardly hugging myself. She can triumph all she likes because she does not know.

      ‘We would be enchanted to ride with the king,’ Anne said smoothly. ‘All three of us.’