Royal Blood. Rona SharonЧитать онлайн книгу.
scoffed.
“Bland!” Anne let out a throaty chuckle. “I should very much like to blend with that.”
Renée decided to shift their conversation to a more conducive lane. “Who is the pretty lady putting her talons in the king?”
“Elizabeth—Bessie—Blount,” Anne replied scathingly. “She certainly has him by the dice.”
They stopped outside the ring of courtiers to watch the lady in question kiss the royal dice for luck. Not for the first time Renée wondered why queens were determined to be foolish. Her sister Claude was one example, but she had a dissolute swine for a husband and had to vie for his attention with Francis’s recreant lady sister and a long procession of mistresses. Queen Katherine was married to a man who seemed to bear her affection as well as respect, and yet in her way she was alienating him. On second thought, Renée might also look the other way if married to such a man. How weary she was of self-absorbed, tyrannical epicures. She hated court life and longed for the peaceful simplicity of the country, married to a quiet man, whose greatest ambition was to create beauty, not accumulate castles. Yet she was not so naïve as to imagine that without the benefit of wealth and rank there could be freedom. As Duchess of Brittany she would attain the most liberty a woman could hope for. She would bear the rood of no one, save a remote king.
“Sister, come make a stand with me against great Midas here!” a man called with false levity from inside the girdle of courtiers besieging the king’s gaming table. “Beauteous sister, I bid you come quick to my rescue! My losses are piling, and I have no Fortuna in my corner.”
A surprisingly good ploy on Buckingham’s part, Renée granted. Mistress Blount might very well lose her office of dice kisser. Sensing Anne’s hesitation, Renée nudged her into the bevy of gallants, all deep in their cups and reeling with exuberance.
A jolly drunkard blocked their path. “Hark! Plato and Socrates walk into a tavern—”
“Aw, we have heard that one,” someone exclaimed. “Refresh your arsenal, dear Compton, for your jokes are getting on in years!”
“And with the ladies!” Compton grabbed Anne by the waist to his friends’ roaring delight. “Hullo, my darling lady! Kiss me quick, for you have been much missed.”
“Take your greedy paws off me, you swine-drunk fool! You may put Plato and Socrates in a tavern, but you shan’t put me.” The newly pious Anne shoved him away, and he fell straight into the arms of his amused mates, who heaved him to an upright albeit wobbly posture.
“Stung by a honeybee!” Compton slurred jovially as he staggered before Anne.
“You unhappy honey bag!” someone jeered, eliciting guffaws among the tomboys.
“Lady Anne, your lord brother pleads for your lucky touch. Pray do not keep him waiting,” a baritone voice called from the center of the hive. All at once, the swarm of courtiers parted like the Red Sea before Moses, creating a human corridor to the table. Clutching Renée’s wrist—for courage—Anne came to stand beside Buckingham. The king lifted sparkling blue eyes and with the voice that had just spoken, exclaimed, “Lady Anne, we bid you welcome! My court has been disgarnished for lack of your beauty. And, my Lady Renée, bon soir!”
Renée sank into a supple curtsey beside Anne, sensing dozens of eyes perusing her with avid curiosity. She did not appreciate the sudden attention and so kept her eyes downcast.
“Your Grace is most kind,” Anne murmured, her hand dampening around Renée’s wrist.
From beneath her eyelashes, Renée saw the king take Anne’s measures. “Come, Anne,” he cajoled, “kiss my dice for luck. His Grace your brother may enjoy Mistress Blount’s services.”
Ribald laughter rippled, accompanied by unsubtle remarks when Mistress Blount refused to relinquish her post. “Have I not served His Grace well? Fortune favors him tonight.”
All held their breaths, waiting to see who would prevail—the old mistress or the new one.
“Your Grace’s dice seem well kissed,” Anne remarked cattily, her resentful gaze bouncing between the king and Bessie, who stood her ground with daggers in her eyes.
The king smiled. Like all men, Renée thought, he enjoyed being fought over. He opened his mouth to speak. Buckingham cut him off. “Do as His Majesty says, Anne,” he snapped tersely.
King Henry lost his cheer. Buckingham was a fool, Renée decided. Henry wasn’t. The king contemplated the duke, then settled his gaze on Anne. “Well kissed though my dice may be, as king, I require a dutiful kiss from a Stafford set of lips.” A direct hit. Buckingham reddened.
There were sharp intakes of breath among the spectators. Renée stifled her shocked laughter. No wonder Buckingham felt rabid. More than desiring obedience, King Henry wished to humble the arrogant duke. She waited for Anne’s rejoinder, knowing what hers would be. Anne giggled. “Jesu, spare me of this plight! To please my beloved king, I must neglect my beloved brother!”
Renée groaned inwardly. The pie-goose! Lacking the wit to appreciate the fine subtleties of this treacherous game and the skill to play it withal, poor Anne had stupidly taken the king’s words at face value and opened herself to attack. Someone was sure to pounce on her answer.
“Verily a plight that bears a weighty and serious brow,” observed a gentleman at the table. Renée narrowed her eyes on the dark-haired lord. Earl Surrey, Norfolk’s son. “The question that needs must be answered is whom my Lady Hastings loves more—her brother…or her king?”
Murmurs then silence gripped the air as the courtiers waited to hear how Anne would extract herself from this self-inflicted bind. Buckingham’s hard gaze locked with Surrey’s.
A clever trap, Renée acceded; the sort her father would delight in setting. A fool will fall, a wise man will keep the fool down and fell more fools with him, had been his motto. Certes, Buckingham could rescue Anne graciously, but his pride impeded him from admitting to coming second to Henry Tudor in anything, even if just for show. As for Henry, the alert glint in his eye attested to his disapproval of Surrey’s ugly maneuver. Nevertheless, he was interested in hearing Anne’s response—and in Buckingham’s reaction to it.
Anne, bewildered by the strange undercurrents, dreaded opening her beak, her apprehensive gaze darting between the men at the table. Renée took pity on her and whispered a reply in her ear. She felt Anne squeeze her wrist in thanks before plastering a smile on her face and saying, “I love my brother as I love myself, but I would lay my life for my king, and there is your answer, my lord.” She leaned over to rake the royal dice, presenting King Henry with an alluring view of her magnificent udders, pressed the dice to her wide lips, and then offered them back to the king with a curtsey. Pleased with her answer, King Henry shot the dice across the board and won. The spectators applauded.
“Our adored king is most fortunate to claim the love of a lucky lady, in dice as well as in her choice of friends.” Surrey’s gaze veered from Anne to Renée. Black eyes assessed her with cold deliberation. Thomas Howard was Rougé’s English counterpart in looks and years, but she had a feeling he was colder and more dangerous for the backing of a powerful duke as his sire. Foiling his trap, whereby attracting his notice and enmity, had been unwise, or mayhap not. Anne was in the king’s good graces once again and well on her way to becoming his partner for the masque.
Renée eased her wrist out of Anne’s clasp and let the courtiers pushing to stand in the royal radiance spew her out. She refused to feel guilt or remorse over what she had helped precipitate. King Henry was no innocent. He ordered people’s deaths; he lived in luxury at the expense of his poor, plague-ridden subjects; he was spoiled, vainglorious, and adulterous. He was king. Perhaps he did not deserve to die tonight, but such was reality. It was him or her.
She searched the room for Rougé. Her gaze collided with turquoise eyes. The fair stranger. As evidenced by his pleased expression, he had been watching her, waiting for her to notice him again. Leaning against the wall beside a bearded fellow, he pinioned her with