The Seventh Queen (On Hold: Revising)

These pesky memories

After three weeks tending to the English prince, Anine found herself falling for him despite her own warnings. Though upon his arrival she had found Henry arrogant and spoiled, but it was no more then a prince trying to impress her.

It resulted in them stealing many private days where Anine could be entirely free from the prying eyes of both their parents.

Walking next to her, Henry urged her hand into his, but she untangled her fingers from his; she wanted to be away from the castle, her mother's eyes, before they became intimate again. As indescreet as they had been, Anine had a sense that Maraush knew about their little budding romance. Tomorrow the king and Henry would ride out early, back to London to see the marriage of his brother to Katherine of Aragon. It made her suggest a long outing on their last day together, hoping the place they were headed was void of any court or wild fae.

"There it is," She said as they reached the crest of a gentle hill.

The small structure, nestled in a stand of oaks, that shivered in the light wind. A round welsh tower rose from one end causing a flutter in Anine as she remembered the last time she was here. Athaine.... the name rang true to both her heart and her memories.

"A church?" Henry asked. She knew, even f Henry did not voice it, that he wondered if it were catholic or pagen.

"It not pagen," she said. "At least it hasn't been for a long time,"

When they reached the copse and the church, Anine allowed Henry to take her hand and play with her hair. She could feel every individual finger winding through hers, all the while he had stopped playing with her hair and helped her prepare- letting go of her hand for only a second as he shook out a thick coverlet on the grass, unpacking her bag of food and taking her hand again.

When all was readied, Henry helped Anine sit, watching as she sank gracefully with her dark red riding skirts spread around her. She found his posture straight and high, reminding her of another. Quickly she shook it off, hoping Henry did not notice.

He ventured a question, "You seem frightened of this place, or is it  memories it holds that terrify you?"

He was perceptive but she was a good lair.

"The wind is a bit cold," she said "I should have brought a jacket."

It was his eyes that gave him away, shining with disbelief, though it wasn't enough to make him voice it. She saw his lips curve into a tempting smile before taking off his riding jacket and drapping it on her bare shoulders.

"Always like a wild rose," he touched her cheek, "Feirce and beautiful, but in a swift breeze ye shiver in both pleasure and discomfort."

"Such the poet," she replied handing him a loaf of new bread. "I've only heard you say such beautiful things in private."

"Such things should be written on paper or said in private to keep their poetry."

As they ate warm bread and sweet jam, Henry recited poetry, some well known and some of his own. All the while she feared Maraush would kill Henry, leaving her to savor the happiness she felt.

When they finished eating her asked, "Come with me?"

The interior of the church was surprisingly intact and attractive with most of the stone-work still unharmed. The altar, stained with familiar blood, were all that remained of those long ago memories. Anine felt a pang at the evidence of Athaine's last brutal day here.

"My mother married here," she said watching Henry's gaze fall in the dried blood. "She was pagan at the time, sacrifices were part of their rituals. I suppose she thought a place, even an old pagan church would be divine enough,"

"I don't follow," and indeed he looked confused.

"She married without permission, hoping the king of the time, I believe it was the last Plantagenet king, would give mercy if her were to find out. Though he was killed and your father, God bless the king, found my mother's marriage valid," Anine's voice had altered, curiously intense, she hoped he would buy her lie. It had only been a century and half since she had contracted herself to Athaine.

Henry let go of her hand and stepped away, turning slowly, taking in every corner of the church, his eyes lingering on the dried blood. "we are royal, the rules are different for us."

"But we are already contracted to each other," she watched him tense, his fingers curling into fists. "Unless you do not wish-"

He cut her off then, his voice booming, "Of course I want to marry you. But I will marry you when my father gives us his consent."

It was harsh, but Anine knew it had to be that way. Royalty didn't have the security to marry on whims like they had almost two centuries ago.

Though she had been called princess then, Henry Tudor recognized her blood and its royal ties. Maraush had proven their blood, or just hers, were connected to the welsh king Arthur Pendragon. A feature Henry found promising in his former mistress' daughter. By the time Henry and his son came to their castle, a contract of marriage was made up and awaiting both Henry and her mother's signature.

They kissed under the damp hue of light that medieval church until she couldn't think of anything but the feel of his skin against hers.

(C) Kelcey Winn