The Boleyn Prince

Chapter 27

George Boleyn pressed the mouth of the wineskin to his lips and drank heartily.
After a day and a half in the saddle, it was the only luxury he had about him. Soon enough he would be home he consoled himself, as though it helped the minutes trickle by in as much the same manner as the English countryside as his mount trotted towards the iron gates of the Beaulieu estate.

The gatekeeper and his son, hurried out of the gatehouse to admit him and his retinue.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace. Welcome home," the man said, with a bow. A young blonde girl dressed in homespun he had never seen before appeared by his side, also offering a bow.

"Pretty thing," he thought to himself, instantly feeling more cheerful in his mood. He reigned his horse closer to get a better look at the girl he could only assume was the gatekeeper's daughter.
He met her inquisitive gaze and gallantly tipped his hat to her. The girl's face flushed pink, and she lowered her gaze to the floor.

"Hoho a virgin, methinks," George thought, going off the idea of bedding her as he rode on past. Virgins bored him. He preferred skilful women in his bed. Women who knew how to excite and satisfy him. Like that little tease Kathryn Howard.
He could already feel himself stiffening at the memories of that provocative little wench taking him in her mouth and sucking at him like a hungry babe would at its mother's teat.
Such a change from the coldness he had known from his new wife. She had lain beneath him on their wedding night as rigid as a statue. She had not even looked at him.
She came out to greet him as he reached the house. George was taken aback by the change in her. It was more than the new French cut gown of crimson silk that she was wearing. She had filled out well.
She must be with child, he thought, congratulating himself on his virility for seeding her so quickly. Ten barren years with Jane Parker had left him wondering if he would ever get an heir. "I wonder why she has not written to tell me."

"You look well," he said as he dismounted from his horse in the courtyard, discreetly scanning Mary's attendants for a glimpse of Kathryn Howard. It had been days since he had last been with a woman and the need for one was rapidly consuming his thoughts and his breeches.

"Thank you," she replied stiffly. She never seemed sure about how to respond to his compliments.

There was no welcome kiss for him from his wife as Jane Parker used to do when he returned to her. No cordial exchange of pleasantries even.
As he followed her inside, his eye caught sight of a familiar figure, a blond head demurely bowed in respect.

"Well, well well, Mistress Seymour," he teased standing before her, revelling in the blushes appearing on her pale face.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she replied quietly, offering a curtsey. Her eyes demurely fixed on the floor.

"When did Jane Seymour join our household," he asked, the moment they were left alone in the great hall.

"She came two days after you left for court. She asked for a position."

He poured himself a generous helping of the wine that was perched on the table and rested his saddle-sore buttocks on a cushioned chair. "Did you not think to write and ask me?"

"I did not think it necessary. My mother always chose which ladies served in her household. I understand your sister insists upon the same."

"You do know that she was your fathers' mistress. That was why Anne dismissed her. Whoreing! Or did she not mention that when you received her?" he scorned, taking another large mouthful of the sweet wine.

"She told me."

"And yet you still gave her a position?"

"I see no difference between Mistress Seymour and your sister," Mary argued defiantly. "And if your sister, shameless as she is, is thought worthy enough to wear a crown, then surely Mistress Seymour is worthy enough to serve in my household."

That was enough to get him to rise to his feet. "Careful Mary," he warned her. "You will not insult my sister to me. She is our Queen."

"She is not my Queen," Mary insisted stubbornly. "I have not sworn her my fealty." 

George was tired from his journey and in no mood to argue. Mary's juvenile protests were futile. He knew that and he sensed deep down that she knew it too. Too much excitement could harm the child she carried, so he was inclined to be tolerable.

"In the future, you will consult with me before you employ any new persons."

"Why have you come here?" She asked.

"I came to tell you that a betrothal has been agreed for Prince Henry. He is to marry King Francis's youngest daughter, Princess Margaret as soon as he comes of age."

"A French Queen for England," she scoffed contemptuously. As if she had never been betrothed to either the dauphin or indeed the Duke of Orleans. But as a granddaughter of Spain, she would always belittle a French match. The two countries had long been enemies in the quest for dominance in Europe.

"The betrothal is to form part of a Treaty which will see England allied with France once more," George went on. "The celebrations will take place at Richmond in two months' time. I have been asked to host King Francis's representatives here for a few days and then accompany them to London. I wanted to tell you what arrangements I have decided on and you will need to have some new gowns made ready."

"You want me to be there?"

"Of course. You are my wife now. Your place is by my side."

"Giving the impression of harmony, lest the King of France changes his mind?" Her tone conveyed her contempt for such an idea.

Her icy bitterness irritated him. He had just invited her to be present at the most spectacular event the country had seen in years. Yet all she could do was wrinkle her nose as if it were beneath her to attend.

"You could at least show some enthusiasm," he said, draining the last of the goblet. "Or are you in such a condition that your mood is disordered?"

The quizzical look Mary gave him confirmed she did not know what he was talking about.

He nodded in the direction of her belly, but still his wife did not understand his meaning. "You are with child, are you not?"

She did not smile, nor touch her belly with her hand. If anything, she was taken aback by the suggestion. "I am not."

George could feel his shoulders sag with disappointment. "Forgive me. When I saw you earlier, I thought that was the reason for the change in your appearance."

"You find me changed?'

"Very much so. For the better." He hastened to add.

Mary was not moved by the compliment. Instead, she stood there calm and unmoved. "Then it is your cook who deserves your compliments," she said blandly.

George rushed through his bath and dinner to retire alone to his chambers. He was anxious to see Kathryn Howard again. He had sent her a note requesting she come to him once he had retired for the night, and he was certain she would come.

A series of slow footsteps in the hallways outside pricked his hearing. He could sense her standing behind the door. A heady mix of anticipation and lust had taken over George Boleyn, and he found he was already hard. A moment later there was a gentle knock at the door. He could feel his smile widening as Kathryn showed herself into his chamber.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she bowed low enough for him to get a good look at her breasts peeping from the top of her light blue gown.

"Good evening." He held a goblet a wine outstretched to her. "Drink?"

She took it gratefully, keeping her big brown eyes on him as he circled her whilst she drank it.

He snaked an arm around the rough embroidery of her bodice from the side, groping her plump breasts that peaked from the top of her satin gown. He pulled her roughly against him as he pressed into her, feeling him grinding against her back as he now took both her breasts in his hands, sliding his hands down the top of her dress twiddling her nipples until they grew hard then began tugging and squeezing them, causing her to whimper slightly.
He could tell how excited it made her. The way her breasts heaved with each breath she took betrayed her arousal.
She broke free from his restraint and kissed him passionately, which he responded to hungrily, this wench had the power to excite him more than any of the other women at court.
Once again, his body was alive with desire. He manoeuvred Kathryn back against the wooden panelling of the bedchamber wall. He took hold of the hem of her dress and lifted it up high over her hips exposing her secret parts to the night-time air.
She locked her legs around his waist and with one quick thrust, he was inside of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck forcing his kisses to become harder and rubbing her became all the rougher and faster.
He kept her pinned against the wall with his body as he continued to thrust slowly but hard into her. She jutted her hips out, and down, grinding herself against his groin, feeling him pulsating within her walls, her thighs clenching around him. Her back arched upward, making him stagger slightly, still holding her safe as he climaxed once again.