Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) Read Online Free PDF Page B

lick of her lip, she continued walking, pulling Anne along by the
sleeve.
    Anne planted her feet in the grass.
    " Grand Dieu ! You'd think you'd have learned your
lesson by now."
    "It’s naught but a little fun." Mary pouted. This
time the pout meant obstinacy.
    "The same fun you were expelled from France for,"
Anne countered quickly, trying her best to keep her footing against the rush of
crowds.
    Mary’s brow lifted sarcastically.
    "Ah, so you’re on Marguerite’s side, are you?" She
glared towards the French princess, rolled her eyes when they glanced back in
Anne’s direction. "Ah, that high-born French pastry. Perhaps I should go
over, Anne. Tell her of a few things that excite her brother, the King."
Mary laughed suddenly, a high toned, zealous one, and Anne folded her arms
across her stomach.
    "I wonder if she’d like to know how he enjoyed watching
me with his friends... or perhaps she’d try to expel him from France as
well."
    "No doubt it was your persuasion that lured him into
those liaisons. After all, he is like a saint."
    Mary made a face.
    "Perhaps to Satan he is." She harrumphed.
"But if Marguerite chooses to believe that demon spawn is godly, then so
be it. I can barely wait to see her face on Judgment Day, when his activities
are made known to the lowest commoner. Hah! How fare you there?"
    Anne shrugged her shoulders deferentially. "I received
a gown from his grace... I even wore it to the last dance." She laughed
suddenly, loudly. "When he came ’round to ask how I liked it, I told him
it made my legs itch—that the last woman he gave it to must have had lice in
her nether hair. Whew! Such a face he made."
    A spray of red wine flew from Mary’s mouth, landed on the
grass. "Good Lord! He must have been clenching his thin lip with those
ratty teeth of his."
    " Mais non , my dear Mary, not at all" Anne
teased. "Oh, his face paled to white for a moment, but when I grinned at
him, he took to laughing. You know how bawdy a sense of humor he has."
    "Indeed," Mary remarked, her attention already
wavering to a conversation nearby where one of the other ladies had begun
oohing and ahhing over King Henry. She looked angry and her posture went rigid.
Anne touched her shoulder to distract her.
    "And what of Catherine, have you not any pity for her
whilst you bed her husband?"
    Mary shrugged. "If not me, then he’d find another. The
Queen has learned to accept it. The love he bore her once is long gone. He’s
told me so. And the strain of trying to secure the throne has dulled any
remaining affection."
    "Have you ever thought that perhaps his affection is
dulled because he has a young spirited mistress to sway his conscience?"
    "Truly, Anne, his affection or lack of it for Catherine
doesn't matter. I’m not a jealous lover who believes I have a right to his mind
and body. I enjoy him when he’s with me, and I know he can make me a match when
he tires of me. And maybe then Father will see I’m not a fool."
    Mary turned away suddenly. "But let's forget this for
now," she said acting as though they had spoken of nothing but the
weather. "His Grace draws near."
    Anne watched Henry come closer, accompanied by the packs of
gentlemen who pandered to their King. She wondered how Catherine lived with the
agony of knowing she failed her King and country, and she pitied her. As Henry
came closer still, his eyes full of hunger as he captured Mary's, the musings
seeded a thought—it was no wonder Catherine couldn't get with child, her
husband was spending his inheritance elsewhere.
    "Good afternoon, my lady." Henry said when he drew
near.
    His hair looked a dark red, wet as it was with sweat, and
his blue eyes were round and bright with merriment. He had discarded his armor,
in favor of a light doublet of tissue cloth. Anne hadn’t expected to be so taken
by him. He had a feminine handsomeness, true, but he carried it well. His
russet blond hair was cut into the French fashion and framed his cherub face.
His lithe