Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII by Geraldine Evans
Authors: Geraldine Evans
Tags: Biographical, Biographical fiction, Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, kindle, British, Genre Fiction, Geraldine Evans, tudor historical novel, tudor fiction, multi published author, reluctant queen, mary rose tudor, literature fiction historical biographical, fictional biography
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He handed her a glass with the suggestion, ‘Drink this, my lovely Mary. Wedding days can be traumatic, as I ought to know having now enjoyed three.’
Mary knew he was trying to be kind. She forced a tremulous smile. But his smile in return only served to repulse her as it revealed the blackened and decaying teeth she had till now forgotten about. She closed her eyes to blank them out.
Louis seemed to take this for his signal to begin, for Mary’s eyes fluttered open as she felt the wine glass removed from the tight clasp of her fingers. She watched, mesmerised as Louis replaced it on the table, then quickly shut her eyes again before he turned back. Beside her, she sensed Louis’ fumbling movements and guessed he was removing his nightshift. A brief glance from beneath lowered lashes had revealed a thin and wrinkled body. His manhood was limp. Perhaps, after all—
But before she could continue the thought, Louis climbed on top of her and set to with determination. As Mary squirmed in revulsion beneath him, he redoubled his efforts. Mary couldn’t help but wonder if he hoped will-power alone would stir his reluctant organ.
His hands, now clammier than ever, clutched at her legs, her breasts, her belly. He exclaimed at her beauty and rained kisses from her forehead to her feet Mary could only squirm still more while these indignities continued. Although Louis might be scrawny, his body pressed Mary down till she felt unable to breathe. She moved underneath him, wanting only to gasp some air that wasn’t tainted with his foul breath. But Louis seemed to have mistaken her movement for the stirrings of desire, for now he strove even harder to excite his manhood.
Even Mary was moved to pity when Louis’ disobedient manhood refused to do its duty. After what seemed an age, Louis finally groaned and rolled off her. Mary didn’t dare to move in case he decided to try again to impress her with the ardor of French manhood of which Francis had so unwisely boasted.
But it seemed such a thought was far from his mind. It was clear his hateful fumblings had merely served to leave him feeling humiliated, too. He mumbled apologies to Mary for his failure and turned away.
Apart from that one brief glance, Mary’s eyes had remained tight shut through Louis’ exertions. She only opened them when she felt him roll away. She turned her head on the pillow and gazed at his naked back. It looked surprisingly vulnerable and she felt another stirring of pity for him. But he should never have sought to marry again. If he hadn’t, they would both have been spared this miserable charade of wedded bliss. What had been the point after all? Louis must have realised when he had asked for her hand that he would never get sons from her or any other woman. His two daughters would have to suffice.
Mary, too, now turned over. She pulled the covers to her chin. Fat tears slid down her cheeks and dampened the pillow. She had lost her love, perhaps for ever, because her brother had insisted on marrying her to an old and impotent man. This night should have been shared with Charles, she thought, as more tears flowed, not with Louis and his shameful fumbling. Would she be expected to endure this night after night, she wondered, till, by some miracle, he managed to make her pregnant? The thought appalled her. It would surely be a lifetime’s task.
Snores from beside her told Mary that, at last, Louis slept. But she lay awake far into the night, listening to the sounds of revelry from the hall, Louis’ ever-increasing snorts and the plop of her tears on the pillow. Through the watery curtain of her tears, Mary stared into the room’s shadows as if hoping to see revealed the glimmerings of a happier future. Sadly, none were revealed to her that night.
CHAPTER SIX
Despite her troubled night, Mary woke early. Beside her, Louis snored on. Sometime after she had fallen asleep, their bodies had come together and now Mary edged gingerly away.
Mary knew he was trying to be kind. She forced a tremulous smile. But his smile in return only served to repulse her as it revealed the blackened and decaying teeth she had till now forgotten about. She closed her eyes to blank them out.
Louis seemed to take this for his signal to begin, for Mary’s eyes fluttered open as she felt the wine glass removed from the tight clasp of her fingers. She watched, mesmerised as Louis replaced it on the table, then quickly shut her eyes again before he turned back. Beside her, she sensed Louis’ fumbling movements and guessed he was removing his nightshift. A brief glance from beneath lowered lashes had revealed a thin and wrinkled body. His manhood was limp. Perhaps, after all—
But before she could continue the thought, Louis climbed on top of her and set to with determination. As Mary squirmed in revulsion beneath him, he redoubled his efforts. Mary couldn’t help but wonder if he hoped will-power alone would stir his reluctant organ.
His hands, now clammier than ever, clutched at her legs, her breasts, her belly. He exclaimed at her beauty and rained kisses from her forehead to her feet Mary could only squirm still more while these indignities continued. Although Louis might be scrawny, his body pressed Mary down till she felt unable to breathe. She moved underneath him, wanting only to gasp some air that wasn’t tainted with his foul breath. But Louis seemed to have mistaken her movement for the stirrings of desire, for now he strove even harder to excite his manhood.
Even Mary was moved to pity when Louis’ disobedient manhood refused to do its duty. After what seemed an age, Louis finally groaned and rolled off her. Mary didn’t dare to move in case he decided to try again to impress her with the ardor of French manhood of which Francis had so unwisely boasted.
But it seemed such a thought was far from his mind. It was clear his hateful fumblings had merely served to leave him feeling humiliated, too. He mumbled apologies to Mary for his failure and turned away.
Apart from that one brief glance, Mary’s eyes had remained tight shut through Louis’ exertions. She only opened them when she felt him roll away. She turned her head on the pillow and gazed at his naked back. It looked surprisingly vulnerable and she felt another stirring of pity for him. But he should never have sought to marry again. If he hadn’t, they would both have been spared this miserable charade of wedded bliss. What had been the point after all? Louis must have realised when he had asked for her hand that he would never get sons from her or any other woman. His two daughters would have to suffice.
Mary, too, now turned over. She pulled the covers to her chin. Fat tears slid down her cheeks and dampened the pillow. She had lost her love, perhaps for ever, because her brother had insisted on marrying her to an old and impotent man. This night should have been shared with Charles, she thought, as more tears flowed, not with Louis and his shameful fumbling. Would she be expected to endure this night after night, she wondered, till, by some miracle, he managed to make her pregnant? The thought appalled her. It would surely be a lifetime’s task.
Snores from beside her told Mary that, at last, Louis slept. But she lay awake far into the night, listening to the sounds of revelry from the hall, Louis’ ever-increasing snorts and the plop of her tears on the pillow. Through the watery curtain of her tears, Mary stared into the room’s shadows as if hoping to see revealed the glimmerings of a happier future. Sadly, none were revealed to her that night.
CHAPTER SIX
Despite her troubled night, Mary woke early. Beside her, Louis snored on. Sometime after she had fallen asleep, their bodies had come together and now Mary edged gingerly away.
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