Rose Bride
Authors: Elizabeth Moss
Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Romance, #Erotica, #General, #Historical
Elizabeth Moss was born into a literary family in Essex, and currently lives in the South-West of England with her husband and young family. She also writes commercial fiction under another name. For more information about her, visit her blog at:
www.elizabethmossfiction.com
.
Rose Bride
Elizabeth Moss
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by
Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Jane Holland 2014
The right of Jane Holland to be identified as the Author of the Work
has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any
means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that
in which it is published and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 444 75247 2
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
est mollis flamma medullas
interea et tacitum vivit sub pectore vulnus
Meanwhile she burns with love
even in the tender marrow of her bones,
an unspoken hurt
beating beneath her breast.
Virgil, Aeneid Book IV, lines 66–67
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
Greenwich Palace, Spring 1536
The king’s attendants meant to rape her. And no man at the court of Henry Tudor would dare call them to account for it. For she had offended the king himself, and this was to be her punishment.
As soon as King Henry had drunkenly bellowed, ‘Out of my sight, vixen!’, Margerie had picked up her skirts and run from the Royal Presence.
She had foolishly refused to lie with the king, disgusted by his reeking breath in her face, and her first thought was of escape. If she could only reach the safety of the women’s quarters and conceal herself there . . .
But his men had followed, swift as hounds on her scent, cornering her in one of the royal antechambers. She counted five attackers, fury in their eyes, with a sixth lurking a few feet away, perhaps less eager than the others for a rape.
She did not waste her breath on pleas for mercy. There was little hope of reasoning with them. Nor would a single gentleman among them step forward to save her. The place was hushed, the hour late. Even if she screamed, none would come running. For these were the king’s privy quarters, and it was the king’s own gentlemen who had come after her.
The king’s gentlemen!
Contempt lit her eyes as she glared round at the ring of leering, drunken faces, smelt the wine on their breath, and could not help seeing how one lewd youth had already unfastened his hose in readiness.
‘Fie, sirs!’ she exclaimed. ‘Have you no shame, six men to attack one woman?’
‘Perhaps you should have considered the consequences before you insulted His Majesty,’ one of the older noblemen growled.
‘I did not mean to insult the king.’ Her face grew hot with shame. ‘His Majesty tried to . . . That is, the king wanted me to . . . I may be flame-haired but I am no whore, my lord.’
But the lord stepped closer, his look threatening. ‘A whore is precisely what you are, Margerie Croft, and not because of your red hair.’ He pointed to the floor. ‘Now lie down for us, Mistress Croft, or we shall drag you down.’
She pressed herself against the wall, suddenly terrified. The vast tapestry behind her swayed precariously, the torchlight dazzling her as she searched for some way of escape.
Dear God, do not let them take me by force.
Sir Christopher, who had pursued her in the past to be his mistress, reached out to stroke her cheek, his own voice slurred with drink like the king’s. She shrank from his touch.
‘Before you lament this punishment, Margerie, remember you have no one to blame but yourself. You refused the king tonight. And for that insult, you must be chastised.’
‘It was a misunderstanding, that is all,’ she told him. ‘His Majesty thinks me a harlot because of my . . . my error with Lord Wolf. But that was years ago when I was but a girl. I am a respectable woman now.’
‘And an ungrateful one. Was it not at the king’s pleasure that you were allowed to return after your disgrace?’ Sir Christopher clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Yet you will not grant His Majesty a little pleasure in return.’
She shivered, knowing nothing she could say would sway these men from their purpose. They were king’s men, and this secret punishment was to be meted out to her on his behalf so His Majesty’s honour might be satisfied.
‘Look how she stares, how she pants . . . Those green eyes, bright as a cat’s. Oh, she is wanton indeed,’ one of the younger ones whispered over the nobleman’s shoulder, his hand cupping a swollen groin. ‘Hold her down for me. I want to go first, teach her a lesson.’
‘Now, Marcus,’ drawled the older man, turning to clap him on the shoulder, ‘have a little patience, boy. There is plenty to go round.’
A slender man in a handsome gold-and-silver doublet, still youthful enough to have no beard, stirred at the back of their group. He was the only one frowning with distaste. ‘Sirs, I must protest. A rape is no good sport. Let us leave this ugly business, gentlemen. The lady is not willing.’
‘She’ll be willing for a shilling!’ one cried out in a jest, and several laughed, gazing hotly at her breasts where they spilled over her bodice.
Sir Christopher turned to the young man, his expression venomous. ‘What is your objection, Lord Munro? The king bade us use this wench as we would, did he not?’
The young lord muttered, ‘She should be taught to respect the king’s bidding. But not in such a way that the court will be enraged.’
‘Margerie Croft is no virgin,’ the older man told him impatiently. ‘All our pricks together will break nothing but her pride. If such sport is not to your taste, Munro, leave us to our man’s work and go find some young stag for your bed.’
They all turned then, hooting and mocking the young lord, who slunk away into the darkness with a sullen look. While they were busy laughing at the youth, Margerie picked up her skirts and ran out of the antechamber into an unfamiliar side corridor.
‘Ho there, the whore has slipped her leash!’ one of them exclaimed.
A shout went up and the men pursued her, laughing and whooping drunkenly, pouring out of the antechamber after her like hounds on the trail of a fox.
Her heart was thumping. She had to get away from them. But the corridor was dimly lit and narrow, and she did not know the way. She glanced back and did not see that the ground was about to slope abruptly upwards. Tripping over her own feet, Margerie fell heavily to her knees on the stone floor. She hissed, wincing. The men were almost upon her. Her head swung, searching for some way of escape. There was a darkened doorway to her left, its door partially open.
She clambered through the narrow doorway on hands and knees, hampered by her gown. She could see nothing in the darkness, but the floor was dusty and she knocked over a stack of empty wooden crates in her hurry.
‘Oh sweet Lord, I beg of you, no,’ Margerie cried in horror as the king’s men found her again.
They pushed into the chamber, surrounding her with lusty delight.
‘But this place is perfect for a rape,’ one said, holding his flaming torch aloft to reveal some kind of storeroom. ‘We will not be disturbed here. Shut the door, let us be about it.’
She was dragged unceremoniously to her knees, her arms pulled tight behind her back. One of the younger men tumbled the velvet hood from her head so that her mass of red hair burst out, unrestrained.
‘By Christ, she’s a beauty!’ he exclaimed thickly.
Then Sir Christopher was there again, towering above her. He dragged her head back cruelly, and Margerie found herself blinded by the flaming torch held above their heads. She stared up at avid, jeering faces, on her knees in the centre of a tight-pressed ring of male bodies, some unlaced, their stiff members jutting towards her.
‘Pray let me go,’ she moaned, but Sir Christopher pressed a heavy hand over her mouth, silencing her. She felt sick and dizzy. She could smell sweat and horses, his leather glove, the acrid stink of unwashed flesh. There would be no escape from this rape, she realised, and began to tremble.
Suddenly a door creaked open behind them. She could not see the man, but heard a male voice, deep and quiet.
‘My lords? May I be of some assistance?’
There was a sudden silence among them. Sir Christopher’s hand lifted from her mouth, shifting to his sword hilt instead. Her other attackers fell back, a few glancing at each other over her head, abashed. Nonetheless they did not seem deterred by his presence, only a little embarrassed at having been caught.
‘Who are you, sirrah?’ the boy demanded arrogantly, his hand falling to his dagger.
‘I am Master Elton, court physician,’ the man replied calmly. ‘I treated you recently, my lord Shelby, if you recall.’
The boy flushed hard. But his hand dropped away from his dagger. ‘Oh yes, I remember. Well, go about your business, man. This is no affair of yours.’
Her heart sank. She had hoped to be saved by this newcomer. But he was no great lord as she had at first thought, only a doctor. He could not stop this rutting pack of dogs.
But to her surprise, Master Elton did not leave. ‘What have you there, my lords?’ he asked, almost idly. ‘Some dangerous beast you have cornered, perhaps?’
He came forward. His physician’s robe did nothing to disguise the long, lean grace of this man’s body, his roped belt accentuating narrow hips beneath a muscular chest. Court physician or not, he did not seem afraid of the company and their cruel purpose. He came towards her without hesitation, stepping between the nobles as though oblivious to any threat they might pose.
‘A
woman?
’
Sir Christopher swore under his breath. ‘Leave us. This is the king’s business we are about.’
The doctor ignored him. His eyebrows rose as he studied her face, then he glanced about at them. ‘His Majesty ordered you to attack this defenceless female?’