The Tudor Throne. Brandy Purdy

my buttocks, and sliced through the laces in back of my stiff leather stays and tore them away, flinging them carelessly into the rosebushes. He then sliced nimbly through the little that was left of my shift, baring the pert, firm, little pink-tipped white mounds of my breasts, leaving me wearing only my black velvet slippers, white stockings, and black silk ribbon garters tied in bows below my knees.

      “Look, Kate!” he exclaimed, grabbing hold of my shoulders and pulling me away from her, pinning my arms back, as I continued to plead with my stepmother to spare me just one petticoat to cover myself as impassionedly as ever a starving beggar cried for a crust of bread. “Our Bess has acquired a bosom at last! Just look at those dainty pink buds blooming proudly on those creamy little hillocks!” He jabbed a finger at my stiff, rosy nipples, actually daring to tweak them right in front of Kate! “And look there, Kate”—he pointed down between my tightly clenched thighs—“what a fine crop of carroty curls our Bess has got!”

      A dam burst within me then and tears of shame poured from my eyes and, shielding myself as best I could with my arms and hair, I broke free of them and raced across the seemingly endless expanse of velvety green lawn while behind me Tom and Kate whooped and howled with laughter, doubling over and slapping their thighs and clinging to each other in their mirth. The gardeners and their helpers stopped their work, dropped their hoes and rakes and pruning shears, and stared wide-eyed as I ran past, blinking and rubbing their eyes in disbelief. I daresay it was the first and only time in their lives they had ever seen a naked princess running across a lawn.

      As I burst into the house, I could not bear to meet the stunned faces of the servants, or their hastily turned backs or averted eyes, as I bolted up the stairs. How could I ever bear to face them again knowing they had seen me thus? Like a babe in the throes of a tantrum, I howled for Kat at the top of my lungs as I hurled myself through my chamber door and straight into her arms.

      “How could she do it?” I demanded, when I told her what had happened and the part Kate had played in it.

      “Aye, my little chick, it is unlike her to indulge in such unseemly sport,” Kat concurred, concern creasing her brow. “She was never a one to take pleasure in another person’s pain or discomfort but to always step in and try to remedy it. ‘Kind, capable Kate,’ your father always used to call her; he swore there was never such a one as her for making things right. More than once I heard him say had Lucifer hurt his knee when he fell and Kate had been there she would have slapped on a poultice and bound it up for him, just as she always did his own sore leg.”

      “Then why?” I wept. “Why would she do this to me?” I sobbed as I laid my head on Kat’s pillow-plump bosom and she hugged me close and stroked my hair.

      “It can only mean one thing, pet,” Kat said, pausing meaningfully, and I raised my head to look at her. “She is jealous of you; the Lord Admiral fancies you and she knows it.”

      I stood up straight and blinked. It had never occurred to me that Kate even suspected; I thought her well and truly blind to what went on behind her back and beneath her own roof.

      “Try to see it her way; she’s but five years shy of forty, a fair gracious lady she is to be sure, but”—Kat looked me up and down—“not a nubile young lass like you, pet. She sees the difference, mark you, my pet, and she feels it too, like a lance through her heart every time she sees him look at you. A ring on her finger doesn’t always make a woman safe where her husband is concerned. A betrothal band doesn’t come with a tether to keep him always at her side and in her sights or right next to her in bed at night. A man’s a man, love, even if you put a gold ring on his hand and have a churchman say words over it. Aye”—Kat beamed broadly, like a cat licking its whiskers over a bowl of rich cream—“she’s jealous of you, that she is, and with good cause, eh, pet? The Lord Admiral certainly is a handsome rascal, is he not, my bonny Bess?”

      She giggled and nudged me knowingly, until I blushed and looked away, too embarrassed by the stark naked truth to meet her eyes.

      The awkward moment was broken when there was a knock upon the door and Blanche Parry, the wife of my steward, called out in her cheery, lilting Welsh voice that she came bearing a gift for me.

      Kat snatched up my dressing gown and hurriedly bundled me into it as the door swung wide and in marched Blanche leading a procession of serving maids, each with her arms outstretched, carrying a complete new gown—bodice, over- and under-sleeves, skirt, and kirtle—in a rainbow of colors, all the best ones to suit my flame-bright hair, dark eyes, and milk-pale skin. There were a whole gamut of greens as bright as emeralds, to the more subdued shade of moss, pease porridge, and the deep green of the forest. And tawny trimmed with gold, garnet, russet, and sunset orange, sunshine yellow, regal purple, peacock blue trimmed with peacock feathers, cloth-of-gold, delicate pink, and crimson. As it was the fashion for gowns to be made in detachable parts, so that kirtles and sleeves could be mixed and matched with different bodices and skirts, dozens of eye-catching combinations were possible, and I need never appear dressed the same way for many a day. And behind them all came Tom Seymour, sauntering audaciously into the room, whistling a lively tune, as if he had not just moments before humiliated me by stripping me stark naked in the rose garden.

      Like an indignant mother hen, flapping and squawking in defense of her chick, Kat rushed at him.

      “For shame, My Lord Admiral, stripping a princess of England naked . . .”

      “But see, Mrs. Ashley,” he said with a broad smile, and a wave of his hand to take in the bounteous array of new gowns, “now I have come to clothe her!”

      “Oh!” Kat cried, affection fighting a losing battle with outrage being played out across her face, “you are a wicked, wicked man!” She waggled a finger at him, then convulsed in blushing giggles like a schoolgirl when he playfully snapped at it with his fine white teeth.

      He caught her to him in an embrace, and drummed his hands playfully upon her plump buttocks. “Come now, Kat,” he cajoled. “Now that you’ve forgiven me—and I know you have, woman, it’s as plain as that pretty nose on your face!—will you not intercede with Her Highness there and persuade her to forgive me? Remind her that just as forgiveness is a divine quality, ’tis a worthy virtue for royalty as well!”

      “Oh!” Kat cried and threw up her hands and rushed back to my side, rosy-cheeked with her face wreathed in smiles. “Come now, pet,” she turned to me and cajoled, as I continued to hold myself aloof, back straight and nose in the air, looking anywhere but at Tom. “See what pretty things the naughty man has brought you to atone for his naughtiness! It would be most unkind not to forgive him! And he is right about forgiveness being a fine, princely quality! And it would not be meet to stand on your dignity and hold a grudge when the dear naughty man has brought you all these pretties!”

      The smiling servant women formed a circle round me, each holding her arms outstretched, offering the gorgeous gowns to me, as Tom came and put his arm around my shoulders and drew me close to kiss the top of my head. And in that instant I was conquered, my knees melted like wax over an open flame, and I crumpled into his embrace.

      “Oh, Bess! My darling Bess!” he cried, burying his face in my wild, disarrayed hair.

      “Are all these really for me?” I asked.

      “Every one! And all chosen by me, just for you, my bonny Bess!” he declared proudly. “I meant what I said—it’s high time we got you out of mourning. Youth and beauty deserve color, not crow black! So I have come to tempt you! Look at this one, Bess!” He reached out to caress a gown of pink brocade. “Cunny pink!” he said, causing all the women to giggle and blush. “What?” he protested. “It is very close to the color of cunny lips; is it not, ladies? Here!” His hand shot out to snatch the sash from my dressing gown, causing it to fall open. “Let us compare!” He held a fold of the pink gown close to the cleft between my thighs. “Indeed it is!” he beamed. “Upon my soul, I declare, I have a fine eye for color, haven’t I, ladies?” He looked round the room for affirmation and all agreed that indeed he did as I blushed furiously and gathered my robe close about me. “And look!” He held the skirt of the pink gown up. “Is there not something suggestive