Free Philippa Gregory's Tudor Court 6-Book Boxed Set by Philippa Gregory Page A

peasant.
    There was a gasp from the Spanish grandees at the young prince’s shocking behavior, but the English court smiled with his parents at his energy and enthusiasm. When the two had romped their way through the final turns and galop, everyone applauded, laughing. Everyone but Prince Arthur, who was staring into the middle distance, determined not to watch his brother dance. He came to with a start only when his mother put her hand on his arm.
    “Please God he’s daydreaming of his wedding night,” his father remarked to Lady Margaret, his mother. “Though I doubt it.”
    She gave a sharp laugh. “I can’t say I think much of the bride,” she said critically.
    “You don’t?” he asked. “You saw the treaty yourself.”
    “I like the price but the goods are not to my taste,” she said with her usual sharp wit. “She is a slight, pretty thing, isn’t she?”
    “Would you rather a strapping milkmaid?”
    “I’d like a girl with the hips to give us sons,” she said bluntly. “A nurseryful of sons.”
    “She looks well enough to me,” he ruled. He knew that he would never be able to say how well she looked to him. Even to himself he should never even think it.
    *     *     *
    Catalina was put into her wedding bed by her ladies, María de Salinas kissed her good night, and Doña Elvira gave her a mother’s blessing; but Arthur had to undergo a further round of backslapping ribaldry before his friends and companions escorted him to her door. They put him into bed beside the princess who lay still and silent as the strange men laughed and bade them good night, and then the archbishop came to sprinkle the sheets with holy water and pray over the young couple. It could not have been a more public bedding unless they had opened the doors for the citizens of London to see the young people side by side, awkward as bolsters, in their marital bed. It seemed like hours to both of them until the doors were finally closed on the smiling, curious faces and the two of them were quite alone, seated upright against the pillows, frozen like a pair of shy dolls.
    There was silence.
    “Would you like a glass of ale?” Arthur suggested in a voice thin with nerves.
    “I don’t like ale very much,” Catalina said.
    “This is different. They call it wedding ale. It’s sweetened with mead and spices. It’s for courage.”
    “Do we need courage?”
    He was emboldened by her smile and got out of bed to fetch her a cup. “I should think we do,” he said. “You are a stranger in a new land, and I have never known any girls but my sisters. We both have much to learn.”
    She took the cup of hot ale from him and sipped the heady drink. “Oh, that is nice.”
    Arthur gulped down a cup and took another. Then he came back to the bed. Raising the cover and getting in beside her seemed an imposition; the idea of pulling up her night shift and mounting her was utterly beyond him.
    “I shall blow out the candle,” he announced.
    The sudden dark engulfed them, only the embers of the fire glowed red.
    “Are you very tired?” he asked, longing for her to say that she was too tired to do her duty.
    “Not at all,” she said politely, her disembodied voice coming out of the darkness. “Are you?”
    “No.”
    “Do you want to sleep now?” he asked.
    “I know what we have to do,” she said abruptly. “All my sisters have been married. I know all about it.”
    “I know as well,” he said, stung.
    “I didn’t mean that you don’t know, I meant that you need not be afraid to start. I know what we have to do.”
    “I am not afraid, it is just that I—”
    To his absolute horror he felt her hand pull his nightshirt upwards, and touch the bare skin of his belly.
    “I did not want to frighten you,” he said, his voice unsteady, desire rising up even though he was sick with fear that he would be incompetent.
    “I am not afraid,” said Isabella’s daughter. “I have never been afraid of anything.”
    In the