Free The Forgotten Queen by D. L. Bogdan

yet.” He paused. “Let me tell you of your new home.” His voice grew very soft and low as it did whenever addressing me. “Here in Scotland there is a fog that shrouds the land every morning, very romantic. It softens our hard-edged world. I love to walk in it and look about; it is smoky and a little undefined, like a painting.” He smiled. “And we have lochs so calm and clear that you can see straight to the bottom. I shall take you swimming—yes, I fancy swimming and you shall learn to as well, no matter how ‘unladylike’ they say it is. We will float on our barge, listening to the water lap against its sides, and let the sun warm us as we dip our toes into the water. There are fish to catch and stags to hunt. We will hawk and ride in the Highlands, where it is so green and the air is so clean and crisp.” He drew in a breath, as if he were there, breathing in the Highland air. I found myself doing the same. “And there are castles, beautiful castles where you will play and sing and make many friends. You can decorate as you please and throw as many entertainments as you like.”
    I tilted my face toward his, watching his beautiful mouth move as he described his kingdom and its people, who he promised would love me. He told me of all the pets I would keep, the horses and dogs and birds of prey to be used for my pleasure. All the while his voice rose and fell, alternating between passionate enthusiasm and gentle musing. His was an enchanting voice; I grew lost in it. I grew lost in him.
    At last he laid me back against the pillows and stroked my cheek. “I shall be quick,” he reassured me. “There will be no need to even uncover yourself. We shall keep our shifts on.” He rose and blew out the tapers, cloaking us in darkness. My breath caught in my throat. He returned to me, climbing in bed once more. “There. Mayhap it will be easier this way.”
    Easier for whom? I wanted to ask. Was it that he could not bear to look upon my underdeveloped form, my nonexistent breasts and narrow hips? Was I so repulsive then? I kept those disturbing thoughts to myself as the king covered my face with gentle kisses but avoided my mouth, even as I sought his. At last I ceased doing so and lay back, praying I had the strength to endure this act that would cement the alliance between England and Scotland.
    As promised he did not attempt to remove either of our shifts; he was as gentle as possible. He did not caress any part of my body save for my hips, which he cradled in his strong hands as he commenced, entering quickly. Tears heated my eyes and I cried out—I told myself I would not, but it was terrifying. This thing inside of me was agonizing—a sword bent on ripping me in two. If I could not abide its presence how would I bear a child? Oh, what a disappointment! The king withdrew at once. He was trembling.
    “I have hurt you,” he whispered. “Oh, my lady, my dear little . . . little . . .” He could not say it.
    My legs quaked. I drew the covers over myself and averted my head from his moonlit silhouette.
    “Will it always be like this?” I asked, my tone tremulous.
    “No,” he told me. “As you grow . . .” His voice wavered. “As you grow . . .” He rose and commenced to pour two goblets of wine. “I trust you are ready for some wine now.”
    I sat up, nodding.
    He handed me the goblet and I downed it like a sailor. It was soothing, warming my quivering limbs.
    “Do you think you got a child on me?” I asked then.
    “Oh, little Maggie . . .” There was no mistaking the pity in his tone. It shamed me and I held out my goblet for more wine, hoping to drink my disgrace away. “There are other things that have to happen to get a child.”
    “Does that hurt, too?” I asked, my gut lurching in terror.
    He gazed into his goblet. “No, it is very pleasurable,” he said.
    “For the man, you mean,” I remarked, unable to keep the pout from my tone.
    He laughed. “Aye. But there is much pleasure to