Kenilworth, August 1522
They had always known the night would be a blur, but just how much of a blur was only clear when they woke up, side by side, in a chamber unfamiliar to both of them. Harry blinked, rolling away from Anne lazily – then sat bolt upright at the sight of the scarlet blood that pooled beneath them, staining both Anne’s thighs and the crisp white linen they were lying on.
“What have I done?!”
His exclamation woke Anne and she murmured, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Well – Just – Look!!!”
Anne raised herself on her elbows and peered down at the ragged, rapidly-drying stain that was causing her husband-to-be such distress.
“I should think it’s fairly clear what you’ve done,” she answered acidly, arching an eyebrow.
“Your sister’s going to kill me!”
“I don’t see why. I’m plenty old enough to be a wife and mother.”
“I promised to wait to take your maidenhead. I swore it to the King himself before more or less the entire Court.”
“No one need ever know you haven’t. I can easily ask Marie to ensure our bedding isn’t witnessed.”
“What if you’re with child? If your belly quickens as easily as your sister’s, it’s going to be rather hard to hide.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let’s count ourselves lucky that these rooms don’t seem to be occupied. Go back to your rooms and I’ll go back to mine. We’ll pretend last night never happened.”
“And if it becomes obvious that it did?”
“Let’s not worry about that yet. All I need now is your promise that you’ll stand by me, come what may.”
“Always. Come what may, forever and always.”
Harry sealed his promise with a quick kiss to her perfect, pouting lips, then gathered his clothes, dressed, and fled.
Anne, for her part, struggled into her gown as best she could without a friend, sister or maid to help her, lacing the strings haphazardly, then left the room, hurrying in the opposite direction to the one Harry had taken, praying to all the saints that she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew en route.