Gigi Sinclair

The king was not used to being alone, nor was he used to being left out. Tonight, though, a wet, miserable night in early spring, he had been forsaken by everyone.

Brandon and Margaret had made their bed and, Henry assumed, were lying in it, although how happily and for how long, he wouldn't venture to guess.

Henry could tell Compton had someone new, probably a boy from the way he had been mooning about doe-eyed and saying nothing. Henry wouldn't say anything, either. Let the man believe he had his secrets.

As for Knivert...Knivert, Henry thought, did have his secrets, unless he was truly the virginal Galahad he appeared to be.

The women, too, were nowhere to be found. Catherine, Henry was sure, would welcome him with open arms, but the idea was repulsive to him. It was bad enough having to lie chastely at her side night after night, so as not to give her any grounds to declare he was neglecting her rights. Anne, his beloved, the one he wished to see more than any other, had been spirited away by her odious father, and although Henry wrote daily and she often wrote back, there was no indication of when the meddlesome Boleyn would return Henry's love to him. Even Wolsey, usually a reliable last resort for companionship, was not feasible now. He had failed to give Henry satisfaction on the matter of the divorce, and must be shunned until he came through on his promises.

"More wine, Your Majesty?" The serving girl was thin and scrawny, nothing like Anne. Henry waved her away irritably, then stood.

There were two guards in his anteroom, and they got up sharply when Henry came into sight. "Your Majesty?" One of them looked at him. Henry was about to demand some entertainment be found, a musician or a card-player or someone, when the door opened and Sir Thomas More appeared.

Henry greeted him with a slap on the back. "Thomas! Just the man I wanted to see. Come, drink with me." He led the surprised-looking Thomas back into the chamber.

"Your Majesty is very kind," Thomas said, "But I merely wished to bid you good-night before returning to my home and family. I'm afraid I cannot stay."

"Nonsense, you must." Henry indicated a chair. "I need advice."

It was guaranteed to make Thomas stay, and he did. He sat in the chair and Henry stood before him, leaning against the table. "On which subject may I offer you my counsel?"

Henry could think of only one thing. "Sex." As soon as he said it, there was a brief flicker of discomfort in Thomas's usually stoic countenance, and Henry knew immediately that this would be entertainment indeed.

"If it is in regards to the mechanics of it," Thomas replied, "Then Your Majesty is far more knowledgeable than I."

"It's about the morality. Do you believe sex is immoral?"

"Sex within marriage is moral and, indeed, encouraged by God, especially if it leads to children."

"What about sex outside marriage?" Henry hadn't had much of that lately, not since he promised Anne he would preserve her virginity for their wedding night. It was a promise proving more difficult to keep than any diplomatic assurance he'd ever given to France or Spain.

Thomas had not let his composure slip again, and even now, his face was calm and placid, as if they were discussing the weather or literature. "That is a sin, of course, but I understand some allowances may be made, especially if the couple eventually marries."

He was not shocked, or at least he did not appear to be. Henry would have to push further, clearly.

"And what are your feelings on sex between men?"

Still, Thomas showed no signs of discomfort. "A grave and unnatural sin," he replied, easily. "Although I know some members of the court do not confine their lechery to women. God's love is infinite, and if they repent, they will be forgiven." Henry couldn't imagine Compton repenting over his new, no doubt sweet and adoring catamite, any more than Henry repented over Bessie Blount or the French duchess or any of the countless women who had warmed his bed before he'd known Anne and true love.

"Then that is God's weakness," Henry replied. "As it would be a king's. People will do whatever they wish if it is known they need only ask for forgiveness afterwards." He thought of Brandon, a traitor in the making, whom Henry had sent to Portugal in the hopes his old friend would prove more worthy than expected. He hadn't. Brandon had acted even more traitorously than Henry could have imagined, and, although he would allow him back to court in time, after he had properly debased himself, Henry would not trust him again.

"God is not fooled by false remorse," Thomas replied, with certainty. "He knows if a sinner is truly repentant."

Henry laughed. "I can't believe you have ever had cause to beg God's forgiveness."

He had withstood the other teasing, but now, Thomas blushed, his cheeks turning red in the candlelight. "I am a man like any other, Your Majesty," he said, his voice calm even as his face betrayed him.

Henry did not consider men as sexual partners. He had never understood Compton's dalliances, not when he had a beautiful common-law wife at home and there were so many other women eager to supplement her. But Henry had been saving himself for Anne for the last several weeks and now, his frustration put an altogether different picture into his mind.

Thomas More was a saint, the most pious man at court, the epitome of purity. For a moment, Henry wondered what it might feel like to shatter that purity, to see Thomas debauched before him, to bruise his mouth with violent kisses and to take his body as he had taken so many women before.

It was suddenly warmer, almost unbearably hot, although the fire had not been stoked for some time. As if of their own accord, Henry's legs carried him to stand behind More's chair.

"You are certainly different from any man I have met." Henry lowered his mouth until it was almost touching Thomas's ear.

He was close enough to hear Thomas's heart beat, and he could feel his own pulsing in his chest. Henry's breath sounded loud in his ears and, just as he wondered if this might actually occur, Thomas swallowed noisily and said: "If Your Majesty seeks to make me uncomfortable, it is a goal unworthy of you."

The words shattered the moment, and the ridiculous fantasy that had been building in Henry's mind evaporated. He straightened and returned to a respectable distance from Thomas.

"It is not my goal, and I am sorry if I made you believe otherwise." Henry smiled, but his palms were sweating and he was in sudden need of a drink.

"The misunderstanding was no doubt my own," Thomas replied, graciously, as he stood. "If I am permitted..." He looked towards the door.

"Of course, you must return to your family. Please give my regards to your wife and children."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Thomas seemed about to leave, when instead he took a step towards Henry.

It was not common, but Thomas was in the occasional habit of parting from Henry with a friendly, almost fatherly, kiss to the cheek or forehead. Henry was expecting this when Thomas approached him. Instead, he pressed his lips, briefly and chastely, against Henry's. It scarcely bespoke passion. If anything, it was a token of friendship, but it was enough to make Henry sit down again.

"Good night." Thomas left, without looking back.

When he had gone, Henry stood, then sat again, then stood and went back to the anteroom. "Find me that girl who was here earlier," he ordered the guards. "I want some wine."

When the thin, mousy woman returned, Henry took the wine, then took her into his bed. As he thrust into her, he kept his eyes tightly closed and a picture of Anne locked firmly in his mind.