Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) by Thea Atkinson Read Free Book Online Page A

?" he asked, close to
her ear. She could only nod.
    " Bien ." He embraced her.
    "Now we shall perform the duty you asked of me at the
start." He lifted her from the bed of moss, swept off the stray pine
needles from her skirts and kissed her gently.
    "You have made me happy as well," he said quietly,
and with great grace, walked her to her tent. But now she sat in a chair next
to a fire worlds apart from the one of that night.
    She smiled contentedly, even the mere memory of it brought a
flush to her skin. She’d confessed after, doubting by the priest’s judgmental
tone that she’d been forgiven, but believed fervently that she should do so,
just in case. She had a hard time believing in God’s forgiveness when his
representative couldn’t deign to show empathy—indeed, how could he feel empathy
if he’d never experienced such joy or such temptation? Here in the bower room,
the thought of Jacques spread warmth through her body.
    It left her holding her sewing, rather than working on it
as she should have been doing. The small fire within the fireplace lulled her
with its crackles and pops. A scream shattered her languid reverie, followed by
a child’s newborn cry. Ah, so Claude had finally birthed the babe and might
feel relief after so many hours. Anne pitied her—and thanked the heavens
Jacques had left her the virgin he had found her—otherwise she might soon have
cause to scream. A few hours passed as she sewed and pretended to sew, now and
then she would stare into the fire.
    "The babe is a healthy boy, and more news is
afoot."
    The King’s sister startled her, not bothering to knock but
scanning the room quickly. She hurried forward when she noticed Anne, all but
lost in the chair beside the fire.
    "I suppose I should soon address you as Mademoiselle Butler?" Marguerite lost no time revealing the news, her voice a lilting
ring in Anne's ears. Her dainty hand rested lightly on a narrow hip, the long
forefinger tapping delicately against the velvet.
    "And why would you suppose that?" Anne's mind
tracked through all the information it had stored during the day, sweeping
aside cobwebs of neglect, trying to find reason in her friend’s statement.
    "Hmm, it seems I have some advance notice. Even before
you." Marguerite seemed magnanimously present, despite her small frame. As
always, Anne felt overcome by the amount of energy and vitality her tiny
physique could elicit. Next to Louise of Savoy, Francois' mother, Marguerite
was the most important woman in France, but her charisma came from somewhere
beyond the importance of her station.
    "Stop teasing and tell me. I can see the glint in your
eye that obviously means gossip, and I take it, that gossip has to do with
me."
    "You English. You're so brash." Marguerite smiled,
and took the seat next to Anne, who sniffed a bit as the dust that had settled
there wafted into the air.
    "And you French—you're so very refined. Now, let's stop
the pretense that you're all above gossip." Anne shifted in the chair,
drew her legs up under her skirts to rest next to her bottom.
    "Oh, you take the fun out of everything, lately."
Marguerite, never one to pout for appearance sake, said the words without a
change of facial expression.
    "I've just come from my brother," she began.
"He's a little worried that the English King is asking his subjects to
return home."
    Anne sat up quickly, her back rigid with concern.
    "He is?"
    " Oui . And he has received news that you're to go
as well."
    Suspicion crept up Anne’s spine.
    "Have you any reason why?" She tried to make her
voice sound unaffected, but the grip her teeth had on her lower lip gave it a
tremor she hated hearing.
    Marguerite picked at the velvet on her gown, and brushed it
brusquely before she answered—lending additional suspicion to Anne's thoughts.
    "You're to be wed." Then she looked Anne squarely
in the eye, her lips curving in a smile. "Exciting, non ? To an
Irishman no less. Now that will spread like fire around the