This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit sexual situations and adult language. The writer is not responsible for any "discomfort" caused to the reader by this language and these situations.

©2001 by WILDBEARIES

England, 1189

It had been an exhausting day. Anne’s maid had long since retired to her cot in the anteroom after brushing out her hair and bringing her a cup of hot bouillon. She sat now, sipping from the earthenware cup, too tired to sleep. Colors and sounds from earlier in the day stirred in her memory. The newly anointed king had accepted the oath of fealty from each of his nobles. It had taken hours, and she knew he must have been fatigued, yet, when it was finished, he had presided over a banquet in the castle hall, appearing unphased by it all.

He had only had the briefest of moments to exchange a few words with her, but his look had promised all that he had been unable to say to her. Thinking of that warm blue gaze now, she smiled into her cup. Just as she finished, a very faint tap sounded on her chamber door. Surprised, she moved to it and opened it a crack. “Yes?”

A finely, if plainly, dressed young man stood outside. He bowed to her before requesting that she accompany him. “A certain gentleman wishes to speak to you.” The King’s badge on the shoulder of his surcoat told the tale of who the “gentleman” was. Flustered, she nonetheless gathered herself together enough to realize she could not, in all good sense, just follow this man through the corridors of the castle without a chaperone. Seeing her hesitation, the young man smiled and held a folded scrap of parchment out to her, “He said to give you this if you had doubts, your Highness.”

She unfolded it and read, “Anne, please come. No harm will befall you. R.” She glanced up and nodded, “Let me get my cloak. In a moment she was cloaked - both for warmth and for anonymity - and following the man through side passages that, though lighted with torches, appeared to be otherwise deserted and little used. They went down steps, around what seemed like circuitous routes, and finally arrived at a heavily framed door. Entering without knocking, the servant bowed and gestured for her to wait there. Anne found herself in a pleasantly homey chamber lit by large candlesticks and a good sized fire burning in a stone hearth. At first she thought she was alone, the young man having disappeared, then a rustle of garments caught her ear and she whirled to find herself face to face with Richard. “Oh!”

“I see I startled you - my apologies. I had thought to share a few moments of peace with you after a long and trying day.” He came forward and drew her down onto a cushioned settle in front of the fire, seating himself at her feet on a low stool. He held her hands, smiling up at her. “All right now?”

Anne nodded. She realized she was still wearing her cloak and removed her hands from his long enough to unfasten the garment and cast it aside. “I am glad to see you looking so well, my lord.”

He grinned at her, rubbing his forehead briefly with the knuckles of his right hand, “It’s a façade, I’m afraid, I’m really sound asleep over there in the corner with my dogs. What you see sitting before you is a simulacrum.”

She grinned back, “Ah, and very like you, too, sir.” She glanced into the corner and saw two long-legged hounds snoozing in a heap on some velvet cushions. He was obviously fond of them if they had such fine bedding.

“I care for my dogs,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “They are simple souls, but close to my heart. Who am I to begrudge them a princely bed?”

“So if I indulged a lap dog, say,” she twitted him, “and let it sleep in my bed, that would be acceptable behavior?”

“As long as it’s a four-legged lap dog, of course.”

"Something French, say, or perhaps a little German dog?" she teased, knowing he wasn't thinking of dogs at all but of the princes of Europe who panted after her fortune.

"Nothing French - that's an order," he said firmly, his smile warming her.

They continued smiling at one another. Upon closer inspection of his face, she saw the marks of fatigue under his eyes, but he seemed in control of himself, so she didn’t fuss. She supposed his servants did enough of that as it was. “You are so beautiful,” he told her after a wordless interval.

“Thank you - so are you.”

He laughed, amused at her candor. “Thank you, although I’d rather nobody outside this room hear that.”

She blushed, realizing she’d just blurted it out without thinking. “I, uh, I only meant that you were fair to look at - oh, curse it - I’m only entangling myself more deeply.”

His soft laughter stopped her embarrassment, as did his touch on her cheek. “Anne, you only spoke what you felt - never worry about that with me, all right?”

She nodded, caught in his blue gaze, the glint from the fire striking sparks amidst the azure. She leaned towards him, irresistibly drawn to him. His hands slid up her arms and onto her shoulders, pulling her closer still. “Richard?” she breathed softly.

“Anne, I - “ and with a feeling of giving in to the inevitable, he kissed her, finally claiming the pretty lips that had smiled in his dreams for months. He touched the tip of his tongue to her mouth and she opened to him, accepting him completely. He moaned softly and caressed her temples and the nape of her neck with his strong fingers. When he realized he must stop or risk taking things to the point of dishonoring her, he drew back, and smiled at her. “Sweet,” he pronounced the kiss.

Taking her hand once again, he drew a ring from his right little finger and slipped it onto her left ring finger. It was a magnificent sapphire with a tiny lioncel carved into the top surface. “A promise,” he deemed it.

Anne examined the exquisite jewel in the leaping firelight, “It’s very beautiful." She’d never seen finer gem work, or more beautiful goldsmithing. “Are you sure you should part with it?”

He chuckled as he reassured her, “Oh, yes, it’s my own, not the Crown’s, but in any case, I imagine I may give it as I please - and it pleases me to give it to you.” He held her hand in his, admiring the ring on her slim finger. “This is a pledge, Anne - I have written to your family for their permission to marry you, but I am pledging to you now that, permission or no, I intend to wed you before summer is over.”

Her brows rose in surprise and he added hastily, “If you will have me, that is.” He suddenly looked a bit doubtful, which Anne found almost irresistible. He was King of England, after all, and could order most anyone in the country to do his bidding. That he fretted over her desire to wed him was charming.

“I will have to think about it,” she teased. Richard stared for a moment, then started to laugh as he realized she was twitting him. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” she apologized.

He kissed her forehead, smoothing her lovely hair with his fingertips, “I can see being with you will be a daily battle of wits.”

“Neither of us is precisely unarmed, my lord,” she murmured, smiling up at his amused face.

He shook his head, “Never that, I would have no brainless chit with a pale face and nothing to say for herself.” He placed a kiss in the palm of her left hand and folded her fingers over it. “And now, I have someone waiting to meet you, if you will permit?”

Anne wondered who it could be, puzzled by the circumstances, but willing to go along with him, “Of course, my lord.”

“Richard,” he reminded her again.

“Richard,” she echoed him, her slightly accented French sending a warm thrill down his spine. She waited while he stepped through an archway into an anteroom, returning in a few moments with a lady of queenly bearing - though she barely reached the height of his shoulder. She appeared to be about Richard’s age until she drew nearer, and then Anne realized she was exchanging smiles with Eleanor, the Queen Mother - the fabled Eleanor of Aquitaine. She rose from her seat and curtseyed deeply, “Your Grace - I am honored.”

Eleanor reached out a slender hand and forestalled any further courtly behavior, “Be at ease, we are private here and no such pretty manners are expected.” She held onto Anne’s wrist until she was upright, then drew her down beside her on the settle. “My Richard told me you were beautiful, and I see his eyes did not fail him nor his tongue fall short of doing you justice.”

Anne, overwhelmed, could only nod and hope she didn’t appear too doltish. She glanced up and caught Richard’s understanding grin and found her tongue, “Thank you, Your Grace - I’m pleased that he described me so well to you.”

"You're much more vibrant in person, my dear," Eleanor said. "Richard, you would do well to wed with her - she has a brain in her head as well as looks."

They all laughed as Richard's servant poured wine in fine silver cups. Richard, not standing on ceremony, simply handed a cup to each woman, took the last one for himself, and dismissed the young man. He resumed his seat on the cushioned footstool, obviously finding it comfortable, smiling up at both of them. "I am surrounded by beauty," he announced.

"Apple polisher," his mother said fondly.

"It's true," he claimed. "For years I've thought my mother the most beautiful of women - and the most magnificent."

"And now you have found one more suited to such nonsensical folly," his mother said firmly, touching her the silvered hair at her temple with one graceful hand, "I have far too many of these," she indicated the gray hairs, "each of them bearing the name of Richard Plantagenet, to fall prey to your honeyed words."

"Surely some of those silver hairs were put there by my esteemed siblings," Richard retorted. He gave Anne's hand a friendly squeeze, an action not missed by Eleanor's sharp eyes.

She nodded wryly, "Yes, and many by your late - somewhat lamented - sire, as well - but the best ones bear your name, darling." She lifted one long strand of hair and bent towards Anne, "This one is from when - at the age of five - he talked the squires into letting him ride his father's war horse in the tiltyard even though his feet didn't reach the stirrups."

"That horse was tame as a pussycat," Richard scoffed, nonetheless grinning wickedly.

"What happened?" Anne asked, picturing a young boy with Richard's face riding a very large, very fierce war horse.

"He couldn't control it, of course - the damned horse took off across the courtyard and plowed right through the train of the Bishop of Bermondsey just as he was arriving for a state dinner. I don't believe the Bishop ever forgave Richard."

"He wouldn't have forgiven Christ Himself for such a transgression against his puffed-up dignity," Richard answered. "Besides, it wasn't my fault he fell off his palfrey and landed in a manure cart."

"The timing was against you, I believe you claimed," Eleanor mused, "had you been a moment later, you would have caromed harmlessly off some unfortunate outrider and the manure cart - which just happened to be passing at that very instant - would have gone by with no more notice than a bad smell."

"It's true!" Richard claimed, laughing still.

"True or not," Eleanor said, letting go her hair, "I aged a year soothing that old spindle-shanks, and there were far more intriguing persons I'd have rather spent time talking with than Bermondsey."

Richard snorted derisively, "Your admirers - she still has legions of them, Anne, can you credit it? Of course, you have but to look at her to see why." He touched his mother's hand affectionately. Anne thought it quite wonderful that there was such love between them. So often royal children were turned into the care of others and didn't have the luxury of knowing their kingly parents felt anything for them other than gratification at having them for an heir.

Richard rose to his feet, "And now, Maman, I fear we are tiring out Lady Anne. I shall see her back to her chamber."

"And I shall seek out my own rooms," Eleanor said firmly. "Send me that lovely young man to guide me," she wheedled.

"You may not corrupt him, mother!" Richard warned, shaking a finger at her.

Eleanor stuck her tongue out at him, but did behave very circumspectly when the servant appeared shortly after Richard rang a small bell on a nearby table. As she exited the room behind him, however, she turned to Anne and gave an exagerrated, bawdy wink that made Anne wonder if she really meant to seduce the servant or not.

Richard walked beside Anne, his hand resting in the small of her back, although on top of the cloak's velvet and fur folds. "She teases a lot, you know. I hope you weren't offended."

"Oh, not at all - she is magnificent." Eleanor was the stuff of legends - Anne had always wanted to meet her and now she had, and on very intimate terms. It was much more than she could have hoped for, even knowing Richard as she now felt she did.

"Thank you - I think she is, too." He walked beside her the entire way, stopping outside her door to give her a brief, warm kiss. "Good night, fair lady - may I hope you'll accept further invitations to spend some time with us in this way?"

"Oh, yes - it was very nice."

"Good," he smiled again, and kissed her cheek. "And now, good night - seek your bed before you catch a chill in these drafty halls." He bowed low, exagerrating the grandeur of the gesture to make her laugh. "Aurevoir, ma princesse."

"Goodnight, Richard," she whispered as she stood inside her room once more, back pressed against the door, imagining him making his solitary way back to the lonely rooms that were the chambers of a king.

"CUT! That's a wrap, we're finished!" Russell called out. Applause sounded over the set as everyone broke out of their Medieval mindsets and began to gather themselves in front of him. When it appeared he had everyone's attention, he grinned at them all, announcing the time and place of the wrap party.

"Grand Ballroom, Victorian Legend Hotel - two hours - bring your thirst and your hunger, and bring a date if your spouse is busy!" Amidst laughter and happily tired chat of all sorts, the set gradually cleared until only Russell and I were left.

"We need to get you changed if you don't want to miss your own party," I called over to him. He had stood just staring into space as though communing somehow with the ghost of the long-dead king.

"Won't take but a tic or two," he answered, grinning at me, back to the present. He gathered his copy of the script, some notes he'd made, and he was finished. "Done - I hope I'm ready to edit this bastard into something shorter than ten or twelve hours."

We walked to his trailer, waving to other cast members and crew as they hurried to make their own way to the party. He put down his papers and unfastened the neck of the red velvet cloak, folding it carefully over a chair for the wardrobe mistress to collect later. "I'll just go shower," he told me, and took himself off to do just that while I sat down with my feet up.

Editing would begin the following week - in Sydney, thank God - which meant we were going home the next day. Kate and Alex would be happy to have their own rooms back, and I would be glad to have time to just be their mother while Russell began the chore of cutting hours of film into a finished movie a bit over two hours long. How he would accomplish that, I had only the dimmest clue. How did you choose which scenes to leave in and which to take out when, to me, everything was wonderful? It would be a process much like giving birth.

With that thought, the baby kicked and I rested a palm on my belly, smilingly contemplating having a small infant to cuddle again. That birth would come well before the film's birth, but would be equally momentous for Russell, maybe even moreso. Yes, I decided, knowing him, much more important than the film. I could hardly wait to see his face at the moment he was handed the bundle of his newest offspring to hold - with both Kate and Alex he had worn a look of such stunned love that it was almost painful to behold. I wanted him to have that moment again and soon - well, on schedule, anyway.

I got off the couch and went to freshen up for the party. Premieres and wrap parties, births and travel and feeding pureed bananas to a toddler - the stuff that dreams are made of.

Buttons, bars, logos © 2001 by WildBearies

Photographs of Russell Crowe courtesy of various fan sites.