The Golden Widows Page 20

  For a moment, Will’s face was a blur in her memory. She must have frowned for he said swiftly, ‘Your pardon, my lady, I should not have mentioned it.’

  ‘Sir, there are many widows in England and—’

  ‘And bachelors!’ exclaimed Ned, breezing in and collapsing on the seat beside her. ‘What, no ale?’ Having thwatted their conversation in a different direction, he helped himself to the mead and a pie. ‘For sure your brothers would like to have a say in finding me a wife, Kate,’ he added, knuckling away the pastry crumbs from his lower lip, ‘but they haven’t got to bed her.’ He downed the mead, grimaced, and refilled his cup with the spiced wine. ‘Well, to the Devil with that. Come on, William! If you are going to learn this art, it won’t be hanging in here quaffing with a pretty girl.’

  Pretty? Kind of Ned but fulsome. She was here because she could reel in perch. Glad of the warm drink inside her belly, she followed them out. Ned seemed to know the river very well, for he commanded the helmsman to steer closer to the bank and then some fifty paces later, ordered a halt. In her estimation, they were not far beyond the village of Chelsea but it was too misty to be sure.

  There was a neat splash as they made anchor. The rowers set their oars to rest and sat in silence so as not to disturb the fish. The only sound was the lap of water bothering the sides and a single, grebe-like honk from the reeds.

  ‘Bring the boat alongside,’ ordered Desmond quietly.

  Oh Lord! So they were not fishing from the barge. Kate found it irksome having to kick her petticotes out behind her as she descended the rope ladder at the rear of the boat, but Ned steadied her in and seated her next to Hastings.

  ‘We’ll be the ones rowing back, I suppose,’ she quipped softly to Hastings as the King of England and my lord of Desmond took charge of the oars.

  ‘Oh, he’s too old,’ chortled Ned, swiping at his chamberlain’s knee and received a swat in retaliation.

  ‘Behave, Englishmen! Such horseplay, tsk, tsk!’ Desmond waited with raised oar to achieve unison again.

  The current carried them upriver. Now it was possible to see the reeds not far away and back beyond the dark hulk of the barge Kate glimpsed the beginnings of the dawn. She had not been so truly happy for months. There had been very few times like this with Will and certainly not when they had fished at Whitford or taken his father’s flat-bottomed boat out on the Axe.

  ‘Whoa!’ Ned ordered and lowered his dripping oar alongside Kate. As she shifted closer in, so did Hastings.

  Desmond dealt out the equipment. ‘Do you want some help with your rod, my lord chamberlain?’ he asked Hastings.

  ‘Surely it will be easier if I help him,’ exclaimed Kate and when Ned gave a snort of laughter, she realised the Irish lord had been wicked.

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’ Dry amusement laced Hastings’ voice.

  ‘I should have warned you that Desmond’s a cursed rattle at this ungodly hour,’ chuckled Ned. ‘But Kate will forgive you, won’t you, cousin?’

  Her answer was a soft laugh.

  The fishing rods were well made. Kate’s was shorter than the others. Very flexible, she approved, testing it.

  ‘In Ireland,’ prattled Desmond, ‘they say a fishing rod should have four, no, I lie, t’ree things: the satin texture of a colleen’s thigh, the suppleness of a young rabbit and the resilience of a harlot.’

  ‘In Ireland they say too much,’ replied Hastings, but he laughed nonetheless.

  ‘I don’t quite understand the last one, my lord Desmond,’ Kate admitted, both shocked and amused still at the earl’s careless wit.

  ‘Why, leannán, a harlot will bear any weight and bend as you please.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kate felt her cheeks burning but she managed to laugh at her own innocence.

  ‘Can we attend to the business in hand?’ muttered Ned.

  ‘Have you heard of the flying fish of Limerick,’ began Desmond, ‘that leapt int—’

  ‘Don’t—’ cut in Hastings, and then, so as not to create a rift in Yorkist-Irish relations, he added quickly, ‘Don’t bold jests frighten the fish?’

  ‘Yes, Desmond, keep a still tongue for once!’ That was from Ned. He was busy. Kate heard the flick of line and a plop of bait followed by the gentle splash as his cork float hit the water.

  ‘To be sure, I was forgetting,’ chortled the Irish nobleman. ‘Serious business, eh?’

  ‘It is when you’ve never fished before,’ complained Hastings. ‘Ouch! God d—’

  ‘Save the hooks for the fish, friend.’ Desmond’s cast landed neatly.

  ‘Let me,’ Kate offered, propping her fishing rod between her knees after she had set her line. ‘Pray pass it to me.’ Diving her hand into the little box of red worms that was set between four pairs of feet, she baited it for Hastings and deftly flicked the line out on his side of the boat.

  They sat in companionable quiet waiting for the fish to bite. Kate’s bared fingers were chilled, but she did not care. In summer the midges and mosquitoes would have plagued her and she was simply grateful there was no stiff, freezing wind.

  ‘Ah, come to me, my sweet.’ Ned was at last playing a fish. Finally he drew it to the side and rocked the boat, bringing it aboard in a small scoop net. A goodly perch.

  ‘You call that a decent size, your royal highness of England,’ said Desmond. ‘We didn’t come along for minnows.’

  Ned made a face. Save for the flapping of the catch in the wooden bucket, the boat lapsed into a businesslike silence once again.

  Kate felt the gentle investigation of the bait. ‘Oh sorry,’ she muttered, knocking back into Hastings’ shoulder as she whipped the line back and lost it. No, there it came again.

  ‘Is yours bigger?’ asked Desmond, leaning forward, ready to help with a net. ‘Because I’m wagered on a win for the fairer sex.’

  ‘Isn’t your money on yourself?’ panted Kate, landing the fighting, flashing silver creature.

  ‘Ah, that’s no fun,’ wailed Desmond. ‘I’d always win, see. A beauty! Maith thú!’

  ‘Excellently done! Hey, we should have a wager, too, Kate.’ This was from Ned. ‘If I win, you kiss all three of us.’

  That created more blushes inside her fur hood.

  ‘Pah!’ she protested good-naturedly. ‘And what if I win?’

  Ned laughed. ‘You kiss us all out of sheer triumph, of course. And then, my sweet dove, you shall have a ring for your finger and a silver rattle for Cecily.’ Kind of him, though Cecily was past rattles.

  ‘I can feel something,’ exclaimed Hastings. ‘I can feel a lot.’

  ‘Ah, that would be Lady Kate’s doing, Hastings,’ Desmond quipped. ‘No, slowly, slowly! Tease it, man!’

  Hastings almost landed his catch in the royal face. With Ned’s help, they got it in. A modest bream.

  ‘Huzzah!’ exclaimed the ruler of the realm. ‘See, William, it’s not that hard.’

  ‘I can think of better things to do at this hour, your grace.’

  ‘So can I,’ concurred the Irish lord. It surely was deliberate when the toe of his boot nudged Kate’s for the sky was light enough to show his irrepressible grin, but pulling in his line a few minutes later, he discovered his bait had gone, and as she had withdrawn her toes well beneath her skirts, from then on he concentrated on proper angling.

  By the turn of the tide, she could feel her blood had chilled. A quarter of an hour more and she would have been shivering. The weak sun was hiding behind a depressingly grey sky. The men, fortunately, were also weary, and Ned and Desmond took the oars again. Rowing would have warmed her, she reflected ruefully. Could she and Hastings have done it as well, though?

  ‘King Edward of Caernarvon was much criticised for rowing on the river,’ observed Ned, lifting his oar so the boat drifted sweetly to the side of the barge.

  ‘And more besides,’ murmured Hastings.

  ‘Ah, so I was only asked along to save your reputation, your grace,’ Kate teased, knowing his namesake had been to
o fond of men.

  ‘Not just that, sweetheart. Hey, I’m famished. For Heaven’s sake, let’s have some repast.’

  On board the royal barge, the servants had lit the brazier and were waiting with hot broth, and the oarsmen gathered round as the catch was weighed and measured. To her astonishment, Kate’s perch was deemed the largest.

  ‘The lady wins,’ whooped Ned, grabbing Kate’s arm and thrusting it aloft. ‘You know what that means,’ he teased, hugging her to him as the four of them returned to the pavilion.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, and holding Desmond’s shoulders, she reached up and pecked him chastely. ‘My mother would not approve of any of this.’

  ‘Oh come on, Kate,’ coaxed Ned. ‘Hey, I want something decent.’

  It wasn’t decent but indecent. Her mouth felt assaulted and he did not let her go straightaway. Will had tried kissing like that but she had not encouraged him. Clearly Ned was far more experienced but, well, she felt like drawing her hand across her lips. At least this would all be over in a moment.

  ‘My lord chamberlain?’ A sudden shyness claimed her. She reached out but Hastings stayed apart, arms folded. A sapphire finger ring glinted on his left hand as his breath moved within his body. Perhaps he shared Edward II’s tastes. Gathering her courage, she looked up reluctantly, expecting coldness. He was feigning disapproval. Or was he? There was a slight curl at the corners of his mouth. A fish to be played? No, dear God, why should she even think that? Swallowing with embarrassment, she lowered her arms, but before she could mend the silence, she had her answer.

  ‘With your permission, madame, later. Unlike these two rascals, I prefer not to embrace a woman smelling of fish.’

  ‘Sir!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘No,’ he protested laughing as Ned and Desmond grabbed his arms, threatening to force him to his knees before her. ‘No, madame, I meant me.’

  Well-furred and booted, Richard Neville was waiting for them on the quay like a true courtier. Kate silently applauded him; he always remembered his duty to Ned as king.

  ‘Lady Katherine angled with brilliance.’ Ned almost clapped her brother on the shoulder but remembering his glove smelled of bait, he buffeted the air instead.

  ‘But did she catch anything, your grace?’ Oh, the family pride again!

  ‘Hey, yes, she’s won a ring for her finger,’ the king answered simply, with a grin over his shoulder at Desmond and Hastings. ‘And a silver rattle for Cecily. Meantime, we lords are for the bathhouse, and our dear chamberlain, Lord love him, has arranged a hot bath for you as well, my lady, in the queen’s quarters.’

  ‘Have you, Lord Hastings?’ Kate swung round to him in great delight. ‘How very kind.’ She could not fathom this man. Was his excuse not to kiss her genuine?

  He inclined his handsome head. ‘Let me know if it is satisfactory, Lady Katherine. God willing, we shall have a new queen soon and it would be good to know that the apparatus works efficiently. A servant will conduct you there.’ He bowed and hastened after the king.

  ‘Well, I mustn’t let the water cool,’ murmured Kate. ‘The queen’s bath. How gratifying.’

  ‘Wait.’ Richard delayed her before she could follow the waiting servant and asked in a whisper, ‘Did Ned behave?’

  ‘Of course, although I learned some new curses when he lost the bait.’

  ‘You know very well what I mean, Katherine. If I had a castle for every widow he’s seduced since he discovered girls…’

  ‘Oh to be sure, Richard, we had a Druid orgy with piles of mistletoe and fish guts. Honestly, brother, do I look dressed for committing adultery on the river in mid-winter at dawn with two married men and a bachelor king?’

  ‘Two bachelors.’

  ‘What?’

  It was not quite the thing to have done. Finding herself neighboured at dinner by her second eldest brother, Bishop George, who was in a holier-than-thou temper, she tried not to yawn through his stern lecture on behaving herself. It helped that they were also watching two make-believe ships being trundled into the hall in honour of the king’s guest, my lord Earl of Desmond. Lines of servants on either side the hall billowed waves of azure fabric sewn with silvery fish in between the vessels and, to Kate’s delight, a mock naval battle commenced.

  George’s peroration on her morals was drowned out by firecrackers and a great deal of smoke, which irritated his throat and set most of the spectators a-coughing. The carnage ended with sea-dragons and a giant frog rising to devour the bodies of those who were struggling amidst the waves.

  ‘Enough!’ guffawed Ned, mopping his eyes, and the victorious captain sketched a hasty bow and was born off aloft by his triumphant henchman. Kate escaped while the defeated were being tidied away, and at the king’s whooping encouragement, Hastings, who had been responsible for the entertainment, wearily rose to take his bow.

  Kate waited until the crowd around the lord chamberlain had dispersed before she made her way round the side of the hall to present her congratulations. ‘And the sea-dragons were so enthusiastic,’ she added, ‘especially the baby ones.’

  ‘You liked the dragons.’ He smiled at last, a quiet devastating smile that might easily wobble the knees of any woman from Cornwall to Northumberland.

  ‘I adored the dragons, my lord, and the frog, even if the back legs got left behind.’

  ‘You must agree it was a pity that Sir Tristan’s sword broke.’

  ‘Ah but winning the combat against Sir Marhaus with half a hilt merely proved Sir Tristan was a champion, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, there is that.’ They stood side by side watching the dancers who had now taken charge of the floor. ‘Was the bath to your liking?’

  ‘Bath? Oh, your pardon. Yes, indeed, thank you, although the taps could do with greasing and I noticed a lot of cobwebs in the rafters.’

  ‘All easily remedied.’ He must have noticed her foot was tapping to the music for he added, ‘And since my task in the revels is over, maybe I can cast off my office for a little space. Would you care to dance, Lady Harrington?’

  She cocked her head on one side. ‘Are you sure, my lord? You look dead on your feet, if I may say so, and it will be rather shameful for me if you swoon at my feet in the middle of a volte tonda, let alone a basse dance.’

  An appreciative smile lit his face. ‘Then I shall endeavour not to.’

  It was a lively Italian tune requiring so much whirling and skipping that partners only linked their little fingers and the gliding steps required the ladies to keep their heads up but their eyes modestly downcast. Just as well, for she needed to watch her footwork. Twice she went the wrong way and had to be twirled back, but she only trod on Lord Hastings’ shoe once.

  Will had not enjoyed dancing. Lord Hastings clearly did and in the second slower dance, which required more intimacy, looked her in the face with attentive gallantry every time their hands met, as a gentleman should. More than the last time they had danced together.

  ‘Do you think you will ever go fishing again, my lord?’ she asked as they took steps forward in stately fashion. The feel of his skin beneath her fingertips was exciting.

  ‘I daresay I shall.’ His glance flicked forwards to where the king and Desmond stood quaffing. ‘How long do you remain at Westminster, my lady?’

  ‘Only until we have a hard frost and the roads back to Devon are passable. To be honest, I am concerned my little daughter will be fretting.’ Now Lord Hastings would probably think less of her for being too doting. ‘I do not suppose you have much chance to be at home, my lord?’ she asked, diverting the conversation back to him.

  ‘No, nor a true home as such and little enticement at the moment. Last time I had to endure three hellish days of petitions. The entire district descended upon me with their grievances. It seems I am looked upon as a royal ear. They think if they shout loud enough, their words will reach the king.’

  ‘You need a dragon then to guard your door.’

  ‘My door and my honour, Lady Harringto
n. The number of nubile daughters hauled into my vision by their soliciting fathers not to mention widows with loosened garters and gaping bodices.’

  For such a handsome accomplished man, his expression was so woe begone that Kate laughed wholeheartedly. ‘You don’t need a dragon then, you need a wife.’ Idly spoken but suddenly the air between them seemed taut. She felt breathless and foolish. ‘I am sorry. I spoke out of turn,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I was but jesting.’

  ‘Of course, Lady Katherine.’ The answer was diplomatic.

  ‘Hey, one of the delights of being king,’ said a familiar voice behind her, ‘is that no one may gainsay us. Let us dance, cousin. It’s a royal command.’

  ‘What happens if I say no?’ Kate asked mischievously, folding her arms.

  ‘You get thrown in with the ravens at the Tower for the night.’ He dug out her wrist and she had to hurry to keep pace with his great stride. ‘You and old Hastings seem to be trotting well together,’ he observed.

  ‘I think he needs a wife.’

  ‘Excellent. What a good notion. You will do him to a nicety.’

  Kate halted, shocked. ‘Me?’

  ‘Hey, surely dear old brother Richard told you what he had in mind – with my blessing, of course? Remember, I promised you a ring for your finger.’ Instantly, she dropped his hand and stood staring up at him as if her feet had been pasted to the flagstones.

  ‘Not with a man attached, you didn’t.’

  Ned managed to look sheepish and annoyed at the same time. ‘Kate, we are attracting a lot of attention.’

  ‘I do not care, your grace. Please don’t gull me.’

  ‘Kate, I’m the king, my sweet, and I think it’s a match made in Heaven. Unless you want to pay a hefty fine to stay unmarried… Do you?’

  ‘I am considering kicking you in the royal groin.’ She clapped a hand to her lips realising the enormity of what she had just said. It had to be the Earl of Desmond’s influence. Fortunately, Ned nearly doubled over with laughter while she stood red-faced, not daring to run away.