The Golden Widows Page 27

  ‘Do I indeed?’ he snapped. ‘Who would you prefer to walk with, Lady Katherine? Her or me?’

  It was definitely time to smooth honey on his wounded pride before it festered. Kate gathered up her skirts and swept back to Eleanor, asking her to return to their bedchamber but when she turned round, her touchy companion had misconstrued her choice and disappeared. She found him along on the wharf moodily staring out across the river with his arms folded and a foot set on a capstan. There was nobody else within an arrow’s shot but any thought of being endangered by his company had fled; her only thought was to restore the cordiality between them.

  Standing behind him, she found herself quoting a verse, learned in childhood, from Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight.

  For, see here, I believe you are Sir Gawaine.

  Whom alle the worlde worships wher’ere you ride.

  Your honour, your courteous manner, is worldwide known

  By lordes, by ladyes, by alle that live.

  And now you are here, y-wiss, and we but on our own.

  Beneath the velvet cloak, the pouched tops of his sleeves rose in a shrug. How could there be such a vulnerability about him? And yet there was, although the man’s shoulders were thrust back in defiance and his mouth was as thin as an angry pen stroke.

  ‘Lord Hastings, please, my servant meant you no offence.’

  The Adam’s apple in Hastings’ throat moved awkwardly as though it pained him to swallow and then he quoted back to her:

  ‘Though I be not now he you speke therof.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, heartened that he was at least answering her.

  ‘Nor,’ he added, ‘do I reach the reverence as you here rehearse.’

  ‘I am right glad of that, my lord, for Sir Gawaine sounds an unctuous bore.’ She ventured a gentle hand upon his sleeve. ‘Therefore sheath your anger, my lord. I know my royal cousin is lucky in those that serve him.’ Then, giving his honour time to cool, she drew back and seated herself upon a fallen tree that had been crudely hacked to form a bench. Eventually, he turned his face towards her as though it was she whose trustworthiness was now on trial.

  ‘Why are you afraid of marrying again?’

  Kate did not answer. She stared down at her gloves.

  ‘What happened to you, Katherine?’

  Compelled to reply, she looked up at him and even though her hands were clenched, she said indifferently, ‘I find trust a challenge, my lord.’

  ‘Trust!’ He came across and stood staring down at her. It did not seem to be the answer he had expected. Then his face lightened. ‘Maybe you haven’t been kissed enough.’

  ‘It’s only because I’m Warwick’s sister I’ve been kissed at all!’

  ‘You’re wrong, you know.’

  ‘It seems I am wrong about a great deal, my lord. It’s my “innocence”, you see. It attracts errors like a dung heap attracts flies.’

  ‘Ouff!’ He pulled a face and blew on his fingers as though her words were scorching. ‘Have you considered that dung makes plants grow?’ he asked teasingly.

  ‘I truly believe what I consider is likely of no real interest to you, Lord Hastings, or my brothers,’ she said sadly.

  He chewed that over for a moment and then his voice lost its playfulness. ‘Since the king wishes me to take you for my wife, you’ll have to admit it might be.’

  A murrain on him! So the matter was beaten into the open at last. Had he expected she would fall in beside him like an obedient chariot horse? Or that a stolen kiss in the counting house was eternally binding like a betrothal vow?

  ‘Take implies that a person or property is seized without consent.’

  The wince was almost imperceptible but he rallied with masculine stubbornness.

  ‘Without consent. I see. That also is the problem?’

  ‘My lord, it is getting chill.’ She gathered her skirts to stand and then saw in his face that he would prevent her. With a sigh, she decided on outright honesty. ‘I don’t like sharing.’

  He took that on the chin and then pointed out, ‘But you shared your child.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You shared your babe with a wet nurse. You trusted her, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said and added gravely, ‘And I can see that breasts are involved in both instances. But sharing a husband is another matter.’

  For an instant, she thought he was trying to keep a straight face. ‘It works both ways, trust does,’ he countered reasonably. ‘A wife can conceive another man’s child.’

  ‘Yes, but I wouldn’t.’

  ‘It’s possible. You might be carrying some Devon gentleman’s begetting.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ she conceded. ‘And you might be carrying the pox.’

  They stared at one another like a pair of prodded, fierce fighting cocks and then she laughed and watched the outrage seep from his handsome face.

  ‘I won’t ask again why you can’t trust, Katherine, unless you want to tell me, but if you won’t trust, what are you going to do about it?’ She must have looked puzzled because he added, ‘Take holy orders?’

  ‘Good heavens, no, I’ve Cecily’s future to consider.’

  ‘Of course, and I can see that is the most important consideration of all. Shall we return to the great hall for now?’

  Feeling like a gate that had been climbed over, if gates could feel, she patted the log beside her and to her surprise, he sat down.

  ‘Is it difficult minding Ned? That’s what you are doing, isn’t it?

  ‘Yes, as his chamberlain, I am expected to be at his side most of the time and his father made me swear to always safeguard him.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should become Archbishop of Canterbury as well. Thomas à Beckett managed both.’

  ‘A pox on Thomas à Beckett!’

  ‘My lord! You are cursing a saint.’

  ‘Hell take it, madame!’ he exclaimed. The endearing, harassed look was back. ‘Hear me out and then you will understand.’

  Will I indeed? The old wounds from Will’s infidelity ached still. She watched him lean forward, hands clasped.

  ‘I don’t mean to make a monk of Ned. The trick is to permit him everything except that which could do him infinite harm.’

  Infinite harm? Because she did not answer, he glanced sideways at her, seemingly frustrated that she did not murmur approval. It was the most perfect rationalisation for dealing with wealthy whores and biblers that she could imagine. Did he sample the adulterous wives first to see if they were clean and wholesome, inquire who else they had lain with and whether they were free of sores, warts and Heaven knew what else?

  ‘By the Saints, my lord,’ she said finally, with a deep sigh although it was tempting to scoff. ‘You set yourself a labour worthy of Hercules. And I consider your concern is misguided. Ned is not a fool.’

  For an instant, he looked as though she had slapped him.

  ‘No, madame, he is highly intelligent but when as a king you can have everything you ever dreamed of, what do you do when there are no more challenges? When you are bored and sated? It seems to me, my lady, that the seeds of self-corruption that we all carry inside us could then begin to germinate.’

  And had they germinated in him? Was it experience or merely self-interest for his own future that had turned this man into a royal guard dog?

  She sucked in her cheeks. ‘So, no Southwark wagtails for Ned.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Definitely no Southwark wagtails or any other wagtails. Who the Devil taught you that term?’

  ‘Ned did.’

  He swore beneath his breath.

  ‘I am the same age as Ned,’ she said, kicking her heels against the timber, and then springing to her feet, ‘and I hardly think that in his shoes I need to have my choices made for me. We both suffer from my brother Richard’s interference enough as it is.’

  He strode after her. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Yes, ouch, my lord.’ The sun was gone now. She was conscious that the wind had s
wung east and shivered, cradling her arms. He offered her his mantle and was refused. Then without even asking, he took hold of her arm so that she was compelled to stop.

  ‘I said all that about Ned in confidence, Lady Katherine.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  In a few moments they were within the gaze of the world. My Lord of Canterbury’s barge was waiting at the steps to carry his grace back to his palace across the river and the water boatmen were lighting their lanterns. Perhaps they recognised the lord chamberlain was with her and this time they kept a respectful distance. With so many people in sight, Kate feared no impropriety so she was caught off guard when he swung her off the path behind a squat oak.

  ‘You are going to marry me, Kate,’ he stated, with a possessiveness that was both delicious and challenging, and he kissed her thoroughly to make sure she understood.

  ‘I’m not,’ she argued faintly, when she could breath. ‘I am not marrying anyone just yet.’

  ‘No argument.’ He kissed the side of her throat. ‘Sealed, signed and soon to be…’ he teased her lips, ‘delivered.’

  ‘No.’ Her fingers lying flat against his breast flexed against him. His right leg was pressing against her skirts and she could feel the hardness between his thighs. Oh, he wanted her and it wasn’t a coupling to beget an heir but a lusty desire that was finding an answer between her own thighs.

  ‘Why not?’ His breath teased her lips and he kissed her again. His hands, sliding beneath her cloak, curled round her bottom and drew her hips against his body. ‘Come back with me to my chamber now and lie in my arms.’ He smiled down at her. ‘God as my witness, I’ll exchange vows with you here and now if that’s what you want. Come with me, Kate.’

  Her treacherous body arched desirously, but desperately mustering mind and strength, she pushed him back. ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘By Heaven, you contrary creature, why not?’ Another kiss so seductive, she could hardly stand.

  ‘Because…’

  ‘Oh, Hell take it! It’s not Ned you want, is it?’ Now it was he who eased back, his hands settling at her waist. He looked fearfully certain and certainly hurt.

  ‘No, that’s so preposterous,’ she giggled. ‘We’ve just kissed like that and you think I want Ned. Besides he kisses too wetly.’

  ‘What!’ Laughter dimpled his cheeks and he looked down at her as Marcus Antonius might have gazed at Cleopatra if she had said the same outrageous thing about Julius Caesar. ‘Ned kisses wetly? The King of England kisses wetly?’

  ‘He does, he does,’ she laughed, sliding a playful finger up the fur lapel of his mantle.

  ‘Then why not you and I? What was the “Because”?’

  ‘Because you are far too handsome for me. How can I keep you? Look at me, a dowdy Devonshire—’

  ‘Wren?’ he suggested, eyes twinkling.

  ‘Wren, yes, that will do. I was thinking sparrow actually.’

  ‘I was thinking a lady jay.’

  Kate’s mouth became an ‘O’ of astonishment. ‘Well, you are a swan, my lord. A royal swan, you belong to Ned.’

  ‘You are not implying something disreputable, are you, my lady?’

  Her skin scorched beneath his amusement. ‘No, no, my lord, of course not.’

  ‘I don’t give up easily, Kate Neville.’

  She felt as though she was being wrenched apart to deny him.

  ‘Well, my lord, nor do I.’

  There were ways to leave without giving offence to anyone, particularly a royal or brotherly ‘anyone’. A letter, perhaps, from Grandmother Bonville, make-believe, of course, that Cecily was unwell.

  ‘Madame, don’t forget your wine.’ Eleanor pushed the swaddled goblet of mulled wine into Kate’s hands and knelt to prod the fire into a more cheerful mien.

  ‘You write a reasonable hand, don’t you, Eleanor?’ If she and Eleanor concocted a concise letter summoning her home to Shute, then perhaps it might be enough to convince Richard and Ned to let her go…

  ‘I believe so, my lady, thanks to you. Curse it, this wood is still green.’ Eleanor frowned at the profusion of smoke refusing to keep within the chimney mantle.

  ‘Like me.’ Kate padded across to the window and opened the lights to let some air in to cleanse away the smoke. ‘Oh, damnation!’ The laughter and music from the great hall still tempted her like Satan’s whisper, but her heart knew that if Lord Hastings drew her once more into the shadows before tomorrow, she would end up in his bed.

  ‘Go and ask my sister’s servant if there is any ink and paper at hand. You and I are about to forge a letter.’

  The forgery took several attempts. Watching someone else painstakingly labouring tongue in teeth when she could have dashed it off without blots or crossings out first time played havoc with Kate’s beleaguered nerves.

  ‘Mercy, this looks as though it was written by a notary with hiccoughs,’ muttered Eleanor, completing the address while her mistress softened the orange sealing wax.

  ‘Written in haste and agitation.’ Kate dribbled the wax into place and firmly squished the Harrington-Bonville seal into the orange blob.

  ‘Your pardon, madame, but are you so very sure this is the right path? It’s still my reckoning that Lord Hastings would be a good master.’

  ‘Please do not question me, Eleanor. Do you think I do this lightly? Lord Hastings so beguiles me in his company that my common sense flies out the window. If I stay here, my brother will have me wedded and bedded before the week is out and I’m not willing to wed again, not this yea—’ She broke off as voices came from beyond the door and a loud hammering shook its timber. ‘If that is one of my brothers or Lord Hastings, tell him…tell him what you will, but I’ll not see him. Do it, Eleanor!’

  But she wasn’t prepared to see a stubbled Robert Newton leaning exhausted against the lintel. His eyes widened with warmth at seeing her standing behind Eleanor but Kate was more concerned about why he had come.

  ‘Bid him enter! Is all not well, Master Newton? Eleanor, hook the couver-feu off and reheat the spiced perry we had earlier! Have you come all the way from Chewton, Master Newton? Sit, sit, I beg you!’

  ‘From Shute, my lady.’ He snatched off his hat, and bowed to her before he sank wearily onto a little bench by the hearth. ‘Lady Bonville has sent you a letter, madame,’ he said. Casting his sodden leather hat to the floor, he burrowed a hand into the pouch on his belt. ‘My little lady was ill with fever when I left.’

  ‘Heaven forbid!’ She swiftly read the brief message with mounting disgust at herself. It was almost as though she had willed this ill-fortune on her child. Grandmother Bonville’s plea that she should return home was an an alarum call to sanity. All that mattered was Cecily. Without her, life was not worth living.

  ‘You are a good man,’ she said, clapping a hand on Newton’s bowed shoulder in thanks. He lifted his other hand, perhaps to enclose hers, but she turned to pace the floor. ‘Is there truly any danger that she might die?’ she demanded, dragging a hand in distress across her lips. God be merciful! What if Cecily were already dead? She sent a desperate plea to Heaven.

  ‘I do not know, my lady.’ His face always told the truth. She read common sense there, not panic, yet something else. Surprise? Some sort of regret? before he added, ‘Folk always reckon that girl children are stronger.’ For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to get up and offer comfort. Good of him but uncalled for.

  ‘We shall return with you tomorrow,’ she decreed, hovering at Eleanor’s heels as the girl warmed the pannikin on the embers. Her mind was already making a list.

  Eleanor tipped half a cup of perry into a mazer and carried it over. ‘Here, Rob, lad, the chill be off it.’

  ‘With luck we can hire a barge to take us to Reading on the morning tide, Master Newton. In any event we’ll travel light with just our horses,’ Kate informed him, picking up the writing board and inkpot from the bedsteps. ‘Meanwhile, you, good friend, need a comfortable bed for the night.’ Clipping a pa
per in place, she dipped the quill in the well and wrote swiftly. ‘Give this to any one of my Lord Chamberlain’s servants,’ she said, handing the authority to him. ‘They will find you repast and somewhere decent to sleep. Tell no one that we are leaving the court. I need to have the king’s permission first.’ And she certainly did not want her brother or Hastings to talk her out of leaving.

  Newton seemed to understand but his complexion was grey with fatigue as he rose to his feet.

  ‘Go with Master Newton, Eleanor, help him find one of the officers.’

  As the latch fell closed behind her servants, she felt deep gratitude to him but then she turned her thoughts back to Cecily.

  ‘Can you not do better than that, cousin?’ Ned’s dimpled grin was friendly as he lolled on a chair in his private chambers. Only his thumb, playing with the jewelled topfs buttoning his doublet, hinted that his patience was not infinite. He had been generous in granting her admittance before breakfast.

  ‘The messenger came last night. I have to leave.’ What did Ned want her to do? Grovel? Her indignant look achieved nothing.

  ‘I know about every messenger.’ He slung the remark politely.

  ‘You think I am making this up, your grace?’ Her gaze fell to the glittering sunnes-in-splendor on his neckchain and for the first time she truly felt the enormous power of the office her cousin carried. The sunne could warm, the sunne could burn and the sunne might decide not to shine at all.

  ‘I think you want to escape your obligations to us.’

  The greyhound at his feet sighed and turned over.

  ‘That is unjust, your grace.’ He was her own age yet treating her like an errant child. No, like a traitor! ‘I pray you, read this for yourself!’ She tugged Grandmother Bonville’s letter from her belt. She waited as he scanned its essence. ‘See, your highness, it is no lie. Let me summon the messenger if it please you.’ She was almost tempted to throw herself on her knees, but this was still Ned, her cousin, even if he was the king. ‘My daughter is sick and as a mother—’ The royal fingers had located a small hand bell.

  ‘We desire my lord chamberlain to attend us,’ he commanded the page who came to kneel before him.