The Golden Widows Page 30

  ‘Oh, there are few secrets if you know how to loosen men’s tongues. All I needed to do was send my servants down to the palace stables with a firkin of ale. Simple as that. Your groom and horseboys spewed out all the gossip. Let me see, what else did I discover? Ah yes, I now know your master of the horse will wed Lovidia since he can’t have you.’ She was too astonished, too angry, to answer. ‘And I don’t want Lovidia although I understand she is the prettiest wench in Devonshire.’

  ‘But you do want the London widow you embraced outside the stables,’ she snapped. ‘The tall one with the yellow braids and the green riding cape.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Outside, the dogs began barking again.

  ‘My sister? I think not.’

  Kate bit her lip, guilty of not having heeded Chaplain Rotherham’s warning.

  Hastings was laughing softly. ‘Envy is a deadly sin, my lady.’

  ‘So is lechery, my lord.’ She turned her head away.

  ‘You suffer from that as well?’ he mocked. ‘Then you are in goodly company for I am afflicted with it at this very moment.’ His hand turned her chin towards him.

  ‘No, I don’t think—’ she stammered, glancing towards Eleanor.

  ‘You think too much and you are a goose, you know that?’ he said softly. ‘And if I permit myself to kiss you, damn it, I shall have those furs off in a thrice and I shall not be able to stop myself. But I do have a sense of honour despite your suspicions. Can you not trust me?’

  Trust? No, she could never trust entirely ever again. Marriage with Hastings would be a compromise. Love could hurt. But not to love…Not to love him was like telling the sun not to shine and without his warmth and protection her life would be an emptiness. Besides, Cecily needed a father.

  She watched Hastings’ fair eyebrows lift, expecting an answer, and somehow she was able to nod.

  ‘Good, now stop being so difficult.’ His knuckles caressed her cheek like a lover. ‘You have lovely eyes, you know that? You wear your soul in them.’

  Will Bonville had never spoken so. She could feel the pieces of armour falling away from her, unbuckling. Even if this was flattery – and she prayed it was not – the praise was healing.

  ‘God willing, you and I have a lifetime ahead of us to frolic, and I tell you what, Lady Harrington,’ he slid a possessive hand across the fur that was drawn tight across her thighs. ‘We are going to give young Cecily a whole quiverful of brothers and sisters.’

  Speech was stolen from her. She watched him withdraw to the other side of the stones where he settled his shoulder against the earth.

  ‘You were right about this being Hell,’ he murmured. ‘But there is still time for redemption, sweetheart.’

  In the cold light of day with her clothes barely fastening, starched by road mire and stinking of wood smoke, Kate felt inglorious, beleaguered and shamed that she had put her people through such a nightmare journey. However, she knew her obligations and she requested the farmer and his family be brought before her so she might reward them for the use of their dwelling. Of course, she should have known that Lord Hastings had already given them coin to replace the firewood and the fowls that had comprised last night’s supper and this morning’s broth.

  She found the new bane on her life submitting to his manservant’s razor next to the water butt outside the barn.

  ‘I gather you and your men intend to accompany us on to Salisbury, my lord?’ she said coolly.

  ‘Yes.’ He tugged the napkin from the neck of his shirt and wiped his face with it. ‘I have sent a messenger to advise the bishop, my lady. No doubt you would prefer to lodge in his palace overnight.’ He paused for her to argue but she ignored the question in his eyes. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘my people are ready to leave.’

  ‘And mine, my lord.’ She curtsied gravely and crossed the yard to where Newton waited with her mare.

  ‘I hear you purpose to wed Lovidia, Master Newton. Why was I not informed of this?’ A month ago, she would have considered it treason and condemned Newton for behaving no better than Will in betraying her trust but now she found herself speaking of the matter with utter calm. That other Kate now seemed a life long ago.

  ‘Bastards like me cannot have what they want in life, my lady. I have not lain with her if that is what you are thinking.’ For a heartbeat, his face told her everything and then he dragged his gaze away and made pretence of checking Guinivere’s saddle was secure. Behind her, she sensed that Lord Hastings was watching them. ‘Old Lady Bonville wants the boy to be brought up proper like. I’ll be a father to him.’ He cupped his hands to help her mount. ‘Is all well? You know I would risk my life for you. Have you any orders for me?’

  What was he expecting? she thought sadly. That she would order him to battle Lord Hastings and his retinue single-handed, then carry her off across his saddlebow? In fact that was the last thing she wanted now. Maybe in London she had discovered who she really was. She met Lord Hastings’ assertive stare across her servant’s shoulder and knew her future.

  Shaking her head, she said, ‘You are the loyalest of servants, Robert Newton, and a good friend and you shall have a fine wedding. There will always be a place for you in my household. Always.’

  The wind had changed. An easterly was at their back as they rode westwards. Within sight of Salisbury’s ramparts, Hastings drew rein and pointed with his riding crop. ‘That bridlepath will take you west towards Wilton avoiding the city, my lady, or you can come a-marketing with me.’

  ‘A-marketing?’ That was a new coverlet of words to hide the marriage word! She had not been expecting any choice, more like his gloved hand on the leading rein of her mare and the closing in of his horsemen around her. And they were under scrutiny, their combined entourages agog to know who was really wearing the boots and spurs.

  ‘Forgive my honesty, Lady Harrington, but it will hardly escape common notice that you are…’ Lord Hastings’ gloved hand strove to summon the right words from the air. He was looking pointedly at the dried mud appliquéing her blue-black riding gown and cap. ‘…bedraggled.’

  ‘Then we had better go shopping, my lord,’ Kate agreed tartly, kneeing her mare forward. If he was wearing a triumphant grin, she did not want to know.

  Will Bonville had disliked shopping. Well, what eighteen-yearold male would? The few times they had visited Exeter together, he had abandoned Kate to his mother’s company and hotfooted it down Fore Street to meet his friends at the Antelope. However, Lord Hastings, after dispatching a messenger to the Bishop’s Palace and giving their retainers leave to frolic for a few hours, took Kate and Eleanor straight to Master John Hall’s famous Doghalle. A housewife’s heaven! It shelved everything: spices from the East, dyestuffs, woad, madder, even costly alum, wines, vinegars, tar, pails, bowstrings, Paris thread and Venice buttons, bales of all manner of cloth: russet, fustian, finest wool, linen, damasks, glowing velvets, Italian silks and brocades, and even some ready-made garments: fur cloaks and velvet mantles, caps, hats and gloves.

  Not a word was whispered in the shop about my lady’s appearance. Perhaps with their streets criss-crossed with streams and ditches, Salisbury merchants were used to lords and gentry sliding into the mire. John Hall himself was summoned to attend his noble customers. Together with Hastings, he helped Kate choose two caps with stitched-in veils, one of lavender blue velvet edged with pearls, the other, damson with a taffeta lining and veil of palest rose.

  As for fabric for a new gown, Kate was not very good at making up her mind. She flitted round the storeroom like a joyous bee, her interest landing here and there until Hastings extracted a bale from an upright stack of other rolls – a shimmering brocade of cornflower blue, embroidered with tiny songbirds and lily flowers.

  ‘You like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Hmm, yes I do. Can’t you hear me purring?’

  ‘No, I did hear a gurgling of hunger. How much do they need to measure out, Katherine? I am treading water here.’

 
; She was hungry, ravenous, and suspected he was, too, yet before finding a tavern, he hastened her to a tailor recommended by the Doghalle. There she was briskly measured by three tailors while the fourth sketched a neckline for her approval. Her womanly heart was frisking with delight. The blue kirtle together with a cream silk undergown would be delivered to the bishop’s palace that afternoon.

  Hastings’ authority amazed her. Here was no green boy but a mature handsome man squiring her and yet marriage meant bedding with him and she had lain with no man but Will. That side of things would be challenging and probably a disappointment but it was part of the bargain with making sons and heirs. Of one thing she was sure, he would safeguard her and Cecily. That alone must blow her doubts away.

  He actually consulted her about where they should dine. The George Inn, where she had stayed before, was packed with liverymen from the glovers’ guild celebrating the birth of someone’s son and even though the landlord would have right swiftly kicked out his regular diners to accommodate my lord chamberlain and my lord of Warwick’s sister, they passed it by and ate supper instead at the Rose in Minster Street.

  After the meal was done, he undid the uppermost knopfs of his doublet and drew out a folded parchment. ‘By the way, the king’s grace asked me to give you this. It’s from the Patent Rolls, a copy, of course, and hastily done, I might add.’

  Puzzled, curious, she shook open its warm folds. It had been drawn up the day she left Westminster. ‘By my faith,’ she whispered, her eyes widening as she read. ‘Do you know what’s written here?’

  ‘“A grant to the king’s kinswoman, Katherine, late wife of William, Lord of Harrington, custody of all castle, lordships et cetera during the minority of Cicely” – by the way, have they spelt it wrong? – “daughter of the said lord and kinswoman and heir of William, Lord Bonville, with the marriage of the said heir” and so forth.’ He smiled and drew a finger across her parted lips. ‘You look very sweet but why so astonished?’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  The smile deepened. ‘You mean not having the grant of custody from Ned?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Why should I mind?’

  And how could she answer that?

  ‘Have you a safe place about your person for that or shall I keep it for now?’

  She glanced down at her cleavage and he laughed. ‘Sweetheart, no, adorable as you are there, you are not of sufficient fish-wifely proportions.’

  It was needful to search his face as she handed back the document for safe-keeping. There was no dimple of insincerity, no wry twist of lip or flicker of calculation. Adorable? So he did not think her too round, too unslender, if there was such a word.

  ‘Well, Kate, shall we be on our way?’

  She could see they were expected at the bishop’s palace when they finally rode into the vast walled close that embraced the cathedral. Hastings had already sent word.

  It was a welcome fit for a prince. Outside on the steps of the turreted palace were several shelves of shivering clerics; canons and vicars and cathedral officials. Off to the side, a cluster of little choristers in blue gowns, hooded with lambswool, sang Kate an anthem. In the absence of Bishop Richard Beauchamp, who was away on a royal commission, the dean was pleased to formally welcome them.

  She was shown up into a bedchamber that was sweet and clean. It had whitewashed walls adorned with tapestries, and the wooden panels of its ceiling were painted with nightingales and goshawks. The servants told her the bishop’s bathhouse had been heated up for her and afterwards, pink, warm and clean, she stretched out within the crisp, clean sheets of the bed and slept for two hours, until she was awakened by Eleanor with the newly made gown across her arm.

  Lord Hastings was waiting in the bishop’s hall. He had forsaken his riding clothes for a doublet of amber velvet, black hose and clean boots. He gave her a most approving smile and offered his arm. ‘Would you care to see the cathedral before supper?’

  She understood. It was to be done like this – understated. Tomorrow they would ride on to Shute.

  Gathering the train of her gown over her arm, she rested her hand on his wrist. Long before they reached the cathedral steps, she saw the dean just happened to be standing in the porch of the west door waiting for them.

  Hastings halted, drawing her round to face him. ‘You have a choice, Katherine. Step forward with me now or Brother Aloysius can take you to view the clock and King John’s Magna Carta.’

  Kate began to laugh. She laughed so much it nearly gave her a stitch in her side.

  ‘That, William,’ she declared, sleeving away her tears, ‘must be the worst proposal of marriage in England’s history.’

  ‘It was not a proposal just a choice.’

  She started to march towards the cathedral. ‘I am doing this for you,’ she called back to him over her shoulder. ‘I should hate you to lose office – or face.’

  He actually gave a huzzah that disturbed the pigeons and took to his heels, grabbing her hand and tugging her after him.

  ‘Steady!’ she screamed, clutching up her skirt lest she fall face down onto the cobbled path. Her cap was askew and likely to topple. ‘What is the hurry?’

  ‘In case you change your mind, Kate Neville.’ But he stopped, straightened her headdress and then with his arm about her, they sedately walked forward to be married at the cathedral door.

  Sharing her wedding supper in a room full of clerics was hardly the stuff of dreams. Kate sat through her wedding breakfast anxious about the bedroom sport to follow. She had no skill in such games but it must be endured from now on.

  ‘How does the new underlinen feel?’

  ‘Stiff. It will need a few launders to soften, I daresay.’

  That slow appealing smile that hinted at a lusty allegory.

  When she finally found herself alone in the bedchamber listening for her new husband’s foot on the stair, she was shaking as if an ague possessed her. At least there had not been the putting to bed by a crowd slopping with wine and firing lusty jokes as there had been at Chewton.

  He actually knocked. There was a courtesy to Hastings’ character that made him utterly redeemable.

  She did not await him like a soldier awaiting inspection but walked across and opened the door.

  ‘I thought you might have barred it already,’ he said, pushing a jug of wine and two goblets into her hands while he took the wooden beam from the corner and slid it across to keep them private.

  ‘You would have found a ladder, I daresay. Perhaps you would have preferred it that way.’ She looked up for an answer.

  ‘Any way!’ he said, rescuing the jug and striding across to set it on the small table. Moonlight flooded across the coverlet of the bed and outside a robin sung out the evening watch. Some thoughtful person had set posies of dried herbs upon the pillows.

  Hastings took the goblets from her and poured out some spiced wine. ‘To us!’

  ‘Lord!’ exclaimed Kate, coughing. She was not expecting it to be hot and so spicy. ‘What has this in it? Pepper?’

  ‘For courage. Well?’ He jerked his head meaningfully towards the bed.

  ‘Well?’ she echoed.

  ‘Well, you are the one who has been married before.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she giggled. The absurdity of it lessened her tension. She realised she probably should have climbed into bed with nothing on. ‘The procedure is we take a run for the bed and see who gets there first,’ she told him with a straight face.

  He received that edict with equal composure. ‘Then I’d better check.’ He strode across and bent to lift the bed’s petticotes.

  ‘What on earth…?’

  ‘Tightening the bed ropes, sweetheart. I’d hate us to crash through the ceiling and land in the middle of Bishop Beauchamp’s dining board.’

  Kate was still laughing as he came back to her and caught her hand, carrying it to his lips. ‘Honestly, William, I wasn’t being serious.’

  ‘I know, my sweet b
ride, but we are going to do it nonetheless.’ He let go of her and leaned forward for the race, his hands on his knees. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ But with a gurgle of merriment, she snatched up her skirt and braced herself.

  ‘Go!’

  She landed with her knees on the bed, and collapsed face down with laughter, heels in the air.

  ‘I enjoyed that!’ Hastings exclaimed, dragging her up to face him. ‘It should be written into the missals throughout Christendom.’ He kissed her, his arms drawing her tightly in to his body. There was possession, desire and fire in that kiss and she was dry tinder for easy kindling.

  ‘You know what I sense, Kate?’ he murmured between kisses. ‘I reckon Will Bonville was a selfish lout. Did he ever give you any pleasure?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘They call it the little death in France.’

  ‘Well, that has whetted my appetite already,’ she said dryly. ‘But, oh, I rather like that.’ His fair hair was against her breasts as he teased her nipple with his tongue.

  ‘Tonight is for your pleasure, my dearest Kate.’

  And it was. For the first time in her life, she knew the pleasure of lovemaking and afterwards as her body settled to stillness like the vibrating strings of a lute after plucking, she felt at peace, loved and secure. Even if his body would never be hers alone, there was a generosity in Hastings, not to mention skilfulness, that made her feel like a goddess.

  Your husband will be famous and much loved.

  Much loved? Yes.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, leaning over to kiss the lips of her new lord, where he lay beside her. ‘You were right, I was “such an innocent”. But I’m not now. Can we do it again, please?’

  TWO YEARS LATER

  Elysabeth

  29th April 1464

  Grafton

  Trying to explain her strategy received two astonished looks from her sons.

  ‘We are going to run out into his path and petition him?’ echoed Tom. ‘The king?’

  ‘Dangerous, Mother,’ muttered Dickon. ‘Horses don’t like surprises.’