Rumors at Court

by Blythe Gifford

  ‘Are you certain,’ Valerie whispered, ‘that the babe will not come now?’

  ‘I cannot be sure, but the child is not due until June, another month or more.’

  Valerie did not need to ask how Katherine knew with such certainty when the heir was to be born. ‘But couldn’t the babe come sooner? And if it comes too early...’ Even Valerie knew the dangers of that.

  Katherine touched her arm. ‘Go to London. Tell John to send the midwife who assisted the Lady Blanche.’ Her aura of calm had returned. ‘I believe that we will need her.’

  ‘And you?’ Surprised that Katherine would not go to John herself.

  ‘I must stay to help.’

  Sensible, since Valerie could be of little use at all. ‘I will leave at first light.’

  Katherine nodded, her pursed lips betraying her worry.

  Valerie touched the woman’s arm, attempting comfort. ‘If you have a private message, something you would like me to take to My Lord of Spain...’

  Katherine blinked and started.

  Were things not as she suspected? She bit her tongue, fearing she had said too much.

  But then, Katherine looked around, to be certain they could not be overheard, and her face softened. ‘Please tell him that I will do everything I can for his Queen. And I will care for the child as if it were my own.’

  Something deeper than pleasure, then, between Katherine and Lancaster. Something that allowed Katherine to serve the man’s wife because in doing that, she could serve him.

  She nodded. ‘I will be sure he knows.’

  Katherine’s face softened, seeing a friend who recognised the truth and did not judge her for it.

  And Valerie saw everything she knew about love and marriage laid out before her. Duty within marriage. Passion beyond it. Strange allies, Constanza and Katherine, wife and mistress, united in their loyalty to the same man, each carrying her own pain. And Valerie the bridge between them.

  A reminder of all the reasons she had hoped to remain aloof from marriage. And yet, she felt a strange envy for Katherine, and even for her late husband. Each had touched passion she would never know.

  And Gil? While Valerie was the dutiful wife, what woman would earn his love? One with fair hair and blue eyes, no doubt. Valerie lacked both, as Scargill had frequently reminded her. Her hair, at least, she could cover.

  She embraced Katherine quickly. ‘I will fetch the midwife myself and bring her here as quickly as I can.’

  Valerie’s own promise. To both women.

  * * *

  Two days later, back at Lancaster’s London palace, Valerie waited as the page announced her, then entered the room, still rehearsing the words Lady Katherine had told her to say to Lancaster.

  But it was Gil, standing next to his liege, who met her eyes first. Surprise touched his face.

  ‘Do you find me so hard to look on?’ he had asked. In truth, she loved to rest her eyes on him. The shock of dark hair that fell across his forehead, the strong eyebrows that protected eyes the pale blue of a winter sky, and, the few magical times she had seen him smile, it was as though he knew a secret and if she just followed him, even as far as Castile, she, too, might discover a wondrous land.

  Today, he did not smile. Clearly, he was neither expecting, nor longing, to see her again.

  ‘What is it?’ Lancaster’s voice jarred her. She had forgotten she was not alone in the room with Gil. ‘Lady Katherine? The Queen?’

  Of course, he would ask after Katherine first.

  She dipped a curtsy. ‘Both were well when I left, but the Queen has had a difficult time. Lady Katherine believes the babe will come soon. There is a midwife at Hertford, but the Lady Katherine asked that you send for Elyot.’

  There was a stricken look on his face for a moment.

  ‘Who is Elyot, my lord?’ Gil asked.

  ‘Elyot, the wise woman. She attended the Lady Blanche. More than once.’ Some pain still lingered in his voice, when he spoke of his dead wife.

  ‘Do you know where to find her, Your Grace?’ she asked.

  ‘Leicester,’ Lancaster said, turning to Gil. ‘Go. Bring her back.’

  Every time she had mentioned his home, he had resisted. And today was the same. ‘There are still preparations before the expedition sails. I should stay to—’

  ‘No.’ The Duke again. ‘My heir is more important.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Besides, this will allow you to visit your lands. I know you have...neglected them to serve me.’

  So, it was not only that he did not want to speak to her of his home and family. He seemed to want nothing to do with it at all.

  But though Gil could refuse her, he could not refuse his lord. ‘I will deliver the woman to Hertford,’ Gil said. ‘And return within a fortnight.’

  The Duke looked at Valerie. ‘Have we enough time?’

  June, Katherine had said. Still some weeks away. ‘I believe so, but we should bring the woman as quickly as we can.’

  The Duke nodded and turned to Gil. ‘A brief visit. Time enough to give final instructions to your steward while the midwife prepares to travel.’

  Then, they began to speak of ships and ports and men and ambassadors. A dizzying set of plans. She could not follow them all, but it seemed that the expedition was to sail for La Rochelle within weeks. Were they to fight the enemy fleet on the way? She was not sure.

  But she did hear, clearly, the last. That Gil was to lead an invasion of Castile. Perhaps as soon as the next month.

  She averted her eyes, pretending not to listen. La Reina would be glad of the news, she was certain, but the last time she had carried word of war to the Queen, Valerie had incurred the wrath of her husband and the Duke.

  But this time, Gil looked over at her, pride in his eyes, and then exchanged looks with My Lord of Spain.

  ‘Your Queen,’ Gil began. ‘She should know. Of the plans.’

  My Lord of Spain waved a hand in acknowledgement. ‘I will send word.’

  ‘Lady Valerie can carry your message to the Queen,’ Gil said. ‘I will ride for the midwife at first light.’

  ‘No!’ The word slipped out before she could stop it. ‘Not without me.’

  Silent, both men looked at her. Disbelief touched Lancaster’s face.

  Anger masked Gil’s. ‘I must move quickly,’ he said. ‘She will slow me down.’

  She straightened her shoulders. She was not yet this man’s wife. And she had made a promise. ‘I was not carried here on a litter, my lord. Give me a swift horse and I am prepared to leave immediately.’

  Still, Gil protested. ‘My lord, I do not want, I mean...’

  He did not want her to see his home. Of that she was certain. But she had promised Katherine that she would bring the wise woman herself. It seemed to be the one thing she could give, to Katherine and to the Queen. She must not fail.

  She squared her shoulders and faced the Duke. ‘I can tell Elyot of the Queen’s condition on our journey, so she will be able to act without delay as soon as we reach Hertford.’

  The Duke’s frown eased and he nodded. ‘All that is possible must be done to ensure the safety of my son.’

  ‘And of the Queen,’ she said, softly. But she and Katherine, it seemed, must be the ones to worry about his Queen, grasping her belly in pain, in what might soon be her birthing bed.

  But Lancaster was thinking of neither woman, rather of that land far away. ‘When we return to Castile, we must show the people that the succession is assured. All must go well.’

  Gil did not protest again, but looked at her, sternly. ‘We must make twenty miles a day.’

  ‘I am not infirm, my lord,’ Valerie said, though her legs ached at the thought of clinging to a horse for another week. ‘But I will need a new mount.’ She looked at the D
uke. ‘I rode from Hertford to London in less than two days. The horse deserves a rest.’

  Now Gil frowned indeed. The journey was near thirty miles, fair proof that she would not delay him on the way. ‘All will be ready.’

  She dipped a bow to the Duke.

  ‘And, Lady Valerie...’

  She looked up to see the Duke’s eyes on her. ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘When you see her, give the Lady Katherine my most profound thanks.’

  ‘She asked me...’ she swallowed ‘...to tell you that she would do everything she could for your Queen. That she would care for the child as if it were her own.’

  And if she had wondered at the truth before, she saw it now on the face of My Lord of Spain. For at those words, he looked not like a king, but like John, a man who might be the father of Katherine’s next child.

  She looked at Gil for help and saw, in his dismay, the confirmation of all she had thought.

  ‘And your thoughts to the Queen as well,’ Gil added, hastily.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the Duke said, as if it were an afterthought. ‘The Queen as well.’

  The Duke should have remembered his Queen, yes, but Gil spoke as if he expected the man to care for his wife as much as for his mistress. That was nothing a wife should expect.

  Or even hope for.

  Certainly, when Gil looked at her again, no tenderness remained on his face. ‘Be ready at dawn,’ he said sharply.

  Chapter Nine

  The speed of travel saved Gil from wasting his breath in chatter. Scargill’s widow did, indeed, slow them down. Or perhaps it was the number of men in the escort or the lame horse which had to be replaced or the swollen river that forced them to detour to find an easier ford.

  Still, they would reach Leicestershire too quickly. And when they did, he would be forced, finally, to tell Valerie something of his life.

  What would she think of him then?

  ‘The Duke must trust you very much,’ Valerie said, when they paused at noon on the second day.

  It was the first time she had acknowledged his appointment to lead the invasion and, despite all, her praise pleased him. He had sought this honour for years, the hope of it resting beside the tile he carried from the gardens, a constant reminder. ‘My Lord of Spain knows that no other man in his retinue is more committed to regaining Castile. As leader of the force, I will make sure we attain our goal.’

  ‘I was not thinking of Castile.’

  He looked at her, puzzled. ‘What then?’

  ‘It was you he trusted to bring the wise woman safely to the Queen.’

  How like a woman, to think of small matters. Did she not understand how singular the task that lay before him? ‘My time would be better spent preparing to retake the throne.’

  ‘But nothing can be more precious to him than the life of his wife and child. Not if he is to be King in deed.’

  He shrugged, uneasy now. The heir was important, yes, but he had wanted nothing of this trip, least of all being forced to return to the Castle of the Weeping Winds. ‘I should be planning alternate routes to Castile, not riding halfway to York to fetch a particular midwife because this Spanish woman is fearful of doing what she was born to do.’

  Valerie jerked, as if he had slapped her. ‘You speak harshly. Childbirth is part of God’s purpose, but there is no certainty that the babe or the mother will survive.’

  Now he was the one who felt the flush of shame. ‘I have not fathered a child.’ No excuse. Any fool knew as much. This woman might even have lost a child. ‘I should not have spoken so.’ And what if the Queen were to die? What would happen then? ‘Is her life at risk?’

  ‘The Lady Katherine thinks so.’

  A strange answer. ‘And you?’

  She was silent and looked away before she met his eyes again. ‘I have never been with child. I do not know.’

  ‘Never?’ She had said she had no children, but he had thought...well, as she said, many babes did not survive.

  She shook her head. ‘I should have told you. You have a right to know that before we...’ She averted her eyes. ‘You might want another bride.’

  He thought of Cecily and Marc’s son. He had dreamed of siring such a boy. Some day. ‘Are you...barren?’

  The very word seemed to unlock a secret pain. ‘I do not know.’

  He knew little of such things. But the fault could lie with either man or woman, he had heard. ‘Did Scargill have other children?’

  The edge of her mouth twitched in a sort of smile. ‘You would know better than I.’

  And he had known nothing at all. ‘I knew little of the man’s...habits.’ A rueful smile. ‘As I proved so painfully when first we met.’

  Her smile, and a shake of the head, in answer.

  She was difficult to read, this woman. By turns, he thought her cold and hard, then meek and so submissive she seemed to disappear. And then, he would glimpse a woman who might laugh at life. Even at herself.

  And, probably, at him, when he deserved it. ‘I was rude to question you.’ Closer to the earth of home, he seemed to lose his grip on the chivalry he so coveted, at once prattling of his devotion to his lord and acting like the most churlish peasant to the woman who would be his wife. The Earl of Losford would have reached for the rod had he acted so. ‘Of course we will wed.’

  And though he had said it to reassure her, he felt a surge of conviction, more certain than he had known that this was to be.

  But she did not smile to hear it. Instead, she looked at him as if he had no more sense than one of the chickens, who stood in the pouring rain as if it were sunshine. ‘But it is only right that you should know. Would you buy a horse without inspecting his teeth and his forelegs?’

  ‘A woman is not a horse.’ It was his own guilt that argued. She had been forced to pledge herself to him knowing nothing of his past. And, so far, he had lacked the courage or the honour to tell her.

  ‘But marriage is for the getting and raising of children,’ she said. ‘If it...if I cannot...’ Forthright as she had been, she could not speak the words.

  Now, he felt angry that she should even think such a thing. He had wanted a son, yes, but despite his desires, perhaps God had chosen to give him a barren wife and spare the world another child who carried the Brewen blood. ‘We will speak no more of it.’

  She opened her mouth, as if to protest, then pursed her lips firmly together. ‘As you wish.’

  The words were submissive, yet he was certain that she thought him a fool.

  He had never been easy with women and knew little of them, except for the family of the Earl of Losford. Before they died, the Earl and his wife seemed happy and Cecily and Marc had defied a king for their love. Even the Duke had been besotted with his Blanche, all the more reason it was understandable that he could not revere his current wife in the same way.

  And his own mother had been at constant war, it seemed, with her brothers, who would prey on the populace, then retreat behind the castle walls, untouchable.

  He rose, helped Valerie to mount and then took his seat. ‘When you see the Castle of the Weeping Winds, you will know more of the “horse” who is to be your husband.’

  He spurred his mount ahead, so she could ask no questions. He could not hide his family’s past much longer. Better she hear it from him. And after she learned even a portion of the truth, she might be the one to reject him. They had not yet consummated their union. Even the church would have to agree the betrothal could be broken.

  Then, he might be free, again, to pursue Castile alone, as he had always planned.

  The thought did not bring him comfort.

  * * *

  Valerie knew that Gil did not want to return to the Wolford lands. When she saw the Castle of the Weeping Winds, she knew why, at least
in part.

  The building was a hulking, empty shell.

  Chunks of stone had fallen from the walls, leaving holes like wounds. Broken shutters no longer protected the battlements where archers might stand, leaving empty spaces like eyes gouged out. The few attendants who greeted them moved like ghosts.

  The steward handles it, he had said. She would have fired the man.

  The steward in question, shocked that he would have to find sleeping accommodations for a woman as well as Sir Gil and his small retinue, barely took time for a proper welcome before he scurried off, leaving her in the gloomy anteroom while Gil saw to the men and the horses.

  No one will come, he had said. Now she knew why. No one was left.

  When he came back into the Hall, she saw no smile, no sentiment on his face. Any memories he had of this place were not happy ones. No wonder he longed for Castile.

  ‘So your family does not live here.’ No longer a question. She was certain now—no mother, no sister, no one who cared for it lived in this hollow, empty place.

  He shook his head. ‘They are dead.’

  How long had this place stood empty? A garden could go to seed so quickly. How fast could a house fall to ruin?

  She parted her lips to ask, then paused. His expression did not invite questions.

  ‘The steward will make the master’s rooms habitable for you tonight,’ he said.

  ‘And for you?’ She was grateful he would not seek to share her bed yet.

  ‘I will sleep with the men. In the Hall.’

  As fighting men so often did, stretched on thin blankets, circling the communal hearth.

  She thought with longing of her own small, snug home and garden, imbued with the love of generations. For nearly ninety years, the roots of the roses had grown, deep and strong, then bearing blossoms that covered the lattice work as thickly as a woven tapestry covered castle walls.

  If only they could live here instead of going to Castile, she knew she could make these cold walls welcoming.

  But she had not come here because of her own future, but that of La Reina and her child. ‘Where will we find the wise woman?’