Rumors at Court

by Blythe Gifford

  ‘You have travelled far,’ Lancaster said, his gaze still on Lady Katherine. ‘But before you return to the Queen, take the news of the birth to my lord father.’

  Gil struggled to keep the surprise from his face. The King could be expected to be generous to any messenger bringing him news of a grandchild. Far from being a burden, the chance to make such an announcement was a gift.

  She murmured thanks, curtsied and turned for the door, then paused. ‘The Lady Valerie sent a message for Sir Gil. She said to tell you she waits on your pleasure.’

  All thought of war left his mind and he felt Valerie in his arms, her lips on his. It had all been too sudden. Her hesitation was understandable. Once they were wed and shared a bed...

  ‘Gil. Were you listening?’

  He blinked, as if the words had wakened him from a dream. He suddenly realised that the Lady Katherine had left the room and Lancaster had asked him a question.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord.’

  ‘We cannot count on landing any troops until we own the sea again.’

  And once more, the invasion postponed. ‘Then we will raise another fleet, my lord.’ No hesitation. As if vessels could be summoned out of air. Now he was the one spinning impossible dreams. ‘We will wipe them off the water. And then, we can land in Portugal, capture Castile, regain the French lands—’

  Lancaster paused. ‘On how many fronts can we fight?’

  ‘As many as we must, my lord.’ Brave words. Said as much to give himself hope as to answer Lancaster.

  ‘If I had an army of men like you that would be true.’ He shook his head, and was almost out of the door when Gil called to him.

  ‘The Queen. She must be told of the...’ He could not say defeat. ‘Fleet.’

  A puzzled look for a moment, as if the man had forgotten his wife.

  Gil spoke again. ‘Lady Katherine can tell her, when she—’

  ‘No. She will be needed here.’ His face changed, as if a new battle plan had occurred. ‘You go. Tell the Queen the news. And tell her that her sister must meet us at Wallingford next week.’

  Had he been ordered to ride into battle, he would have grabbed the reins without hesitation. But this... ‘Isabel?’ He remembered little of the woman except a high-pitched titter which seemed to interrupt at awkward moments. ‘Why?’

  ‘I would have her marry my brother Edmund. As soon as possible.’

  Two daughters of a king marrying two sons of a king. Lancaster would be certain no question would arise of his family’s claim to the throne.

  He did not relish his role in delivering such an order to the Queen, or her sister, but he muttered his assent.

  ‘And, Gil...when you return, bring the Lady Valerie with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  The Duke’s face turned dark. ‘It is time for you, too, to wed, so you can beget an heir before we leave. In case...’

  In case. In case this expedition, too, ended in disaster.

  * * *

  In the days after the child’s birth, Valerie had relinquished her hold on the child only to lay her in the arms of her wet nurse or her mother.

  So when Gil was ushered into the room and saw her holding the babe, it took her a moment to understand the shock on his face.

  A child. She was holding a child. As she might some day hold their own.

  ‘There is an heir to the throne of Castile,’ she said, quickly, lifting the child to show him. ‘Her name is María.’

  ‘My Lord of Spain wants...’ The sentence trailed away and he looked at her instead of the babe. ‘You put off your widow’s clothes.’

  Heat touched her cheeks. ‘As you asked.’ He had noticed. And smiled. ‘Does it please you?’

  In truth, she loved the new gown. The design was simple, blue wool that followed her figure, with tippets that could be tied on to dangle, fashionably, from her sleeves when she was at court instead of acting the nursemaid. It made her feel young again and full of possibilities.

  If she had hoped for words of praise, she was disappointed. But though he was silent, he smiled. And nodded. And his eyes seemed to speak of other things.

  Of their kiss. Of what might come next.

  She had put aside her widow’s shroud, loosened the grip of the past, so when his eyes warmed to see her, she could smile in truth. When he kissed her again, maybe this time—

  The baby fussed, breaking the silence.

  And he was once again the King’s man and not hers. ‘I come with news. I must see the Queen.’

  He did not need to say that the news was bad.

  And so, still holding the child, Valerie led him to the Queen’s chambers and stood beside him as he told Constanza the worst.

  The Castilian fleet, in partnership with the French, had destroyed the English ships.

  A small expedition, Gil had called it, and yet the losses were enormous. Valerie could barely fathom it. Ships, men, money, all lost. And if the English ships provided no defence, would their enemies come here next?

  Valerie risked the question. ‘Should La Reina move to a place of greater safety?’

  He shook his head. ‘We think they look to Wales first.’

  She explained via the translator that Wales was safely distant from Hertford. And, though she did not say it, from Florham.

  In all this time, the Queen had made no sound.

  Each word, translated and delayed, seemed to hit her like an arrow, yet she held herself erect, as if by sheer force of will. But regal as she was, Valerie saw the royal façade shaken, and had a glimpse of the woman as young as her eighteen years.

  La Reina had expected, insisted, that they would return to Castile in months. Clear now, it could instead be long, painful years.

  Without taking her eyes from Gil, Constanza reached for the babe and Valerie placed the child in the Queen’s arms. Holding the infant seemed to steady her.

  ‘Qué son los planes corrientes de mi Señor, el Rey?’

  Then, in halting English. ‘What does my lord the King plan now?’

  As if the defeat were only temporary and there were endless money and men to throw into the sea.

  Valerie knew little of men and war, but even she knew that men and ships could not be summoned from the air. But a queen could not admit that a thing might be impossible. A queen might demand the impossible be done.

  Valerie glanced at Gil. His expression, grim, was touched with sadness, as if he mourned for the Queen, as well as for the men who had been lost. And she wished they were alone, so she could wrap her arms around him. So they might comfort each other.

  ‘Your husband sent me to inform you of the news,’ he said. ‘He remains in London to make plans.’

  ‘Con nuestros fieles aliados los Ingléses.’ With our faithful allies, the English. Belittling them with a word, as if she were already on her throne and she alone could make or end an alliance.

  As if Castilians instead of Englishmen would fight for her throne.

  Her arms tightened about the child, who let out a squeak. Yes, from now on, all would be about this child and the children to come. Her duty to country and child, one and the same.

  ‘England and Castile are joined, Your Grace,’ Gil said. ‘And in order to strengthen that connection, your lord the King has decided that your sister and his brother should also be married.’

  The Queen blinked, silent. Such a decision, affecting her sister, and the succession, and yet, the King had made it alone. No, Constanza was not a queen in England.

  ‘Isabel must travel to Wallingford as soon as possible,’ Gil went on. ‘The ceremony will take place in a week’s time.’

  Now Valerie spoke up in protest as words were translated. ‘La Reina cannot travel so soon. She isn’t even a fortnight away from the childbed.’<
br />
  ‘My Lord of Spain knows that,’ he replied. ‘He understands that she will remain here.’

  While the words were translated, Valerie whispered to Gil, frowning. ‘Is the wedding so urgent?’

  ‘That, and other things. There is more...’

  More? She looked at Constanza.

  The words had just been understood and her face crumpled. Then, her regal expression returned. ‘Isabel will be ready.’

  ‘I will be here with you,’ Valerie said, wanting to reassure her. ‘We will pray for the success of the union and for Castile.’

  ‘No,’ Gil said. ‘You will travel with Isabel.’

  ‘Me? Why?’ Blunt, angry on the Queen’s behalf, she did not want to bow to his wishes.

  But he was not looking at the Queen now. His eyes were on hers. ‘Because we, too, are to be married next week.’

  A shiver ran throughout her body. Fear or anticipation? She could no longer tell. Clear that even a queen had no life beyond what her husband would allow, yet despite it all, Valerie had a crazy surge of want, of desire so strong she could barely breathe.

  ‘So soon?’ And yet, she had known for months this moment would come.

  ‘My Lord of Spain commands it.’

  She turned away from him and faced the Queen again. ‘Con el permiso de La Reina. If she will allow me.’

  A gesture, but all she had left to offer the Queen, whose husband had not given her the courtesy of asking whether she might spare the Lady Valerie at this time.

  Constanza, straight and stiff, clutched the babe like a breastplate. Though she did not smile, she thanked Valerie with her eyes.

  ‘Tienes mi permiso.’ A nod of her head. Her dignity restored. Maintaining the illusion that she was, indeed, a queen.

  They left the room, but when they were safely away, Gil took her arm. ‘There is more unwelcome news for the Queen. Perhaps she should hear it from you.’

  * * *

  Gil had heard Lancaster charge Lady Katherine with the duty, but as he watched the Queen, and Valerie, he knew that would be too cruel a blow.

  ‘What news?’

  Her voice was steadier than he had expected. A testament to her courage.

  ‘My Lord of Spain.’ He was beginning to hate those words. ‘He does not like the name chosen for the child.’

  ‘Can he not allow the woman to honour her mother?’ Then, she sighed, knowing the question’s answer. ‘What would he name the child?’

  He paused. ‘Katherine.’

  Eyes wide, wordless, she clasped both hands before her heart. He met her gaze, both of them knowing the why of it.

  ‘She did not ask for this,’ Valerie whispered, intense.

  ‘No. But he asked her to tell his wife of his choice.’ Cruel, he had thought, even at the time. He was beginning to understand why a woman might prefer to remain a widow.

  ‘Oh, no.’ She covered her face with her hands, then raised her eyes to his again. ‘Neither one should have to...’

  And then he saw her realisation of why he had told her. ‘You want me to do it.’

  But seeing her pain, he changed his mind. ‘No. I will be the one.’ Though he knew not how he might frame the words.

  She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him.

  He enfolded her in turn, holding her against his heart, and he was not sure who comforted the other. She was warm and soft beside him and smelled vaguely of flowers, perhaps the roses she so loved.

  You will be good to her, the Queen had insisted. And he had answered with certainty, not knowing that he could not protect her from every pain.

  Not knowing that the worst wounds might be those unseen.

  She raised her head. ‘It will be kinder, if it comes from me. Better she not realise how many people know.’

  As he had known of her husband’s betrayal.

  He nodded, beyond words now to praise her strength and her kindness. ‘I must return to London. Come with Isabel as quickly as you can.’

  She nodded. ‘Katherine is not to blame. Nor is Constanza.’

  He agreed, but held his tongue. Lancaster, the man he had admired above all others, should shoulder the most blame.

  ‘Valerie.’ He gripped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘I promise you. Our child will be called by whatever name you choose.’

  She reached for his cheek, then stood on her toes to touch her lips to his.

  As she turned away, he saw her wipe away a tear.

  * * *

  A few days later, Valerie came to take her leave, having asked to speak to the Queen alone. A private farewell, without the priest to report every word.

  Or to witness the sorrow of the message she bore.

  This, at least, she had done. Her Castilian, the Queen’s English, the once-exiled pie bird, again allowed in the chamber. Somehow, they would understand one another.

  La Reina still held her child. The babe had not left her arms since Gil arrived with the news of the defeat at sea. It seemed that the Queen would no longer trust any of English blood to care for her family. Nor her country.

  Valerie sunk to a deep curtsy, strangely sad to leave the woman. They had found a connection, the two women, exiled.

  ‘Vaya con Dios, Your Grace. I do not know when I will see you again.’

  A trace of disappointment, quickly stifled, flickered across the Queen’s face. ‘An honour. The King, his sons, all to be there...’

  And she would not.

  No, it would be the Lady Katherine who would stand close to My Lord of Spain as Constanza’s sister spoke the vows.

  But she spoke no word of disappointment, nor of the hurried event that must have been her own wedding, on the run, in a strange country, to a strange man.

  Never had Valerie understood her more.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ Valerie said. ‘King Edward himself, his son Edward, My Lord of Spain, they honour Castile with their presence.’

  ‘You to help Isabel,’ she whispered, in halting English. ‘Preparar...’

  ‘I will do my best for her.’

  Silence, then, ‘Your Grace, there is something more. A message from Monseigneur d’Espagne.’ Hoping she would not ask how Valerie came to have it.

  ‘Más malas noticias?’ As if any news he sent must be bad.

  ‘He has decided that the child’s name shall be Katherine.’

  The Queen became very still.

  Would she ask for an explanation? Would she refuse her husband’s command? If so, what would happen then?

  ‘I have no family with that name.’

  ‘No, Your Grace.’

  ‘Monseigneur d’Espagne? Has he...?’

  She only wished he had. That would have made the tale more palatable. ‘I do not believe so.’

  A fierce frown creased Constanza’s forehead. Perhaps she had made it worse by bringing the news herself. Perhaps it would have been easier for it to be public, official, removed from the private realm. Constanza must have wondered about Katherine and her husband, of course, but sometimes it was better to wonder than to be certain.

  ‘María Catalina,’ she said, after a long while. Then, she smiled. ‘He may call her what he will.’

  Valerie dipped in acknowledgement, hiding her own smile. The pie bird cackled, a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.

  The Queen stroked her baby’s head, but her eyes were still on Valerie. ‘You are no longer enlutada.’

  No longer in mourning.

  It had been several weeks, yet the Queen had not mentioned it before. Did she disapprove? Constanza herself still wore mourning on most days, though her father had died three years ago.

  Perhaps she mourned the death of her own life.

  ‘My... Sir Gi
l asked that I do so.’ At the memory of the kiss, and his hands in her hair, her cheeks flushed. Did the Queen see? ‘I hope it does not displease you.’

  There was sadness on her face, not anger. ‘He wants to look on you,’ she said. As her husband, obviously, did not. Then, a lift of the head. A royal smile. ‘You will wed. Do your duty to your husband.’ Then, a soft smile as she looked down at the babe. ‘And your child.’

  Valerie bowed her head. ‘Pray God there will be one.’

  ‘I to add my prayers.’ The Queen shifted the baby in her lap, then lifted her heavy gold necklace with both hands and laid the chain across Valerie’s hands. ‘This to help.’

  A gold cross, encrusted with rubies, dangled from the chain, weighing on her grip. Valerie looked at the Queen, eyes wide. ‘Your Grace...’ Words did not come. Such a thing was beyond her station. No doubt forbidden by the sumptuary laws. ‘I cannot accept such a generous gift.’

  ‘Yes. Honour marriage.’ She reached out to stroke the swinging cross, as if to say farewell. ‘La Virgen de Guadalupe. Tierra.’

  Tierra. Earth.

  Valerie looked at the cross. A precious relic from a holy place. A bit of dirt from her home. How Constanza must have clung to it, this piece of her homeland, as she clung now to the child.

  ‘I am honoured.’ Valerie lifted the piece and put it over her own head. The chain was heavy on her neck, much as the burden the Queen had put on her.

  She gripped the cross, letting the edges dig into her palm. Sacrilege, to want a bit of the dirt of Kent to carry so, if she were exiled to Castile.

  ‘Wear. Pray. For child. For Isabel. For Castile.’ A whisper. ‘For me.’

  Valerie bowed her head, immediately doing as the Queen had asked. They would all, she suspected, need prayers.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Valerie arrived at Wallingford Castle on the Thames for the wedding, she saw Gil across the courtyard before he saw her.

  Her pulse quickened, unexpectedly.

  From this distance, she saw him as others might. Broad shouldered, confident, conveying both urgency and calm. A man others turned to for answers. One who was patient in providing them.