A Royal Ambition

by A Royal Ambition (retail) (epub)

  Catherine went to her chair and seated herself. “You may say what you have come to say. And Lady Jayne please be seated.”

  “Your Majesty, my apologies for causing a scene. I did not mean any disrespect.” He bowed over her hand and her eyes did not flicker. “I have a problem, Your Majesty. I do not know quite how to explain it.”

  Catherine’s eyes rose to his for a moment. “I can see that,” she said coldly, “but you will have to try won’t you?”

  He stared steadily at her. “Jayne is going to have my child,” he said abruptly, and before he could continue Catherine held up her hand.

  “If you are seeking permission to marry the lady, the answer is no! I have already arranged a betrothal of which her father approves.” She turned to the trembling girl. “Run along; my ladies will inform you further.”

  With a quick look at Owen, Jayne hurried away thankful to have escaped so lightly. Catherine rose from her chair and stood before Owen, staring closely into his face.

  “Do you love her?” Her voice was edged with anger, and he lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

  “No. I do not love her; neither does she love me. You know where my affections lie, Your Majesty.”

  Catherine clenched her hands together. “Affections? I don’t think you know the meaning of the word. How could you associate with the lady Jayne if your love is given elsewhere?”

  “I am no saint. I am a normal man with desires and needs, and Jayne is very attractive. It was no more than that. If it hadn’t been for the misfortune of her getting with child, the affair would have passed unnoticed.”

  Catherine struck his chest with her small fist. “I would have noticed,” she said, her voice low with anguish. She moved closer to him, resting her hands on his sleeves. “Owen, Owen, how could you?”

  She was so close he could see the fineness of her cheekbones beneath the creamy skin. He felt almost dizzy, and instinctively his arms closed around her even though he knew he was committing treason. She leaned against him, raising her lips so that they met his, and they were full and sweet filling him with an aching tenderness that he had never experienced before. She drew away.

  “Please leave me,” she said, and her mouth was soft and trembling with desire, and her dark eyes overflowed with tears.

  Chapter Six

  Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, sat in his high-backed chair facing the open window. It pleased him to contemplate his vast estates, especially at times like this when he needed reassurance. His parchment-dry hands shook as he twisted them together. He could still hardly believe that an attempt had been made on his life. He reached reluctantly for the goblet of wine placed discreetly at his side, by his manservant.

  He was quite aware that he had made more than one enemy in his life, especially since his nephew Henry had died in France, after some of the most brilliant military campaigns in the whole of the long war. With the King a mere child it was inevitable that a battle for power should be waged around the throne.

  He relaxed a little as the wine began to take effect. There was no shred of doubt in his mind that Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, was the instigator of the scandalous attack. His hate for his uncle, the Bishop, was common knowledge, but that he would go to such lengths to be rid of him was quite amazing. He made a sour face as he contemplated Humphrey’s popularity. The people loved to see him abroad with a new woman on his arm every week, shamelessly parading his lust for everyone to see.

  “Good Duke Humphrey!” they shouted as he passed by, his face reddened by drink and his very soul a pit of corruption. There was a whisper now circulating among the members of the Court that he was making a play for the hand of the Queen. Not at all dismayed by the fact that she had been his brother’s wife.

  He rose from his chair and leaned from the window. The grass, soft and green, stretched as far as the eye could see, and he breathed a sigh of contentment. It was good to be one of the richest men in England. Wealth brought power; it would certainly buy anything, even men. Many of the powerful councillors were in his debt, and by clever scheming he meant to keep it that way. He paid them well for their attendance at meetings, and yet some of the scoundrels had taken Humphrey of Gloucester’s side against him.

  The wine was making him feel sleepy. He left the chamber and called to his servants.

  “I would rest a while, but have a man guard the door every second, so I may lie easily in my bed.”

  He turned to the bedchamber, a frail elderly man, mumbling angrily to himself.

  “There is no gratitude left in England.”

  * * *

  “My lord, welcome back to England. It is good to see you again.” Catherine smiled warmly as John of Bedford bent over her hand.

  “You look well, my lady. Time is indeed a great healer. I only wish it were more pleasant business that brought me here.”

  Catherine frowned. “Ah, the attacks on your uncle the bishop.” She studied John. He was a wise and sensible man. If anyone could settle the quarrel it would be him. Humphrey respected him and listened to his counsel and so apparently did the wild Duke of Burgundy, in France.

  He took her arm. “How is the young king? Well, I hope?”

  Catherine glanced around the hall. Among the courtiers there would doubtless be spies planted by both Humphrey and the Bishop.

  “Would you like to walk outside, Madam?” John smiled, rightly interpreting her look.

  The grass was soft beneath their feet and even though some of the ladies had followed Catherine they respectfully kept their distance.

  “I hardly see Henry now,” Catherine said softly. “Not that I’m complaining, my lord. I realise he must be brought up to be manly and know his duties as king.” She paused for a moment. “It’s just that when I do see him, he seems weak and indecisive even for a boy as young as he is. I feel he needs more encouragement to make decisions.”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “One of the gentlemen used to take him out a great deal, teaching him to hunt and ride. But Humphrey put a stop to it. He said it wasn’t fitting that a Welshman should tutor the King of England. And yet, young Henry had a great affection for Owen Tudor.”

  John took her hand. “Don’t worry, Catherine when I return from France for good, I’ll be able to care for the boy and teach him myself.”

  “Yes, of course, my lord.”

  She knew she had failed. John was a good man and could not be aware of the bad influence Humphrey had on the young king. And then there was the Bishop pulling him in the opposite direction. Both of them trying to mould the child into a pattern that most suited their own ends.

  “And what about you, my lady? Have you no plans for your own future?” John asked the question so suddenly that Catherine was startled.

  “In which way do you mean, my lord?”

  “Well Catherine, you are still a young woman. Wouldn’t you care to marry again?”

  Her heart began to beat painfully fast. “I suppose I would like to marry if the right person came along, but you know, my lord, that for a queen the right person is difficult to find.” She attempted a laugh but her mouth was dry.

  “I hear that Humphrey has been paying you a great deal of attention lately. Is it possible that you would consider him for a husband?”

  “I don’t think I could consider that possibility, my lord,” she said quietly. She thought the matter would end there, but John persisted.

  “Then there is no one who holds your particular affection?”

  She clasped her hands together, twisting them nervously. “I have no lover, if that’s what you mean.”

  John smiled indulgently. “There is no need to be on the defensive, Catherine. I am not an irate father, and it did not enter my head that you would be so indiscreet.” He walked a few paces ahead. “I merely wondered if it would be advantageous to both of us if we made some alliance. You are a lovely girl and forgive me, a valuable piece of merchandise with which to bargain.” He shrugged apologetically. “
I’m only saying what many of the lords are thinking.”

  Impulsively, she put her hand on his arm. “Leave it for a while, my lord. You have so many problems on your mind that I, and my affairs, are the least of your worries.” She whirled around. “Let us return to the others, or they will soon find something else to talk about!”

  She went immediately to her chamber. The talk of marriage had disturbed her, though she was forced to admit that John of Bedford spoke excellent sense. She was still young, and her four years of widowhood had been a trial. She was not the daughter of the hot-blooded Isabel for nothing. She sat at the window, her head in her hands. If Henry had lived things would have been different. She would probably be mother to a brood of children by now.

  Then there would be no time for this foolish and misplaced longing for the Welshman. Her face burned beneath her fingers, the relationship between them had changed subtly after she had married off the foolish girl he’d got with child. She remembered with an almost physical pain the shock he’d given her, shouting out so that his voice echoed along the corridors. He was so strong in his righteous indignation, and so handsome that she’d almost given in to the temptation then to take him as her lover. She wondered why she had not yet done so.

  “My lady.” Marie tiptoed into the chamber. “The Welsh gentleman is outside. Shall I send him away?”

  Catherine sat upright as if stung. “No!” she said sharply. “I wish to see him.”

  Owen came quietly into the room. “Your Majesty.” He bowed over her hand, and glanced at Marie, waiting for her to leave. Catherine dismissed her with an impatient wave of her hand.

  “What is it?” she asked, staring up at Owen almost fearfully. He looked unusually serious and so very masculine in the femininity of her chamber.

  “Your Majesty, will you allow me to leave Court?”

  “Owen.” Her voice was soft, and she held her hands towards him, forgetting that she was the queen. “I cannot let you go away from me.”

  As he took her hands, she leaned towards him and they clung together in silence for a moment.

  “I love you, Owen. My life would have no meaning without you.”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks, and he kissed them away tenderly.

  “It is impossible, you know it better than I do.” Unable to help himself, he kissed her lips, and for Catherine this was the moment in her life she’d always waited for.

  “We must be allowed to marry,” she said softly.

  He drew away, looking into her face in astonishment. “They would never permit it! Humphrey wants you for himself. And John would have you make an advantageous marriage.”

  Catherine lifted her head proudly. “They don’t own me. They can’t make me marry anyone. I will approach the council.” Her eyes gleamed suddenly. “The Bishop may help. He would do anything to thwart Humphrey. And he is very influential, if only for the reason that most of the council owe him their livelihood!”

  Owen held her hands tightly. “You must not take risks. They could be very difficult over this.”

  He was troubled. Catherine was impulsive, she may regret her decision when she’d had time to think things over.

  “Allow me to go to Wales,” he said, “and if you still feel in the same mind when I return, I will make the necessary arrangements.”

  Catherine clung to him. “Please Owen, don’t go. I need you here with me. Please!”

  He held her close, unable to resist the pleading in her eyes. “All right Catherine I’ll stay. But remember I’m just a man, and when I hold you in my arms, you are not a queen, but a woman.”

  He kissed her passionately and she clung to him, carried away by a wave of emotion such as she’d never experienced before. She held his face in her hands and drew away gently.

  “We will have a most marvellous marriage, my love. Be patient for a little while longer.”

  It was becoming the talk of the palace, the way the Welshman was constantly seen in the company of the Queen. Marie sat in the evening light, struggling to see the fine sewing on her knee.

  “I don’t know what things are coming to,” she said as she threw the needlework down impatiently, and crossed the room.

  Through the open door she could see Catherine surrounded by her ladies, throwing back her head and laughing as if she were a child again. Before her stood the Welshman, apeing the fine, extravagant gestures of the English courtiers. With a flourish he bent over Catherine’s hand, and Marie could see that he was inviting her to dance. She curtsied low and took his hand, and both of them capered in the flickering candlelight before the horrified stare of the ladies.

  Marie tutted crossly, and shaking her head, walked away from the scene. Her mistress was making a spectacle of herself. There was no doubt about it. Maybe if she spoke to her lady she would be more discreet.

  “Ah Marie, why are you standing here almost in darkness? Can it be you are in love?”

  Catherine sounded so light-hearted that Marie could barely summon courage to speak.

  “I was thinking, my lady.” She turned to Catherine. “I can see how happy you are, but is it right for you to behave so?”

  Catherine turned a dull red. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “They are talking about you. Those cold English ladies laughed behind your back, and call you Isabel the Second. I’m sorry, but it had to be said.”

  Catherine stared for a long moment, and then turned on her heel. Marie could hear her shouting and berating everyone in the chamber and then there was silence. Marie went cautiously towards the doorway. Catherine was lying in a heap on the floor, her shoulders shaking as she cried soundlessly.

  “Oh my lady!” Marie hurried forward and helped Catherine to her feet. “Come to your bed; rest a little, you’ll feel better soon.”

  Passively the Queen stretched out on her bed. “If I can’t have him for my husband, I want to die,” she whispered.

  * * *

  “So the Queen wants to see me.”

  The Bishop of Winchester allowed himself a moment of triumph as he folded the letter and placed it carefully in a cupboard. He had been seeking a way to influence her in his favour and now it might just be that his chance had come.

  “William old friend, she wants something. And if I can provide it I will,” he smiled, craftily.

  His companion felt a little sorry for the young queen. Once in the Bishop’s power, it was more than difficult to escape.

  “Congratulations, Henry.” The dryness of his tone was disguised by his smile. “I hope you will accomplish what you wish.”

  The Bishop’s face was enigmatic. “I usually do, William.”

  * * *

  Henry Beaufort bent as low before the Queen as his rheumy back would allow him. “Your Majesty, how can I be of service to you?”

  Catherine made an attempt to smile warmly.

  “Come we will walk a little.” She glanced around at the ladies who were forever with her. “I wish to speak privately. Surely you can trust me alone with a Bishop!”

  The ladies dropped back a little sheepishly, but then they were exactly like sheep, following someone or other’s orders and not caring a jot about their queen.

  She glanced at the man at her side. He wasn’t really so old and yet everything about him gave the impression of age. His hands, like dry branches of a tree and his sparse hair showing a little under his bishop’s hat, seemed to belong to a man well past his prime. It must be the dry-as-dust life he led, she concluded.

  “My lord Bishop, there is a matter I wish to consult you on.”

  “Anything I can do, Your Majesty, I am more than willing to help you.”

  Encouraged by his amiability, Catherine relaxed a little. “I wish to marry again,” she said quickly.

  The Bishop raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Quite understandable of course. I don’t see where you need advice, however. Surely you are free to marry if you wish?”

  Catherine shrugged. “In this case, I don’t know. The m
an was a gentleman-at-arms to my husband Henry; and what’s more he is Welsh, which seems to prove some kind of barrier.”

  The Bishop sucked in his cheeks. “Do I understand you to be talking about Owen Tudor, the one Humphrey has taken such a dislike to?” He walked a few paces in silence and Catherine’s hopes rose at the gleam of amusement in his eyes.

  “Can you help me?” she asked breathlessly.

  The Bishop deliberated for what seemed an eternity before answering. “There is more than one way of skinning a cat,” he said at last. “I will speak to the council, Madam. I have some influence with them, as you probably know. We will see what can be done.” He sucked in his cheeks again. “I take it that you will virtually relinquish your duties of looking after the young king then?”

  Catherine stared at him steadily. “I will not give my son up entirely, but I will naturally make known my preferences of adviser to him.”

  The Bishop nodded thoughtfully. “I will see what can be done, Your Majesty.”

  Catherine watched him leave with mixed feelings. She had chosen her time well. Humphrey was away from Court and John of Bedford had left once more for France. No doubt both would be informed of the Bishop’s visit, but by then he would have spoken to the council, and if she read him correctly would have influenced them in her favour.

  She went slowly into the palace and made her way to the royal apartments. The ladies stared at her, resenting her presence, but in the absence of any other authority they could not stop the Queen visiting her own son.

  Henry was with his tutor, patiently going over and over his words. He was small for his five years, his eyes blue and anxious as they looked up at her. Her heart melted as she put her arms around him.

  “I hope they are not working you too hard.” She looked pointedly at the young man who persisted in staying at the table with the King. He bowed his head but did not move. Catherine took Henry’s hand and led him to the door.

  “Your Majesty, I have my instructions.” The tutor bowed, frightened by the ferocity of her anger.