She nodded. She believed implicitly in John’s integrity and wisdom.
Without warning Humphrey spoke softly. “Perhaps now you will forget these foolish notions about marriage that you have been harbouring. There are more important things worthy of your attention at the moment.”
Catherine avoided his eyes feeling a momentary panic. He did not know, he could not, that a plan had been devised already for her to travel to Wales, there to be secretly married to Owen. She glanced at him from under her eyelashes.
“You are right, my lord, there is certainly a great deal to think about just now, and talk of marriage to anyone is just idle speculation. It may be that my brother, Charles may ask me to go to visit him in France. Surely negotiation with him is a possibility?”
Humphrey put his hand over hers. “Every eventuality must of course be considered. And who could speak more persuasively for the King than his mother?”
Catherine sighed with relief, thankful to have diverted the conversation away from marriage. She smiled warmly at Humphrey, her eyes large and free from guile.
“Perhaps a short retirement from social occasions might be of benefit. I would like time to be alone and to reconsider my feelings on several issues.”
She allowed him to press her hand to his lips, and continued to smile up at him.
“My dear Catherine, that is an excellent idea. A few weeks at one of the country houses would be most beneficial to your health. I could join you in a few days, and in that way put paid to any gossip-mongering. Just decide where you will go, and leave me to make the arrangements.”
He rose and bowed over her hand once more. “I’ll look forward to our next meeting Catherine.” He turned to Henry. “Your Majesty, are you ready to accompany me?”
Henry reached up to kiss Catherine’s cheek and her eyes misted with tears as she held him close for a moment.
“Be good, my son, and God go with you.”
Her eyes were still blinded by tears so that she did not notice for a moment that it was Mary Beaufort who stood within the royal bedchamber placing rose water in a bowl at the side of the bed. The girl dropped into a swift curtsey, but not before Catherine had seen and understood the smirk that played around her thin, bloodless lips. She was a spy and would watch the Queen’s every move, and no doubt report faithfully back to Humphrey.
Catherine smiled to herself as she waved her hand in dismissal. Marie would have to make herself busy with one of her special potions. Mary Beaufort looked tired and would be all the better for a good long sleep.
* * *
Marie sat at the bottom of the swaying boat, her stomach sick and her head dizzy. First there had been the terrible journey through the soaring Welsh mountains that had caught and held the wind until it howled like a live creature in torment and now, worst of all, the trip by sea with nothing but this tiny boat to carry them. Her bones ached intolerably, and yet the Queen seemed to feel none of the discomforts: on the contrary, her skin and eyes glowed as if she was enjoying every minute of it.
The boat ground to a halt on the shingle, and thankfully Marie stood up listing unsteadily on legs that seemed reluctant to obey her.
“Here, let me help you, though I’m afraid my days for lifting fair maidens are over. I leave that sort of thing to my lord Owen Tudor.”
The man holding out a hand to Marie smiled indulgently as the Queen of England was carried up on to the shingle away from the lap of the waves.
“Ready?” Owen’s voice rang out firm and clear against the lap of the waves. “It’s not much further, I promise you. Then we shall have some good food and wine to revive us.”
Marie looked up at the man, and he put his arm around her.
“Come along. A young girl like you should think lightly of small discomforts. Hang on to Tom Cooper. I’ve one strong arm to support you.”
He laughed and Marie laughed, too, in spite of herself.
“Flatteries can be very sweet, but I must say you pick a fine time to utter them. All the same, I’ll remember your words, and if I have the opportunity, I may encourage you to repeat them!”
Suddenly the little group were halted by the appearance of a man dressed in a monk’s habit, and Marie’s panic subsided as she saw Owen Tudor greet him as a friend.
“Come,” the man said softly. “The lady Elizabeth is ready to receive you.”
Marie sighed with relief when she saw the flickering lights gleam through the windows of the large grey building. The huge polished doors were flung wide, and there was a small dark lady drooping gracefully before the Queen.
“Welcome, my home is honoured by your presence.” She spoke to Catherine, but Marie saw that her eyes never left the face of Owen Tudor. He moved forward and kissed the lady’s cheek.
“Elizabeth, it is good of you to open your house to us. We are both very grateful.” He draped his arm carelessly round the lady’s slender shoulders and Marie saw at once how it was. Elizabeth loved Owen Tudor.
Catherine was not slow to notice it either. She moved towards the great hall, her head erect and her mouth pressed into a firm line.
Marie stood for a moment watching her mistress’s straight back. It was strange how similar, from a distance, the two ladies were, and towering above them both, Owen Tudor walked easily like a man on familiar ground.
“Come along, it seems a meal has been prepared for us.” Tom Cooper took Marie’s arm and drew her away from the hall. “Can’t you just smell that roast meat?” His eyes met hers and suddenly he was serious. “I’ve known Owen Tudor since he was a young boy of no more than fifteen years. We both fought at Agincourt, along with the old king. You’ve no need to worry about Queen Catherine. She will be happy with him, I’ve no doubt.”
Marie stared ahead. “It is a great step for anyone to take, but in these circumstances things can go so terribly wrong. What if the young king is persuaded to take his revenge on Owen Tudor? What will happen to my lady, then?”
Tom Cooper pressed her waist. “You worry too much, and the journey has taken all your strength. Let us eat and refresh ourselves. With something warm inside you, you will soon be more cheerful.”
Marie smiled reluctantly. He was a good man, this Tom Cooper; strong, with rugged features and bright eyes – a man to bring some excitement into a woman’s life.
“I hope I will be seeing more of you in the future, Tom,” she said coyly. “I hear you are joining the household?”
She placed her hand in his and smiled as he nodded. He didn’t need to speak, the eagerness in his face said it all.
* * *
The great bedchamber seemed damp and chilly and Marie piled more covers on the Queen’s bed. Catherine was quick to feel any change in atmosphere, and it wouldn’t do for her to sleep badly on the eve of her wedding.
“Ah, Marie, you have certainly made the bed look inviting. I must confess that at last I am tired.”
Catherine looked anything but tired. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were warm and glowing, and Marie guessed that a prolonged goodnight kiss had taken place outside the chamber door.
“The lady Elizabeth is in love with Owen, of course. And who could blame her?” She snuggled beneath the sheets, her eyes large as a child’s peered at Marie. “I’m surprised she allowed him to slip through her fingers and leave Wales in the first place.
“In the morning, Owen will be my husband, and then nothing anyone can do will alter that.” Catherine choked on the words, tears rising to her eyes and Marie felt moved to make some gesture.
“My lady, I don’t know how to say this, but I pray you will be happy in your marriage.”
She stopped, the words seemed inadequate. But Catherine smiled and Marie knew that she understood.
It was still dark when one of the Welsh servants shook Marie gently awake. Holding the candle high, the small, dark-haired girl gestured that it was time to go. They could not understand each other’s words, but smiles and nods were all that was required.
Cat
herine was already dressed and several ladies were in attendance on her. Their lovely hair, thick and dark, on their shoulders, speaking in soft strange words, obviously delighted by the whole thing.
“Well, Marie, how do I look?”
Catherine’s face was pale above the rich green of her dress but her eyes shone with happiness and excitement, and Marie caught her breath overcome by the emotion of the moment.
The ceremony was simple, and dawn was just beginning to spread its warming fingers throughout the tiny church when Owen Tudor and the Queen of England were joined together in holy matrimony. Marie could not help but think of the other marriage. Henry had been a noble and fitting husband for the daughter of the French king, but now Catherine had something more precious than honour; she had love perhaps for the first time in her life.
Tears filled Marie’s eyes as the priest spoke the final words and she noticed that the lady Elizabeth had difficulty in composing herself.
“Come, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice husky, “I have prepared a small celebration in honour of the occasion.” Her eyes flew to Owen’s face. “I wish you every happiness, from the bottom of my heart.”
Owen bent forward and kissed the lady Elizabeth’s cheek. “Thank you for everything, my dear; nothing can ever express our gratitude.”
Catherine took Owen’s arm and with an effort added her thanks to those of her new husband.
“We will be delighted to join you in any entertainment you may have planned,” she said, though it was obvious to Marie that she would sooner have been left alone with her new husband. “Please, Lady Elizabeth lead the way; today is a time of merrymaking, and I want everyone to be as happy as I am this moment!”
* * *
“It’s a beautiful country after all. I admit it now that I am not forced to cross it at breakneck speed.”
Marie sat carefully on a rock that was warmed by the sun, climbing higher now in the bowl of the sky. Tom stood at her side, his hand shielding his eyes as he looked out across the water.
“It’s lovely, all right, but give me the soft fields of England any day.” He crouched down beside her and took her hand. “It’s a sad pity that we’ve not got to know each other before this. I wonder how such a mishap came about?”
Marie looked boldly into his eyes. “I don’t know, but you’re certainly not wasting any time now, are you?” Tom laughed and slid his arm experimentally around her waist. “I was one of the swiftest archers in the King’s army. Now, isn’t that a nice firm waist; not too skinny, something for a man to get hold of.” His eyes crinkled with laughter as Marie slapped his hand away. “Spirited too; that’s just how I like them.”
Marie pretended to be indignant. “And I suppose there have been so many that you couldn’t count them! Well you are not adding me to your string, my lad!”
When he replaced his arm she pretended not to notice, staring across the waters of the straits, as if deep in thought. Tom put his face close to hers.
“Now that we are to work together, I think you might be a little bit more friendly.”
His lips brushed her cheek, and as she turned to rebuke him his mouth was on hers, firm and surprisingly exciting.
“I’m not difficult to get to know,” she said breathlessly, “but there is no need to rush into the attack quite so quickly.”
She pushed him, and he toppled over into the damp grass, laughing heartily. She lifted her skirts and hurried back to the big grey house, her heart beating rapidly. It seemed that some of the Englishmen had blood in their veins after all.
* * *
Catherine lay languorously beneath the sheets. At her side, Owen stretched his tall frame and his bare thigh touched hers. Immediately she felt a renewed response and turned to him, her lips warm against his.
“Owen, my love, I have never been so happy in the whole of my life.”
There were tears on her cheeks as she wound her arms around the warmth and smoothness of his shoulders. He drew her close against him, kissing her in slow deliberation so that they could both savour the moment.
“Love me for ever, Owen,” Catherine whispered, as her eyes closed in delight.
Later, she rested against the bolster drinking deeply of the wine Owen had placed beside her. She would have slept, except that the lady Elizabeth had sent an invitation for her to join in the musical entertainment in the great hall. She had sent Owen on before her and he had looked so handsome in the rust-coloured doublet that almost matched the colour of his hair, that she had wanted to call him back at the last minute.
She stretched luxuriously. There would be ample opportunity for them to be alone together, for now it was only paying a debt of gratitude to appear to enjoy the events the hostess had arranged for them.
“I have brought you some rose water, my lady,” Marie said as she appeared in the doorway smiling like the cat that had swallowed the cream. Her plump cheeks were pink and her hair was falling from its cap.
Catherine sat up oblivious to the fact that her small firm breasts were exposed. “What have you been up to, Marie? It looks as if you are the bride instead of me.”
Marie laughed. “Not quite that, my lady; but I have met someone I feel I could love. His name is Tom Cooper, a servant to your lord.”
Catherine laughed and flung her arms over her head. “Good! If he follows his master, you should have something to look forward to!” She slipped from the bed. “Bring me the water, and I think I will wear the red dress; it is Owen’s favourite.” She felt as excited as a child, as Marie helped her to dress. “Oh, Marie, if only I could have done this years ago. Look at the time I’ve wasted!”
Marie stood back to survey her handiwork. “My lady, you are more beautiful now than you ever were at fifteen.”
It was the truth! Catherine was like a rose that had come to the peak of its beauty.
Chapter Nine
It had rained steadily since they had left the mountainous regions of Wales behind them, and Marie felt the dampness chill to her very bones. A far cry, indeed, from the hot sunshine she had taken so much for granted at home in France. Still, the journey had not been too unpleasant, for all the discomfort, because Tom Cooper kept her constantly aware of his presence. She turned to smile at him and he answered her look with a saucy wink. She sighed; it would not be long now. Soon they would be within the walls of the magnificent mansion the Bishop of Winchester had put at the Queen’s disposal. There would be hot meat and good wine, and no doubt enormous fires to take away all the aches that came with the rain. Yes, the worst of the journey was now over.
Wales was as beautiful as Owen Tudor had claimed, but give her the hustle and bustle of the English court any day, in preference to the primitive loveliness of the Welsh hills.
And yet the Queen had loved it all. Embracing the countryside and enveloping it with her love – as she enveloped her new husband.
Marie smiled as she caught a glimpse of Catherine’s face almost hidden in the fur of her hood. She was radiant with happiness, just as a bride should be. And there was a fresh youth and zest about the Queen that Marie envied with all her heart.
One of the forward riders called out that the mansion-house was in sight, and Marie rubbed her aching back, uttering a prayer of thankfulness. Soon the small party was riding through the arched gates. The Bishop himself was waiting to greet them, standing with his hands folded piously, and a smile almost of amusement on his face as he glanced at Owen Tudor.
“Welcome to my humble home, Your Majesty. I will do my best to make you comfortable.”
Marie, taking her mistress’s private boxes to the chamber, smiled to herself. If this was what the Bishop thought of as ‘humble’ he must indeed be as rich as everyone said he was!
The bedchamber was enormous, with tapestries thick on the walls and some even spread about the floor. To Marie, it seemed sinful to have such beautiful possessions underfoot and carefully, she walked around them, placing the Queen’s jewel box in a cupboard near the bed.
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br /> Everywhere she went, there was a curious perfume, heady and sweet, freshening the air. It certainly seemed a wonderful thing to be a bishop.
Behind her, Marie heard a slight sound. She turned suddenly and saw someone in the shadows, half hidden behind the drapes.
“Come out whoever it is. I won’t bite!” Her voice was sharp, with an edge of fear to it; there was something about the Bishop that Marie did not trust.
There was a swish of skirts and the sound of a door closing, and Marie was alone. She shrugged; probably just some inquisitive maid, trying to catch a glimpse of the Queen. All the same, she held herself alert, glancing over her shoulder occasionally; but no one came again.
* * *
Catherine smiled across the table at the Bishop. His dry hands plucked at the food, without interest, and she knew that he had more important things on his mind. She decided to put him out of his anxiety.
“My lord, I have been wondering how best to thank you for your help and kindness to me.”
She toyed with the brilliant goblet filled with ruby wine and pretended to consider the matter. She looked up and caught the gleam of avarice in his eyes, but knew it was not money he wanted. He had more than enough already.
“I have some power in the church,” she said casually, “though, of course, I do not dictate in any way where religious matters are concerned. However, I may recommend a course of action.”
She glanced at Owen, and he lifted his brows, quite well aware of what she was doing.
“If I were to suggest that the position of cardinal would be no more than you deserve, would you be prepared to take on the additional responsibilities, my lord?”
She did her best not to laugh as the Bishop of Winchester almost visibly rubbed his hands in delight.
“Your Majesty, I am deeply honoured,” he said, already picturing himself in his cardinal’s robes.
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