This Ravished Rose

by Anne Carsley

  Katherine knew. “My flesh will crawl at his touch.” Lady Dorotea lost her temper. “Then learn to rule him. You know the alternatives.”

  Katherine bent her head before this woman who had been so kind to her. “You counsel me well and I am grateful. What do you want me to do?”

  “We will render you fair and we shall attend the court about Duke Richard. Discreet hints will be dropped, and after all, many displease King Edward these days; that is no crime. Then events will take their course.”

  Katherine swept a curtsey as she had been taught in earliest youth. “I must be alone now, Lady Dorotea. Shall I call the maids to you?”

  “No, child, I understand your feelings, but you must put them aside for the sake of the future.”

  Nightbird calls mingled with the call to Mass as Katherine paced in the garden, her gown snapping and swirling as she turned. Unbidden thoughts of an aging husband or an eager experienced merchant came to her. Perhaps she would be given the dull younger son of a family who had looked elsewhere for a bride. Very well, so be it. But she would have more of Jamie before she decided. If he truly wanted her as his mistress she would be that and gladly. Her control threatened to break. Then fierce gray eyes, wheat-colored hair above a brown face, a mouth curving with passion rose in her memory and she shivered with delight. Then she began to laugh, that saving sense of humor which she had inherited from Antony.

  “By the Holy Cross, I vow, if all fails and I must wed, my husband will find no meek and mild bride!”

  Chapter 6

  A Meeting and a Promise

  The great hall of the castle which dominated this section of the city of York was hung with tapestries and heraldic banners. Rushes covered the floors and sweet odors rose from them. Musicians and minstrels played and sang over the lively talk of the nobility and citizens. Richard of Gloucester and his wife, Anne Neville, sat above the salt with others of suitable rank watching while jugglers performed impossible feats with balls and knives. A great fire leapt in the long fireplace nearby. Above it the massive walls were sweating.

  By virtue of Lady Dorotea’s rank, they were near the high table but well nigh lost in a cluster of lesser notables. Katherine was nervous at first but soon began to respond to the activity and excitement. About her were the furs, silken gowns, high headdresses, whispers of intrigue and talk of state matters, all the liveliness of which she had dreamed on the moors. She stared, sipped wine, and ate little.

  Lady Dorotea watched her smiling. She had intercepted several looks directed toward Katherine whose changeable eyes were green and brilliant. Her dark hair was smooth under the coif which was almost the same shade of green velvet as her dress. Her gown was a lighter shade, banded with green silk. The skirt was wide and trailing as it fell softly about her. The wide sleeves extended over her hands and were cuffed in the same patterned silk of the skirt bands, but here birds and flowers were worked into it with threads of blue and glimmering gold. A wide collar of brocade circled the neck of the gown and lay pleasingly across the swell of her bosom. The bird and flower motif was worked on it as well. Around her neck she wore a linked chain of gold which Lady Dorotea had said was very old. A pearl was attached to it and a filigree of gold cunningly worked over the whole. Her body was supple and free; the faintly tanned face had a soft sheen under the flickering torches. She was lit from within, there was an incandescence about her that drew the eye. Suddenly Lady Dorotea was afraid for her charge.

  Katherine was bemused, wondering if she would see Jamie, and did not feel the insistent stare for some time. Turning her head to encounter it, she saw an older man, dark haired and white skinned, richly dressed, who leaned negligently, chin on long fingers, to watch her intently. She returned the look and turned away. His eyes remained on her. Then she glared and swung her body around in the chair to focus her attention on the deaf old knight at her left who was roaring, as he had been for some minutes.

  “Those were the days of men, I tell you! My father and King Henry came near to conquering France with just a few archers! They still sing of Agincourt. Why, when we landed ..

  Katherine listened and glanced covertly around. The watcher was still there, pose unchanged. A trickle of fear went down her spine and she half rose, then sat back as a hush fell. Then a slight lone figure moved out into the central view, touched his harp with fingers that seemed barely to drift across the strings as the music poured and lifted on the stilled air. Tears burned in many eyes as the voice sang of the lists, death and valor, of true love’s loss for lack of faith. A last note throbbed, then ceased. The hall was silent in that best of all tributes before the applause began.

  “A surpassing talent that. He is the Duke’s own minstrel. The King himself has sought in vain to lure him away.”

  The speaker was Katherine’s watcher who now sat in the seat once occupied by the old knight who had been helped away by his retainers. “Forgive my presumption, Lady, but I have wished to speak to you all this long evening.”

  Katherine found her voice then. “Surely there is no need for haste. I have been most uncomfortable because of your stares. I fail to see the reason for rudeness.”

  “You are what I want. You are perfect.” The cold black eyes assessed her. As he leaned closer she saw the imperceptible white threads in his hair, the thick standing veins on his pudgy hands. He spoke in a low, conversational tone that chilled her.

  “Go. I have but to call Lady Randle and tell her of your insult.”

  He spread his hands wide, the light catching the glittering rings on them. “I do not think that you will do that, Katherine Hartley.”

  She recoiled, a movement he noted with a thinning of his lips. “How is it that you know my name?”

  He smiled, a mouth movement only. “Lady Randle was well known in her day. I am privy to both history and gossip. I know much.”

  Katherine sat erect. She had had quite enough of this. Fear was vanishing before the building anger. “Who are you? By what privilege do you venture to speak where you are unwelcome?”

  He placed his hand on her arm and held her immobile. “I am Alexis Rykos, Greek born, late of Burgundy and now of London. I am a merchant of silk and fine jewels.” He watched her appraisingly. “I have the inestimable honor to serve King Edward on the continent as well. I think I have displeased him only in the matter of choosing a wife, a wish he has often voiced. Until this moment, I had seen no woman worthy.”

  Katherine began to laugh, but from nerves and incredulity. “You are seriously asking to wed me?”

  “No. I have told you that you will be my wife.” The hypnotic eyes bored into hers and she shook with repugnance.

  “No!” The cry caused others to glance toward them and smile knowingly. “I will have no merchant who speaks boorishly, as though I were but a flower to be trampled at your whim. Begone and take your sly ways with you. Wed you? I would as soon wed a slave.” She stood up proudly, her face dark with fury.

  Alexis Rykos remained seated but his face contorted to show his fifty and more years before smoothing to an opaque mask. He did not raise his voice but Katherine felt the chill of horror at his words.

  “We shall see, daughter of a traitor. You will beg on your knees for my most casual word.”

  Katherine caught her skirts up and ran for the nearest door. The small scene caught the attention of those nearest to her in the hall and necks began to crane. On the dais, Anne Neville leaned toward her husband who gestured to his minstrel. A lively song of spring began to fill the air. Lady Dorotea rose unobstrusively and hurried after Katherine.

  She found the girl standing on one of the parapets overlooking the moor and the lights of the city. For the first time Lady Dorotea took her into her arms, feeling her stiff body and hammering heart. The incident was quickly told. Katherine finished, “What is his sudden wish for me? I am no vision come to life. And that about my father being a traitor! He was never such.” Sweat glistened on her face and she began to tremble.

  “
He was never attainted but he was banished. The name of Antony Hartley was never to be mentioned before King Edward again. He was permitted to remain in the realm only because of failing health.” Lady Dorotea was matter-of-fact.

  “His name smeared and his honor tarnished. I wonder that he did not seek death.”

  “He had you and life was always precious to Antony. His offense must have touched the highest matters. One thing is certain, the less your name is brought up the better it will be until you are under the protection of a husband.”

  “What am I to do?” Katherine heard her voice, thin and shivery, and despised herself or her own weakness.

  Lady Dorotea shook her head. “I will speak of the merchant to an old friend who has asked to call. We will learn the extent of his power. Perhaps he was flown with wine and you reminded him of his dead wife or an old love. Do not worry until it is quite necessary, my dear.”

  Katherine turned to her, seeing as if for the first time the old face held only by bone structure and the tired eyes full of concern. The slender body was shaking, held erect only by the fierce will. Contrite, she held out her arm and Lady Dorotea took it with a sigh.

  “Forgive me, Lady. I have been so full of my own concerns that I have forgotten your weariness. Doubtless you are right. I have been foolish. I should have dissembled with him, given him fair words. He is old and is likely seeking a fecund wife.”

  Behind the light words there was a hint of deeper danger. Katherine tried in vain to rid herself of a warning of it. She knew that Lady Dorotea felt it, too, but would not admit it. Now she knew that she must not burden her further. She took her guardian’s arm and they began to negotiate the slimy steps leading down into the courtyard where the groom and maids waited. They heard the voices of some of the company raised in song and the rattle of the juggler’s balls as he practiced in a secluded corner, his shadow long in the torch light.

  Katherine said, involuntarily, “My very flesh crawled from those fingers. I think he wanted my very soul.”

  Both women crossed themselves hurriedly as the air around them seemed to chill. Lady Dorotea began to chatter, “Let us go home, the evening has been long. Did you see the blond young man, dressed all in brown, who kept trying to get your attention? He looks very familiar, I cannot think who he can be, but he has the look of old Lord Ambrose’s family. I wonder . . .”

  Katherine walked mechanically, her thoughts far away. In a place on the stair when the torches had gone out, there was an uneven place in the cut of a stone. Lady Dorotea stumbled, Katherine caught at her robe and both nearly fell the length of the stairs but were seized in time by a hard hand which appeared almost from the half light near one of the doors. The face of their rescuer was a dark blur but the voice was warm with a hint of laughter.

  “By the faith, ladies, I thought we all would tumble down the stairs in a great motley heap.”

  Shaken, they thanked him breathlessly and leaned against the wet wall. There was the briefest of silences, then the voice, still warm but with the snap of authority, said, “Present the young woman to me, Lady Randle. How is it that this was not done earlier with the others who did welcome me?”

  He moved into the light then and they sank to their knees before the Duke of Gloucester who stood smiling, his bearing erect and firm. A hand was extended to each as he lifted them to their feet, acknowledging the presentation with a swift nod and a curious look.

  Lady Dorotea rushed on. “There was a great crowd around you, Sir, when we arrived and we could not press through. I felt faint later and we came for air. We crave your pardon.”

  The light eyes passed over and came to rest on Katherine. “How do you like our City of York, Mistress Hartley?” He lingered over her name, drawing the syllables out.

  “Quite well, Sir.” She was stiff and fearful, every sense crying out to run.

  Richard of Gloucester felt the tension and the name nagged at his memory. “Hartley. Hartley. That name is very familiar. Usually my memory is very good. Refresh it, Mistress.” It was a command.

  The pause was very long before Lady Dorotea began to shiver as she lifted a hand to her head. Richard watched for a moment, then remarked, “Ah, but the night is moist and cool. I must not keep you here speaking of my faulty memory. Another day, perhaps. I thank you for joining in York’s welcome.”

  They curtsied as he moved away and did not see the speculative gaze rest on Katherine for several seconds nor hear the low-voiced instructions to the secretary who followed close by.

  As they moved past the chapel, Katherine paused. “Will you wait for me? I will not be long.”

  Lady Dorotea smiled. “I will join you, my dear.” They entered the softly lit chapel with its muted and brilliant colors which formed a soft haze against the merging darkness. Wall torches burned in sconces, lifting the eye ever upward to the tender smile of the Virgin, the agony of Christ and the sufferings of the saints. Katherine sank to her knees in a passion of fear and longing, her heart lifted up, her whispered words forming a prayer for deliverance.

  Something in the bent shoulders and the hushed sounds of pain made the supplicant some rows back raise her head from her rosary. Anne, Duchess of Gloucester, knew what it was to pray unceasingly to no avail. Tenderness made her rise to her feet, then fingers closed over hers, pulling her down, and she looked into the eyes of her husband.

  “Anne, Anne, do not do this alone.” She nodded, placed her hands over his and they knelt together, murmuring the prayers of supplication and resignation, their desires mixing and mingling.

  Katherine and Lady Randle turned to leave, not noticing the figures which were so close as to be one. Strength and courage had come to Katherine who had so desperately sought it. She spoke the words aloud and they were good to hear for they were her own standard unfurled, her challenge to fate, the eagle of her banner.

  “I am done with acceptance. My fate is mine!”

  Lady Dorotea caught her hand and held it. In that moment Katherine’s course was charted and she would not deviate from it.

  Chapter 7

  Net of Iron

  Katherine stood by the window of the solar, her sun-streaked hair reflecting the rays of the afternoon sun, her features thrown into sharp relief as she crumpled the parchment into a ball. She looked small and thin, devoid of color and life.

  “I am sorry, so sorry. How could we have known?” Lady Dorotea had visibly aged in the past week—her face was seamed with new wrinkles and her eyes no longer snapped with vitality.

  Katherine unrolled the letter again, studying it as if its message had changed. “Listen. The audacity of the man! He says, ‘I will call upon your household, there to further my suit for your ward. I know the shock that my sudden declaration must have given a young virgin and do regret the manner of it. After I have spoken with you both, I go to London to place my suit before King Edward. I do not think he will refuse me.’ He’s to come within the hour.”

  “You must receive him with all courtesy.”

  “Must I countenance his suit?”

  “You can do nothing else. He serves the King in capacities other than that of merchant and is high in favor. Idle words have been reported by him to Edward and the speakers have suffered. Rykos has always refused a title and this has greatly endeared him to the King. He is a ruthless, dangerous man.”

  Katherine’s smile was cold. “I will dissemble as you have bade me. London is far and the roads hazardous. The business, however quickly transacted, will take time. I will put it to use. Perhaps he can even tell me of my father.”

  Lady Dorotea stood up, her whole body stiff as she said, “You had best forget that and consider your future. Rykos is a careful, cautious man, one whom it would be dangerous to cross. If you meddle, you may be placed in danger.”

  Katherine bent to kiss her cheek in an unwonted gesture of affection that surprised them both. She encircled the frail shoulders with her own firm arm as they stood for a moment in silent communion.

&nb
sp; There was a hammering at the front door, a barked command which rose over the remonstrances of the serving woman, and a tall figure strode into the room. He looked only at Lady Dorotea who was leaning against her tall, carved chair.

  “My lady, do you not know me?” He lifted his face to hers and spoke eagerly. “I was remiss, I know, for these five years and more, but I have fought our Duke’s battles, always. I came as soon as I arrived in York!”

  Katherine stood in the shadows as she tried to grapple with her surprise and shock. The man was Jamie. His eyes were tender and warm beneath the lifting dark brows. His blue and silver garments contrasted with the sun-browned skin and crest of wheat-colored hair. She longed to call out to him but did not dare.

  “Jamie?” Lady Dorotea’s voice was hesitant with a rising note of joy that made Katherine’s eyes prickle. “Jamiel At last!”

  Jamie moved closer to Lady Dorotea who by this time was trembling and took her hand in his. “Lady, dear godmother. How very glad I am to see you!”

  Lady Dorotea clasped him to her then and wept. They held each other in a long embrace and Katherine saw his hands shake as he touched the frail body. Her own eyes misted. Suddenly, Lady Dorotea twisted and her breathing took on the harsh labored note that had characterized it often of late. The man spoke her name with panic in his voice.

  “I will . . The quavering words faded, her head rolled back and her hood fell to the floor.

  A few quick steps took Katherine to her side. It was a half faint, likely brought on by joy. Relief flooded the girl as she said, “Put her in the chair here and put your cloak around her. This hall is chilly. Hurry!”

  His eyes went slitted and narrow as he recognized her but he obeyed without demur. Katherine went to the cupboard, poured out some of the rich, heady wine, and returned to hold the cup to the white lips. Lady Dorotea drank very slowly.