This Ravished Rose

by Anne Carsley

  Katherine stared at him. “There is so much that I do not know. I wanted this no more than he but it is I who pay the price.”

  Unguarded for once, John turned around to her. The sun glittered off his earnest face. “I have seen Lord James in despair for a woman’s betraying. You have come nearer than you know to losing much. Be patient.”

  “What do you mean?” Katherine’s voice rose and she moved closer to him in her eagerness.

  The patrolling soldiers looked toward them curiously and Katherine realized she had been overheard. What might gossip make of her pulling her steward’s arm on the battlements? John’s brown face flushed. He bowed and left her hurriedly. Katherine watched him go, wondering how long this life could continue. She was trapped in an endless circle of boredom and confusion.

  The next afternoon Katherine and Alison sat in the solar trying to remember the words of an old ballad about a knight and his captured lady who was held for ransom by the Saracens. They would write the words down and teach them to the others. Who knew what the tune must be?

  Alison said, “I can remember no more. Let me go and fetch Elsa, she may know.”

  Katherine laughed, “Let us make up our own words then. I fancy we can do as well as any troubadour. Look you, Alison, we will tell it from the viewpoint of the lady, not her proud knight.”

  One of the servants came to the door then. “My lady, there is a young man here who seeks speech with you.”

  “Who is it?” There had been no newcomers to the castle in the several months that they had been there.

  The servant moved aside then and four burly soldiers entered, one of whom held a soberly dressed young traveler by the arm. In the other he held a lute and a small pack. His clothes were rough but clean and his manner diffident. The soldierly escort had not reassured him; he stood before her, eyes down.

  The soldier who held him said, “He hailed the gate, madam, saying that he was a minstrel and could sing for his supper, juggle and the like. We took the liberty of bringing him to you. Should we send him away?”

  Katherine asked, “Who are you and why are you in this part of the North?”

  The young man looked up at her. His voice was so soft she had to strain to hear it. “My name is Andrew, I am Welsh. I wanted to see something of England and Scotland before returning to wed the bride my father has chosen. I go soon to York, then to London.”

  “Do you know about the war in Scotland and how it fares?” The question was spoken before she could stop it.

  “Nay, lady. I have no concern for such. I am a minstrel as I said.”

  One of the soldiers laughed and he flushed furiously. Katherine stood up.

  “I am Lady Hunsdale and I welcome you to our lands. You will play for us this night in the great hall.” His eyes flickered and there was a momentary pause as he seemed ill at ease. Then it passed and he smiled, bowing with all the grace of a courtier. “Thank you, my lady. I shall endeavor to do justice to your hospitality.”

  After he was escorted out, Katherine turned to Alison with a laugh, “Tonight will be festive, I think. I hope the boy can sing.”

  The girl’s normally red-cheeked face was pale and her hands shook. Katherine stared at her in concern. “What is it? Are you ill?”

  “No, my lady. Just a chill.” She jumped up, made a hurried curtsey and ran from the room.

  Katherine shrugged. They lived in too close confinement here. This was just another example of the need for change. The familiar fury rose up in her as she called for her maid.

  That night everyone assembled in the great hall where a fire roared against the constant chill. It was more festive simply this night. Many times the meal was simply and quickly dealt with for the major one generally came in the morning. Now Katherine sat regally, her hair gathered high on head under a velvet headdress which matched the green dress which had been newly refurbished by one of the seamstresses. Lady Sarah sat aloof in her chair, paying no attention to Katherine.

  Andrew seemed composed and sure of himself as he did some tumbling and juggling, sang a lively ditty or two, then set the men laughing at some mock feats of arms. But it was the impassioned love songs that took them all by the heart. Sung in that lilting Welsh voice with its purity and clearness, the old words spoke even to the most cynical heart. Eyes were wet, Katherine’s among them. The days of ladies fair and honor’s death existed only in the imagination, especially for those who married for lands and wealth, she thought, yet she called as eagerly as any,

  “More, more! Now, lad. More!”

  Finally Andrew called for stillness. “This last song will be for the lady of this castle, in gratitude for her kindness that has sheltered a wanderer.”

  The song was long, it went from English to Welsh to Latin and back again. It whispered of love and gallantry, then took a roguish twist and a lewd quip. Then as the laughter rose, mingling with the plaint of the lover’s farewell forever to his lady, Andrew fixed his dark eyes on Katherine and sang in the Latin of the monasteries, “Come to the chapel. There is a message from one who has waited long.” Twice he repeated it, then ended with a verse in Welsh.

  Katherine’s green eyes flamed with light as hope rose in her. She extended a hard slender hand to the young man who thanked her in polished phrases taken from a book of courtesy. Was the message from James? How was it that he did not come directly to her if this were so? Yet there was no other to send her such.

  She dismissed the servant who would have accompanied her to the chapel, saying that she felt the need to be alone. She came often when the sameness of her life became wearying.

  She knelt on the hard wooden rail, feeling the cold from the floor rise up. Here were no windows of brilliant colors, enriched with incense and the martyrdom of the saints. The chapel was hard and cold as the border. She drew the woolen shawl more closely about her and thought again of the strangeness of the message.

  A touch on her shoulder brought her upright. Andrew stood close beside her. He was dressed for travel, a sword hung at his belt, and he wore solid black which matched his eyes. The diffident manner, the gay minstrelsy, was gone. Here stood a hard, determined man who seemed ten years older than the boy of the afternoon.

  Chilled, Katherine drew back. “What does this mean? Who are you and why have you come in this manner? Do you come from my husband?”

  His voice was arrogant and self-assured. “I know nothing of the Lord James, except that he has meddled in matters far above him by wedding you.” Katherine’s eyes grew angry and she forgot the momentary disquiet she felt. “I will call the guard!”

  He caught her arm and his fingers pressed deeply into the flesh. She jerked back but he held her firmly. “I come from Alexis Rykos.”

  “I will not hear you.”

  “You have no choice. Would you rather that the castle were roused to find their lady meeting the minstrel boy in tryst? How would that set with the bold Lord James? You are not loved in this castle, Lady Hunsdale.”

  Katherine looked at him and saw that the words were true. She would be compromised and her protests never believed.

  “Hear the words of my master. ‘Katherine Hartley, once I considered you worthy to be my bride. I would have given much for you. You were the chosen. You have defiled yourself willingly and shall suffer the punishment. Be well assured that I shall still have you though you hide yourself from me, for you have offended.’ ”

  Andrew’s eyes glazed as he spoke the words which seemed to reverberate in the small enclosure and pound in her ears. They ceased and Katherine cried, “This is madness. I am wed, I have lost a child.”

  “I know that. It was not time and those around you knew it.”

  Now horror did come over Katherine. “What are you saying? What game is this?”

  “You will be told when it is time. Not before. Know this, Katherine, it is not marriage that Alexis Rykos seeks of you. He will have no man’s leavings. Rather it is that you shall redeem yourself before the master to whom you ar
e vowed.”

  “What master?” Katherine felt frozen with fear. “Are you in the service of the King?”

  The dark eyes glittered down into hers and Katherine was suddenly conscious of a strange odor, the rank scent of blood and heat. They seemed wrapped in the very breath of evil even here in the chapel where the Christian God was worshipped.

  “Your King Edward? Nay, one greater than he by far.”

  Then the good stoat courage returned to Katherine when she had most need of it. “Blessed Jesu! You speak in riddles and I am a fool to listen.”

  Andrew began to laugh, the sound rang harsh and grating in her ears. He loomed over her, but she backed off.

  “Go from my lands and my castle. Take your prating and your playacting elsewhere. Tell your master from me that I will have naught of him and his mouthings.”

  “You are not wise to further incur his wrath.”

  “Rykos is but a man. I do not fear him.” Katherine spoke boldly for she knew it was her only recourse.

  “I do not speak of men.” Andrew spoke quietly without a trace of bombast and in sober truth. “You were the chosen.”

  Katherine saw that he stood between her and the door, that his hand lay on his sword and that the glitter of fanaticism was in his eyes.

  “I foreswear the choice, whatever it was. Now go!” In spite of herself her voice shook and she knew that he heard her fear.

  “You are bold, lady. A woman of courage. But your fate cannot be gainsaid. When the time is ready you will receive another message. From time to time you will know that we are watching. It is useless to try to disrupt the pattern.”

  Katherine heard the roll of his voice, the soft trill of the Welsh accent, and the face of Alexis Rykos rose up before her with such clarity that she wanted to retch.

  “I am the wife of a peer of the realm. You no longer threaten merely Katherine Hartley.” The proud words made her stiffen and face the dark man once more.

  He sneered. “I do not think that the Lord James will protect you. He will have troubles of his own, I doubt not. He was indeed an unwilling husband, was he not?”

  Katherine cried out then. “Enough. I will hear no more. Go.”

  He laughed, “Aye, madam. I will deliver your message to my master.”

  “Do, but get you gone from my presence!”

  He whirled and strode from her, his cloak a black shadow in the faint light of the failing candle. Katherine sank to her knees before the lifting cross.

  Chapter 16

  By Our Lord’s Command

  September drifted into being and now the winds were cooler, the days shorter. Katherine was grateful for the never ending round of duties from which she spared neither herself nor her people. Old tapestries were reworked even though they were in pieces. Meat hung in the cellars and the wine checked. Chests were opened and emptied, their contents hung in the air. Her gowns were mended, washed and brushed for who knew when she might have new ones. The gardens had given yield which was carefully put away against the long winter. Herbs were compounded for injuries and remedies for illness. Inventories of the castle stores were ordered and made. Bedding was checked and entered on tally sheets, reports were taken from those in charge of the weapons and defenses.

  The wind whipped constantly at the castle walls, bringing with it the odor of the sea. Katherine often remembered York as she had come to know it with Lady Dorotea. The bustle as peddlers cried out their wares, minstrels gave out gay ditties, and trumpets cried in the streets; the glory of the Minster; the city of her happiness. Now, too, she thought of the convent where her early years were so simple or thus it had seemed then. The white walls and hard bed, the music that lifted one up. Often Katherine sat musing in the great hall before the fire and thought of the past for it seemed all that she was likely to have.

  She told no one of Andrew’s visit in the night nor of the strange message. It gradually faded and appeared unreal. Doubtless the whole business was some sort of trick of Rykos’s. Remembering the cruel eyes of her erstwhile suitor, she was not so sure.

  One morning Katherine sat with several of her ladies as they tried to mend a torn gown with material which was more rotten than the gown itself. One of the boys who was attempting to learn the lute sat with another who was playing for him. Both needed practice. The first sounds were unfamiliar, long blasts on a trumpet which were repeated twice.

  “Invasion!” The boys cried the word simultaneously and ran for the yard.

  There were cries from the men-at-arms, then expostulations and swift movements along the passageways. Then the messenger, clad in red and gold livery, rushed in, glanced about, then stood nervously looking for the lord’s wife. It was impossible to tell by dress or manner who she might be. Katherine rose suddenly.

  “What is it that brings all this turmoil? Speak, I am the Lady Hunsdale.”

  The boy, for he was little more than that, made a hurried bow and said, “Lady, I am bidden to tell you first of the great victory won over the Scots. Berwick Castle fell the last of August, Edinburgh in July and a trace was made. There is peace.”

  “God be praised.” Elsa and Frances spoke as one but Katherine watched the boy closely as his rush of words came to an abrupt halt.

  “My husband. What of him? Is he well?” Katherine stood very still, unaware that her breath had almost stopped. Lady Sarah stood up in the background and bent toward the girl, both hands clenched.

  The boy swallowed, then blurted, “He was wounded in a skirmish led by Duke Richard weeks ago. He was taken to Peymar Castle some few miles from Berwick and tended. It was a stomach wound, very deep, but it was thought that all was well. He was leeched and purged and grew weak but complained daily of missing the campaign. The Duke came to see him, a great honor, lady. Then a fortnight ago he fell into a great fever which has not lifted.” He stopped for breath and Katherine demanded,

  “Why was I not sent for earlier?”

  Charles Mereton aspired toward knighthood. You did not speak boldly to noble ladies before their households on delicate matters and certainly you did not repeat even the gist of the remarks that Lord James had made concerning his wife when they had spoken of sending for her. True, it had been delirium but it seemed he hated her. Whatever Charles had thought she would be like, it was not this tall lady in the shabby, large gown whose green eyes now bored into his. His senses swam and he could only say,

  “It was known that you were with child. All hoped that this was a temporary thing. But now . . . now, I am bidden to say that you must come if you would help him make peace before he leaves this world.” Katherine swayed, then steadied. “We leave within the hour. Come and rest by the fire. Food and drink will be brought. Catching his glance she smiled, “There is no child.”

  Charles blushed as brilliantly as the fire. By the Cross, she has courage. There is only swift thought and action. She faces what she must without an outcry. Here is one worthy of chivalry. He stared into space and dreamed briefly of a daring rescue and her green eyes glowing with gratitude.

  Katherine ran up the stairs and snapped out orders, ignoring cries of concern and curiosity. She snatched up the few belongings necessary to take with her, two gowns, a comb, a clean shift, the least battered of her slippers. It would have to be enough. Triumph ran heady as wine through her even as her face remained a mask. The household should have little to gossip of afterward. If James died she would be free and his possessions would nominally be hers. She would have to marry, of course, for such fortunes as that of James would be under the watchful eye of the King who would bestow her hand where it best suited him. She shivered for she had no illusions concerning Edward. It would be best to ask help of Richard of Gloucester whose man James had been. By all accounts he was a man of honor and would understand her plight. She thought of Rykos and that he would find it difficult indeed to pursue her if she possessed money and power.

  She stopped suddenly and the choking sobs caught her by surprise as she thought of James and his
proud departure. She had all but cursed him and now look at the fruit it bore. She put her head in her hands and wept unashamedly. Thus Lady Sarah found her as she came to offer what help she could. Her own eyes were swollen but she put both arms around Katherine, the past forgotten in the excesses of the moment.

  “Katherine, love. I knew you cared. You must be brave before the world now. For his sake. I will keep things here for you both.”

  Always James, never her own feelings. She said nothing but held grimly to the thought all through Lady Sarah’s murmurings, and the remainder of the time until they galloped out of the castle mounted on the best horses that could be produced, led by the small group of men-at-arms.

  The day was gray and chilly, the wind burned their faces as they turned toward the direction of Peymar Castle which was several days hard ride away. Katherine’s gloved fingers were hard on the reins as she urged her horse faster. Charles drew close to her and said,

  “Lady, we must go carefully, the roads are none too good. Have a care that you do not arrive ill at your lord’s bedside. What help could yob then be to him?”

  Katherine’s eyes glittered, tears hung on her lashes. “I pray he will not enter the next world until I am there to take proper leave of him.”

  The boy stared at her as her mouth twisted in pain. The hours and days ran together in wind and sun. Circles were heavy under Katherine’s eyes and reflected in the pallor of her face. When she thought at all, she thought of rest, relief from the jouncing of the saddle, of warmth and quiet.

  Finally the castle was reached and they were admitted. Fresh clothes were given her by a faceless servant, a kind-voiced woman spoke softly to her, then she stood in a room warmed by both fireplace and brazier. Her husband lay on a great bed watched over by a succession of maids and a priest who had not left him since Katherine was summoned. Now she came near and commanded, “Go. I would be alone with him.”

  He protested but feebly, thinking of the endless hours of his vigil and the hard voice of the Duke who had bade him, “Guard him well, for he is the foremost of my men.” Surely a few hours rest was not desertion.