by Anne O'Brien
‘Yes.’ But my heart quaked.
‘Do you expect me to make an apology?’ he demanded.
I suspected that he did not know the meaning of the word. ‘Do you think you should?’ I deliberately allowed a little edge to colour my tone. ‘How could you inflict such hurt on me, Edmund? And so thoughtlessly, if you see no need to ask pardon.’
‘Love is not love without hurt.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Edmund swooped, and captured one of my hands, since I allowed it, falling smoothly into the verse:
‘Love without anxiety and without fear
Is fire without flames and without warmth,
Day without sunlight, hive without honey
Summer without flower, winter without frost’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked, lifting my chin, as if I were in no mood for such complex sentiments. In fact, they thrilled me, but I held firm in my resolve.
‘It means that love must have pain to make the joy more intense.’ Edmund pressed my fingers against his mouth. ‘Come to my bed, my golden one.’
‘I will not.’
‘Must I go away again?’
I lifted a negligent shoulder. ‘I will not be browbeaten, my lord.’
‘I beg of you, my glorious Queen Kat. Have mercy.’
I shook my head. Neither would I be cajoled, though I could not contemplate the thought of never seeing him again, not touching him, not savouring his mouth on mine. But I knew he would not leave me again.
‘Speak to me.’ Edmund pressed his lips to the soft skin of my wrist where my blood beat heavily. ‘Come to my bed, my obstinate love. Who’s to know here?’
‘I will not.’
‘Your mouth provoked me,
Kiss me, kiss sweet!
Every time I see you so it seems to me…’
‘I don’t provoke you.’
‘But you do. Your refusal provokes me to madness.
Give me a sweet, sweet kiss, or two or three!’
Edmund, still clasping my hand, in all his travel-stained boots and hose, sank to one knee, head bent.
‘Don’t ask me again,’ I urged, trying to step away. ‘For I will not.’ And yet I felt that the mood in him had changed, the flirtation a thing of the past. Slowly his gaze lifted to mine.
‘Katherine.’
There was no mockery in his use of my name, neither was there any residue of light in his eyes. I had never seen him so serious. Had he indeed given up on me? Perhaps he would ask forgiveness for his presumption and explain that he had been mistaken after all, that his regard for me had proved to be a finite thing. My hand tensed in his but I regarded him steadily to cover the flutter of nerves in my belly.
‘Will you wed me, Katherine?’
It took my breath. ‘Marriage?’
‘Why not? We love each other. There is no one I would rather wed.’ His brows flattened. ‘Unless you have another man in mind?’
‘No, no.’
‘Then will you?’
I struggled to put my thoughts into words. ‘I must think, Edmund.’
‘Then think of this too.’
He stood, pulled me into his arms and kissed me long and thoroughly. I did not resist. He was mine, and I was his.
That night, alone in my room, curled on the cushions in the window embrasure with a single candle and the lap dog for company, I thought about what it would be like to be married to Edmund Beaufort. There would never be a dull moment, I decided with an unexpected wide smile that was reflected back at me cruelly refracted by the fault lines in the glass. It would be a highly respectable marriage, with a man at the forefront of politics and national events. Edmund would be a man I could be proud of and admire.
And it would be reciprocal. Did he not tell me that he admired me? I was his golden queen. I trembled at the thought of learning physical love in Edmund’s masterful arms.
But would our life continue at this madcap rate? Would he continue to shower me with poetry and extravagant compliments, luring me into breath-stopping kisses in secluded corners? Real life is not like that, I informed my reflection seriously. You cannot be breathless for ever.
But why not? He loved me. He turned my limbs to water.
‘Well? Will you wed me, Queen Kat?’
Edmund was waiting outside my chamber next morning, shoulders propped against the wall. How long he had been waiting I knew not, but of course it would have been no difficulty to discover the pattern of my days at Leeds Castle. He was dressed to perfection, linen pristine, boots polished, thigh-length tunic impressive in its richness, as he had intended. He bowed low, as I knew he would. The peacock feathers in his cap swept the floor.
‘I beg you to put me out of my misery. Wed me and I will be the most attentive husband you could ever desire.’ He cocked his head, his hair gleaming in the morning light. ‘Must I kneel again?’
‘No,’ I replied slowly, all my thoughts of the previous night crystallising in my mind. ‘Don’t kneel.’ I took a little breath. ‘Yes, Edmund. I will. I will wed you.’
His mouth curved in a smile, his eyes glowed, and from the purse at his belt he took out a gold and enamelled brooch, which he pinned to my bodice, where it glittered in blue and red and gold on my breast. Not a jewelled confection such as a man might give to the woman he loved but a coat of arms, a badge of ownership. I did not recognise it.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘It is a family piece—a livery badge. The Beaufort escutcheon.’ He traced with his fingertip the portcullis and the lion rampant. ‘I thought I would like you to wear something so personal to me.’
‘It is beautiful. I will gladly wear it.’ And I turned his hand and kissed his palm.
‘I adore you, my beautiful Katherine.’
As we knelt together to hear Mass in the chapel, and my priest, Father Benedict, elevated the host, my blood ran hot with joy. The man at my side adored me. That was what he had said. And what a particular piece of jewellery he had given me, marking me as a Beaufort possession. Wearing it as I did that morning made a very clear statement of my intent. When Mass was complete, Edmund whispered:
‘Can I ask you to be discreet in your wearing of the brooch?’
I looked my surprise.
‘Just for a little time. Until I can announce to the whole world that you will be my wife.’
I agreed. Why would I not? Edmund would need to inform his family. When we returned to Windsor I would be free to wear the Beaufort portcullis and lion as openly as I pleased.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Why should we not declare our love?’ I was eager, wanting to shout it aloud to the whole world.
We had returned to Windsor, Edmund travelling openly with me as one of my escort, my preferred companion. Why should he not? His protection, as cousin to my son, was quite unexceptional. It was impossible not to watch his lithe figure astride his burnished mount as he paced beside my litter. I was so full of exuberance that it was hard to pretend that there was nothing between us but family ties, friendship and formal courtesy.
This was the man I would marry. Why should we not be seen to love and be loved? Was it not now more than a year since Edmund had wooed me at Windsor in a frenzy of evergreens and old traditions made new, cloaked in velvet and winged in silver?
‘What need for secrecy?’ I demanded. ‘Who would possibly object?’
Edmund was well born. His blood could be no better, the slur of illegitimacy having long since been laid to rest. Who could take exception to his wooing of the Queen Dowager?
‘Wait a little, my love,’ he murmured against my temple, his lips a fleeting caress when he tucked me into my litter for the return journey.
But I gripped the front of his tunic. ‘I don’t understand why.’
Carefully he detached my hands, folding them one upon the other in my lap. ‘Because it wouldn’t do to cause political tongues to wag,’ he stated, smiling down into my eyes, willing me to see the future as he saw i
t. ‘Not yet. You must trust me.’ Even though his voice remained unemotionally cool, as if we were discussing the arrangements for the journey, Edmund remained implacable. No one would suspect the heated tenor of his reply as he leaned over me, arranging the cushions for my comfort.
‘One day you will be mine. I will take you to my bed as my wife, and there I will open the windows into heaven for you. You must be patient, my loved one. First I must make my intentions known to Gloucester and Bishop Henry. To the Royal Council. You are Queen Dowager and I am a Beaufort. Ours will be a political alliance, as well as one grounded in true love. It will not be done in secret.’
Which made good sense.
He reached up to untie the curtains, to shield me from the sharp wind. ‘Exercise patience, Queen Kat, and hold on to the fact that my love for you is infinite.’ And the curtain was dropped into place.
But how difficult it was to be patient. What possible obstacle would there be for the marriage of a widowed queen and a young man of royal blood? It would harm no one. Young Henry liked Edmund. And I was tossed in a sea of longing, to be with him and know the happiness of fulfilment.
I will take you to my bed and open the windows into heaven.
I could not wait.
But wait, Edmund had advised. Wait for a little time. So that was what I must do. I settled back against my cushions. I was too happy to be concerned, too secure in his love, anticipating the day when we would be together.
Back at Windsor, leaving Edmund to stable his horse and a tight-lipped Master of Household to organise the dispatch of my litter and escort, I went straight to the royal accommodations. And there was Young Henry in a creased tunic and hose, his fingers sticky with some sweetmeat, his hair clearly not having seen a comb for some hours. He ran to me and I lifted him into my arms. He was growing heavy at almost five years.
‘Have you brought me a gift, maman?’
‘I have.’
‘Can I eat it?’
I enclosed his hand in mine to prevent him smearing honey on my bodice. ‘I don’t think you can.’ A creak of the hinge on the door and a soft hush of skirts caught my notice. ‘Look who’s come to find you, Henry. What do you think, Alice? I think he has grown in even a short few weeks.’ I turned my head, smiling my welcome. ‘Do you?’
It was not Alice who had entered. In the doorway I saw that the woman had not Alice’s upright carriage or robust figure; rather my visitor was fragile and moved with care over each separate step. And then she moved forward into a stripe of sunlight and my visitor was plain to see. Letting my son slide to the floor, I walked to meet her as I smiled, my heart warming, silently admitting that the blame was mine for the distance that remained between us.
‘Madam Joanna!’
It had been too long—Henry’s funeral, in fact—since I had last found time to sit and talk to her.
Young Henry ran to her, but, seeing her involuntarily drawing back, I caught him before he could hang on her skirts. The lines gouged beside eye and mouth, more cruel than I recalled, told their own tale.
‘Will you sit? You are right welcome.’ Keeping Henry at bay I took her hand and led her to a settle that was not too low, where I helped her to sink slowly back against the upright support.
Joanna sighed, a sound that was almost a groan.
‘Thank you, dear child.’ She managed to summon a smile. ‘Now you can kiss me.’
I did, shocked by the quality of her skin at close quarters for it was dry and as thin and yellow as old parchment. The pain in her limbs was clearly great, the malaise gaining strength with each month’s passing. Acknowledging that she would not wish me to talk of it, I merely kissed her cheek again.
‘When did you arrive?’ I asked.
‘Yesterday. I came up in easy stages from King’s Langley.’
‘To see me? Then it is my fortune that I returned today.’ I enfolded her gnarled fingers with their swollen joints very carefully in mine.
‘They said you were at Leeds.’
‘Yes.’ I whispered in a restless Young Henry’s ear and sent him off at a run to bring wine for our guest, nodding to my page Thomas, who would follow him, while I sat at Joanna’s side. She shuffled in discomfort and I could not but ask, ‘Madam Joanna, are you quite well? Should you have travelled so far?’
‘My joints ache, but I expect no less.’ The movement of her lips was spare. ‘I thought I had to come.’
‘Well, of course.’ Not quite understanding. ‘Why should you not visit me? Although it would have been more thoughtful of me to come to King’s Langley. Forgive me, madam. Will you stay? If only for a few days? Henry will enjoy showing you his new skills with a wooden sword. As long as you stay well out of reach, of course.’
But Madam Joanna no longer smiled, rather withdrawing her hands from mine. In that brief gesture I had the impression that if she had been able to do it easily she would have stood and walked away to put some distance between us.
‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Has something happened to upset you?’
Madam Joanna’s eyes were old, full of knowledge, full of past grief, but her gaze was uncomfortably direct. ‘I have come for a purpose. When you have heard me out, you may not wish me to stay long.’
It was a disturbing disclosure, but still I did not follow. ‘I’m sorry, why ever would I not wish you to stay?’
‘Is Edmund Beaufort here?’
‘Why, yes. Yes, he is.’
‘Was he with you at Leeds Castle?’
Now I saw the direction of her questioning. ‘Yes.’ I raised my chin at the first trickle of apprehension that tightened just a little round my heart. But I was not perturbed. Perhaps she did not truly understand, and when she did—for surely Edmund would have no compunction about my telling Madam Joanna—why, then, she would wish me well for she had nothing but my happiness at heart. ‘Yes,’ I repeated, ‘he was at Leeds.’
Startling me, she raised her hands to cup my cheeks as if I were a child to be cosseted, shielded from some unpleasantness. Then let them fall into her lap and her words drove straight through all my new-found happiness.
‘Oh, Katherine! Will you take some advice from an old woman who has seen much and suffered grievously at the hands of ambitious men?’ And for the first time I saw that her lack of ease was more than swollen and aching joints. She was sick to her soul, and my suspicions were grave. ‘I am not your mother to give you advice, but I’m the nearest you’ve got. I think you should be wary of too close a friendship with Edmund Beaufort.’
I kept my reply even, though my heart quaked. ‘Do you not like him?’
‘Liking him or otherwise is not the issue. It is a dangerous liaison, Katherine.’ How gentle her voice, how compassionate her eyes, but how ominous her choice of words.
‘You do not approve of our friendship.’
‘It is not wise.’
‘How can it not be wise?’ My replies were becoming more and more icy. ‘He is cousin to my son.’
‘If friendship is all it is, then I must ask your pardon.’ She tilted her chin, as if she could read my mind. ‘But I suspect it to be more than that, my dear girl.’
I looked away, quick to dissemble, fearing her displeasure, as I had always feared the displeasure of those around me. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Be honest with me, Katherine. How much is between you?’
I looked down at my clasped fingers, white with tension.
‘He makes me happy.’
‘Happy?’
Abruptly I stood and walked across the room until I came to a halt in the centre, keeping my back to her. I could not bear to see the reproof in her face. I concentrated on the leaping flames in the hearth as I chose my words to express all that I thought and felt from this miracle that was Edmund Beaufort.
‘Yes, Edmund makes me happy. Is that a sin, Madam Joanna? I think it is not. Do you know? He makes me smile and laugh and enjoy all that life can offer. He makes my heart sing for joy. He has lifted a weight fr
om my shoulders so that I feel young again. No one has ever done that for me. No one ever cared enough about me. Before I knew him, after Henry’s death I was dragged down by loneliness and misery. I felt so old and superfluous. I was wretched indeed. Perhaps I should be despised for lack of will, of character. But so it was.’
I drew in a breath. Joanna waited, sensing that I still had things I needed to say.
‘Then Edmund Beaufort came into my life with such energy, such immeasurable elation. Such skill in forcing me to see what I might be if I was brave enough to take the steps. I have never known anyone like him. He has saved me from my black humours, he has dragged me back into life. Can you understand that?’
‘I too know what it is to be lonely, Katherine.’
And guilt flooded through me. Spinning round, I flung back to kneel at her feet, searching her face for some understanding.
‘Forgive me. Forgive me. Of course you do—but then you must know how much I value…’
‘Katherine! How much is between you?’ she repeated.
‘He loves me,’ I replied simply.
‘He has told you this, has he?’
‘Yes. And I love him.’
‘Damn the boy! He would, of course.’ She touched my hair, tucking a wayward strand beneath my veil, and her question was soft but I heard the bite. ‘I hear he seduced you in the heat of Twelfth Night revels.’
‘Who told you that?’ I demanded, displeased.
‘It doesn’t matter. James should have warned you, but I expect he was too taken up with his freedom and his new bride.’ She eyed me. ‘How unfortunate that he has gone back to Scotland. He’s an astute young man and you might listen to his advice before you listen to mine.’
‘But they are friends,’ I objected. ‘Why would he warn me against Edmund?’
‘So they might be friends. But James has a keen nose for self-preservation and power-brokering.’ For a moment she paused. ‘Have you been foolish enough to be intimate with him?’
I flushed to the roots of my hair.