“Begin!” Ned commanded when Jane was in her place behind them.
“Dearly beloved friends, holy matrimony, as a remedy against the sin of fornication—”
“No, good priest . . . to the heart of the service, quickly.” Ned looked at Kate, his gaze troubled. “I’m sorry, my love. I would that this were not so hurried—”
“Remember, Ned, I have heard it all before when it meant nothing, less than nothing to me. Now the smallest word with you before this altar means everything.”
He tightened his grip on her hand.
The priest coughed, his eyes searching the rear of the chapel, mentally finding his place in the wedding service. “I require and charge you as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment that if either of you do know of any impediments—”
“There are no impediments,” Ned said impatiently, his arm going reassuringly about Kate’s slender shoulders. “Get on!”
The priest had to think, having lost his way again in the service he usually offered. Finally, he began: “No impediment being alleged . . . Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, wilt thou have this woman, Lady Katherine Grey, to thy wedded wife, to live together under God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony and forsaking all others keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Ned said in a very steady voice.
The priest repeated the words for Kate and she said, “I will,” adding, “and thereto I plight thee, Edward, Earl of Hertford, my troth.”
His sister, Jane, handed her brother a ring; then Ned, following the priest’s words, placed a gold circlet centered with a ruby on Kate’s fourth finger, saying: “With this ring I thee wed. With my body I thee worship and with my worldly goods I thee endow.”
The priest pronounced them married, then seemed to lose his way and mumble, but found his place in memory again, saying loudly, “May you ever remain in perfect love and peace together.”
A servant handed the priest a cup of wine, which he gratefully accepted. “And now to the wedding feast, my lord.”
“No feast, good priest.”
“No feast?”
Ned handed him several silver coins. “Sign the wedding contract and you may feast at the inn in the square where we found you”—he added a gold royal to the priest’s hand—“and swear you will ever after keep secret what has passed here. Now raise your cup to the Earl and Countess of Hertford.”
“Aye, my lord,” the priest said, eagerly complying. The cup drained, he was shown by a servant to a side entrance, where he clutched his robes about him for warmth and was gone into the darkened day of rain and fog.
There was a scurry of feet behind Kate as the servants pressed forward to sign or make their marks as witnesses to the marriage contract, and together they chanted their best wishes for a long life. After a rousing “Huzzah!” they went to their duties with a blessed coin for good luck.
“It’s unseemly, I know, Kate,” Ned said softly, his face gentle, “but I would have you returned to Richmond before you are missed.”
As he led her, preceded by his chamberlain holding candelabra, to the gallery stairs, she asked, “How can I possibly return to the palace before—”
“Robert will keep the queen’s party out until nightfall.”
Kate shook her head, disbelieving. “Dudley is aiding us?”
“Yes, sweeting, he is.”
“But why, Ned?”
He shrugged. “Because he listens to his heart for once.”
“Perhaps he would like to see love triumph so that Her Majesty would more likely turn to him.”
“Who knows why Robert does anything?”
Kate frowned. “He does nothing that will not further Robert Dudley. Next to Elizabeth, he loves Robert most.”
“He is arrogant and proud, I grant you, but do not judge him too harshly, Kate. He will put it about the court that I am to make a marriage contract with the daughter of a knight in Hertfordshire.”
“He would deceive the queen?”
“I will be recalled to court, and I will also own to it, so no blame can come to him.”
Kate frowned. “He ensures the queen never forgives us for a double deception.”
“Sweetheart,” Ned said, his courage flowing to her through the taut muscles in his arm, “we must take aid where we find it, when we need it. I require time to prevail with Cecil or Norfolk to intercede with Her Majesty on our behalf.”
Kate did not argue further. She wanted to forget the queen and Dudley, if only for this short time they had together. She wanted to forget everything that would not speed her into Ned’s arms, the only place in life where she had ever felt loved and safe. It no longer mattered to her that the queen would be in a rage when she discovered Kate’s deception. She had known Elizabeth’s rages, had felt their fury on her own body with many a slap. Kate knew the queen’s anger would matter later, but at this moment, with Ned’s arm tight around her, she felt safe from any earthly punishment, for surely God had blessed them, and He was the higher power.
She mounted the stairs, unwavering. This was her chance for love and a happy life, her first chance, perhaps her only one. Elizabeth’s heart would come to understand. How could a woman who loved not understand another woman’s love?
When they reached Ned’s privy chamber, the servant opened the heavily carved door and Kate stepped inside, while the chamberlain went about the dark-paneled room that shone with newly applied beeswax, lighting each candle. Kate had never known lighting a room to take so long.
All candles lit, she found herself standing in the center of a large chamber already warmed by a coal fire in the hearth, not knowing what to do next. This was unlike her other wedding night, in that it was scarcely after twelve of the clock in the day, and she had long ago started the flux that released the foul womanly humors that made her ready for a husband. After her wedding to Pembroke, she had gone to her bed crying for Ned and alone save for Sybil in the trundle bed, shushing her. At this moment, near a decade older, she was blissful and eager for Ned’s touch.
“Kate?” Her name was a warm breath against her neck. Ned stood against her back, slipping his arms tight about her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.
“Yes,” she whispered, and she meant yes in every way she could mean yes. “I acknowledge you as my lord husband and lover, till death us do part.” She did not add, Or until Elizabeth parts us, but she believed they both thought it.
“Sshh,” he mouthed, turning her body toward his own, which even through his doublet radiated heat. “I need no more pledge from you than the one you made before God.” He kissed her, a slow, enveloping kiss that lasted until she was breathless.
She trembled, her heartbeat fluttering in her throat.
“I wish we had endless hours, but . . . I won’t hurt you, Kate. Not more than I have to. You know that.”
She touched his lips with the tips of her fingers to stop his stream of words. “Ned, for years I have lived and seen much at court, and my sister, Jane, told me of her wedding night.” Kate’s face must have revealed what her sister had confessed about her young, unfeeling husband.
Ned smiled and his lips parted and, slipping two fingers beneath her laces, he began to undo her stomacher. “Then, my heart, you know nothing but what is hidden or hated. You will know better, much better, I promise you.”
When the laces hung open, there were yet gown, sleeves, ruff, farthingale, shift and hose to remove. Ned looked at his hands. “These hands have not the patience for this work, Kate, and I would not frighten you with my fumbling hurry.”
“You don’t frighten me, Ned, but you do keep me waiting. Is it because I bring you no dowry but my name? You forget that as the queen’s chief lady, I am paid forty marks per annum.”
He laughed. “A princely sum. I have in my arms a woman of great wealth.”
She laughed in her turn. What had made her so bold? She did not know, but whatever it was, it continued. She moved toward th
e wide, towering bed that could hold several couples, a bed to match the famed Bed of Ware said to contain six loving couples at once. She pulled aside the heavy tapestry curtains.
She heard him shedding clothes behind her as she slipped from her gown, shift and farthingale. She hated the abomination the Spanish had brought to England, but no woman could be seen in a gown in public without it. The leather harness and bone structure crashed to the floor, leaving her hips and her womanhood free.
Ned picked her up gently and laid her on the fine linen sheets and swansdown pillows that smelled of sandlewood, smelled of him.
Ned shed his breeches and hose. In the crowded life of the court she had seen other naked men being sluiced with water during summer baths and at river plunges. But Ned surpassed them all. His powerful soldier’s body had been hardened by battle and outlined with the scars of healed wounds. A smile tugged at his mouth, softening his face almost to the innocence of the boy she’d first loved. She tried not to stare, but time and again she failed, her gaze traveling from his wide shoulders to his narrow waist and hard hips to . . . Her eyes widened. Ned needed none of the padding Elizabeth’s courtiers used to give themselves inflated bodies and manhood. “You are . . .” She searched for a word, but could only breathe, “Beautiful.”
Ned laughed. He waited for her to look her fill, until he could wait no longer. He lay beside her, his hand reaching for her golden red hair loosed from under its hood onto the silken pillow. He combed his fingers through her curls, thinking she looked like a sea nymph floating on white water. He touched her breasts, spreading his fingers across to capture both in his one large hand. “I promise to be easy, Kate,” he murmured against her cheek, his lips scalding.
She raised her hand and touched the fine brown hair on his chest. “You worry overmuch, Ned. I am no rag doll; I will not come apart.”
His cock was hard against her leg, and he thought she might have good reason to soon disown her own reassuring words.
But Kate had no sense to disown, to speak, to think. Falling to little pieces was what was happening to her at this moment, soft pieces of her body collapsing and melting into him at his touch. She closed her eyes, holding her breath as they were slowly, ever so little by little joined more completely in his bed than by any priest with all his ceremony. At his first thrust, her pain was sharp but brief, and followed by a molten rush mounting from his deepest touch, their passion rising higher and higher until each spilled love into the other.
Above her, he cried out her name. “Kate . . . Kate! My only love.”
As he said it, she believed him with all her body. He shook, his breathing ragged. God had saved her for Ned, through her false marriage, through her family’s disgrace. She was sure this was the Lord’s doing. Not even Elizabeth Tudor could stand against God.
He collapsed on top of her. “Are you—”
She threw her arms about him, holding him even closer. “I am very well, husband, never more well.” Kate gasped, drawing in needed breath and with it the unfamiliar musky odor of after-love. She was deeply filled and emptied by him, aware she’d been holding her breath, for how long she could only guess. She smiled up at the sound of his voice above her, thinking that her childhood punishments had hurt far worse than the sundering of her virginity.
Kate opened her eyes wide to find Ned looking down at her and, through a crack in the bed hangings, the chamber illuminated by the sun, newly burst through the fog, thrusting through thick glass oriel windows to cast a greenish light into every shadowy corner of the room.
Ned inclined his head to the glow. “God is smiling on us, Kate.”
The door creaked open. “Your pardon. Is it done?” Jane asked hurriedly.
Ned laughed, and Kate quickly hid her face in his chest. “It is well-done, sister.” Then for Kate’s ears, he whispered, “Though not for as long or as often as I would wish.”
The door opened wider. “Should I call a maid to help the lady Katherine dress?”
“No,” Ned responded. “I will be the Countess of Hertford’s maid this day, sister.” He swung his legs through the curtains and out of bed. “Wait in the hall, unless you wish to see me as God made me.”
“Edward, there is no time to lose,” Jane replied rather severely. “I am at risk, and I would have you both remember me.”
“Wait in the hall, sister,” Ned said, no teasing in his tone. “Sisters can be nettlesome,” he said, winking at Kate as the door closed, but at the lost look that swept her face, he took her in his arms. “I beg pardon, sweeting. I forgot about your own dear sister, Lady Jane Grey.”
“She would be happy for me, Ned, and there is no reason for you to remember. She is quite forgotten by all,” Kate said, her words wobbling with sudden remembrance of her kind and gentle sister. “It will be different with us.” She clasped him closer. “Won’t it?”
“Very different. Never doubt it. The queen would not dare to . . .”
“Take our heads?” Kate finished the sentence he was too loving to complete.
“Come, my countess,” he said, standing and raising her to her feet. “The sun is up, making this no day for gloom or doubt. Remember, whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”
Nor queen, echoed Kate as she stepped into her farthingale and Ned, laughing at its complications, tied it around her waist, then let her gown fall down to cover it.
They retraced their steps to the Westminster water stairs along with Jane, the chamberlain and two grooms, Kate keeping her warm, glowing face well in shadow under her hood and her hand in a tight hold of Ned’s arm.
He helped Jane into the waiting barge, then kissed Kate, clasping her so tightly that she groaned.
“I will see you soon?” she asked, not wanting to leave him without that promise.
“Yes, love. You will. With news of my betrothal, there will be no reason for the queen to keep me away from court. When I return we must be careful to be polite, but no longer caring.”
She clung to him. “That will be past enduring.”
“I know, my heart, but my sister will help us come together whenever it is safe.”
He put a hand inside his doublet and passed the marriage contract to her. “Just in case . . .”
She clasped him tighter. “In case of what?”
“Nothing will happen to me, but this belongs with you now.” He kissed her scarcely less ardently than he’d kissed her in their marriage bed, then gently placed her in the barge and shoved it away, the rowers beginning their rhythmic dipping and pulling, their doublets stretching tight across their backs.
Kate looked over her shoulder, waving as the sun went behind a cloud and a chill breeze swept round her hood. Ned’s figure disappeared quickly into the dark background of the mossy water stairs.
They had rowed about halfway back to Richmond when two huge barges crammed with soldiers, their upright pikes shining even as the afternoon light faded, a drum beating time for the oarsmen, came swiftly toward them.
Kate pushed Jane to the bottom of the boat, then crouched over her, hardly daring to breathe, and shushing Jane, who was mewling in fear.
The sound of drumming and splashing oars came closer. The bargeman at the tiller behind them complained: “M’lady, yer lord ne’er paid us to dodge the queen’s pikemen.”
“Be assured, he will pay you in far poorer coin if we are taken!” She made her voice as severe as she could, though she could not remove every tremor. She pressed her hands against the deck to stop their shaking. Dread covered her more surely than her cloak.
Had Dudley played them false? Were these yeomen guards on their way to arrest Ned and take him to the Tower? She prayed for strength and gathered some courage from the prayer for what might face her when she returned.
Kate spent the trip back to Richmond Palace calming herself, losing calm and finding it again. When they disembarked out of sight of the palace, Kate, holding fast to the faltering Jane Seymour, linked arms and came swinging down the board
walk as if returning from a stroll.
She would not wear her guilt for all to see, and that was easier than she imagined. Before God, she had done nothing outside His ordinances.
Courtiers stopped to bow as they passed. “Give you good day, my ladies.”
Kate curtsied in return. Surely, if there were a hue and cry, these gentlemen would know of it.
“Sir,” she said, “did we miss . . . a ceremony that brought out the guards?”
“Indeed, my lady,” a gentleman answered. “Her Grace is sending them to honor the French ambassador on his departure.”
“The queen is returned from the hunt?” Did she utter her own sentence for treason?
“Nay, lady, not as yet.”
She smiled her thanks, clasped Jane’s arm and half carried her down the path. Kate put some menace in her voice: “If you faint—”
“I’m quite recovered, sister,” Jane said, but her voice was a squeak.
They passed the tiltyard and entered the castle full of scurrying servants and courtiers about the business of preparing for the queen’s return, Jane going to her apartment. Without another word, Kate returned to her room to change her gown.
Did the loss of her chastity show clearly on her face? Did others see that she had left the palace a maid and returned a bedded wife? God was said to see everything and know each grain of sand on His earth. He must know what she and Ned had done this day in defiance of His anointed queen. Shaking herself, Kate refused to dwell on whether He approved or not.
She would face Elizabeth before she faced God.
Elizabeth and Dudley returned long after dark, cloaks and boots muddied, faces high-colored, eyes bright, calling loudly for their supper and mulled spiced wine. Both threw themselves down on the cushioned hearth before the fire in the queen’s antechamber, laughing, talking loudly, as if the wind were still in their faces.
Elizabeth threw off her cap, letting her red-gold hair fall about her shoulders as a mark of her unmarried state.
Jeane Westin Page 11