‘So we have something in common.’ Her brows puckered as if she were regarding him in a new light. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because you ought to be warned and I thought that nobody else might have told you.’
‘Then why do you serve Mortimer if you think so poorly of him?’
‘Because a man needs to belong somewhere if he’s to make anything of himself and some masters are better than others.’
‘Better than the King?’
‘Yes.’ He lifted a shoulder, agreeing without hesitation. ‘The King is a tyrant. He rules by fear, breaks his own laws and neglects the good of his subjects.’
‘Then you’re a traitor, too? Like Roger Mortimer?’
‘I suppose so. And you are Lady Mathilde Gosselin of Rudstone Manor near Scarborough. So now we may consider ourselves introduced.’
She inhaled sharply as if she were alarmed by the sound of her own name. ‘I don’t consort with traitors.’
‘Ah, but you already are.’ He leaned forward so that his mouth was only a hair’s breadth away from the shell of her ear. ‘Stay with the Queen if you wish, but be certain that you know who she really is. Don’t give her any more credit than she deserves.’
Her body stiffened, though she didn’t move away. ‘I trust her.’
‘Trust?’ He felt a moment of pity. ‘Courts are dangerous places for people who trust.’
‘Then perhaps you ought to leave.’
‘As you wish.’ He took a step backwards, resisting the urge to press his lips against the smooth skin of her neck instead. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m leaving in the morning, but I’ll be back soon, Lady Mathilde, and I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.’ He paused briefly. ‘If you’re still here, that is.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Hurry!’ The page made a beckoning motion. ‘They’re gathered in the hall.’
‘Already?’ Henry swore under his breath, striding through the dark corridors of the palace as fast as his bruised and knotted muscles would allow. It felt strange to be back, as if he’d only just left and yet been gone for months, too. The past few weeks seemed to have passed in a blur of travel, from France to the Low Countries to England, then back across the Channel to Hainault again, before a messenger had arrived summoning him urgently to Paris. At this rate, he was going to hear hoof beats in his sleep. ‘Has anything happened yet?’
‘Not yet, but I heard a rumour that one of the English envoys is planning to make a scene this evening.’ The page grinned conspiratorially. ‘They say he’s going to announce the King’s demands in front of the whole court.’
‘It’s about time. If you discover anything else, you know where to find me.’
Henry handed the boy a coin and then slipped inconspicuously through a side door into the hall, taking a place at the end of one table. Once seated, he glanced around, making sure nobody had noticed his arrival before looking up at the dais where the twelve-year-old Prince Edward sat between his mother and uncle. From a distance, they looked like a pair of guards, keeping the future of England safe between them, though whether as an honoured guest or as a prisoner it was impossible to tell.
He gave a cynical grunt and then turned his attention more enthusiastically towards the Queen’s attendants, searching for Lady Mathilde. He was just starting to think that she’d taken his advice and left when he finally found her, seated on one of the higher tables, looking even more like a lady of the court than the last time, dressed in an embroidered brocade gown with her dark hair swept back in a gold crespinette. As he watched, she raised a cup to her lips, though her eyes were moving slowly around the room, he noticed, as if she were searching for someone, too. Him? His blood stirred at the idea, though no doubt he was flattering himself. A lady who looked like that might have any number of admirers by now, all of them with better names and prospects than him. Still, he was surprised by how pleased he was to see her still there. After five months, she was just as intriguing as ever. Just as distracting, too. Despite the importance of the evening, he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to take her in his arms, to feel the soft press of her body and the warm touch of her lips against his. If only...
He wrenched his thoughts back to the present as a man approached the dais, dropped down on to one knee and begged leave to speak. He carried a message from the King of England, he said, an important one, bidding the Queen to leave France and come home.
Henry shook his head, smiling at the envoy’s naivety. No doubt he’d said the same words in private already, but he’d obviously thought that a public demand would be more effective because he spoke in a loud voice, intended to carry to the far ends of the hall, one that made the hush that followed all the more pronounced. It went on for so long that people began to exchange glances, until finally the Queen got to her feet, lifted her chin and calmly denounced her husband.
‘I will not.’
In stark contrast to the envoy, Isabella didn’t raise her voice and yet somehow it carried even further, all around the hall and back again, echoing portentously in every ear. Judging by the envoy’s stunned expression, the King hadn’t given any instructions about what to say in the event of a refusal, as if he’d never even considered the possibility. The King of France, on the other hand, obviously had. The very moment that Isabella stopped speaking, he stood up beside her and pledged his fraternal devotion and support. It was like watching a play, Henry thought, every word and movement carefully choreographed and rehearsed. And just like that, the rebellion had begun. After months of prevarication and stalling, the matter had finally come to a head.
Slowly, he moved away from the table and back towards the door. He’d seen what he’d come to see. In the morning, he would ride back to Hainault and tell Mortimer the time had come, but first he needed some sleep.
He paused in the doorway, unable to resist one last look back over his shoulder, not at the Queen, but at the woman who’d said that she trusted her. Lady Mathilde Gosselin’s expression was torn, like a woman trapped in the midst of events she didn’t wish to be a part of and with no idea what to do.
He felt a pang in his chest, accompanied by a powerful impulse to stride across the hall and rescue her, to take her by the hand and flee, but it was too late. The Queen had spoken. There was no turning back now.
* * *
‘W-widow’s robes, Your Grace?’ Mathilde stuttered, wondering if she’d misheard.
‘Yes.’ Isabella glanced at her impatiently. ‘Were you not listening to me last night?’
‘Yes, but I...’ She faltered. In all honesty, after the first few sentences, she hadn’t heard a great deal of the Queen’s speech, the words drowned out by the sound of panic ringing in her ears.
‘Cecily,’ Isabella snapped her fingers. ‘Come and help me dress. Kat, take the girl away and explain.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Mathilde shook her head as Katharine led her into the next chamber. ‘I just don’t understand—why does she wish to wear widow’s robes?’
‘To symbolise the rift in her marriage.’
‘But for a king who’s still alive...isn’t that treason?’
‘Aye.’
‘And we dress her. Won’t that make us traitors, too?’ Her stomach lurched. That would be her father’s first thought when he heard about what had happened, she knew, that his own daughter was betraying the King. She’d hardly slept the previous night for worrying about it, torn between her filial duty to him on the one hand and her newfound loyalty to the Queen on the other. No matter which side she chose, she wound up feeling guilty.
‘A bad king is a traitor to his own country.’ Katharine spoke matter-of-factly. ‘Edward is the villain, not us.’
Mathilde turned to look out of the window at the palace gardens, wishing that she could be so certain. Oddly enough, she found herself wanting to speak to Henry Wright about it. Even though
she’d told him to leave, she’d still searched the hall for his face every day over the past few weeks, and now that they were on the same side, sort of, she had mixed feelings towards him. There was something undeniably appealing about his cynicism and frankness, not to mention his handsome features. Wicked though it was, she also couldn’t forget the strange tingling sensation she’d felt the last time they’d met, nor the way her body had reacted to his close proximity. She’d relived the memory several times over in her dreams, going even further, too, imagining what might have happened if she hadn’t left the stairwell when she had...
‘What’s going to happen next?’ she asked before her wayward imagination could run away with her.
‘An invasion.’
‘Of England?’
Katharine gave her a scathing look and she felt her cheeks flush. Of course of England, though it was hard to imagine a queen invading her own country; even harder to imagine herself as a part of it.
‘Why doesn’t the King just agree to her demands?’ She tried to ask a more intelligent question.
‘Because no man wants to be told what to do by a woman.’ Katharine’s voice held a bitter edge. ‘And she couldn’t trust him even if he did. He’s made promises before, but Despenser always returns and gets rewarded with more jewels and titles for the privilege. Nobody with sense believes the King’s word any more.’
‘You mean he lies?’
‘Maybe not when he speaks. Maybe he truly believes what he says and then changes his mind the next day, but a king should keep to his vows. Whatever Isabella does next, he’s brought it all on himself. Sometimes force is the only way.’
Mathilde winced, thinking of her home and family. ‘When will the invasion be?’
‘In the spring, as soon as the weather improves and the Channel crossing is safer.’
‘But won’t the King be expecting it? Won’t he have time to prepare?’
‘If he’s not, then he’s an even greater fool than I thought, but it can’t be helped. It’s hard to muster an army and plan an invasion in secret.’
‘So the Queen’s already gathering an army?’
‘Honestly, girl!’ Katharine shook her head with exasperation. ‘What do you think Mortimer is doing in Hainault? From what I’ve heard, he’s already discussing a betrothal between Prince Edward and the Count’s daughter Philippa in exchange for soldiers.’
‘But I thought the Prince was going to marry the Infanta of Spain?’
‘It was suggested, but there was no formal agreement. Now it looks like there won’t be.’
Mathilde squeezed her brows together. The world as she knew and understood it seemed to be rearranging itself before her eyes, as if a familiar painting had suddenly sprung to life, revealing deeper, darker depths. Her gaze fell briefly on the river that ran through the centre of the gardens before she jerked her head away, the sight of the water making her shudder.
‘What will happen to us if the Queen leads an invasion?’ She tried to make it sound like a possibility instead of a certainty.
‘Then we’ll go with her.’
‘With the army?’ Mathilde clutched the edges of her mantle tighter at her throat, feeling chilled all of a sudden. As much as she wanted to serve the Queen, she didn’t want to be part of an invasion. She especially didn’t want to see any fighting, but even she knew it would be hard to have a rebellion without any bloodshed.
‘We’re the Queen’s ladies. We go where she goes.’
‘What about Prince Edward? Will he come?’
‘Aye. She’ll keep him tight at her side.’
‘It must be hard, having to choose between his parents.’
‘Perhaps it would be if he had any choice.’
Mathilde sighed, pressing her forehead against the windowpane and feeling a pang of sympathy for the young Prince. As she stood there, a man appeared on the path below, walking in the direction of the stables. There was something familiar about his gait, she noticed, almost as if she’d made a point of remembering it...
‘What do you make of him?’
‘Who?’ Her heart leapt as she recognised Henry.
‘Who? Prince Edward. Who else?’
‘Oh... I don’t know.’
‘He has the look of a king, I think, a lot like his grandfather.’
‘Mmm...’ Mathilde murmured noncommittally, sucking in a breath as Henry turned his head and looked up suddenly as if sensing her scrutiny, his gaze moving along the palace windows before it reached hers and stopped.
‘One of Mortimer’s men?’
She gave a start as Katharine peered over her shoulder. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘On his way to fetch him, no doubt. They’ll all be here soon, every exile and enemy the King has ever made. Mark my words, Mortimer will be at the Queen’s side within a fortnight.’
Mathilde nodded, fighting the temptation to lift a hand and wave as Henry removed his hat and made a small bow. Had he been at court the whole time, after all? No, she would have caught sight of him somewhere. He must have returned recently and was already leaving again, but if he was going to fetch Mortimer then surely that meant he would be back soon, too? Then she could speak to him properly...
‘Don’t worry about the future, girl.’ Katharine’s voice sounded weary all of a sudden. ‘Kings and queens make the decisions, not us. We’re only their servants.’
‘But we serve them...’ Mathilde bit down on her bottom lip, ashamed to admit that for a few moments she hadn’t been thinking about Isabella or Edward or the future of England at all.
CHAPTER SIX
Winter 1325
‘My Lord of Wigmore, welcome back to Paris.’
‘I’m honoured to be here, Your Grace.’
Henry bent down on one knee as Mortimer made a show of deference to the French King. As displays went, it was a mere token gesture since both men, and most likely the whole court, knew who Mortimer had really come to see. They all knew how quickly he would attempt to excuse himself, too, although on this occasion, Henry found himself in sympathy with his master. Unwise though it undoubtedly was, now he was back in Paris, he couldn’t resist the temptation to seek Lady Mathilde out, if only to find out how she was faring.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the King drew Mortimer aside privately and Henry was able to escape and make his way through the palace corridors towards the Queen’s guest chambers. He had absolutely no idea what excuse he might use for going there, but he’d think of something...
‘Look out!’ He reared backwards abruptly and then broke into a wide grin as a woman came running around a corner, almost bumping into him in her haste. Luck, it seemed, was on his side. ‘Well met, Lady Mathilde.’
‘Oh!’ She stopped, too, her brown eyes widening with recognition. ‘You?’
‘Me,’ he agreed, for once wishing he hadn’t been so quick to react. If he’d only kept walking, she would have charged straight into his arms. ‘Henry Wright, remember?’
‘I remember.’
‘I’m honoured.’ He inclined his head. She was dressed fashionably, but more plainly today, he noticed, in a shade of forest green that perfectly complemented the rich chestnut colour of her hair, which was itself twisted into two intricate, face-framing plaits. The expression on that face was faintly cautious, but her words were more encouragement than he’d expected.
‘I was just...’ She glanced past his shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘The Queen heard a rumour that Mortimer has arrived.’
‘And sent you to find out what the delay was?’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘He’s still speaking with the King, but he’ll be along this way soon, trust me. You could save yourself a journey if you stay here and talk with me a while. If you wish to, that is?’
‘All right.’ To his surprise, she didn’t hesitate, smoothing her hands over the front of her gown and liftin
g her chin instead. ‘As you can see, I haven’t left court.’
‘I’m glad.’ He reached into his tunic and drew out a small wooden trinket box with a pattern of heartsease etched on the top. ‘Since it means I can give you this.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t accept gifts. The Queen wouldn’t approve.’
‘Then call it a peace offering. An apology for my behaviour the last time we spoke.’
‘I still don’t think—’
‘Just look inside. The contents are what really matters.’
‘Oh, very well...’ She accepted the box tentatively, opening the lid and then closing it again with a snap. ‘Dirt?’
‘Not just any dirt.’ He raised a hand at her indignant expression. She looked as if she wanted to hurl the contents in his face. ‘It’s a gift, truly. You said that you were homesick so I brought a little bit of England back to Paris for you.’
‘You mean this is English soil?’ The indignation faded as her lips curved instead. ‘Thank you. That’s the most thoughtful—wait! Does this mean you’ve been back to England?’
‘Briefly.’
‘Oh...’ A furrow appeared between her brows as if she were trying to decide whether or not to say something.
‘What is it?’ he prompted her.
‘Are you a spy?’
He almost laughed aloud at the question. It was hardly a wise one under any circumstances, nor likely to get an honest answer, and yet he couldn’t resist telling her the truth anyway. ‘I suppose you could call me that. It sounds better than traitor.’
‘Aren’t you afraid of being caught?’
‘Sometimes. I find it best not to think about it.’
‘I wish I could do that. I seem to be afraid of so many things these days and I can’t seem to stop thinking about them.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well...’ She pressed her lips together for several seconds. ‘Not so much my own safety, although I do think about that sometimes, but about what will happen if the Queen really invades England, whether my family will be safe, what my father will think of me for being a part of it...’
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