In the meantime, he had nothing to offer her but hope. And if what she’d told him about her father was true, then even that was reduced to a sliver. He was doubly undesirable as a suitor: a bastard and a traitor. Even if he was rewarded eventually, there was no hope of a future together and it was selfish of him to dream otherwise. Besides, it was becoming dangerous, the way he felt about her. Liking and attraction were one thing, but he didn’t want to fall in love, especially with a woman he could never have. He’d spent most of his life actively avoiding heartache. How foolish would he be to let down his guard and go looking for it now? The safest thing that he could do was say farewell and make certain he was never alone with her again.
‘I was honoured to serve, my lady.’ He bowed his head though his eyes never left her face. ‘But now you should go back to the Queen’s rooms. I’ll take care of Lady Cecily.’
‘Are you sure?’ She glanced over her shoulder to where her friend was just stirring again.
‘I won’t go anywhere until she’s recovered, you have my word.’
‘Thank you.’ She rose up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering, velvety soft against his skin, so that it took all of his willpower not to turn his head and claim them. For a tantalising moment he imagined doing just that, imagined parting her lips with his own and dipping his tongue inside, tasting and possessing her whole mouth, but it was no use. Even if, by some amazing chance, the Queen didn’t forbid a match with a penniless spy, then her father certainly would. There was no possible way it could end well.
He squeezed his fingernails into his palms, stifling the temptation to reach for her again. ‘Goodnight, Lady Mathilde.’
CHAPTER NINE
Spring 1326
‘How long have you known?’ It was March by the time Katharine asked the question Mathilde had been dreading.
‘A few months.’ She threw a guilty glance at the bed where Cecily was dozing.
‘I’ve known that something was wrong for a while, but she kept on denying it.’ Katharine jumped as a log made a loud snapping sound in the hearth. ‘I finally confronted her this afternoon.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Did she ask you not to tell me?’
‘Yes. I think she didn’t want to upset you.’
‘Then you’ve nothing to apologise for. You were being a good friend. You are a good friend.’
Mathilde bent her head, relieved that the truth was finally out in the open, though it didn’t make it any easier to bear. ‘She says that she’s spoken to healers, but maybe the Queen’s physician might be able to help?’
‘Pah!’ Katharine’s tone was bitter. ‘I’ll ask, but the Queen has no ears for any subject but Mortimer.’
Mathilde winced at the words, though she could hardly dispute them either. Isabella had seemed almost wilfully deaf and blind to Cecily’s suffering all through the winter, so preoccupied with her own concerns that she’d scarcely even noticed when Lady Berthe and six of the other spies had slipped away one night, fleeing back to England just as Henry had told her they would.
Something seemed to have gone wrong with the Queen’s plans, but frustratingly Mathilde had no idea what. All she knew was that the invasion planned for the spring wasn’t going to happen and, not wanting to bother an anxious Katharine with questions, there was only one person she could think of to ask about it.
Unfortunately, she’d barely seen Henry, let alone spoken to him for months. He seemed to come and go, sometimes at court, other times absent for weeks at a time, and she caught only occasional glimpses of him even when he was there. After what he’d said the last time they’d met, she suspected that he was avoiding her deliberately. He noticed her, she thought, or at least his eyes always seemed to be moving away whenever she glanced in his direction, but he never passed by or visited the Queen’s chambers any more.
Instead, he seemed to have been appointed as some kind of companion to the young Prince, spending most of his time in the stable yard and bailey, practising sword skills and jousting. It was probably for the best. In her heart, she knew that he’d only spoken the truth about their respective positions. It didn’t matter how much he liked her, or she him, there was no hope of a future together. She ought to forget him, but that was easier said than done, especially when she didn’t truly want to.
After a few days of indecision, she decided to take a chance, making a detour to the stables one morning on her way back from the palace kitchens. By good fortune, Henry was the very first person she saw, his black curls gleaming in the morning sunshine as he prepared his horse for what looked like a hunting expedition. Quickly, she hurried towards him and then stopped in the middle of the yard as she realised how unladylike her behaviour might seem to others. She ought not to be there in such a predominantly male domain, and on her own, too, but as she started to turn away Henry looked up, caught her eye and immediately dropped what he was doing to come and speak with her.
‘What is it?’ He sounded concerned. ‘Is Lady Cecily worse?’
‘No.’ Mathilde looked down at her feet, feeling foolish and tongue-tied all of a sudden. An hour ago, it had seemed a good idea to come and find him, but now she was painfully aware of other eyes watching them. There were two grooms on the other side of the yard and she could hear voices inside the stables. What if gossip about her behaviour reached the Queen?
‘Lady Mathilde?’ Henry prompted her and she shook her head apologetically.
‘It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have come. I only wanted to ask you a question.’
He didn’t answer immediately, his expression oddly torn, as if he didn’t know whether to look pleased or to chide her, before he chose the former and smiled. ‘Later. I’ll find you.’
She gave a quick nod and hurried away, spending the rest of the day in a state of nervous anticipation, though she was kept busy with tasks. With most of the spies gone, there was a lot more work to be shared, and she was already doing most of Katharine and Cecily’s, too. All of which meant she had barely any time to herself until the late afternoon when the Queen announced that she had private business to discuss with Mortimer.
The door to the withdrawing chamber had barely closed behind them before a boy appeared in the corridor, studying Mathilde for a few seconds before tipping his head to one side like a bird, jerking his thumb to the left and then running away.
‘Kat?’ Mathilde felt her heart give a small flutter at the signal. ‘I’m going outside.’
‘Now?’ Katharine glanced pointedly towards the window. ‘It’s getting dark.’
‘I know. I won’t be long.’ She threw her red mantle around her shoulders. ‘I just want to stretch my legs a little.’
‘Mmm.’ Katharine gave her a suspicious glance, but fortunately didn’t protest as Mathilde ran out to the gallery.
‘Well met, lady.’ Henry was leaning against the wall, arms crossed with one ankle folded casually over the other. In contrast to his usual plain clothes, today he was dressed like a courtier in the latest French fashion, with dark hose and a turquoise-blue doublet overlaid with a contrasting and expensive-looking burgundy mantle. He definitely wasn’t trying to blend into the shadows any longer. Sir Nobody of Nowhere he might have called himself, but today he looked like the son of an earl or a baron or even a baron himself. ‘That was quick.’
‘You timed it well.’
‘I made a point of walking here with Mortimer. The Queen shouldn’t need you for an hour at least.’
She gave a restrained smile, trying not to show how pleased she was to be in his company again. ‘How did the boy know who I was?’
‘I described you. I told him to look for the most beautiful woman in the palace.’
‘Don’t be absurd.’
‘It’s the truth!’ He held an arm out like a seasoned courtier. ‘Shall we take a walk?’
Twiligh
t was deepening as they made their way out into the palace gardens and along an avenue of lime trees. Fortunately, the sky was cloudless and the moon full, illuminating the path ahead of them with pale, silvery light. A couple of guards were already walking there, although they stepped aside quickly when they saw Henry. Mathilde didn’t like the way that they smirked, as if they thought he’d brought her there for some kind of romantic liaison, although she could hardly complain when she was the one who’d asked for a meeting.
‘You’re working too hard,’ Henry commented when they were finally alone again. ‘You ought to be resting.’
She twisted her face towards him in surprise. ‘Have you been spying on me now?’
‘I don’t need to. There are dark circles around your eyes.’
‘Everyone’s busy. The Queen doesn’t have as many ladies these days. As you know.’
‘Yes, I did notice.’ There was a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘So what was it you wanted to ask me?’
‘It’s about the invasion and whether it’s still going ahead?’
‘Of course.’ It was his turn to look surprised. ‘What would make you think otherwise?’
‘Just because it’s the spring. I thought that something would have happened by now.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘There have been some delays. It takes time and money to muster an army.’
‘Can’t the French King help?’
‘There’s only so much help Isabella can accept from her brother. A French-born queen sending a French army into England would antagonise the barons just when she needs their support.’
‘Then what about Hainault? Prince Edward is going to marry Count Guillame’s daughter, isn’t he?’
‘Are you a spy now as well?’ He gave her an approving look. ‘Yes, the betrothal is almost agreed upon, only with a dowry of ships and soldiers instead of gold.’
‘So you’re saying this is just a delay, not a change of heart?’
‘Exactly. The Queen’s course is set. There’s no turning back from it now.’
‘Oh.’
‘You sound disappointed.’ She felt rather than saw his eyes turn questioningly towards her.
‘I am. I suppose I was hoping you’d say that the King and Queen were engaged in secret peace talks.’ She sighed. ‘In that case, I’m sorry for coming to the stable yard. I just didn’t know who else to ask and...well, I trust you.’
He squeezed her arm, tugging her closer towards him. ‘Don’t be sorry, I was glad to see you.’
‘Really?’ She glanced at him dubiously. ‘We haven’t spoken for a while.’
‘I know. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. I just thought that it was for the best.’
‘Because I’m a lady?’
‘Yes. And because it’s dangerous to want what you can’t have. Some people would say that it’s looking for trouble.’
He stopped walking, making a move as if to sit down on the riverbank, but she grabbed at his sleeve.
‘Not there!’ She tried to keep the burst of panic out of her voice. ‘Somewhere else.’
‘As you wish.’ He gave her a searching look, although thankfully didn’t argue, leading her towards the shelter of a giant oak tree instead. ‘Is this better?’
‘Much,’ she agreed readily as he took off his mantle and spread it out on the ground with a flourish.
‘My lady?’ There was a twinkle in his eye as he gestured for her to sit, but she hesitated none the less, remembering the expressions on the guards’ faces when they’d seen them walking alone together. How much worse would they look if they saw them sitting side by side, half-hidden in the shadows?
‘They won’t disturb us.’ Henry seemed to understand her reticence. ‘There are some perks to being one of Mortimer’s men.’
‘Oh... I see.’ She perched on the edge of the mantle, pulling her knees up to her chest. It still didn’t seem like something she ought to be doing, but she was tired and it was a relief to rest her legs. ‘Thank you. It’s been a long day.’
‘Like I said, you ought to be resting.’ He sat down beside her, his expression concerned.
‘So should you. It looks like the Prince keeps you busy.’
‘Edward rarely sits still for two minutes at a time.’ He chuckled. ‘He makes me feel old.’
‘How old are you?’ she asked, feigning uninterest by tugging on a blade of grass.
‘Two and twenty. So I really have no excuse.’
‘No, I suppose not...’
He leaned back against the tree trunk, regarding her through hooded eyes. ‘Don’t.’
She started, snapping the grass between her fingertips. ‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t wonder about how old Mortimer might be and whether that makes him my father. I told you, I don’t know.’
She flushed guiltily, glad of the darkness concealing her cheeks. ‘Won’t your mother tell you?’
‘She can’t. She’s dead. Or so I heard anyway.’
‘Oh.’ She blinked at the note of emptiness in his voice. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I, although to be honest, it doesn’t make a huge amount of difference to my life. I hadn’t seen her since I was six years old. I don’t even remember what she looked like.’ His shrug looked a little too forced. ‘I suppose it might have helped if I’d resembled her a little, but I seem to be all Mortimer.’
‘So the Mortimer family acknowledge you?’
‘They keep me in their service, if that’s what you mean. Spying and fighting for them is all that I’m trained for. It’s better than nothing, but sometimes I think a trade might have been preferable.’
Mathilde shifted position, tucking her legs up beneath her as she leaned against the trunk beside him. She’d heard cynicism in his voice before, but melancholy was something new. It made her feel closer to him somehow, closer than she’d felt to anyone in a long time.
‘Tell me about that home of yours,’ he said, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes as if he’d just requested a bedtime story. ‘The one you were missing so much when we first met. Rudstone Manor, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, between Scarborough and York.’
‘What was it you missed most about it? Surely not the weather?’ His lips quirked. ‘I’ve been to the north of England.’
‘No, not the weather, although it’s not always bad. You people further south only think so.’ She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I missed—miss—everything about it. The house, for a start. My great-grandfather built it, but new rooms have been added since. There’s a hall with a small entrance room at one end and a solar and bedchamber above. The kitchen’s outside on its own and there’s a stable and brewhouse and barn, but no wall, just a wooden fence around the buildings. Then outside there are fields. We grow wheat and barley mostly and keep sheep and a few goats.’
‘I’m starting to understand why you miss it.’ He gave a faint sigh. ‘I’d like something like that for myself one day. A real home. What about your family? Tell me about them.’
‘Why?’ She leaned closer, able to study his face in more detail now that he had his eyes closed. In the twilight, he looked almost uncannily like Mortimer, all except for his curly hair and a jagged white scar on his chin that suggested he’d once been cut there. She wondered how... ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I suppose I’d like to know what it’s like.’
‘To have a family?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes snapped open again suddenly, like blue orbs glowing in the moonlight. ‘Are you close?’
‘Very.’ She shifted backwards again. ‘Especially to my sister, Hawise. She’s the oldest, but she got married and left home three years ago. My brothers are all younger. Aland, Laurent and Dicun. Aland is the closest to me in age, but I miss them all.’ She paused. ‘Then there’s just my father.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘She died when I was twelve.’
‘I see.’ He frowned. ‘So if you were the only woman left when your sister married, didn’t your father want you to stay and run his household?’
‘No, he found someone else for that, a maid.’ She pursed her lips briefly before letting the truth out in a rush. ‘He wanted to get rid of me. Apart from anything else, I was unnecessary at home, just another mouth to feed. So he sent me to court.’
‘Ah.’
‘So you see, there was never really any choice about me going back.’ She forced a smile. ‘Fortunately, I’m not as homesick as I used to be. I belong with the Queen now.’
His frown deepened. ‘Just because you can’t go home doesn’t mean you have to stay with her.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘No.’ He reached a hand out, lacing his fingers slowly through hers. ‘There are other possibilities.’
She drew in a breath, though her voice still emerged as a whisper. ‘What possibilities?’
* * *
Henry kept hold of Mathilde’s hand. There was something comforting about the feeling of her slender fingers wrapped inside his. Something that felt right, too, as if some hollow part of him had been filled. She’d looked so anxious that morning in the stable yard that he hadn’t been able to resist meeting her, no matter how much his better judgement had argued against it, and, now he was touching her again after three months of only occasional and distant glimpses, he didn’t want to let go. But it was folly. He was spinning dreams, wanting to tell her he wouldn’t be a spy for ever, that he intended to be a man of fortune and have a home and land of his own one day, a home that he could share, but he couldn’t make any promises, not yet... He needed to barricade his heart before he did something foolish.
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