Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  He rubbed his thumb over the backs of her knuckles, evading her question to make an offer instead. ‘You know, if you wish, I could carry a message to your family. I’m travelling to England again soon.’

  ‘You’re going back?’ She looked alarmed. ‘But isn’t that dangerous?’

  ‘Only if I get caught.’ He smiled. ‘Will you worry about me?’

  ‘Of course I will! You look so much like Mortimer!’

  He laughed, resisting the impulse to point out that she herself hadn’t guessed the relation. ‘So do a lot of people. Fortunately black hair and blue eyes aren’t yet a crime in Edward’s England. Besides, I’ll be a long way from London. Most of my work will be in Scotland.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked only mildly placated. ‘Why there?’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Are you certain that you’re not a spy?’

  ‘A spy would think of a cleverer way to ask.’

  ‘Ah, but perhaps that’s the truly clever part. Perhaps you disguise yourself as a beautiful young maiden simply to trick me into telling you stories.’

  ‘I’m not beautiful.’ Her brow creased as she turned her head away. ‘And I don’t have any wiles.’

  ‘You’re more beautiful than you realise.’ He lifted the hand that wasn’t already holding hers to her chin, twisting her face back towards him. ‘I’m going to Berwick because the Bruce wants to be acknowledged as King of Scotland and Isabella’s prepared to agree.’

  ‘You mean that she’s going to give up the Crown’s claim to Scotland?’ Mathilde stared at him in disbelief and he could understand why. The first King Edward had spent twenty years campaigning in the north. The idea of giving back all the territory he’d fought so hard over seemed incredible, but after the disaster of Bannockburn there was little choice. Isabella couldn’t fight her husband and defend England’s borders at the same time.

  ‘Yes. In return for peace, a promise not to cause trouble when she invades. She’s a clever woman, your Queen.’

  ‘Our Queen,’ she corrected him. ‘Do you promise to come back?’

  Henry looked down at their hands. They were still twined together. Fanciful as it sounded, he felt as if their minds were joined in some way now, too. ‘I promise to do my best, although maybe not to Paris. I don’t know how long I’ll be away, but I’ll find you again, Mathilde, wherever you are.’

  ‘And will you meet with me then or will you still avoid me for being a lady?’ Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  ‘I shouldn’t meet with you. It would be better for you that way.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that be my decision?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘It’s not as if we’d be doing anything wrong. Neither of us is married or promised to anyone else.’

  ‘Your father still wouldn’t approve.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m illegitimate.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘There’s your reputation to consider.’

  ‘I know that, too. The Queen might not like there to be rumours about one of her ladies, but... I like being with you.’

  ‘I like being with you, too.’

  ‘And it’s hardly as bad as invading a country!’ She gave a nervous-sounding laugh. ‘As long as we’re discreet, like the Queen and Mortimer, then nobody else would ever need to know... Would they?’

  He glanced back towards the palace. He ought to refuse, to say that he absolutely couldn’t meet her again, but the words wouldn’t come. And maybe they didn’t need to. Maybe after the invasion, Mortimer would reward him sooner rather than later, and then they wouldn’t be so far apart in station, after all. Maybe there was a chance...a slim and possibly insane one, but he still grasped at it...

  ‘Then we’ll be careful.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Mathilde, I can’t make any promises, I’ve nothing to offer you at the moment and I don’t know what the future will bring. All I can say with any certainty is that I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I have nothing to offer either, but I’ll miss you, too.’ She smiled and then sobered. ‘As for your offer, I thank you, but I’ve no message for home. I haven’t heard anything from my father since I reached Paris and it would be too dangerous. I couldn’t trust him not to turn you over to the King’s men.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He slid his free arm around her waist, drawing her close. ‘So here we are, the Queen’s lady and the traitor’s bastard.’

  She laid her head on his shoulder, settling against him. ‘You shouldn’t call yourself that.’

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘But not the whole truth. You’re a lot more than that.’

  He kissed her. He wasn’t aware of moving, or of making any conscious decision to do so. He was only suddenly aware of their lips touching, as if he simply hadn’t been able not to kiss her any longer.

  ‘Mathilde...’ he moaned her name into her mouth, surprised and pleased when she moaned his back. It felt better than he’d even imagined, as if he’d found the one place in the world he most wanted to be. She’d never been kissed before, that was obvious, but what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. He didn’t hold back either, deepening the kiss while he lifted her on to his lap, wishing that they were indoors, somewhere more comfortable, and not outside, beneath a tree in the cold evening air. Not that it felt particularly cold at that moment. On the contrary, he felt red-hot, almost drunk with the sweet taste of her mouth, with the way that her hands slid around his neck, too, not to mention the feeling of her breasts rising and falling against his chest. He wanted to kiss her for hours, to touch and caress every part of her, but there was no time and it was too risky. If somebody saw them...

  ‘Tell me to stop.’ He broke the kiss with a low growl of frustration, burying his face in her neck.

  ‘What?’ She ran her hands over his shoulder blades and down his back, her breath emerging in soft pants that inflamed his senses even further.

  ‘Tell me to stop kissing you.’ He couldn’t resist trailing his lips across the silken column of her throat, his willpower ebbing away as desire began to overwhelm caution. ‘Tell me. Please.’

  ‘Stop.’ She pulled back, her brown eyes swollen to black as her chest heaved against his, so soft and supple, separated only by her gown and his tunic.

  ‘Forgive me.’ He clutched at her waist, his voice still thick with desire as he tried to steady his own breathing. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘I did it, too. There’s nothing to forgive.’ She gulped. ‘Was it good?’

  ‘It was better than good, but it’s not a good idea. Not yet.’

  ‘Then maybe we should call it a farewell kiss.’ She slid off his lap, crouching in front of him.

  ‘As horrible as that sounds, it might be for the best.’

  ‘Well, then...’ She raised her hands to either side of his face, her gaze intent. ‘You’ll take care in Scotland?’

  ‘I will, I promise.’ He had to clench his fingers to stop himself from reaching for her one last time. ‘Trust me, Mathilde.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do you promise to take care, too?’

  ‘Of course. The Queen will take care of me, but now I’d better go. Katharine will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Yes.’ He watched as she stood up, unable to move at that precise moment. ‘Goodbye, Mathilde.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ She gave him a single swift nod and then disappeared into the darkness.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Summer 1326

  ‘Where have you been?’ Katharine came rushing out of the Queen’s dressing chamber, a look of panic on her face.

  ‘To the herb garden for some lavender.’ Mathilde looked around in alarm. ‘What’s happened? What’s the matter?’

  ‘We’re leaving in the morning! Which means we need to pack up everything to
night and I’ve no idea where to start!’

  ‘Leaving?’ Mathilde’s heart leapt into her throat. Despite what Henry had said, she’d still harboured a faint hope that the invasion wouldn’t happen, but if they were finally leaving then surely that meant they were going back to England and war?

  Katharine nodded distractedly. ‘King Edward sent a message demanding she leave France at once and King Charles agreed.’

  ‘So her own brother is sending her away?’

  ‘Only because the timing is so perfect. We’re expected in Ponthieu.’

  ‘What’s in Ponthieu?’

  ‘Soldiers, mercenaries, money.’ Katharine’s lips twisted in a grimace. ‘Then we’ll ride on to Hainault. Mortimer’s already there, waiting for her.’

  Mathilde’s thoughts jumped immediately to Henry. Would he be there, too? There had been no word of him since he’d left for Scotland in March, or at least none that she knew of, but then who would have told her if there had been? He was a spy and she had no right to ask. It would have looked suspicious if she had. Instead, she’d been forced to rely on hearsay and whispers and there had been precious little of those. No one had even mentioned his name, as if he’d existed only as a figment of her imagination.

  Since that evening beneath the oak tree, she’d found herself thinking about him every day. And night, too. How could she not after the way that he’d kissed her? The way she’d kissed him in return... Maybe she shouldn’t have, but just the memory made her lips tremble again. It was impossible to forget the way his heart had felt thumping heavily against her breast, not to mention the feeling of his powerful muscles beneath her fingertips. Even far apart, she felt closer to him than to anyone.

  He’d promised to find her when he returned and she believed him, although she knew that he’d been giving her a warning, too, telling her the truth as gently as possible, that he couldn’t offer her a future together because he was the illegitimate son of a traitor, not to mention a traitor himself. His only hope of advancement was for the invasion to be successful, but it made her uncomfortable to think of profiting from it. She served the Queen, but she still didn’t want to take sides. She only wished there was someone she could talk to about Henry, but she had a strong suspicion that no one else would approve. The Queen’s ladies needed to be above reproach, no matter how the Queen herself might behave.

  ‘There’s so much to do!’ Katharine threw her hands up in despair.

  ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘What about Cecily? How will she cope with the journey?’

  The other woman’s voice broke and Mathilde reacted instinctively, wrapping her arms around her for comfort. She didn’t know whether Katharine would appreciate the gesture or not, but to her surprise she didn’t push her away. The older woman only stiffened for a moment before embracing her back, her chest heaving with sobs as her fingernails dug into Mathilde’s shoulder blades so sharply they hurt. Mathilde didn’t flinch or complain. By now, they both knew that Cecily was dying, although neither of them had said the words out loud. She knew that Katharine was right about the journey, too. Travel would only cause her more suffering.

  ‘Perhaps Cecily ought to stay here?’ she suggested tentatively.

  ‘That’s what I told her.’ Katharine pulled away at last, rubbing the heels of her hands over her wet cheeks. ‘I said that I’d stay with her, too, but she won’t hear of it.’

  ‘Then perhaps we can shorten the journey. Perhaps the two of you could go straight to Hainault?’

  ‘Do you think the Queen would allow it?’ Katharine looked hopeful.

  ‘Possibly.’ Mathilde lifted her shoulders, unable to answer more definitely when, in truth, she had no idea how Isabella would react. Since Mortimer’s departure from Paris in May, she seemed to have turned into a different woman, becoming increasingly moody and short-tempered. It made a striking contrast to the year before. Back then she’d always been so calm and clear-headed, but now she acted as if he was all that mattered.

  ‘I’ll ask.’ Katharine nodded decisively. ‘For Cecily’s sake, I’ll do it.’

  * * *

  Katharine spoke with Isabella later that evening. Mathilde could hear their muffled voices through the walls as she closed up the last of the coffers, Katharine’s beseeching while Isabella’s sounded aggrieved.

  ‘Mathilde!’

  She straightened up at the sound of the Queen’s call, passing a strained-looking Katharine in the doorway to her bedchamber.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace?’

  ‘Bring me some wine.’ Isabella snapped her fingers as she paced up and down, her irritation obvious.

  ‘Of course, Your Grace.’ Mathilde poured out a cup of burgundy and then waited to be dismissed as Isabella took it and crossed to the window.

  ‘I suppose you know that Kat and Cecily want to leave me now, too?’ Her voice sounded petulant.

  ‘I do not think they want to, Your Grace.’ Mathilde felt compelled to defend them. ‘But Lady Cecily is very sick. The journey to Ponthieu might be too much for her.’

  ‘Is she really so unwell, then?’ Isabella gave her a sharp look.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. The pain in her stomach seems to grow worse every day.’

  ‘Yet she’s well enough to travel to Hainault?’

  ‘No, but she’s determined to return to England.’

  Isabella’s mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic pout. ‘Oh, very well, then. Tell them they can go straight to Hainault. Kat’s getting too old to be of much use anyway and if Cecily’s as bad as you say then I don’t want her slowing us down.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Mathilde bit her tongue against a surge of anger. Isabella spoke as if they were simply encumbrances instead of two women who’d served her loyally for almost twenty years.

  ‘You’re not planning to leave me as well, are you?’ Isabella’s voice wavered.

  ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’ Mathilde shook her head, the note of appeal instantly assuaging her anger. Isabella was already weighed down with cares, she reminded herself. It wasn’t that she held no affection for Cecily or was heartless. She simply had so many things to worry about. If the invasion went wrong, then the consequences would be terrible. No king would ever forgive such a betrayal. The rest of her life would be spent in a prison. A gilded prison, perhaps, but a prison none the less, with only her women for company. No wonder she was preoccupied and afraid of people deserting her.

  ‘Promise me, Mathilde.’ Isabella came towards her, placing a heavily jewelled hand on her shoulder. ‘Promise that you won’t abandon me for anyone else. I need at least one lady whose loyalty I can trust. You know that I’m only doing this because I don’t have a choice, don’t you? It’s for the good of England, for my son’s future, too.’

  ‘I know, Your Grace.’

  ‘Then will you promise to stay with me until all this is over?’

  She swallowed, feeling a faint stirring of misgiving. She didn’t want to make any promise that might jeopardise a possible future with Henry, however unlikely that might be, but then Isabella wasn’t asking for forever, just until all this was over. She could promise her that much, surely? And after all the Queen’s kindnesses, wasn’t it the least she could do?

  ‘Mathilde?’

  ‘I promise, Your Grace.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Isabella exhaled visibly, the unnatural brightness of her eyes dimming again. ‘When all this is over, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded. I’ll make you a great lady of the court some day.’

  Mathilde caught her breath at the words, misgiving turning to hope. If both she and Henry were rewarded for their services, then maybe there was a future for them, after all.

  ‘We’ll be back in England before the year is out.’ Isabella sounded determined and suddenly Mathilde was, too. ‘We will redress the wrongs done to us and show gratitude to those who have served us wel
l, I swear it.’

  * * *

  They hadn’t stayed in Ponthieu for long, just enough to secure the Queen’s finances before riding on again. Isabella had set a fast pace, making Mathilde doubly glad that Katharine and Cecily hadn’t accompanied them. There were still moments when she wondered if she were dreaming, riding at the Queen’s side as the most trusted of all her ladies now, so that she couldn’t help but think how proud her father would have been under different circumstances.

  They arrived in Hainault in September to find Mortimer waiting, along with seven hundred soldiers provided by Count Guillaume and a few hundred more mercenaries, though with so many eyes watching, his reunion with Isabella was restrained. It made a stark contrast to the way they’d behaved in Paris, but at this late stage they couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong. They needed to be seen as liberators saving England from a tyrant, not traitors engaged in an adulterous affair.

  To Mathilde’s dismay, however, there was still no sign of Henry, though she searched every face she could find in the crowd, hoping for a glimpse. It was unnerving to see such an immense army up close, their swords and shields and endless rows of tents making the whole scene look grey. Somehow Mortimer had gathered a fleet, too, almost a hundred ships altogether, but the sight of the Channel itself was terrifying. It had taken nearly all of her courage to cross it the first time and she wasn’t sure she had enough left to do it again, especially without knowing what lay ahead. For all anyone knew, the King’s army might be waiting to attack the moment they landed.

  Her only consolation was that both Katharine and Cecily were also waiting in Hainault to greet them. Cecily looked thinner than ever, but the fact that she was standing unaided seemed to Mathilde a good sign.

  ‘Don’t let her fool you,’ Kat murmured as they followed Isabella into the royal palace. ‘She’s pretending. To me, too.’

  ‘But why?’ Mathilde felt disappointed but not surprised. ‘If she’s in pain, then why isn’t she resting?’

  ‘Because she’s afraid that Isabella won’t take her if she knows how sick she truly is.’