The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III (8 page)

The man turned and looked straight at Kate.

She cursed. No one ever came here! Why today? The last thing she wanted was another encounter with a stranger, gentle or threatening. His intrusion echoed the Stanleys’ visit, a reminder of her powerlessness in the outer world.

Then something extraordinary happened. A furious growling broke out in a copse that lay behind and to her right. Feline squalls tangled with darker snarls. Kate leapt up and ran to quiet Mab who was dancing from side to side in alarm.

She saw, striped by tree shadow, two astonishing beasts. Both had stepped out of heraldry: one a small lithe leopard, pure white with blue eyes. Silver dapples ruffled its coat and there was an aura around its head, a mane bristling with aggression like a crown of spiked silver. The leopard growled, swishing its tail.

Its adversary was a heavy, charcoal beast, all bunched muscles. It had a black mane like a lion’s, and an ugly, furious face, all fangs. The beast wasn’t much bigger than the pard but three times its weight. A graylix.

Kate had never seen one loose before. She felt sick with terror. They could bite a small child in half, or bring down a fleeing horse. Nothing frightened them, and they attacked anything that moved.

The two beasts stood face-to-face, roaring threats. She saw the brave leopard crouch, ready to spring. It stood no chance. With a flurry of snarls both creatures leapt and clashed.

There was a whirr, a dull thud. The graylix twisted in mid-air and fell, squealing like a boar, with an arrow in its ribs. Kate glanced round and saw the man riding towards the fight, jumping the stream as he went. Reaching the trees, he leapt off his horse and continued on foot. He threw aside his bow as he went, and drew a broadsword.

Kate lifted her heavy skirts and ran after him. Twigs cracked under her embroidered slippers. As she entered the copse, she saw him pierce the graylix through the heart. The terrible noise ceased. The creature lay still, its smooth dark-grey coat turning black with blood. Kate stood there, panting, watching the man clean and sheath his sword. He was slim and raven-haired, no older than her. He turned and looked at her. Neither spoke.

Then another extraordinary thing happened, convincing her she must have crossed into the hidden world, or at least be on its very border.

The snowy pard came to her, just as her mother’s cats did. Although pards were dangerous hunters, she felt no fear. The pard reared, placed its big paws on her shoulders and touched its tongue to the tip of her nose. The tongue was edged with purple-black, like an orchid. It held her gaze for a moment with eyes as blue as her own. Then it jumped softly down, slipped away through the trees, and vanished.

“A silver pard,” the young man said softly. “I’ve never seen one before. Not even in the royal menagerie.”

“Nor have I,” said Kate.

“I thought they existed only in myths, like the unicorn.”

“There’s something strange about the unicorn,” she said. “My mother has the horn of one, but she says it came out of the sea, far up in the northern lands. They’re shaped like horses, but live in the sea; how is that possible?” She hesitated, feeling she was talking nonsense. “Still, if they can exist, so can the silver pard.”

He was staring at her. He was astonishingly handsome: not in a flamboyant, arrogant way but with an unassuming, down to earth, gentle quality. Lean and graceful, he was only a few inches taller than Kate. His clothes were midnight blue and mulberry, beautifully sewn. The doublet was cut into long, curved points over slim velvet trousers. He had high boots of umber leather, well-worn but fine, and the sheath that contained his sword was sombre black, inlaid with gold.

A nobleman, obviously. Kate thinned her lips, out of humour with nobles. But he wasn’t like Lord Stanley or his son. She saw nothing overbearing or self important about him. He was confident yet quiet, dignified. His face was very fair, fine-boned, like ivory, with dark soft eyes: black brows and lashes, the irises crystalline grey. His thick dark hair shone in the sun.

He looked like someone who would not be easy to befriend. His eyes managed to be gentle and remote at the same time. But he appeared captivated by her, or at least mystified. She found this oddly pleasing.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Apart from an enchantress of animals.”

“Kate.”

“That doesn’t tell me much. I’m Richard.” Hesitantly he took and kissed her hand. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to startle you, but I had to…”

He waved a hand at the fallen graylix. In curiosity she went to the creature and stroked the fur of the strange half-lion, half-human face. In death it still looked defiant.

When she rose, he was regarding her in even greater astonishment.

“It’s probably the only chance I’ll have to touch one,” she explained. “It’s a shame you had to kill it, but you saved the pard’s life, and that of my mare, and probably mine as well. Thank you, Sir Richard.”

He gave a diffident smile. “You’re welcome, my lady. You seem very calm.”

“I’m not, I assure you.” She laughed, placing a hand over her bodice. Feeling the gold-thread device of lilies under her fingers, she remembered that it was coming unpicked and needed repair, yet again. She became aware that her hair was loose and wild, her sapphire velvet covered in horsehair. Did she look like an enchantress, or merely a bizarre mess?

“I’ve a flask of wine,” he said. He caught his horse and tied up the glossy beast a safe distance from Mab, who looked tiny in comparison. Fortunately, the bay seemed of calm temperament, and Mab was not in heat.

Kate returned to her oak tree and Richard came to her, offering a leather flask.

She drank gratefully. The wine was delicious, tasting of elderflowers.

“Thank you, sir. My mouth was dry.”

“You should rest for a while.”

“Yes, if you’ll sit with me.”

“Gladly,” he said, and they sat together on the warm, smooth roots of the oak. They passed the wine back and forth, taking sips, an exchange that seemed unnervingly intimate. His hands were beautiful; long and well-shaped, despite being calloused from fighting. “Are you alone?”

“Obviously,” she said. “It’s my mother’s demesne. I always come here alone.”

“I think I’m lost,” he said. “I thought I knew where I was, but this all looks different. Er… I should be on my way, my lady, but I don’t like to leave you.”

A small, thrilling pang; she didn’t want him to leave. “And I don’t want to keep you from your destination, but if you can stay a little while, I’d be grateful.”

“I was only exercising my horse,” he said quickly. “Good for clearing the thoughts. I’ve nowhere to go.”

“Nor I.” She sat with her hands resting on her raised knees, on the folds of her skirt. Leaning her head back, she felt her hair sliding over her shoulders, and was aware of him watching her. His gaze felt delicious, like being stroked. “Such a beautiful afternoon. I’ve never had anyone to share it with before. Let’s hope nothing else disturbs us.”

“No wolves or wild boars.” He passed her the flask again. The wine went to her head.

His eyes were serious and watchful. Wounded eyes; she saw guarded intelligence there and something else, unreadable. Her mother had taught her well how to read people but this man was elusive, as if there were a veil over him. He unnerved her. Never in her life had she felt so powerfully, physically drawn to someone. She wanted to sit closer. It would have seemed natural to touch him. The thought shocked and excited her.

He frowned suddenly. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I would have remembered.”

A smile flickered. “So would I. Still, you remind me of someone, my lady, but I don’t know who, or why…”

“You may call me Kate.”

“Katherine, after the saint? It means ‘pure’.”

“I doubt my mother was thinking of saints when she named me. And Richard, that means ‘hard rule’, does it not?”

A little sword-thrust, to show her knowledge was equal to his. His smile thinned. “I was named for my father. If he had ruled, I suppose he would have been hard, but certainly fair. There must be something in names.”

His remark about his father sounded off-hand, so she was unsure what to read into it.

“So you’re hard, and I’m pure,” she said, then laughed, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

He laughed with her. His gaze dropped under long eyelashes, then met hers again.

“I thought I was dreaming when I saw you,” he said. “Do you always ride about on your own?”

“All the time. I go wherever I wish.”

“But it’s not safe, Kate.”

“Usually it is. I’ve never seen a graylix or a pard here before, and I doubt I ever will again.”

“There may be boars in the woods, horned toads…”

“A horned toad lives in our garden,” she smiled. “I treat it as a pet.”

“A witch’s pet. They’re poisonous!”

“Only if threatened. You were riding alone too. Is it less dangerous for you?”

“I have a sword.”

“And know how to use it, clearly.”

His laugh had a sour edge. “As I was taught by the greatest master in England, I should hope so.”

“And you defended me well, Richard, but all my life these woods and their inhabitants have been my dear friends. One incident won’t stop me going where I please.”

“But friends can turn on you,” he flashed back. His eyes went dark and remote. “The dearest and best will betray you. You can know and love a wolfhound all your life, but there’s no guarantee it won’t turn and savage you.”

Katherine drew back from his outburst. She waited. He rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at the stream.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Someone has hurt you.”

“Ah, well. Not me, but my brother, which is the same as betraying me. Someone who was dearer to us than our own father… If I talk about this, you’ll know who I am.”

“Will that matter?” Kate placed her hand along his arm, just below the shoulder. He didn’t shake her off, but moved closer.

“I don’t know. It’s pleasant to talk with someone who has no ideas about me, and doesn’t want me to petition the king for them…”

“You’re obviously no shepherd, Richard,” she said. “Tell me anything, or not, as you wish. I won’t tell a soul.”

“And you won’t treat me any differently?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not in my demesne.”

“The man who betrayed us, he’s the most powerful in the land after the king. I grew up in his household. He helped my brother to achieve his high estate, but now he’s turned against us and sided with our enemies. He tried to persuade me to join him! So I had to choose between two men I worship with my life. If I’m distracted and poor company, Kate, that’s why. I must take up arms against a man I loved like a father.”

“You are not poor company.” Kate felt a flare of pain. It had been easier not to know who he was. Anonymous, he’d been hers alone; but now he had a weight of responsibilities, a whole life that was nothing to do with her. Battles to fight. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Tomorrow I’ll be angry about it. Today I’m riding alone to exorcise the sadness and memories.”

“You’re talking of the Earl of Warwick? And King Edward?”

“I suppose it was obvious.”

“We hear rumours, even here.” She touched the white boar pin on his shoulder. Haunting excitement went through her; the last response he wanted, no doubt. “You’re the king’s brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester? Or that could be a story you tell unsuspecting maidens.”

“Yes.” He looked at her with warmth. “That’s all it is.”

“I won’t tell. Why did they quarrel?”

His expression hardened, making him look older. “They’re two highly ambitious men who are never content. Edward is king, but Warwick still only the Kingmaker and he can’t manipulate Edward as he thought. He’s a great man, Kate, but driven. It was mostly over Edward’s choice of wife; you must have heard?”

“Of course.”

“Edward embarrassed Warwick horribly. Warwick went to immense trouble to negotiate an important foreign union for him, only for Edward to say, ‘Oh, did I forget to mention that I’m already married to this Lancastrian widow?’ I don’t blame Warwick for his anger. They’re as bad as each other, in some respects. But I know where my loyalty lies.”

“With Edward.”

“Always.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “He’s the king, for God’s sake! But Warwick will use anybody the slightest bit vain or malleable to further his ambitions, and George…” His eyes were flint. “My stupid brother George is jealous of Edward. I’m sure Warwick has seduced him with some ludicrous promise of putting him on the throne. Warwick wants his daughter Isabel to marry George; Edward won’t permit it, because the marriage would make Warwick even more powerful. He’s done nothing but cause trouble this past year. I don’t know that it’s entirely the queen’s fault, but it all went wrong when Edward met her.”

“What’s she like?” Kate asked, fascinated.

Richard’s face hardly moved, but poisonous hatred flickered over his face like lighting across water. “She’s the fairest woman in the land, Elizabeth Woodville, sometimes called Dame Grey,” he said diplomatically. “If only Edward had married just her, and not her entire family! It’s insufferable for the old nobility to see a great clan of Lancastrian commoners awarded high positions and marriages they don’t deserve. Warwick has a right to be angry; but not to commit treason, not that. I can’t forgive him. He promised me the Earth to go with him. He couldn’t believe it when I said no, but I know what loyalty is and no reward under heaven would induce me to betray Edward. And I’m sick of thinking about it all.”