The Forbidden Queen (42 page)

Holy Virgin
, I prayed at my
prie-dieu
every morning.
Holy Virgin, grant me some solace. Grant me resolve to see my life as a more purposeful journey
.

‘Perhaps you should take the boy and go to Westminster for the Christmas festivities,’ Alice growled as November moved into December. ‘My lord of Warwick will allow it, I’m certain.’

‘No,’ I replied, my voice as dull as my mind. ‘I will not celebrate.’

She strode from my chamber, eyes snapping at my intransigence. I felt no guilt.

A week later the space of Windsor’s Upper Ward was full of people and horses. The sudden burst of voices and clattering hooves on the cobbles could be heard even through the glazed windows of the chamber where my damsels and I sat to catch the final spare gleams of the afternoon sun, but I was disinclined to stir myself to look to find out the reason. Probably Warwick come to check on the progress of Young Henry, hopefully without another lap dog. The cheerful activity was, however, too much for my damsels to ignore.

‘My lady?’ Meg asked, already on her feet.

‘Look, if you will,’ I said, not that they needed my permission. My hand of authority was a light one.

A shriek of joy from Joan made all clear.

‘I take it that the King of Scotland visits us,’ I remarked fretfully. I had not seen him for months.

‘May I, my lady?’ she asked. She was already halfway to the door.

‘Of course. Try to be…’ the door shut behind her ‘… maidenly and decorous.’

And she ran, leaving me with a few sharp pangs, firstly that my mood was so churlish, and even more that the arrival of a visitor should give her so much pleasure yet hardly move me from my chair. But I must. I placed the lute I had been idly strumming on the coffer and fixed what I hoped would be a welcoming smile on my mouth.

Would it not be good to see James again? I could not
expect him to dance attendance on me as he had done in those early months after Henry’s death, for he had his own life to lead, even if it was curtailed and hemmed about with watchful eyes. I must make him welcome—and there he was, hair curling energetically onto his shoulders, dark eyes gleaming with some personal satisfaction, and Joan looking flushed and eager and youthfully pretty, almost clinging on to his arm. My advice to her had clearly gone unheeded. And then, before I could frown a warning at her, heralded by a burst of vigorous conversation, my chamber was invaded by a group of young men. Around them the damsels glowed, as if the flames of a score of candles had been set ablaze.

I blinked. I had grown unused to such vitality or such lack of rigidly formal courtesy. They were like my puppy, overwhelming in their energy that smashed against my staid walls, ringing from the rafters. Their faces were vivid, their voices sharp and confident, and even their clothing was bright, eye-catchingly fashionable, bringing in a breath of freezing air to prod us into wakefulness after a winter’s hibernation. It was as if a heavy curtain, muffling my chamber from the outside world, deadening every sound, had been rent apart.

Meanwhile, approaching with long strides, James lost no time in polite greeting but flung out his arms before me.

‘It has been agreed!’

‘What has?’ My thoughts refused to drop comfortably into line.

‘Katherine!’ He seized my hands and saluted my fingertips. ‘How can you not know? Are you so isolated here? Or deaf to what’s going on without?’

‘Deaf, I expect.’ I managed to smile apologetically.

‘Never mind. I’m here to tell you in person. They have come to an arrangement at last.’

His face was alight, so much so that my forced smile became a true one as, finally, I caught the gist.

‘Oh, James! I am so pleased for you. I take it you are to be released.’

‘Yes. Freedom, by God.’ His arms around my waist, he spun me round and replaced me on the same spot. ‘I have attended every lengthy, tedious, impossibly dull negotiation between the long-winded but puissant commissioners from Scotland and England—and am come to tell you first because I knew you would wish me well.’

‘Come and tell me,’ I invited, because that was what he wanted from me, and I signalled for wine to be brought. His delight was infectious, stirring even my subterranean depths. Tucking my hand through his arm, I led him to sit beside me on a cushioned settle beside the fire.

‘I’ve harried them from Pontefract to York and back again, until I swear they were weary of the sight of my miserable features. They have finally announced that I’m free to return to Scotland.’ James, running his hands through his unmanageable hair, could barely sit still with
the news. He was twenty-nine years old: he had survived fifteen years of cushioned captivity. I had no difficulty in imagining his pleasure, as if the door of a birdcage had been suddenly flung back to allow this glossy singing finch a glimpse of freedom.

And I thought that I too would like such a glimpse of freedom. Not to return to France—there was nothing to draw me there—but to live my life without restriction and to my own will.

‘They’ll make me pay, of course,’ he was continuing as I surveyed the group of young men, his companions, who were making free with the wine at the far side of the room, enjoying the fluttering attentions of the damsels. I recognised most of them—sons of high-blooded English families—but I might have to search for a name or two. There was a loud burst of laughter and in that moment I wished I were there with them, simply a lady of the Court free to flirt and attract the eye of a handsome man.

Wistfully, I turned my attention back to James, who continued to expand on his good fortune. ‘An extortionate ransom of sixty thousand marks.’ He laughed with a sardonic bark. ‘Good to know they see my worth. In their generosity, I get to pay it in annual instalments.’ His cynical smile sat strangely on his youthful features, but he had learned cynicism before all else in his protracted exile. ‘I hope it won’t beggar Scotland. They’ll not want me back if it does.’

‘Of course they will,’ I assured him, my attention snagged by a raucous burst of laughter.

One face in the
mêlée
of young men, and younger than most, caught my eye. A vital face with fine dark brows and russet eyes that glittered with high spirits.

‘And do you know the best of it?’ James continued, unaware of my wandering appreciation. ‘I get my wife. I get Joan.’ He leaned to where Joan hovered, close enough to overhear, snatched her hand and pulled her closer still until his arm was wound around her waist. ‘I never thought I’d see the day. Or if I did, we would both be in our dotage before we climbed into the marriage bed together and I would be incapable.’

Joan giggled, her cheeks pink, and I smiled on them, even as claws of jealousy raked at my heart. Joan positively shimmered with happiness and James’s love for her was written on his face far more clearly than it had ever been in his verses. I clenched my fists in the folds of my skirts. I would curb such instincts as base as envy.

‘Have they set a date for your marriage?’ I asked, aware now of a frown between James’s eyes, but again my interest was caught elsewhere.

The young man with russet eyes and hair to match had snatched off his cap, flinging it to one of his friends, and was demonstrating a flamboyant thrust of an imaginary sword. He lunged, overbalanced, righted himself with a graceful turn of foot and burst into laughter. His companions mocked but slapped him on the back in easy camaraderie.
He might be younger than most of them but he had a place in their society. When he retaliated with a series of quick punches to those who tormented him, I found myself smiling because I could do no other.

And, of course, I knew those features. When he turned to face me, repeating the thrust with an agile wrist, I saw the Beaufort family resemblance was strong. Joan’s hair might be lighter, her eyes more brown than russet, but the smile was the same, the quick winging brows.

Here was her brother.

‘No, they have not set a date for the marriage yet.’ I heard James remark in reply to my question. ‘They say it will be as soon as it can be arranged—although I have my doubts.’ He shook off his concern, probably for the sake of Joan, who had begun to look anxious again, and he seized my hand and squeezed it. ‘We’ll live in hope—have I not done so for the past dozen years and more? And I’ll expect you to dance at my wedding.’

‘I don’t dance,’ I said flatly. My baser nature was still lurking around my mood, reluctant to let go and be banished.

‘Well, you should.’ For the first time he really looked at my face. ‘What’s wrong, Katherine? You don’t look happy.’ I shook my head. This was no day for my unreasonable miseries. ‘In fact…’ he pursued, frowning.

Immediately I stood, more than a little embarrassed that he should see so great a change in me. ‘Perhaps you should introduce your friends.’

As a distraction it worked well enough. ‘Most of them you know.’ He complied, drawing the young men forward to make their bow. ‘And here,’ he announced, ‘is Edmund.’

‘My brother thought he ought to come to wish me well, my lady,’ Joan said, pulling the young man before me. I saw love and admiration in her face, and was not surprised.

He bowed, more ostentatiously than was necessary in so intimate a setting, and I remembered his flamboyance with the invisible sword. Clearly he was a man to draw attention to himself, as was proved when the feathers of his velvet cap swept the floor, his arms spread in the deepest respect, until he looked up at me beneath his well-etched brows. He laughed aloud, his eyes full of mischief.

‘My sister does me a disservice, my lady. I am not at her beck and call. Neither am I under orders from the newly restored King of Scotland.’ His smile touched my heart as he took my hand and raised it formally to his lips. They were warm and dry against my skin and I shivered at their light brush as Edmund Beaufort continued, smoothly courteous, holding my gaze with his. ‘I am come to pay my respects to the Young King. And, of course, to his lady mother.’

He hesitated as if he was lacking in assurance, but I knew he was not. None of the Beauforts lacked assurance. ‘If my lady will receive me here as a guest, in her household, as the King’s cousin?’

The question made my heart flutter. How strange that he should ask it, and in so personal a manner. Why would I not receive him? The strange intensity of him undermined my habitual polite response, and I found myself searching for a reply, caught up in his stare.

His family history was not unknown to me, redolent as it was with past scandals. The Beaufort bloodline was descended from John of Lancaster and his mistress of many years Katherine Swynford. A scandalous, illegitimate line, of course, but on the marriage of the infamous pair the children had been subsequently legitimised and had married into the aristocratic families of the realm. Now, formidably ambitious, precociously gifted and intelligent as well as blood related to the King, they were one of the foremost families in the land.

And this was Edmund Beaufort, son of the Earl of Somerset and nephew of Bishop Henry, and of course Joan’s brother. And second cousin to my son. A young man from a family skilled in warfare and politics, obviously destined for great things, as were all his family, although he had been too young to fight in the recent wars in France at Henry’s side.

How old was he? I considered the years behind the supreme confidence, beneath the fluid line of muscle given attention by his fashionable tunic with its luxuriant sleeves and jewelled clasps. Less than twenty years old, I thought. Younger than I. But he had grown up since I had last seen him, a youth under Bishop Henry’s care,
when I had first come to England. Taller and broader, he would make a fine soldier now that he was grown into his strength.

‘My lady?’

I had been staring at him. ‘You are welcome,’ I managed as he bowed low again over my hand, brushing my fingers once more in chivalrous salute. And he did not release his clasp until I tugged my hand away, and then he did so with a rueful smile.

‘Forgive me, my lady. I am sorely blinded by your beauty. As is every man here.’

It took my breath. I could only stare at him, as he stared back at me. Men did not flirt so openly with the Queen Dowager. Men did not flirt at all.

James, still caught up in his own woes and oblivious to any undercurrents, continued to expound. ‘I still thought they would never release me, even with the document and the pen to hand.’

‘Of course they would.’ Edmund, abandoning me with a charming smile much older than his years, punched him on the arm. ‘Have sense, man. Think about it. What will your return to Scotland bring of benefit to England? Peace between the two countries. Particularly if you decide you were well treated here.’

James gave a shout of laughter. ‘So that’s why the Exchequer has agreed to provide me with a tunic in cloth of gold for my wedding.’

‘Of course. And in grateful thanks for your cloth of
gold you will do exactly what England demands of you. You will withdraw all Scottish aid to French armies, and you will stop any plundering along the border between our two countries.’

I was impressed. How precocious he was, and how cynical, as were all the Beaufort clan. I could not look away as he stood, hands fisted on hips, outlining the future of English relations with Scotland. Edmund grinned, spreading his hands, long fingered and elegant. ‘The cloth of gold is the last payment England will have to make for you. You’ll be home in no time after the New Year. And we will send you off in good spirits, will we not, my lady?’ He had spun round. Again, before I could prepare for it, that red-brown gaze was devouring my face and I felt myself flushing almost as rosily as Joan.

‘What do you say, my lady?’ he whispered, as if it were some intimate invitation.

And all I could do was swallow the breath caught fast in my throat.

‘As for that, if you’ll have us,’ James interrupted, as he gestured to encompass his friends, ‘we’re in mind to stay here with you for Christmas and the New Year.’

‘And the possibility of spending it with your newly affianced wife…’ I managed to chide, pleased to have the attention drawn away from me.