White Boar and the Red Dragon, The (13 page)

‘He is not one of my father’s men,’ Kate retorted. ‘None of them would have dared to treat me so!’

By then, he had helped her back upon her horse and mounted his own, prepared to escort her home. ‘How did you manage to appear like a guardian angel at just the right moment to save me from that villain?’ Kate ventured, looking properly at him, now that her fear had abated. She felt no fear with him. He was a young man—not much older than herself—and he exuded kindness and concern. He was obviously very high-born. His clothes alone—the rich velvets and silks, the lynx fur around the collar of his cloak, and the precious jewels which studded his doublet and weaponry—told her that. But it was mainly his proud bearing, cultured voice, and well-sculptured face with its pale skin and high cheekbones. His eyes were a melting dark brown, like liquid amber. Though he was of the nobility, there was not a trace of arrogance in his voice or attitude—which was unusual. It made her warm to him.

‘I heard you screaming as I rode along the track a short way hence.’ He pointed in the direction of the main forest thoroughfare nearby. ‘And I could not leave a lady in trouble!’

‘May I know the name of the brave knight who rescued me? It is like something from the tales of King Arthur, when knights saved damsels in distress!’

‘Well, you were certainly that! And I am a knight. I am Richard of Gloucester.’

‘Duke Richard? The king’s brother?’

‘Yes. At your service! And I was on my way to Fotheringhay Castle to see my mother, the Duchess Cecily. She will be anxious, thinking that I have been in the thick of the Battle at Edgecote, when in fact, I was nowhere near it! I have been in Yorkshire rescuing my elder brother Edward, the king, who was imprisoned in Middleham Castle by Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, after the battle.’

‘My father and brother went to fight there late in July,’ Kate stopped, confused. She had been about to tell this proud Yorkist that her family were Lancastrians.

‘I hope, for your sake, they were neither killed or injured,’ answered Richard, looking into her beautiful golden-flecked eyes and noticing the proud tilt of her chin and the shining red hair which tumbled over her shoulders in waves like molten copper. She tossed it every now and then, like a horse’s mane, as it fell over her forehead and blew across her eyes in the evening breeze.

‘So far, they have been lucky,’ she said, aware of his admiring glances. ‘But whenever they go off to fight yet another battle, my mother and I cannot wait for their safe return. And if these wretched wars do not stop soon, there may come a time when they do not come back at all—and that would kill my mother. I know it would.’

‘What is your name? You have not told me,’ he said, perhaps trying to change the distressing subject.

‘I am Katharine Mortimer of Appleby Hall near here. My father is Sir Reginald Mortimer and my elder brother is Henry Mortimer,’ she answered, proud of her heritage. ‘I am usually just called Kate, though,’ she added as an afterthought.

He laughed. ‘Well, Kate, Mortimer is a name to be proud of—a very old and distinguished family! What were you doing riding alone so late in the forest anyway? It is almost dusk.’

‘I have my freedom and go where I will. I have never been afraid of attack, by day or in darkness. My father’s tenants would not dare to touch a hair of my head. They would have his fury to contend with if they did—and that can be fearsome!’

‘He sounds very formidable!’ laughed Richard again.

‘He is, but he is a good man, in spite of his temper. My mother and my old maid, Ruth, they do not like me riding out alone, true. But there has never been anything—or anyone—to fear before.’

‘In these uncertain times, there are all sorts of strange men, landless and vicious—often deserters—roaming around after the battles. I beg you, Kate, to ride with a companion from now on. You may not be so lucky next time, and I should hate to think what may happen to you, if you do not heed my warning.’ He smiled at her again, and as their eyes met, a shaft of feeling like nothing she had ever experienced before engulfed her, so that she felt it almost as a pain. His smile seemed to bathe her in a glow of well-being. She seemed to melt under his gaze.

By then, they had reached the gates of Appleby Hall, and the long drive stretched ahead, empty, like the days before her would be, without him.

As he turned his horse to make his way back to the road and continue to Fotheringhay Castle, she had never felt so bereft.

‘I will return betimes to see how you are,’ he said suddenly. ‘Just as soon as I have reassured my Lady mother of my safety.’

Her heart leapt, filled with a joyous expectancy.

‘My lord, I thank you again for all your help to me today, and I will expect you with great anticipation. You will be a welcome guest!’

The words seemed lame and hardly gave an inkling of the tumultuous emotions filling her. As she waved goodbye to him, she was filled with a great sense of loss. Loneliness had been an alien feeling to her before that. She had always been happiest alone. Now, as he disappeared into the trees, it tore her apart.

‘Kate, Kate! Where are you, girl? These days, always dreaming, always in a world of your own! Ah, there you are! Where have you been?’

Kate’s mother’s voice permeated her consciousness at last. Her mother was right. Since Richard’s departure a week ago, she had not been able to concentrate on a single thing. All she could think of was when he would be back. He had said he would come, and somehow, she knew he meant it, at the time. But how long would it be?

‘I am very sorry, Mother. I did not hear you.’

‘I need you in the still room at once, girl. What has got into you?’

Her mind had been in a turmoil ever since that evening in the forest. Not because of the attempted rape, but because something else had affected her far more—Richard. She could not forget his smile and the feeling which had coursed through her as he looked at her was with her still. All night, she dreamt of him, and by day, her mind kept straying inevitably to him too, so that she found herself daydreaming and constantly annoying her mother.

She believed that he would come, as his sincerity had been obvious, and yet her common sense told her that he had far more important things to occupy his time, such as affairs of state. She knew that he was the king’s favourite brother and his strong right arm; everybody did. He had many important duties to attend to. And what would he be doing taking a real interest in her when he could consort with princesses and earls’ daughters? Perhaps he was just being kind, because he must have seen the look on her face as he turned to go. She had never been any good at hiding her feelings; wearing her heart on her sleeve.

‘We must get on with the bottling, Kate. There are so many late fruits this year that we must all help to get them bottled and put away for the winter. ‘Twould be a pity to waste any, so we have to hurry before any go bad. Pick over that basket of blackberries, will you? Then I want you to wash the plums over there and find the candle ends to melt the jar sealings.’

Kate automatically got on with the various necessary tasks, as her mother had a very sharp tongue when not obeyed at once, especially when she was worried, as till then her father and brother had still not come home.

Later that night, in bed, she listened to the wind soughing in the elms around the house, and imagined herself with him, alone, here; how she would settle down in his arms and lay her cheek against the black glossiness of his hair; how he would put up a hand and turn her face to his—how he would press his lips to her eager ones—she shook herself. She must stop these stupid dreams. It could never happen—how could it? He was far above her—a prince of the royal blood, brother of the king!

She might attempt to stop these wishful thoughts when awake, but she had no control over her dreams when asleep. He came to her then and she awoke in the mornings with a terrible sense of loss. How could she feel this way, when she had never owned his love in reality?

Kate, October 1469

It was one of those glorious gusty October days when the sun, in between scudding clouds, shone as hot as in Summer for one or two hours in the middle of the day, and Kate could not bear being cooped up in the house any longer. It had been a month since their first meeting, and Richard had not returned. She was filled with a mixture of anxiety and frustration and needed to wash them away in the best way that she knew—with a long gallop on Honey, her mare. The horse enjoyed a good gallop as much as her mistress, and as they set out to ride around Kate’s father’s estates, the mare tossed her golden mane almost in an imitation of Kate’s habit.

They skirted the forest—she would no longer ride in there alone because of her new fear of the wickedness of men—and anger was added to her feelings at this. She loved autumn in the forest, and now the gold, brown, and red leaves were being blown in a swirling dance at the wind’s will, heaping them up in dry piles in the root hollows of the great oaks and elms. She longed to be riding in there, hearing the crunch of leaves underfoot, watching the squirrels, red as the leaves they scratched through, busy collecting nuts and storing their winter larders; smelling the mossy, peaty earth kicked up by her horse’s hoofs.

The mare was very sure-footed, but even she could not be aware of every rut and pothole hidden under the gathering carpet of leaves. It had been a very wet spring earlier on, followed by a hot, dry summer, and the holes and ruts had become rock-hard. When Honey’s front hoof caught in one, it stuck fast, and the horse came to an abrupt halt, catapulting Kate over her head and into the middle of a bush.

She got up, quite unhurt, and brushed the leaves from her kirtle and out of her hair, then bent to examine Honey’s front right hoof, for she was holding it up as if in pain. There was no obvious injury, but Kate felt she should let the horse take it easy for a while in case she went lame, so she began to lead her along the track to Appleby Village. It was a good five-mile walk home, though Kate did not worry about that. She was more concerned about Honey. It was her selfish fault that the mare was hurt, galloping her along in a place she knew to be hazardous because of the ruts. When she got home, she would ask Harold, the chief groom, to examine the horse’s leg and hoof properly, and if there was any damage suspected, to administer one of his strong horse liniments, which would probably do the trick.

As they moved slowly along, she heard the thunder of hoofs at a distance behind her, and soon, a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. She stopped to see who it was riding at such an urgent pace and moved the mare out of the way to the side of the track.

It was a lone rider in blue and gold livery, a young man, his horse and himself covered in dust. He stopped by Kate as he came up to her, and she could see that he looked anxious.

‘How far is it to the next village? I must get help for my lord, who has fallen off his horse a short way back when the horse stumbled over some stones in the road. We were going to Appleby Hall. He said he knew someone there. Have you any idea where it is?’

‘I live there. I am Kate Mortimer, daughter of Sir Reginald Mortimer, the squire. Who is your master? Maybe I can send some of our estate men to help him?’

‘He is the Duke of Gloucester. He has twisted his ankle badly and cannot walk.’

Kate’s heart jumped uncontrollably. He had been coming to see her! And now he needed help.

‘My horse may be injured too. So I cannot ride her at present. But if you ride on to Appleby Village not far ahead, they will tell you where the hall is. It is about five miles from here, only two from the village. When you get there, tell my mother what help is needed, and she will send men to carry him thither on a litter, if he cannot ride at all. Meanwhile, I will go to your master to see if I can help him in any way. It was me that he was coming to see at Appleby Hall, so it is the least I can do!’

Kate’s whole body seemed to be buzzing with feeling as she tied Honey to the nearest tree and began to walk back along the track. He had been coming to her—that was all she could think of—he had kept his promise!

Meeting and Parting, Late October 1469

Richard eased himself up into a more comfortable position and smiled at his nurse companion. He had been in Appleby Hall for a week now, nursing a badly twisted, though luckily not broken, ankle. Kate’s mother had treated it daily with her cold compresses of witch hazel, and the swelling and pain had all but gone, though the bruising was still very evident. Kate had kept him company and tried to cheer him when he worried about the commitments he was neglecting.

‘There is nothing you can do but rest for the moment and let it heal, so forget the great world outside and concentrate on getting better,’ she asserted.

‘That I am quite happy to do in your soothing company,’ he said. ‘I suppose my herald will have got to Northampton and sent a relay of messengers to London as I instructed him, so that the king does not wonder too long at my absence?’

‘If he as reliable as you say, then of course he will have done it. Now forget London and the king—you are here now. For the moment anyhow—with me.’ She had not meant to add the last bit, but the words had just slipped out somehow. The last week had been the happiest of her life, but she knew that any time now he would be up and away and probably out of her life, leaving her desolate again.

‘Apart from this accursed ankle, I have enjoyed my stay in your father’s house.’
He lifted her hand, which he had been gently stroking, and lifted it to his lips.

‘Truly?’ she whispered, her pulses racing at his touch.

‘Most truly. Apart from being a most beautiful girl, you are a wonderful companion!’

Kate laughed. ‘Surely you flatter me, sir? You must meet so many lovely ladies at the court?’

‘But none like you, Kate. Your fresh earnestness, your kindness, your innocence are like a breath of fresh spring air to me. The ladies of the court are of another breed—hard, vain, avaricious, and self-seeking, like the queen—I dislike them and have very little to do with them if I can help it! You are so different.’