A Dangerous Inheritance (44 page)

Ned looks horrified. Covering the distance between us in two paces, he grasps my shoulders and looks fiercely into my eyes.

“What are you saying?” he asks. “I have never held that lady in any esteem, or anyone else for that matter. I thought that if people saw me flirting with her, aye, and with others too, they would cease conjecturing
that there is anything between you and me. But, as God is my judge, I have never, ever betrayed you. I adore you, Katherine! And so let’s be done with all this waiting, for I will marry you out of hand, as soon as we can find a convenient time.”

“Oh, Ned!” I cannot speak further for very joy and relief, and Jane is clapping her hands in delight.

“When will that be?” she asks.

“When the Queen’s Majesty returns to London,” Ned says, and kisses me passionately, not caring that Jane is looking on.

May 1484; Augustinian Friary, York

Kate looked out of her window at the muddy waters of the River Ouse, which flowed past the friary guest house where the royal party was lodged. Farther along, to her right, lay the Guildhall, where they were to be entertained to a feast tonight, and to the south was Clifford’s Tower and the ancient castle. Beyond, in the meadows across the river, was the Micklegate Bar, the royal entrance to York, through which they had come in procession a few days ago, to be welcomed by the mayor and the city fathers. The King had led his company to the great Minster, to give hearty thanks for being safely returned to the North. It was obvious that his heart lay here, in the bracing air of Yorkshire, although Kate knew that part of it had been sealed forever in that sad little tomb at Sheriff Hutton. He and Anne had gone there, alone, two days before. Their faces had been stricken when they emerged from the church and rejoined their waiting entourage.

She sighed. Tomorrow, she and William would say farewell to the King and Queen and depart for Raglan. She was dreading that moment, hating to leave her father and stepmother, especially when their grief was still so raw. And her lost lover, John: she would be saying a silent good-bye to him too, for a long, long while. She had seen him about the court often since her marriage, but they’d had no converse.
It was what they had agreed when they parted after their one blissful night together. Kate had to live with William, after all. Even so, she sometimes thought she would die of yearning for John.

After a fortnight of marriage she knew William little better than she had before. He observed the courtesies by day, lay with her every night, and was at her side whenever convention demanded it. No one could have faulted him. Yet he hardly talked to her, and there was no spark of any sort between them. She bore his attentions patiently, but they were joyless, and left her weeping silently into her pillow every time. This had nothing to do with love! This was mere duty, and she had begun to see married life as a long, dreary, barren road stretching out endlessly ahead of her.

She had tried; oh, yes, she had tried. She had started conversations, made little jests, or asked questions calculated to prompt some discourse. William always answered politely, but he never engaged with her beyond that. She knew he did not love her, and was grateful for it. Yet why did he not cooperate in making things easier and more pleasant for them both? He seemed to look upon her as one of his chattels, no more, and to assume that she was happy being left to gossip with Mattie over their embroidery. He made no attempt to restrict her in any manner, he was generous in his way, but he was simply indifferent to her. Let her bring him her good dowry and bear him heirs, and he would require no more of her. She wished she had not bled John’s seed away days after her wedding.

It was time to make ready for the banquet. She summoned Mattie.

“My, you do look a glump!” the girl said cheerfully. She had spent the afternoon with Guy, her sweetheart. William had agreed to take him on, and the happy couple was to be married when they reached Raglan. “Missing Lord Lincoln, are ye?”

“Horribly,” Kate said. “I do not know how I bear it. But Mattie,
never
mention his name once we leave here. My lord does not care much for me, but he would care very much if his good name were sullied.”

“I promise, my lady,” Mattie vowed. “Now, it’s the crimson tonight, isn’t it?” And she helped Kate into a figure-skimming velvet gown with tight sleeves that belled out at the wrist, a low neck edged with a border
of gold damask, a skirt that trailed in rippling folds on the floor, and a silk hip belt from which jangled gold ornaments. Then she drew her mistress’s hair back into a tight plait and pinned it coiled to the back of her head. Over this she fixed a tub-shaped hennin covered in damask that matched the border of the gown, and atop it pinned the winged butterfly headdress of stiffened gauze. Once the unwieldy thing—now the height of fashion—was in place, Kate found she must keep her head level and not move it for fear of sending the whole contraption tumbling to the ground. Wearing a head covering, even one so elegant, was another of the things she hated about being married. She wondered how Queen Anne and the other great ladies of the court managed to move so serenely and effortlessly. Oh, how she longed to go about with her hair flowing freely again!

The feast was lavish, the city burghers puffed out in their furred robes anxious to attend to their King’s every comfort. There were cheers for Richard when he entered the Guildhall, and for once his careworn face lightened. There had been no whisper of a rumor up here, Kate reflected, and felt heartened.

In the morning, she and William rose early, heard Mass, and ate breakfast. Then they attended on the King, who greeted them warmly and announced that he was bestowing on them, jointly, fifteen manors in Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall. It seemed he could not shower them with sufficient bounty. He had made them rich enough to keep great estate, and he had done it for her, and to keep William loyal. She doubted he had needed to. William did not have the imagination to plot treason. Loyalty to the House of York was rooted in his family anyway.

Her father told William he had confirmed him in his earldom, and William stolidly expressed his gratitude.

“Now, son Herbert,” the King said, “these honors, and the gift of my daughter, are not for nothing. In return, you will hold south Wales for me against the Tudor, for there is no doubt that he will make another attempt on England sometime soon. In the meantime, I will look to the North.” His face suddenly twisted with pain. The prince, of course, was to have been his representative there.

He pulled himself together with an effort. “I mind to set up the King’s Household in the North, which will be established at Sandal Castle under the rule of my nephew Lincoln, who is now to represent me in these parts. He will also have charge of Sheriff Hutton Castle, where I intend to house the heirs of the House of York in safety. Warwick will be sent there, his sister Margaret, and, because it will benefit him, my bastard, John of Gloucester.”

He paused. “I will tell you something, both of you, that is as yet a great secret, but will be made known when I think it politic. Warwick is next in line, but cannot succeed me. He is a fair lad, but his wits are not up to the demands of kingship. God knows, I fear my own wits are not always up to it either! Therefore, I intend to name Lincoln my heir.”

Kate started at that. She barely heard her father rehearsing all the compelling reasons why Lincoln would make a good King. She could only think that, had Fate arranged things differently, she might have been Queen of England, seated beside John on his future throne. John II, he would be; given the example of the first King John, it was not the most auspicious of styles—yet her John would cause the name to ring with renown, she had no doubt of it.

“A wise choice, sire,” her husband said. “The noble Lincoln has the mettle for it.”

“Aye, indeed,” the King agreed, watching Kate speculatively for a moment. She caught his eye and lowered her gaze. “And now you must make haste,” he said. “You have a long journey ahead of you.” His voice sounded strained. He was feeling this parting as keenly as she was.

The Queen came, wine was brought, and they all drank a toast to a bright future for Kate and William, and the confounding of the King’s enemies. Then Kate summoned a page to bring in the parting gift she had commissioned for her father: a framed portrait of herself, very fine and like, wearing the beautiful blue gown she had worn for his coronation and her diamond-shaped pendant. He gazed at it in admiration, then a sad smile creased his face.

“You could not have given me anything better,” he told her. “Now I shall have a daily reminder of you to take wherever I go. Thank you.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

At last, with the goblets drained, and Kate grateful for the warming wine running through her veins and dulling the pain, it was time to say good-bye. She and William knelt for the blessings of her father and stepmother, and then were raised and embraced.

“God go with you, my daughter,” Anne said, smiling at her sadly. It was the warmest she had shown herself in months.

Richard folded Kate tightly in his arms. “You are most precious to me,” he murmured. “I pray Our Lady to have you in her special keeping.” She felt him tremble as he said it, and when he broke away from her, she could see he was near to weeping.

“Love my daughter well, son Herbert!” he commanded briskly.

“Your Grace may be assured of that,” William declared, taking Kate’s hand and kissing it. As he led her from the chamber, she felt choked, and could not bear to look back at those two forlorn figures in black, standing bereft before their chairs of estate, surrounded by all the empty trappings of majesty.

November 1560, Greenwich Palace and Whitehall Palace

When the court moved to Greenwich, Ned returned to Hertford House in Westminster, and there he fell ill of a fever. He wrote in anxious vein to Jane. To my dismay, his courage appeared to have deserted him. He was wavering again, fretting about how our wedding might be accomplished.

“It is his sickness that speaks,” Jane said, looking sick herself. “Do not let it upset you.” But I did. These past days have been a nightmare, for I have thought of nothing but what I might do if Ned forsakes me. I could not live. It is as simple as that.

Yet now comes another letter.

“He asks me to further his suit!” cries Jane. “He says that, although your marriage must be secret, he intends to do all properly, according to custom. Thus he will propose himself formally to you, and you will
be betrothed; and your wedding will then take place. All this he insists upon, so that your children shall be of undisputed legitimacy. He asks if you are content to agree. Oh, Katherine, it really is going to happen!” And she embraces me heartily.

“Content? I am the happiest woman alive! Pray tell my dear love that I am well inclined to whatever arrangements he desires to make, and that I shall give him my resolute answer in person when the court returns to Whitehall next week.”

And it is at Whitehall, in Jane’s closet, that I next embrace my beloved, who looks a shade pale, for he is not fully recovered from his malady, yet handsome and ardent for all that. And when, finally, we draw apart, breathless, Ned goes down on one knee before me and takes my hand.

“Katherine,” he says, “I have borne you goodwill for a long time, and I am content, if you will, to marry you.”

I smile down upon him. “I like both you and your offer, my Ned, and
I
am content to marry with
you
, be the consequences what they may.”

“When?” he asks eagerly, rising to his feet.

“As soon as possible!” I laugh. “Next time the Queen’s Majesty leaves the palace!”

“Then it shall be done,” he agrees, embracing and kissing me. “And now we must be formally betrothed.” He summons his sister, and when we three are together, he takes my hand in his and puts a ring on my finger. It is set with a pointed diamond, a glittering stone of unfathomable depths, which represents power and protection, its greenish hue the color of life, beauty, and constant love. Now, we join hands, and Ned vows to take me, Katherine, as his wife. It is done. We are promised.

We agree that as soon as the Queen leaves for the good hunting to be had at Greenwich or Eltham, either Jane or I will get word of it to Ned, and then we shall come to Hertford House. We cannot have long to wait, as Her Majesty has already said she means to depart within the week, and I am almost trembling with anticipation, knowing that the consummation of all my hopes is near at hand.

“I will seek out a minister to marry you,” Jane undertakes. Her zeal for us is touching; of course having her brother married to one who might be Queen will be the answer to her family’s prayers. Yet I know she loves me for myself.

“The minister must be a Protestant,” Ned insists, looking questioningly at me.

“Of course,” I say. I have now decided where my spiritual allegiance truly and properly lies.

“And I myself will stand witness,” Jane adds.

“There must be two, I am certain,” Ned says.

“Who can we trust?” I ponder.

“One of your maids?”

“I suppose it will have to be. Mistress Coffin is a chatterbox, so not her. Mistress Leigh is discreet, and she is loyal. I will ask her, although not until the day itself.”

“Good. And as soon as I hear from you, I will send my servants out of the house,” Ned promises.

“I cannot believe this is happening, and that we are to be wed at last,” I say, suffused with happiness, which is all the more precious for having been so hard won.

“It is an answer to all my prayers,” Ned declares, and clasps me to him.

June 1484, Raglan Castle

It had been a weary, seemingly endless journey, and Kate lost track of the inns and monastic guesthouses in which they had stayed. Pontefract, Nottingham, Tamworth, Worcester, Gloucester, Monmouth, and countless other towns and villages had all passed in a blur. She’d been so sunk in misery and increasing homesickness that she had paid little account to the vast, spectacular landscapes, the cathedral spires, or the distant mountains of Wales that could now be seen more clearly
in the distance. A man on a chain of fast horses could have covered the distance in less than six days, but because she and William had with them a train of retainers, and carts and packhorses loaded with their belongings, it had taken them almost twice as long, and William, despite his new riches, had grumbled at having to pay so much for accommodation along the route. He himself would gladly have slept under a hedgerow, wrapped in his cloak, he told her crossly, implying it was all her fault. And he barely ventured a word to her unless he had to.