A Rose for the Crown (47 page)

“Fiddle-faddle! Your mother exaggerated. I am sure you must see more beautiful women in Calais than in Chelsworth. You are just being kind, sir.”

“And right again, Mother. I see my sister does indeed have a quick tongue in her head! No bad thing for George, I’ll warrant.” He released Kate and turned back to his mother and father.

“Being a father will be no bad thing for George either.” Martin laughed and winked at Kate, who lowered her eyes and blushed at her father-in-law’s implication.

Young Martin’s eyes widened, and he slapped his thigh with his glove. “Certes, I am to be an uncle! ’Tis good news indeed. And you, Maud, you will be an aunt!” He took Maud’s hand. The little girl looked puzzled, and her family laughed at her.

*   *   *

T
HE NEXT DAYS FLEW BY.
Young Martin held his audience captive with tales of his eighteen months in the staple town. He left out the brawls he had seen—or been involved in—and the couple of brothels he had frequented. He painted pictures of business deals, important visitors, ships and storms, fairs and festivals until Kate could swear she had been by his side the whole time. One evening, he invited her to walk with him as the daylight faded and the burgeoning trees were cast in a golden light.

“Kate, I must talk with you about my brother.” He began a little hesitantly, but Kate encouraged him to continue. “My father told me of George’s deceit with regard to your betrothal and that Howard pardoned him. I saw George, albeit briefly, when he was in France with Sir John in November. He was his usual self with me—that is to say, uncommunicative and sullen. He bears me jealousies, I know, and I am sorry for him. But dare I ask if he has treated you with . . . respect?”

Young Martin turned anxiously to her. Kate looked into his eyes and saw immediately that he suspected George’s character but doubted he knew of George’s leanings. She kept her word to George and said nothing. Instead, she sighed and nodded.

“Have no fear, brother, I am not such a ninny as to allow George to mistreat me. He is more difficult than I was led to expect from our first meetings, but we go along well enough.” She changed the subject. “Has anyone told you of the house Sir John would give us? He will move it from Sir Anthony’s acreage here to Tendring park in these next months.”

Martin had been astonished when his father had told him about Sir John’s offer. It was explained that it had more to do with Margaret’s fondness for Kate and her wishing Kate to be nearer her than with George’s value to Sir John.

“I know my mother will miss you when you are gone. She told me you are of great comfort to her during our father’s long absences and that you were so kind during Robert’s tragic ordeal. I thank you for that.” He picked up her hand and brushed it with his lips.

“I believe your mother suffered more than Robert did. I do not know what I should do if my babe does not survive me.” Kate put her hand on her stomach tenderly. “I cherish the child already and it is not even born.”

Young Martin looked fondly at her. “I hope to be as fortunate as George is in a wife, Kate. I wish I would meet her soon.”

“Oftimes ’tis better not to meet the person before you are wed, Martin. For she may not turn out to be exactly what you dreamed,” Kate said softly.

“B
Y WHOM, MAY
I
ASK?
” George shouted at her, his words tossed over the river by a strong gust of wind. A storm was brewing, Kate could tell.

“Nay, you may not ask! Just as I would not ask how many others you have bedded besides the groom!” Kate flung back, holding on to her cap with one hand and her skirts with the other.

They faced each other on the riverbank not far from the spot where George had made his confession to her in September. The slate sky sent forth a few warning drops splattering into the stream, and the wind turned the leaves over, their silvery backs a sure sign of rain.

“You will tell me, wife, or I shall beat it out of you!” George’s brow was thunderous, his voice splitting the air. “I have the right, you know.”

“Aye, I know you may beat me. I also know you will not because you are not only unmanly, you are a coward!” She spat the last at him, her claws showing.

She reeled as he struck the first blow across her mouth, and before she could right herself, he hit her again. She felt something running from her nose and into her mouth and then tasted her own blood. Tears of pain sprang unwilled to her eyes, and she fought to hold them back so that he would not see her cry.

“Coward!” she cried and stood her ground. “Go on, hit me again!”

George took hold of her shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled.

His face was barely six inches from her face. “How dare you! How dare you speak to me this way!”

Kate was torn; she wanted to flee from him, yet every sinew in her body told her to scream abuse at him. To be thus insulted, violated—how dare he! But one of us must be reasonable, she thought. So instead, she clenched her fists at her sides, set her mouth in a hard line and spoke as steadily as her shattered nerves and bruised mouth would allow.

“George Haute, if you ever hit me again, I swear you will rue the day.
Do you hear me?” The menace in her voice made him take a step back. George was still shaking, his face white. He nodded once sharply and looked away. Kate breathed more easily. “You have a right to be angry, I grant you. But without a doubt you have brought this on yourself.”

They stood facing each other, the unheeded rain a damp curtain between them. It was then that George noticed Kate’s bleeding nose and offered her his kerchief.

“But you goaded me, in truth,” he pouted. “You deserved it. ’Twas a shock to know you have made a cuckold of me. Certes, ’tis natural for a husband to be angered by his wife’s infidelity, and you cannot gainsay me that.”

He groaned inwardly when he saw the welt on Kate’s cheek and her swollen lip and wondered how they would explain it to his mother. Kate was still seething, but she was also afraid. She turned from him and gingerly patted her streaming nose with the kerchief. She needed George on her side if she was to carry off her ruse that the child was his. She took a few deep breaths, swallowed her pride and the nasty-tasting blood and turned to him.

“You have denied me loving that was rightfully mine when we wed, and you have denied me my right to be a mother. All because of your . . . nature. I have kept my end of our bargain. Your family will not know of this from me. And if you would only think with your brain instead of your fists, you would realize my condition is a boon to you.”

“Do not mock me, wife!” George raised his arm again, and Kate flinched. Then his curiosity got the better of him. “How is it a boon?”

“Because I have timed the conception for your visit at the feast of Valentine, and if the babe is earlier or later, ’tis only nature’s course. Your mother and father know of it, and they are expecting their first grandchild with much joy. They believe you are the father, and that is all that matters.”

“So, they were apprised and I was not. ’Tis strange Mother said nothing to me upon my arrival.”

“Certes! She wanted you to hear the news from me, you addle-pate! And now I have told you, and she will wonder why it made you angry enough to strike me.” Kate dabbed at her nose. “We shall have to think of something to explain away my face.”

George hung his head. Kate despaired of him. Did he not have any brain at all? What a contrast to Richard, she thought, with his intelligent gray eyes and grasp of the world, though four years younger. As it did every time she thought of Richard, her hand came to rest protectively on the child inside her. She paced the riverbank, the cool rain soothing her burning face. She came up with a solution. She dirtied her hands, skirt and face with mud and deliberately broke the strap off her patten.

“Unless you have a better idea, what think you, George? Do I look as though I tripped in my broken patten while running from the rain?”

George’s relief showed plainly. “Aye, Kate, in truth you do. Maybe a little more mud on your face. There, that’s better.” George smeared the dirt to hide the welt better, took her shoe and put his arm around her waist as if to support her weight. Together they hurried to the house, where Philippa threw up her hands at the sight of Kate and called to Molly to bring a bowl of water and some bandages. George fussed around Kate, and she presumed he was trying to atone for his violent behavior, for his manner with her was now more deferential.

“Mother, Kate has just told me the happy news,” he said brightly. “I am overjoyed that I shall be a father. She tells me you know, too—and Father?”

Maud tugged at his sleeve. “And me, George, and me! I am going to be an aunt—whatever that is.”

“So you shall, my poppet.” George lifted his sister and kissed her full on the lips.

Kate let out a relieved sigh followed by an “ouch” as Philippa sponged her nose. The worst is over, she thought. Now, if only I could hear from Richard and know what he thinks of fatherhood, I should indeed be happy.

14
Suffolk and Essex, June 1468

W
at sprang from his horse, relinquished the animal to Simon and hurried to the house. Gareth opened to his knocking and bade the messenger enter and wait for his master. Wat suppressed a smirk as Gareth’s portly figure waddled across the hall to the solar, crunching the rushes under his feet. As the servant disappeared, he tiptoed to look through the kitchen entry to see if Molly was engaged there. He was hoping he would stay overnight and have her company in the stable again, but Sir John had been explicit.

“Tell Master Haute that he is summoned to the court at Greenwich and must accompany you back to Tendring without delay. If it be before four o’clock, you will have ample time to return before the sun sets. Pray give Mistress Kate this letter.”

Not seeing Molly, Wat drew the letter from the pouch slung around his waist, resumed his position near the door and waited. Martin appeared a few minutes later.

“You are welcome. What message have you for me?” He held his hand out for the letter.

“Good day, sir.” Wat bowed and ignored the hand. “I have a message
from my master, Sir John Howard, that you accompany me as soon as possible to Tendring and thence to the court at Greenwich. This letter is for Dame Katherine, and I am commanded to deliver it into her hand alone”—he thought quickly—“or into the hand of her maidservant.”

Martin nodded and called for Molly, for he knew Kate was somewhere in the garden. The door to Kate’s chamber banged shut, and Molly appeared at the top of the stairs. She grinned when she saw Wat but composed herself and walked sedately down the stairs. Martin waved his hand at Wat, indicating he should give the letter to Molly.

“Wait for me at the stable. Tell Simon to ready my horse,” Martin said over his shoulder on his way to the solar.

Wat grunted an assent, but instead of giving the letter to Molly, he sneaked around the staircase and into the kitchen. Before she knew what was happening, Molly was pulled under the stairs and Wat was kissing her fiercely.

“Have a care, Wat. Someone will see us,” Molly whispered when she came up for air, but her smile was enticing, and so Wat kissed her again, pulling up her voluminous skirts. Her knees trembled as his expert hand climbed ever higher, making her moan.

“Hush, sweetheart, not so loud. Here, I must stop you with my mouth.” Wat crushed his mouth on hers. Their bodies kept her skirts high, so he was able to undo the laces of his straining codpiece and enter her easily. Pinned against the wall, her back arched, Molly was aware of a wood carving digging into her shoulders, but her passion transcended discomfort, and she rose and fell in tandem with Wat’s pounding hips. He stifled a grunt as he thrust one long last time and Molly, on a moan, went limp.

“Quiet, someone is coming.” She pushed him away and smoothed her skirt. She wiped the beads of sweat from her upper lip and her hand trembled.

“Nay, my lusty one, ’tis just bells that you hear from our passion.” Wat grinned at her and stood back to tie up his hose. “I swear you have cast a spell on me, Molly. I want no other woman but you, and hell’s bells I can only have you once in a blue moon.”