The Court of the Midnight King: A Dream of Richard III (54 page)

Kate laughed, incredulous. “I couldn’t tell. Well, there was a glimmer sometimes – the time you gave me the mare – but always gone so fast, I was sure I’d deluded myself. You were like stone.”

“How could I speak? I was a married man, Kate, and you promised to Raphael.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped King Edward. Oh, you are certainly not like your brother.”

“In my heart, worse than him,” he murmured. “But only for you. After Anne died, I was too sad, too oppressed to speak to you. I couldn’t even think of it. What was the point, when I faced death? You were always beyond my reach.”

“Me, beyond your reach?”

He put his arms around her and clasped her hard, his head resting on hers. “Katherine, I’m so tired of being alone.”

“You’re not alone. I’ll serve you loyally, as I always have.”

He groaned. “Oh, not service, I don’t mean that.” His words came out with difficulty. “Love, I would like you beside me… as my wife.”

Heat flashed through her. Terror. Complete joy and frantic denial.

“Then would I also be the… queen?”

“Such a fate usually falls to the king’s wife, yes.”

“No. No, I couldn’t.” She couldn’t hold back her words. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t be the queen.”

“I’m asking you to marry me. Never mind what I am.”

“And it’s you I want, but not the trappings that go with it.”

He looked at her with a touch of dismay.

“I cannot stop being what I am. It would not be so terrible, Kate. Would it?”

She loved him so completely she would cheerfully have walked through hell for him; but what he was asking was something else entirely. “You’ll have to marry that Portuguese princess. What was her name?”

“I can’t remember,” Richard said through his teeth.

“You’ll have to, when you’ve cooled down and thought about it.”

He groaned and put his hand over his eyes. “I want no foreign princess. I want someone I know, love and trust with my life!”

“I wouldn’t be accepted. They’d revile me as they did Elizabeth Woodville. My blood’s less than hers.”

“No,” he said fiercely. “There’s nothing wrong with your ancestry, Kate; it’s as old and noble as my father’s and mother’s. Parliament could declare Robin legitimate, and he’d be my heir.”

This only increased her panic. Furiously she said, “And if I told you I’m of no blood at all? If I said that my mother had no children of her own, that she took in a peasant girl who was with child to the village cowherd, a lad who wouldn’t marry her, himself the bastard son of our old priest? That my mother gave the girl a home, hid her shame and brought up the child, me, as her own?” Kate was crying. She turned her face into his shoulder.

“Are you telling me that?” he asked after a time. “It still doesn’t matter.”

She took a deep breath. “But it would. Someone would find out and do to us what… what you did to Edward. Discredit us, disinherit Robin or make war on him…”

He lay back in thought, as if weighing what she’d said, whether her words were a refusal or a test. She didn’t know either, only that she was shaken, and frightened, and could not face what this might mean.

Not in a thousand years could she envisage being queen. And Robin – would he welcome being burdened with the throne, instead of having the freedom to order his own life? And this matter, and that…

In the morning, she knew, Richard would again be a stranger to her.

She waited until he fell asleep. Exhausted from the battle, he slept deeply. Then she slipped out of his relaxed embrace, dressed as best she could with no one to help fasten her gown, tiptoed past his sleeping attendants, and went silently into the night.

###

Eleanor was surprised when Kate came home, dishevelled, without a single one of the attendants who’d accompanied her to Leicestershire. Her lovely Spanish mare looked worn out; Kate had ridden hard, which was not like her. Kate was ominously subdued.

She insisted on stabling Querida herself. Eleanor leaned on the stable door, watching her as she groomed and fed the mare as if to atone for having asked too much of her.

“Dear, what’s happened?” Eleanor asked.

“Have messengers come?”

“Yes, one came this morning. They said King Richard is victorious. Martha and I cried. The whole household wept with relief.”

“Did they tell you that he had Thomas Stanley executed?”

“Yes,” said Eleanor. Again she felt a pang; not quite of grief, just dull regret.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I know you had a tender spot for him. A sentiment I found entirely inexplicable; but still, I know the news must have hurt you.”

“I was sorry to hear it. However, what else could Richard have done? Thomas brought it upon himself. A shame Richard didn’t also cut the head from that bloody woman Thomas married, Margaret Beaufort. What of his son?”

A faint smile twitched on her lips. “George? Richard spared him.”

“Good. I doubt he has the fire to start another rebellion to avenge his father. I hope not. Let’s pray Auset that this brings peace.”

“You don’t blame Richard, then?” said Kate. “I’d hate to think this had turned you against him.”

“It hasn’t,” said Eleanor, “but what’s happened?”

“He has Robin.”

“Ah.” Eleanor felt a wisp of sorrow, but Kate’s news seemed inevitable. “So clearly he had no doubt that Robin was his.”

Kate laughed. “How could anyone doubt it? Richard raged at me for not telling him, but once he’d calmed down, he was overjoyed. I suppose he’ll take him as a ward of the royal court and we’ll see him no more.”

“Is that what Robin wants?”

“Mama, you’ve never seen a creature as thrilled as Robin was to learn who his father was. He was gone from me like a trout in a beck. He has a future now; wonderful or terrible, I don’t know, but I would not take that from him.”

“Is that why you’re sad?”

Kate rose from rubbing the mare’s legs and stretched to ease her back. “I’m not sad.”

“Whatever made you flee in such disarray? Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Then why have you come home?”

Kate’s demeanour changed subtly. She raised her chin and her eyes shone. “Because it’s the path I have chosen. I’ve come to learn my duties as your heir, Mater Superior.”

###

Kate was in a hedgerow, picking herbs. The moon shone full, bringing the tender plants to their maximum potency. Her mother’s grey cat followed her. Around her the world was charcoal and silver, dewy and fecund. Every scent and play of light woke a memory. Her father, smiling and kissing her cheek as he rode away to yet another battle. Playing hide and seek with Nan. Her sweet mare, Mab. Processions of chanting sisters, making their way to Briganta’s Cave, carrying lanterns, eerie enough to make onlookers think they’d seen a procession of faerie folk.

Seducing a sweet and hapless stranger.

She thought of the time Richard had accused Elizabeth Woodville and her mother Jacquetta of trapping Edward into marriage by sorcery. As if Edward could not simply have been following his heart, and made the decision – however ill-considered – by himself.

Did Richard really believe that? Had he forgotten what Kate was when he asked her to marry him? Or did he expect her to forsake all she was and bow to the Church?

No, Kate thought, harvesting her plants with vigour. Her basket was full. She closed her eyes tight. She’d given her answer. She couldn’t turn from her true self, even for him.

Her skirts were soaked. The cat came pushing at her, forcing its way between her arms and lap. She pressed her cheek against the wet fur. Somewhere in the distance, a voice called her name; she ignored it. Instead she hugged the cat until it objected and wriggled free.

Richard was alive. That was all she and Raphael had worked for. Nothing else had ever been possible.

It was past midnight when she went back to the house. Strangely, Martha was still up, busy with two maids in the kitchen. Martha leapt from her skin when she heard Kate, and glared at her.

“Why are you up so late?” asked Kate, placing her overflowing basket on the table.

“Oh, thank heavens you’re back! Did you not hear me shouting?”

“I was out in the meadows.”

“Go to your mother immediately. She’s in the great hall.” Martha stormed forward and started fussing with Kate’s hair. “How did you get into such a state?”

Kate caught her hands and pushed them down impatiently. “What’s so important?”

Martha huffed. “You can’t go looking like this – but you must go at once. What am I to do with you?”

Kate looked down at herself. She was wearing a plain grey dress, black from the knees down with damp. She pulled her fingers through her hair and shook it, no doubt making it worse. “Stop fussing. Mother will have to take me as she finds me.”

She went with measured steps, determined not to rush. All she could think was that her mother had somehow heard what had happened in Leicester. Gossip always seeped through in the end. Or perhaps Raphael was here. Someone was bound to have told him, as soon as he returned from Nottingham, that she’d spent the night in the king’s chamber. Perhaps he’d come to berate her.

The hall was a glowing tableau of red and amber. Her mother was sitting in her tall chair by the hearth, magnificent in russet silk, with drops of gold shining on the hennin that covered her hair, every inch the lady of the house. The chair facing Eleanor contained a man who had his back to Kate; she could see nothing of him except one elbow. There was an aura of polite ease between them, as if he and Eleanor had been talking for some time. No one else was there.

Seeing her daughter, she rose. “Katherine, you have a visitor.”

She walked towards them. The man stood up and turned to greet her.

Richard.

Never in a hundred lifetimes had she expected him to come after her. She stood idiotically dumb. Her first thought was that he must be here for some other reason, not for her.

He was plainly dressed, in breeches and doublet of a bitter-brown colour, and tall black boots chased with bronze. Fire painted his hair with a curve of red amid the black. He looked astonishing. All the breath went out of her.

“Kate,” said Eleanor in a light, firm tone. Kate had never seen her so nervous before. In other circumstances, she would have been amused. “Greet our guest according to his high estate. This is the king.”

“I know,” she answered tightly.

But as she began to curtsey, Richard said, “No, no, forget formality. We know each other well enough.” Sombre, he kissed her hand. His skin was warm from the fire. She felt heat spreading through her, mostly awkwardness. Eleanor regarded her with shrewd eyes. What on earth had they been talking about?

Kate managed to say, “Excuse my dress, Your Grace, but I was working… Gardening.”

“At midnight?”

“Certain plants can only be…”

“You would look fair in rags,” he said quietly. “You never were of an idle disposition, my lady.”

Eleanor said, “Katherine, His Grace the King wishes to speak with you privately. Are you willing?”

Kate’s breath was unsteady. She didn’t want her mother to leave. Alone, she feared that Richard would be furious, or cold, or menacing as she knew he could be. What was there to say? Slipping away in silence had been the only answer. She did not want to be forced to explain her decision.

“If I have your permission, my lady mother,” she murmured.

“Then I’ll leave you. There is wine. Call Martha or Thomas if you require anything else. If you will grant me leave to withdraw, sire…”

With another meaningful look at her daughter, Eleanor glided out.

Now Kate was shaking so hard she could hardly move. Her hands twined together, clammy. Richard leaned on the carved chair-back, regarding her without expression. “This is a beautiful house, and your mother is very gracious.”

“Despite being embarrassed that she couldn’t find me.”

“My father-in-law Warwick would have blustered and made a great issue of it. ‘Madam, can you not find your own daughter?’”

Kate gave a faint smile. “You’d never be so ungracious.”

“Were you hiding from me?”

“No. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I meant – Why did you leave Leicester?”

She felt that his eyes would scorch the flesh from her bones. She chewed her lower lip. “I panicked.”

“At what?”

“At what you asked.”

A line creased his forehead. He looked puzzled and hurt. It took a brave woman to reject a king, and Kate didn’t feel brave at all. “And what is this? Your answer? Or a test of my determination?”

She disentangled her fingers and forced her hands down to her sides. In truth, knowing he had pursued her made her feel weirdly ecstatic. He has power over me, she thought, but I have power over him, too.

“It wasn’t my intention to test you,” she said. “Just to vanish quietly.”

“Didn’t you expect me to follow you?”