The Gilded Crown (19 page)

‘Perhaps one,' Catherine jested.

‘Ha, one indeed,' he snorted as he grasped her hand. ‘I have spoken with Hargraves. It would appear that my household was intercepted by what they thought was the royal guard.'

‘King David?' she asked.

‘No, I believe it may have been Robert.'

‘But why?'

‘That I am yet to discover. Perhaps we will learn more shortly.'

Catherine looked puzzled.

‘You forget, we dine with Lord Robert tonight.'

‘But, Simon, I have nothing to wear. I cannot attend dressed as I am!'

Simon smiled. ‘Lady Wexford, you surprise me. I did not think you vain.'

‘I am not vain!' Catherine stamped her foot.

‘Do not worry. I am sure you will be forgiven in this instance, held as we are against our will.'

‘Do you think we are prisoners?' Catherine asked.

‘That is something we shall discover tomorrow, when it is time for us to leave.'

Catherine stood beside Simon in the anteroom, waiting to be ushered into the great hall. Without a comb she had been unable to achieve very much with her hair, securing as many curls as possible with the pins that had not been lost on their ride to the castle. She clutched at a section of her gown in an attempt to hide a stain, but nothing could be done to rectify the mud-spattered hem. She could hear the hum of conversation within and wondered just how many guests had been invited to dine with the King and precisely what they would think of her unkempt appearance.

‘Simon Marshall, Lord of Wexford and his wife, Lady Catherine.'

The room fell silent. Catherine was struck by the icy glare of the Scottish aristocracy and dug her fingers into her husband's arm.

Simon drew her towards a tall, young man. Unaware of his identity she did not know whether or not it was appropriate to curtsey and tripped over her own feet in panic.

‘John, may I present my wife?' began Simon, barely bowing his head. ‘Catherine, this is John, Seventh High Stewart of Scotland.'

‘Lady Wexford, I am charmed,' he stated confidently. ‘My brothers, Walter, the Earl of Fife, and Robert, Earl of Menteith.'

‘Lord Wexford, my ears deceive me. A wife, I heard you say, and not anything like the woman whom I imagined you would marry.'

Catherine peered around her husband to see who had spoken. He was leaning on the wall, one leg bent so that the flat of his foot sat against the stones whilst he picked at his nails with a small knife.

Simon kept his back to the man. ‘James,' he acknowledged but paid him no other heed.

Several additional gentlemen were introduced – Lord Ralph Neville and Lord Henry Percy among them.

Catherine nodded and smiled on each occasion, trying desperately to remember their names, but was distracted by a huddle of women who stood whispering in the far corner, Beatrix Odistoun among them. The arrival of Robert and his wife, the Lady Euphemia and Margaret, Lady Logie, put a stop to any further introductions. The King was the last to appear, the cut of his deep-crimson cloak accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. He nodded politely to several guests as he made his way to the dais, pausing when his gaze found Simon.

‘Lord Odistoun went to great lengths to inform me of your visit, Lord Wexford.' King David raised his eyebrows in a quizzical manner. ‘I was greatly amused to hear your news.'

‘My good fortune has entertained many,' said Simon.

‘Aye, it has. Come closer, lass.' David pointed at Catherine, then curled his index finger.

Catherine curtseyed, uncomfortably aware of her unsteady stance. David was much younger than she had imagined, his thin, dark beard jiggling on his chin as he spoke.

‘You have not long been in Edinburgh?'

‘I … we … not long,' Catherine stumbled over her reply.

‘We arrived but hours ago, to collect our infant son and were not expecting to stay,' Simon answered on her behalf. ‘I apologise for our attire.'

‘I requested our guests receive assistance from the master of the wardrobe, but it would appear that my instructions were not carried out,' Margaret Logie retorted.

‘It matters not for now we eat,' David commanded as he took his seat at the centre of the high table. The master of ceremonies clapped his hands and the minstrels began to play. The feast was carried out on enormous silver platters, balanced between a pair of servants. Spiced pigs' heads, stuffed geese with currants for eyes, pickled herring, stewed capon and small pigeons were paraded around the room for guests to purvey.

Simon and Catherine sat at one of the lower tables, Walter and Beatrix directly opposite them. Catherine's stomach pitched as the smell of smoked trout drifted towards her.

‘Try some bread and a little cheese,' whispered Simon.

‘I would love an apple,' Catherine replied.

Wiping his blade, Simon neatly quartered and cored the fruit, adding several iced cakes to her plate. ‘Please try.'

Catherine nibbled on the sweet flesh and willed her body not to reject the meagre offering. The meal was a dreadful ordeal as she fought constant nausea, her head pounding. She sighed with relief when the women were encouraged to depart for the solar.

The adjoining room was sumptuous though considerably smaller than the great hall. Selecting a seat at a table furthest from the fire, Catherine took a deep breath. She longed for the comfort of the large bed in the Douglas Tower, and to be free from the confines of her tight boots.

‘How do you fare, Euphemia?' asked Margaret Logie. The instant cessation of conversation was telling, as was the straining of necks by several of the older women.

‘I am well, Margaret,' answered Euphemia.

‘But you are so pale. Are you sure you are not overcome by some illness?'

A young woman by Margaret's elbow sniggered.

‘I thank you for your concern, but I can assure you, I am quite well,' said Euphemia, her smile contrived.

‘Then I have been told falsehoods for surely only ill health would prevent you from completing the small task I set you?'

Euphemia pursed her lips but remained silent.

‘And the meal, Euphemia! Your inclusion of so many delicacies!'

Euphemia drew herself up. ‘I dinna hear any complaints.'

‘Perhaps our guests are clever at disguising their dislike!'

‘I am unsure of your meaning.'

Margaret smiled. ‘Lady Wexford, what did you think of the meal?'

Catherine's heart jumped at the sound of her name. ‘Lady Logie, I am unaccustomed to such luxury so cannot honestly offer any credible opinion.'

‘I think your plate spoke for you,' declared Margaret boldly, ‘an apple, a small piece of cheese and a few sweetmeats.' She roared with laughter.

‘I am not feeling well,' retorted Catherine.

‘Why? Are you with child?' Margaret pried gleefully.

Catherine paled and bowed her head. She did not wish to lie.

‘Hmmm, no reply it seems,' remarked Beatrix sarcastically.

‘As my sister-by-marriage is aware, I am recovering from a long journey,' explained Catherine.

‘Lady Odistoun, why did you not inform us?' questioned Margaret.

The attention turned to Beatrix and as she stumbled to reply, Catherine busied herself filling the empty goblets of the ladies around her. The conversation moved on and Catherine took the opportunity to inch her way closer to the main door.

Margaret and Euphemia continued their personal battle, systematically ridiculing guests both present and absent, friends and foes. Catherine was exhausted and fearing that she would eventually be drawn back into the fray she sat down in a high-backed chair, closed her eyes and begged Simon to rescue her.

‘Lady Wexford, it is time for us to depart.'

As though by magic, he was standing beside her.

‘The King has given his permission for guests to retire.'

Catherine grasped his hand and they slipped out into the ante-room and retraced their route to the Douglas Tower.

As a result of Catherine's unhappy introduction to court life, she spent the next two days within their suite of rooms, hiding from Robert and Euphemia, King David and Margaret Logie. Simon allowed her to withdraw, concerned for her health as she grew increasingly lethargic. He was not surprised when her absence was noted and much was made concerning Catherine's lack of courtly knowledge by Margaret and Euphemia. Regardless of her condition, she was expected in the great hall.

Catherine dressed with care that afternoon, even allowing English Mary to style her hair. Mary had been dispatched, along with their possessions, from Craigmillar. Guests or not, Catherine certainly felt like a prisoner, a vastly unfashionable prisoner. English Mary clucked over Catherine's choice of the green gown, the same dress Simon had added to her wardrobe whilst she had been a guest in his London home. She had been slightly slimmer then, but now four months pregnant, the dress was tight around her waist.

When Catherine entered the hall on her husband's arm that evening, she found to her surprise only six people present.

Robert Stewart and Euphemia rose to greet them, followed by an older couple, the woman having a striking appearance, her hair black as the night, in complete contrast to her skin, which appeared to reflect light, so pale was she.

‘Lord and Lady Wexford, may I introduce, Lord Patrick Dunbar and his wife, Lady Agnes,' said Robert.

‘It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lord Dunbar.' Simon bowed his head respectfully. ‘I have heard much about you and your wife.'

‘Come, lad, we can't abide formality. I believe you are Simon, Charles' son, aye?' he asked.

‘Yes,' said Simon as the men sat at the table.

Agnes grasped Catherine's hand. ‘You and I are to be friends – great friends, methinks.'

Relief flooded through Catherine for this woman seemed gentle and kind.

The King and his mistress were announced and made their way towards the small group. Both Margaret and Euphemia were subdued, neither speaking to the other. Catherine struggled to sit still. Her stomach was churning, waiting for the moment when one of the two woman would pounce on her. And then there was the meal – what would they serve? She sent a hurried prayer to Saint Lawrence, the patron saint of cooks, in the hope that whoever was preparing the meal had not been able to locate eels or anything of a slippery nature. Catherine watched as Agnes engaged Margaret and Euphemia, complimenting one on the choice of her headdress and the other, her gown. Lady Dunbar asked after the Stewart children and appeared to listen intently as Euphemia described their many virtues.

‘You seem in better health this evening?' Margaret asked Catherine, snatching the conversation from her rival.

‘Yes, thank you. I have benefited much from resting.'

‘There is more colour about you, though I can't help but think you would do well from wearing a different shade, child,' she said with distaste. ‘That green makes you look sickly.'

‘I am sure Lady Wexford appreciates your advice, Margaret. Mayhap you could suggest to us what you think Catherine should wear,' interjected Agnes.

‘Oh, well, let me see.' Margaret's gaze settled on Catherine's face. ‘I would have chosen something lighter, a pale blue perhaps. There is nothing wrong with green but I would have chosen a shade of emerald.'

‘Yes, or even crimson,' advised Euphemia, who decided to join the conversation.

‘I am told that Catherine has little court experience and knows nothing of royal etiquette,' clarified Agnes.

‘I fear I have much to learn.' Catherine felt her cheeks flush as each woman scrutinised her.

‘Mayhap I can assist Lady Wexford, for I am sure my husband will not require my company,' Agnes proposed.

‘Wexford, do you have any objections?' asked David.

‘No, your Grace. I believe my wife would enjoy Lady Dunbar's company,' he replied.

‘Well, that's settled. Patrick, I think you and your wife should take the rooms adjoining the Douglas Tower. Margaret will see to it on the morrow,' he directed as he refilled his enormous wine goblet.