A King's Betrayal (3 page)

             
Richard’s brow creased, his eyes thoughtful.  ‘Why do you say the child is mine?  You are married, Beatrice.  Could the babe not be your husband’s?’

             
‘Tomas has not once come to my bed in all this time  He knows the child is yours, Richard.  If you doubt my word, ask him for the truth.’

             
‘I could not insult him thus,’ Richard said and frowned.  ‘If the child is mine I shall see that she has money or lands when she is old enough to wed.’

             
‘What if the child is a son?’  Beatrice raised her head, a challenge in her eyes.  ‘Will you not acknowledge him, Richard?  Supposing that child you wed never gives you an heir?’

             
‘I have told you before to speak respectfully of your queen, Beatrice.  I am fond of Isabella.  She is too young to be a wife to me in that way as yet, but one day we shall have children.  Her son will be the king in my place, not yours.’

             
‘You promised me, Richard.  You know that you made me a promise when you seduced me.’

             
‘I have told you that it was a promise meant to be broken.  Do not make me angry, Beatrice.  You have no proof that Elspeth or this new child is mine – and I shall give you none.  Honours, lands, money; all these shall be yours and the children’s, but for the rest you must forget what I once said in the heat of desire.  I cannot acknowledge your children for my enemies would use it against me.  Even if I put my hand to a document that made the children legitimate they would not be accepted by the nobles and barons. It would only endanger their lives.’

             
‘Why?  You are the King.  You can do anything.’

             
Richard threw back his head and laughed.  ‘Would that were true, Beatrice.  I walk a narrow road between two steep ravines.  One false step and someone will push me down.’  He reached out to draw her close.  ‘I have but one night with you, love.  Will you spoil it with your demands?  I promise that you shall be a countess and your children shall have lands and dowers enough to content them.  Be done with this and forget the promise I made, as I have.’

             
Beatrice felt angry tears sting her eyes but she would not let them fall.  Tomas was right.  Richard would never yield.  He would give so much but no more and she would be a fool to push for something he would not give.’

             
‘You promise you will not forget them?’

             
‘I have important work in Ireland,’ Richard said and stroked one finger down her cheek.  ‘When I return I shall come again and then you will have all the honours you wish for – but you must forget your dreams, Beatrice.  Your son can never be King of England.’

             
Beatrice sighed, accepting defeat.  ‘Give Tomas something, he deserves it.’

             
‘Tomas is loyal and shall be rewarded.  He is to travel to Ireland with me and I shall reward him when we return.’

             
Beatrice lifted her head for his kiss.  His touch set her body on fire, making her moan with longing as she swayed against him, melting in the heat of the flames that flared between them. 

             
‘No other woman will ever give you as much,’ she whispered huskily.  ‘One day you will wish you had kept your promise to me, Richard.’

             
He made no answer.  Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to her couch, laying her down amongst the silken covers and kissing her.  Lost in the desire he had always aroused in her, she gave herself up to pleasure.  Richard was her love, her life, her king and she could no more resist him now than when she was a virgin and lost to everything but love.  For now all she could do was to give herself unstintingly and hope that he would see she was his one true wife.

Four

‘Your husband hath returned, lady,’ Beatrice’s serving woman came to her as she lay resting against the pillows on her couch.  ‘He has brought extra men with him – soldiers - and wagons filled with supplies.  He says we must prepare for war.’

             
‘War?’ Beatrice felt the shock run through her as she sat up, putting her feet to the floor.  Her pregnancy was beginning to trouble her now and more noticeable than when Tomas had gone to Ireland with the King some months earlier.  ‘I do not understand.  Why should there be war?’

             
‘Your brother is with Lord Ryston,’ the woman said.  ‘They ask that you go down to them in the hall.’

             
‘Very well.’  Beatrice sighed but rose at once, standing so that her woman could slip a surcoat on to her arms and over her upper body, then fasten it in front with ties of gold cord.  Its cut was fuller than her tunic and hid the heaviness of her body beneath the heavy brocaded silk.  With her long hair falling about her shoulders and down her back, she looked as beautiful as ever despite her condition.  ‘I must hear what Tomas and Hugh have to say.’

             
She was frowning as she made her way down the curving stair of her tower to the great hall of the castle.  Soft-soled shoes made little noise on the stone stair as she walked slowly, uncertainly.  Her heart was beating faster than normal and her mouth was dry with fear.  Cocooned in her safe haven, thinking mostly of the child to come and her beloved daughter, Beatrice had not heard news from the outside for some weeks.  Tomas had written to her twice of the troubles they had found in Ireland and the magnificent manner in which Richard was managing the rebellious Irish, but he had said nothing of war here on the borders of Wales.

             
She saw Tomas and her brother standing together in the hall and went up to them, sensing at once that they were anxious and on edge.

             
‘The King is not with you?’

             
‘No, he has gone into Wales,’ Tomas said.  ‘He means to raise an army there and put a stop to the damage Bolingbroke has done in his absence.’

             
‘I do not know what you mean?’  Beatrice shivered.  At the far end of the hall the trunk of a tree was burning in the open hearth, the flames giving light and warmth to the huge chamber but her hands felt like ice.  ‘I have heard nothing.  Master Steward has said naught of this to me. What has happened to make you speak of war, Tomas?’

             
‘Bolingbroke has brought an army to England and means to take back lands in the north and the Brecon, which Richard took from him.  He has begun his campaign in the north and already he holds a strong position.  We should have come home sooner, before Bolingbroke could gain such strength, but Richard would not listen. He always believes in his right to rule and will take no advice from anyone, even his trusted friends.’

             
Beatrice shuddered, coldness sweeping over her.  It was as if a dark cloud had obscured the sun and she was afraid of something – something dark and hidden that would bring great grief into her life.  She wanted to scream and shout, to protest that this must not happen, but she held her peace.

‘Why did no one tell me?’

             
‘We none of us expected this, sister,’ Sir Hugh said and frowned at her.  ‘Besides, Tomas did not wish to distress you in your condition.’

             
‘I wish you had told me sooner,’ she said, though she knew that she could do nothing.  War was for men.  Women waited and wept while their men went off to fight and die.  ‘What did you mean when you said we must prepare for war?  Shall we be attacked?’

             
‘It is possible,’ Hugh said.  ‘I came here to see you and bring you a letter from Richard.  I shall stay but one night, then I must meet the King in Wales, taking with me all the men I can muster from my own estates.’

             
‘What of Tomas?’  Beatrice looked at her husband anxiously.  ‘Shall you go to Wales and fight with Richard?’

             
‘He bade me stay here and protect the castle and you,’ Tomas said, giving her a look filled with meaning.  ‘I would have left the men under your command and gone to him, but he forbade it.  He said that in your vulnerable condition you needed me here.’

             
Tears stung her throat.  Richard had thought of her in this time of danger.  He had ordered Tomas to protect her and his children – perhaps he did mean to acknowledge them one day.  Ambition soared once more.  Only when she was dead would she release her hopes of seeing Elspeth take her father’s place on the throne of England one day. She looked at the letter her brother had given her and saw that it bore the royal seal.  Her heart quickened with excitement.  Was it the document she had always wanted?

             
‘You must do as Richard asks,’ she said and lifted her head proudly.  Turning to her brother, she smiled.  ‘I am proud of you, Hugh.  I know that when Richard is victorious he will honour you for your loyalty.’

             
‘If he is victorious.’  Sir Hugh looked uncertain.  ‘Do not underestimate Henry Bolingbroke, sister.  He did not come here merely to win back his lands.  He wants the crown of England and he will wrest it from Richard’s head with his bare hands if need be.’

             
‘Surely you do not think he will win?’

             
Beatrice was horrified.  It had never occurred to her that Richard could lose his throne – and perhaps his life.  She shuddered, feeling icy prickles all over her body. 
             
‘Tomas, tell me Hugh is wrong.  Richard cannot lose – can he?’

             
Tomas hesitated, then, ‘I shall not lie to you, Beatrice.  Richard has upset the barons.  Too many of them are against him and bear grievances for various harm they claim he has done them.  He passes laws that many feel too harsh and rides roughshod over his enemies.  Some say his rages are the sign of madness and they talk of a change – of a new king who will rule fairly.’

             
‘Richard is their anointed King.  How can they betray him?  They will be traitors, their lives forfeit when he is victorious.’

             
‘Yes, that is why many will sit on the fence and wait,’ Tomas said.  ‘Some have already declared for Bolingbroke but others hold fire.  If Richard can raise the people of Wales many of the barons will go over to him.  If they do not…’  He shook his head and sighed.  ‘He may lose everything.’

             
‘Why do they not see him for the wonderful, intelligent and cultured man he is?  He has done so much for art and he loves beauty and music, poetry and learning.  Where do these wicked stories of insanity come from?  They are all lies.’

             
‘Yes, I know they are lies,’ Tomas agreed.  ‘Richard is as sane as you or I but he hath a temper, which you have not seen, sister.  Those that have felt his wrath have some justice on their side.  I am and shall ever be for Richard, but I see their complaints and I know they have some reason for rebellion.  At times Richard goes too far if he would keep the love of his people.’

             
‘Can you not speak to him, make him see that he should listen and perhaps grant some of their requests?’

             
‘You should know that Richard never listens,’ her brother said.  ‘I must leave you for the moment, sister.  I shall dine with you this evening, but I must speak to my men and make sure they have all they need.’

             
Beatrice watched her brother stride from the hall, his boots ringing on the flagstones.  She turned to her husband anxiously.

             
‘Do you think we shall be attacked here?’

             
‘Perhaps, though we are of little importance.  Much depends on how things go with Richard.’  He hesitated, then, ‘I have thought we should go to my lands in Wales.  The people are loyal to me and you might be safer there, Beatrice.’

             
She hesitated then shook her head.  ‘I shall stay here in the castle Richard gave me.  If I went elsewhere it might anger him.  He promised to come to me as soon as he returned from Ireland.  I must be here waiting when he comes.  He will want to see his son.’

             
‘Have it your own way.’ Tomas looked at her from narrowed eyes.  ‘Do not expect Richard yet.  He has more important things on his mind than you or your child, Beatrice.’

             
‘He has written to me.’  She broke the seal eagerly and scanned the message inside.  Richard had created her Countess Beatrice of Craigmere, the name of her castle – and her daughter was to be known as the lady Elspeth.  Elspeth was to have lands and money, which would be held in trust by her uncle, Sir Hugh de Bracie, until she was of an age to wed. There was no mention of her unborn child.  ‘No!  No, this is not what he promised.’

             
Beatrice crumpled the parchment in her hand.  Her eyes flashed with temper.  Richard had honoured their daughter, but it seemed he was not convinced that her second child was also his.

             
‘You expect too much,’ Tomas said when she pushed the document into his hand, her own shaking with anger.  ‘I have told you before, Beatrice.  If you wish to hold Richard’s love you must be accepting and grateful for what he does for you.  Do not tell me again that he seduced you.  I have heard it many times.  He is a king and a man.  I dare say he has bedded more than a few women, many as well born and as lovely as you.  You gave him what he wanted too soon.  Had you been more virtuous he might have wed you then.’

             
‘Damn you, Tomas!’ Beatrice flew at him, striking at his cheek with her nails, but he caught her wrist, his strength preventing her from her achieving her aim.  ‘I hate you.  Do you hear me?  I wish I had never wed you.’

             
‘I am sorry for it,’ Tomas said coldly.  ‘I think I have more reason to regret the marriage than you but I do not let bitterness overcome me.’

             
She stared at him, caught by something in his tone.  His eyes were hot with urgent need and for a moment she thought he would kiss her, demand his rights as a husband, perhaps beat her.  Her breath quickened and for a moment she wanted him to assert his right to touch and fondle her, to chastise her.  Beatrice was not certain how she might have responded had he done so, but at that moment the pain struck, making her cry out and recoil.  She staggered and might have fallen had Tomas not caught her to him.

             
‘What is it?’ he asked, concern in his face now.  ‘Is it the child?’

             
‘I think…’ Beatrice looked down at herself.  She clutched at the damp patch spreading from between her legs and cried out in fear.  ‘I am bleeding.  The child comes early.  Tomas, help me.  What is happening?’

             
‘It was my fault for quarrelling with you,’ Tomas said.  ‘Forgive me, Beatrice.  I know how much you wanted this babe.  I did not mean to harm you.’

             
‘Help me.  I must get to my couch.’

             
‘Yes, of course, my love,’ Tomas said and bent to scoop her up in his arms.  He strode up the stairs, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a feather.  She was aware of his strength and power, and knew that had he ever decided to take what was his by right she could not have denied him.  Yet he had never used his strength against her.  ‘Forgive me.’

             
‘It was not your fault,’ she said and turned her face to his shoulder as the tears coursed down her cheeks.  ‘I have fretted too much.  If the child dies it will be my fault not yours.’

             
‘Do not talk of such things.  You must rest and all will be well,’ he promised as he carried her to her bed.

             
Her women flocked about her, shooing him from the room.  Men were not wanted or needed in the birthing chamber.  Even though Beatrice cried out and tried to cling to his hand the women wanted him gone. 

             
Tomas hesitated, then, ‘I shall return soon,’ he said.  ‘Be brave, Beatrice.  It will soon be over and you will feel better.’

Tomas listened to the screams coming from his wife’s bedchamber, pacing the floor of the chamber below in distress.  She seemed to have been in agony for hours now and he could hardly bear to wait here and listen, but each time he entered her chamber the women drove him out.  It was not fitting that he should witness her agony and yet he had heard her crying pitifully for help.  The rituals of giving birth were a mystery to him, but he knew that too many women died and the thought that Beatrice might die was like the thrust of a dagger in his chest.

             
If she died he would blame himself.  He had known how much it meant to her to believe that Richard would one day acknowledge her children.  He cursed the man he served, hating him in that moment for the pain he had caused Beatrice.  She was Tomas’s wife and he loved her, cherished her with a passion she would never understand for he would not tell her.  He knew well enough that she saw him only as a means to an end.  Richard had commanded her to marry him and she had done so, though from the start she had made it clear that the marriage was to be in name only.  He had given Beatrice her way in all things, even though it cost him dear.  How many nights he had lain in agony, burning with the need to lie with her, but afraid that if he forced her to give him what was his by right, she would hate him.