The Forbidden Queen (53 page)

Back within enclosing walls, the Old Hall, converted years ago into a chamber for personal use of the king but now unused until Young Henry would be of age to occupy it, provided us with a vast expanse of space. Here, where we might be seen, we were discreetly adroit, a brush of fingertips our only recognition. With its twenty windows, greedy eyes for the world, there were no kisses exchanged here.

Ah, but within the privacy of the Rose Chamber, now
that was a different matter. Our garments merging with the blue, green and vermillion paint and the gleam of gold leaf, camouflaging us like a butterfly on a bright flower, our bodies were free to meet and cling, one chrysalis.

Perhaps we became bold as the months passed. Queen Philippa’s chamber was hung with mirrors on all four sides. Here we dared fate, our two forms, melded into one in a passionate kiss, Edmund’s hands taking possession over the damask folds, smoothing down over the dip of waist, the swell of breast and hip, multiplied again and again from every side.

And all the other moments, the sweet taste, the scent of him kept me from sleep, when the excitement engulfed me and the recall of his touch made my belly clench and turned my blood to molten gold. The dancing chamber where in an impromptu revel, ordered up by Edmund for no reason at all but that he considered the court a dull place, we danced and touched because it was allowed.

A breathless, laughing dash up the stairs of the Round Tower to where King Edward’s weight-driven clock told the hours, its hands moving slowly, the gears clicking and groaning as we sighed and kissed and caressed. An audience chamber, deserted of all but us. The Spicerie Gate-house,
a dangerously thronged place as the main entrance to the palace, could still afford us the chance of a gaze of such longing that my fair skin was suffused with colour. Or the covered walkway between Great Hall and kitchens, busy with maidservants and pages, but not so busy that we could not linger…

And then, when the weather was clement, the private garden with its low hedges and herbs, where we were caught up in the deep shadow of the massive bulk of Salisbury Tower. Edmund’s kisses became more possessive with tongue and teeth until my senses were awash with him.

Who could blame me for falling headlong into delicious love? Edmund Beaufort was the sorcerer who magicked my sad heart into joy. My winter melancholy, instead of returning at the turn of the year, vanished into oblivion, like smoke dispersed in a light breeze. A gesture as simple as the stroke of Edmund’s tongue across my palm banished it entirely until I no longer recalled the depths of misery into which I had once fallen.

In that year I lived in a world apart, anticipating the next moment when I would see him, and the next and the next. My skin tingling, breath short, appetite destroyed, I lived for each moment we were together, mourning him through his enforced absences. A feverish pleasure gripped me, for was it not a fever? If it was, I embraced it. I danced through those days.

When Young Henry was knighted, John of Bedford’s
sword touching his four-year-old shoulder lightly, I could not contain my pride and delight. No doubt radiant with it, I smiled across the crowd to Edmund, deliriously happy to share my triumph with such a man as he. He was a Beaufort, a man of rank, of consequence. A man of potential in the English Court. He was truly worthy of my love.

Secrecy could not last. Intimate affairs must of necessity be discovered and come into the public domain. Endless discretion was not on the plate of a young man of barely twenty summers, or on the platter of a restless, widowed Queen, and so we ran the gauntlet of the Court and were eventually discovered. The rumours began, a whisper, an arch glance in our direction, then the soft hush of words that died away as I entered a room.

‘It’s not wise, my lady.’ Alice, the first to voice her disapproval, was severe.

‘It is glorious,’ I replied, standing at the window in my chamber, tucking an autumn rose, a gift, into the knot of my girdle, humming the verse that Edmund had sung, wallowing in the soft sentiments.

‘No good will come of it.’ Alice’s features remained reproachful, her tone uncompromisingly censorious.

‘How can you know that?’ I turned away, my loving eye following Edmund below in the courtyard where he had mounted his horse prior to leaving for London.

‘You must end it, my lady.’

‘But why?’ I could see no reason why I should. No reason at all.

‘I foresee unhappiness.’

‘But I am happy now.’

‘My lady, it is a mistake!’

I ignored her.

My Master of Household, habitually taciturn, seemed to my mind more sombre than usual when supervising the taking down of tapestries in the gallery for cleaning.

‘Is there a problem, Master Owen?’ I asked. Neither the efforts of the servants under his authority nor the state of the sylvan scene with ladies and gentlemen engaged in music and song should merit his scowl.

‘No, my lady.’

He bowed, then his hands were once more fisted on hips.

‘Do you foresee a difficulty in removing the dust?’

‘No, my lady.’

‘Or is it the moth?’ I walked closer to inspect for any tell-tale holes.

‘No, my lady. And if I might advise, perhaps you should stand clear.’

I left. What was biting Master Owen, I could not imagine. Or perhaps I could.

Edmund returned.

‘They are talking.’ I met him on the stairs, and I warned him as we paced side by side, a careful arm’s length between us, along the gallery. For a moment there was an arrested expression in his face, but then he smiled, and a glint of what I could only interpret as Beaufort arrogance.

‘Let them talk. I care not. Neither will you, my love.’

The sparkling desire in his eyes, the heat of his mouth against my fingers, the admiration when he led me to my seat at supper ensured indeed that neither did I. I could foresee no danger for us.

Until…

‘Come to my bed, Queen Kat,’ he whispered when the minstrels withdrew and my household rose from the supper table, leaving us for a moment in a little space. ‘Let me prove my love for you—if you doubt it to any degree. Let me worship you with my body.’

The invitation, with all it implied, loosed a bolt of desire from crown to soles, setting me aflame. Staring at him, I drew in a ragged breath.

‘I cannot.’

‘Then I must come to yours.’

I shook my head, aware of Alice’s frowning scrutiny
from where she lingered in the doorway, Young Henry’s hand clutched in hers.

‘Invite me!’ he demanded. ‘I will come to you when the palace sleeps. And I promise you that you will not regret this one step. Are we two not made for love?’

I sought wildly for a reply, managing only, ‘I will not. You would not.’

‘I would.’ He took my hand, lightly innocuous, in his to help me to step down from the dais. ‘I cannot continue this cat and mouse play longer.’

Too much. Too soon. Panic doused the flames. I tried to smile so that no one would suspect the content of his words, or mine. ‘I cannot. You must see that I cannot. What revenge would Gloucester take if my reputation was besmirched?’

His grip on my hand tightened so much that I winced.

‘You refuse me?’ Extravagantly, his brows winged upwards. ‘How can you, when we were meant to be together?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do refuse. Forgive me.’

‘I warn you—I will not give up.’ His voice was low, but he kissed my fingers with an intensity that left me in no doubt of his passion or the hint of quick anger I had seen in his face. ‘You have set me a hard task. As challenging as a quest set for one of King Arthur’s knights. But I will not give up. I will win you, my lady. I will lay siege to the Castle Impregnable—and I will win. I will never admit defeat, for I cannot live without you.’

Releasing my hand, stepping back in one fluid movement, Edmund bowed. I watched him walk away. When he reached the door, he looked back, and bowed again. The light of battle was in his eye.

When I attended Mass next day, it was to be informed by an impassive-faced Master of Household that Lord Edmund had left Windsor at daybreak. He had given no indication that he would return.

So he had left me. He had left me because I would not go to his bed or invite him to come to mine. He had been furious, taking himself off to London—or anywhere else as far as I knew—simply to punish me, because he had been thwarted.

Had Edmund Beaufort ever been thwarted in his whole life?

I doubted it, but I would not be pushed into a commitment that left me so uncertain. Why would I not sleep with him? I pondered. I was no virgin, but I could not commit myself to so momentous a step. I was not totally lost to good sense, and reason told me that to lay my reputation bare to accusations of lewd scandal would throw me into the hands of Gloucester and the Royal Council. Who knew what measures they might take against me if they thought my actions discredited the Young King in any way? I had done the right thing.

Oh, but I missed him. I longed to feel his arms around me again, his soft words against my throat. Perhaps I had
just destroyed my only chance of happiness, a glittering gift offered on Edmund’s outstretched palms. Yet I knew that I had not. I knew that I had not seen the last of Edmund Beaufort. I had become the Holy Grail for him, and I knew he would not give up until I lay in his arms.

Edmund’s unheralded departure had given my damsels much food for speculation and Alice an exhalation of relief. After two days of my being the object of their interest, watched to see if I was languishing from unrequited passion, I informed my household that I planned to visit my dower property at Leeds Castle, once Madam Joanna’s place of imprisonment. I found that the idea of the secluded retreat suited my mood, sequestered as it was, cushioned against the world, a place with no court and no damsels for they would not accompany me.

And if Edmund Beaufort discovered my absence and wished to see me, I knew in my heart that he would follow me.

I gave my orders to Master Tudor, who received them without expression. My small entourage was under way the following day, with my Master of Household and a handful of soldiers providing a stiff-backed and silent escort. Ensconced at Leeds with only Guille to serve my needs I wrapped my solitude around me. Every morning I climbed to the battlement walk and looked north towards London, my heart bright with hope. I was quite as capable of throwing down a challenge as my lover. We would see how strong his love was for me.

‘You left me!’ I accused as he strode with purpose into the entrance hall. I knew the role I would play. I had not had too long to wait—less than a se’ennight, in fact—for Edmund followed, gratifyingly quickly, but it pleased me to be less than conciliatory. It pleased me to see his steps hesitate momentarily as I addressed him with what might have been interpreted as temper. ‘You walked away from me and made me the subject of common gossip,’ I added, in case he did not realise the effect of his rapid departure.

‘You were cruel. You refused my invitation. You rejected my love,’ Edmund responded through gritted teeth. He was hot and sweaty from a fast ride, eyes fierce, russet hair mussed as he pulled off his hood. He was entirely appealing.

‘I could not take the step you asked of me.’ I was adamant.

‘Do you not love me enough? You are happy enough to enjoy my kisses. Is there a limit to your love, my lady?’

Oh, his words were accusatory.

‘There is no limit,’ I responded. ‘You know that I love you, but I no longer know if you love me. I think to reject me so openly was cruel.’

I was astonished at how cool and confident my voice sounded. I knew that I was in the right in my refusal. The thought of Gloucester passing judgement on my moral state still horrified me, so I met Edmund’s furious stare with a steady regard.

‘You are very cold,’ he observed.

‘I am hurt.’

He held out his hand in demand. I thrust my hands behind my back.

And, taking me aback, instead of the frustration or even anger I had expected, his face was illuminated with a smile that made my blood sing. ‘Are you sending me away?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ But my heart quaked.

‘Do you expect me to make an apology?’ he demanded.

I suspected that he did not know the meaning of the word. ‘Do you think you should?’ I deliberately allowed a little edge to colour my tone. ‘How could you inflict such hurt on me, Edmund? And so thoughtlessly, if you see no need to ask pardon.’

‘Love is not love without hurt.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Edmund swooped, and captured one of my hands, since I allowed it, falling smoothly into the verse:

‘What does that mean?’ I asked, lifting my chin, as if I were in no mood for such complex sentiments. In fact, they thrilled me, but I held firm in my resolve.

‘It means that love must have pain to make the joy more intense.’ Edmund pressed my fingers against his mouth. ‘Come to my bed, my golden one.’

‘I will not.’

‘Must I go away again?’

I lifted a negligent shoulder. ‘I will not be browbeaten, my lord.’

‘I beg of you, my glorious Queen Kat. Have mercy.’

I shook my head. Neither would I be cajoled, though I could not contemplate the thought of never seeing him again, not touching him, not savouring his mouth on mine. But I knew he would not leave me again.

‘Speak to me.’ Edmund pressed his lips to the soft skin of my wrist where my blood beat heavily. ‘Come to my bed, my obstinate love. Who’s to know here?’

‘I will not.’