The Traitor's Wife (80 page)

She smiled up at him. “None at all.”

There followed a brief confusion occasioned by the fact that both of them, when sharing a bed with their late spouses, had been accustomed to taking the left side. William accommodatingly rolled to the right, and then they could at last hold each other and talk of the future.

“Shall it go hard on us, marrying without the king's license?” asked Eleanor.

William shrugged. “What's done is done, and couldn't have been done better.” He held Eleanor tighter. “I suppose there will be a hefty fine to pay.”

“Yes, indeed. Hugh's father and sister each—” She stopped, abashed.

William stroked her hair. “I was harsh on Hugh before, my love, and I shouldn't have been. Anyone whom you loved so well had to have good qualities, many of them. Don't think you have to pretend Hugh never existed now that you're my wife. I know you loved him, and you can tell me all about him, provided that you always speak even more highly of me, of course.”

She giggled. “And you may tell me all about Alice, provided you don't dwell too much on her blond hair and sapphire blue eyes.”

“More like cornflowers, and I have developed a taste for green eyes in the past year or so, anyway.”

They dozed a while. She woke before he did, and lay still next to him, thinking, until he stirred. “William. Do you forgive me? For John?”

“There's nothing to forgive, my love. You weren't mine at the time.” He was quiet for a while. “We've all made mistakes, Eleanor, all done things we were ashamed of. I've done worse, I'm sure.”

“Ah, you don't know what a wretch I have been!” She rested her head on his chest. “I don't deserve you, William. I should be in the chapel right now, thanking the Lord for my blessings.”

“And so we shall thank Him,” said William. He kissed the top of her head, began moving his lips farther down. “But can we wait just a little while, my dear?”

In due time they did go to the castle chapel, where they offered prayers of thanksgiving and then prayed for the souls of all they had loved, especially their late spouses. Eleanor took the time to whisper some private words to Hugh. “I'm sorry, dear,” she whispered, touching the wedding ring that she had moved to her right hand. “I do still love you; never mind the nonsense I said that other day. But I love my lord Zouche too, and the world must move on. But I shall never forget you or cease to love you, not for one day of my life.”

From the chapel they went to the children's rooms, where they found John and Gilbert in a heated dispute over the question of nomenclature. “Shall we call you Lord Zouche or Father?”

“As you prefer, Gilbert.”

“We could call him Father William,” said John. “And our other father Father Hugh.”

“Why would we need to call our father Father Hugh? He's dead.”

“We pray for him,” said John primly. “So we will pray for Father William and Father Hugh.”

“That makes them sound like priests. I shall pray for Father and Lord Zouche.”

“And I will pray for Father William and Father Hugh.”

“Pray for them however you like,” said Eleanor. “As long as you pray for them.”

“His way is stupid.”

“Your way is stupid!”

They stomped out of the chamber. “Boys,” said William contentedly. “And I still have to alert my own.” He glanced at Eleanor's little girl, who had clambered onto his lap. “What shall you call me, Lizzie?”

“Papa,” said Elizabeth.

On January 26 at Dunstable, where the court had paused on its way to Windsor, Isabella was startled to see one of her son's most amiable knight bannerets storming away. “What on earth ails him, Mortimer?”

“Sir John is having marital problems,” said Mortimer grimly.

“I thought his wife had been dead for some time.”

“He has remarried, darling, or at least he thinks he has. Do you know who his new bride is? Lady Despenser. Say it, madam.”

“I told you so, Roger. But what is the matter with him? I suppose he abducted her and she escaped?”

“No, it's even worse than it appears. She seems to have two husbands at the moment. Sir John and Lord Zouche. Husband number two abducted her from Hanley Castle and married her, or so Grey thinks anyway. After she pledged herself to marry husband number one. Jesus! I should have known better. Her mother married that baseborn squire of hers, after all, and her sister Elizabeth eloped with that Verdon fellow. Like mother, like daughter.”

Isabella had been in high spirits ever since the Earl of Lancaster, looking ten years older than his true age, had knelt in the mud at Bedford and handed his sword to the king. She therefore could not help but snicker at her former lady-in-waiting's marital misadventures, even as the Earl of March continued to scowl. “So, Roger. Now that we have a choice, which husband shall she stay married to?”

“I would prefer neither of them,” said Mortimer irritably. “Grey was practically weeping when he came here, like a baby who's had candy snatched out of his hand; that slut's bewitched him. He was all but whistling when we moved toward Bedford that miserable rainy night, and now I know why. And Zouche is no better. Remember that visit he paid to her brat when we were at Ludlow this summer? They're both besotted with her, I'll wager. They'll do what makes her happy, and that's not what I want in the Lord of Glamorgan. If my damned son Geoffrey had done my bidding, she'd have been safely off the marriage market before now. But he insists on a French bride, and one not fifteen years older than he. Stubborn whelp.”

“Did either of the men get a royal license to marry her?”

“Lord, no,” said the Earl of March. “They're both too lovesick—or landsick—to bother with such niceties, it seems, although Grey did allow that he had been planning to get one after the fact. Gracious of him to consider the king! But that's a blessing, in a way. I can seize the bride's lands now, as a punishment.”

“Until husband one or husband two pays the fine for marriage without a license?”

Mortimer smiled. “Until I decide what to do next. I've recently learned some interesting information about our Lady Despenser, you see.”

After a few pleasant days at Cardiff, during which William met his new tenants, the newlyweds decided to ride to nearby Caerphilly for a short visit. As the day was a mild one and the children liked the sprawling castle, the entire family came along.

William had not been idle in the days since his elopement with Eleanor. He had sent a respectful message to the king begging his pardon for his hasty marriage and expressing his wish to pay whatever fine the crown demanded, and he had sent for Alan to join him in Wales. Alan had caught up with him in Cardiff, along with a number of his men, but he had not heard anything from the king yet. Probably, he thought to himself cheerfully as the big castle came into view, the Earl of March, into whose pockets the fine would certainly go, was pushing for the largest sum possible.

Only Eleanor's constable and a small staff were at Caerphilly. Eleanor had sent some of her men up ahead of them in advance to warn them of the approach of their large party. She started as she saw horses galloping toward them from the castle. “William! Those are my men! And my constable there, too. Why, what is it?” she called.

“It is the king, my lady. He has sent his men to take all of your lands back into his hands. As a punishment for marrying without license.”

“All of them?”

“So the king's men say.”

“They must be seizing Cardiff as we speak,” said William. “How many men did the king send?”

“A few dozen.”

“How are the supplies?”

“Rather sparse, sir. With my lady staying at Hanley—”

“We can besiege it,” William said. “I've my men here, and I can pay more. What of my lands? Are they in custody?”

The constable shook his head. “I don't know, sir, but the men mentioned only the lady's lands.”

“We must send the women and children to safety somewhere,” William said, looking at his son and the Despenser brood. “Wiltshire might be best; I've manors there. If they've been seized, I've friends who will take the children in.”

“And Hugh's sisters will help too,” said Eleanor. “But Caerphilly is just one castle, William! What of my other lands? We must make the king see reason. Perhaps if I went to London personally and prayed for his forgiveness, he would relent. You should come too, William.”

But the men, indignant about this royal interference in the Welsh March, were set on besieging the castle. Roger Mortimer was hated in Wales, especially since the second Edward's untimely death, and from the men's excited conversation Eleanor gathered that the local Welsh would happily seize this pretext to take up arms against him. At the same time, it was agreed that she should go to the king. She would travel with the children to Wiltshire, and then go on to London, where the king was said to be heading.

Alan flatly refused to go with the children, preferring to join his father at the siege. To Eleanor's surprise, Edward, who had scarcely said two words, neither of them civil, since their marriage, elected to stay with his stepfather also. “It'll be good experience,” he said sullenly. “And I'm too old to go with the others.”

“Very well,” said Eleanor, kissing him good-bye to the extent he would allow it. She turned to embrace her husband. “I love you,” she said, wishing she could stay in his arms forever.

Eleanor was accompanied to London by her former guard Tom, who just recently had joined her household, and his friend Hugh Dalby, who had come with him from the Tower.

William was aware that Eleanor had borrowed money from Benedict de Fulsham, though not of where the security had come from, and before Eleanor had left Wales, she and William had agreed that Eleanor should ask Benedict for another loan. She had been repaying him regularly for the sum she had borrowed of him nearly a year before, and she was certain that he would lend her more. And more would certainly be needed for William to pay the men besieging Caerphilly Castle, and for Eleanor to pay part of the fine the king would no doubt demand as a prelude for restoring her lands. Though as a married woman (Eleanor smiled at the thought), she could not borrow the money in her own right, she had no doubt that Benedict would advance the money to her on William's promise that he would sign the proper documents later. His word was one trusted by everyone.