A Rose for the Crown (26 page)

As one of the executors of Thomas’s will, Richard knew full well the measure of Kate’s inheritance. The other executors were guild members in Maidstone, and they must be consulted in the matter of proper disposal of the widow’s property. The business was running smoothly, he had been told, but if George took Kate away to Suffolk, arrangements would have to be made with the guild for the management of the mercer’s shop in Tunbridge. He was worried that George was nothing but a fortune seeker, but seeing Kate’s true feelings for the boy, why should he oppose the match? Kate deserved to be happy. She had given Thomas two years of pleasure and had done her duty, even though, Richard knew, she was a reluctant bride. He sighed and wished his ward were as easy as his daughter to manage.

Kate went forward and kissed Richard, smiling her answer that she was pleased with George’s proposal. Richard held her at arm’s length and cupped her chin. “I only want your happiness and well-being, Kate. You do know that?” Kate nodded.

The young couple waited for their formal dismissal and closed the door behind them. Kate’s excitement overtook her shyness, and she moved closer to George, offering her face to his, expectant of a kiss. He obliged with a far warmer version of the previous day’s offering, and Kate’s loins all but melted into her shaky knees. To hide her disquiet, she began to laugh, picked up her skirts and hurried through the hall, calling
for George to follow her. She took his hand, and they ran through the courtyard and out into the garden, all the way to the upper lake and the woods beyond.

“Kate! Pray stop! I am all but winded,” George complained. He took off his dashing hat and wiped his brow. “Where are you taking me? It looks to rain anon.”

“What do I care?” Kate pulled off her caul and caused her mass of hair to cascade down her back. “You have made me the happiest woman alive, George. I have prayed all these years that you loved me as I loved you, and now I see that it is so. We shall be wed, and we shall be as happy as any in the kingdom.”

George laughed at her. When she ran to him, expecting another kiss, he quickly bent to pick a primrose to present to her. Then the heavens opened and the April shower drenched them in its sweet, warm rain.

9
Chelsworth, Suffolk, Autumn 1467

K
ate woke to watery rays of sunshine filtering through the rough drapes around the bed. There had been rain in the night, but the September day promised fair. George was still asleep, his tousled blond head turned from her, cradled on his arm. She listened to his gentle breathing, looked at her husband and marveled at the way the body under the nightshirt aroused her. Her hand stole towards his hair, and she wondered if she could excite him by catching him unawares and sleepy. He must have felt her gaze in his sleep, because he rolled over onto his back and gave her the opportunity to appreciate his handsome profile, strong neck and well-developed chest beneath the fine lawn shirt. Her heart beat faster as she experienced the familiar flutter in her heart and stomach that affected her loins.

Her inner voice told her it was not natural. A man and wife should know each other once they were wed. It has been three weeks and my husband has not even tried to touch me . . . here, she thought, as her fingers found her moist, sweet spot. She quickly pulled them away. Self-arousal was a sin according to Brother Francis’s teachings, and she almost expected to see the Devil draw back the curtains and point
accusingly at her. Staring at the canopy above, she tried to fathom what she had done to deserve her husband’s lack of interest. George’s wooing had been ardent enough at the Mote; surely she could not have mistaken his feelings. True, he had never told her he desired her, but his lips were more than eloquent when it came to kissing hers. She thought of the night in the herb garden after he had won permission to woo her, when he whispered his plans for them. Did he talk of love? She could not really remember; all she knew was her own longing for him, her own love. After two years with Thomas, the youthful masculinity of George was like an aphrodisiac. Had she imagined the light in his eyes when she walked into the great hall at Anne’s wedding? No, she had felt his eyes on her several times. Perhaps his desire had been dampened by the delay her mourning necessitated before they could be joined. She thought of their wedding day. He had almost pulled her to the altar of the church in Ightham village. Richard and Anne had been beside her as witnesses, and behind stood John Gaynesford and Geoff with Molly standing at the back of the little church.

“Now there’s an eager bridegroom,” she heard Richard whisper to Anne, who smiled and put her arm through his in a loving gesture.

George was shaking when he took her hand and slipped his family ring upon her finger, holding her hand tightly. “And hereto I plight thee my troth,” he said quite clearly—and without hesitation, she was certain—and put his other hand over hers possessively. “You are mine,” she thought this had meant, as he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

So impatient was George to take his bride to her new home in Suffolk—or so he said—that he had eschewed Richard’s kind offer of a small celebration back at the Mote in favor of leaving directly from the church. Kate was disappointed they were not to spend their wedding night in the familiar surroundings of her old chamber, as Richard had suggested, but she was so much in love that she took the change in plan good-naturedly. She had perfect trust in George and was happy that he wanted to show her off to his family as quickly as possible. Indeed, Philippa Haute had sent Kate a fine brooch of amethyst and silver as a wedding token and a message of welcome in her tiny but clear script. “Such small writing for so tall a lady!” had been Kate’s first reaction.
George’s father was soldiering in Calais and had blessed the union with a written assent. Martin was furious to learn later that George had not informed Sir John Howard of the impending match. George, who hoped to end his duties at Framlingham before Sir John found out, had purposely chosen to marry Kate while his patron was out of the country.

Kate was blissfull when they left the church as man and wife. Her jennet and his mount were tethered next to the wagon Kate had inherited from Thomas, which was now piled high with all her worldly goods, including a few valuable pieces of furniture and chests filled with the dresses he had given her, linens, silver and lengths of damask, silk, velvet and broadcloth she had not left in Henry’s care. The guild approved her turning the business over to Thomas’s journeyman—now elevated to merchant—and Richard had helped negotiate a fair percentage that would be paid to Kate quarterly. Thus the young couple would have a regular income, making Kate even more welcome at Chelsworth.

Richard had given them Ralph’s services as carter for the journey, and he sat patiently while Geoff hoisted Molly up next to him. She seemed content on her high perch and winked at Ralph. He was sitting on her right, so her unfortunate birthmark was not visible to him in profile. She be not uncomely, he thought, as he grinned back at her. Perhaps the journey might be less tedious than he had anticipated.

George handed Kate the leading rein of her horse and turned to bid farewell to Richard and Anne. Kate’s jennet, a pretty, cream-colored two-year-old, was her wedding gift from Richard. She had immediately named her Cornflower, “because she is the color of corn and as delicate as a flower.”

As she thought on all this, lying on her back and staring at the canopy over her, she remembered that as she waved good-bye to Richard and Anne, she had suddenly felt frightened. She had looked on Richard as a parent and Anne as her sister. They had been in her life now for seven years, and she knew them better than her own family. Saying good-bye this time had a finality to it that filled her with misgiving. With Thomas she had been only two hours’ journey from Ightham, and she had returned there often. Chelsworth was four days away in good weather. Tears blinded her as she took her last look at her family. How she would miss Richard’s loud laugh and even his infrequent fits of ire, which he
had never directed at her. He had been kind to her, given her a home and raised her social status higher than her dreams. Then there was Anne, her beloved companion all those years at the Mote. Who would she confide in now, she wondered, forgetting that she had managed quite well by herself in Tunbridge. She told them she would miss them all beyond imagination and promised to write as often as her duties would allow.

“Does that mean once in a month of Sundays, Kate?” Anne laughed at her. “I will not hold my breath, my dear friend. I have seen too many of your feeble attempts to expect miracles!”

Kate laughed, too, and hugged Anne. Tears quickly followed as the two young women embraced. Husbands gently pulled wives apart, and George helped Kate into her saddle.

Anne turned into her husband’s arms to hide her weeping. She lifted her face and called, “I shall miss you, Kate. With all my heart.”

“Me, too,” Kate whispered back.

“Come now, girls,” Richard said. “Let us be happy for Kate. In truth, she has a fine, handsome bridegroom and a good home to go to. She has Molly to look after her. She should have not a care in the world.”

Turning north at the bottom of the lane and moving out of sight, the little cavalcade had given one last wave to the group standing in the churchyard and then was gone.

Her eyes were brimming over now as she remembered Richard’s parting words, and a tear escaped and dissolved into the pillow. Not a care in the world, Kate scoffed, wiping her eyes, her thoughts tumbling back to her present predicament. There is no one who would believe we have not consummated the marriage, and there is no one I can tell.

Again she turned her attention to George lying there innocently enough, and again she was aroused. Enough shilly-shallying, she said to herself. Maybe he is shy and needs my help. She carefully untied the ribbons of her shift, drew the cumbersome garment over her head and dropped it on the floor. She looked down at her pink nipples, hard with desire, and experienced again the aching between her legs. She lay on her side and then, inching the bedsheet from George’s body, began caressing his thigh. With her other hand she gently picked up one of his and placed it on her breast. The feeling was excruciatingly exciting, and she smiled to herself.

Awakening slowly and unaware of his surroundings at first, George smiled as well, and Kate had the satisfaction of seeing the shirt around his groin lift, seemingly of its own accord. But then his eyes flew open, and when he saw Kate naked beside him and knew it was she touching him, he flung her from him. Leaping out of bed, he tripped on the bedcovers and landed unceremoniously in a heap on the floor.

“Harlot! Jesu, I am wed to a harlot!” he spat.

He picked himself up and crouched in a fighting stance, his fists clenched. His derision shocked Kate into silence—but not for long.

“George, George, I am no harlot!” She pleaded with him. “I am your wife, and I love you. Is it not natural to want to lie with my husband? Why do you not touch me? Am I so ugly? Do you not love me?” Kate instinctively reached out her arms to him.

But her questions were not answered. She was kneeling on the edge of the bed, her hair covering her nakedness, and she saw George give a shudder as he looked at her.

“In truth, you do find me ugly.” Her lower lip trembled, and so that he would not see the tears welling, she reached down and retrieved her nightgown, holding it to her. Then she hid behind the bed curtains to dress.

George’s face was a closed book. He put on his doublet over his shirt and pulled on his hose roughly. “Gareth! God’s teeth, where are you when I want you! Gareth, I say!” he barked loudly for his servant while attempting to tie his points with his fingers all thumbs.

Molly appeared and helped Kate dress, and Gareth came running into the room. Nothing more could be said in the servants’ presence, and the silence crackled.

“Molly, follow me. I would tell you our tasks for the day.” Kate attempted some dignity by stalking to the door and leaving the room.

George glowered at her back. “Ouch! By the saints, have a care, man!” he cried, when Gareth pinched his skin while securing an obstinate point.

Kate flew down the broad staircase, her thoughts still trapped in the chamber above, trying to absorb the cruelty of George’s words. She almost collided with Philippa, who was carrying a basket of wool to spin. Kate’s wild eyes and unkempt hair under her hastily donned cap told
Philippa that George had said or done something to upset his young bride. She put down the basket and looked earnestly into Kate’s troubled face.