A Rose for the Crown (28 page)

She was more shocked by what confronted her than the two men cavorting naked on the bed were by her sudden appearance. Kate stared aghast at the unfamiliar naked body of her husband now sensually entwined with the willowy limbs of Simon the stable boy. Simon had the grace to pull the sheets around him and try to disappear into the bed curtains. George, however, leapt onto the floor, his eyes blazing.

“How dare you walk in without knocking first!” he hissed, forgetting the chamber was just as much Kate’s as it was his. He stood there, furious, untroubled by his nakedness. Kate said not a word, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two men. Bile rose in her throat and, overcome with horror, she covered her mouth with her hand and fled from the room, slamming the door behind her.

She imagined she could hear laughter following her down the stairs into the courtyard and across to the stables, where she bent over and spat out the vile fluid that was in her mouth. Forgetting why she had returned to the house in the first place and not heeding the stiff breeze, she threw a blanket on Cornflower, took one of the lighter saddles, which she could handle, and tightened the girth. Once in the saddle, she clung to the horse’s mane as she urged it into a canter out of the stable yard and down the lane. Soon she was galloping across the fields and into the woods beyond, her hair a russet veil billowing behind her. Anyone seeing her thus might presume it was the wind that made her eyes stream. Kate let her tears flow freely. They made diagonal streaks down her cheeks to
her ears and hung like earbobs before they, too, were blown behind her. A squirrel panicked in her path, skittering this way and that, not knowing in which direction to turn. It finally found refuge on a tree trunk, its bushy red tail twitching in fear. Birds squawked off branches at her approach, and it was only when the path ran out and the trees seemed to close in around her that she slowed the horse to a walk. She emerged into a clearing and slipped out of the saddle and onto the grass. She let Cornflower loose to graze, wiped her nose on her sleeve and sat down cross-legged to think.

“Why me, sweet Jesu? Why me?” she railed aloud. “’Tis unnatural in the eyes of God what they are doing. Why, in the name of the blessed Virgin, did he pursue me? Woo me? Marry me?”

Her mind ran back to all the lies she had told in her life, the times she had wished Elinor ill, the lust she had felt for George all through her marriage to Thomas. In truth, I must be very wicked to have been punished thus, she thought. But what do I do now?

A frightened deer ran into the clearing, its white tail indicating danger, and on seeing Cornflower, its fragile legs carried it fleet-footed back into its leafy camouflage. Kate hardly noticed it. She pulled the daisy, now somewhat wilted, from her belt and slowly plucked off its petals one by one, each with more violence as her anger against George built.

“Damn him!” She smacked the ground, determined not to cry anymore. She lay back on the grass, took a deep breath and watched a hawk suspended motionless above her. Her thoughts returned to the obvious question. Why did he marry me? She frowned. George’s future after serving as squire to Sir John Howard was assured—or was it? She recalled his mother’s question upon their arrival at Chelsworth about Sir John’s permission to marry. Only now his evasive attitude bothered her. She remembered the surprise in the voice of the Mowbray man in the forest: “Did I hear him say you were his
wife
?” She wondered what George was keeping from his mother—and from her. She was resolved to ask him—to return to the house, oust Simon from her bed and use George’s secret as a threat to wrest the truth from him.

The hawk fluttered its wings imperceptibly and plummeted to the ground as if it had been shot, its white undertail fanning out in a showy
display. Kate sat up in time to see it impale a surprised hare on its razor-sharp talons. She was sorry for the hare but at the same time admired the hunting skill of the beautiful bird.

“Ho! Rob! Where are you?” The call startled her, and she turned her head in the direction of the voice. No one was visible, but she could now hear dogs yapping and branches snapping under horses’ hoofs. She knew she should not be alone in the woods—strange woods, at that—and cursed her stupidity. But she had always felt so safe at Ightham. She jumped to her feet and began running to Cornflower, who was startled by the dogs and horses.

A horn’s mournful wail from the opposite direction made her turn her head again only to see two horsemen in hunting garb force their way through the brush and into the clearing. Kate stood clutching Cornflower’s mane for courage. One of the men looked not much older than she and had a crossbow across his knee. The other man, who kept a few paces back, had a deer, several pheasant and a hare slung behind him on the horse. Half a dozen hare hounds, tongues lolling and tails wagging, swarmed around the horses.

Huntsmen, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief. And, judging by the fine trappings on the horses and the number of greyhounds, from a noble house. The hawk—certes!

“Ho! I say, Rob! Where the devil . . . oh, there you are!” This rider emerged into the clearing and laughed as he turned his horse to face his friends. He glanced about him and saw the hawk still poised on its prey expectantly, the bell about its ankle giving away its whereabouts. Holding out his heavily gloved arm, he gave a shrill whistle, and the bird flew instantly onto his wrist. He skillfully placed a hood over the hawk’s head and attached a leather band on the glove to one of its legs. Then he stroked the gray and white feathers approvingly.

“Well done, my Phoenix, well done,” the young man murmured. His groom slipped from his own horse and ran to recover the hare.

Kate was closest to the hawker and studied him quickly. He was a youth of about Johnny’s age, who sat his horse with uncommon grace. All three were preoccupied with the hawk’s prize and had not seen Kate. She tried edging her way back into the woods, but Cornflower gave her mistress away by refusing to budge and tossing her head defiantly. It was
the men’s turn to stare. Kate made quite a picture—hair and expression wild—as she tried unsuccessfully to move her stubborn mount.

“Who is this?” Rob urged his horse forward slowly, not wanting to frighten the lovely young woman in front of him. Her hair fell tousled over her shoulders to her waist, her eyes were pleading for pity as she watched him advance toward her. He was a ruddy-faced young man in his late teens with unruly brown hair under his hat. Its long liripipe was rakishly tossed about his neck. He appeared to have spent a lot of time outdoors.

“Soft, mistress, we shall not harm you,” the hawker reassured her, then called to his friend, “Leave her be, Rob. We cannot tarry here too long after getting so lost. ’Tis likely she can show us the road back to Stoke.”

Kate noted that Rob immediately obeyed the slight figure, who sounded older than he looked. He had a gentle, persuasive voice and a pair of dark gray eyes that reminded her of the slate on the roof of Draper House. Then she noticed the rich, red-brown hair, bobbed to just below his ears, and her memory was jogged. “Just like the sauce,” a wisp of a voice said inside her, and she was certain she recognized the king’s youngest brother, Richard of Gloucester. The smile they had exchanged in a second during the procession on London Bridge caused her to smile unwittingly at him now.

Richard looked quizzical. “Do I know you, mistress?” He inclined his head, and a responding smile hovered on his straight, thin mouth. “Don’t be afraid, we shall not harm you,” he reiterated. “But we forget our manners! I am Dickon, and this is my friend Rob.” He frowned at Rob, who was attempting to add “his grace, the duke of Gloucester” to lend authority to their intrusion on Kate’s privacy. “And as you heard, we are lost. We are at your mercy, madam, not you at ours!”

Kate looked from one to the other and waited for the expected information, but it did not come. Perhaps I was mistaken, she thought. She found her tongue and curtsied.

“How do you do. I am called Kate, Katherine Haute, an it please you, sirs. I am sorry you are lost, and I will gladly escort you back to the house, where someone will for certain be able to show you your path. I regret I have no knowledge of these parts, for I am recently come into
Suffolk from Kent with my husband, George Haute, son of Martin Haute of Haute Manor,” she gabbled nervously.

“Martin Haute?” Richard interrupted her. “I think I have heard of him. Is he not a soldier under Norfolk’s banner?”

“Aye, sir. He is at present at the garrison in Calais. My husband’s master is Sir John Howard.” It gave her confidence to drop his name.

“Howard! Well, now, ’tis Howard’s house where we lodge tonight. How convenient. Lady, your husband could not have a finer master. He is a good friend to the king, my bro—my sovereign lord.” He was enjoying not being recognized and again gave Rob a warning frown. “If your husband is at home, he will surely show us the road back to Stoke. But you are shivering, Mistress Haute. We should not tarry. I pray you take my cloak to warm your ride home.”

He slid out of the saddle, the hawk still on his wrist, undid the short cape from around his neck with his other hand and helped her put it around her shoulders. Close by, she could see his rather prominent chin sported a few soft hairs, but he was still too young for a beard. She judged him to be younger than George, who already scraped his beard every morning. His eyes were deep set and the expression intelligent but not without humor. He is a kind man—I think I may trust him, she decided.

Rob was laughing at his friend. “Quite the gallant, Dickon. This is a side I have not seen of you ere now. My friend is more at home at the archery butts or riding out with his Phoenix.”

“Ignore him, Kate. He is a rude Northerner and has no more manners than a pig at a trough.” Richard grinned at Kate. He walked over to the groom, who remounted, and transferred the hawk to the man’s wrist. He returned to Kate, put his hands together to form a step and hoisted her up into Cornflower’s saddle. “I hope you are not offended by my friend.”

Kate tossed her head. “Fiddle-faddle! ’Twould be hard to offend me, sir. Besides, you are right, I was cold, and I am glad of your cloak.”

“Fiddle-faddle?” echoed Rob, teasing. “What sort of speech is that? You are from Kent, you say. Is that what they say in the wilds of that county?”

“Nay, sir, ’tis my own made-up word.” She was indignant. “And Kent
is not wild, if you please. But I do hear the country is so savage in the north ’tis hard to tell which are the men and which are the beasts!” She stared him down.

Richard threw back his head and roared as he saw the astonishment on his friend’s face. “You deserved that, Rob, admit it. And you, mistress, are indeed bold!”

Kate grinned back. “Maybe, sir, but I see no wrong in honesty. Now, gentlemen, if you want your path home, pray follow me.”

She led the way through the copse to the fields on the other side and took off at such a gallop that the young men and the groom, who was hampered by the dead deer dangling behind him and the hawk on his arm, had trouble keeping up. Her hair once again streamed out behind her, cloak and petticoats were flying as she urged Cornflower on, the hounds racing beside her.

Rob had just enough breath to shout across to Richard, “I’d follow her anywhere, wouldn’t you?” His companion laughed and nodded vigorously.

The three clattered into the stable yard, the dogs baying and the groom not far behind. Kate’s mood was quite restored from the anger and gloom that had taken her out of there not an hour before. She noticed Simon was back at work and stared at him haughtily. He had the sense to look away as he came forward to take the horses.

“Mother! George!” Kate called, as she jumped lightly to the ground and began to run to the house. “We have guests! Come quickly!”

“Master Haute has ridden to Lavenham, mistress. He be not here.”

“Thank you, Simon. Pray see to the horses and give the groom some bread and ale from the kitchen.” She gave him the order with newfound authority. She had gained years in the last hour, and now, far from being belittled by her husband’s betrayal of her, she was empowered by it. These gentlemen had come into her life at exactly the right moment and had renewed her faith in herself as an attractive woman. Perhaps life was not so bad after all.

In the solar, the late afternoon sun taking the chill out of the room, Rob and Richard explained to Philippa how they had become lost chasing a particularly elusive stag. They sipped wine and gratefully accepted
the bread, cheese and meat pie proferred. It would be dark by the time they returned to Stoke-by-Nayland hard by the Essex border, and the hunting had made them hungry.

Kate ran upstairs, haphazardly pushed her unruly hair under a velvet-banded headdress, and returned to sit on a stool near the fireplace. The two young men were giving their attention to their hostess, and Kate had time to assess them at her leisure. Rob was the more animated of the two, dramatically using his hands to add to his descriptions, but Kate thought he had an ordinary face. Nothing much to recommend him except his sunny personality, she concluded. She dismissed her fancy that Dickon resembled Richard of Gloucester. After all, it had been several years, and she had only seen him twice at a distance. He was not a tall young man but had the promise of strong shoulders, and his legs were not uncomely. A little thin, perhaps—her critical eye had become too accustomed to comparing every man with George’s perfect physique—but quite handsome, she decided.