A Rose for the Crown (40 page)

“My lady!” Agnes and Edith said together in mock horror. Rose looked disapproving.

“I am only jesting, ladies. Kate already has a husband, as we know, and besides, I fear she is not highborn enough for my lord of Gloucester. The king will be looking for a prize for his favorite brother. Perhaps some princess from abroad. Aye, some foreign king’s daughter who will bring land and an alliance. But I agree with you, Edith, the young man is pleasant in manner and in form.”

Kate was watching the object of their conversation with interest. She saw that he allowed his host to let fly his arrows first, despite his higher rank, and then he waited patiently while the rest of the party shot. She also noticed that he was an excellent archer and that his retainers were not just cheering every effort because he was the duke of Gloucester but because he was the best among them—save one. Kate could not know
that Daniel Bowman was Howard’s archer
de maison
and was paid to be the best. The cheers were faint from that distance, and the only voice that reached the room above the portal was Jack’s booming baritone. Richard was not tall for his fifteen years, but he had not finished growing yet, Kate supposed. Jack was a head taller and much broader, but Richard walked as if he were a tall man. He had an assurance that he wore like a mantle; a bearing that announced his noble birth. And yet, thought Kate, there is a gentleness, too. . . .

“Kate! Do pay attention, dear friend. What is happening out there that causes you to daydream so?”

Kate looked back at Margaret and tried to act nonchalantly. She felt a little guilty about her attraction to Richard. She should not be looking at other men. She knew the Devil was watching her, but then she thought of George and her guilt flew out of the window—along with the Devil.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Margaret, I was watching the archery practice. Do you need something?” Kate uncurled her legs and set down her needlework. She turned to glance out of the window one last time. The movement must have caught Richard’s eye, for he looked up, saw her and gave an imperceptible bow. She felt a rush of blood to her face and prayed the women would not notice.

“I was asking you if you would sing for our guest tonight, Kate. I hope you brought your harp, as Jack suggested. I’ll warrant Thomas the harper will not want to relinquish his instrument to you again now that you have outshone him.” Margaret smiled at Kate. “Jack tells me lord Richard is as fond of music as he is. As soon as he establishes his own household, he intends having his own choir. A very ambitious young man.”

“Aye, my lady, I have my harp. But Thomas need not fear competition from me. He is far more practiced than I, and I think he disapproves of women posturing in public!” she said behind her hand. Agnes and Edith tittered at that, and Rose looked disapproving again. Holy Mother, she is a killjoy, Kate thought.

“We shall let Thomas entertain us at supper, but in the intimacy of this chamber, you shall delight us with a song afterwards. That sounds fair, do you not agree?” Margaret said.

Kate smiled and bent to rock the cradle as Cat began to fuss.

*  *  *

“’T
WAS
A
GREAT
PITY
I could not have witnessed Warwick’s and Rivers’ faces myself.” Jack gave a short laugh. The brazier was sending warmth and a glow into the solar, and cast huge shadows on the wall behind Jack’s chair as he talked to Richard seated next to him. “I’ll wager both were itching to get at each other’s throats instead of clasping hands. Tell me, my lord, you must have been close at hand.”

Richard nodded, staring into the coals and remembering the scene. “Aye, Jack. I was there and too close for comfort. Rivers was still smarting from the attack on his Kentish estate, which Warwick’s friends no doubt had a hand in. My lord of Warwick was humbled, ’tis true, but it was he and not that upstart Rivers who had my sympathy. He has been my lord and I have been true to him these last five years. He used me fairly and taught me well. It is painful for me to see the gap widening between him and Edward. But widen it has, and Warwick has shown me that pride does indeed undo a man. He has presumed too much, I fear. Edward is his own man. He has no more need for Warwick or his kingmaking. For a man as proud as Warwick, ’tis a sour soup to swallow.”

Kate sat quietly at her dreaded needlework with Margaret and the other women, who were talking among themselves. She was more interested in the men’s conversation, however, and strained to hear more of the events at court, many of which were shaped by these two men. She was drawn to Richard’s calmness. There was something about the young man that soothed and yet excited her.

“How long do you think this truce will last, my lord?” Jack asked. “When I arrived at Coventry, the talk was of a fragile reconciliation, and Warwick had already quit the court.”

“I am not in my brother’s trust yet, Jack, so I do not know. And pray call me Richard. My friends do.” He looked quizzically at Jack, assessing his loyalty. “Edward knows I am steadfast in my regard for my lord of Warwick, and I must now prove that not even that can cloud my complete duty to my brother and my king.”

“He has mine.” Jack hesitated for a second before saying, “Richard,” acknowledging the young duke’s earlier affirmation of friendship. “All that I am I owe to your brother, and the House of York can count on
Howard to fight into very hell if need be!” His raised voice interrupted the women.

“Hush, Jack! I pray you, no talk of fighting tonight. There is enough blood spilled over here from Kate fighting with her hated needle. Let us invite her to sing instead. What say you, my lord?” Margaret addressed her question to Richard. “Would it please you to hear our guest sing?”

“Above anything, madam,” Richard said eagerly. “Music is a passion for me. I only wish I had the gift for it myself. If it please you, Dame Haute, I should be honored if you would play.”

“With pleasure, my lord.” Kate found herself blushing for the second time that day. “I would honor Thomas Harper by singing a song he gave to me.”

She surreptitiously wiped her bloody finger on the back of her dress, eliciting a giggle from Agnes. Kate made a face at her as she picked up her waiting harp.

“Come here, Kate, where we can see you,” Jack commanded, smiling his encouragement. “’Tis not like you to hide your light—”

“Fiddle-faddle, Sir John! I am not so brazen as you would think.” Jack and Richard both laughed.

“Nay, Kate, there is nothing bold about you, indeed,” Margaret said, wryly.

Kate set her stool on the other side of the brazier and tuned her harp.

“What did I hear you call her earlier, Jack?” Richard asked. “Mistress Lackseat? Why is that, may I ask?”

Kate looked so mortified that Jack took pity on her and told Richard it was their little secret. Richard raised one eyebrow in amusement and looked across at Kate. She was rosy in the fire’s soft glow, and the folds of her green and gold gown shimmered as she positioned herself to begin. She looked up and caught Richard observing her. There was that sensation again, she thought, puzzled. It was a physical ache down low that traveled up to her heart and made her catch her breath. She quickly focused on her harp and ran her fingers across the strings. The audience was quiet, and Margaret blew out the candles, leaving only fireglow.

Kate began her tale of the two sisters, allowing the haunting melody to linger at the end of each verse. As the story moved into the mystical element, her voice became a whisper.

“When the miller found the drowned woman
Hey, with a gay and a grinding,
He said, ’tis either a woman or a milk-white swan
By the bonny, bonny banks of London.
And when he looked that lady on
He sighed and made a heavy moan.
And he made him a harp of her breastbone . . .
. . . and the sound would melt a heart of stone.”

Margaret glanced at her husband, who was listening with his eyes closed and his finger tapping the rhythm on his knee, and then she noticed Richard’s intense gaze on Kate.

“And he did make strings of her yellow hair . . .
. . . and the notes made sad the listening ear.
He’s taken the harp to her father’s hall . . .
. . . and the court was there assembled all.
He had placed the harp upon the stone . . .
. . . it began to sing all on its own.”

Rose crossed herself and Agnes looked around to see if the Devil was lurking to hear this ghostly tale.

“Yonder sits my father the king,”
sang the harp.
“And yonder my mother, the queen.
And yonder sits my little brother, Hugh . . .
. . . by him my William, so sweet and true.”

As Kate came to the last stanza, she lifted her head and stared towards the darkened window as if the solar had melted away and she was in the scene. The women leaned forward to catch her every word.

“The last song that the harp played then,
Hey, with a gay and a grinding
Was ‘Woe to my sister, the false Helen.’ ”

Kate’s fingers stroked the melancholic final chord and let the last word hang heavily on them all. A piece of wood shifted in the fire and showered sparks onto the floor, jolting Kate back to the present. Her audience did not move a muscle.

“’Tis well done, Kate.” Jack’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “You have moved us all with your tale. And I do not think William was so sweet and true. He certainly did not tarry before he wed the heinous Helen.”

“But Jack,” Richard disagreed, “in life young men of our rank are often called upon to wed where we have not given our hearts. Perhaps he had no choice.” He looked full into Kate’s eyes, and she thought he could see straight to her heart. “Madam, you have a rare gift, and I believe you have carried us all away with your musical spell. My compliments. May I say that your voice is even more beautiful than when I first heard it in Westminster Hall.”

Kate could only nod in acknowledgment, not trusting her voice.

Jack beamed. “Certes! I had forgotten your performance that night of the coronation. Thank you, Kate, for diverting us all.” He rose noisily to his feet. “But now, friends, ’tis time for bed. Come, Margaret, we should leave our guest his room.”

Richard’s two squires began to prepare the tester bed for their royal master, and one by one the women curtsied to the royal visitor and left the chamber. Kate paused and looked back at him, saying, “Good night, your grace.” It was Richard’s turn to flush.

Jack took Margaret’s arm and turned back to Richard. “If it please you, tomorrow we shall hunt. My leg has healed well enough for me to test it again. It plagued me like the devil on the road to Coventry.”

“I hear it was a boar’s charge that took you off guard. Tell me of it, Jack.” Richard allowed his doublet to be unbuttoned and removed by his squire, and Jack noticed that as slight as Richard appeared, his shoulders and chest had been developed to manly proportions by his training at Middleham. ’Tis no wonder the lad shoots the bow so well, he has the strength for it, he thought. To Richard he said, “Aye, ’twas a boar. I thought I had him, but he surprised us all. It is a noble beast, in truth.”

“I am glad to hear you say so, Jack, for now my mind is made up. I will take the boar as my badge. ’Tis one of several I have been pondering, but
your story confirms my belief. One day I would like to be able to surprise my foes with a valiant charge even though the case seems hopeless. That seems to me the essence of courage, don’t you think?”

“I do, in truth. An appropriate choice, my lord. And one I have no quarrel with.” Jack exaggerated his limp as he led the women out, which made Richard laugh.

M
ARGARET
AND
K
ATE
busied themselves in the dispensary all morning after the men went to hunt. As they worked, they talked. It was not long before Richard’s name was mentioned, and Margaret tested a plan she had formulated the night before while Jack snored next to her.

“Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Kate, but I saw something akin to hunger in your eyes as you looked on Richard last night,” she ventured. “Am I wrong?”

Margaret’s insinuation flustered Kate into spilling some seeds onto the table instead of into the mortar. Was it that obvious? she thought guiltily. Dear God, I shall surely know hellfire for my lustful thoughts!

“Come, Kate, do not play the green girl. I am beginning to know you too well, so tell me true. What are you feeling for our young lord?”

Kate was embarrassed. “Madam, I . . . I know not what it is I feel. It starts about here.” She indicated a place on her belly. “And it moves up and gives me a pleasurable pain in my heart. ’Tis not the same feeling I had for George. At least, not this strong. ’Tis as though I am burning inside.”

She had not spoken of feelings with anyone but Anne, and she missed that closeness with another woman. However, she and Anne were innocents, and most of what they had talked of were the longings of young girls. She remembered the nights at Draper House after Thomas’s funeral when they had talked briefly of sex, but the unwed Anne had no carnal knowledge to pass on to Kate. Margaret, however, was a thrice-married woman, and judging from the way she and Jack were affectionate, even in public, she was well experienced in the art of keeping a man happy. Kate did not regret telling Margaret of her plight with George, but talking about her sexual awakenings was less natural. She lowered her eyes.