A Rose for the Crown (66 page)

“Can’t, Moll. We must keep pace with the master,” he called back, laughing. “Hold on tight and you’ll be fine.”

Jack sent two men-at-arms to escort the women and children to Baynard’s Castle and bade Kate a fond farewell from his perch on Lyard Wetchel.

“God keep you safe, my lord,” Kate murmured, as he kissed her. “I pray you will not have to fight after all.”

“I am too ugly to die, Kate, have no fear!” Jack laughed down at her.
“Now go, and God speed. Wat will stay with you, and I will tell Richard you are come.”

Kate gazed in wonder at the facade of Baynard’s Castle. Imposing, with battlements and towers, the castle dominated Thames Street. She felt a little trepidation as they turned into the gate and rode through to the courtyard beyond. Immediately, grooms ran to gather their reins and lead the group to mounting blocks, although how anyone could notice new arrivals in the melee, Kate had no idea. Horses, carts, knights, squires and pages thronged the yard, and everywhere she saw the blue and murrey livery of York. Once dismounted, one of the knights ran to the massive front door and was about to knock on it with the hilt of his sword when it swung open and the steward appeared. Recognizing the Howard livery, he acknowledged the messenger.

“We are escorting Dame Katherine Haute to the Lord Richard of Gloucester,” Kate’s escort announced. “We come from Lord Howard, who has gone to Westminster.”

“The king’s grace is quitting Westminster and will bring his family here, we are told. You have only to wait here for your lord,” the steward answered.

Kate was trying to control her unsteady legs after the hard ride. She held tight to Katherine’s hand and curtsied to the steward, who looked every inch a king himself with white hair, piercing blue eyes and broad shoulders. She noticed his dress was richer than many of the gentry who visited Tendring Hall.

He bowed. “Dame Haute, welcome. Lord Richard told me to expect you. I pray you follow me to your chambers.” His eyes lighted on Katherine, who was staring candidly up at him, and they creased into a smile.

“And who might this be?”

“Katherine, thir,” she lisped, clutching Kate’s hand.

The steward patted her head and stood back up.

“Katherine. Such a pretty name for such a pretty child. And now, madam, please follow me.”

As mother, daughter and Molly with John in her arms fell into step behind the steward, Wat followed the other grooms to the stables and was soon lost in the crowd. Inside, the great hall soared into beams painted in blue, murrey and gold. Banners and flags hung from the rafters, and a
trapped bird fluttered blindly in and out of them seeking escape. The room was alive with pages and lackeys setting up tables for the midday meal. The steward told Kate that Clarence and Gloucester had taken up residence only the day before and apologized for the lack of order.

“We know not how many to seat today. Some are at Westminster still, others are not yet arrived. The city is in anticipation of a fight. We pray it will not be within the walls. We have not been accustomed to so many people for the last few months. Her grace, the duchess, has been here in residence, but she kept a small table under the circumstances.”

He continued talking as he led them through several archways, along a corridor and up some stairs to a wing at a distance from the main hall.

“I have been instructed to lodge you here, madam. I trust you will be comfortable.” He bowed again, opened the door and stepped back into the corridor to let her pass. “I shall post a page outside the door, and you shall want for nothing.”

Kate smiled at him. “I thank you, sir—I am sorry, but I do not know your name.”

“William Dudley, at your service, madam. I am told the Lord Richard will dine here. I will inform his lordship of your arrival.”

Dudley closed the door and strode back the way he had come. He was not paid to make assumptions, but one look at the little boy in Molly’s arms had confirmed his suspicion that the youngest York had not spent all his time tilting at jousts and learning Latin. A loyal servant to the duke and duchess of York for many years, William had watched the boys grow—when they had been at home. He had mourned the loss of Edmund of Rutland like a father, proud of the boy’s fearlessness. But Richard was his favorite. A reedy lad with a stubborn chin even as a child, Richard never pushed himself forward, as George had done. He did not seek attention, but he glowed when he received it. He did not possess the natural charm and Saxon good looks of his three elder brothers, but of all of them, William decided, Richard’s heart was true.

Kate’s apartment was more than comfortable, it was luxurious, with rich wall hangings to keep out the chill, and on the floor Turkey rugs to warm her feet. The two chairs were gracefully carved and their cushions invited occupancy. An enormous bed covered in silk sheets and a fur blanket dominated the room, its damask curtains hoisted up and aside
with a pulley in the ceiling. Kate ran to the window and gasped when she looked straight down upon the river lapping at the castle wall and teeming with barges and boatmen. Molly went to explore the second room and was pleased to see another bed that beckoned her to test it. But Katherine was ahead of her. She ran past Molly and jumped onto its soft mattress covered in fine lawn sheets and a warm wool coverlet. Molly smoothed the material and marveled at its texture. How she wished her father could see her now!

“Have a care, child. We be guests here, remember. You and Johnny and me will be asnuggling in here tonight. ’Twill feel like floating.”

Katherine clapped her hands and called for her mother to come and look. But the room next door had gone quiet. Molly went to the doorway and saw why. Richard and Kate were standing in the middle of the room locked in an embrace while baby John sat in the middle of the bed staring at them. She quietly closed the door and knew to keep Katherine amused until the child was summoned.

“Richard! My sweetheart, my love, how I have longed for this moment,” Kate murmured into his shoulder after the lingering kiss. “How glad I am you sent for me!”

Richard held her from him and looked into those amber eyes with such love that she was almost frightened. How could she deserve his love? She was but a simple girl from Kent. He was smiling at her now, and she noticed his brow had new lines, his mouth a firmness and the stubble on his chin was no longer soft. There was a wariness to him, too, that made him glance over his shoulder often and nervously finger his dagger hilt.

“Kate, my Kate. I have thought of you every day for a year. Can it have been that long? And yet . . . the exile seemed more like years than months.”

He had his back to the bed, and Kate realized that he had not even noticed John sitting placidly on the fur coverlet, sucking on his sleeve. She turned Richard around.

“Richard, meet your son. Johnny, this is your father.”

“John Plantagenet, John of Gloucester. My son!” Richard stared in open admiration at his offspring. “He has the look of my father. Of York,” he said, delighted.

He sat down gently on the bed and stroked the boy’s head. John took his soggy sleeve out of his mouth long enough to grin at his father and promptly set to sucking again. Richard began lightly bouncing the bed, making John roll onto his back. The child kicked his feet and made some unintelligible sounds of glee. Soon father and son were bouncing up and down, Richard tickling John, who laughed until he cried.

“’Tis hard to say which is the child and which is the father, is it not, Mistress Haute?” The voice from the door startled all three of them, and Kate turned to see the king standing framed in the archway, hands on his hips and grinning at the scene he had interrupted. “Let me see my nephew.”

Kate sank into a low curtsy and would have fallen over on her tired legs had Richard not jumped down from the bed to raise her up.

“Is he not a fine specimen? I swear he is far more York than your weedy brat,” Richard teased his brother. “Young Edward has all his mother’s fairness,” he told Kate. “My John has our father’s look,
n’est ce pas?”

Edward nodded and picked John up and swung him to the ceiling, laughing at the boy’s face that was at first afraid and then ecstatic.

“Can he walk yet, Kate?” Edward asked. “How old is he now? A year?”

“He is a year old, your grace, and he has been walking for a month.” In truth, Kate was a little annoyed that Edward had asked questions that should have been Richard’s right to ask first. But Richard seemed not to care, so happy was he to have Kate with him and to meet his son.

“But where is Katherine? Where’s my little girl?” Richard demanded.

“Molly, bring Katherine here to see her father, if you please,” Kate called to the closed door. Molly had heard the other voice in the room and was listening at the keyhole. She knew the king was on the other side of the door and had no intention of showing herself. She took Katherine’s arm, opened the door so that she concealed herself, propelled the little girl towards Kate and snapped the door closed.

“Thank you, Molly!” Richard cried, winking at Kate. Then he swept Katherine into his arms and covered her face in kisses. “My moppet, my poppet. You are my treasure, are you not?”

Kate wondered if the child remembered her father, but she need not have worried.

“Father,” the little girl said clearly, frowning and fingering her cheek. “Katherine hurt. Katherine’s fathe hurt.”

“Fathe?” Richard looked puzzled.

Kate laughed. “Her face hurts, Richard. Your beard scratches her!”

Edward came forward to meet his niece with John contentedly on his arm. Kate had not thought much about the relationship her children had with the king. Nephew! Niece! She was overawed.

Edward bent forward to tickle the child. “She is a miniature of her mother, I perceive. I wonder if she has her mother’s . . . frankness.”

He had his answer when Katherine stood on tiptoe and gave him a smacking kiss on his nose. Both brothers roared.

“Ned, I will not have you seducing my daughter.”

“Why not, Dickon? I have seen you flirt shamelessly with Bess, and she is much older,” Edward retorted.

“Bess is only six, Ned. And she is as forward as mine is here, I swear.”

“So, Kate. When do you meet our mother?” Edward changed the subject. “She will be wanting to see her grandchildren, I have no doubt.”

“Good God, Ned. I shall not subject Kate to Mother yet. Kate will stay here in her apartments for a few days. When the time is right, I will show them. I pray you have said nothing to Mother, for she has not had it from me that I am a father. I did counsel you to keep your word, and you swore you would. None but you, Rob and Jack Howard know. Kate has her reasons for keeping our liaison quiet, and I hope we can count on you. Not even Elizabeth should know.”

Edward quickly nodded. “Have no fear, little brother, your secret is safe with me. Although if I had two such bonny children, I would be inclined to parade them proudly.”

He put John into Richard’s arms and kissed Kate affectionately on the cheek, much to her surprise. “Now forgive me. I have other matters to attend to.” He was graver as he hurried from the room.

Kate promptly collapsed onto the bed. “I was not prepared for such a visit, Richard. He did not even knock.”

“Kate, my adorable goose, a king does not need to knock. Do not fret, Ned plainly admired our children, did he not?”

“You, too, are pleased with our son?” She watched him dandle John on his knee.

“How could I not be, sweetheart?” Richard stroked the boy’s hair. “He is strong with a sweet nature and has impeccable lines.”

“A Bywood and a Plantagenet. Aye, good solid stock, I would say,” Kate laughed, lifting Katherine onto the bed.

R
ICHARD COULD NOT STAY LONG
after Edward’s departure from the room. All afternoon Kate waited for him, whiling the time away by singing songs to the children and sewing a kerchief. No one but the steward seemed to know she was there, but that was the way she wanted it. The notion that she might have to face Cecily, duchess of York, had never entered her head as she rode to London. The more she heard of the formidable lady, often called Proud Cis, the less she wanted to meet her. Even Edward and Richard spoke of her with reverence. Kate’s picture of her had evolved from a brave young mother standing all alone with her two little boys facing the fearsome Queen Margaret into a haughty, tyrannical dragon of an old woman ready to breathe fire on anyone not good enough for her sons. From all Richard had told her, Cecily did not care for the upstart Elizabeth Woodville, and Elizabeth was the queen. What would the duchess think of lowly Kate Haute? Kate hoped she would never find out.

She knew Edward was holding a council of war in the great hall, and the longer Richard was absent, the more afraid she became that a battle was in the offing. It was Good Friday, and dinner had consisted of wonderful delicacies with fish as the main course, but she had not even been to mass, and she briefly wondered how this omission would count when she eventually went to meet her Maker. Perhaps there would be a vespers in which she could participate unseen. She asked the page outside the door, and he took her along several corridors to a small chapel, where, veiled, she was able to join the worshippers anonymously. Not that anyone knew who she was, she thought, as she knelt on the hard floor at the back of the chapel—but someone might.