The Queen of Last Hopes (25 page)

“Your courage and devotion to your husband are admired here, your grace.”

“And this is where my dear Suffolk and his wife stayed in Rouen when I visited here before I went to England,” I said, pointing to a handsome house and wiping my eye at the thought of my murdered friend. “And the Duke and the Duchess of York met me here. I stayed with them and their children…” My voice trailed off as I thought of young Rutland, killed fighting against me. I shook my head. “Seventeen years. So much has chang—Why, could it be?”

Riding up to greet us was a group of local officials. But there was one handsome English face among them that made my knees turn weak and caused me to jerk at my reins.

“Why, it’s Hal!” said Lord Ros as I occupied myself with soothing my startled horse, which really did not require a good deal of comfort. “I was hoping he might meet us.”

“I am glad to see him here,” I said feebly.

After the welcoming festivities were at last over, Somerset asked to see me at my chambers at the Golden Lion to talk of recent developments, and for a good half hour that is precisely what we did as my ladies busied themselves inside an outer chamber. Louis had written to the Duke of Burgundy, asking him to allow his son, Somerset’s friend the Count of Charolais, to take charge of the army he planned to use to attack Calais, and to allow the army to pass through Burgundy’s territories. “I am not sure of the Duke of Burgundy,” I fretted. “But we can only hope.” I paused and looked at Somerset, who had been letting me do most of the talking. “But I have never asked why you came here. I did not expect you.”

“For one, to see my brother. For another, to assist you in what way I can, though I doubt Louis will tolerate my presence here for long; we didn’t exactly become the best of friends. For yet another, to warn you against him. Louis is a slippery fish; I spent enough time in his prison and in his company to realize that. Don’t put too much faith in him. He might speak fair words to you and espouse our cause today, but if he sees an advantage to allying with Edward tomorrow, don’t think for a minute he won’t take it.”

Our
cause, he had said. “I will keep that in mind.”

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed.” He hesitated. “There is another reason I am here: to apologize to you, for my conduct in Scotland has been gnawing at me. I asked for what I had no right to, and I should not have been angry when you refused.”

“It is all behind us now.” I made a dismissive gesture with my hands. Then I met Hal’s gaze, and as I did I knew that all was lost. There was a longing in Hal’s eyes that was matched only by my own.

“I lied,” he said quietly. “I came here to try again for you.”

***

There was a banquet that night—an interminable one. I drank my wine sparingly, as always, but there was a haze about everything I said and did, and I could make only the most rudimentary conversation—a failing, fortunately, that everyone attributed to fatigue from my journey. All I could think about was Hal, sitting at the dais some distance off, and the meeting we had arranged for that night, in my own chamber. I did not fear betrayal by Marie and my other ladies, whose sleeping quarters lay in an adjacent, connecting, chamber: the troubles of the past few years had weeded out those who were not absolutely loyal to me.

Alone in my chamber at last, I gulped a cup of wine and waited for the expected knock. It came just as I was pouring myself a second cup, which Somerset took from me after he entered the room. “I want you sober, sweetheart,” he said, taking me into his arms.

I leaned into him. “It is so wicked of me, but I have tried so hard not to, and Henry just can’t, and I have been so lonely, and—”

Hal put a finger to my lips. “Easy. I’ll take care of you, my sweet. I promise you, no harm will come to anyone from this.”

“I wasn’t sure whether to leave all of my clothes on or just wear my nightshift,” I babbled on.

“Clothes on,” Hal said. “It is very pleasurable taking them off.” He expertly removed my hennin and the coif beneath it, then watched as my loosened hair fell to my waist. He ran his hands through it, then began to unfasten my clothing, kissing my breasts as he bared them. At last I stood nude before him, torn between shame at what I was about to do and hope that Hal would find me pleasing to his eyes.

Hal gazed at me. “Since I was a boy, I’ve always wanted to say what I am about to say now: ‘Your grace looks very lovely stark naked.’” When I failed to smile, he said, “You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined. And I have done my fair share of imagining, my dear.”

“Hal, we shouldn’t—”

“Come, sweetheart. Help me undress.”

I fumbled nervously with Hal’s fastenings until Hal, chuckling at my incompetence as a valet, stripped himself bare without a shred of self-consciousness. At twenty-six he was perfectly formed, but he bore the scars of each battle in which he’d fought, especially on the arm that had been broken at St. Albans. I reached out in sympathy to touch it, and he shook his head. “Don’t think of any of that,” he whispered. Leading me to the bed, he lay beside me and caressed me until I at last relaxed against him. Then he slowly, tenderly brought me to a state of ecstasy before he entered me in response to my frantic urgings.

I am quite unequal to saying more about that first time with Hal. When it was over, I sobbed, half from guilt and half from the release of my long-pent-up passion, and he soothed me to sleep on his shoulder, where I dozed for several hours before awakening and finding him smiling at me. “You look so content when you are asleep, Margaret. Like a carefree girl. I almost hated to see you begin to stir.”

“I have never been so content before. That is why.” I put my arms around Hal, delighting in the feel of his bare flesh against mine; Henry had always come to bed in his shirt the past few years and had made it clear that he preferred me to keep on my shift. With Somerset’s encouragement and guidance, I began to explore his body and soon felt his arousal. “You like this, I think, my lord,” I teased, daring for the first time to play the coquette in bed.

“Christ, you learn quickly,” Hal murmured and pulled me astride him.

***

“I love Henry,” I said much later that night as I snuggled against Hal. “You must understand that, Hal. I never would want to hurt him. If I thought he might find out about this—”

“I know, sweet. I’m fond of him myself. But I have longed for you since I first saw you when I came to England from Caen.”

“You were but fourteen.”

“I was precocious.”

“Joan Hill?”

“She is very dear to me, and she is the mother of my child. But she’s not you.” He sighed. “When the king could make you happy, I could control myself, and when you refused me back in Scotland, I tried my best not to think of you any longer. But I could not keep out of Rouen when I heard that you were traveling here, and when I saw you here, looking so ripe and lovely after your stay at Angers…”

“You will have to marry someday, Hal, when we get England back, and I would not have you be unfaithful to your duchess.”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.” Hal yawned and held me closer to him, and in a few minutes I saw that he had fallen asleep. This time, it was my turn to study him as he slept. I could give him the attention that propriety forbade in public and admire his features—his dark hair with the reddish tints that served as a reminder that he himself was of Plantagenet blood; the high, sharp cheekbones; the eyelashes that were just long enough to be attractive without being feminine, the faded scar on his face that reminded me of the loss for which I knew he still grieved. I kissed him, and in his sleep or half-sleep he smiled.

I had sinned grievously, I knew even as I admired my lover. Worse, I had become the adulteress all my enemies said I was. Yet as I lay next to Hal, all I wanted to do was to sin again with him.

Hal had vowed to withdraw himself just in time, but in our passion neither of us had been willing for him to do so. Though it would have been the cruelest of ironies for I, who had had so much difficulty in conceiving my legitimate son, to become pregnant with Somerset’s bastard, I was not particularly worried about this possibility. Even when I was in the prime of my child-bearing years, I had gone for three or four months without bleeding, and in the last couple of years, I had hardly bled at all. My physicians and the midwives I had consulted had given up on giving me potions for child-bearing even before Northampton. No, I was most likely barren, and with God’s grace I would stay that way where Hal was concerned. And if I did conceive, Hal and I would find a way around that difficulty, I told myself in my love-fogged state. I could be hidden in my father’s castle, perhaps, and my child passed off as one of his own bastards…“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Hal had whispered, and I knew I could trust him utterly.

For the next two weeks, Hal remained at Rouen, where we planned our English campaign during the day and spent our nights loving each other until we were exhausted. I had a little room at the Golden Lion where I held my makeshift little court and discussed our plans, and I delighted in sitting across from Hal at our cramped conference table there, knowing that none of the men there but Ros, who had a knack for conveying Hal to my chamber with no one seeing his progress there, were aware that Hal and I were lovers. I was like a giddy girl, thrilling when our sleeves brushed or when we caught each other’s eye. On two occasions we even had some time outside together, strolling through the town that Hal knew better than I because of his father’s residence here, and on both occasions we managed to slip away from the sight of our attendants for a moment or two and steal a lingering kiss.

God forgive me, but I cannot to this day think of that time in my life without a smile.

With Louis expected to arrive in town in August, Hal had deemed it expedient to leave for Bruges, from which he planned to hazard the sea and join Henry in Scotland, where I and my army would arrive soon. In early August, therefore, we spent our last night together, on a pleasure barge that Hal had borrowed from a rich townsman he’d been friendly with when he had lived in Rouen as a boy. “See, madam?” he said when he led me onto the barge. “A picnic!”

Spread out on a dainty cloth was a meal of bacon, cheese, nuts, apples, mushrooms, and onions, along with a jug of wine. I wrinkled my brow, knowing I recognized this menu from somewhere. “Why, this is from my father’s poem!” He had written it in honor of my stepmother.

“‘Regnault and Jehanneton,’” Somerset agreed. “I remember you reading it to me. Except that whereas the good shepherd and shepherdess have milk, we shall have wine. And plenty of it, my dear, for I want our last night to be a merry one.”

“But there is a little dog, Briquet, as well. You left him out.”

“He would be rather in the way,” Hal said.

Lounging outside our barge’s private cabin, we enjoyed our meal, and especially the wine, as the barge lumbered down the Seine. It was a beautiful summer night, and only after we had held hands and watched the sun set did Hal lead me inside the cabin. “I feel more like Cleopatra than Jehanneton,” I said, reclining tipsily on my elbow on the cushions that had been so amply provided for us.

“A blond Cleopatra? I don’t know, my dear. But you are as beautiful as she. Or Helen. Or Petrarch’s Laura.”

“You are very well read, Hal.” I stifled a slight hiccup.

“We Beauforts all are.”

I took a languid sip of wine from the cup we were sharing. Never in my life I had been this deliciously light-headed. “But do you know what? If I were not Queen of England, I would not wish to be Cleopatra, or Jehanneton, or Helen, or Laura, or any of those ladies. Do you know who I would be?”

“Who, my sweet?”

“The Duchess of Somerset.” I clapped a guilty hand to my mouth.

Somerset only laughed. “You would make a lovely duchess, my dear.”

“We would live on the Isle of Wight.”

“And have eight children by now.”

“Eight? I’d lose my figure!”

“Well, five then.”

“You just want me to look like Mary of Gueldres,” I snickered. “Large.” I made as if to set down my wine cup, which slid out of my hand and rolled lazily across the barge. “How did that happen? And why you are laughing?”

“Because, my dear, until tonight I had never encountered the phenomenon of a Frenchwoman with a poor head for wine. It’s an impressive one. But then, much about you is impressive.”

He brought me onto his lap and kissed me, cupping my face between his hands as if to stop my head from spinning. “I love you, Hal,” I said dizzily.

“I love you too, my sweet. It is going to be damned hard to walk away tomorrow.” He settled me on my back among the cushions and began to untie my garters. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

***

Hal brought me back to my chamber at the Golden Lion before dawn, our entrance aided as usual by his obliging brother and my obliging ladies. Though reasonably sober by then, we were too exhausted to be eloquent in our good-byes; instead, we simply clung to each other until he finally gently disengaged himself from my embrace and slipped out the door. Late in the morning, he returned to bid me and my party a formal farewell, kissing my hand so decorously that no one could have guessed that hours before his lips had been upon other parts of my body entirely. “I will see you soon,” he promised. “And we will restore England to her rightful king.”

He might have added, “and you to your husband,” I thought guiltily later. For now, however, I went back to my chamber and sat in the window seat, watching the boats glide down the Seine and thinking of my lover.

***

I could not moon around pining for Somerset for long, however, for King Louis and Pierre de Brézé arrived in Rouen just a few days after Hal left it. With them they brought a train of troubles. The Duke of Brittany had refused to allow Louis to bring his troops through Calais, making a siege of that city impossible, and King Edward, having learned of Louis’s proclamations on behalf of our cause, made a great point of assembling a fleet at Sandwich—just in case, it was given out, it became necessary to attack France.