Читать книгу The Scandalous Duchess - Anne O'Brien - Страница 16

‘Robert!’ I called out as I turned a corner in the early dusk. ‘Robert Rabbas! Where are you, in God’s name!’

It was cold enough to turn the Thames to ice.

Shivering, infuriated, fingers so frozen I could barely bend them, I held my hood close beneath my chin. Why was there neither sight nor sound of a squire or a page or even a household servant when one was most needed to carry out a burdensome task? And why had we been blighted by a basket of green wood which did nothing but smoulder and smoke and give out no heat, when the weather was at its bleakest, driven in by March winds from the north?

Our plans to transfer the whole household to Hertford had gone awry, when Henry, the Lancaster heir, was struck down with a fever. Cross and fractious, sometimes weeping with pains in his joints, his little body alternated between burning heat and intense cold. With concerns for the health of her unborn child—for might it not be the plague?— Duchess Constanza was not to be persuaded that this was a childish ailment and expressed the desire to leave London immediately for the Duke’s castle at Hertford. Within a day she was packed into a palanquin with her ladies and Philippa in attendance and they departed, the Duke accompanying her before returning to London to re-engage with the King and Prince Edward in planning for the campaign against the French for the New Year. It was expected that the Duke would lead the forces.

He had not sent for me. In the circumstances he might well leave England with nothing resolved between us.

Meanwhile we remained at The Savoy, the young people and their household, expecting the fever to run like wildfire through the rest of the children before it wore itself out. It was agreed that we would follow to Hertford when the danger was passed.

I was not sorry, as I sat and bathed Henry’s forehead and heated limbs with common henbane boiled in wine. The large furry leaves might look uninviting but they were of sound reputation in cooling inflammations, I consoled myself. I could hear Constanza’s voice raised in Castilian complaint even as the ducal party rode out of the gate, and silently wished my sister well as I decided that it would be a relief to be free of the Duke’s presence.

Yet living in such a milieu as The Savoy, in the world of the Duke’s own creation of art and wealth, it was hard not to sense his presence, even when he was miles away. At the turn of a stair, there he might be. Kneeling in the chapel, riding his bay stallion into the courtyard, sitting at supper in the Great Hall. Even though he did none of those things, it seemed that I might catch that glimpse of him if I looked carefully enough.

I would not give in to temptation. I would not look.

Better that he is not here! I reprimanded myself.

So now with hoar frost forming on the insides of the glazing and the fire making little impact, we had wrapped the children as warmly as we could in furs and bedcovers and sent for fuel two hours ago, until spurred by righteous anger I had volunteered to chase it up. Thomas Haselden, Controller of the Duke’s Household, was nowhere to be found. Sir Thomas Hungerford, our steward, had travelled with the Duke and Constanza to Hertford. Somehow the smooth running of the household had got out of kilter, and approaching the hour for supper as it was, the servants would be busy in the kitchens, but that was no good reason for us to freeze to death. Elizabeth had developed a cough, exacerbated by the acrid smoke, and I suspected Blanche would follow suit. Even Alyne, usually stalwart, had taken to her bed, feeling her age in her bones, she said. Lady Alice was considering the tenor of her complaint to the Duke when she next set eyes on him.

The shadows here in the inner courtyard were thick and deep in the corners, but as I strode on, there was a movement. Emerging from the side door in the far corner came a dark-clad figure with a bundle under his arm. He would do very well for my errand. I raised my hand to draw his attention. I also raised my voice again.

‘Robert, is it?’ The figure was tall enough to be the lanky page who had brought us the basket of unseasoned logs. ‘We have need of fuel in the schoolroom. Would you arrange it?’

He paused. Hesitated. Bowed.

‘I have already requested more wood. Four hours ago.’ A little exaggeration would not come amiss.

The figure remained motionless. I raised my voice a little more so that it echoed back at me off the dank stones.

‘Fetch some if you please. And don’t just pass the message to someone else and forget about it. It is too cold for the children. And not unseasoned wood either!’ I added, as he disappeared within.

I returned to the schoolroom.

‘Any success?’ Lady Alice shivered in the draught with the opening of the door.

‘It has yet to be seen,’ I replied, thinking that the temperature was little different inside than out. The children looked pinched, and yes, Blanche was coughing, her eyes red-rimmed. Only Henry, newly recovering and already beginning to resent the curb on his freedom, looked full of energy. As I stooped to tuck a fur bedspread more firmly around Philippa, the door behind me was shouldered open.

‘Fuel, mistress,’

‘And about time too!’

‘I came as fast as I could, mistress.’

I swung round. There, placing a basket of logs beside the sulky fire, with an impressive flexing of arm and shoulder muscle, was the Duke. Swinging his short cloak back over one shoulder, he applied himself to brushing twigs and dust from his hands, beating the residue from his tunic.

‘My lord!’ We curtsied hurriedly. The children began to emerge from their wrappings like moths from a cocoon, lured by this timely distraction. I busied myself with some entirely unnecessary task, hiding my flushed cheeks, but not before I had registered the gleam in the ducal eye.

‘More’s on its way.’ He looked round, taking in our beleaguered state, frowning as he pulled his hat from his head and ruffled his hair. ‘Before God, it’s as cold as Hades in here.’

‘What are you doing, John?’ Alice asked, walking across to remove more pieces of debris from his sleeve. ‘Do we employ no servants?’

‘I expect we do.’ His eyes were wide and guileless when they slid in my direction. ‘But I was instructed to fetch this personally, and not pass the message onto another and then forget about it.’

I felt a flush of heat creep even deeper from chin to hairline.

Alice laughed. ‘When did you return?’

‘Just this moment, and not before time, it seems. I’m pleased to be of use.’

‘Forgive me, my lord,’ I said. I could not meet that apparently innocent stare. ‘I would not presume…’

He brushed it aside with a little gesture, much as he had brushed the twigs from the richly figured cloth. ‘I’m rarely mistaken for a servant, much less Robert. Some would say it was good for my soul and I should thank God that I am reminded of the humility of Christ.’ But there was laughter in his voice as he looked round, taking stock, graciously accepting a psalter from Henry, ruffling his son’s hair much as he had ruffled his own. ‘It’s too cold in here. They’ll all come down with the ague.’ With a grin he pulled his soft felt hat low onto his son’s head so that the fur brim covered the child’s eyes, making Henry chortle with delight. ‘Take them to my rooms, Alice, and make them comfortable. Lady Katherine and I will arrange to bring books and whatever else she considers we need…’

‘An excellent thought…’ Without fuss, Alice rounded up and ushered the little party of children and nursemaids out. Leaving me to face my nemesis. There he stood, between me and the door, hands loosely at his sides, his eyes watchful, expression unreadable. There was no escape and he would require an answer from me.

He must have seen me glance at the open door.

‘No…’ Within a breath, he had taken one stride and possessed himself of my hand, his frown deepening. ‘You are frozen.’

And without more ado he seized my other hand, pulled me down to the settle just vacated by his daughters, wrapped my hands in the fur-lined folds of his mantle and held them firmly against the breast of his tunic, tightening his grip when I struggled to release them. Since to continue would be fruitless, and undignified, I gave up the lost cause and simply sat. Beneath my palms I absorbed the beat of his heart, hard and steady, far steadier than mine. All my thoughts were dominated by the one: he was too close, too overpowering, and I did not know what to say to him.

‘I did not know that you were returned,’ I said, inwardly flinching at the banal comment.

‘I had to. I had to see you,’ he replied evenly.

His eyes were dark, their usual brilliance muted, the flat planes of his face still.

‘This is wrong,’ I remonstrated. ‘I must not be here with you like this.’

‘Do you deny me the right to comfort you?’

‘You have no right.’ Panic rose in me, because his touch made my blood beat in my ears.

‘I am Plantagenet.’

Delivered with a swagger that took my breath with its arrogance.

‘So I am yours to command?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t know what you want from me, sir.’

‘You. I want you.’

And I struggled even more to find a reply. ‘Your loyalty is to your wife, my lord.’

Beneath my palms I felt him inhale, and tensed for a blast of Plantagenet irritation. Though his response was lightly made, it was unnerving in that he picked up our conversation as if there had not been a strained hiatus of six weeks.

‘You know what I want, Katherine. In God’s name, I made myself plain enough. Too plain. I think if I recall correctly I showed a lamentable lack of finesse—but I had hoped you would reconsider. It’s been too long. How long is it since you came to me and I offered you my service and bed?’

The simplicity of that statement made my own heart bound. ‘Six weeks, my lord.’ I knew exactly.

He laughed, making me feel foolish. ‘So you have been counting too.’

And suddenly I cast off any thoughts of the difference in our status. We were no longer royal duke and loyal dependent, simply a man and a woman encountering a choice that was no choice, and never could be.

‘My answer is no different now,’ I said.

‘Nor is my desire to have you with me. Are we at stale-mate? I wanted you then. I want you now.’ His words were low and urgent, forcing me to listen and consider rather than wilfully reject. ‘I cannot accept that you are indifferent to me. I can feel the blood raging through my body as I hold you, just as I can feel the beat of yours throbbing in your wrists.’

How horribly true. How could I deny what he could sense through the simple fact of our proximity? My throat was dry, my heart furiously beating against my ribs, as his heart did too with increased vehemence against my palms. I would be a fool to claim indifference when my cheeks were flushed with sudden warmth and my whole body trembled.

‘If I kissed you now, this very moment,’ the Duke surmised, eyes as keen as one of his goshawks in the mews, ‘I wager your lips would be warm and welcoming.’

So did I. I knew they would. Close enough that I could see my own reflection in his eyes, it was impossible to hide the turbulence of my thoughts. Helplessly, I turned my face away.

‘If I kissed you, how could you deny the attraction that draws us together?’ Lifting our joined hands, he turned my face to his. ‘Do you fear me? I don’t think you do—and I’ll not kiss you without your permission.’ And with a smile that hacked at the base of all my convictions: ‘Will you be my love, Katherine?’

But I was not so lost to good sense. ‘I can’t!’ Why could he not see? ‘It was wrong then and it is wrong now.’

‘That’s what you said last time.’

‘And I say it again. You should not ask it of me.’

Formality had fallen away from both of us. His eyes moved over my face, as if absorbing every feature. At first their hard brightness had returned, full of what I could only interpret as displeasure that I refused him. But then they softened, perhaps with regret. ‘It is not my intention to distress you.’ It had the sound of a benediction as his grip loosened a little. And then, when I had thought he might actually accept my denial of him and leave me, his gaze sharpened as it flicked over my person.

‘Why are you not wearing my rosary?’ So he had noticed the simple length of wooden beads at my waist, replacing the coral.

‘Because it is an unsuitable gift from you to your wife’s damsel.’

‘Unsuitable? What is unsuitable for the Duke of Lancaster to do?’ Arrested, he lifted his chin. ‘I thought it most suitable. I thought you would like it, and would find more use for it than a hanap.’

‘I do. Of course I do. It is magnificent.’ I felt an urge to shake him, as a woman might shake any obtuse man who could not follow her line of reasoning. ‘To give me such a gift—a gift of such portent—and then ask me to become your mistress, when I am part of your new wife’s establishment…it is too much.’

His brows, previously amused or lightly assured, drew into a flat line. ‘A sin, in effect.’

‘Yes.’ My mouth was dry, my heart as cold as stone, but it must be said. ‘It is immoral,’ I whispered. ‘It goes against all I learned as a child, in my upbringing at your mother’s hand. And in your careful raising too, I imagine.’

Nostrils flaring, the royal blood had never been so obvious. ‘If a man had said that to me, I would have cleaved his head with my sword. So you accuse me of immorality, Lady de Swynford?’

‘Yes. No…’ I had, hadn’t I? I felt my face flush again as I stumbled over my muddled response.

‘Well, that’s clear enough.’

‘It’s not clear at all!’ His fingers tightened around the soft wrappings as I tried to pull away again. ‘It weights on my conscience.’

‘So you reject me because of conscience.’

‘Yes. But not only that.’ I determined to explain. ‘I would never become the mistress of a man who did not respect me, or whom I could not respect to the same degree.’ So I asked him. A question I had never asked any man, certainly not a question I could ever envisage presenting to the Duke of Lancaster. ‘Can you respect a woman who agreed to give herself, in carnal sin, into a relationship with a man without the blessing of the Church?’

There was no hesitation: ‘Yes, I can, if you are that woman. Since I have made my desire for you more than plain, how can you ask it? I am the man who will cherish you, with or without the Church’s blessing, and I will stand protection for you against the accusatory world.’

A fine promise that touched my emotions. So he might be that man, but was I the woman to give myself over to that sin? Could I live a life founded on lust, on unholy, unsanctified, physical desire, which would call ignominy down on my head? It would take a strong will to face family and friends as the acknowledged mistress of the Duke of Lancaster and accept their judgement.

‘Do you deny my power to accomplish it?’ the Duke demanded. ‘I will make you my mistress, and as the woman who is chosen by a prince of the Plantagenet line, you will be answerable to no man.’

But I would be answerable to my own conscience and to God. All I could do was retreat to a dilemma that he must understand.

‘I cannot. I am too far below you, my lord, a mere daughter of a royal official, a widow of a minor knight. But nor am I a court whore, willing to please any man in exchange for nightly gratification and a handful of jewels, as he sees fit. I know what is due to me, just as I know my place in the ordering of worldly affairs, and that place is not in your bed. I cannot accept your invitation simply because…because…’

‘Because I have an itch that is in need of scratching. Is that what you wished to say?’

‘Yes.’

My cheeks were on fire from the deliberate crudity, but the Duke laughed.

‘Your scruples, madam, are magnificent.’

‘I know that you value my service,’ I tried to explain despite the sharp irony, for was he not still smiling at me? ‘I know that you have a kindness for me and my children. I will serve the house of Lancaster in heartfelt gratitude for all you have done for us. But how do you desire me? You loved Blanche to the depths of your soul. Your love for her shone as a bright halo around you, around the pair of you. I know the pain of your grief when she died.’ I held his whole attention now. ‘You have a new and beautiful high-born wife who is carrying your child. She brings you a kingdom, a valuable alliance. She is young and vulnerable and would appeal to your chivalry. Would you not love her too? I know you have a care for her—you treat her as if she is made of fine glass. Why would you not adore her?’

Why did I have a need to say all this? It was fruitless, painting a picture that was far more familiar to him than it was to me. But still I would speak out. I took a breath, flattening my hands, still warmly enwrapped, against his chest.

‘I will not be the mistress of any man who simply wants me for a casual hour of dalliance and a fast satisfaction between the bedsheets,’ I declared, as outspoken as he.

‘And a handful of jewels. So you said.’ The Duke tilted his chin as his eyes gleamed with something like appreciation. I thought I had surprised him after all. ‘That was quite a speech. I knew there was a reason I appointed you as the Duchess’s damsel. I am mightily impressed. Have you finished dissecting my morals and my character?’ he asked. ‘In my own defence then, I worshipped Blanche. Her death near broke my heart. But she is dead three years now, and a flame does not remain alight for ever.’

I thought about this, accepted it. ‘Yet now there is Constanza, my lord.’ The Queen of Castile stood between us, as formidably as if she had stepped into the room.

‘Do you think I dishonour her?’ he asked, his brows angling. ‘Constanza does not love me, nor I her, if that concerns you. It is a political marriage, to our mutual benefit, and one that could bring me great power. I am a man with ambitions that I will not see fulfilled as my father’s third-born son, and so I value Constanza for what she can bring me. I will never show her less than respect. I will do nothing to harm her or cause her distress. I will never hold her up to ridicule or slights in public, but will treat her with every courtesy.’

‘I think you might be hypocritical if you invite me to be your mistress within a six-month of your bridal vows, my lord. And no, I was not dissecting your character,’ I continued, my words carrying an unmistakable burden of acidity. ‘I’ll not be any man’s mistress, to be enjoyed for a few passing weeks of pleasure when the desire runs strong, only to be cast aside when the appetite palls.’

The Duke grinned. ‘I see that you don’t think much of my staying power. I think the pleasure we would find together would be of longer duration than that. Do you think I’d cast you adrift after only a few weeks?’

‘I don’t know.’ And to my dismay I felt the sting of tears. I swallowed hard. ‘I think you do not understand my dilemma. I have a conscience,’ I repeated, feeling that I was fighting a losing battle against his obstinacy.

‘And you think I do not, it seems. What a very low opinion you have of me.’ He shook his head in mock reproof. ‘You have given me a hard task, have you not? I must find a way to prove it to you that an hour or two of dalliance would be most enjoyable.’

‘I defy you to try, my lord. I’ll not be persuaded.’

The Duke stood, pulling me with him, drawing me into his arms when I tried to step back. So we stood, unmoving, breast to breast, thigh to thigh. I thought for a moment, in which I stopped breathing, that it was in his mind to kiss me. Then footsteps sounded in the distance, approaching briskly, and he raised his head.

‘I vow I will do it. Stay in the chapel after Compline.’

‘I’ll not change my mind.’

‘I command you, Katherine. And it will give you time to think. I can feel your body shivering with the beat of your heart. I swear you feel this strange appeal between us just as strongly as I, and it’s in my mind to make you abandon your so carefully constructed arguments and admit it.’

He addressed me with such a note of intractability, forcing me to acknowledge just how ruthless John of Lancaster could be. It chilled me to the bone, if it had not been for the little leap of fire in my heart. He unwrapped his cloak from around my hands, releasing me at last.

‘At least I’ve made your hands warm. Now it is my holy grail to make you smile again. And I will do it.’

He said no more for the footsteps materialised into the form of the absent Robert, but I felt the weight of the Duke’s obstinacy, as he ordered the servant to collect up an abandoned lute and drum, pushed books into my hands, tucking others under his arm. I followed him to his rooms where, surrounded by childish voices and blessed warmth, some form of normality returned.

As he opened the door for me he stood for a moment, holding me back.

‘I’ll woo you and win you, lady. I’ll give battle to your conscience and defeat it. I give you fair warning.’

‘I will not be won over.’

‘Do you say?’ His lips were against my ear as he whispered: ‘I’ll have you yet.’

In a spirit of defiance I knelt for Compline with the household. I would be honest and firm. I would restore myself to God’s good grace. I would not be swayed by either specious argument or base desire.

I would refuse the Duke of Lancaster.

As the priest made the sign of the benediction and the service ended, the chapel emptied, but, because I had been so commanded, I remained on my knees, with a brief smile for Lady Alice who presumed that I had a final personal petition to make. Immediately I heard the door close behind me, and there was the Duke moving softly to stand at my side.

Not daring to look at him in all his magnificent smooth elegance, his tunic and jewels gleaming, I fixed my eye on the figure of the suffering Christ on the altar’s gold crucifix. This should be a very brief confrontation.

‘My answer is still no, my lord.’ I could not make it plainer.

Which the Duke ignored.

‘You have returned to your doleful black,’ he remarked, surveying my widow’s weeds from head to foot. There was laughter in his voice.

‘Yes, my lord. I have.’

‘You have also, it seems, reverted to stiff formality.’

‘Yes, my lord. It is for the best.’

‘For whom? Don’t answer that.’ As I opened my mouth to do just that.

‘There is nothing more to say between us, my lord,’ I said instead.

Which deterred him not at all, offering his hand, persisting when I was slow to take it. ‘Perhaps we should discuss my proposal further, and I would rather you were not on your knees, my lady. Did I not vow to persuade you of the rightness of our being together? I will do it, but I would rather contemplate your lovely face than that unflattering veil.’

Colour rushed to my cheeks but I took the offered hand and stood, conscious of nothing but his touch. The altar shimmered with gold, my bones turned to water, my flesh was consumed with heat. I suspected this was going to take longer than I had foreseen.

‘This is not an appropriate place, my lord.’

I kept my gaze level on the glittering altar panel of saints and angels surrounding the risen Christ. Every one of them was regarding me with judgement in his face.

‘This, my delight, is the only privacy we’ll get. Keep your piety under control.’ And when I stiffened in outrage, he laughed. ‘We’ll make the most of the time we have here without interference.’ And placing his hands on my shoulders he turned me to face him, taking me entirely by surprise when he leaned to kiss the space between my brows. ‘Do you know that your skin has the glow of the most precious pearl I possess? And since this is the only area of skin you allow me to see…’ Disturbing the pattern of my heartbeat further, he stroked my cheek from brow to chin with the tips of his fingers. ‘It is softer than the finest silk.’

My thoughts were in a tumble of awareness of him. The breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his hands. The striking lines of his features. The brush of his lips against my skin had completely unravelled my certainty, like the mayhem a kitten might have created in a box of embroidery silks.

‘You brows are the gold of a summer gilly-flower,’ he continued, smiling as if unaware of my chaotic emotions. Of course he was aware. This was quite deliberate. ‘You have the grace of one of the iridescent damselflies over the mere at Kenilworth. Your eyes hold a depth of ancient amber. You, Madame de Swynford, are a rare and beautiful woman.’

I trembled in his grasp. I could not prevent it.

‘Is this a wooing, my lord?’

‘Of course.’

‘Or a sophisticated flirtation, to undermine my decision?’

‘That too. I always knew that you were an intelligent woman as well as a beautiful one.’ He paused, watching every expression on my face. ‘Am I succeeding?’ His eyes became intent, the flippancy dissipating in an instant, his hands more urgent, but he kept his tone light. ‘Do I engage your senses to any degree?’ he enquired conversationally, as if asking after my state of health. ‘Your veil is shivering with your response to me. But will you admit it?’

What could I say? Honesty had its own dangers. ‘Yes, my lord. I admit to feeling an…an attraction to you.’

The intensity deepened. ‘Then be with me,’ he urged, his fingers flexing. ‘Be with me, Madame Katherine, and allow me to open the doors of heaven for you.’

It seemed to me that the angelic throng frowned its disapproval.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘What have I said now to distress you?’

‘The angels disapprove,’ I observed.

‘The angels are free to make their own judgement. This is not their concern. This is between you and me.’

And before I could speak he had framed my face with his hands and kissed my lips, the gentlest, most tender of kisses, his lips just brushing mine. It took my breath.

‘There,’ he said. ‘I knew that kissing you would be like sipping honeyed wine. And God will forgive me for taking it.’

Which robbed me even more of words. How like him, I thought mutinously. How like the Duke of Lancaster to flout convention and woo me so carnally in this holy place, in the sight of God, and apparently with all due reverence.

‘If I recall,’ he continued, ‘your hair—which you do not allow me to see—would challenge the sun itself in its brightness.’ Then: ‘Look at me, Katherine.’

And I did. I had no will to resist under the power of his words even if I had not been entranced by that kiss. The Duke’s eyes, reflecting the gilding on angel and cherub, were level and clear on mine.

‘I saw you in my audience chamber and I wanted you. You know that. I wanted you to be mine. I still do, and I won’t let you go. You were made to belong to me. It is my right to claim you.’

As if there could be no other reason for our being here. Perhaps there was no other for a man such as he. He saw me and wanted me. I simply stared. If the angels were astounded to hear it so forcefully expressed, so was I.

His hands moved slowly down from my shoulders in one long caress, until he was in possession of my hands.

‘You came to me because you needed help,’ he said. ‘There you stood, pale and worn and overwrought with too many sleepless nights and worries, and for the first time since I had known you, you were in need. I had never thought of you as fragile, but on that day I wanted to lift the burden from your shoulders.’ His breathing was rather fast, matching mine. ‘I still do. And I want more than that. I want to strip that black garment from you and take you to my bed and show you the pleasures that can exist between a man and a woman who have, if you will, an attraction. I will care for you, protect you and bestow every comfort on you. I will respect you and hold you in esteem. You will be my mistress and my heart’s desire. All I ask is that you say yes, for I have a powerful need of you.’

He was so close that I thought he would kiss me again. And that if he did not I would drown in longing.

The Duke kissed me. Not a tender embrace, no fleeting moment, no chivalrous brush of mouth against mouth, but a kiss of heat, of passion. Of promise of what might be. And I drowned anyway in the splendour of it.

At last, when I clung to him, the Duke lifted his head. ‘Well, Madame de Swynford, my superbly respectable, black-clad widow? What do you say?’

There was the shadow of passion, now well governed. What could I say to so powerful a declaration, such a heart-stopping invitation? Severe in my widow’s black, my thoughts anything but respectable, I regarded him, thinking of what this would mean for me.

‘You wish me to be your mistress,’ I stated.

‘Yes.’

‘You wish me to be part of your household.’

‘Of course.’

‘You will treat me with respect and esteem.’

‘Yes. I will revere and honour you as well. Before God, Katherine! Is this a catechism? Here it is, laid out for your appreciation. I cannot give you my name.’ As if negotiating a deal between traders, I found myself thinking in a moment of ridiculous levity. ‘I cannot give you any recognition in the eyes of the world, but all I am, and all that is within my power to give you happiness, that is what I can give you. That is what I offer you, Katherine de Swynford, if you will only stop prevaricating and step willingly into my arms.’

The candles, now burning low, seemed to leap and shiver, casting an even greater mystery over our surroundings, even more furious reactions on the faces of the angelic throng.

‘I can still see your heart beating through the shiver of your veil,’ he continued when I remained mute, attempting to encompass all. ‘Can you breathe enough to give me a reply? Why can you not simply accept that you and I should be together?’

He wanted me. John of Lancaster desired me. The levity returned in full force.

‘If I give myself to you, will you fetch wood for me?’ I asked.

His brows rose, his eyes gleamed, but he replied with equanimity.

‘I will. And all else you ask of me. I will pour your wine and tie your laces.’

Which made a breath of laughter rise inappropriately to the surface, but I looked away, absorbing the reality of the threshold before which I found myself standing.

‘I could not bear to be the object of gossip, my lord.’

‘You know the ways of the court.’

‘I know that it is impossible to hide anything for long.’

‘I would never draw attention to you. To us. Is that what you fear?’

I breathed out slowly. ‘Is such discretion possible?’

‘I don’t know.’ He was honest too. ‘All I know is that I have a need of you, beyond all good sense.’

His words slid over my flesh like the finest cloth, like the blue and white damask he had given me. How fatally simple it was, after the recent weeks of heart-searching. His assurance had the power of a battle mace against an enemy’s helm. His conviction could have carried an army to victory against the most powerful foe.

‘Come to me. Allow me to take care of you and worship at your perfect feet.’

He saw no difficulty in my choice, whereas I could count every trap in the path of an unwary woman. And yet in spite of my qualms, all I could do was marvel at the richness of the gift he had placed at my feet. How could I have ever believed that the Duke of Lancaster would invite me to take my place at his side, in his life?

‘Do it. Say yes, lovely Katherine.’

‘Does nothing at all about this worry you?’ I asked instead in bewilderment.

‘Not a thing.’

The silence of the chapel around us grew taut, for had we not turned full circle, to face once more the unpardonable sin? The Duke was so assured whereas I wallowed in a puddle of indecision.

‘I said I would kneel at your feet. Behold I do.’ And still holding my hand he dropped to one knee, looking up at me with all the old glamour in his presence. ‘It is this easy, my lady. I want you. Do you want me?’

‘My lord…’ I studied his handsome features, of which he was very well aware. In a final attempt to combat temptation, I adopted as remote a tone as I was able. ‘I would ask one thing of you.’

‘And I will grant it.’

‘Will you give me one night? To consider my answer.’

‘God’s Blood, woman! What can you decide in one night, that you haven’t managed to decide in six weeks?’

‘It is a dangerous step.’

‘It is a glorious step!’

Which understandable irritation I ignored, for I would not be rushed into a decision that would have so great an impact on my life. ‘And will you agree to abide by the choice I make, my lord?’

‘That’s two things.’ He looked askance.

‘Then make it three. I wish to borrow a book from you, my lord.’

‘A book?’ The irritation was overlaid with bafflement. ‘A missal? Come then, if that is your wish. And perhaps you could practise not calling me my lord with every breath. My name is John.’

‘As I know, my lord.’

With an appreciative laugh, opening the door, we left the angels in no way the wiser as the Duke escorted me to his library, leaving me there to make my choice. For a moment he stood, watching as I lit a candle from a wall-torch.

‘Katherine?’

I looked back at him where he stood by the open door. How had I never realised the caress of his voice on my name, even when the mischief had vanished. The Duke was very serious as he bowed deeply.

‘How you intrigue me. You kisses are sensuous yet you are governed with stark piety. Promise me that you will not allow fear of what the world will say to guide your choice. Promise that you will not give power to past sorrows and present fears to chain you to your bleak widowhood. I swear there is more for you in this life than what you are today. And I should tell you: for me it is no mere attraction. It is an overwhelming desire.’

‘I promise, my lord.’

Briefly I read naked desire in his face, before courtesy returned and he strode back across the room to kiss my fingers with typical flamboyance.

‘When you smile, you are so very beautiful. Don’t look so baffled. Sleep well, my dearest one. I would give you happiness and fulfilment, not anguished soul-searching.’

And with a final salute to my fingers he left me to my search.

The decision I was about to make was hazardous indeed: to follow the hard and narrow but entirely respectable path dictated by morality and virtue, or to step aside to snatch at that bright happiness the Duke offered me. I knew full well what I ought to do. My conscience was a lively creature, prompting me into the way of godly righteousness, for how should I live with so great a sin on my soul?

I swore the Duke of Lancaster stood at my shoulder as I selected my book. My mind was all chaos.

I discovered the Duke in his library, where he would be engaged in business affairs after early Mass and breaking his fast. Quietly, only half-opening the door, I paused. Then, entirely certain of what I must do, I pushed it open, the well-greased hinges failing to announce my presence. There, his back to me, the Duke poured over a large expanse of vellum on which I could see was drawn a map of England and France and the northern reaches of Castile.

I stood, watching him as he worked, unaware of his audience, his finger tracing what I thought was a route to Aquitaine, continuing south to Castile, the object of his new ambitions. The success or failure of this new expedition would rest on his shoulders.

I moved inadvertently, my shoe scuffing along the tiles, but he did not respond, probably did not even hear.

‘My lord.’

‘Leave it over there.’

The Duke was not the only one to be mistaken for a servant.

‘I would rather—’

‘Go away.’ He was more abstracted than I had thought. ‘Come back later.’

With a grunt of exasperation he scrubbed his fist along the edge of his chin, much as young Henry had done earlier in the day when reprimanded for cleaning his inky fingers on the front of his tunic, so that I smiled at the similarity.

I was so sure, my decision clear in my mind. So sure that I walked softly forward and placed my hand on his shoulder.

‘I will return if it pleases you. I thought you wanted an answer from me. I am here to give it.’

‘Ah…have you come to refuse me?’ he asked, staring ahead.

Every muscle in that shoulder was tensed beneath my palm as he anticipated my ultimate rejection. His hands clenched into fists on the map.

‘So you pre-empt me,’ I replied evenly.

‘Why not? You would not be the first virtuous woman to find lechery too painful to contemplate,’ he replied, his voice harsh, his observation grating against my senses. ‘Perhaps you have not the courage to seize what you desire.’

Here was a man who never questioned his own courage, but he would question mine. I lifted my palm and stepped back. Did he think it would not take courage to refuse him?

‘I am here to give you my reply,’ I said with a calmness that belied by leaping heart. ‘Whether I have courage, it is for you to judge.’

Standing, stretching to his full height, quite carefully the Duke placed the pen beside the document, and turned. I remained motionless. I did not say a word: I did not have to. I watched as a smile began, slowly at first, then growing to illuminate his face, enhancing his beauty as he saw what I had done. Fisting his hands on his hips, he tilted his head in contemplation, making me smile again for it was as if he was appreciating some new object in his collection. I remained perfectly still and let him look.

‘What have you got behind your back?’ he asked softly when, as I knew he would, he had taken in every aspect of my appearance.

With one hand I produced the book I had borrowed, like a wise-woman revealing some mystical source of magic. ‘I have this to return.’ I placed it on the table next to the map.

‘The missal you borrowed to direct your actions into righteous pathways.’

‘No missal,’ I replied solemnly, for it was not a book of prayer that I had sought for my night of contemplation, with the Duke’s kiss still hot on my lips.

The Duke opened the cover page, and looked up quizzically. ‘I would not have expected this.’

‘Why not?’ Its depictions of Love in all its forms in the Roman de la Rose had occupied my hours, while the sensuous illustrations had seduced my senses.

‘Did it help?’ The Duke closed the page, his gaze holding mine. ‘Did it persuade you that Divine Love was your ultimate goal in this life?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Platonic love, then. Is that what you seek between us?’

‘No, my lord.’

He knew I did not. His eyes glittered with a sense of victory, as if he had just overcome an enemy of great power. How could he not know? He knew my answer, as I had intended, without a word being exchanged between us, as he had taken in my appearance from the little round buckram hat that fixed my gold-edged veil, to my gilded slippers. For what had I done? Rejecting the respectable widow for ever, I was dressed as if for a bridal in green and gold, my bodice gleamingly patterned, my oversleeves trimmed with a full meadow of embroidered flowers. As far from my mourning robes as I could make them. And at my belt hung the coral and gold beads of the Duke’s gift.

This was no penitential garb.

The Duke gestured with his chin. ‘And in your other hand?’

‘This is for you.’

Discovered in The Savoy garden almost before dawn, it was a poor apology, frost-bitten and withered, showing the merest tinge of colour within its grey of decomposition.

‘One should never plan to express the state of one’s heart with a rose in winter,’ I said. ‘It will shed its petals within the hour.’

‘I will not hold its imperfections against you.’ He took the sad corpse from me. And in taking it his fingers, at last, closed over mine.

‘I read Jean de Meun’s poem,’ I said, struggling to keep my voice even, for his handclasp stirred my blood to a shiver of delight. ‘How the Lover battled to win the heart of his Beloved. I recognised the enemies he faced. Jealousy. Danger. Shame and fear. I recognised all of those. Do I not see them in my own choices? I see the dangers in what you ask of me, for I am afraid of the shame that others would heap on me. Am I not jealous of every moment you spend with Constanza, away from me?’

His hand wrapped even more strongly round mine, as if to give comfort and strength when my voice caught a little on the emotion of the moment. But I did not need his courage. I had enough of my own. My night had been well spent.

‘But you see,’ I went on to explain, ‘the Lover won his battle, and his tormenters fled. He gained entrance to the walled garden and plucked the precious rosebud for his Love. As I have plucked this for you, from your own garden. My doubts too have fled.’

And they had. I had made my decision for good or ill.

‘So I am here. To say yes to you.’

‘I think it was supremely difficult for you.’ The timbre of his voice was like velvet, to stroke my senses.

‘To find a rose? Well nigh impossible. This was the only one…’ I smiled when he used his free hand to silence me, his fingers gentle on my lips.

‘To make the decision, my dearest girl! My very dear Katherine.’

‘Yes. It was,’ I admitted, but still I smiled against his fingers for my heart was leaping with joy. ‘Do you remember who it was who helped the Lover in his battle?’ I knew that he would.

‘Oh, yes. All-powerful, all-conquering Venus. The goddess of carnal desire, of all physical delights.’ His hand tightening around mine and the suffering rosebud, he drew me closer. ‘So, Madame de Swynford, you will give yourself up to me and all the pleasures I can bring to you?’

‘I will.’

‘For ever?’

‘For all time.’

‘Then we will be together for all time. And I will extract a promise from you.’

‘Only one?’

‘One will do for now.’ He stroked his knuckles over my embroidered bodice, over the swell of my breasts, in a possessive movement that made me hold my breath. ‘Will you promise me that you will never wear black again?’

‘I promise.’

He kissed me on the lips, as light and insubstantial as that first kiss, as a butterfly’s wing, although I felt the rigid tension of the muscles in his forearms as he tucked the sad rose into the bodice of my gown. It was like feeling the explosive force of a warhorse, held on a tight rein until released into the heat of battle. I was in no doubt of his desire for me. My fingers trembled as I smoothed them over the knap of his sleeve. I needed him to take the next step, for it was beyond me.

Abandoning the map and the forthcoming expedition, he led me to the door.

‘Does Lady Alice expect you?’

‘No, my lord. I am in your employ.’

‘Then I have need of an hour of your time.’ For a moment he hesitated, his eyes studying my face, smoothing my lower lip with the pad of his thumb, a more poignant gesture than any other. ‘Or a month, a year. Even a lifetime…’

‘You must make do with an hour, my lord,’ I remarked practically, even as my heart throbbed. ‘Lady Alice will ask after me.’

‘An hour it shall be,’ he agreed, ‘for I too, unfortunately, have demands on my time.’

And in that moment of perception I knew that this would always be so. The Duke’s duty was to England. Any woman in his life must accept that she would never be pre-eminent, no matter how strong his desire to be with her. I knew that this driving force in him to be pre-eminent, to wield power, would colour all our days together, however long or short our liaison might be. And in that moment, I witnessed the path of my life stretched out before me, with all its shadows, its moments of brilliance.

You can still step back, my conscience whispered in my mind. Are you indeed brave enough? Do you have the fortitude to take what you want, what you have always dreamed of taking? Or will you step back and preserve the moral high ground? If you take this step, there will never be any moral high ground, ever again, for you.

There is no marriage in this for you.

If you accept you will be no better than a court harlot, damned as a fallen woman. What will you say to your children? How will you explain to your son when he asks why those at court point and gossip?

There is still time to retreat. To return to your widowhood, your conscience clear as you kneel before the priest with a clean heart.

There will never be the possibility of marriage for you in this relationship.

Go back to Kettlethorpe and take up the reins of the estates.

But I would not. My decision was made, finally and irrevocably, even when my conscience struck a final blow.

The Duke has never said that he loves you.

I would not listen. Had any woman ever refused him? I could not.

Once outside the library, the Duke broke the contact between us but I walked beside him as he opened the door into his private accommodations and dismissed his body servant who was engaged in laying garments in a clothes press. He did not even glance at me, probably thinking—if he even considered it—that I had come to report to the Duke about one of the children. Yet, even so…

‘Is this discretion, my lord?’ I asked. ‘Coming to your rooms in the broad light of day?’

‘I will not lurk and skulk.’ A vestige of a frown momentarily settled on his brow. He was unused to his actions being questioned. ‘It is not in my nature to hide and dissemble. But nor am I lacking in good sense. You have my word. I will not willingly put you or Constanza into the public eye. Enough! This hour is for us. An hour in which I’ll turn your beautifully ordered world upside down.’

Strides quickening, he led me through the sumptuous rooms to his bedchamber, where he flung the door wide.

‘Welcome, Katherine.’

I stepped over the threshold, entirely of my own volition. I took in the splendour of the furnishings, the polished wood, the silver sconces, the velvet-padded prie-dieu with its heavy silver crucifix, but my mind was not on prayer. And there was the ducal bed.

The Duke shut and barred the door.

‘My bed is cold. Who will warm it for me?’

I did not hesitate.

‘I will, my lord.’

Desire swept away all discretion when the Duke closed his door against the world. Passion ruled, all the words, all the explanations, the warnings, all the anxieties excoriated in a blaze of heat. If any doubts remained in my heart, they would have been obliterated. But since there were none, I let my senses be seduced. There were no uncertainties to undermine my decision to be with him.

His control was superb. Had he not promised to tie my laces? He was equally proficient at unlacing them, although he growled at the row of buttons that stretched from elbow to little finger on my sleeves. He proved to be just as skilled at removing my intricately latched crispinette and veil and loosing the braids of my hair. I shivered under his hands, under the sway of his marvellous expertise.

‘I thought I remembered, but I had forgotten how rich it was,’ he murmured as the length of my hair uncoiled to spread over my shoulder, and his, when I leaned against him. ‘The sun’s burnish…’ He buried his face in it as I rested my head against his breast. It was good to rest against a man taller than I.

There was little rest. He needed no help from me to disrobe, even though I offered to be his squire for the occasion. Nor did he need help to remove my shift.

No restraint, now, he turned my limbs to flame, my heart to breathless excitement, my blood to molten gold. He wakened my body to a sensual pleasure where there were no past shades keep us company.

I adored him.

I no longer cared what doubts the heavenly creatures harboured. It did not trouble me that the Duke never spoke of love. It was enough that he treated me as if, for him, I was the most precious creature in the universe.

An hour was too short to encompass all we wished to say, every emotion that demanded expression.

‘It is a taste of a banquet that will last us a lifetime,’ he whispered against my throat.

‘I must go, my lord,’ I said when the minutes fled, as if winged.

‘And you must call me John.’

‘It is not easy.’

‘But you will practise. Soon it will come readily to your lips.’

His assurance never failed to move me. How could I even contemplate the future with fear when the Duke of Lancaster held me in his arms and looked ahead with such confidence? He helped me to dress and hide my hair, he retied my laces. He wrapped a plain cloak around me to hide my inexplicable finery until it could be put to rights. How fast we learned the need for ultimate prudence.

‘The rose has fallen into pieces,’ I said, seeing it on the coffer with my rosary.

‘It is a transient thing. But my desire for you is not.’ He tucked the tell-tale gold of my veil into the neck of the cloak. ‘Do you have regrets?’

‘None.’

‘Nor I. You are of my Life and Death the Queen…’

I sighed as I recognised the beautiful sentiment, the expression of utmost poetic devotion from the Lover to his Lady.

‘Your brother-in-law, Master Chaucer, has a masterful way with words.’ The Duke kissed me as if he would linger still, although we both knew that good sense dictated that we could not. ‘Keep me in your mind, until we can be together again. Promise me that.’

‘Yes, John. I will keep you in my mind.’

Collecting up the rosary into the palm of my hand, I walked slowly back to my room.

I was John of Lancaster’s mistress.

Back in my chamber I removed my finery, recalling with a smile it being removed with much more alacrity and much less care.

I loved him, I adored him. I would never not love him.

Why had I done it? Why had I turned my back on every rule I had lived by? It shocked me that I had done so, laying aside my principles because a man had asked it of me, as I would lay aside an old gown that I no longer had use for. Now I had a new garment. A glittering cloak made of love, a magical cloak that in my naïve mind would protect me from the slights and condemnations of the society in which I lived. I was wrapped about by happiness. Pickled in it, I decided fancifully with a smile, as I would store beans in brine to last me through the winter.

Why had I done it? Because I loved the Duke and he had offered me the moon and the stars and the sun in one magnificent gesture. The firmament was mine in all its glory.

I searched for a comb beneath Philippa’s haphazardly strewn belongings and addressed the tangles in my hair, allowing other truths to step into my mind.

The end is inevitable, as night will follow this bright day. As grey will streak the gold of your hair and a web of lines mar your skin. One day you will be parted.

I was no blind fool. I could see it so clearly. All the insurmountable obstacles to what for many lovers would be a permanent happiness, whatever words of commitment the Duke and I might choose to exchange. Whatever he might vow to me and I to him. Whatever lasting passion our bodies might promise when they fused with desire.

Did the Duke see those obstacles as clearly as I, an impossible bulwark of walls and ditches, not to mention the stalwart portcullis that would one day bring about our separation and stand between. I did not think he did. When did a Plantagenet prince ever have need to question his own worth? His needs and desires were there to be satisfied.

What would it be that intervened, to destroy this idyll—for that is surely what it was—I mused. Family. Political battles. The demands of England’s policy abroad. He might desire me but his life was not his own to direct as he chose.

Nor was I his first mistress. Would I be his last? In all honesty I did not think so. He wanted me now, but I might yet be a forgotten name on the list of women who took his appreciative eye. It might be that the Duke would simply fall out of need for me.

This day I had stepped beyond the acceptable. I had crossed a forbidden line, knowing that I would have consequences to face. At some point, on one day in the future, for some reason that I could not quite see, he would have to make a choice—and then what of me? What would be left for me but memories and a reputation that would destroy my good name for ever?

Momentarily I closed my eyes to hide the contempt that I would assuredly read in the eyes of many who knew me. Then opened them as I briskly coiled my hair into its netted confines.

I would not allow such thoughts to cloud my happiness. The memory of the Duke’s arms holding me, the heated demand of his kisses—they were more than enough. And indeed they would have to be, for the Duke had not said those stark, simple words: I love you. Not once. Desire and longing. Passion and need. But not love.

What did it matter? I would not allow it to matter. His need for me in his life was enough, and I was free to love him without restraint. But I would choose my words with care. The Duke did not talk of love, so I would not burden him with mine. Silently I vowed that he must never be compromised by my adoration, which he could not return.