The Forbidden Queen

CHAPTER EIGHT

Edmund Beaufort took control with a snap of his impertinent fingers. I had never met anyone with so much inexhaustible energy. Or such a charmingly insolent denial of authority, such wanton disregard for my enforced cold respectability as Queen Dowager and Queen Mother. Or such wilful casting aside of court etiquette. Unleashed on the quiet Court at Windsor, Edmund Beaufort blew the cobwebs from the tapestries and stirred the old rooms into joyful activity, breathing life into rooms that had not seen occupation for years. I found myself at the centre of a whirlwind.

Our staid court became a place of ragingly youthful high spirits, the young courtiers who elected to remain with James and my damsels in no manner reluctant to be drawn into Edmund’s plans. It was as if they were awakened from a long sleep, and I too. I was drawn in whether I wished it or no. And I did. I came alive, my despondency and desolation vanishing like mist under early morning sun. There was no lying abed in those frosty December mornings when the sound of the hunting horn beneath my window blasted me into activity. Neither was I allowed to cry off. We hunted through the days, come fair weather or foul.

Some days, seeing my wariness around horses, Edmund arranged that we take the hawks out into the marshes on foot. There was little sport to be had, nothing but wet feet and icy fingers and shivering limbs by the time that the noon hour approached, but Edmund, in his role of Overseer of Inordinate Pleasure, had all arranged with my Master of Household. As the pale sun reached its zenith, wagons pulled by oxen trundled towards us along the track.

‘What is this?’ I squinted against the hazy sun.

‘Everything for your comfort, of course, my lady.’

I watched with astonishment.

‘When did he arrange this?’ I asked James, who stood with his arm openly around Joan’s shoulders.

‘Lord knows. He’s a past master. Give him an inch…’

And he would take a dozen miles. As he had. Hot braziers, the air shimmering around them, were manhandled onto the ground in our midst. Heaped platters of bread and meat and cheese, bowls of steaming pottage, flagons of warm spiced ale were all unloaded and a group of minstrels produced their instruments, blowing on their cold fingers. Soon the marshes echoed to music and song.

It was magical.

‘Do you approve, Majesty?’ Edmund asked with a bold stare.

‘It’s too late to ask that,’ I replied in mock reproof.

He sank to his knees, head bent. ‘I asked no permission. Am I in disgrace?’

‘Would you care?’ I thought he would not.

‘I would care if I caused you to frown on me, lady.’ Suddenly he was grave, looking up through his dark lashes, all light mockery abandoned, making me recognise that I must consider my choice of words. And so I kept them light as I borrowed a fiddle bow from one of the nearby minstrels and struck Edmund lightly on both shoulders.

‘Arise, Lord Edmund. I forgive you everything. A hot brazier and a bowl of onion pottage on a freezing day can worm your way into any woman’s favour. Even mine.’

He leapt to his feet. ‘Come and be warm.’

Handing over the raptors to the waiting falconers, we ate, then danced on the frosted grass by the river, until the bitter wind dispelled even the heat of the fires and drove us in. I laughed at the irresistible impulsiveness of it all when we joined hands and circled like any peasant gathering, and my hand was clasped hard in Edmund Beaufort’s as we hopped and leapt. As if he felt that I might run away if he released me for even a moment.

I felt like a young girl again. I had no intention of running.

Ah, but some days I felt old, older than my years, unable to respond to the simple magic of pleasure. A vicious cold snap found us skating on the solid stretch of river, silvered and beautiful in the frosty air, the grass seed heads coated in hoar.

‘I cannot,’ I said, when my damsels donned skates and proved their prowess. It looked dangerously uneven to me, the ice ridged and perilous to those who had no balance.

‘Have you never skated?’ Edmund was skimming fast across the frozen ripples, already at my side in an elegant slide and spurt of ice that drew all eyes, while I shivered miserably on the riverbank, reluctant even to try. I had a vision of me, sprawled and helpless and horribly exposed.

‘No.’

‘You can learn.’ ‘I doubt it.’

What’s wrong with you? Why can you not just try? What will it matter if you fall over?

I am afraid. I think I have been afraid all my life.

And there was the familiar gloom lurking on the edge of my sight, waiting for me to allow it to approach closer and overwhelm me.

‘You can, Queen Kat. There is nothing that you cannot do.’ Edmund’s certainty cut through my self-imposed misery. ‘You will be an expert by tonight. I guarantee it.’

Still I sought for an excuse. ‘I have no skates.’

He produced a pair, shaking them by their leather straps over my head. ‘Sit there and I will remedy your lack.’

I sat on a folded cloak on the bank. ‘Permit me, my lady.’

Without waiting for permission, he pushed back my skirt and lifted one foot, beginning to strap on the skate. I discovered that I was holding my breath, watching his bent head as he huffed at the stubbornness of the frozen leather. He wore a magnificently swathed velvet hood, his hair curling beneath it against his cheek; his fingers were sure and clever, even in the cold.

I took in a quick breath as they slid over my ankle, then round my instep. It was an intimate task but not once did he stray beyond what was acceptable. Quick and efficient, he was as impersonal as any servant. Not once did he look up into my face. Until it was done.

And then he did, holding my gaze, his own bright with knowing. ‘There, my lady. It’s done. You may breathe again.’ His eyes outshone the jewels anchoring the velvet folds. He knew I had been holding my breath. My heart jolted against my ribs.

And then there was no time to think. Edmund braced himself to lift me, and drew me onto the ice. I clung to his arm as if he were my last resort in preserving my life, but I skated and my pride knew no bounds.

‘A prize! A prize for Queen Kat, who has learned a hard lesson.’

He left me standing at the edge, to skate off to the far side, returning with a feather fallen from the wing of one of the swans that we had driven off in high dudgeon. It was perfect, shining white, and he tucked it into my hood.

‘You are a pearl beyond price, Queen Kat.’

‘Indeed, you must not…’ Despite the cold, my body felt infused with heat, but a voice of sense whispered in my mind. Enchantment could be a dangerous thing.

And then before I could say more he was off with a whoop to swing Joan away from James and drag her along the curve in the river at high speed. And then even Alice, who had brought Young Henry down to see the jollity. He did not single me out again, for which I was glad.

I sat on the bank and watched, Young Henry tucked against my side. And when I shivered, my Master of Household strode across, shaking out a length of heavy woollen weave to wrap around the pair of us, anchoring it against the breeze with much efficient tucking. When I murmured my thanks, he bowed gravely in acknowledgement, sternly unsmiling, returning to his position.

As the wagons were repacked and we prepared to return to the castle, whose towers beckoned with promises of warmth and comfort, I retained enough presence to thank those who had added to our festivities—the minstrels, the servants, the long-suffering pages, who had been at our beck and call all day. I did not think Edmund would necessarily remember them, and it was my household after all.

‘Master Tudor.’ I summoned the young man who had stood, silent and watchful throughout. ‘Do you have any coins?’

‘I have, my lady.’ Searching in the purse at his belt, he dropped into my outstretched hand a stream of silver.

I dispensed them with my thanks.

‘You must tell me what I owe you,’ I said.

‘There is no need. I will note it in the accounts, my lady.’

His eyes were as dark as obsidian, his voice a slide of pleasurable vowels and consonants, but brusquely impersonal.

‘Thank you,’ I said hesitantly.

‘There is no need, my lady,’ he said again. ‘It is my duty to see to your comfort.’

The winter evening’s twilight was falling fast and I could see his face only obscurely, the planes of his face thrown into harsh dips and soft shadows. It seemed to me that the corners of his mouth were severely indented, almost disapproving—or perhaps it was a trick of the light.

A voice reached me, calling out to my left.

‘Come and give me your opinion on this important matter, Queen Kat!’

I went joyfully where I was summoned.

I looked in my reflecting glass when we returned. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright, and not from the exercise. My thoughts were capricious, and all centred on Edmund Beaufort. I had wished he would not single me out, but was irritated when he did not. His wit, his outrageous compliments set fire to my blood, but then I found them too personal, too over-familiar.

I was swept with an urgency, a longing: I could barely wait to rise from my bed to experience a new day at the wilful hands of this man who had erupted into my life.

And then came the long evenings and nights, the days when it did not grow light and the twelve days of festivity drew close. The day before Our Lord’s birth dawned, and the castle was shivering with anticipation. Perhaps I was the one to shiver, uncertain of what awaited me but exhilarated in equal measure.

I had had one Christmas with Henry, in Rouen, a rather sombre, religious affair, heavy with tradition and formal feasting and celebration of High Mass. And then I had spent Christmas alone at Windsor after my son’s birth. We had made no merriment that year for I had not yet been churched. Neither did I recall any moments of festive joy as a child. This year would be different. This year Edmund Beaufort was at court. There was a distinct air of danger when we met together before supper on Christmas Eve. Not menace, but a waiting, a standing on tiptoe.

‘We need a Lord of Misrule,’ Joan announced. With James at her side she had blossomed like a winter rose. ‘We cannot celebrate without a Lord of Misrule.’

We were standing in the Great Hall around the roaring fire, still in furs and heavy mantles after a foray along the riverbank. It was a tradition I knew of, such cunning and malice-laden creatures who turned the world upside down.

‘I will be the Lord of Misrule,’ Edmund announced, posturing in a fur-lined cloak of brightest hue. He looked like some malign being from the nether world.

‘You can’t,’ Joan responded promptly. ‘Tradition says he must be a servant, to make mockery of all things. You don’t qualify.’

‘I change tradition.’ Edmund stared around the group. ‘Who can stir us all to a frenzy of delight better than I?’

‘I thought you had to be chosen,’ James observed as he breathed on his fingers. ‘A heathenish practice…’ he grinned ‘… but one I’ve learnt to live with.’

‘Chosen? I choose myself.’ Edmund’s brows rose, as if he was daring anyone to defy his decision, and then his stare fixed on my face. ‘What do you say, Queen Kat? Am I your Lord of Misrule, from this day on?’

‘Not allowed.’ I shook my head solemnly, caught up in the game, but I thought there was more than a hint of petulance in the set of his mouth when his heart’s desire was denied him. There was no laughter in him. His scheming was not going as he wished, and I felt a mischievous urge to thwart him, whatever his intended plot. ‘You know how it works,’ I stated.

‘And you will hold me to it?’ he demanded, as if force of will could change my mind.

‘I will. No cheating. We will all abide by the rules.’

I sent a page running to the kitchens while we retired to a parlour, casting aside cloaks and gloves, where Thomas, my page, bearing a flat cake of dried fruit, discovered us and placed it on a table in our midst with a wide grin. There was an immediate rustle of interest, of comment. Of excitement. The outcome would affect the whole tenor of our celebrations.

‘Behold the Bean Cake.’ Edmund brandished his sword as if he would cleave it in two. ‘Do I slice it?’

I smiled graciously with a shake of my head. ‘I choose the King of Scotland to cut it.’

And James responded promptly: ‘And I give the honour to my affianced bride. She’ll do it with more elegance than you, Edmund. And with more skill. You don’t need a sword to cut a cake.’

Edmund tilted his chin, eyes gleaming dangerously. For a moment I thought he would resist. Then he laughed.

‘Go to it, Queen Joan!’

James slid his dagger from his belt, passing it to Joan, who wielded it with sure expertise and cut the cake into wedges. The pieces were passed around. We ate carefully, looking from one to the other. Within one piece lurked the bean that would confer the honour on the Lord of Misrule.

‘Not I.’

‘Or I.’

There was much shaking of heads, some in palpable relief. James shrugged in disappointment. I said nothing. I waited. I knew what would happen. He kept us waiting, for what a master of timing he was. And then:

‘There! What did I say?’ Edmund fished a bean from between his teeth and held it up. ‘I am Lord of Misrule after all.’

‘Now, there’s a coincidence!’ Beatrice observed.

‘Do you call me a cheat?’ Edmund swung round, his expression as fierce as if he would attack any who dare point the finger.

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

Neither would I, though I knew he was. Edmund had come prepared with a bean of his own, trusting to the force of his own will to impose silence on the true winner. It was a risky venture that could have ended in his discomfiture. But I held my peace.

My piece of cake had held the bean.

‘I am the Bean King. I am the Lord of Misrule.’ Full of wild satisfaction, Edmund leapt onto a chair, sword in hand. ‘And my first command will be…’

‘Who will be your Queen?’ someone asked.

There was not a moment’s hesitation. Again I knew what he would do before he did it. As I drew in my breath, because I did not know what I wanted, Edmund circled the point of his sword towards me. He stared along its length.

‘You. I choose you.’

A sigh ran through the group.

I swallowed against a moment of panic. My habitual response. ‘I cannot.’

‘Why not?’

Because I could not romp and cavort and play the fool. ‘Because I do not know how.’

‘Then I’ll teach you, Queen Kat. My golden queen. We will reign together.’ Colour rushed to my face and I think he saw it, for he immediately turned to the practical to draw all eyes back to him.

‘My first decree, my miserable subjects, as Master of Misrule. We’ll take the Old Year out with mirth and jollity. We’ll dance and sing and break all rules. We’ll make these old walls resound and shiver.’ He leapt down from the chair, whirling the sword around his head. ‘And I know where there’s treasure to be had.’

With a key obtained from Alice, who looked askance as if we were no more than a bunch of irresponsible children, Edmund, taking my hand in his and pulling me along in his wake, led us down increasingly dusty passages until we came to what had once been an antechamber. As he opened the door, we saw that it was now used for storing the detritus of lives past. We crowded in, the women lifting their skirts and stepping away from the dust-ridden coffers and tapestries. Edmund was oblivious, entirely wrapped up in his own intent.

‘Let’s see.’ He took stock of the boxes and bundles. ‘I command you to open up the chests, because unless I am ill-advised…’

We did as we were bidden, soon forgetful of the dust, exclaiming with admiration and astonishment, much as children might. Packed into the chests were layer upon layer of costumes intended for some long-distant royal procession or a mummers’ play.

‘Whose are these?’ I asked, holding a pheasant’s mask to my face, which muffled my question, feathers nodding over my head.

‘King Edward, the third of that name. We have him to thank. They’re old. But by God they will make us splendid this year.’

We pulled the costumes out, shaking them free of dust and cobweb and the odd spider. They were in remarkable condition, such a bounty of cloaks and masks and wings to adorn and transform. Soon the whole party was draped and garbed in starred and gilded splendour.

‘And what would you be, Queen Kat?’ Edmund asked, when I stood, still undisguised—for what would I choose?—but with a vast length of red and black velvet in my hands and draped over one shoulder. Edmund was already clad in a cloak painted with stars as if he were a magician, his face covered with a lion’s mask so that his voice echoed strangely and his eyes glittered through the leonine stare.

‘What on earth is this?’ I asked, lifting the heavy cloth. I could not make out its shape.

Edmund growled with lion-like ferocity. ‘I’ll not tell you. Not yet. But you’ll see on Twelfth Night. Now—for you.’

‘I don’t know.’ I admitted forlornly, surrounded by so much glamour.

‘This, I think.’ Relieving me of the red and black, he cast a silver cloak over my shoulders and fastened a silver-faced angel mask with silver ribbons over my face. ‘Turn round.’ I did so, and I felt him fastening something to my shoulders.

‘What are you doing?’ I tried to turn my head, but could only see, and that indistinctly through the mask, some gossamer material stretched over a wooden frame.

‘Giving you wings,’ he replied. ‘Angels need wings.’ And he whispered in my ear. ‘How would you fly without? And I need you to fly, my silver Queen.’

He came to stand before me again and bowed low, hand on heart. I curtsied. We were King and Queen.

How I was re-created, remoulded by Edmund Beaufort, an acolyte in the hands of a master.

By Edmund’s decree—and because we discovered enough for all—we spent the festivities draped in green velvet robes, each embroidered from head to foot in peacock feathers, as if we were devotees of some strange mystic sect.

And thus clad, the days merged into one breathless intoxication of pleasure. We played disguising games, St George slaying the reluctant dragon, King Arthur discovering his magic sword. How was it that Edmund was so often St George or King Arthur? Young Henry, my astonished son, joined in with eyes as big as silver coins, a dragon’s head perched on top of his curls, wings askew on his shoulders—until he fell asleep in my lap and the music went on around him.

We danced endlessly, and sang, arms linked, carolling the chorus as Edmund laid down the verses in a bright, true tenor. We wove our paths between an intricate pattern of cushions laid out on the floor, the penalty for disturbing any one of them being to obey some dire command of our misruling lord.

I was dispatched to the kitchens to fetch wine and ale, instructed to carry it myself in true reversal of roles, a queen serving her subjects. Which I could have done, except that Edmund accompanied me and carried the platters himself, ordering me to follow, bearing my steward’s staff of office and also the grace cup, which I presented to everyone present with a maidservant’s curtsey.

Nothing existed without his hand to it. Jokes and pranks and laughter. He wooed, seduced and charmed through an unending storm of activity. We ate and drank as we stood, not stopping for formal meals, and on a day when dark clouds lowered and might have driven us to the fireside, our young men fought out a Twelfth Night mêlée, the red and black velvet swathing their armour and that of their horses to a backdrop of a virulent green forest created from twelve ells of canvas, the whole painted with flowers and trilling finches.

Amidst the sword thrusts and trampling hooves, Edmund capered in the feathered costume of a vast golden bird, his vivid features hidden behind a golden beak and crimson crest as he tripped the unwary with his golden stave. A ridiculous prank that reduced everyone to helpless laughter.

We were exhausted, but who could not admire him? Who could not worship at his feet?

‘I must sit down.’ I sank to the cushions on the floor, my own feet aching after a tempestuous leaping and stamping, as far from a dignified court procession as it was possible to be. My shoes had rubbed against my heel.

‘We will dance till dawn,’ Edmund decreed.

‘You might. But I—’

‘We are young. You are no elderly widow, destined for prayer and endless stitchery, whatever Gloucester might tell you. It’s a sin for you to hide yourself away.’ I looked up, immediately unsure at the very personal nature of the jibe. ‘Tell me you are not enjoying yourself. I swear you are, even if you deny it. You were going to deny it, weren’t you?’

I frowned, thoroughly ruffled, but he would have none of it.

‘When did you last laugh, Queen Kat? Dance? Play the fool without thinking who might be watching and commenting on your behaviour or decency?’

‘Not since I was a child,’ I admitted ruefully, ‘when I cavorted recklessly with my sister, without constraint.’ Not since then. Since then it had been as if my life had been shackled into good behaviour and moral rectitude. To my horror, tears stung my eyelids. ‘I have forgotten how to play. And now my sister is dead.’

My loss of Michelle, the space she had left in my heart, took me unawares and caused the tears to overflow and slide down my cheeks as I mourned her anew. And there was Edmund, crouching beside me, drying them with the edge of my sleeve.

‘You must not weep, lady. I should be whipped from your presence for causing you such grief.’

‘You did not.’ I denied, sniffing, pushing his hand away.

‘I say that I did. And I ask pardon.’ For a moment he remained at my side, silent. Then audaciously tilted my chin with his hand. ‘You are too solemn, too circumspect for a beautiful woman of…I wager it’s no more than four and twenty years.’

Still emotional, I ignored the question. ‘I am not allowed to be other than solemn and circumspect.’

‘But today you are allowed.’ He let his thumb stroke slowly, heart-touchingly slowly, along the edge of my jaw, before taking my hand between both of his. ‘And tomorrow. And the day after that—every day until you call a halt. Are you not Queen? Do you not make your own rules?’

I was too astonished to reply when Edmund placed a kiss in the centre of my palm.

‘You are my queen,’ he said before he left me. ‘The fairest of queens. And I will serve you well.’

We wore masks through most of those days. We were enchanted beings, woven about with invisible threads so that we were made subject to Edmund’s clever sorcery. Some mimicked lions, some pheasants, some adopted the gilded features of god-like humans. I kept my silvered angel face, and the wings when the foolish mood took me.

Beware masks. How much freedom they allow us when we are anonymous behind the painted expressions. My features were hidden, and therefore I acted as if no one knew who I might be. Of course everyone knew, but still I acted on impulse, abandoning Gloucester’s strictures. And how strange, my sight narrowed and restricted to the two angelic apertures. How often did Edmund fill that narrow view? Too often, some would say. For me it was a true enchantment.

But there was a time, at last, to take off the masks. It was agreed that, at midnight on Twelfth Night, we would gather for the unmasking in my Painted Chamber. I expect it was a truly festive moment—but I was not there. Waylaid by Edmund, I was effortlessly lured onto the battlements where the frost silvered the stonework and my companion wrapped me and my angel wings in the furred heat of his cloak.

It was there that Edmund stripped the hood from my hair and untied the silver strings.

‘My golden queen,’ he murmured against my cheek as his fingers loosened the ties, at the same time loosing the braids of my hair.

‘You are still a large bird!’ I accused, fighting to keep my breathing steady.

‘That can be remedied.’

He pulled off the golden mask, with its cruel beak. And I raised my hand to smooth his tousled hair. Except that he caught it and pressed it to the rich damask above his heart. It beat hard and steady and alluring against my palm.

I froze, a cry catching in my throat.

‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I am afraid to think.’

And he kissed me on my mouth.

‘Do you love me?’ he demanded.

I shook my head, a breath of fear crawling across my skin.

‘Do you want to know if I love you?’ he demanded, his eyes bright in the moonlight.

‘No,’ I whispered.

‘I say you lie.’ His lips stroked over my cheek. ‘Do you want to know if I love you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I do. Now you must kiss me.’

So I did.

‘So do you love me, Queen Kat?’

‘I do. God help me, I do.’

Edmund had opened his clever, fine-fingered hands and I had fallen into them.

Edmund Beaufort loved me. Tentatively, reluctantly at first, then step by glorious step, I loved Edmund Beaufort. I wanted to experience all I had never known about love, all I had failed to experience with Henry, knowing that I would not be rebuffed. Edmund loved me and made no secret of it. I absorbed every moment of delight. I was truly selfish.

By Twelfth Night I had lost my heart, seduced by his skilful antics and his single-minded assault on my emotions. I had not sought to submit to such an overwhelming longing, but Edmund Beaufort had stolen my heart from me and tucked it away so that I was without power to retrieve it.

When I returned to my room, and Guille removed my wings for the final time, she exclaimed that they were bent and frayed, beyond mending. But what did it matter? I was loved, and I loved in return. I could not sleep for the turmoil in my breast, and dawn brought me no respite from its thrall.

The end of the festivities should have brought with it the end of the magic. Yet Twelfth Night was merely the prologue to a feast for all the senses. I was consumed by love. I fell willingly into its flames, disregarding the lick of pain when he flirted elsewhere, tolerating the searing heat of his proximity, because I would have it no other way. My eyes were filled with him, my mouth tingling with his sweetness as if I had sipped from a comb of honey.

Edmund Beaufort ordered the whole panorama of my solitary existence, and I willingly invited him in, keeping step with him as he made my lonely world a thing of beauty and desire. He had spun a silver web around me, but I was never seduced against my will. I was a joyful participant as he made himself lord of all my senses.

How bold we were. How shockingly daring in our pursuit of passion as the New Year bloomed. When his breath stirred my hair and his lips brushed against my nape, I cast aside my much-vaunted reputation. I was as wanton in my desire as any court whore, for his kisses were as intoxicating as fine wine, as heady as Young Henry’s favourite marchpane. The slide of his fingertips along my jaw to the sensitive hollow beneath my ear awoke desire in my belly.

How was it possible to conduct an affair of the heart under the eyes of the whole Court, in the midst of a royal palace where courtiers and servants, pages and bodyguards, scullions and royal nurses abounded? How was it possible for a sequestered woman, ordered to live out a life of nun-like chastity and respectability, to meet in secret a vital, dynamic man who stirred her cold heart to flame?

How was it possible to keep vulgar tongues from wagging, or for a determined man to seek out the company of the woman he desired when she was hedged about by the role she was forced to play? For Edmund Beaufort desired me. He left me in no doubt when his eyes smiled down into mine and our fingers dovetailed together.

How was it possible? It was not very difficult at all when James and his friends left us in the New Year. Did we not prove its simplicity? When a King’s household was no royal court at all but a close, muffled establishment tuned to the necessities of a young child, where there was no ceremony, no public appearance, no visits from foreign ambassadors, but rather a quiet nurturing atmosphere, it was so very easy.

No one looked for scandal or for gossip in so retired an existence. It was like looking to find a dangerous predator infiltrating a perfectly constructed nest, designed for the comfort and sustenance of only one precious chick. I was the perfect Queen Mother, steeped in respectability, Henry was the Young King who thrived and learned his lessons, and Edmund, the well-loved royal cousin, had every right to visit the Young King’s household as he wished, bringing gifts and a breath of the outside world from Westminster and beyond.

Young Henry looked for his coming with innocent pleasure, delirious when Edmund lifted him high, swinging him round until he shrieked in excitement. The gift of a silver ship, magnificently in full sail and usefully mobile on four wheels, proved the perfect toy. Young Henry adored his cousin Edmund.

And so did I.

So Edmund became a frequent visitor to Windsor, and we sought each other out with no words that could be misinterpreted by a casual observer. Merely a glance of eye, the touch of fingertips as he gave me a goblet of wine, or a carefully contrived brush of tunic against houppelande. We made no extravagant promises that could not be kept. Our love was conducted entirely in the present. All I wished for was to be with him, and he with me.

‘You are me and I am you,’ he murmured in my ear.

He chased the shadows from my mind with expert, knowing hands and mouth.

So I was older than he by a handful of years. Yet Edmund’s experience was so much greater than mine that I felt I was the younger. He was a true Beaufort, confident and ambitious, raised to see his strengths and develop them by every means possible. The royal blood, no longer denied but recognised by law, ran strong through his veins. And yet how subtle he could be for so young a man, when I might have thought that self-control would be overswept by pure, vibrant love of life.

His outrageous Twelfth Night schemes made me wary of my reputation, but I found there was no need. True, he carried me along, a leaf in a stream, refusing to allow me to linger in the eddy at the brook’s side, refusing to allow me to hold back and think, yet never did he put my reputation into harm’s way before inquisitive and prurient eyes.

Pouring out all the love in my arid existence, I thanked him silently, from the bottom of my newly awoken heart, for his ineffable compassion for my position. When his arms banded round me, shielding me against the world, I clung to him.

‘Don’t think,’ he said more than once. ‘Don’t worry that the world will condemn. Dance with me, Queen Kat. Laugh and enjoy all that life can offer.’

But in public he never overstepped the mark of decency. He danced with my damsels too. He never showed a need to push me beyond the inexperienced limit of my own desires. Or not yet.

Sometimes, in my lonely bed, I questioned the vital happiness that gripped me. Did I deserve it? Perhaps I should step more slowly, perhaps it was wrong for me to allow Edmund to dictate my will and order my days. Perhaps I should worry about the world’s condemnation. I had seen the results of cruel gossip in my mother’s life. Perhaps I should know better than to follow in her dangerous footsteps.

And then, when I heard his voice raised in laughter or needle-quick response, my resolution to be sensible and abstemious was all destroyed.

Fleetingly I wished that James was still close, a valuable confidant for a troubled mind, but James had achieved his heart’s desire. He and Joan, now wed, were deliriously ensconced in Scotland. I rejoiced for him—but I did not need him. My mind was not troubled, my feet were light with joy.

How many secret places were there to discover in a royal palace, for two lovers bent on a snatched moment of solitude? In Windsor I could map them all. I could trace our steps over that year and point to every single blessed spot on the paving stones where our love grew stronger, more intense. I could catch my breath as I recalled Edmund’s seduction of my senses beneath every arch and carved rafter. How carefully, how cleverly those assignations were selected.

My guilt, if guilt it must be, was as great as his for I was a willing accomplice, lured by a wealth of poetry that tripped from his lips. My pale soul blazed with light, made vibrant and alive by a fanfare of colour.

Yours is the clasp

That holds my loyalty,

You dismiss all my heart’s sorrow

There—exactly there at the turn in the stair in the great Round Tower, where we climbed from first to second floor. Where the light from the narrow window did not quite illuminate us, and the echo of approaching footsteps in either direction would alert us.

Your love and my love

keep each other company

Behind the carved screen in the Chapel of St George, such a sacred place to celebrate un-sacred love with passion-heated kisses. There we stood, I trembling in his arms, hidden by the rigid form of leaves and flowers created by a master craftsman who had had no idea that his artifice would hide the flushed cheeks of a Queen of England and her lover.

That your love is constant

in its love for mine

is a solace beyond compare

Yet not always so enclosed. In the calm solemnity of the King’s Cloister, when the canons and clerks were busy about their affairs with no time to enjoy leisure, there we walked hand in hand. I had no recollection of what we said, only of the slide of his hand against mine, his fingers weaving with mine, his palm hard and calloused from swordplay and reins. And, satiated with each other, we progressed to the Little Cloister when the noisy choristers were absent, intent on their choral duties, their voices raised in miraculous polyphony as a plangent accompaniment to our sighs.

Adam lay bounden,

Bounden in a bond,

Four thousand winter

Thought he not too long.

A bitter-sweet backdrop. I too was bounden in a bond from which I had no desire to break free. The words, the minor harmonies, were almost too beautiful for me to bear.

And all was for an apple,

An apple that he took.

As clerkes finden,

Written in their book.

And Edmund, master of all miraculous sleight of hand, when passion became too much, our breathing too roused, calmed my desire. As if he had conjured it all—as perhaps he had, for I thought nothing beyond him—he produced an apple from his sleeve, smoothly russet, that he presented to me as if it were a precious gem, and we shared it, piece by piece as he wielded his knife. He licked the juice of it from my fingers—until desire built and built again, and I thought I could not exist without him.

Back within enclosing walls, the Old Hall, converted years ago into a chamber for personal use of the king but now unused until Young Henry would be of age to occupy it, provided us with a vast expanse of space. Here, where we might be seen, we were discreetly adroit, a brush of fingertips our only recognition. With its twenty windows, greedy eyes for the world, there were no kisses exchanged here.

Ah, but within the privacy of the Rose Chamber, now that was a different matter. Our garments merging with the blue, green and vermillion paint and the gleam of gold leaf, camouflaging us like a butterfly on a bright flower, our bodies were free to meet and cling, one chrysalis.

Your love and my love

Shall be steadfast in their loyalty

And never drift apart…

Perhaps we became bold as the months passed. Queen Philippa’s chamber was hung with mirrors on all four sides. Here we dared fate, our two forms, melded into one in a passionate kiss, Edmund’s hands taking possession over the damask folds, smoothing down over the dip of waist, the swell of breast and hip, multiplied again and again from every side.

And all the other moments, the sweet taste, the scent of him kept me from sleep, when the excitement engulfed me and the recall of his touch made my belly clench and turned my blood to molten gold. The dancing chamber where in an impromptu revel, ordered up by Edmund for no reason at all but that he considered the court a dull place, we danced and touched because it was allowed.

A breathless, laughing dash up the stairs of the Round Tower to where King Edward’s weight-driven clock told the hours, its hands moving slowly, the gears clicking and groaning as we sighed and kissed and caressed. An audience chamber, deserted of all but us. The Spicerie Gate-house, a dangerously thronged place as the main entrance to the palace, could still afford us the chance of a gaze of such longing that my fair skin was suffused with colour. Or the covered walkway between Great Hall and kitchens, busy with maidservants and pages, but not so busy that we could not linger…

And then, when the weather was clement, the private garden with its low hedges and herbs, where we were caught up in the deep shadow of the massive bulk of Salisbury Tower. Edmund’s kisses became more possessive with tongue and teeth until my senses were awash with him.

Who could blame me for falling headlong into delicious love? Edmund Beaufort was the sorcerer who magicked my sad heart into joy. My winter melancholy, instead of returning at the turn of the year, vanished into oblivion, like smoke dispersed in a light breeze. A gesture as simple as the stroke of Edmund’s tongue across my palm banished it entirely until I no longer recalled the depths of misery into which I had once fallen.

In that year I lived in a world apart, anticipating the next moment when I would see him, and the next and the next. My skin tingling, breath short, appetite destroyed, I lived for each moment we were together, mourning him through his enforced absences. A feverish pleasure gripped me, for was it not a fever? If it was, I embraced it. I danced through those days.

When Young Henry was knighted, John of Bedford’s sword touching his four-year-old shoulder lightly, I could not contain my pride and delight. No doubt radiant with it, I smiled across the crowd to Edmund, deliriously happy to share my triumph with such a man as he. He was a Beaufort, a man of rank, of consequence. A man of potential in the English Court. He was truly worthy of my love.

Secrecy could not last. Intimate affairs must of necessity be discovered and come into the public domain. Endless discretion was not on the plate of a young man of barely twenty summers, or on the platter of a restless, widowed Queen, and so we ran the gauntlet of the Court and were eventually discovered. The rumours began, a whisper, an arch glance in our direction, then the soft hush of words that died away as I entered a room.

‘It’s not wise, my lady.’ Alice, the first to voice her disapproval, was severe.

‘It is glorious,’ I replied, standing at the window in my chamber, tucking an autumn rose, a gift, into the knot of my girdle, humming the verse that Edmund had sung, wallowing in the soft sentiments.

Take thou this rose, O Rose,

Since Love’s own flower it is,

And by that rose

Thy lover captive is

‘No good will come of it.’ Alice’s features remained reproachful, her tone uncompromisingly censorious.

‘How can you know that?’ I turned away, my loving eye following Edmund below in the courtyard where he had mounted his horse prior to leaving for London.

‘You must end it, my lady.’

‘But why?’ I could see no reason why I should. No reason at all.

‘I foresee unhappiness.’

‘But I am happy now.’

‘My lady, it is a mistake!’

I ignored her.

My Master of Household, habitually taciturn, seemed to my mind more sombre than usual when supervising the taking down of tapestries in the gallery for cleaning.

‘Is there a problem, Master Owen?’ I asked. Neither the efforts of the servants under his authority nor the state of the sylvan scene with ladies and gentlemen engaged in music and song should merit his scowl.

‘No, my lady.’

He bowed, then his hands were once more fisted on hips.

‘Do you foresee a difficulty in removing the dust?’

‘No, my lady.’

‘Or is it the moth?’ I walked closer to inspect for any tell-tale holes.

‘No, my lady. And if I might advise, perhaps you should stand clear.’

I left. What was biting Master Owen, I could not imagine. Or perhaps I could.

Edmund returned.

‘They are talking.’ I met him on the stairs, and I warned him as we paced side by side, a careful arm’s length between us, along the gallery. For a moment there was an arrested expression in his face, but then he smiled, and a glint of what I could only interpret as Beaufort arrogance.

‘Let them talk. I care not. Neither will you, my love.’

The sparkling desire in his eyes, the heat of his mouth against my fingers, the admiration when he led me to my seat at supper ensured indeed that neither did I. I could foresee no danger for us.

Until…

‘Come to my bed, Queen Kat,’ he whispered when the minstrels withdrew and my household rose from the supper table, leaving us for a moment in a little space. ‘Let me prove my love for you—if you doubt it to any degree. Let me worship you with my body.’

The invitation, with all it implied, loosed a bolt of desire from crown to soles, setting me aflame. Staring at him, I drew in a ragged breath.

‘I cannot.’

‘Then I must come to yours.’

I shook my head, aware of Alice’s frowning scrutiny from where she lingered in the doorway, Young Henry’s hand clutched in hers.

‘Invite me!’ he demanded. ‘I will come to you when the palace sleeps. And I promise you that you will not regret this one step. Are we two not made for love?’

I sought wildly for a reply, managing only, ‘I will not. You would not.’

‘I would.’ He took my hand, lightly innocuous, in his to help me to step down from the dais. ‘I cannot continue this cat and mouse play longer.’

Too much. Too soon. Panic doused the flames. I tried to smile so that no one would suspect the content of his words, or mine. ‘I cannot. You must see that I cannot. What revenge would Gloucester take if my reputation was besmirched?’

His grip on my hand tightened so much that I winced.

‘You refuse me?’ Extravagantly, his brows winged upwards. ‘How can you, when we were meant to be together?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do refuse. Forgive me.’

‘I warn you—I will not give up.’ His voice was low, but he kissed my fingers with an intensity that left me in no doubt of his passion or the hint of quick anger I had seen in his face. ‘You have set me a hard task. As challenging as a quest set for one of King Arthur’s knights. But I will not give up. I will win you, my lady. I will lay siege to the Castle Impregnable—and I will win. I will never admit defeat, for I cannot live without you.’

Releasing my hand, stepping back in one fluid movement, Edmund bowed. I watched him walk away. When he reached the door, he looked back, and bowed again. The light of battle was in his eye.

When I attended Mass next day, it was to be informed by an impassive-faced Master of Household that Lord Edmund had left Windsor at daybreak. He had given no indication that he would return.

So he had left me. He had left me because I would not go to his bed or invite him to come to mine. He had been furious, taking himself off to London—or anywhere else as far as I knew—simply to punish me, because he had been thwarted.

Had Edmund Beaufort ever been thwarted in his whole life?

I doubted it, but I would not be pushed into a commitment that left me so uncertain. Why would I not sleep with him? I pondered. I was no virgin, but I could not commit myself to so momentous a step. I was not totally lost to good sense, and reason told me that to lay my reputation bare to accusations of lewd scandal would throw me into the hands of Gloucester and the Royal Council. Who knew what measures they might take against me if they thought my actions discredited the Young King in any way? I had done the right thing.

Oh, but I missed him. I longed to feel his arms around me again, his soft words against my throat. Perhaps I had just destroyed my only chance of happiness, a glittering gift offered on Edmund’s outstretched palms. Yet I knew that I had not. I knew that I had not seen the last of Edmund Beaufort. I had become the Holy Grail for him, and I knew he would not give up until I lay in his arms.

Edmund’s unheralded departure had given my damsels much food for speculation and Alice an exhalation of relief. After two days of my being the object of their interest, watched to see if I was languishing from unrequited passion, I informed my household that I planned to visit my dower property at Leeds Castle, once Madam Joanna’s place of imprisonment. I found that the idea of the secluded retreat suited my mood, sequestered as it was, cushioned against the world, a place with no court and no damsels for they would not accompany me.

And if Edmund Beaufort discovered my absence and wished to see me, I knew in my heart that he would follow me.

I gave my orders to Master Tudor, who received them without expression. My small entourage was under way the following day, with my Master of Household and a handful of soldiers providing a stiff-backed and silent escort. Ensconced at Leeds with only Guille to serve my needs I wrapped my solitude around me. Every morning I climbed to the battlement walk and looked north towards London, my heart bright with hope. I was quite as capable of throwing down a challenge as my lover. We would see how strong his love was for me.

‘You left me!’ I accused as he strode with purpose into the entrance hall. I knew the role I would play. I had not had too long to wait—less than a se’ennight, in fact—for Edmund followed, gratifyingly quickly, but it pleased me to be less than conciliatory. It pleased me to see his steps hesitate momentarily as I addressed him with what might have been interpreted as temper. ‘You walked away from me and made me the subject of common gossip,’ I added, in case he did not realise the effect of his rapid departure.

‘You were cruel. You refused my invitation. You rejected my love,’ Edmund responded through gritted teeth. He was hot and sweaty from a fast ride, eyes fierce, russet hair mussed as he pulled off his hood. He was entirely appealing.

‘I could not take the step you asked of me.’ I was adamant.

‘Do you not love me enough? You are happy enough to enjoy my kisses. Is there a limit to your love, my lady?’

Oh, his words were accusatory.

‘There is no limit,’ I responded. ‘You know that I love you, but I no longer know if you love me. I think to reject me so openly was cruel.’

I was astonished at how cool and confident my voice sounded. I knew that I was in the right in my refusal. The thought of Gloucester passing judgement on my moral state still horrified me, so I met Edmund’s furious stare with a steady regard.

‘You are very cold,’ he observed.

‘I am hurt.’

He held out his hand in demand. I thrust my hands behind my back.

And, taking me aback, instead of the frustration or even anger I had expected, his face was illuminated with a smile that made my blood sing. ‘Are you sending me away?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ But my heart quaked.

‘Do you expect me to make an apology?’ he demanded.

I suspected that he did not know the meaning of the word. ‘Do you think you should?’ I deliberately allowed a little edge to colour my tone. ‘How could you inflict such hurt on me, Edmund? And so thoughtlessly, if you see no need to ask pardon.’

‘Love is not love without hurt.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Edmund swooped, and captured one of my hands, since I allowed it, falling smoothly into the verse:

‘Love without anxiety and without fear

Is fire without flames and without warmth,

Day without sunlight, hive without honey

Summer without flower, winter without frost’

‘What does that mean?’ I asked, lifting my chin, as if I were in no mood for such complex sentiments. In fact, they thrilled me, but I held firm in my resolve.

‘It means that love must have pain to make the joy more intense.’ Edmund pressed my fingers against his mouth. ‘Come to my bed, my golden one.’

‘I will not.’

‘Must I go away again?’

I lifted a negligent shoulder. ‘I will not be browbeaten, my lord.’

‘I beg of you, my glorious Queen Kat. Have mercy.’

I shook my head. Neither would I be cajoled, though I could not contemplate the thought of never seeing him again, not touching him, not savouring his mouth on mine. But I knew he would not leave me again.

‘Speak to me.’ Edmund pressed his lips to the soft skin of my wrist where my blood beat heavily. ‘Come to my bed, my obstinate love. Who’s to know here?’

‘I will not.’

‘Your mouth provoked me,

Kiss me, kiss sweet!

Every time I see you so it seems to me…’

‘I don’t provoke you.’

‘But you do. Your refusal provokes me to madness.

Give me a sweet, sweet kiss, or two or three!’

Edmund, still clasping my hand, in all his travel-stained boots and hose, sank to one knee, head bent.

‘Don’t ask me again,’ I urged, trying to step away. ‘For I will not.’ And yet I felt that the mood in him had changed, the flirtation a thing of the past. Slowly his gaze lifted to mine.

‘Katherine.’

There was no mockery in his use of my name, neither was there any residue of light in his eyes. I had never seen him so serious. Had he indeed given up on me? Perhaps he would ask forgiveness for his presumption and explain that he had been mistaken after all, that his regard for me had proved to be a finite thing. My hand tensed in his but I regarded him steadily to cover the flutter of nerves in my belly.

‘Will you wed me, Katherine?’

It took my breath. ‘Marriage?’

‘Why not? We love each other. There is no one I would rather wed.’ His brows flattened. ‘Unless you have another man in mind?’

‘No, no.’

‘Then will you?’

I struggled to put my thoughts into words. ‘I must think, Edmund.’

‘Then think of this too.’

He stood, pulled me into his arms and kissed me long and thoroughly. I did not resist. He was mine, and I was his.

That night, alone in my room, curled on the cushions in the window embrasure with a single candle and the lap dog for company, I thought about what it would be like to be married to Edmund Beaufort. There would never be a dull moment, I decided with an unexpected wide smile that was reflected back at me cruelly refracted by the fault lines in the glass. It would be a highly respectable marriage, with a man at the forefront of politics and national events. Edmund would be a man I could be proud of and admire.

And it would be reciprocal. Did he not tell me that he admired me? I was his golden queen. I trembled at the thought of learning physical love in Edmund’s masterful arms.

But would our life continue at this madcap rate? Would he continue to shower me with poetry and extravagant compliments, luring me into breath-stopping kisses in secluded corners? Real life is not like that, I informed my reflection seriously. You cannot be breathless for ever.

But why not? He loved me. He turned my limbs to water.

‘Well? Will you wed me, Queen Kat?’

Edmund was waiting outside my chamber next morning, shoulders propped against the wall. How long he had been waiting I knew not, but of course it would have been no difficulty to discover the pattern of my days at Leeds Castle. He was dressed to perfection, linen pristine, boots polished, thigh-length tunic impressive in its richness, as he had intended. He bowed low, as I knew he would. The peacock feathers in his cap swept the floor.

‘I beg you to put me out of my misery. Wed me and I will be the most attentive husband you could ever desire.’ He cocked his head, his hair gleaming in the morning light. ‘Must I kneel again?’

‘No,’ I replied slowly, all my thoughts of the previous night crystallising in my mind. ‘Don’t kneel.’ I took a little breath. ‘Yes, Edmund. I will. I will wed you.’

His mouth curved in a smile, his eyes glowed, and from the purse at his belt he took out a gold and enamelled brooch, which he pinned to my bodice, where it glittered in blue and red and gold on my breast. Not a jewelled confection such as a man might give to the woman he loved but a coat of arms, a badge of ownership. I did not recognise it.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘It is a family piece—a livery badge. The Beaufort escutcheon.’ He traced with his fingertip the portcullis and the lion rampant. ‘I thought I would like you to wear something so personal to me.’

‘It is beautiful. I will gladly wear it.’ And I turned his hand and kissed his palm.

‘I adore you, my beautiful Katherine.’

As we knelt together to hear Mass in the chapel, and my priest, Father Benedict, elevated the host, my blood ran hot with joy. The man at my side adored me. That was what he had said. And what a particular piece of jewellery he had given me, marking me as a Beaufort possession. Wearing it as I did that morning made a very clear statement of my intent. When Mass was complete, Edmund whispered:

‘Can I ask you to be discreet in your wearing of the brooch?’

I looked my surprise.

‘Just for a little time. Until I can announce to the whole world that you will be my wife.’

I agreed. Why would I not? Edmund would need to inform his family. When we returned to Windsor I would be free to wear the Beaufort portcullis and lion as openly as I pleased.