The Forbidden Queen

by Anne O'Brien

‘Have you?’

  ‘No. I have not.’

  ‘Did he try to persuade you? I wager he did.’

  I shook my head, turning my face away. ‘I would not,’ I whispered.

  ‘Then you are fortunate. The Beauforts have more charm than is good for them, and Edmund more than most, while you are beautiful and lonely and…vulnerable.’

  ‘Am I vulnerable? You make it sound as if Edmund tried to persuade me against my will. He did not. When I refused, he did not pressure me. He understood my reticence.’ My voice became sharp as anger flamed. ‘And you have no right to take me to task.’

  ‘Is that what I was doing?’ Her lips curved into what might have been a smile but there was a weight of sadness over her. ‘Perhaps so. But I must speak out before you become even more entangled in this relationship. It will bring you nothing but grief. Has he asked you to wed him yet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  I smiled from the pure delight of it. This would surely make her understand. That Edmund was serious in his intent. ‘I said I would.’

  ‘My child, it cannot be.’

  ‘I love him,’ I said. Could she not see how right it was?

  ‘As if love makes all right with the world. And you have been starved of it for so long. I am so very sorry.’ She leaned awkwardly to place a kiss between my brows. ‘They’ll not let you wed, you know. They’ll move heaven and earth to prevent it.’

  Was I not Queen Dowager? I would not accept such interference. ‘I cannot believe that anyone would deny me my right to choose the man I wish to wed.’

  ‘Then you are a fool, Katherine,’ she announced. ‘You have not thought this through at all. And what Edmund Beaufort is planning! Gloucester will object, for sure. Bedford too when he returns from France. Even Warwick. Bishop Henry might be persuaded to give some lukewarm support if he sees an interest for himself in your union, but even he might have qualms.’

  ‘They cannot stop me.’

  Joanna sighed. ‘Tell me this, Katherine,’ she ordered, stern at my wilful intransigence, and leaned forward, willing me to listen and accept. ‘Has he asked you to keep his proposal secret?’

  ‘Yes, but only for a short time until—’

  ‘Until when?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I sounded sullen even to my own ears, because it echoed my own fears.

  ‘Use your wits, my dear.’ She looked frustrated rather than angry. ‘I’m the last woman to condemn you to a sterile widowhood. Do I not know better than most? And God knows you had little pleasure in your marriage to my stepson. He would have tried the patience of a saint. But Edmund Beaufort cannot be the man for you. Even he does not quite see his way forward, so he orders you not to speak of it.’ She took a painful breath. ‘You can’t rely on this proposal, Katherine.’

  ‘But why not?’ I asked, suddenly thinking that Joanna’s reasoning might be political. ‘Am I wrong in my understanding of this very English situation? Has Edmund’s family not been fully legitimised?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Joanna brushed aside my question with an impatient gesture. ‘But have you thought about the possible repercussions from your marriage to this boy? Haven’t you thought at all beyond Edmund’s ability to seduce your senses? If you wed—what then?’ Her brows drew together in a sharp winging angle. ‘If you carried a legitimate child of your union, such a child—particularly if a boy—would have a volatile mix of Valois and Plantagenet blood in his veins. Anyone with an eye for mischief might consider his claim to the English throne to be as good as Young Henry’s.’

  ‘No!’ My thoughts whirled. ‘That cannot be. Young Henry is his father’s heir.’

  ‘And children die young, far too many of them.’

  ‘It will not happen. Henry is strong and well cared for.’

  ‘Still, a child borne by you from Beaufort’s loins would be a risky proposition for the stability of this country. Any man with rebellion in mind might consider such a child a useful pawn in a very dangerous political game.’

  I thought about this. Then shook my head. ‘No!’

  ‘Very well. Then consider this as a reason for your match being anathema to many: how much power would it give Edmund Beaufort, to wed you and become stepfather to the King?’

  Horror washed over me. I felt as if I were sinking into a quagmire. My breathing was difficult, a constriction tightening around my lungs. Were there so many obstacles in my way that I, in my innocence and ignorance, had never considered? But then, knowing what I did of Edmund, I pushed them aside.

  ‘He would wish no harm to my son,’ I stated firmly. ‘How could you suggest that?’

  ‘Of course he would not. That was not my meaning. But such a position would allow him to make a bid to control the reins of power. Could he not demand to be made Regent in the Young King’s name, with you at his side as Queen Mother? Could he not demand to be appointed the child’s Governor in Warwick’s place? Of course he could. And how much power would that invest in Edmund Beaufort, a young man not yet into his third decade, if I read it right. And don’t, Katherine…’ Her lips almost curled. ‘Don’t tell me that that young man is not ambitious.’

  The accusations drove deep, but I drew on all my self-possession.

  ‘I know he is ambitious. I expect he might demand a role in Young Henry’s upbringing. But would that necessarily be a bad thing? Is not Gloucester too ambitious?’

  ‘Yes—and therein lies the danger for you. Gloucester wishes he had been born the eldest son. He resents having to share power with Bedford. For sure he will not willingly hand over even an inch of his power to Edmund Beaufort!’ I sat at Joanna’s feet, eyes wide, absorbing all that she said, as she stroked my hand. ‘It is not good for you to be seen in a liaison with a young man who has so vast an amount of power in his own right.’

  My thoughts were awry.

  ‘Think about it, my child. The Beauforts have thrust themselves into every nook and cranny of state and church. Who would have thought it possible, descended as they are from an illicit liaison between John of Lancaster and the Swynford woman? And yet it is so. Now they are legitimate: they are gifted, with a distinct presence at court. But they will never be satisfied and their ambition is a force to be reckoned with. It means that they are not to be trusted.’

  ‘I don’t know that.’ It was a cry that came from my heart. ‘I can trust Edmund. I am certain of it.’

  Madam Joanna struggled to her feet, as if delivering her final thrust at my happiness had robbed her of all her energy. At the door she stopped to look back over her shoulder to where I still sat.

  ‘You are a very desirable woman, Katherine. And not only for your looks. You cannot put too high a price on your connection with both the English and the French crowns. Your Valois bloodline and your position with the Young King are inestimable. Never forget that. Not that you will ever be allowed to. They will beat you about the head with it for the rest of your days, I’m afraid. As for Edmund…’

  She lifted her shoulders in a painful little shrug.

  ‘You don’t like him.’ I sounded like a child.

  And at the last a smile lit her face, giving life to the beauty she had once had. ‘Actually, I do. He’s difficult to dislike, and he knows how to get into the good graces of an elderly woman. But I’d still be wary of him.’ She lifted the latch of the door. ‘Before you pin all your hopes on him, ask yourself this. Are you so certain that he…?’

  Footsteps approached. Young Henry, I thought, at last bearing the wine that we no longer needed.

  But it was Edmund who appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Madam Joanna.’

  He bowed as she turned, and saluted her hand. They exchanged smiles, greetings, both excruciatingly polite, before Joanna made her excuses. ‘Think about what I said.’ And she was gone.

  Edmund grimaced, having read all that had not been said. ‘So she knows.’

  ‘Yes. I told her, but she already suspected.’

  �
�Has she been warning you about me?’ For a moment he frowned after her departing figure.

  ‘Yes.’ I could not lie when my very soul cried out for reassurance in the face of such a deluge of warnings. ‘She warned me about the difficulties of our marriage. About Gloucester and Warwick and…’ I felt tears of weakness, of disappointment, prickle behind my lids.

  ‘You must not weep, my golden Queen.’ Immediately he was across the chamber to my side, lifting me with strong hands so that I stood within the circle of his arms.

  ‘She implied that you do not love me,’ I remarked flatly.

  Madam Joanna’s final unfinished question remained in my mind. Are you so certain that he…? And I knew what she would have asked. Are you so certain that Edmund wants you more than he wants power? Are you sure he loves you, or does he have an eye to the door you can open for him, to allow him a supreme position in the kingdom?

  ‘How would she know?’

  ‘She does not.’

  ‘Did she tell you that I seduced you so that your rank would enhance my own status?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  I looked into his eyes, so full of understanding, of light and love for me.

  ‘Have I not sworn that my devotion to you outranks all earthly power? How can power weigh in the balance with the overwhelming love that I feel for you?’

  And there was all the reassurance I desired. Madam Joanna did not understand. His love for me was true. Nothing could undermine my certainty. As if he read it in my face, Edmund pressed his lips tenderly to my brow, and when he spoke, his words held the reverence of a vow.

  ‘I know you have faith in me. As I have in you. We will win this battle. I will bring happiness and fulfilment into your life, such as you have never known.’ The strength of his arms, the vibrant assurance in his face, the shower of kisses across my cheeks chased away my fears. ‘I’ll speak with my uncle.’ Edmund’s smile lit all the dark corners of my heart; delight bloomed as the reverence vanished and his lively humour returned. ‘Bishop Henry will enjoy putting a spoke in Gloucester’s wheel, if nothing else. Have I convinced you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I sighed. ‘Forgive me my lack of faith.’

  ‘It is not easy for you,’ he murmured against my lips. ‘But always remember. I worship at your feet, my dearest love.’

  And there was Young Henry, carrying a flagon of wine with fierce concentration. While Edmund accepted his enthusiastic greeting and poured the wine, Madam Joanna’s warnings dissipated as matters of no moment. Happiness settled on my shoulders and my mind quietened.

  My conversation with Warwick was far shorter and more to the point than that with Madam Joanna. He did not mince his words. He did not even make an excuse for seeking me out, merely drawing me away from my damsels in the interest of privacy.

  ‘I don’t like to see Edmund Beaufort prowling around Windsor like a cat on heat.’

  ‘Edmund does not prowl,’ I replied, stiffening at the implication.

  ‘A matter of opinion. He has a predatory air, Katherine. And a possessive one, so I’m told.’

  He bent his stern gaze on me. He was Warwick today, not Richard. I drew myself up to my full height so that our eyes were on a level. ‘He is here at my invitation.’

  ‘I know.’ The lines on Warwick’s face, instead of being amiable and smiling, resembled the carvings achieved by a stonemason’s chisel.

  ‘We cannot forbid him to visit his cousin. My son enjoys his company.’

  ‘I know that too,’ Warwick snapped. ‘And I don’t like that either.’

  ‘Edmund Beaufort is welcome in my household, and will continue to be so,’ I stated.

  ‘And I cannot stop you. But take some advice.’ Warwick was as brusque as I had ever heard him. ‘Don’t become embroiled in a predicament that will bring you more pain than pleasure.’

  I raised my chin. I would not listen.

  ‘I am going to Westminster,’ Edmund announced the next day.

  ‘Don’t go,’ I pleaded.

  ‘You know I must.’ Although he smiled, I read raw impatience in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. ‘The sooner I see Bishop Henry, the sooner we can be wed.’

  He kissed my hand with admirably restrained courtesy since we were in my solar under the eagle eye of Beatrice. All my fears were smoothed out, like a length of faultless silk, and I accompanied him down to the main door, where my Master of Household waited with Edmund’s outer garments.

  ‘Look for me within the week,’ Edmund promised me, shrugging into his coat and drawing on his gloves, before leaping down the steps two at a time to where his groom held his horse.

  ‘Thank you, Master Owen,’ I said, as Edmund in his hunger to be gone had not.

  ‘My pleasure, my lady,’ he replied, watching Edmund ride from the courtyard with a jaunty gesture, hat in hand. But Master Tudor’s tone caused me to glance up at him, and the dark reproach—or perhaps even contempt—in the gaze that followed Edmund startled me. Then it was gone, a mere shadow, as the Master bowed to me. ‘Do you require anything, my lady?’

  I shook my head. Only that Edmund return soon with a date for our marriage.

  ‘Are you entirely witless, woman?’

  It was not Edmund but Gloucester.

  How I wished that Edmund stood beside me. As it was, I was forced to face the battering ram of Gloucester’s wrath alone. He arrived within two days of Edmund’s departure, a virulent tempest, raining invective down on my unprotected head when he marched into my private chamber as if about to do battle. At his side came Bishop Henry in clerical splendour, stolid and smiling despite the uneasy flicker of his eye away from mine when I raised my brows. At least Edmund’s uncle bowed, kissed my hand and asked after my health. All Gloucester could do was glower and fume as he launched his first tirade.

  ‘Have you not even the sense you were born with?’

  I gasped at his discourtesy, standing slowly, letting my embroidery slide to the floor.

  ‘I won’t ask you if the rumours are true. I’m quite certain they are.’ He gestured at my damsels. ‘Dismiss them!’

  So I did, quivering with nerves.

  ‘All of them!’

  ‘No. Alice remains.’ I needed some support, and since I was fortunate to have her company I would keep her with me.

  ‘I suppose I should have expected nothing less from a daughter of Isabeau of France. A woman raised in the dissolute stews of the French court!’ Gloucester’s fury reverberated from the walls, hammering in my head. Never had I heard him address anyone with such ferocity. Usually icily polite in my presence, this was hot temper, and lethally personal. ‘What are you thinking of?’ he continued, flinging out his arms as if to encompass the length and breadth of my sins. ‘To allow yourself to be drawn into this farce—’

  ‘A farce? I don’t take your meaning, sir.’

  My anxiety was swept away by resentment quite as strong as Gloucester’s ire. I walked forward to reduce the space between us, clenching my fists and pressing my lips together against his slight on my birth and my parentage, for I knew it would do no good to rant and return insult for insult. My blood and birth were as good as Gloucester’s. I was Valois, daughter of King Charles VI. I would not bow before this man, however much he might be a royal prince. I would play the Queen Dowager with all the skill I had acquired in recent years.

  ‘I deplore your accusation, my lord,’ I announced, before Gloucester could tell me exactly what he meant. ‘I think you should consider well how you address me.’ Oh, I was haughty. And Edmund’s love had given me a confidence I had previously lacked. My words were well chosen, my manner a perfection of regal disdain. ‘You have no right to address me in such a manner.’

  Not expecting such retaliation, Gloucester’s face became suffused with blood, veins red on his cheeks as if he had been riding for long hours into a high wind. His next words bit hard. ‘Are you really so empty-headed,’ he accused, ‘that you think you’ll be allowed
to wed Edmund Beaufort?’

  ‘I think the choice is entirely my own. If I wish to wed him, I will. I am not under your dominion, my lord.’

  ‘So it is true. You are considering an alliance with Edmund Beaufort. Ha!’ Gloucester stalked to the coffer and flung his gloves and sword there, so furiously that they slid to the floor, causing my dog to skitter out of his path. For a little while Gloucester stood with his back to me, as if marshalling his plan of campaign, and I waited. I would not conduct an examination of my private life at a distance.

  ‘Well?’ He swung round and marched to within a sword’s length of me. ‘What have you to say about this mess?’

  I refused to retreat, even though he used his height and breadth, and his fury, to intimidate. ‘Edmund has asked me and I have agreed,’ I stated. ‘We plan to marry.’

  ‘It will not be. You will break any agreement you have made.’

  ‘Will I?’ I looked towards Bishop Henry. ‘What do you say, my lord? Do I wed your nephew?’

  The cleric’s wily eye again slid from mine, under pretext of focusing on his rings. ‘I have to agree that it is a matter of concern, my dear Katherine.’

  ‘A matter of concern, by God!’ Gloucester’s hands clenched into fists. ‘How can you be so mealy-mouthed? It will not happen.’

  ‘I will do it,’ I reiterated, as if expressing a simple desire to travel to Westminster. Although sharp fear was beginning to undermine my composure, I braced my knees and spine.

  Gloucester huffed out a breath. ‘It is unheard of. An English Queen, crowned and anointed, taking a second husband on the death of the King…’

  I allowed myself a little laugh. Was this the best he could do? A matter of precedent, and it seemed to me not a strong one. Why should a widowed queen not remarry? I was nervous no longer.

  ‘Has there never, in hundreds of years of kingship in this country, been a royal widow who has chosen to remarry?’ I asked. It sounded beyond my comprehension.

  ‘No. There has never been such—and there will not. The Council will not permit it.’

  Bishop Henry cleared his throat. ‘Well—yes—in fact, there has.’ He smiled self-deprecatingly, as if he was enjoying himself. ‘Adeliza of Louvain remarried.’