by Anne O'Brien
‘You’re scowling,’ I said, hearing the tremble in my voice.
‘I should be whipped for this. I should have known.’ His expression was savage, his tone no less so. ‘What was I thinking, to put my own physical gratification before your safety? Before your reputation?’
‘I am in no danger.’
‘Only from the filth that will be flung at you by the court scandalmongers.’
‘They will fling it at both of us.’
‘You don’t deserve it.’ Now he looked at me, eyes wide, jaw hard clenched. ‘Forgive me, Katherine. Forgive me, forgive me for my wretched selfishness. If I had loved you less, it would never have come to this. If I had loved you more, I would never have touched you.’
I had no difficulty in replying. ‘But if you had never touched me, I would have died from longing.’ I tried to smile as I leaned to kiss his cheek, but he stepped back, away, hands raised against me.
‘How much I have hurt you.’
‘But do you not want this child?’ I asked. ‘A child born out of our love?’
He inhaled sharply, so that now the gems deep set in his chain gleamed balefully in the stormy light.
‘Can you ask me that? How would I not desire a child of your blood and mine? But this is no perfect world where we can choose. I have cast you into a maelstrom.’ His gaze pierced mine, precise as a dagger. ‘And do you know the worst thing?’ he demanded. ‘I don’t know how to put it right for you.’
But I did. There it was, newborn in my mind, as clear and tempting as a sparkling pool for a thirsty traveller, sweeping away all my irresolution.
‘I do,’ I said. ‘I know.’ I was so certain, I who had never been certain in her life. ‘I know how to put it right for both of us.’
‘Nothing I can do will.’
I did not hesitate. ‘Wed me, Owen.’
If the air had been charged before, now it screamed with tension.
‘Wed me, Owen.’ I repeated, my words crossing the divide.
‘Wed you?’
‘Is marriage so distasteful to you?’ His thoughts were awry so I drove on, even if it would increase the pain of his refusal if he could not tolerate it. ‘Or is it marriage to me that you balk at?’
And as he flung wide his arms, I saw the blood, along the knuckles of his right hand, beginning to drip to the floor, the skin scraped from flesh along the stonework. Showing me, if I was not already aware, just how close to the edge of control he was.
‘Your hand,’ I said in distress, reaching out to him.
‘To Hell with my hand!’ He took another step back from me. ‘You consider that marriage to me would solve all your problems? To shackle a Valois princess to a penniless servant will make a bad situation even more sordid.’
‘Sordid? I won’t accept that. I do not consider my situation—as you describe it—to be sordid. Do I not love you? Your position in my household can be redeemed instantly.’
‘But my race cannot. God’s Blood! Do you know what it is like for a man to be branded Welsh?’
‘No.’ How would I? I was ignorant of all Welshmen, apart from Owen.
‘Of course you don’t. It is a monstrosity of injustice, of bloody vengeance that has wilfully brought about the destruction of Welsh pride, of all our heritage and tradition. Of our rights before the law.’
It still meant little to me. Why would this deter him from marriage? I could not understand the rage that lit his face with such rampant power. In spite of everything, all I could think was that he was magnificent in his anger.
‘I have nothing to offer you, Katherine,’ he continued. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Why would you need to offer me anything? I don’t need material things. I have my own properties—’
‘Katherine!’ He silenced me, one hand raised, his voice dropping to make a harsh, even statement. ‘That’s what makes it so much worse. You have a queen’s dower, while I…’ He scrubbed his hands over his face, leaving a smear of blood along his jaw. ‘I have too much pride to take you with nothing to give in return.’
My heart wept for this proud man, but I summoned all my courage to reply as evenly as I could. ‘Why is pride so important? Is it stronger than love?’ I asked. ‘I want to be with you. If we were wed, then there would be no impediment. Will you allow pride to stand in our way?’ And I was astounded when my question rekindled the wrath.
‘By God, I will. I am a servant under your command, and yet I have the blood of Llewellyn the Great in my veins. I lay claim to the same blood as the mighty Owain Glyn Dwr. Yes, I am a proud man.’
‘Is that good? The blood of these men?’ I had never heard of Llewellyn or of Owain Glyn Dwr. I could barely pronounce them.
‘You don’t even know!’ His answering laugh was savage but he did not mock me. ‘They are the best, the finest names. Princes of our people, leading the Welsh to glory in battle, until defeat at the hands of the damned English.’
His impassioned words puzzled me. ‘If you are so well born, connected to this Llewellyn the Great, why do you serve me?’
‘Because the law has robbed me of all hope of making anything other of my life. God forgive me, Katherine—but I should never have taken you to my bed so thoughtlessly.’
‘I thank God that you did.’ My mind was already racing along, abandoning this Welsh hero Glyn Dwr and my lover’s pride. One thought—one thought alone—clung with sharp claws. ‘You say that you are without any means at all.’
‘Exactly that. Do you know what you pay me?’
‘No.’
‘Forty pounds a year. And the provision of clothing so that I might make a good impression on your guests. That would be the value of your husband, Katherine. It is not to be thought of.’
‘I think it is perfect. The perfect choice for me.’
‘It is a travesty.’
This time it was I who called a halt by the simple expedient of stepping forward two paces and placing my fingers across his lips.
‘Any man who risks marriage with me will suffer the confiscation of everything he owns. No man of wealth or land will look at me. But you do.’ I smiled at him, willing him to understand. ‘You look at me and you have nothing to be stripped from you. You have nothing. You cannot be punished.’ I held out my hands to him, my mind suddenly full of the possibilities. If only I could persuade this obstinate man. ‘Do you not see, Owen? There will be no retribution, because you have nothing.’
He did not respond enough to take my hands, but I watched as he followed my line of argument.
‘I cannot do it, Katherine.’
‘Why not? I love you. We have made a child together. Here we have a chance of being together. The only reason I can see for you not wanting me is if you do not love me enough. And if that is so, then you must tell me now.’
I waited, my heart in my mouth. I had not considered that, faced with marriage, he might retract his words of commitment to me. Had I misread the depths of his love?
‘If you wait before you tell me,’ I warned him, ‘it will break my heart so much more. Do you not love me, Owen? Was this idyll merely a product of lust on your part? I can accept that but I won’t accept that your pride should stand between us.’
No, I could not accept it at all.
‘Lust? By the Rood, Katherine! Is that what you think of me?’
‘I might, unless you tell me otherwise.’
Still I waited. The decision was his and he must make it alone. At last the air moved between us, and Owen took my hands lightly in his, breathing deeply to disperse his wrath.
‘You know that I love you,’ he stated, every contour of his face finely etched in the strange glimmering light. ‘You are with me until I fall asleep. While I sleep you never leave me. And when I awake I see your face in my mind before even I see the light of day.’ His lips curved a little. ‘You are a surprisingly calculating woman, Katherine.’
‘No, I am not,’ I said seriously. ‘But I have learned that I must fight for what I w
ant. And I want this so much. If I have to be calculating and wilful and manipulative, then I will. Wed me, Owen. Give my child your name, as he deserves.’
‘Gloucester might punish you. Have you thought about that?’
‘I have. We might both be punished. But if we are wed in the sight of God, what can Gloucester and the Council do to us? I defy Gloucester to make scandal where the Queen Dowager is concerned, and I think if I appealed to Bedford, he would not stand against us.’ Confidence blossomed as Owen finally drew me into his arms. He was still thinking, still stubborn, but I was now sure of my ground.
I spoke, my fingers spread wide on his breast. ‘If you do not marry me, Owen, they will make me take the veil and my child—our child—will be taken from me.’ And I used the last weapon in my armoury. ‘I don’t think I could forgive you if you allowed your pride to enclose me in a nunnery for the rest of my life and cause our child to be brought up without knowledge of either of us.’
His mouth twisted in bitter self-deprecation. ‘Who am I but a disenfranchised Welshman, beaten and despised by his English victors? Who am I to wed a Queen?’
I did not understand ‘disenfranchised’ so ignored it. ‘A Queen who has never known love. If you love me, you will wed me.’
The planes of his face flattened in near despair. ‘Oh, Katherine! Unfair!’
‘I know. I’m fighting hard.’
‘I don’t like it,’ he murmured, his breath stirring my hair. ‘King’s daughter weds landless servant.’
‘But I do. Lonely widow weds the man she loves.’
‘Beautiful widow of the victor of Agincourt weds disenfranchised commoner.’
‘Abandoned widow weds the only man she has ever loved.’ How assured I was.
Still he resisted. ‘Queen Dowager weds the Master of her Household.’
I pressed my forehead against his chest. How many objections could he find?
‘Katherine weds the man who owns her heart.’ I sighed. And when he finally kissed me: ‘If you will not,’ I warned against his mouth, ‘then I will remain alone, unloved and unwanted, for ever.’
‘That must never be.’ Still I waited. ‘You are so very precious to me,’ he whispered.
‘Then, for God’s sake, wed me!’
He laughed—and at last he said what I wanted to hear. ‘We will do this as tradition dictates.’ Sinking to one knee, head bent like a knight in some chivalrous tale of love for his lady, voice clear and low, Owen enclosed my hands in his. ‘Wed me, Katherine. Take me as I am, a man without recognition, whose birth and honour stand for nought but a man who swears on the untarnished names of his ancestors that he will love you and honour you. Until death parts us—and beyond.’
Briefly, fleetingly, I recalled Edmund kneeling at my feet in an enchantment of flirtatious laughter, but in the end without honour, casting aside the heart he had entranced. Owen Tudor held that heart in his sure hands. He would never allow it to fall. Love for him filled my breast.
‘Will you wed me, Katherine?’
‘You know I will. Now stand up so that I might kiss you.’
Alice was waiting for me in my chamber, not exactly glowering but redolent of unease. She had been there for some time, judging by the empty platter and cup at her side. She glanced at Guille, reading who knew what in her lively stare, before she dispatched her. Then demanded, ‘Have you told him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘We will marry.’ I found that I was smiling. So simple a statement of intent. It held all I wanted and for a little time I could close my mind to the tempest that we would stir up, as black and threatening as the clouds that still hemmed Windsor about. ‘Owen and I will marry.’
When her breath had returned, Alice said what I knew she would say. ‘You cannot. It will break the statute. Your son is not old enough to give his consent, and the Royal Council won’t do it. Gloucester will make sure they don’t. The law is against you, my lady.’
I linked my hands, loosely, calmly. ‘Then I will do it without Young Henry and the Council’s consent. I will ignore the law. It is an unjust law and I will not abide by it.’
My lips were still warm from Owen’s kisses. I felt that I could face the world, challenge any who stood before me. What strength love can endow.
‘Gloucester might take steps to stop you.’
‘Then I will not tell Gloucester.’ How easy it seemed, yet a little ripple of worry teased at my mind. Was I being impossibly naïve? I neither knew nor cared. My feet were set on the path I had chosen, and I would not divert from it.
‘If Gloucester did not chastise you,’ Alice persisted, ‘he might take his revenge on Owen Tudor.’
The ripple became an onslaught. Would I wilfully bring harm to the man I loved? No, I would not. But the alternative was to live without him, and that I could not do.
‘Would you risk that?’ Alice asked.
‘I must,’ I said, my vision clear. ‘We have decided. We will stand together, against the whole world if we have to. And this child will be born in wedlock.’
‘God bless you, my lady. I will pray for you.’
We decided what we would do, Owen and I. It did not take us long, no more than the time it took to share breath in one kiss. If we wed, we would do so in the full light of day and in the open knowledge of Young Henry’s court at Windsor.
What use in hiding a scandalous marriage between the Queen Dowager and her Master of Household? What value to us in a clandestine ceremony if we wished to live openly as man and wife? And as the child grew in me, secrecy was not something to be considered. I might hide my condition beneath my skirts and high waists for a good few weeks but not for ever, and this child would be born without a slur on its name. We would wed now, and damn the consequences, as Owen put it.
‘We’ll do it in the face of God and man,’ Owen declared. ‘I’ll not hide behind your skirts, Katherine. Neither will we participate in some undisclosed rite that can later be questioned for its legitimacy. We will be man and wife, with all the legal proof necessary.’
Had he thought I would choose a secret ceremony, at dead of night, with no witness but the priest? He did not yet know me well. Or at least not the new Katherine who seemed to have emerged fully fledged under his protective wings. Soon he would know me better.
‘No man will ever have the right to label you Owen Tudor’s whore,’ he continued.
‘They will not.’
‘Do you think? Gloucester will discover every means possible to prove our marriage false. Forewarned is forearmed, so we’ll give him no grounds. I’ll take you as my wife under the eye of every man and woman in this damned palace, and be proud of it.’
‘And so will I take you as my husband. I will not demean our love, or my position as your wife, by travelling the corridors in cloak and veil to spend a clandestine night with my husband as if I was a whore,’ I replied.
My plain speaking surprised him into a laugh. ‘It will not be popular.’
It did not need saying, so we did not speak of it again, and it was so simply done, so smoothly arranged, without fuss. Who was there to prevent us? As for my son’s permission, I did not tell Young Henry of my plans. He would have done whatever Gloucester or the Council instructed him to do, so I did not burden him with it. As for the law of the land, manipulated by Gloucester—well, my desire to marry was far stronger than my respect for such a statute. I denied its binding on me.
‘Do you love me enough to do this?’ Owen asked finally when we stood before the door of the chapel. ‘Are you truly prepared to face a nation’s wrath?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll stand with you, whatever happens.’ ‘And I with you.’
‘Then let us do it.’ He kissed me. ‘When I kiss you again, you will be my wife.’
We exchanged our vows in the magnificence of St George’s chapel in Windsor, in the choir built by King Edward III, the weight of past history bearing down on us. No high ceremony here, other than
the celebration of love in our hearts. Owen wore a tunic of impressive indigo damask, my gift to him, but no chain of office. Today he was no servant, and would not be so again. Responding to female inclination, I wore a gown that best pleased me, with not one inch of cloth of gold or ermine to mark it as royal. Leopards and fleurs-de-lys were also absent, and I wore my hair loose beneath my veil as if I were a virgin bride.
I made no excuses for my choices, meeting Owen’s eye boldly, admiring the figure he made, stern and sure, sword belted to his side, as we stood, face to face before Father Benedict, who twitched with more nerves than either bride or groom. Persuasion had been necessary.
‘Your Majesty…’ He wrung his hands anxiously. ‘… I cannot do this thing.’
‘I wish it.’
‘But my lord of Gloucester—’
‘Her Majesty wishes you to wed us,’ Owen stated. ‘If you will not, there are other priests.’
‘Master Tudor! How can you consider this ill-advised act?’
‘Will you wed us or not, man?’
Father Benedict gave in with reluctance, but when the moment came the ponderous Latin gave sanctification to what we did, sweeping me back to my marriage with Henry in the church at Troyes with all its ostentation and military show; cloth of gold and leopards and French lilies. Then I had married a King. Now I was marrying a man who owned nothing but my heart.
And our witnesses?
We were not alone. ‘We will wed in full public knowledge,’ Owen had vowed, and so we did. Guille carried my missal. My damsels, torn between the appalling scandal and the lure of romance, stood behind me. And every one of us had our senses alert for anyone who might intervene at the last moment and put a stop to this illicit act. Alice had not come, for which I was sorry. She had not been without compassion, but this liaison would be too much to swallow for many. I must resign myself to such disapproval from those I loved.
Father Benedict addressed Owen, his voice uncertain but resigned.
‘Owen Tudor vis accípere Katherine—’
‘No!’
There was an astounded surge of movement through our little congregation and a bolt of fear ripped through me. My breath caught in my throat, I looked at Owen in horror.
