Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘Me neither.’ He drew to a halt, tightening his arm around her shoulders, struck with a sudden, unnerving impulse to turn them both around, walk back in the direction they’d come, and then keep on walking, away from Mortimer and the Queen and the court and all of it. The royal palace they’d spent so long trying to reach now looked ominous and forbidding.

  ‘Really? You didn’t plan to ask me to marry you, then?’

  ‘No. Not yet anyway.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her expression turned crestfallen. ‘I was hoping that at least one of us had thought things through.’

  ‘I did. I just did it quickly.’ He tugged her into the shadows of a house. ‘I only wish we had more time together today.’

  ‘So do I. Although I suppose I’d better take my ring off now.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ He took hold of her hand, drawing away the gold band he’d placed on her finger just one short hour before. ‘It won’t be for long. I’ll be back in a few months and then we can speak to Mortimer and the Queen and do everything properly.’

  ‘But maybe not too soon?’ She looked faintly worried, tucking the band away in the leather pouch at her waist. ‘The Queen might still need me for a little while afterwards. Katharine, too. I promised Cecily that I’d take care of her.’

  ‘Then we’ll ask when we’re both ready.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She sounded relieved, standing up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. ‘Henry...’ Her voice faltered as she sank back down again. ‘Where will we go, if we want to make our marriage binding before you leave for Scotland? It’s not easy to be alone in the palace.’

  ‘True...’ He paused, trying not to make it too obvious that he’d already spent some considerable time pondering the matter and that was even before they were married. ‘I did have an idea about that. There’s an empty room on the floor above the Queen’s chambers, at the far end of the gallery. It’s a small one, set aside for the servants of guests, but it’s standing empty at the moment.’ He set his hands about her waist. ‘I’ll go there tonight. Every night until I have to leave. I know it might not be easy for you to get away, but if you can find a way...’

  ‘I’ll find a way.’ Her pulse fluttered in her neck as she answered, so delicately that he couldn’t resist dipping his head and kissing her there, a wave of heat flooding his body as she made a small, guttural noise in the back of her throat.

  ‘Don’t take any risks.’ He could hardly believe he was saying the words. ‘We still have to be careful.’

  ‘I know, but I’ll be there. Only I might have to tell Katharine. I’d like to tell her about us anyway and I know she’ll keep it a secret.’

  He made a face. ‘So now you want me to trust someone else, too?’

  ‘No. Just trust me to trust her.’

  ‘That sounds complicated, but all right. Tell her if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He kissed her one last time before letting go, willing his body temperature back to normal and pushing misgivings about the future aside as they turned in the direction of the palace. After all, Mathilde was right, England had a new king, one who would soon be old enough to rule in his own right. Then Isabella and Mortimer would have to step aside and there would finally be peace. The future was still bright. He’d just been a spy for too long, seeing dangers where none existed.

  None the less, the sooner he got back from Scotland, the better.

  * * *

  ‘Something’s happened.’ Mathilde glanced sideways nervously as she and Henry walked back in through the gatehouse. The world outside the castle was still one of sunshine, but once inside, she had the strange impression that the sky was several shades darker, as if grey clouds were massing into a thunderstorm overhead. Most of the stable hands and guards were gathered together in small groups, too, talking in low voices and looking over their shoulders as if they were afraid of being overheard.

  ‘You’re right.’ Henry nodded, his jaw already set in a hard line. ‘Come on.’

  They hurried into the hall, across to where Katharine was sitting in the exact same spot where they’d left her several hours before. There was a new alertness about her posture now, however, the hands in her lap white-knuckled with tension.

  ‘What is it?’ Mathilde asked at once. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Ah, you’re back. Good.’ Katharine lowered her voice, beckoning them closer. ‘Somebody tried to free the old King.’

  ‘Free him?’ Mathilde gasped. ‘But I thought he didn’t have any supporters?’

  ‘He doesn’t. Not enough to retake the country, but still a handful, apparently. They didn’t succeed, but it was closer than it ought to have been.’

  ‘I should go to Mortimer.’ Henry’s tone was grim.

  Katharine nodded and pushed herself to her feet. ‘We ought to go upstairs and wait for the Queen. You’re back just in time.’

  ‘Yes... Of course.’ Mathilde caught Henry’s eye, saddened that the happiness and excitement of the day had faded so quickly. She had a feeling that he was thinking the same thing, that their wedding day, never mind the prospect of a wedding night, was over.

  ‘How did you enjoy your afternoon?’ Katharine took Mathilde’s arm as they reached the top of the stairwell. She’d become noticeably more stooped of late and needed help to walk any distance, as if losing Cecily had weakened her. ‘Where did the two of you go?’

  ‘To London Bridge. We ate pies.’

  ‘Pies? Next time, bring me one back. That sounds more appetising than partridge.’

  ‘Much better.’ Mathilde smiled at the memory, hoping that there would be a next time, although it seemed doubtful that she and Henry would have another chance to visit the city before he left for Scotland.

  ‘You have a good man there.’

  ‘I know. You wouldn’t have let me go otherwise. I was surprised that you did.’

  ‘Hmph. I probably shouldn’t have.’ Katharine chuckled. ‘But he was good to Cecily and I’ll always be grateful to him for that. Besides—’ there was a new, pointed note to her voice ‘—you’re a good girl. I know that you won’t do anything foolish.’

  Mathilde glanced around quickly as they entered the Queen’s chamber. The other ladies were working on a large piece of tapestry in one corner, far enough away to be out of earshot, making it impossible for her to contain her excitement any longer. ‘We made vows to each other.’

  Katharine’s eyebrows almost disappeared beneath her headdress. ‘You married him?’

  ‘Yes!’ Mathilde pressed a hand to her mouth, laughing gleefully behind it. ‘Today, on the bridge.’

  ‘Well...’ There was a heavy pause. ‘Well, then.’

  ‘Do you think it was a mistake?’ She pulled her hand away, disappointed by her friend’s reaction. The words were neither congratulation nor condemnation.

  ‘No-o.’ Katharine made a face as she sat down on the royal day bed. ‘It’s only marriage itself that I don’t like.’

  ‘You were married once, weren’t you?’

  ‘A long time ago, but we were ill-matched from the start. He was thirty years older than I was and we had nothing to talk about. No children either. We were miserable together for ten years and then he died. Fortunately, I found Cecily and we were happy. As much as we were allowed to be.’

  Mathilde crouched down beside her. ‘You know, she was very worried about you, about how upset you’d be afterwards.’

  ‘Pah.’ Katharine shook her head although there was a hint of moisture in her eyes. ‘It is how it is. I’m an old woman now, but I know I was lucky to love and be loved. That consoles me.’ She put a hand on Mathilde’s wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘Do you love this new husband of yours?’

  Mathilde took a deep breath, trying to clear her head and answer honestly. Everything was happening so fast she hardly knew what to make of he
r feelings. She’d married Henry on instinct, because everything he’d said on the bridge had made sense and because she couldn’t imagine wanting to be with another man as much as she wanted to be with him. Was that love? She still didn’t know. She needed time to think.

  ‘I care for him,’ she answered carefully. ‘And I know that he cares for me. I think we’re well-suited.’

  ‘Then don’t worry about looking after me. You should take your chance at happiness. We do not get many in this life.’

  ‘I will, but only once the country is settled. I won’t just abandon you.’

  Katharine squeezed her wrist and then let go as Isabella swept like a sudden blast of wind into the room, her usually calm features agitated.

  ‘Leave us!’ she snapped at the other women. ‘Mathilde! Help me undress. This gown is too tight. Hurry!’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Mathilde leapt up at once, unfastening the ties at the back of the gown as quickly as her fingers could accomplish the task. To her surprise, the Queen was shaking slightly.

  ‘That’s better.’ Isabella rolled her shoulders, stretching with relief as Mathilde pulled the gown down over her stomach and hips. ‘Wine!’ She held a hand out imperiously and Katharine passed her a goblet, though she screwed her mouth up after only a mouthful. ‘This tastes sour. Fetch something else.’

  ‘I’ll go, my lady,’ Mathilde offered.

  ‘No. Kat can do it.’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  Katharine threw Mathilde an eloquent look on her way to the door and she felt her stomach lurch with nerves. With guilt, too. Maybe she had acted too impulsively and ought to have waited for the Queen’s permission to marry Henry. It had made sense to go ahead at the time, but now it seemed a poor way to repay the Queen’s trust in her. Obviously Isabella had something she wished to discuss alone and Mathilde judged by her mood that the conversation didn’t bode well. The only thing she could think of was her recent trip into London with Henry, though surely Katharine would have mentioned if her absence had been noticed?

  ‘What are people saying in the hall?’ Isabella fixed her with a hard stare. ‘What are they saying about my husband?’

  ‘Oh.’ She almost sagged with relief. Not about Henry then... ‘Just that there was an attempt to free him and it failed.’

  ‘And? What do they think about it?’

  ‘I’m not certain, Your Grace.’ She bit her tongue, unwilling to admit the reason why. She could hardly admit to spending the afternoon away from the palace. ‘They’re nervous, I think.’

  ‘Why? He has no power any more. He’s no longer a king! There’s no need to be nervous!’ Isabella went very still suddenly. ‘What about me? What are they saying about me?’ There was a momentary pause. ‘And Mortimer?’

  ‘I don’t think they would say anything in front of me, Your Grace.’

  ‘No...’ Isabella’s foot tapped up and down. ‘Perhaps not, but if you hear anything, anything at all, you must tell me at once. No matter what it is or who says it, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘Good.’ The Queen lifted a hand to her cheek with a smile. ‘Forgive me for being so short before. I should not take my temper out on you. You’re one of the few people I can trust, Mathilde. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘You don’t have to, Your Grace.’ She bowed her head, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction at the words.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Isabella’s gaze moved past her to Katharine, returning with a fresh jug of wine. ‘Come, we need to decide what I’m going to wear tonight.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Henry marched up and down the small chamber, glancing at the door every time he went past. Common sense told him that there was little hope, if any, of Mathilde coming that night. The chances of her being able to get away from the Queen’s rooms unnoticed were just the same as they’d been the previous night and the one before that, their wedding night, and he was due to ride north in the morning, to help Mortimer muster an army for Scotland. Yet tonight was their last chance to be together and every small noise, every creak of a floorboard and thud of a door elsewhere in the palace, made his heart, not to mention other areas, leap with anticipation. Every minute that passed felt like a slow torture.

  He pushed his hands through his hair and groaned aloud in frustration, trying to console himself with the thought that her absence was probably for the best. As much as he wanted to consummate their marriage and make the contract binding—hell, as much as he wanted her for any reason—it was arguably safer not to do so. If he were to get Mathilde with child before the Queen gave her permission for their marriage then it would mean her immediate dismissal from court. Not that he could view that as an entirely bad thing since it would mean getting her away from Isabella, but for Mathilde’s sake, he would do everything in his power to avoid it.

  If she came.

  He muttered a few choice epithets, none of which made him feel any better, while he started to undress by the light of the solitary candle. If he was going to be disappointed again then he might as well lie down and try to get some rest. He had a long day’s ride ahead of him tomorrow. He just hoped that he’d get a chance to say goodbye to his wife before he left.

  He kicked off his boots, tossed his tunic and undershirt aside and then froze, crossing the room swiftly at the sound of a faint knock.

  ‘Mathilde?’ He flung the door open, hardly daring to believe the evidence of his own eyes. She was dressed in a floor-length woollen cloak, the hood pulled up over her head and with a pair of slippers poking out underneath.

  ‘I couldn’t get away before.’ She sounded as if she was apologising, which was ridiculous since he didn’t think he’d ever been so pleased or grateful to see anyone in his whole entire life. ‘I kept trying, but the Queen’s been sleeping badly and she calls for us sometimes in the night.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He reached for her arm and tugged her inside, throwing a cautious look up and down the gallery before closing the door softly behind them. ‘You’re here now.’

  ‘I had to come.’ She pushed the hood back, revealing a breathtaking mass of silken, chestnut hair falling loose over her shoulders. ‘I heard that Mortimer was leaving tomorrow and I couldn’t bear the thought of not saying goodbye. I would have climbed out of the window if I’d had to.’

  He reached up, pushing his fingertips into the tresses as he cupped her face in his hands. ‘I appreciate that, but if it’s too much of a risk then—’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted him, half closing her eyes as he caressed her. ‘I’m not going back yet. I don’t care if the Queen misses me. We couldn’t have our wedding night, but we can still be together now.’

  He felt a sharp stab of desire at the words. After three nights of waiting and wanting, he was tempted to simply lift her on to the bed and throw himself on top of her, but he restrained himself with the knowledge that she was a virgin. She might not know what lying with a man actually meant. She might be horrified when she found out. She might be keen to run away then. In which case, he’d have to embrace her chastely and then find a bucket of extremely cold, preferably frigid, water to pour over his head. Maybe he ought to have brought one just in case...

  ‘Are you certain?’ He faltered over the question, trying not to notice the soft rise and fall of her breasts against his chest, bracing himself to hear the answer. ‘Did anyone ever tell you what to expect?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘On your wedding night.’

  Her lips formed a distinct O shape before her eyes twinkled and a small, almost mischievous smile spread over her features. ‘I grew up on a farm.’

  ‘You mean—’

  ‘I mean...’ She took a step back from him, unravelling the cloak from around her shoulders to reveal a thin, white linen shift. ‘I know enough.’

  He
swallowed, heat prickling over his skin as his throat turned arid. In the flickering candlelight, every curve and contour of her willowy figure was visible, from her round breasts to her small waist and shapely hips. He let his gaze feast on them, his whole body throbbing in response. Just the sight of her flushed skin made him ache to possess her. She was perfect, everything he’d ever desired in a woman since the first time he’d set eyes on her, and only an arm’s length away. He wanted to savour every moment, to kiss and touch and memorise every dip and hollow of her body, to make it truly a night to remember during all the long months they’d be forced to spend apart.

  She was his, his wife, and they only had one night. He would make it special. And he’d be damned if he didn’t make it as good for her as he was absolutely certain it was going to be for him.

  * * *

  Mathilde waited, wondering if she’d done something wrong. Henry’s expression looked faintly stunned, as if she’d shocked him by being too brazen. The thought made her temperature soar and her skin turn to what was surely an unnatural shade of red. Nervously, she started to shrug the cloak back over her shoulders, but his hands shot out, catching her by the wrists.

  ‘Don’t.’ His voice had a husky quality she’d never heard in it before, as if the words were actually scraping against his throat. ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Oh.’ She let the cloak slip from her fingers and into a puddle at her feet, his voice turning her emotions from anxious to strangely powerful. He looked beautiful, too, she thought, letting her gaze dip for a moment, if that was the right word, which it probably wasn’t, only handsome didn’t seem quite right either. He looked more than that, his bare torso corded and rippling with muscle.

  ‘Come.’ He tugged gently on her wrists, drawing her slowly, but steadily, towards the bed.

  ‘Are you sure no one else uses the room?’ She gulped as she realised where they were going, feeling as if her heart had just leapt into her throat.