She turned her back, leaving him feeling as though the old hollow wound in his chest had just reopened. He’d been rejected all over again by the one person in the world he truly loved. Only this time it was all his fault.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Westminster Palace, London
—spring 1331
‘Madam?’ The page in the doorway sounded nervous. ‘Your escort is ready.’
‘Good.’ Isabella swept regally to her feet. No matter how notorious her name had become throughout England, Mathilde thought with a flicker of admiration, her mistress never behaved as anything less than a queen. Powerless she might be these days, but her pride was indomitable. ‘Then it’s time for us to be leaving. Kat? Mathilde? Felicia?’ Isabella lifted a hand, beckoning for the three of them to join her. ‘Come.’
Mathilde readjusted her headdress, looking around the chamber one last time before following Isabella out of the door. They had a five-day journey ahead, but she felt exhausted already. She usually did these days. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a decent night’s sleep. All through the winter, she’d tossed and turned, dreaming strange dreams about being buried alive and thinking about Henry. Not just thinking, but feeling, too. So many feelings that she didn’t think she had the heart or strength for any more. They hadn’t spoken since he’d come to explain what had happened in Nottingham and she’d sent him away on the few occasions when he’d tried to visit Isabella’s apartments, yet he seemed to have occupied her thoughts every moment of every day since.
‘You should stay,’ Katharine murmured as they walked along the gallery. ‘Stay here with your husband.’
‘What?’ Mathilde twisted sideways in surprise, lowering her voice quickly as Felicia gave them a quizzical look. ‘You can’t mean that! I thought you were angry at him?’
‘I am.’ Somehow Katharine managed to nod and shake her head at the same time. ‘And I’m not. I understand why he did what he did, even if I can’t quite bring myself to forgive him for it.’ She slowed her steps so that they dropped back behind the others. ‘But I can forgive you. More than that, I want you to be happy. There’s no need for you to lock yourself away with us. You still care for him, don’t you?’
‘That’s not...’ Mathilde couldn’t bring herself to say otherwise. ‘Yes.’
‘Then stay. Live your life.’
‘How? How can I forgive him? I know that sounds hypocritical considering what I did, but he forced me to choose. Even unintentionally, he forced me to betray Isabella. How can I forgive either of us?’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘I owe it to the Queen to stay and make up for what I did.’
‘If you’re certain...?’
‘I am, but...’ She paused and then rushed on. ‘Kat, what would you have done? If you’d been in my position, I mean?’
‘I don’t know.’ Katharine lowered her head as she hobbled forward again. ‘I’ve thought about that and, truth be told, I’ve no idea.’
They left the palace and went out into the bailey, through a crowd of eerily silent onlookers. Mathilde left Katharine in the care of a groom before mounting her own horse beside Isabella’s, concentrating on keeping her eyes down and her face forward. She didn’t want to look around and see who was there in case Henry was among them. She knew that she ought to go and say goodbye, that despite everything, she owed him better than to leave without as much as a word, but she couldn’t bear the thought. She felt weary and heartsore, as if she were holding herself together with the last few shreds of her willpower. If she had to say goodbye aloud, then she was afraid that her broken heart would splinter into a million tiny pieces. She would write to him, she told herself, once they arrived at Castle Rising, not that she had any idea what she might say.
Beside her, Isabella looked as stately and magnificent as ever. Perhaps some time away from court would be good for her, Mathilde thought. As far as she knew, Norfolk had no associations with Mortimer and the change of scene might give her a chance to grieve and recover. Perhaps it would be good for both of them.
‘Lady Mother.’ The King emerged from a doorway at that moment, dressed in a green velvet jacket with golden embroidery to match his crown.
The crowd dropped to their knees as he advanced towards them, kissing his mother’s hand with every display of respect while Isabella inclined her head graciously. Mathilde was glad of it. Relieved, too, that he’d come to bid her farewell properly and not simply sent her away in disgrace. Perhaps Henry had been right and Edward would make a good king, after all. After twenty years of unrest, it was about time the country had one of those.
‘Lady Mathilde?’ The King’s eyes fell on her. ‘I did not expect to see you travelling today.’
‘Your Grace.’ She dropped her gaze, wondering what Henry had told him. Did the King know they were married? ‘I serve my lady.’
‘And we are grateful for it.’ He paused for a long moment. ‘Just know that you will always be welcome at court if you choose to return.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ She kept her head bent to hide the glimmer of tears in her eyes. It would be mortifying enough to cry in front of the King, but once she started, she didn’t know whether she’d be able to stop.
Mercifully, he waved a hand and the procession started forward almost instantly, heading towards the great gates with a loud creaking of wheels. Mathilde let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding and then immediately caught it again, stifling a cry of dismay as Henry rode past her to join the guards at the front. For a horrified moment, she thought that he was about to stop the whole procession, but he only fell in alongside them, a part of their escort, it seemed—a fact that made her want to weep even more. Their situation was unbearable enough, but now the journey was only going to prolong the agony.
* * *
The road into Norfolk was a long and tedious one, but they rode quickly. There was no feasting as honoured guests on the journey this time, not for a queen in disgrace, although they stopped at regular intervals to rest and eat and stretch. Henry didn’t approach her, but Mathilde was aware of his presence at every moment, more aware than she was of herself. She didn’t even realise that she was hungry one day until a boy offered her some bread, although she still refused. Her throat felt so tight, she doubted she’d be able to swallow a mouthful if she tried.
* * *
‘Isn’t he handsome?’ Lady Felicia commented one afternoon, riding beside her along a causeway through the rust-coloured Fens. It was the fifth day of their journey and a light drizzle had started to fall, but they were finally, thankfully, within reach of their destination.
‘Who?’ Mathilde didn’t lift her eyes from the ground.
‘Our escort, Henry Wright.’
‘Oh.’ There was a wistful note in the girl’s voice and Mathilde felt an irrational stab of jealousy. ‘I suppose so, although it’s Sir Henry Wright now, I believe.’
‘No, it’s not. Didn’t you hear?’ Felicia leaned sideways, eager to share some gossip. ‘He refused a knighthood.’
‘What?’ Mathilde felt her heart start to thud heavily against her breastbone. ‘What do you mean, he refused?’
‘They say that he told the King he didn’t want any reward for his service. Can you believe it? He risked execution to help him take the throne and then turned down a reward.’
Mathilde nodded slowly, though her pulse still seemed to be accelerating. Yes, she could believe it from a man who’d done the right thing reluctantly and felt guilty about it... ‘Did he ask for anything else instead?’
‘Not that I know of, although I heard he refused a wife, too.’
‘What?’ Mathilde swivelled around so fast she almost fell off her horse.
‘The King offered him an heiress.’ Felicia spoke matter-of-factly. ‘He had his pick, they say, but he just said no. He could have been Sir Henry, with a large estate and a
rich wife, but he turned it all down.’
‘How strange.’ Mathilde tugged her headdress forward to hide her face. ‘Did he explain why?’
‘I don’t know. Nobody does, except the King.’ Felicia sighed. ‘But I’m sure his reasons were noble. They say he’s of low birth, but there’s something inherently noble about him, don’t you thi—oh!’ she interrupted herself to exclaim. ‘There it is!’
There it was. Mathilde lifted her head to see Castle Rising looming like a dark square on the horizon ahead of them. Surrounded by an expanse of flat, inhospitable-looking marshland, it was a fortress in more ways than one, its stone walls tall and bleak and forbidding. She gulped and looked up at the sky, searching for a single ray of heart-warming sunshine, but the clouds were completely grey, as miserable as the vista before them.
‘Do you think they’re coming to welcome us?’ Lady Felicia gestured ahead, along what appeared to be the only road leading in and out of the castle, at a group of horses and riders heading in their direction.
‘Something like that,’ Mathilde murmured, drawing rein as Henry raised a hand and their whole procession came to a halt, waiting in silence for the riders to reach them.
‘Madam, I am Sir Simon Courbet.’ The man at the head of the riders stopped just in front of them, making a low bow from his saddle to Isabella. He had a kindly face, Mathilde noticed, though his expression was uncompromising. ‘The King has asked me to make you welcome here at Castle Rising. I am your obedient servant.’
‘Sir Simon,’ Isabella acknowledged him haughtily, as if the words were only her due, forcing his men to part before her as she spurred her horse forward again. ‘You may show us the way.’
Mathilde flicked on her own reins, but a hand grasped hold of her bridle suddenly, holding her back.
‘Lady Mathilde.’ After a quick murmured exchange with Courbet, Henry turned to face her. ‘Would you remain behind for a few minutes?’
‘I... As you wish.’ She lifted her chin to conceal a tremor of panic.
‘Thank you.’ He inclined his head, waiting until the entire baggage train had rolled past before moving his horse alongside hers, turned in the opposite direction so that they were sitting face to face.
Mathilde waited, feeling as if her chest were being squeezed tight by invisible bands. There were only the two of them now, alone on a causeway in the middle of a wild and boggy marshland, surrounded by reeds and buffeted by bitter winds, with only a few cranes and wildfowl and probably some otters and fish for company.
‘This is as far as I go,’ Henry spoke quietly.
‘Oh.’ She felt her eyes widen. She ought to feel relieved, she told herself, but instead she felt as if one of the gusts of winds had just knocked her sideways. ‘You’re not coming into the castle?’
‘No. I wanted to make certain you arrived safely, but the King wants me to return to London as soon as possible. The rest of the escort will make their way back tomorrow.’
‘Is it safe, riding alone?’
He smiled grimly. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say. He really was just as handsome as Lady Felicia had said, even more so than when they’d first met, his features almost uncannily like Mortimer’s now, although she didn’t want to dwell on that fact. He wasn’t Mortimer. He was Henry. Her husband, the man she loved despite everything they’d both done...the man she wanted, but couldn’t quite bring herself to forgive. The breeze blew some hair across her face, lashing her cheeks and blinding her momentarily. She was glad of it.
‘If there’s anything you need, you only have to send word.’ His pale gaze was piercing, a perfect match with the wintry sky behind him.
‘Thank you.’ She drew the hair out of her face. ‘I heard that you refused a knighthood?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought it was what you always wanted?’
‘It was.’ His expression was inscrutable. ‘But not any more. Not like that.’
‘And a rich wife?’
‘I already have a wife.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For holding you back. If it wasn’t for me, you could marry an heiress.’
‘Is that what you think?’ His features turned almost fierce. ‘I married you, Mathilde. I would marry you again tomorrow. Even if I were free, no heiress in the world could change the way I feel about you. I’ve wanted you from the very first moment I saw you.’ He held her gaze for a long moment. ‘But you haven’t changed your mind about us, have you?’
She swallowed, listening to the sound of her own heartbeat in her head. Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, she had changed her mind, but the words refused to come. No words would come. She couldn’t say what she wanted to say and she couldn’t bid him goodbye here any more than she’d been able to in London.
‘Say something, Mathilde!’
‘I don’t want to argue!’ She wrenched the words from her throat. ‘I don’t want to leave it like this.’
‘To leave it...’ He repeated the words with a short laugh. ‘How should we leave it then?’
‘Henry, please...’ She reached a hand out, but he was already picking up his reins, preparing to move past her.
‘What is this?’ Isabella’s voice interrupted them.
Mathilde froze. She’d been so engrossed in her conversation with Henry that she hadn’t noticed the Queen riding back to join them, Katharine and Courbet behind her.
‘Mathilde, what is he saying to you?’
‘That’s between us.’ Henry’s face hardened.
‘You dare to speak to me?’ Isabella’s voice was more like a snarl.
‘I’m one of your escorts.’
‘You’re keeping my lady from her duties.’
‘Her duties are what she wishes them to be. She’s a free woman.’
‘And you’re a viper! Mortimer raised you. He gave you a place in his service. A home. A purpose. And you betrayed him!’
‘Yes.’ Henry didn’t try to defend himself. ‘I did.’
‘Snake!’ Isabella’s regal mask was utterly gone, replaced with a look of pure, unadulterated fury. ‘You may have found favour with my son now, but I know what you really are, Henry Wright. Naught but a bastard. A worthless, treacherous bastard. Mortimer never cared a damn for you. Do you know what he called you? A mistake. A useful mistake. How I wish he’d left you to starve in the streets!’
‘Your Grace!’ Mathilde pushed her horse between them, feeling the insult to Henry like a physical shock, as if the Queen had just slapped her hard across the face. She was aware of her cheeks blazing, of something shifting in her mind, too... She caught her breath as a single ray of sunlight broke through the clouds suddenly, allowing her to see clearly at last.
‘Mathilde!’ Henry and Isabella both said her name at once, one voice questioning, the other accusing. Two voices, each belonging to someone she cared about, each representing a different possible future.
‘He’s not worthless.’ Somehow she managed to speak calmly despite the tumult of emotions raging inside her.
‘You’re defending him?’ Isabella’s eyes narrowed to slits, as if a new suspicion were just dawning on her. ‘Who is he to you?’
Mathilde tipped her head back, tempted to laugh at the question. She’d spent years worrying that Isabella might guess the nature of her relationship with Henry, but now it seemed that she’d never even noticed they were acquainted, too obsessed with her own concerns to care.
‘He’s not worthless,’ she said again. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘He betrayed Mortimer!’
‘Mortimer betrayed the King!’
Isabella gave a sharp hiss, jolting backwards in her saddle, anger and shock warring on her face now. ‘You were one of them, too! You were one of the conspirators. You betrayed me?’
‘Yes, I did,’ Mathilde contradicted him.
‘What?’ He turned to look at her, his expression part-hope, part-bewilderment. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I was sent to fetch the King that evening, but when I got to his rooms, he wasn’t there. So I went to look around and I saw you all emerging from the tunnel. I could have raised the alarm, but I didn’t. I chose to do nothing.’
He looked stunned. ‘You really did that?’
‘Yes. Deep down, I think I already knew that it was the right thing to do, but at the time all I could think of was you.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘You asked me once who I would choose if it came to it, you or the Queen. Well, it did come to it and I chose you.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe the evidence of his own ears. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘Because when you came to me afterwards, I was still in shock. I couldn’t bear to admit what I’d done. Even though I knew you were right about Mortimer, I felt so guilty. And...’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I felt as if you’d betrayed me by making me choose.’
‘I never wanted that. No matter what I said, I never wanted you to be in that position. Mathilde, I’m so sorry.’
‘I know. So am I.’ She gave him a reassuring look. ‘It wasn’t fair of me to blame you when I’d already put you in that position myself. You wanted to leave court after you came back from Scotland, but you stayed for me. You spied on men you didn’t want to for me, because I refused to see the truth. I was the one who forced you into a choice first.’
‘Then you forgive me?’
‘Yes, if you can forgive me, too.’
‘You betrayed me!’ Isabella’s cry cut through the air, high-pitched and hysterical. ‘After you promised me your loyalty!’
‘I know, but you betrayed me, as well.’ Mathilde met her gaze, unflinching. ‘When you asked for my promise, you said that you had no choice about what you were doing, that it was for the good of England, but things changed. Once you made your son King, you had a choice. You could have chosen peace and reconciliation, but you chose Mortimer and power and yourself instead. So now I choose myself, too.
Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 69
