by Anne Herries
‘Catherine!’ Andrew was off his horse in an instant. Her groom followed and caught the horse by the reins, settling it before its flailing hooves could damage the fallen rider. Andrew was bending over his wife anxiously as she sat up. ‘What happened? Are you hurt? How could that saddle come off so easily?’
‘Frosty was uneasy as soon as I mounted her,’ Catherine told him. ‘I sensed it immediately. I thought she might be losing a shoe, but it may have been the saddle. Perhaps it was chafing her.’
‘Perhaps.’ Andrew turned to look at the groom. ‘Take the horse back to its stable, Dickon, and see if you can discover what made it behave so out of character.’
‘I can tell you that now, sir. There was a thorn lodged in the poor creature’s back. As soon as my lady mounted it must have driven in hard. It is little wonder the horse was so restive.’
‘How came it there?’ Andrew asked. ‘You did not see it earlier?’
‘No, my lord, it was not there when we came. I’ll swear to it. I groomed the palfrey myself, and saddled her. I did not notice it when I put the saddle on before we set back, but the light was poor and I might not have seen it.’
‘We shall speak of this again,’ Andrew said. He turned back to Catherine. ‘You shall ride with me, my love. Tell me, does it pain you anywhere?’
‘I think my dignity is bruised more than my body,’ Catherine said. ‘Had we been riding harder it might have been otherwise, but with the snow we trod carefully and it was but a slight bump.’
‘That was good fortune,’ Andrew said. ‘Come, you will be safe with me, Catherine.’ He swept her up to his horse’s back and mounted swiftly behind her. ‘Dickon says the thorn was not there earlier. The horse has been stabled all night, and it is a mystery how it came to be there beneath the saddle—but we must thank God that it was no worse. Had you fallen badly you might have broken something, even your neck.’
‘Had I ridden carelessly, it might have been unpleasant,’ Catherine agreed. ‘But I sensed something was wrong from the start and I was about to dismount when it happened.’
‘We must be glad of your good sense,’ Andrew said, but his expression was grim and Catherine noticed that he looked hard in his mother’s direction, though she could not for the life of her think why. ‘We shall soon be home, my love. I have told Sarah to set a guard before the fire. You will be safe enough in your own chamber this night, for I shall stay with you.’
Catherine was thoughtful as they rode. She felt safe and warm, protected by her husband’s arms, but she knew that Andrew was angry. He believed that the thorn had been placed beneath her saddle to make her horse restive—but why had the saddle slipped off so easily? Had one of the straps broken? She did not see how that could be, because the saddle had been a wedding gift and was almost new.
‘I pray you will not look at me in that way, Andrew,’ the dowager said as she faced her son in the parlour later that night. He had asked her to stay behind after Catherine went up to bed. ‘I had nothing to do with what happened to the horse.’
‘You left the hall for more than half an hour this evening,’ he said. ‘You could have gone to the stables and placed the thorn in the horse’s back.’
‘I could had I wished,’ the dowager said. ‘But I do not care for horses. You know that I never go to the stables unless forced, Andrew. Had I wished to harm your wife, I would not have chosen that manner of causing her an accident. Besides, I have no wish to harm her. Catherine has made me welcome in her home, which is more than I can say for you.’
‘Someone must have placed the thorn there, and I think the saddle had been tampered with as well, as one of the straps may have been frayed to make it break as Catherine was riding.’
‘Well, you must look elsewhere for your culprit. As for being absent from the hall, you too left for a period of some minutes. I noticed you were not there just towards the end of the evening.’
‘Sir Robert asked me for my opinion of some land that he wishes to purchase. It lies beyond the river and abuts my lands. He wished to know if I had thoughts of buying it, which I do not. I told him he may go ahead with my good wishes if he wants it, but I think the land may be sour and I told him so.’
‘Where was Lady Henrietta while you were with Sir Robert?’ the dowager asked. ‘I did not see her for some minutes, but she appeared again just before we left.’
‘You are not suggesting that she would do such a thing?’ Andrew’s gaze narrowed. ‘That is unlikely, madam.’
‘Is it more likely that I would do so?’ his mother asked. ‘I have nothing to gain from Catherine’s death—your mistress has rather more.’
‘She is not my mistress!’
‘I am pleased to hear it,’ the dowager replied. ‘However, I believe she once occupied that part of your life and perhaps hoped for more? Did you not once tell me that you thought of marrying her?’
‘Yes, but that was before—’ Andrew broke off, shooting an angry look at her. ‘Are you suggesting that she tried to kill Catherine because she thinks I might marry her if my wife were dead?’
‘Wouldn’t you? Perhaps not at once, but after a decent interval? You need a wife, Andrew. At least, I imagine you want sons to follow you. You found Lady Henrietta charming once. It is possible that you might feel that way again if Catherine were dead.’
‘No! At least…I suppose I might,’ Andrew said and glared at her. ‘I should grieve for Catherine most sincerely, but it is possible that I might marry one day for the sake of an heir.’
‘Do you think that possibility has not occurred to Lady Henrietta? She believes that she could win you back, Andrew. I saw it in her eyes tonight—and she hates Catherine.’
‘I think you seek to put the blame on her, Mother. Are you sure you did not arrange for someone to put that thorn there?’
‘If you believe that of me, perhaps I should leave?’
‘Oh no, I take that back,’ Andrew said, clearly frustrated. ‘I cannot think it was Lady Henrietta—but, as you said, you have no reason to want Catherine dead.’
‘Catherine has been more of a daughter to me in a few days than you have been a son for years,’ the dowager said. ‘I shall stay until after Christ’s Mass because she asked it of me and I would not spoil her pleasure in the season. She asked for my help and I shall give it—but when it is over I shall leave. I hope you know how to keep your wife safe, Andrew, because I believe she is in danger. You chose to bring her to this place, and I cannot tell if you came because that woman was here. For all I know, the two of you planned it together. Mayhap you both wish to be rid of Catherine.’
‘Damn you!’ Andrew cried, but his mother walked from the room without giving him another glance. He glared after her, his pride warring with his temper. How could she think him capable of such baseness? And yet he had accused her of the same crime.
If she were innocent, someone else must be plotting against his wife, because he was certain that what had happened that night was no more an accident than the fire. Someone wanted Catherine out of the way—but who?
Catherine woke the next morning with a fearful ache in her stomach. She knew at once that her womanly flow had come and groaned—it could not have hit at a worse moment. It was a long time since she had experienced pains as fierce as this, and she was tempted to lie in bed with a warm pan to ease it. However, she got up and found her cloths, telling herself that she must bear it with a good heart. Her mother would have brewed her a tisane to help, but she was not sure if she remembered the recipe; it was one thing she had forgotten to ask her mother for in all the rush of getting wed, and she did not think it was in the journal she kept for such things.
She looked pale and drained as she went downstairs a little later than usual. Her mother-in-law had already begun working on another wreath to hang in the hall; this time it was a kissing bough and made of mistletoe, holly and ivy, tied with red ribbons.
‘You look unwell, Catherine,’ the dowager said, looking at her oddly. ‘Did yo
u hurt yourself more in the fall than you thought?’
‘I am a little bruised,’ Catherine confessed. ‘But this is my womanly flow. I have always suffered with cramping pain at such times.’
‘Then you must rest by the fire today,’ the dowager said. ‘I shall brew you a tisane that will ease it for you. I am surprised that you did not ask Sarah for one sooner.’
‘I forgot to ask my mother for the recipe,’ Catherine confessed. ‘She always made it for me, and for some reason I did not write it down.’
‘Then you shall try mine and see if it works as well,’ the dowager said. ‘Sit by the fire, my dear, and you will feel better soon.’
‘But we were to have taken gifts for the villagers this morning,’ Catherine said. ‘I do not like to disappoint them.’
‘Rest for an hour or so. We may go as easily this afternoon as this morning.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Catherine agreed. ‘I know I should not let a little thing like this trouble me so, but it does hurt terribly.’
‘It will ease once you have children,’ the dowager told her. ‘I suffered much as you when I was your age. It becomes less painful in time, and after you have a child you will notice that it is not so harsh.’
Catherine nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘Mother said much the same. I have been thinking about…’ She blushed and looked shy. ‘We did not speak much of what happens when a child is born. Would you tell me about that, Elspeth? I know I shall not have one yet, but how shall I know when it happens?’
‘It is usually little things,’ Elspeth said with a smile. ‘You will notice a difference in your body…and you will feel it. But it is not something to fear, Catherine.’
‘Oh, no, I do not fear it,’ Catherine said. ‘I was just afraid that perhaps it might not happen.’
The dowager laughed, not unkindly but with real amusement. ‘It does not often happen so quickly, Catherine. You will bear a son soon enough.’
‘Yes, I hope so,’ Catherine said and smiled. ‘I think that is the first time I have heard you laugh—really laugh, Elspeth.’
‘Perhaps I have not had much to laugh about until I came here,’ the dowager said. ‘Sit there, Catherine, and I shall make you my tisane…’
Catherine felt better after they had eaten their midday meal and so they decided to visit the village after all. Catherine had imagined it would take a couple of hours at most, but the people were so happy to see her that they were kept talking at each house they visited, and most of the women had a small gift for Catherine in return. It was always something they had made themselves, such as pressed flowers set into homemade soap or straw twisted into decorations to hang in her chamber.
‘May God bless you and his lordship,’ the women said to her as she went from house to house. ‘May you have children and a happy home, my lady. It is time that the curse of Malchester was laid to rest.’
‘Andrew told me not to tell you about that,’ the dowager said as they walked home, their serving women three steps behind them, carrying the empty baskets and the villagers’ gifts. ‘But you would have learned of it today had you not before, Catherine.’
‘I have known from the first,’ Catherine said. ‘At least I knew that the Marchioness of Malchester died in a fire because her husband drove her mad, but I did not know there was supposed to be a curse.’ She smiled at her mother-in-law. ‘Say nothing of it to Andrew or he will think it is the curse that caused me to fall from poor Frosty last evening.’
The dowager looked at her oddly. ‘You take it very lightly, Catherine. Did you not think it strange that your horse had a thorn beneath its saddle—and why did that slide off so easily? The straps must have given way or broken.’
‘That is strange, for it was a wedding gift,’ Catherine said. ‘I do not know how it could have happened, Elspeth—unless…’ Catherine shivered and glanced round. She felt as if there was someone watching, listening to her, but could see no one other than the two serving women they had taken with them. ‘No, I do not believe in curses. I shall not let village superstition make me uneasy. Besides, curses are meant to be broken, do you not think so?’
Elspeth narrowed her gaze. ‘Do not mock what you do not understand, Catherine. I knew of a witch once. Her name was Naomi and I believe it was she who nursed your mother back to health when she was very ill. Such women exist, though their calling is a dangerous one, for they can be condemned to a fearful death.’
‘I have heard of wise women. Mother used to visit one for medicines sometimes, but she said it was merely the learning of nature and that the woman was harmless. I do not think I am cursed, for I have all that I could wish for.’ She smiled at her mother-in-law. ‘I am looking forward to Christ’s Mass and the friends we shall invite to celebrate it with us.’
‘Well, if you are happy, I shall not believe it either,’ the dowager said. ‘But we should hurry, for the sky looks black, Catherine. I think there will be a heavy snowfall before this night is done.’
‘I am sorry I cannot lie with you this night,’ Catherine told Andrew as they sat together after supper that evening. ‘I was in great pain this morning, but Elspeth made me her tisane and I think it was even better than the one my mother used to make for me. I was well enough by the afternoon to walk to the village. Everyone was so pleased to see us, Andrew, and I was given many gifts in return for mine.’
‘I am glad that you had a good afternoon,’ he said. ‘You are looking a little tired, my love. I shall come to say goodnight, and I may look in on you as you sleep, but I shall not stay in your bed, for you must wish to rest.’
‘It would not disturb me if you stayed,’ Catherine said, but she knew it was not the custom for husbands to sleep the whole night in their wife’s chamber, and at this time of the month they usually slept alone. ‘But I know that you often work at night, for sometimes when you leave me I wake.’
‘I am sorry if I wake you,’ Andrew told her. ‘I always try not to disturb you when I rise, but I seldom sleep for long. I am restless once I wake, and there is so much work here that I use the hours of darkness to write my ledgers.’
‘I would have it no different,’ Catherine told him with a smile. ‘You must come and go as you please, Andrew. My door will never be closed to you at any time.’
‘I have never known a loving family,’ Andrew said and looked thoughtful. ‘If sometimes I seem to close off to you, it is merely that I have been in the habit of keeping my own thoughts. You do know that I care for you deeply, Catherine?’
‘Yes, I know it,’ she said. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall seek my bed now, for I am tired. I have asked for another tisane and I shall drink it when I go up; it will help me to sleep.’
‘Has the pain come back again?’
‘Yes, it has,’ Catherine admitted. ‘I shall probably sleep very soon, but come to say goodnight if you wish.’
‘I shall not be long,’ he replied and stood up. He reached out, drawing her closer to kiss her softly on the lips. ‘You may dream in safety, my love. I have set guards about the house. No one will come to disturb your sleep.’
She wrinkled her brow. ‘Do you think someone tampered with my saddle, Andrew?’
‘Yes, I am almost certain the strap was frayed so that it would give way as you rode.’ He frowned as she turned pale. ‘I can only think of one person who might try to harm us, Catherine. The Earl of Ronchester hates me for outwitting him and revealing his wickedness to the King. I do not know how he got into your chamber that night, and I have no idea how he tampered with your saddle, but perhaps he has someone in his pay.’
‘Not one of our servants,’ Catherine said, looking concerned. ‘It may be him…’ She hesitated, then, ‘I sensed someone watching as we walked home from the village just before dusk. We were longer than I expected and it was too dark to see into the trees, but I did feel that someone was in the woods as we skirted them.’
‘It must be Ronchester,’ Andrew said. ‘I suspected my mother of spite towards y
ou, but she has no reason to wish you dead—indeed, you are her only hope of reconciliation, for I should have sent her packing the first day she arrived. I can only think that somehow Ronchester has found us and is determined on harming you to punish me.’
‘Would it hurt you very badly if he succeeded?’
‘Do you not know the answer to that?’ Andrew asked. He gazed down at her lovely face. ‘Surely you must know that you mean everything to me, Catherine?’
‘I felt it, but you have never told me that you love me,’ Catherine said, her eyes bright with the joy she felt surging within her. ‘Is it so indeed, my husband?’
‘You must know it, Catherine. When we lie together—everything I do is for you, your happiness. I never expected or wanted to love as I love you. I did not think it was possible to feel like this for another, but the love I bear you grows stronger every day we are together. You are my beautiful wife, and I adore you.’
‘Then I am the most fortunate of women,’ Catherine said and laughed softly in her throat. ‘I was ready to fight Lady Henrietta for you. I know she hoped to take you from me, but I would not have let her win easily.’
‘I gathered she was smarting from an encounter with you the other evening,’ Andrew said with a grin. ‘I am afraid I may have made her quite angry, because I told her that in my eyes you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.’
‘Tell me, did you ever love her?’
‘No. She was my mistress for a time. I found her charming then and she is beautiful in her own way—but she is the moon compared to the sun, Catherine. Her beauty pales before yours as far as I am concerned, because your beauty is as much of the soul as the flesh. I think I began to love you the first moment I saw you at the fair. I did not know you then, but I thought you special. When I discovered you were the daughter of Lord Melford I believed it best to try and forget you, because of the feud between our families—but Fate decreed otherwise. Had the King not commanded us to wed, it was my intention to court you, my love. I was angry at first, because you seemed so distressed after our wedding, and I thought that perhaps you did not wish to wed me.’
