by Jean Plaidy
Then she went to a turret window to watch.
It was as she had known it would be as soon as she had seen the royal standard approaching.
The Scots were fleeing in disorder and the King was ready to enter the castle.
She gave orders that the drawbridge should be lowered; and as he rode across it she was waiting to greet him.
He dismounted and came towards her.
She made a deep curtsey and lifted her grateful eyes to his. ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘welcome. My heart is too full to give you thanks just now.’
The King did not speak. He continued to look at her. His eyes were intensely blue she noticed; he was more handsome than hearsay had made him.
She stood up and their eyes met. Still he did not speak. He seemed bemused. She repeated her thanks.
Then he said slowly : ‘Lady, I am at your service ... now ... and always. Never in my life did I see a lady as beautiful as you.’
‘My lord is gracious,’ she answered. ‘May I conduct you into the castle which your timely rescue has saved for my husband.’
He did not seem to hear her and she walked beside him into the castle.
Edward, bemused, dazzled, told himself that having seen this perfect woman nothing could ever be the same for him again.
* * *
Wark was not the finest of the country’s castles. It was indeed primitive compared with the grandeur of those to which Edward was accustomed. But he was not aware of it. He could only think of the beautiful Countess. Her fine abundant hair, the contours of her face, the small waist, the dignity of her walk, her elegance.
The Countess was uneasy. She had been afraid of capture and what would happen to her at the hands of the rough Scots, but now a new fear had come to her. She realized what had happened more quickly than Edward did, for she had aroused similar emotions many times before. When ‘William was with her, he could protect her, but William was now a prisoner in Europe and this was the King.
‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I fear we cannot entertain you here at Wark in the manner to which you are accustomed.’
‘There is nowhere I would rather be at this time than in Wark,’ he answered.
He did not notice that the place was little more than a fortress. He knew these buildings, hardly worthy of the name of castle. They had been built by the Normans nearly three hundred years ago and never been improved on since. There was the hall with its high vaulted roof and the rooms were small cell-like places set along the outer walls.
‘I will conduct you to the room I have hastily had prepared for you. It is small, I fear, but the best in the house. You will not find it unbearably cold I trust ...’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘that I shall find it to my liking.’
‘My husband will want to thank you for what you have done for us this day.’
He did not answer. She saw the slight frown on his brow which increased her dismay.
‘My lord, if you will give me permission to leave you I will go to the kitchens to make sure that the best we can offer is laid before you.’
His eyes had never left her. She thought: I must get away. She curtseyed again and this time he took her hand and kissed it.
His lips were hot and fierce on her skin.
God help me, she prayed.
She withdrew her hand and to her amazement he had released it. Then without looking back she turned and ran from the room.
* * *
She went to a room on the other side of the castle. There she stood for a while leaning against the door.
I must be wrong, she told herself. It could not be. William had always talked about his devotion to Philippa. If only William were here!
It was early evening. There was the rest of the day to live through and then he would retire to the room she had prepared ... her room ... the only one fit to offer to the King.
She would sleep as far from him as possible.
There was no bolt to this door. She would choose another room.
Absurd precaution. It was not so. It could not be so.
‘The King is devoted to the Queen,’ William had said that again and again.
‘And he never looks at other women?’ she had asked.
‘He looks. He has a certain fancy for them. He told me once that except when he must discuss going into battle or state matters he preferred the company of women. He says they are wiser in many ways and he likes so much to look at them. Yet he is the most faithful husband in the country. He loved Philippa the moment he saw her and she follows him into battle so that she is never far away.’
Oh Philippa, thought the Countess, where are you now?
But it is a mistake, she assured herself. I imagine this. He has just driven off the enemy. He is overjoyed to have routed the Scots. He is pleased with me because I have given him an opportunity of doing this and being chivalrous it pleases him to help a lady in distress.
There. That was the explanation.
It must be the explanation.
* * *
Alone Edward sat on the bed. Her bed. He knew she had given him her room. The previous night she would have slept here.
He had never seen anyone like her. Naturally he had not. There was no one like her.
What perfections! He noticed many women, beautiful women, women with whom he would have liked to make love. Oddly enough, in spite of his position which would have meant even easier conquests than his outstanding good looks would have brought him, he had abstained from indulgence. Often using great restraint.
Always he thought of Philippa. There was something about Philippa which had made him loath to betray her trust in him. A sweet simplicity which had attracted him from the first. A gentleness, a kindness, a homeliness. No one could have been a better wife to him.
But never before this day had he been confronted by a goddess. For that was what Catharine Montacute seemed to him. Her beauty was blinding. Why had William not told him? Obviously because he wanted to keep her to himself. Why had William not brought her to Court? Ah, that was clear enough. He would have been the same if he had been in William’s place.
For the first time he was glad that William was a prisoner.
He was amazed at himself. He could not stop it. A raging desire had taken possession of him. He had been a good husband; he had never strayed from his marriage bed. But then he had never met Catharine Montacute before today.
She had changed everything. All his good resolutions had fled. This urgent need of her was fighting his conscience, subduing it, destroying it.
He had no conscience. He had only his desire for this woman.
Someone was at the door. He did not see them.
They had come to help him dress for soon he would go down to the great hall where they were doing their best to set forth a feast worthy of a king.
* * *
The table was ready; the knights were entering the hall. The King was not among them. His squire said that he had left Edward deep in thought and he had not even answered when he had reminded him that it was time to descend to the hall.
‘I think, my lady,’ said the squire, ‘that he awaits your coming that you may escort him to your table.’
It was indeed an old custom and with misgivings Catharine went to that bedchamber which had recently been hers.
She knocked on the door and the King himself opened it. When he saw her a smile of great delight spread over his face. He took her hand and drew her into the room shutting the door after them.
She saw that he was as he had been when he arrived and had not removed all of his armour.
She said: ‘My lord, I must leave you to take off your armour that you may come down unencumbered to our simple meal.’
‘I have thought a great deal since you left me,’ he said. ‘I have thought of nothing but you ... and of myself ... and of what this meeting means to me.’
‘My lord, it has meant my rescue and I am sure my lord of Salisbury will bless you for ever for what you have done fo
r his lady this day.’
‘I was not thinking of him,’ said the King. ‘He has been your husband. That is reward enough for any man. Nay, I would think of you and me. For this day that has happened to me which has never happened before. I have met the most gracious and most beautiful lady in the world and to tell the truth I find I love her with all my heart.’
She smiled, pretending to treat the matter lightly. ‘My lord shows his gallantry in speech as well as in actions. You speak kindly of me and now I would show you what we have prepared for you to eat for I am sure you must be suffering from hunger.’
‘I hunger for one thing only, lady. For you.’
‘There are hungry men below, my lord, and they cannot start without your presence.’
‘Let them wait. I can wait no longer to tell you that your beautiful face, your perfections, your manners have so affected me that I cannot know another moment’s peace until you tell me that you do not look unkindly on me.’
‘How could a faithful subject look unkindly upon her King.’ ‘I do not wish this subject to look upon her King but on her lover.’
‘My lord, you amuse yourself thus, but I pray you, consider this. Your presence in this room and mine with you will give rise to gossip. It may be that your good Queen will hear of it and be much distressed.’
The mention of Philippa affected him a little, she saw; but he would not be diverted from his purpose.
‘I beg of you,’ she said, ‘come to our table.’
‘We will talk more of this later,’ he said.
‘Yes, yes,’ she answered, for she knew that she must get away
from this small room, away from those ardent eyes, the eager straying hands.
‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I will return to my guests and tell them that you will join us in a few moments.’
With that she escaped.
* * *
He was silent during the meal but everyone noticed that he could not take his eyes from the lady of the castle.
He must be entertained of course in accordance with the custom and it was Catharine who must sing and play the lute for him.
He watched her all the time, his eyes bright, his feelings for her obvious for all to see.
He expressed a desire for dancing and she must lead the dance with him beside her.
He held her hand firmly.
He whispered to her: ‘We must be together this night, for I cannot live another hour without you.’
‘I beg of you, my lord,’ she said. ‘Consider what you say.’
‘Of what moment is it ... but to us two.’
‘There are others to consider,’ she answered. ‘My husband, a prisoner in your service, your wife the Queen. My honour and duty to my husband, yours to your country and your family. All your subjects who look to you to set an example. I beg of you, my lord, go from here. Forget me.’
‘You ask the impossible. Do you think I will ever forget you? Do not be cruel to me, lady. I have never wanted anything in my life as I want you. The crown of England, the crown of France, I would give them all up for one night with you.’
She laughed as lightly as she could. ‘And the next go to war to win them back. My lord, I know you well. My husband talked much to me of you. He loves you dearly. Would you betray him when he has become a prisoner in your service?’
‘I would not think of him. I would forbid you to do so.’
‘Not even a king can guide a subject’s thoughts, my lord. I should think of my husband as long as I live.’
‘I shall not rest until you tell me that you love me as I love you. And when a man feels as I do—even if he be the noblest in the land—he will not rest until he has obtained the object of his desire.’
‘And when a woman is determined to maintain her honour until her death she will do so, my lord.’
‘You fill me with despair.’
‘Alas, my lord, I must.’
The dance over, the King expressed his desire to retire and he looked to the lady of the castle to conduct him to his bedchamber.
Catharine took his hand. Now she was afraid for she had seen the resolution in the King’s eyes.
Others had noticed it too.
But the determination in Catharine’s eyes was equally strong.
He drew her into the bedchamber and turning to her put his arms about her.
‘Come, my love,’ he said. ‘Hold off no more.’
She was rigid in his arms and he released her.
‘So you continue to resist?’ he said.
‘My lord, I must, for the sake of mine honour and yours.’
‘Honour beside ...’
She answered for him, ‘Lust.’
‘I call it love,’ he answered.
‘It is not love that comes in a few moments,’ she answered. ‘Not that true love such as I have for my husband and you have for your wife.’
‘I tell you this. There was never one who affected me as deeply as you do.’
‘Nay, my lord. I am a woman like others. You like my face and form. That is all. Of me, the true woman, you know little.’
‘I know that you are as brave as a lion and as stubborn as a mule.’
‘Then, my lord, I beg of you, turn your thoughts from me.’
‘I could take you if I wished. You might protest never so much and none would heed you if it were the King’s pleasure that they did not.’
‘That is true,’ she said, ‘but I know that you never would.’
‘It seems you know as little of me as you say I know of you.’
‘I see in your eyes, my lord, that though you would break your marriage vows and ask me to do the same, you would not violate a woman. You would respect her will for you know full well that gratification you seek would never be yours if you did so and all you would know would be shame.’
‘You are bold, Countess,’ he said.
‘As you are, my lord.’
He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. ‘Methinks I love you more with every passing minute,’ he said.
‘My lord, I will wish you good night. It is better so. You will agree with me. I shall pray to God to preserve you and drive from your noble heart those villainous thoughts which have temporarily possessed it. I am ever ready to serve you as your faithful subject, but only in that which is consistent with your honour and mine.’
She withdrew her hands and opening the door went out. She went to the room which she had selected. She drew the bolt and lay down on the bed. She was exhausted but no longer so fearful.
He would never take her by force so she had nothing to fear. For she would never break her marriage vows.
* * *
Edward left for Berwick next morning.
He was silent and it was clear that his thoughts were far away from the war with Scotland.
He would never be contented again, he told himself. How could he be when Catharine was the wife of another man and he was married to Philippa?
His disloyalty struck him forcibly. He wished that he could stop thinking of Philippa. He could not. She was so much a part of his life, the mother of his beloved children. Yet he would have dismissed her, their children and their life together for Catharine Montacute.
It would not have been like that. He and Catharine could have been lovers and Philippa need never have known anything about it.
The thought made him smile wryly. How many people in Wark last night had slyly noted his obsession? They would be talking of it, whispering of it, nodding their heads over it. They had always marvelled at his fidelity to Philippa.
How noble Catharine had been ! She was the sort of woman who would die for her beliefs and she believed it wrong that he and she should break their marriage vows.
She was not only beautiful, she was peerless. The arch of her eyebrows, the pure line of her profile, the way she held her head ... all this he could see quite clearly and would remember for ever.
If she were his Queen he would be the happiest man on earth.
/> Philippa seemed to stand before him—her calm eyes sorrowful. She would understand of course. Philippa had always understood. Poor Philippa, she had never really been a beauty. He realized that more than ever when he compared her with the incomparable Catherine—plump Philippa, with her shining rosy cheeks and the goodness which was apparent in her very expression! He had always thought he had the best wife in the world ... but now he had seen Catherine.
And so it went on.
He was wretched. He had no heart for the fight. He was tired of the Scottish war. He wanted to go south, to put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible. He would go to France. Fight for his crown there. Sometimes he felt the Scots would never be subdued. They could always retire to their stronghold in the mountains and the strife could go on indefinitely.
There was news from Philippa. She was pregnant again. He should rejoice for he loved his children and could not have too many of them. But the thought of Philippa so disturbed his conscience that he felt more uneasy than ever.
Philippa reminded him that she had heard nothing for some time from their dear sister Eleanor, the wife of the Duke of Gueldres, and as Eleanor had corresponded frequently with her she hoped that was not a bad sign.
It was a relief to let his thoughts stray momentarily from his own affairs. Raynald of Gueldres, his sister’s husband, had been his firm ally in France. It was eight years since Eleanor had married him and she now had two healthy sons and had always appeared to be happy. Of course his sisters had had a very different childhood from that of his children. Perhaps memories of his early days had made him especially tender with his own children. How different his parents had been from himself and Philippa! His father had not been unkind but never interested in them and his mother had cared nothing at all for the girls and only for himself and his brother because of the importance they could be to her. So when Eleanor had gone to Gueldres she had been prepared to adjust herself. She had never been indulged as his own daughters had—particularly Isabella.
There must be some simple reason why she had not written. He was sure all was well in Gueldres.
Philippa’s news had steadied him a little, reminded him of the felicity of his family life so far. Catharine was right. It would have been wrong to disrupt it. Many of his ancestors had had mistresses and it had been considered quite a natural state of affairs. There had even once been a breath of scandal about the Conqueror. His grandfather had been a faithful husband and so had his great grandfather. They had set an example to the family. His own father had disgraced it, but even he had been faithful to his lovers.
