A Dangerous Inheritance (39 page)

“Enough!” the Queen bawls. “Get ye hence, girl, and do not show your face here again until I command it, on pain of my severe displeasure. Go!”

I rise to my feet and, dropping the scantiest of curtsies, flee from her presence. And then I wait … and wait … and wait. What will my fate be? How many laws have I broken in speaking thus to my sovereign? Was it treason, or bordering on it? Yes, I was right in what I said—but I wish now, oh, I wish that I had borne that slap patiently and never opened my mouth.

I have ruined everything. I have irrevocably offended the Queen’s Majesty, and will surely suffer for it. Was there ever such a wretch as I? Yes, of course there was, I realize with horror: my poor sister Jane. Memories of her awful fate haunt me. Will I be next?

Bishop de Quadra seeks me out as I walk with my dogs, alone and shunned by the courtiers, in St. James’s Park. But before he can speak, I challenge him.

“By God, Bishop, what is this I hear about you trying to kidnap me?”

He looks disconcerted but quickly recovers himself.

“That is a strong word, my lady. You have clearly been misinformed. Rest assured that Spain would never do anything without your consent.”

“But I am assured that there was a conspiracy to marry me to the Infante Don Carlos.”

“Such a match was mooted,” he admits. “His Majesty has only ever sought to make a good and beneficial marriage between your ladyship and a great Catholic prince. It has now been suggested that his nephew, the Archduke Ferdinand, would be more worthy of your consideration. Don Carlos will be King of Spain one day, and must remain in that kingdom. Your ladyship, once Queen of England, must live here. The Archduke has no ties, and can remain at your side. His Majesty remembers the difficulties that arose when he was married to Queen Mary, and wishes them to be avoided in the future.” He pauses. “Am I
right in thinking that you are unhappy at court and would leave willingly? His Majesty would provide a remedy and a refuge.”

“I will think on this,” I murmur, mollified, but uneasily aware that this conversation might be treasonous. And although I can see the political sense in what the Bishop is offering, and am flattered at the prospect of such a great match, my heart is Ned’s, and can be Ned’s alone.

“I am sorry to see you looking so downcast, Lady Katherine,” de Quadra says. “I have heard about your quarrel with the Queen. You were brave to speak out—yet a little rash, if I may say so. But the Queen’s wrath never lasts long, I am told.”

“I wish I could believe that,” I tell him. “She has always hated me.”

“She hates you because she fears you, my lady, and with good reason. In my master’s view, you would make a more desirable queen than she.”

“You must not say that to me,” I reprimand him. “It is treason, no less.” But my heart is leaping. My friends in Spain, who have caused me so much trouble, may yet find a way to champion my cause.

Bishop de Quadra looks consideringly at me. “If any disaster were to befall the Queen, my master would support your claim, by force of arms, if need be.”

I stare at him. I had not imagined that Spain felt so strongly about my succession. And for the first time in weeks, my spirits begin to soar.

February 1484, Palace of Westminster

King Richard was reading in his carved box chair when Kate arrived in the privy chamber and made her curtsey. Queen Anne was present too, in her usual place by the fire, swathed in furs.

Her father smiled, laid down his book, and held out his arms, and Kate went into them, hating herself for ever having doubted him.

“I have very good news for you, Kate,” he announced. “You are to be married!”

Her heart pounding, she clapped her hand to her mouth. “I thank Your Grace!” she cried. “It is what I have longed for.” There were tears in her eyes.

Richard looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then his smile faded.

“Ah, daughter, you think it is my lord of Lincoln, but I am afraid he is not the lucky man. No, you are to be wed to the Earl of Huntingdon.”

“No!” She could not stop herself. She had been schooled to obedience since birth, and taught that her father’s word was law, and her father was also her King, so she owed him a double duty—but she was ready to defy him in this. Forsake John for a stranger? She would rather die!

The King took her hands. “No?” he said gently. “That is not the reaction I expected from my dutiful daughter when I have provided carefully for her future.” It was a reproof, but a kindly one.

“It is not your place to question your father’s decision, Kate,” Anne added.

Kate was trembling. “Sire, you knew I wished to wed my cousin of Lincoln.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Her father looked pained. “I thought I had warned you not to think of marriage with him. You are my daughter, and your marriage must be made for policy. This match with the Earl of Huntingdon is a brilliant one for you, and much to my advantage—and yours. You will be a countess, a great lady—it is a union I would have sought for my trueborn daughter, if I had one.”

“But I love John!” Kate burst out. “I can never love the Earl of Huntingdon!”

Her father’s face darkened, but Anne came over and took her hand.

“Listen, Kate,” she enjoined. “It is the duty of a wife to love her lord, once she is married. You must try as hard as you can. No good can come of falling in love where you will; you must see that now. My lord of Lincoln is a charming young man, but you are too close in blood.”

The King spoke. “Knowing that there was goodwill between you
and my nephew, I did sound out his father on the matter of a marriage between you. He said he would not forbid it if I wanted it, but he was unhappy about the consanguinity, and he does have another bride in mind for his son.”

Of course, she had known that, but she knew too that the duke had a deeper reservation, one he would never have dared voice to her father. Her distress was unbearable; she was now weeping so copiously that Richard and Anne were quite concerned about her.

“Kate, he is not for you,” Anne said gently, putting an arm around her heaving shoulders and proffering her own kerchief.

“Nay, because I am baseborn!” Kate cried. “That is the real reason why his father does not want the marriage!”

Richard looked stricken. “That cannot be so,” he protested. “It is an honor for any man to marry the daughter of the King, baseborn or not. And the Earl of Huntingdon is sensible of it. He has long admired you from afar. My lord of Suffolk has good cause to object to the match—but that is not my only consideration. Far more important are the benefits that this marriage with Huntingdon will bring. Will you let me explain?”

Kate’s nod was barely perceptible. She dabbed her eyes but could not stop shuddering. Then the King began speaking.

William Herbert, he said, was twenty-eight years old. (Old, she thought, too old!) His father and namesake had been one of the most powerful supporters of the House of York, for which he had fought valiantly during the late wars. After his accession, Edward IV had given the older Herbert high offices in south Wales, made him a baron, and granted him Pembroke Castle and many other strongholds and manors.

Lord Herbert had vanquished the Welsh Tudors, who had fought for the House of Lancaster, and soon he was given their earldom of Pembroke. After that, the King related, he was the effective ruler of all Wales. His friend, King Edward, had entrusted him with the wardship of young Henry Tudor, who had spent his early years in Herbert’s care at Raglan Castle, the family’s chief seat.

“This Earl of Pembroke had started out as a humble squire,” Richard
said, “but within a decade he had become one of the greatest lords in the kingdom. And it was well deserved, for he had rendered loyal and excellent service to our house.”

Kate could not see what the career of this paragon had to do with her marriage, but she ventured no comment and sat there silently grappling with her misery, and trying to focus on what her father was saying.

“Your future husband grew up during these years. He was knighted at the age of eleven, created Baron Dunster, and married to the Queen’s sister, Mary Wydeville.”

Kate could tell by her father’s tone that he had not approved. But what stirred her interest slightly was that Huntingdon had been married before.

“What was she like, this Mary Wydeville?” she asked.

Her father looked at her hopefully. He was thinking that she was coming around to the idea of this marriage. But she was merely curious.

“In faith, I do not know,” he said. “There were so many Wydeville sisters. She cannot have been at court long before she was taken as a bride to Raglan.”

As I shall be, Kate thought desperately. God, where is Raglan? In some Welsh mountain fastness? No! Never!

“Lady Huntingdon has been dead for two years. She left one daughter, Elizabeth, who is the earl’s sole heir.”

And no doubt he seeks a brood mare to provide him with sons! Kate could not contain her bitterness. Well, he can look elsewhere. I will never wed him.

“That has not been the only sadness in Huntingdon’s life,” Richard was saying. “Alas, in 1469, his gallant father, Pembroke, was captured by the Lancastrians at Edgecote Moor. They beheaded him at Northampton. His son, your future betrothed, then tried to establish his authority in Wales, but he was very young, and without the experience of his father. His rule was not effective, and the Herbert influence declined. He was unable to prevent Henry Tudor’s uncle, Jasper, from seizing the boy from Raglan Castle and escaping with him to France.”

None of this sounded much like a recommendation. William Herbert had suffered tragedy, yes, but he was clearly not the man his father had been.

“The young earl served King Edward loyally, both in Wales and during the war with France,” Richard continued. “Five years ago he agreed to surrender his earldom of Pembroke to the King in exchange for the earldom of Huntingdon; King Edward wanted the Pembroke lands to come under the authority of his son, the Prince of Wales, and his Council of the Marches. He desired to build up the authority of the prince in those parts. It was a judicious plan.”

It sounded, thought Kate, a fair exchange, and William Herbert’s readiness to agree to it proclaimed his loyalty. But that could not make her love him! She could never love anyone other than John; and at the thought of him, the tears welled again. She fought to hold them back.

“It is in recent months that my lord of Huntingdon has proved his worth,” Richard told her. “He served as my Chief Justice and Commissioner of Array in south Wales during Buckingham’s rebellion, and he held the area for the crown against the rebels. For that, I have handsomely rewarded him, as he deserves, with high offices in Wales and made him my chief lieutenant there in Buckingham’s place. My daughter, your new husband is a virtual king in that country; he is my deputy, and as such enjoys much power and influence.”

“I am sure the earl is a worthy man,” she said dully.

“He is indeed. If he were not, I would not have made him secretary and chamberlain to your brother the prince. And his marriage to you will cement his loyalty. That is of prime importance, for I have need of men like him at this time. I will bestow you with a rich dowry and make a generous settlement on you both. Above all, Kate, you have an eager bridegroom! All that is wanting is your consent.”

He regarded her with raised eyebrows. He was her father. He thought he had provided well for her. How could she refuse him?

Anne knelt beside her. “It is an excellent match for you, Kate. You should be grateful to your father. It would be kind of you to show it.”

“I am grateful for your care for me,” Kate said tearfully. “Do not think me ungrateful. But, oh sire, this is not the husband I wanted!”

“Now you see what happens when young folks are let to follow their foolish hearts,” the King muttered to Anne. “It is good-bye to God, good order, and all. I was a fool myself to permit her to associate with Lincoln. I did warn her of the difficulties, and they are well-nigh insurmountable. I had no idea, Kate, that there was such goodwill between you both; and when Huntingdon showed himself willing, I thought you would be pleased.”

When Huntingdon showed himself willing?
Her father must have broached the marriage himself, must have offered her as security for the earl’s loyalty, for it would be a testing job holding Buckingham’s disaffected heartlands. And that generous dowry and settlement—well, it would have to be generous, wouldn’t it, to compensate for her bastard status? Because whatever the King said, his baseborn daughter was no great prize in the marriage market. The reaction of John’s father had shown her that. Come to think of it, she had never heard of any other royal bastards making a brilliant match. John was forever forbidden to her, and Huntingdon had been bribed to take her. The realization was like a leaden weight in her heart.

“Some fathers would have beaten you for defying them,” Anne chided, taking her sullen silence for mutiny. “Be grateful yours is a kindly one. But kind or not, you must obey him. And think, Kate: you will be mistress of a great household. Raglan Castle is a fine and famous residence, I hear, built in a lavish style.”

“But it is in Wales!” Kate sobbed, breaking down again. “It is far from you and my father and from—everything I hold dear. I would never see you …”

The King spoke gently. “Kate, at some stage, every child must leave its father and mother and cleave to the spouse God has chosen for it. That is what Holy Scripture teaches us. You will have a husband to compensate, and children too, I pray. They will be your life. And you shall visit us at court, and mayhap my journeyings will take me into Wales. In the meantime, we can write to each other. Now, I ask for your consent to this marriage. Will you freely give it?”

She knew herself trapped. If she was to retain her father’s love and goodwill, she must obey him and take this man he had chosen for her.
To refuse would only arouse his ire, and anyway, she had no choice. A father’s word was law—as was the King’s.

“I will,” she whispered, and again burst into tears.