Mistress to the Crown (9 page)

He demolished one and took a bite of the other. ‘So how long have you been married?’

‘Since I was twelve.’

‘Any whelps?’

‘Whelps?’

‘Children. I have five princesses, two princes and at least two bastards.’ He thought about it. ‘No, more, I daresay.’

‘I haven’t any, your grace.’

‘What, none?’ He thumbed the crumbs from his lips. ‘No … no …’ A languid flourish of fingers sufficed as though the word for stillbirth was only for a woman’s use.

‘No, your highness, I believe I was wed too soon.’

He frowned, his eyes sympathetic. ‘Happened to Lady Margaret Beaufort, the Countess of Richmond. Not even fourteen when she birthed her son, Henry Tudor. Tudor, heard of him, yes? Lives on crumbs from the Count of Brittany’s trenchers. She never had any more progeny, thank the Lord.’ He had a most heartrending smile, I discovered, and he was using it on me now. ‘Does it sadden you, Mistress Shore?’

It? Being barren?

‘Not any more, your highness. I am happy to go down on all fours and play bears with my friends’ children, but at the end of the day I am content to hand them back.’

‘All fours?’ he echoed wickedly, laughter breeding with speculation in his expression and I could see he was imagining – O Jesu!

‘I growl very fiercely,’ I said quickly, hoping that he could not see my blushes. He really was sinfully attractive.

‘Oh, do you?’

The neighbourhood bells tolled six and I was still in the lion’s den. Children would have been a useful excuse to leave.

The King of England read my mind. ‘Curfew is three hours hence.’
Wriggle out of that
, his expression told me.

‘Yes, your highness, but it is later than when I met Lord Hastings before and my husband—’

‘Is of no consequence, Will tells me.’

‘I am sorry,’ I murmured, rising to my feet, and again shaking the crumbs from my skirts. ‘I have the cakes to deliver … to the poor, otherwise …’

His highness stood up as if out of courtesy but his lower lip betrayed displeasure. Then he twisted, retrieved the bolster and, holding it against his body with one arm, sensuously slid his other hand down it. ‘I thought we might …’ A jerk of his head towards the bed finished the question. At least it
was
a question.

I shook my head treasonously and Lord knows what else of me shook. Oh yes, my senses were stirred. Not just his handsome looks but the aura of power had me wondrously thrilled.

The bolster was flung aside with a deliberate menace. I briskly picked up my basket and hugged it to my waist. There was no way I could withstand him if he chose to stop me leaving so I stood there, my chin raised defiantly. It was his decision.

Tight, calculating tucks appeared in his cheeks. King Edward was watching me as though I was his assailant in the combat yard; all I had was basketwork. I clasped it tighter to my waist and stared up at him defiantly, my heartbeat frantic.

A woman shrieked playfully outside. The floorboards creaked lightly as she ran across them. Heavier footsteps chased her. A guffaw of laughter. A door opening. No one would care if I screamed, and what difference would it make? The hawks outside were probably royal servants on subtle sentry duty.

At a loss in this impasse, I primly pulled the napkin back over the remaining cakes like a diligent housewife, without taking my eyes from my antagonist, and suddenly, mercifully, the swords between us were lowered. The King’s cheeks grew full again, a smile grew and grew and then he laughed.

I took one step towards the door but his voice snapped out like a whip. ‘The King has not given you leave, Mistress Shore.’

I looked around. ‘Does he need to?’ I chided gently.

‘By the Devil,’ he murmured, but it was amusement not arrogance that graced his face. ‘Yes he does. Before you utterly devastate me by leaving, let us just get matters straight.’

I swallowed, glanced at the door, and then back at him, put down my basket and gave a shallow curtsy.

‘Thank you,’ he said sarcastically. The large gems on his pale hands flashed in the candlelight as he made a steeple of his fingers. ‘Now let me understand this aright. You will lie with Will but not with me?’
Even though I am your king, younger and better looking
, the lift of eyebrows seemed to be saying.

I nodded, more apprehensive than ever. Apparently the bell had sounded for the second bout.

He swayed forward slightly but I did not dare recoil. I was not going to let him close me in with the bed at my back.

‘You do confound me, Mistress Shore,’ he murmured. ‘I understood that your liaison with my chamberlain is for the purpose of … education?’

These two men had discussed me? Curse it! As what? A silly hen ripe for plucking?

‘Th–that is t-true, your highness. I wanted to find out …’ I bit my lip, horrified at what he must believe about me. ‘It is most … most generous of you to offer to … to further the tuition but thank you, no.’

I curtsied, trying to hide my hurt. It was as if God had tipped burning oil upon my soul. Hastings had betrayed me. I was nothing but a jest.

‘Kings rarely make
offers
except to other royalty,’ he replied with hauteur. He strode from me and turned, his voice growing dryer with each syllable: ‘Kings tend to make commands.’

How should I escape him? Sweet Mother of God! I could hardly argue that I was virtuous.

‘It shames me that Lord Hastings told you of my circumstances, your highness.’

‘But you have signed an indenture with him and must keep loyal. Poor Mistress Shore, alas, how terrifying the consequences if you disobey. No doubt Hastings will slap my face with his glove on his return and slit my throat in fury. You’ll probably be hanged in one of your pretty garters.’

It was belittling.

‘I thank your grace most honestly for supper.’ I curtsied deeply.

He inclined his head haughtily. ‘Go, then.’

‘Please,’ I said to the King of England, and proffered my basket. ‘Would you like to take these back to the palace for your children?’

‘Where have you been?’ growled Shore, as I came in through the yard door.

‘Taking cakes to the poor.’ To a man poor in humility! God have mercy! What a fool I’d proved. I must be the laughing stock of Westminster.

‘Without a basket?’

‘Oh bother, I left the cursed thing behind.’ Was my face scarlet?

‘Tell me where you left it and ah’ll send one of the boys.’ By his tone, he was determined to make a liar of me.

‘Lordy, I cannot remember.’ I turned away, tucking my waistcloth into my belt.

‘Like that, is it? ’

I closed my eyes, knowing the lid was off the seething pot. Was truth the best way, slid in cleanly like a dagger rather than administered in a slow poison? But it was he who astonished me. I knew all week that he had something on his mind and here at last came confession.

‘There’s summat ah have to tell you, wife. There was this cherrylips came into the shop last week when ah was serving on my own. Tricked out in finery she was like a real lady. She swished abaht in her furs and trinkets, and when she’d made her choice, she offered to pay for t’cloth by spreadin’ her legs. Ah said, yes, but she’d better be quick. Anyroad, ah locked the door and led her to t’stairs so as no one could see us from the street. She bared her breasts and eased her skirts slowly above her thigh. Had me in a raight sweat …’

Please Heaven, it never rose, I prayed, imagining my argument for a divorce evaporating with Shore’s resurrection. ‘Did you …’

‘No, No, damn it, ah could not manage it, even with her! Christ!’ He smote so hard upon the board that the inkpot jumped and then he grabbed the alejack and hurled it furiously at the wall. I stared open mouthed at the liquid, pale as urine, trickling down the whitewash.

He was breathing hard, staring at me like a cornered beast. I feared he might strike me. His mouth arced into an ugly loop of pain and tight slits of skin swallowed his eyes. ‘O Jesu, Jesu, Jesu!’ He sank to his knees, cradling his ribs and began an anguished keening.

I flung myself on my knees and drew him to me. ‘There, there!’ I soothed, stifling his howls against my bosom. I rocked him until the shudders ceased.

‘Ah’m so sorry, Elizabeth,’ he sobbed. ‘All these years. Ah’m so sorry.’ He tried to pull away but I held him fast.

‘There is more to a man than his prick, William Shore. The whole world knows that. You should not judge yourself so cruelly.’

‘But ah’m no true man. I am cursed by God.’

‘Then we both are, William.’

Still reeling from Hastings’ betrayal, I needed a few moments to grasp the implications of Shore’s confession. He was no longer blaming me for not giving him a child. I was unsaddled at last. No more guilt to carry like a weary packhorse.

‘There is something I should tell
you,’
I said, holding by his sleeves so he could not pull away. ‘I went with another man.’ His reaction was a fierce start to free himself but I held on. ‘So, you see, you must forgive me also. Two weeks ago for the first time. Just once. I wanted to know what it was like.’

‘An’ what was it like?’

‘It was satisfactory. There was no commitment.’

‘Yer tuphead,’ he snarled. ‘Dinna you make sure he was … clean?’

My heart lurched. Whore’s pox as well as a broken heart? By Heaven, I hoped not.

‘Can you forgive me, William?’

His face was as chill as a Derby winter. ‘Does it matter if ah can’t?’

VII

‘You ignored my messengers.’ Hastings came striding up into my solar. It was the first time he had visited upstairs. He sounded peevish, great lord peevish. Not a surprise; I had ignored three notes and two nosegays. Shore followed him in, mumbling about broadcloth.

‘Broadcloth, be damned!’ The Lord Chamberlain neatly slammed the door in my husband’s face. Then he opened it again. ‘Oh, Hell take it! Forgive the discourtesy, Shore. I thank you for your offer of assistance but pray don’t let me detain you. My steward will deal with the order.’ He waited until my stunned husband was downstairs before he dropped the latch. ‘
Well
?’

‘My lord.’ I rose from my curtsy, smoothed my skirts and looked up at him with my best businesslike face. ‘There was intervention.’

The frost melted slightly. He folded his arms and his elegant black sleeves flashed their amber taffeta linings.

‘Him?’ A condescending jerk of head towards the door

‘No, my lord, your friend, the one who charged in on us.’

‘That friend! I see. My abrupt departure annoyed you!’ He tossed his hat onto the small table and surprisingly donned the
manner of sackcloth and ashes. ‘Well, I cannot blame you and I do apologise, but the Breton diplomats were anxious to sign the treaty and get back to Duke Francis.’

‘Your pardon, I did not understand that at the time.’ I poured him out some wine in a forgiving fashion.

He grinned sheepishly at me across the rim of our best goblet. ‘Just as well “my friend” interrupted, my luscious Elizabeth. I do not think I could have managed a fourth coupling.’ At least he had remembered the other three. ‘Anyway, I ask you to excuse my friend’s churlish manners. Sometimes he needs a boot on his arse.’

‘Do you bow, my lord, before you kick him?’

My question caused a little silence. He chewed his cheeks before he answered.

‘Ah. Clever of you to realise.’

‘I didn’t, my lord. Until I had a command from you to meet me at Gerrard’s Hall. Except you did not arrive, he did.’

Although Hastings seemed to be considering the revelation, I wondered if he had already known. ‘I see,’ he murmured with the cool worldliness that was still so alien to me, ‘and I daresay my “friend” usurped my favour with you.’

Such a conclusion mightily annoyed me. The bed-swapping habits of the palace might be commonplace to him but they were unacceptable to me.

‘He did not usurp anything, my lord, save two little oatcakes. I declined his request.’

Hastings’ beautiful eyes widened and emotion returned to his face, even if it was merely surprise. ‘Is my hearing amiss, Elizabeth?
You
said “no” to the King?’

‘Of course,’ I exclaimed passionately. ‘I do have some honour.’ Did he think of me only as fresh city meat? ‘I assure you I am no whore to be prancing in and out of gentlemen’s beds.’

‘Just so.’ His mouth was a grave slash now. Oh, such a diplomat,
shifting position to accommodate my vehemence. A token flurry of jealousy would have been more acceptable. ‘Was that your only reason, Elizabeth?’

‘I felt some loyalty to you, my lord.’
Some –
my fledgling attempt at Westminster nonchalance. ‘Please do not mistake me,’ I added swiftly to reassure him that I was not infatuated. ‘I certainly do not seek to put any obligation on you. We had an agreement – just you and I.’

‘Elizabeth, I hope you are not thinking that I put his grace up to this?’

‘No, of course not,’ I lied, resolving to sieve my feelings later. ‘He—’ I cleared my throat. ‘His highness explained you were at Ashleigh.’

‘Ashby,’ he corrected. ‘My castle at Ashby-de-la-Zouch.’ His hand rose in a flourish as to how I should find it. ‘West of Leicester.’

‘Oh, west,’ I echoed dryly.

‘We were celebrating my stepdaughter’s name day. I bought the jewelled girdle for her, remember?’

‘Yes.’ I was not a jealous person but I felt it now. Unreasonable of me. I desired his affection. But I had no right. I did not own him. What else had I expected?

‘Cecily was introduced to her future husband.’ With a scowl, he took a sweet wafer from the platter and carried his goblet to the window, where he stood, his back turned. With King Edward active on the board, perhaps, like me, he was uncertain of the next move in this game of seduction.
If there was a next move?
At the moment, trust lay between us like a bleeding corpse.

His fidelity was a matter of geography. I must accept that. And did Lady Katherine up at Ashby accept that? By Heaven, if his marriage vows could be bent, what rules
did
he play by? His loyalty to his king? Was that the only standard in his world? If King Edward said, ‘Give me that bread you are eating, that ring
from your finger, that woman you are escrewing!’ Did he ever refuse? If his royal master wanted to sample Lady Cecily, his stepdaughter, what then?