A Rose for the Crown Read online

  A horn’s mournful wail from the opposite direction made her turn her head again only to see two horsemen in hunting garb force their way through the brush and into the clearing. Kate stood clutching Cornflower’s mane for courage. One of the men looked not much older than she and had a crossbow across his knee. The other man, who kept a few paces back, had a deer, several pheasant and a hare slung behind him on the horse. Half a dozen hare hounds, tongues lolling and tails wagging, swarmed around the horses.

  Huntsmen, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief. And, judging by the fine trappings on the horses and the number of greyhounds, from a noble house. The hawk—certes!

  “Ho! I say, Rob! Where the devil . . . oh, there you are!” This rider emerged into the clearing and laughed as he turned his horse to face his friends. He glanced about him and saw the hawk still poised on its prey expectantly, the bell about its ankle giving away its whereabouts. Holding out his heavily gloved arm, he gave a shrill whistle, and the bird flew instantly onto his wrist. He skillfully placed a hood over the hawk’s head and attached a leather band on the glove to one of its legs. Then he stroked the gray and white feathers approvingly.

  “Well done, my Phoenix, well done,” the young man murmured. His groom slipped from his own horse and ran to recover the hare.

  Kate was closest to the hawker and studied him quickly. He was a youth of about Johnny’s age, who sat his horse with uncommon grace. All three were preoccupied with the hawk’s prize and had not seen Kate. She tried edging her way back into the woods, but Cornflower gave her mistress away by refusing to budge and tossing her head defiantly. It was the men’s turn to stare. Kate made quite a picture—hair and expression wild—as she tried unsuccessfully to move her stubborn mount.

  “Who is this?” Rob urged his horse forward slowly, not wanting to frighten the lovely young woman in front of him. Her hair fell tousled over her shoulders to her waist, her eyes were pleading for pity as she watched him advance toward her. He was a ruddy-faced young man in his late teens with unruly brown hair under his hat. Its long liripipe was rakishly tossed about his neck. He appeared to have spent a lot of time outdoors.

  “Soft, mistress, we shall not harm you,” the hawker reassured her, then called to his friend, “Leave her be, Rob. We cannot tarry here too long after getting so lost. ’Tis likely she can show us the road back to Stoke.”

  Kate noted that Rob immediately obeyed the slight figure, who sounded older than he looked. He had a gentle, persuasive voice and a pair of dark gray eyes that reminded her of the slate on the roof of Draper House. Then she noticed the rich, red-brown hair, bobbed to just below his ears, and her memory was jogged. “Just like the sauce,” a wisp of a voice said inside her, and she was certain she recognized the king’s youngest brother, Richard of Gloucester. The smile they had exchanged in a second during the procession on London Bridge caused her to smile unwittingly at him now.

  Richard looked quizzical. “Do I know you, mistress?” He inclined his head, and a responding smile hovered on his straight, thin mouth. “Don’t be afraid, we shall not harm you,” he reiterated. “But we forget our manners! I am Dickon, and this is my friend Rob.” He frowned at Rob, who was attempting to add “his grace, the duke of Gloucester” to lend authority to their intrusion on Kate’s privacy. “And as you heard, we are lost. We are at your mercy, madam, not you at ours!”

  Kate looked from one to the other and waited for the expected information, but it did not come. Perhaps I was mistaken, she thought. She found her tongue and curtsied.

  “How do you do. I am called Kate, Katherine Haute, an it please you, sirs. I am sorry you are lost, and I will gladly escort you back to the house, where someone will for certain be able to show you your path. I regret I have no knowledge of these parts, for I am recently come into Suffolk from Kent with my husband, George Haute, son of Martin Haute of Haute Manor,” she gabbled nervously.

  “Martin Haute?” Richard interrupted her. “I think I have heard of him. Is he not a soldier under Norfolk’s banner?”

  “Aye, sir. He is at present at the garrison in Calais. My husband’s master is Sir John Howard.” It gave her confidence to drop his name.

  “Howard! Well, now, ’tis Howard’s house where we lodge tonight. How convenient. Lady, your husband could not have a finer master. He is a good friend to the king, my bro—my sovereign lord.” He was enjoying not being recognized and again gave Rob a warning frown. “If your husband is at home, he will surely show us the road back to Stoke. But you are shivering, Mistress Haute. We should not tarry. I pray you take my cloak to warm your ride home.”

  He slid out of the saddle, the hawk still on his wrist, undid the short cape from around his neck with his other hand and helped her put it around her shoulders. Close by, she could see his rather prominent chin sported a few soft hairs, but he was still too young for a beard. She judged him to be younger than George, who already scraped his beard every morning. His eyes were deep set and the expression intelligent but not without humor. He is a kind man—I think I may trust him, she decided.

  Rob was laughing at his friend. “Quite the gallant, Dickon. This is a side I have not seen of you ere now. My friend is more at home at the archery butts or riding out with his Phoenix.”

  “Ignore him, Kate. He is a rude Northerner and has no more manners than a pig at a trough.” Richard grinned at Kate. He walked over to the groom, who remounted, and transferred the hawk to the man’s wrist. He returned to Kate, put his hands together to form a step and hoisted her up into Cornflower’s saddle. “I hope you are not offended by my friend.”

  Kate tossed her head. “Fiddle-faddle! ’Twould be hard to offend me, sir. Besides, you are right, I was cold, and I am glad of your cloak.”

  “Fiddle-faddle?” echoed Rob, teasing. “What sort of speech is that? You are from Kent, you say. Is that what they say in the wilds of that county?”

  “Nay, sir, ’tis my own made-up word.” She was indignant. “And Kent is not wild, if you please. But I do hear the country is so savage in the north ’tis hard to tell which are the men and which are the beasts!” She stared him down.

  Richard threw back his head and roared as he saw the astonishment on his friend’s face. “You deserved that, Rob, admit it. And you, mistress, are indeed bold!”

  Kate grinned back. “Maybe, sir, but I see no wrong in honesty. Now, gentlemen, if you want your path home, pray follow me.”

  She led the way through the copse to the fields on the other side and took off at such a gallop that the young men and the groom, who was hampered by the dead deer dangling behind him and the hawk on his arm, had trouble keeping up. Her hair once again streamed out behind her, cloak and petticoats were flying as she urged Cornflower on, the hounds racing beside her.

  Rob had just enough breath to shout across to Richard, “I’d follow her anywhere, wouldn’t you?” His companion laughed and nodded vigorously.

  The three clattered into the stable yard, the dogs baying and the groom not far behind. Kate’s mood was quite restored from the anger and gloom that had taken her out of there not an hour before. She noticed Simon was back at work and stared at him haughtily. He had the sense to look away as he came forward to take the horses.

  “Mother! George!” Kate called, as she jumped lightly to the ground and began to run to the house. “We have guests! Come quickly!”

  “Master Haute has ridden to Lavenham, mistress. He be not here.”

  “Thank you, Simon. Pray see to the horses and give the groom some bread and ale from the kitchen.” She gave him the order with newfound authority. She had gained years in the last hour, and now, far from being belittled by her husband’s betrayal of her, she was empowered by it. These gentlemen had come into her life at exactly the right moment and had renewed her faith in herself as an attractive woman. Perhaps life was not so bad after all.

  In the solar, the late afternoon sun taking the chill out of the room, Rob and Richard explained to Philippa how they had be
come lost chasing a particularly elusive stag. They sipped wine and gratefully accepted the bread, cheese and meat pie proferred. It would be dark by the time they returned to Stoke-by-Nayland hard by the Essex border, and the hunting had made them hungry.

  Kate ran upstairs, haphazardly pushed her unruly hair under a velvet-banded headdress, and returned to sit on a stool near the fireplace. The two young men were giving their attention to their hostess, and Kate had time to assess them at her leisure. Rob was the more animated of the two, dramatically using his hands to add to his descriptions, but Kate thought he had an ordinary face. Nothing much to recommend him except his sunny personality, she concluded. She dismissed her fancy that Dickon resembled Richard of Gloucester. After all, it had been several years, and she had only seen him twice at a distance. He was not a tall young man but had the promise of strong shoulders, and his legs were not uncomely. A little thin, perhaps—her critical eye had become too accustomed to comparing every man with George’s perfect physique—but quite handsome, she decided.

  Philippa finished giving the guests proper directions for the three-league ride, and then she rose from her chair and graciously advised them to take their leave if they wanted to arrive back at their lodging before dark. The two men jumped to their feet, bowed low over her hand and thanked her for her hospitality. They turned their attention to Kate, and Rob executed a bow, grinning ruefully at her.

  “This savage northerner thanks you for rescuing us and hopes you will forgive his rudeness!”

  Kate went forward and kissed him on his cheek. “Aye, Rob, you are forgiven. Am I?” He nodded, blushing. “And thank you again, Dickon, for warming me with your cloak.”

  She did not attempt to kiss him; something in his bearing caused her to curtsy instead. Richard bowed low in response, keeping his gray eyes on her as he did. It was her turn to blush. The awkward moment was ended by Philippa’s innocent question.

  “Sirs, in my excitement of seeing you well refreshed and counting you already acquainted with Kate, I forgot to ask your names. Perhaps my husband, Martin Haute, will know your families when I tell him of your visit.”

  Rob looked questioningly at Richard. He sighed. “Mistress, by your leave, I am Richard of Gloucester and this is Robert Percy of Scotton. We did not mean to deceive you by not revealing ourselves earlier, but I confess I do tire of all the pother that is given the brother of the king!”

  Philippa’s mouth dropped open, and she executed a low and unsteady curtsy, but Kate surprised them all by clapping her hands and laughing. “I knew it was you, my lord, I knew it!” Richard’s eyebrow lifted in puzzlement, and she responded, “You asked if we had met, and I did not answer because we have not—exactly. But we have seen each other before, albeit fleetingly, at your brother’s coronation.”

  A smile of recognition lit up Richard’s face. “I remember! You are the harper, and you have a voice like an angel!” He turned to Rob. “Do you recall, Rob? We escaped Mother’s eagle eye and found the voice in an antechamber. It is indeed a pleasure to have met you today, Mistress Haute.”

  He looked at her appraisingly, eliciting a curtsy. Then they were gone in a flurry of hoofs and excited dogs.

  “Richard of Gloucester in our home! Oh, Kate, what excitement! And so personable. Whatever will Martin say?” Philippa went around the room, straightening things out as if she was expecting visitors rather than having just hosted them, and prayed they had not noticed the dust and the children’s playthings left on the floor. “George should have been here. It might have helped his career to have made an impression on such a great lord.”

  Kate sniffed scornfully, but Philippa did not hear her.

  “Where is George? I do have to confess, I went to sleep with the children for a spell this afternoon and heard nothing. And where were you that you met with his grace? In the woods, they said. Why?”

  Kate laughed. “Certes, Mother, you are full of questions. George has gone to Lavenham, I know not why. I took a ride on Cornflower and went further than I ought. I was afraid the gentlemen were robbers or worse. When I left, I did not think clearly where I was going. I will not stray that far again, I promise.”

  Philippa clicked her tongue in disapproval. She was privately shocked by Kate’s lack of deference to Richard of Gloucester after he had revealed his identity, but she was beginning to know Kate and admire her spirit. She was a sensible, stoic woman, devoted to her husband and children—even to George, who puzzled and frightened her at times. She hoped he would treat Kate well, though it seemed that Kate was a woman who would stand up to George’s moodiness and fits of anger. In addition to her ample dowry, Kate brought to Chelsworth experience in all aspects of keeping a house. It mattered not if she was outspoken and high-spirited, Philippa thought. She was a breath of fresh air.

  GEORGE ARRIVED BACK at Haute Manor in time for the evening supper, noticeably the worse for drink. It was not the first time he had stayed away for hours and returned inebriated and sullen. Once, Philippa had tried to talk to him about it, but he was abusive and shut himself in his chamber. Well before the scene that morning, Kate, too, had tried to reason with him and understand what made him drink himself into a stupor. Now, armed with new information, she knew it was a device for forgetting he had a wife at home. In this state, he would fall into bed and start snoring immediately, thus avoiding intimacy.

  Tonight, as she saw him attempt to carry a spoonful of pottage to his mouth and fail, she looked at him with a hardening heart. He avoided her eyes and paid the two children more attention than usual. Philippa chose to ignore his state and chattered on about the unexpected visit that afternoon. George’s interest was vaguely piqued, but he could hardly believe the duke of Gloucester had been in the house, and he stared bleary-eyed at his mother. “Gloucester? Here? Nonsense, Mother. You must have been dreaming. What would he want with us?” His two siblings, noting his slurred speech, sniggered.

  Philippa hurried on, telling him of Kate’s meeting in the wood and that she had brought the men back to the house.

  “What were you doing in the forest by yourself, madam?” George spat, though he could not look her in the face. “I forbid you to go out alone again! You might have been violated or worse!”

  Kate kept her eyes on her food as she thought, What would you care! Slowly, though, she raised her eyes to his. “I needed a place to think by myself. Cornflower took me where she wanted. Pray do not ask me what I had to think about. You know all too well.”

  She knew George would halt the conversation there, and she proved correct. Philippa looked anxious but decided it must relate to the lovers’ tiff of the morning and changed the subject. “Children, ’tis time for bed. Say good night, and I shall be up soon to pray with you.” As Robert and Maud went up the stairs, Philippa turned to Kate and George. “We shall say prayers in the solar as usual when I return.” She thought George could use some heavenly guidance.

  George slumped sulkily in his chair, a tilted goblet dripping wine onto the rushes. He did not look so beautiful now, Kate thought sadly, as she removed the fine linen cloth and folded it. Philippa disappeared into the kitchen hallway.

  “We have to talk together, husband. Therefore I need you to be awake when we are alone in our room. You have much to answer for.”

  George stood up unsteadily, set his cup on the table and grumbled, “Aye, Kate, we will talk, have no fear.” He stumbled through the door on his way to the solar to wait for Philippa. The servants followed at a discreet distance, while Kate extinguished some of the rushlights.

  After prayers, when the house was dark and quieted, Kate drew the curtains around their bed and began to speak. George lay sprawled, his face buried in the mattress and turned from her. She spoke slowly and deliberately. “I never want to talk about what I saw here this afternoon again. ’Tis unnatural, and I feel betrayed by you. But you must answer me two questions, and then I will think on how we are going to live our lives. Are you listening?”

  Kate was in c
ontrol. She was seeing George for what he was—immature and troubled. But this still did not help answer her first question, which now came at him with vehemence. “I pray you why did you marry me when you knew the way you are? How could you be so cruel? You knew I loved you to distraction. How could you use me thus? You could have waited for someone of your father’s choice if you needed a wife.” She pulled him over onto his back and made him look at her. He was sobering up fast, and his mouth was hard.

  “Have you not guessed, rich widow?” he mocked her. “Have you really not guessed, you innocent?”

  Kate sagged back on to her heels, the obvious finally seeping into her brain. “My money! You married me for my money? Mother of God, how addle-pated I am!” she cried, forgetting Molly was asleep in the truckle bed on the other side of the room. “You let me swear to be your wedded wife, to be ‘bonny and buxom in bed and board,’ when you knew you would never bed me! You . . . you swine!” was all she could think of saying as she slapped him hard.

  George’s nerve endings were dulled from drink, so he only winced. “I am the second son of a poor soldier, Kate. I have no means of my own to allow me to live the life I enjoy. With your dowry, I foresaw happier times for me.” He was more watchful of her than she knew. He was concerned she would give the secret away to his family—to his father, whom he feared above all.

  “Why should my money be so important to you?” She was still puzzled. “You have a future assured with Sir John, do you not? I heard his grace, the duke of Gloucester, say Sir John is in high favor with the king. And here is another question. Have you kept your marriage secret from Sir John? I would find that peculiar. Are you ashamed of me? I cannot think why. I am fair enough and rich.” She rolled the r for emphasis. “It so happens I know Sir John, and I believe he would be right glad you have taken me to wife.”