‘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 for 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.’