Free Katherine by Anya Seton Page B

a more subtle one. She longed to see the Duke, and this longing upset her as much as Hugh's obsession, for the Duke had not been her champion after all; he had seemed to show her sympathy and as suddenly withdrawn it, and during that moment in his wife's bower he had looked at her with cold distaste, with, in fact, an undoubted and inexplicable repulsion.
    Katherine went to the slitted window and gazed down to the plain far below, by the river, where she could see the lists and the forked pennants of the contending knights as their identifying flags fluttered from the pavilions. It was high noon now and the hot sun flashed off the silvery armour; great clouds of dust obscured the actual field, but she could hear the roars of excitement from a thousand throats, and the periodic blare of the heralds' trumpets.
She turned into the room and throwing herself across the bed, hit her bruised breast. She winced and though the tiny cuts were healing the pain seemed to strike through to her heart. If I pray to the Blessed Virgin, she thought, perhaps she'll help me, and the forlorn hope brought guilt, for she had missed Mass these two days of hiding in the solar. True, some of the courtiers did not go every day to Mass, Philippa often skipped herself, but the convent habit was strong.
    Katherine slipped to her knees on the prie-dieu and began, "Ave Maria gratia plena," but the whispered words echoed bleakly in the empty solar. Then she heard a heavy knock on the oak door.
    Katherine, clad only in her linen shift, threw the woollen cloak around her and nervously called, "Come in."
    The door opened and Hugh Swynford stood on the threshold looking at her sombrely. He was dressed in full armour, for he was to be an afternoon contender in the lists. His chain-mail hauberk was covered by the ceremonial white silk jupon embroidered with three golden boars' heads on a black chevron, his coat of arms. He looked formidable, and cleaner than she had yet seen him, his crinkled hair as light as straw, his square beard close-trimmed.
    He advanced into the room and Katherine stifled a moan and then hot anger rose in her. Holy Blessed Mother, she thought, I pray to you and this is how you reward me!
    She wrapped the cloak around her and stood tall and stiff against the wall, her face hardened like the carved stone corbel. "Yes, Sir Hugh," she said. "I'm quite alone and helpless. Have you come to ravish me?"
    Hugh's eyes dropped. Dull red crept up from his mailed gorget. "Katherine - I had to see you - I - I bring you this."
    He opened his clenched hand, holding it out stiffly, his eyes on the rush-strewn floor. On his calloused palm there lay a massive gold ring, carved claws around a sea-green beryl.
    "Take it," he said hoarsely, as she did not move. "The betrothal ring."
    "I don't want it," she said. "I don't want it!" She folded her arms tight against her chest. "I don't want to marry you."
    His hand closed again over the ring; she saw the muscles of his neck quiver, and the scar on his cheek go white, but he spoke with control.
    "It is arranged, damoiselle. Your sister consents, the Duke of Lancaster consents - and the Queen."
    "The Queen?" repeated Katherine faintly. "You've seen the Queen?"
    "I sent her a message through Lady Agnes. The Queen is pleased."
    It was then that Katherine gave up hope. The Queen, the concept of the Queen, had always ruled her destiny as it had her father's. She owed her life to the Queen, and all her loyalty. Of what use was rebellion anyway, for, as Philippa kept asserting, no woman followed her own inclination in marriage. She knew better than to doubt Hugh's word. Brutal and stupid as he might be, he would also be bluntly honest. And now at her continued silence his ready anger flared.
    "The Queen thinks me lack-wit to take you, no doubt! They all do. I see them sniggering behind their hands - that scurvy fop de Cheyne -" He scowled towards the window and the noises of the jousting. "His pretty womanish face.