Free Epitaph for Three Women by Jean Plaidy Page A

good mother; but he on the other hand had been in greater danger than she had, for she was only a girl – to be used later as an important bargaining counter it was true but as a child, of little importance.
    ‘It was when my mother died that I was in danger,’ he said. ‘My elder brother was murdered by my uncle and my father, fearing a like fate for me, decided to send me to France. However the English intercepted the ship in which I was sailing and brought me to the King – your husband’s father – and I have been a hostage ever since.’
    ‘You do not seem unhappy,’ she commented.
    He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It happened when I was young. Ten years old. It seemed an adventure then. In a way it has seemed an adventure ever since.’
    Of course he had been treated with honour. He was a King even though a captive one. Kings usually respected kings. They never knew when they themselves might be in need of respect. His education had not been neglected; he had excelled in manly sports; he had taken a great pleasure in literature and was writing his own poem which he was calling The Kingis Quair and he would read parts of it to Katharine now and then.
    One day when they sat talking there were sounds of arrival at the castle and looking out they saw a girl riding at the head of a small band of attendants.
    ‘Visitors,’ cried Katherine. It was always pleasing to have visitors providing they were not important men from court who had come to make demands.
    ‘What a strikingly beautiful woman,’ said James.
    Katherine agreed.
    They went down to the courtyard to greet the newcomers. Katherine recognised the young woman at once as Lady Jane Beaufort, the daughter of the Earl of Somerset. Katherine embraced her and then presented her to James.
    He bowed low and Katherine was amused to see that he could scarcely take his eyes from Lady Jane.
    For the next weeks Jane shared their rides and their talks and she seemed in no hurry to leave the castle.

    They were in love. Katherine wished she could help them. She knew that they wished to be alone but she as the Queen must not allow any act of impropriety in her presence. On one occasion she went riding with them and deliberately lost them. The grooms were surprised to see her return alone and she told them she had lost the party; and they, accustomed to her eccentricities, thought no more of it. Then she wandered out into the gardens and seated herself on a rustic seat sheltered from the castle by bushes.
    While she was seated there she heard the sound of footsteps and with mingling surprise and pleasure she saw Owen Tudor coming towards her.
    He seemed overcome by embarrassment and she cried out: ‘I am pleased to see you, Owen Tudor. Pray sit down beside me. I would talk with you.’
    He hesitated. He was always shy when she addressed him. He could not forget the great gulf which divided a Queen from a humble squire.
    ‘You think this is not … comme il faut … is that so? Not what is right for a Queen. But I do so much that is not right for a Queen. Shall I tell you I have just lost – on purpose – the King of Scotland and the Lady Jane. What do you think of them, Owen Tudor? Are they not a handsome pair? Are they not so beautiful … and is not it wonderful to be in love as they are?’
    Owen was silent, tongue-tied in the presence of his Queen.
    ‘Of course he is a King,’ she went on. ‘But a King in exile. And she is royal, you know, Owen. Her father is John Beaufort Earl of Somerset, son of John of Gaunt and his last Duchess. She is connected with Richard II through her mother. I do not see why she should not mate with the royal house of Scotland. Do you, Owen?’
    ‘No, my lady.’
    She turned to him suddenly. ‘In fact, Owen, I do not see why anything should separate those who love. Poor James, he has talked much to me. He had a sad childhood … just as I did. You should be thankful Owen that you were not born royal. He loved his mother dearly. I think