The King’s Sister

Chapter Eight

June 1386, Kenilworth Castle

‘I cannot take every shift, gown and pair of shoes I possess. What do they wear in Portugal, anyway?’

Philippa stood in the centre of her chamber, rather crossly, surrounded by travelling coffers and drifts of costly material and her busy women.

‘Why worry? Set your own fashion.’ I sat on her bed, not helping. Then on a thought: ‘You could give me that blue damask. I’ve always coveted it.’

‘And you’ve enough gowns of your own to clothe Richard’s spendthrift court from head to foot.’ She smiled but her eyes were wide and I thought I saw trepidation there, even though she had dreamed of marriage for so long. This would be the fulfilment of her dream, the end of all her fears that she would never have a husband and children of her own. But a marriage far from home and those she held dear would have its own heartbreak.

I would not speak of my own sense of loss.

‘Do I take my lute?’ she fretted, her fingers dragging unmusically over the strings. She hugged it to her breast.

‘Your new husband will give you a dozen. You will be Queen of Portugal, commanding all you desire.’

‘And, oh I shall miss you.’ The sudden gleam of tears in her eyes shocked me, but I forced myself to laugh as if I had not noticed. The last thing we needed was for us both to become lachrymose.

‘When you decide that you are missing me, just recall all the times I annoyed you and you wished me wed to a man in Cathay,’ I said instead.

‘True. I remember now.’ She wiped the tears away with her fingertips, then touching my shoulder in acknowledgement of what I had done before rolling a jewelled bodice in a length of linen.

It was a time of melancholy for both of us with the prospect of much parting and some tears. This was a loss I had experienced before and anticipated the long months with a mix of fear and heartache. Plantagenet men went to war. Had not my grandmother, Queen Philippa, experienced the same when King Edward had led his knights and archers to Crécy, the great victory that was still talked of, even by those who had no memory of it. When Richard’s father, the Prince, had taken the mantle of leadership and raised his standard at Poitiers, Princess Joan had been with him in Aquitaine, but her anguish would not have been any the less. Would our father fight a battle as dangerous as these that lived on in the memory of our knights? Minor skirmishes were just as lethal. And the ambushes. And dysentery. The cold of winter, the arid heat of summer in these southern climes.

I could not think of it.

For my father was intent on war, leading the expedition to Castile that was now imminent. Travelling with him was Constanza who hoped never to return to England but to win the crown from her cousin who had usurped her rightful claim. And if my father was successful, would he ever return, or would he remain to rule Castile as king?

It was possible. It was entirely possible for an ambitious and able man who saw no future for his ambitions at Richard’s unpredictable side. That I could accept. But with my father, as Constable of the Army, went Sir John Holland.

We had met, in bed and mostly out, when Sir John found it necessary to discuss affairs of soldiery and equipment with the Duke. Far easier for us to achieve heated moments at Kenilworth in the middle of war preparations than in gossip-ridden Windsor.

And now, even though it had always been hovering on my horizon, my heart lurched, that he too would be leaving me. I could imagine his swagger as he landed in Corunna, the search for wealth and reputation and fame that would drive him to brave deeds and perhaps foolish ones. Sometimes a dark mood settled on me. Would he discover some black-haired Castilian lady who would not refuse him every time he offered marriage, as I did? I could not imagine John following a life of noble chastity. He might think of me between breaking his fast and leading a sortie against the enemy, or between kissing some pretty girl’s lips and disrobing her.

I realised I was scowling, and stopped. Would he miss me at all? He said he would, but with the distance of time and vast swatches of land and sea between us, how could I know? How ephemeral our love with no anchor, no firm footing—mere snatched moments because that is all we could allow.

‘Wed me.’ His final exhortation, his mouth powerfully possessive against mine in a snatched embrace within the old keep, before he had left Kenilworth at the Duke’s behest with a troop of soldiery, bound for Plymouth.

‘You know I cannot.’

‘I know you can. Will you allow yourself to be tied to this boy when it is a man who has your heart? Repudiate this false marriage to Pembroke.’

‘It is not false, merely a marriage in waiting.’

‘You are a grown woman. You can wait no longer. I would make you as prestigious a husband as young Pembroke. When Richard decides to forgive me utterly, he will reward me and restore my lands to me.’ All his old confidence, and more, had been restored with the prospect of action. ‘I am a man on the cusp of power and influence. Lancaster will not cavil at me as son-in-law.’

‘He would at having to break an alliance made in good faith. My father has strong principles.’

‘Not so strong that he has been able to live with a mistress in the eye of his wife for the past fifteen years! It is no marriage for you, Elizabeth. You cannot wait. Desire burns in you.’

‘I may not have to wait,’ I admitted, allowing a little fear to shimmer to the surface.

It had come to me that my father might give Jonty permission to claim his marital rights before he sailed. It had crossed Jonty’s mind too. I saw him watching me. He was no longer the young lad I had wed but a squire who sneaked kisses from the serving girls in the buttery.

‘I won’t have you in any man’s bed but mine. Certainly not that of a barely-grown boy with no knowledge but of clumsy fumbling.’

I could do nothing to assuage John’s irritation.

‘And you won’t take a Castilian paramour on your travels, I suppose.’

‘I might have to if you don’t put me out of my misery. There must be some girl of birth and fortune, waiting for me in Portugal. What would you say if I brought a Portuguese princess home with me?’

‘I would put poison in her soup.’

‘Why, Elizabeth!’ His brows had risen. ‘Do you love me after all?’

My elbow found a tender spot against his naked ribs. We laughed and loved, holding the brief moment to ourselves, despite the discomfort of his squire’s room that we had commandeered. And then he had left me, our future as hazy as ever it was, with not even a memento for me to hold.

‘I thought you would give me a farewell gift,’ I demurred in an attempt to hide my anxieties.

‘What need of you for gifts? You have more rings than any woman I know.’

‘Will you send word?’

‘When I can.’ A final warm but brief kiss, for he was already searching for his boots—the whereabouts of various items of clothing, tossed aside in urgency, more important to him than I.

But I knew he would not. What man ever did?

So he had left me.

But this was not the moment for such concerns and I thrust the memory aside. Philippa would go with the expedition to her marriage with King João of Portugal, to make an alliance between him and the Duke against Castile. I might never see her again.

‘You can have this.’ Philippa held out a gold-edged veil and matching ornamented chaplet which she knew had taken my eye. Had I not borrowed it on more than one occasion?

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. And I agree about the lute. Keep it, and play it for me sometimes.’

Emotion welled in my throat so strongly: to hide it I rose swiftly, crossing the room to take the instrument from her. But I didn’t take it. I had barely reached her when my vision broke into facets of light and, fingers suddenly clumsy, I dropped the instrument, the strings complaining with a discordant twanging.

Oh …

A pain struck at my temple and it was as if all the blood drained from my head to my toes, leaving me cold and unsure of my balance. I staggered as little, pressing my fingers against my brow, eyes squeezed shut.

‘Oh …!’

Nausea gripped me hard, before Philippa was there at my side.

‘You are as white as my new ermine collar.’ Her hands reached out to me.

I held on tightly to her arm, one hand now pressed against my mouth.

‘I think you had better move your new ermine out of harm’s way,’ I gasped, ‘or I’ll vomit over it.’

Which she did, taking my warning seriously before she pushed me to lie on the bed, thrusting aside the satins and velvets, beckoning to one of her women to bring me a cup of ale.

‘What is it? Are you ill?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘She was dizzy yesterday morning, my lady,’ Josselyn, Philippa’s waiting woman remarked with unfortunate familiarity.

‘I don’t recall,’ I said, pushing away the solicitous hands.

I tried to sit up, but since my head was spinning I sank back, grateful when Philippa produced a bowl for me to vomit into—which I did, then fell back on the bed again with a groan of final acceptance. I had denied this. It was not the first time I had been so discomfited, but I had rejected the fear that was growing in my mind as the truth was growing in my belly.

‘Has this happened before?’ Philippa was looking at me, on the alert.

‘No.’

‘Lady Elizabeth did not go to Mass yesterday morning,’ Josselyn said with saintly disapproval.

‘No, you didn’t.’ Philippa, frowning faintly, brushed my hair back from my brow. ‘I recall.’ Then waved her women away to the far side of the room. Too late for that, I thought.

‘Lady Elizabeth has not broken her fast for four days,’ Agnes added a parting shot, carrying the incriminating bowl from the room.

‘Elizabeth …’

I sipped the ale cautiously, not meeting Philippa’s eye, until she seized the cup, took my chin in one hand and forced me to face her, and I knew my secret was out.

‘You might show some sympathy!’ I tried.

‘Sympathy? Tell me this is not what I think it is.’

‘Then I won’t.’

‘But it is, isn’t it?’

And I thought of the limited experience I had of pregnancies, wanted or unwanted, in a household that had not been blessed with such occurrences. There was no doubt. Constanza had only borne one daughter, but there was no doubt at all.

‘Yes.’ Retrieving the cup from my sister’s grasp, I sipped again. My stomach seemed to be under my control so I pushed her supporting arm away. ‘I must get up.’

‘You can’t not tell me.’ Philippa’s voice had dropped to a whisper, as if it were possible to keep my ignominious sin from the gossiping tongues of the solar. ‘Not Jonty, of course.’

‘Ha. Our brother might have pre-empted the arrival of Mary’s new womanhood, but they were in love. Jonty still has no time for anything but his horse and his new armour and a flighty kitchen maid.’

‘Then who? By the Virgin, Elizabeth …’ I thought that if I had not been so ashen she would have shaken me.

I sighed, finding it impossible to imagine what she would reply. But say it I did.

‘Then I’ll tell you. You would guess anyway. This child that I carry is John Holland’s.’

‘What?’ Little more than a squeak. ‘No, you must be mistaken.’

‘Do you think so?’ Irritably I thrust her aside. ‘How many men do you think I’ve taken to my virginal bed? For shame.’

‘I didn’t mean …’ Philippa sighed. ‘And of course you’re not mistaken. How naïve of me.’ A frown came quickly. ‘Did he seduce you?’

‘Oh, yes.’ And I found my irritation draining away and that I was smiling, although there was nothing for me to smile at in my wretchedness. ‘John is a master of seduction. But not in the way you mean.’

‘You make no sense. Was it rape? Did he force you?’

‘Certainly not. I desired it as much as he did.’

‘Elizabeth!’

‘I love him. I have loved him since he rescued me from the Tower. And perhaps even a little before that, but I was very young. And then when I went to return the gifts, the finches, I couldn’t do it, and I knew that I was destined to be with him.’

‘Holy Virgin! I warned you about getting singed. I didn’t expect you to leap into the fire! What will you do?’

‘At this moment I don’t know, other than lie here and suffer.’ I had fallen back on the bed again amidst Philippa’s gowns.

‘Does he know?’

‘No.’

‘You must tell him.’

‘To what purpose? He’ll be with you in Portugal within a matter of weeks.’

We stared at each other, the difficulties of my position looming large.

‘Think of the scandal!’ Philippa whispered.

‘I can think of nothing else!’ I closed my eyes as if it were possible to obliterate it.

‘Elizabeth!’ Philippa nudged me into awareness. ‘You cannot allow Holland to go to Portugal without knowing that you are carrying his child.’

‘And what do we expect him to do about it?’

‘I have no idea. He was fairly efficient in getting you into the situation.’

Nor had I any idea. I could not imagine how we could escape from this scandal.

‘A pity you had not thought of this earlier.’

So I thought. All I had thought about was the delight of each reunion with John Holland.

Her final words as she left me to suffer. ‘We are not going to part as fast as we thought we were. You had better come with me to Plymouth. I’ll say a novena for you.’

Her face was set. No sympathy there then. Except that she turned at the door and looked back, the faintest of smiles.

‘I expect you’ll find a way. You have a charmed life.’

At that moment, racked by nausea, I did not feel capable of magically producing any satisfactory outcome. There was nothing for me to do but order my coffers packed and accompany Philippa to Plymouth. And there I would have to face both John and the Duke.

Plymouth was in a turmoil of troops and horses and all the essentials from ale to weaponry for a protracted and hostile expedition overseas. Our entourage might have found difficulty in forcing its way through the masses but the Lancaster pennons had the desired effect. We were soon in the enclosed courtyard of the castle, no quieter or less turbulent, but with the promise of food and a cup of wine. My spirits and my robust health had returned and the journey, although long, had awoken my resolution.

What were the choices for me, a royal princess, contracted in a strategic but unconsummated marriage, yet carrying the child of her lover? My youthful husband had no power over me, but his family would be falling over their hems to express their horror, and what would the Duke say? More to the point, what would he do? His own marital adventures would have no bearing on his reaction to a daughter of Lancaster falling into foul sin. It was one thing for Dame Katherine de Swynford to bear an illegitimate child to the Duke of Lancaster, it was quite another for a ducal daughter to be caught up into the same trap. I considered my future.

It might be considered desirable to arrange a fast nuptial bed with my Pembroke husband, and then express amazement at my equally fast conception and a child born before its time. I imagined it had been done before in many a high-blooded family. The Duke could arrange it for me under the scowl of his disgust with a wilful daughter, and Jonty was now of an age to be effectively potent. It might save me from shame, and memories at court were short. Who would count the months of my pregnancy?

What if, instead, I were dispatched to some distant and discreet convent under the auspices of Lancaster, where the child would be delivered and cared for, with no one the wiser? I would return from my sojourn in the country as white as a sacrificial lamb and resume my interrupted marriage. Seven months in isolation, with prayer and contrition my only companions, might be considered a small price to pay.

And my child—John’s child—handed to some foster family with a purse of gold to ensure its welfare and suitable education. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I would not consider it a small price. I would consider it beyond my bearing.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Philippa, ranging up beside me.

‘Not a thing.’

‘You looked sour.’

‘Your imagination, dear sister …’

Reluctant to parade my fears before her, I arranged my features into a bland appreciation of the countryside through which we travelled and continued to pick apart the close weaving of the tapestry of my life. It seemed to be a mass of entwined stems and smothering leaves, like a hopbine at the end of the autumn harvesting, with no clear pattern at all.

Why did I not simply ask the Duke to arrange an end to my sham marriage? He had rarely refused me anything in all my life, indulged and petted as I had been, but that was in the matter of gifts and comforts, of clothing and jewels. I had been raised to know my fate in the scheme of Lancaster preferment, that I would, at my father’s behest, wed a man who brought a fine name, authority and wealth. It would not be for me to choose, however eminent the man I set my eye on or however unsuitable I considered my father’s choice for me. Had the Duke not refused to listen to my pleas when the Pembroke marriage was first mooted? For certain he would not be enamoured of so close an alliance with John Holland, even though he might be brother to the King. A dangerous man, the Duke had said. John Holland was as unreliable as an unbroken warhorse, a man still with a reputation to repair. No, the Duke would not rejoice at the prospect. And I no longer thought that I had the means to influence him.

There was only one certainty in my mind.

I must tell John. And then …

But there the unknown ran riot through my thoughts. I could imagine full well what my father would say, and I quailed at the prospect. But what about John? Enjoying intimate intervals of intense passion and avowals of love were all very well, but to conceive a child threw a dangerous flame into the nicely smouldering twigs of his ambitions. A conflagration such as this might not be easily extinguished. Would his desire to wed me vanish like the flame of a snuffed candle, or—the thought made my heart bound against my ribs—would he see it as a lever to move the stone of my refusal?

Not that I was in a position to concur with his demands. My heart plummeted again as I prevented a sigh, pinning my smile even tighter when the complications multiplied to swamp my nascent planning. Even if this child, born in full public view, was recognised as the bastard of John Holland, what did I foresee for my future? All I saw was isolation and shame and John far away in Portugal, perhaps not returning before the child could stagger to greet him on its own two feet.

If he had any sense, he might stay there for ever as a soldier of fortune. And what an escape that would be from a trap of scandal and an illegitimate child.

As for the condemnation of the Pembroke family … I could argue that I did not care what Jonty’s family would say, but many would argue that there was no way out of that particular morass of public recrimination.

This was no good!

What use was it in allowing myself to be deluged in qualms and difficulties? What was it that I wanted? As a sudden shower of rain forced us to quicken our pace, I directed my thoughts into a path away from all the damage this pregnancy had created, for I knew exactly what I wanted. This child might unnerve me with its inconvenience, but deep within me was a sense of unexpected elation, a ripple of pure joy as if the child already moved in my womb, and an utter certainty. I wanted this child, and I wanted John Holland for my husband, a husband who was not hundreds of miles away engaged in a war that might keep him absent for months if not years. Once I would have obeyed my father, but no longer. My mind was set on where I saw my future happiness.

Yet still I desired my father’s approval and, as far as was possible with some diplomatic handling, I wanted the approval of the court. There would be no convent for me, no besmirched name, no bastard child, and no condemnation from the likes of Walsingham. I wanted no gossip in corners, no speculative glances when I entered a room. I wanted reinstatement as a Plantagenet daughter and Holland wife with no cause for me to blush. I was no loose court harlot. I would be Elizabeth Holland, and would hold my head high as I had done all my life.

All I had to do was ease events into motion to achieve it.

Nor was I in any manner daunted. Philippa would probably say that I was undertaking a campaign greater than my powers, but Philippa was never one to beard the dragon in its den. I would. I would tempt the dragon into the open and set it to work for me, even if it demanded unconscionable duplicity to persuade it to my way of thinking. How to go about this miraculous reversal of my fortunes kept my mind occupied over many wearing miles.

‘There’s Plymouth,’ Philippa interrupted my intricate thought processes.

‘Good,’ I said, all traces of past nausea vanished, my wits sharp.

If I failed, it would not be said of me that I had not done my best.

Plymouth at last. A small town, much destroyed in the past through raids and fire, but the castle was intact and the port was thought to be most appropriate for the convergence of all needed for a major campaign. Dismounted, we were shown into a chamber barely larger than the buttery at Kenilworth, put aside for Philippa, but since I was not expected I could not complain.

Although I did. ‘I suppose I’ll have to share your bed.’

‘Yes. And you should be thankful. The Duke might, of course, send you straight back to Kenilworth in disgrace which will solve your problem.’

In disgrace? I had already rejected that. ‘I will not go.’

‘It may not be your decision for the making.’

I chose not to reply.

We made our way into the living quarters, preventing our skirts from snarling on the edge of coffers and bundles of weapons and armour wrapped in linen, to a room overlooking the port where the Duke greeted us with harassed affection. Sir John was nowhere to be seen, even when I leaned to squint through the window to look down into the activity below.

‘I did not expect you, Elizabeth,’ my father observed with a lift of his brows. ‘Should I have done?’

‘I could not bear to be parted from my sister,’ I replied, moving back into the cluttered room to sit on a stool. It was a relief that it had a cushion and did not move.

‘I doubt we can house you.’

‘Philippa has offered half her bed.’ I smiled ingratiatingly when she frowned at me.

‘You are astonishingly cheerful, all things considered!’ she murmured as the Duke walked to the open door to summon a page with food and refreshment.

‘What choice do I have?’ I regarded her, eyes wide. I had certainly not informed Philippa of my planning. It behoved me to appear troubled and helpless.

‘About what?’ the Duke asked, but Philippa deflected him, giving him her attention as she lifted a pile of documents from a coffer lid so that she could sit.

‘You appear to be up to your ears in lists,’ she said.

‘Bills of lading. Always a nightmare at this stage in an embarkation.’

‘So where is your efficient Constable, to take the burden from you?’ I asked, refusing to respond to my sister’s glance in my direction.

‘I expect he’s down on the wharf …’

‘Your efficient Constable is here.’

John Holland walked through the door, carrying a flagon and cups he had waylaid. And I allowed my eyes to rest on him. What mood would he be in today? Would it be the mask, which I had seen often of late, of controlled indifference? A mask I now knew to disguise an uncomfortably acute brain and a raging ambition, a degree of self-preservation and a demonic temper. A turbulent character who would drive his own direction through life regardless of those around him.

But there was no mask today. Today he was the practical soldier from head to toe, garments plain and serviceable, the only decoration in his inlaid sword-belt. He smiled at the company, his expression one of courteous pleasure, pouring the wine expertly with his fine hands. My future rested in those hands.

How uncomfortable! But how impeccable I had become at hiding my thoughts, that initial leap of sheer delight at his presence in the same space. And he too, as if we had never shared the same breath, the same intimate four walls, flesh on flesh. He bowed with brief courtesy, all grace and deprecation, but barely glanced at me. I rose and curtsied with suitable decorum as to a court acquaintance. Philippa did the same but her eye on him was frosty.

‘We are pleased to see you here, Sir John. I have heard much talk of you of late.’

I held my breath. If our Constable was surprised, he hid it well.

‘I trust it was to my good name. Sadly, it rarely is.’ His expression became sardonic. ‘But, reputation aside, I will deem it an honour to escort you to your marriage, my lady.’

Philippa looked as if she might have said more but instead tucked her hand in the Duke’s arm and drew him aside.

‘Is Constanza already here? I would like to speak with her. I need some direction if I am to win King João’s admiration when I make my first appearance.’

‘He’ll admire you whatever you wear,’ he said, ‘but Constanza will be pleased to see you. The coming child makes her lethargic …’

And then the chamber was empty but for how long? Servants were passing back and forth outside the door. A page sent with a message scurried past. I could hear voices echoing in the stairwell. John observed me from a careful distance. Suddenly there was no smile of welcome, rather a speculative gleam, and the stage was set for my performance, whereupon I must outplay the most skilful of mummers.

‘Have you come specifically to see me, Countess?’

‘Yes. Are you sorry?’

‘Not sorry at all. Merely surprised. I had resigned myself to leaving without seeing you again. But now that you are here …’ He broke off as one of the heralds strode between us, face imprinted with urgency as he tossed a muttered apology.

‘Is there anywhere we can talk without interruption?’ I ventured.

‘I doubt it. I share a bedchamber with three others. I know a better place, if windswept.’

And with a little gesture he led me through narrow corridors, up a staircase that brushed my skirts on both sides and out onto the wall walk that allowed us to look down onto the little port. The wind tugged at my veil, threatening to tear it loose until I tucked the flighty ends into the high neck of my houppelande.

‘I’ll be relieved when we set sail. It’s too crowded and the natives are getting restive at all the upheaval.’ He pointed to where, below us in the street, the remains of a fracas was being sorted out with fists and the flat of swords by two heavy-handed soldiers.

I slid a glance, picking up his words. ‘You are pleased to be leaving me?’

Leaning an arm on the parapet, John faced me, expression relaxed in bland lines. ‘Did I say that?’

‘I’m not sure.’ I studied my clasped hands. ‘It may be that you see it as an escape from an affair that has become a burden on you.’

‘It may be, of course,’ he agreed. ‘How long does a court affair last, on average?’

‘It’s true they are fleeting,’ I concurred. ‘How many weeks is it since we have exchanged even a word? What woman would not begin to feel bereft?’

‘Or what man consider himself to be hunted by an importunate woman, when she arrives on his doorstep on the day before a campaign? He might of course find a longing for his former freedom …’

His gaze never left my face. Was this to be the end? Nothing but a court flirtation falling to its death on the sword of a military expedition? I did not believe it. He was playing with me. I kept my tone as sweet as honey in the comb. ‘Have you truly no desire to kiss me, sir?’

At which John laughed, that infectious laugh that stirred all my senses as it lifted the gulls from the parapet into raucous flight.

‘I would fall at your feet and kiss them as a token of my regard, except that it would be blasted all over the garrison within an hour and your father would be hunting me for my blood for trifling with his daughter.’

‘Are you trifling?’

‘Not I!’

‘Then you should know.’ I caught his gaze with mine, lavish with anxiety. ‘I carry your child.’

His laughing face stilled, all fine planes and angles as he absorbed the news. The laughter was gone. I spread my fingers against the heavy material over my belly, my eyes dropped from his.

‘A child, John.’

‘Ah!’

He was thinking. I could almost sense the rumble and jostle of his thoughts.

‘I am filled with trepidation,’ I murmured. ‘What do we do?’ I bit my lip.

‘Have you told anyone?’

‘No. Only Philippa.’

‘And what does she say?’

‘That I was a fool.’

‘What do you say?’

‘I think she is right.’

Every part of me was tense, waiting as I felt his eyes narrowed on my profile.

‘Do you regret our love?’ he asked.

‘I might regret the results of it,’ I said sorrowfully. ‘You speak of vile reputation. What of mine? I can hear Walsingham sharpening his quill and his tongue from here. What a gift I have tossed into his lap if he wishes to continue his campaign against the Duke. Or against you,’ I added.

‘No, he’s forgiven the Duke. He is now hailing the Duke as a saviour of England and the perfect royal counsellor. Walsingham hates de Vere more than he hates Lancaster. But that’s not important.’ He looked at me, his eyes agate-bright, and I looked back.

‘I think I am in despair.’ I summoned a beautifully melancholy smile. ‘We could make a secret match of it, of course …’ I suggested.

‘What? Abscond on the eve of the expedition? Wed in secret?’ His eyes bore into mine, until I broke the connection.

‘No. We could not, of course.’ I bowed my head again in a parody of shame. ‘It would be a great sin, to live as man and wife without the church’s blessing. Would we burden this child with the bar of illegitimacy?’

‘Of course we would not. What are you thinking?’

‘I am thinking that I do not have much courage. That perhaps my choice must be a convent where my shame can be born in secret. That is what the Duke will suggest. Philippa thinks so.’ And when there was no reply: ‘The Duke will do all he can to protect the family name. Why would he listen to a daughter who has flouted the mores of society as I have? Such ignominy.’ I felt, with some satisfaction, the dampness of a tear on my cheek.

I thought he might offer comfort. Instead he turned his back, hands fisted on hips, shoulders rigid, leaving me to regroup my resources.

Until he turned his head to look back at me. ‘You were not made for the convent. We both know that.’

‘I know,’ I whispered. ‘But it may be that I must, to hide the shame. How can I not regret …’

‘No time for regrets,’ he announced curtly to a pair of passing kittiwakes. ‘My son and heir is growing larger with every passing day, until all the world will see the results of our lack of control. I do not want him born with all the disadvantages of bastardy. Nor do I want him born in holy disgrace in a convent.’

‘But what can we do? Will you help me? I have no one to turn to …’

Abandoning the gulls, Sir John’s regard became undeniably speculative, his mouth compressed and unsmiling. I held my breath.

‘You have me, dear Elizabeth.’ He was controlling his breathing. ‘And I will have a true heir from you.’

‘So do we abscond?’

All I received was a lift of his brows.

‘I still see the convent doors opening to receive me …’ I pursued.

‘Not they! I doubt they would have you. Are you certain of this child? I see no despair in you.’

‘I am certain, and well practised at masking my despair by now.’ I flattened my palms, one on the other on my breast where my heart bounded with a solemn beat. ‘I am desperately in need.’

‘Then who better to answer that need than I? Come with me, Countess.’

And he bowed me from our windswept platform. I was none the wiser of what he would do, but if anyone could take the initiative and drive our path through thicket and swamp, it was John Holland. Without another word, forbidding in his silence, John led me back down the stairs and then in the wake of my father and Philippa until we came to the door to what proved to be Constanza’s chamber.

‘Stop!’ I urged, pulling on his arm before he could raise a fist to the door as if I was in fear of the consequences. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Something we should have done weeks ago.’

So, on the eve of the campaign, when all was focused on events to take back Constanza’s birthright, John intended to challenge the Duke. It would take courage, but if there was one man with courage and enough it was John Holland.

‘I don’t think I can do this,’ I said in anguish, shrinking back as his hand closed on the latch, swallowing the fast leap of victory in my throat.

‘What do you suggest? A fast coupling with Pembroke and a child born—how soon before full term?’ Releasing the latch he cradled my face in his hands and kissed my lips. ‘Better that it is ended and you wed me.’

I took a breath that caught slightly, but raised my chin. ‘Then I think I should tell the Duke myself. I cannot imagine what he will say. A Plantagenet daughter with royal blood bearing a child outside of wedlock.’

His smile was wry. ‘And you think I will allow you to face him alone?’

Pray God you don’t! ‘It might be better.’

‘It would be a slight on my pride.’

‘You will fight for me?’

‘How could you doubt it? We will stand together. And then we will face the world.’ He ran his knuckles down my cheek, then rapped them smartly against my temple. ‘And you, my dear vixen, need play the distraught and helpless ravaged maiden no longer.’

Catching his hand in mine so that he could not rap again, I raised my brows.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

His face was alive, a little devious and supremely beautiful, and I loved him for it.

My heart began to sing, even as I preserved my sanctimonious disapproval.

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he murmured against my lips. ‘When were you ever helpless and tearful? I have been reading you like a book. I know exactly how your mind is working.’

‘And how is that?’ allowing puzzlement to colour my voice.

‘It was a tour de force, to play the distraught female to my dominant masculinity and desire to protect you.’

‘You have been laughing at me!’

‘Would I do that?’ he asked briskly. ‘Don’t overplay your hand, Countess! Your father knows you too well. Leave it to me.’

He rapped on the door, while I allowed a light sigh of relief.

All heads turned as we entered. Not in surprise, but in welcome, although perhaps they had not expected John to be there with me.

At least he had released my hand.

‘Come and talk with me about armaments, John. The women have immersed themselves into what they might wear in Portugal.’ The Duke’s eyes were keen, the beginning of a new campaign that might bring him his heart’s desire. It touched my thoughts that my news would destroy all his satisfaction, all his immediate pleasure and fierce concentration in what he saw as the fulfilment of a long-held dream, to rule as King of Castile. Had not Richard already presented the Duke and Constanza with golden diadems? There they were, carefully packed for the journey. And here was I, preparing to coat the dream in dross. For that I was sorry, but what choice had I?

‘Before I talk stores and weapons, sir. There is a matter …’

‘What’s gone wrong now?’

The Duke was pouring a cup of wine, holding it out to John, but instead of taking it, John stretched out his hand to me and I placed mine there.

‘I love your daughter, sir. And she loves me. We have consummated our love and she is carrying my child. It is my wish to wed her, so that this child comes into the world with all the advantages of legitimacy as my heir. We need your blessing, and Elizabeth needs an annulment.’

There it was, stated in as short a time as it took to breathe in and out.

The room shimmered into stunned silence that could be felt on the ear. Constanza looked up, her needlework abandoned in her lap. Philippa had anxiety writ large on her face. My father looked baffled at a piece of news he could never have envisaged, then astounded. Finally bright with anger. His gaze moved from John to me and back again. With a brusque gesture, he drank the contents of the cup, placing the vessel at his side with a careful exactitude. To me he said with similar control:

‘Is this true?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long? How long have you been lovers?’

‘Since the King pardoned John last year.’

‘I told you it must not be.’

‘I know, sir.’ Bearing John’s warning in mind, I kept my answers brief but regretful.

‘I did not expect such dishonesty from a daughter of mine.’

‘I did not willingly deceive, sir.’

‘And yet you did. How could you put yourself in so reprehensible a position? As for you …’ He wheeled to face John. ‘I have supported you, promoted your interests. And you repay me by seducing my daughter.’

There was a grey shade around the Duke’s mouth. This was worse than I thought. Rage was there, tight held, but for how long? The Duke of Lancaster held up to ridicule by an errant daughter. A vital alliance with Pembroke destroyed by wilful passion. I knew his anger was rightly justified, but now was not the moment to retreat if I hoped to achieve anything from this clash of wills.

‘Who is to say which man will take a woman’s eye?’ I ventured. ‘This man took mine.’

‘You are held by sacred marriage vows.’

‘I have been held by them for eight years.’ What use in dissimulation? ‘How can I be expected to remain loyal to a child in an unconsummated marriage? I love John Holland.’

‘It is a deplorable situation.’

John must have felt the trembling in my limbs for he drew me closer to his side. ‘I cannot allow Elizabeth to take all the blame.’

‘Oh, I agree. Your immorality has led my daughter to the brink of shame. Beyond the brink, by God!’

‘It was no seduction, sir. I saw it as a wooing. I love your daughter and want her for my wife. She is the greatest prize I could ever win. I am honoured that she should give herself into my keeping. I can only ask for your forgiveness, and hope that you will lend your aid in ending a marriage that is no marriage.’

No regret, no apology. I held my breath.

The Duke expelled his in a grunt of disgust. ‘It is a sacred contract, made with holy vows and not to be broken. It is an alliance that I value. Do I destroy that alliance for the sake of your misdemeanours?’ He was cold, icily furious.

‘Yes. That is what I am asking,’ replied John. ‘That you have the marriage annulled. It is not consummated. I see no difficulty. Then I will wed your daughter before there is any talk of the conception of this child.’

‘No. I will not.’

‘Please, Father …’ I had known it would be bad, but not as bad as this.

‘Be silent!’

‘It is,’ John remarked as lightly as if discussing some familiar aspect of the forthcoming campaign, ‘as I see it, the only way to eradicate the promise of malicious talk at court. And it is what I want, to protect Elizabeth’s good name. As I know you will wish also. Out of this debacle, for which I take full blame, Elizabeth is the one we must protect. I don’t like the situation, but we can come out of it without wounding her or your own reputation, sir. Allow me to do what is right by your daughter.’

Constanza and Philippa simply sat, rigidly held. I had to admire John’s silken words, the clever way he allied himself with the Duke to protect me. But would the Duke reject the alliance?

‘It is not how I would have chosen to make my claim for Elizabeth’s hand, but I want her, and I want this child.’

‘I wish it too,’ I said. The strangest way to accept a proposal of marriage, when I had done nothing but refuse for so long.

‘God in Heaven!’ The Duke flung himself into the only vacant chair in the room. ‘I could do without this.’

And I knew that this was the moment to speak out.

‘I repudiate my marriage to John Hastings,’ I said, as if I stood before a man of law. ‘I have no pleasure in a marriage that only exists in legal words.’

‘And I would wed Elizabeth, with or without your consent.’ John’s hand was firm around mine as if he would anchor my thoughts and my words. There was no room for drama here, even though for me there was one final step in the drama. ‘We are both of an age to make that decision. This child merely pre-empts the marriage vows we would have taken. The only problem is …’

‘The problem is the existence of John Hastings and all his powerful connections. You hold my hand over a blazing fire, Holland. What a shattering dilemma you’ve created between the pair of you.’ In what seemed a moment of despair, the Duke rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Do I have a choice? To give in to a situation that appals me, or have my daughter’s name dragged through the sewers by every common gossip in the land.’ Surging to his feet once more, he strode to stand with his back to the window, head and shoulders illuminated in bands of golden light that came through the narrow aperture. ‘I have been there. I know what it can do. I have felt the pain that it can bring. Do I throw my daughter to the monkish wolves, or do I undermine my integrity by breaking an alliance that has stood for all of those eight years?’

The tension in the room had built massively. We waited for his pronouncement. There was nothing more for any of us to say.

‘By God, you are irresponsible, Holland. It’s not as if you were young and thoughtless, like Henry in the first flush of youthful amours. You knew exactly what the repercussions of an illicit roll between the sheets could be. At least Mary was his wife …’

‘No,’ John said. ‘We are aware of what we have done.’ His demeanour was as cool as the Duke’s was hot. Only I was aware of the underlying tensions for my fingers were being squeezed unmercifully, my rings digging deep. It was no small matter to challenge the Duke of Lancaster against his will.

The Duke prowled. Still we waited, the direction of my future life hanging in the balance of his decision. I glanced at John, but thought there was nothing more he could do, and this was assuredly not the moment for any intervention from me.

But then, with a little turn of his head, John smiled at me, the slightest curve of his lips.

‘Perhaps there is an advantage in this union, sir. I am not entirely without influence,’ John said evenly. ‘My marriage to Elizabeth can only consolidate your relationship with the King. Perhaps together we can hold Richard to his true destiny.’

Clever. Superbly cunning, as well as politically astute. I should have known that John would have his full armoury manifest in making his bid for my hand. It was a clever point, cleverly made, and brought the Duke to stand before us.

‘Can anyone hold Richard to his destiny? I doubt it.’

John nodded. ‘It may be that we will fail, but we can at least try. Or I can, with your daughter at my side. You, sir, will be wearing the coronet of Castile. But when Elizabeth and I eventually return to England, it may be that we can influence an older and wiser Richard into the path of good governance.’

I saw my father consider this. I saw the moment of acceptance in his eyes, as I saw his acknowledgement of what John had done. Two resourceful men, each appreciative of the other.

‘There’s merit in what you say. So we need an annulment.’ He grimaced, the lines on his face harsh, but the white fury had faded. ‘You have a way with words, and much as I resent this debacle you’ve landed at my feet, I must see the sense of what you say. God damn you, John!’ Inhaling sharply he rubbed his fist over his jaw as if he could smooth out the tension. ‘All I have to do is to explain to the Pembroke connections that my daughter is not the sanctified vessel I, or they, had thought her to be. They’ll not like it, but it can be done. There will be a price to pay but if I am prepared to pay it …’

How typical of my father. To cover the most difficult ground as fast and as easily as possible.

‘As soon as the annulment is secure, you will wed,’ he continued. ‘Before we sail.’

There. It was done. Relief flooded through me. But not quite. Not quite yet. The future might still not be at all to my liking.

‘And what of me?’ I asked in parody of tremulous anxiety.

‘Your reputation will be restored, Elizabeth. You will be wed to this man and the child will be Holland’s son, without question. Is that not what you want?’

‘But John will have sailed for Portugal. What of me then?’

‘Return to Kenilworth until the child is born,’ my father said dryly. ‘You will be safe and comfortable with every nursemaid in the place at your beck and call.’

I looked at John, all solemn compliance in the face of my new betrothed. ‘Very well. I will do that of course. I will raise this child alone. I will tell it how brave its father is, fighting in a just war, and unable to return to be with us. And one day, God willing, we will be reunited …’

John’s stare was lucid and knowing, and I forced myself to return it, before he addressed my father.

‘If I might make a suggestion, sir, to the benefit of all. That Elizabeth sails with us, in the household of the Duchess and Lady Philippa. This will remove her from any source of unfortunate gossip. By the time she and I return to England, after a successful campaign, the child will be long born and growing strongly. Any scandals associated with our rapid marriage will be well nigh forgotten and the child’s conception of no interest to anyone.’ He slid a glance in my direction. ‘I presume this will meet with your favour, lady?’ Anticipation, thick and sweet, slid along my spine. ‘I will come with you?’

‘Can you think of a better idea?’

He was superbly solemn. So was I. ‘No,’ I replied, breathing shallowly, hiding my breathlessness. ‘If you will allow it, Father.’

The lines in the Duke’s face had relaxed and there was a glimmer of a smile. ‘I feel I have been manipulated by the pair of you. You have more political cunning in your bones, Holland, than a parcel of Scottish ambassadors. And now I must grease some papal hand with gold and get the annulment. As if I had not better things to do.’

I seized his hand. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. I have been pushed into an uncomfortably tight corner.’

‘I will make an inestimable addition to your family, sir.’ John also clasped hands in formal alliance.

‘Make sure you do.’

Philippa came to wind an arm round my waist.

‘You are a cunning woman, Elizabeth,’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

And thus it was done, the idea that had been born in my mind as the towers of Plymouth had come into my line of vision had been carried out to perfection. I had known exactly what I had wanted, neither a hasty bedding with Jonty nor the cage of a convent. This child, so carelessly conceived, drove me to acknowledge what I desired, and I knew I would stop at nothing to achieve it. There was only one escape from shame or enforced seclusion or even from the interminable boredom of life in Kenilworth or Hertford as the respectable Countess of Pembroke, far from events that shaped the kingdom. Perhaps this child, that had become very precious to me, was not so much a disaster as a blessing in disguise.

If I could make it work for me. And I would. I had.

Persuasion. That had been the key to it. But it had needed careful handling, persuading two men who prized their authority as much as a gold crown to agree to my unspoken wishes. Would it be truly possible for me to draw these men into bringing my resolve to fulfilment, without their even knowing it? Why not? If I did not at least try, how could I succeed? It had taken all the patience I rarely lay claim to, and a degree of dissembling and skilful manoeuvring that I did. With solemn contrition, a sprinkling of tears, and reproachful uncertainty, I had used all the tricks of female helplessness, while all the time fighting for a future that would satisfy me. Would not any woman of considerable talent and a determination to influence her own future do the same?

And now I had it, all that I had envisioned, even a sojourn in distant Portugal during which Richard’s court could forget my misdemeanours. Furthermore I had discovered how much John Holland desired me: enough to face my father on the eve of the expedition and fight with smooth words and even smoother arguments to win me.

Thus the Duke put the weight of the Lancaster name and influence into action and I achieved an annulment as fast as it took to send off a courier and hand over a purse of gold. At a time when all I desired seem to be coming to fruition, I found a moment to think of Jonty, who would discover his new unwed status by that same Lancaster courier. It seemed a harsh and cold manner to terminate our marriage. I thought I should have told him, but in the end, the official ending of the contract was all that mattered. His family would find him a more suitable bride of an age to wait for him. He was a matrimonial prize. There would be no difficulty.

Would Jonty miss me? I did not think so. I would remember him with affection. Now my thoughts were all for the future.

To my relief, my father was too preoccupied to do more than remark: ‘He is a man with few morals but the ability to charm a frog from a pond. I see no happiness for you with him, Elizabeth. He is as dangerous as a sharp blade in the hands of an untrained squire.’

‘But I love him.’

‘And does he love you?’

‘He says that he does. And I believe him.’

As for John, I saw very little of him since the Duke kept his organisational abilities engaged from dawn to dusk, but we met together in the castle’s chapel, early one morning, to exchange vows in the presence of a very small and select congregation come to witness the marriage of Elizabeth of Lancaster to John Holland. No important guests, no ceremonial, no bridal garments, merely the sharing of the holy words, a plain gold ring, because John had nothing else to hand, and a nuptial kiss that was deceptively brief and chaste.

I marvelled at our achievement against all the odds, and I loved John Holland even more as my admiration of what he had done gained hold. The clever intellect, often masked beneath the outer glamour of soldier and courtier. His political vision for England. His courage in demanding me, in the face of my father’s ire, with a cold logic that could not be gainsaid.

There was no happier woman in the kingdom than I.

‘So you got your own way in all things, Madam Elizabeth.’

Plymouth was fading on the horizon as a stiff wind took our vessel on a spritely south-west course on our journey to Portugal. His voice in my ear, his hands locking me against the ship’s rail as I looked up into his face. As my husband he was free to approach me in public without censure.

I smiled. ‘Now why would you think that?’

‘Don’t play the innocent, mistress. You are a revelation in trickery, my love. You are as full of guile as a bag of foxes.’

I could not deny it. And what need, now that we were embarked? ‘Would you rather I stayed behind?’ I asked, sure of my love.

‘What do you think?’

‘I think I have never been more content.’

And I was. This was what I wanted. I could see nothing but success in this venture, where I loved and was loved. There were no doubts in my mind to sully my happiness. If I had ever doubted, those doubts had been swept away by John’s shining certainty that he would have me as his wife, and I wanted to be with him, whatever the difficulties. Had we not managed to scale the most formidable of bulwarks, my existing marriage? He was my life; my present and my future. This was love, a depth of feeling that obliterated everything but the sense of his protection. His devotion.

John Holland was not without faults, but neither was I.

I thought we would never live at peace. We would know the clash of equally determined wills, of hot words and wilful disagreements. But equally I knew, his arms solid and supportive around me as the ship lifted and fell in the swell of the waves, that we would remain constant. Ambition might put its stamp on him, but I was an integral part of that ambition and always would be. Were we not dedicated to the nurture and support of the same family, the same King who was so close to both of us?

‘What would you have done,’ he asked, chin resting on my head, ‘if I had agreed that you return to Kenilworth while I went soldiering?’

‘I would have dressed as a man and followed you,’ I replied promptly.

I felt him smile. ‘I suspect you might have done. Fortunately there’s no need, my wife. Have we not made all things to our liking? And now I think we should investigate the accommodations they have made for us in this creaking bucket. I expect it has a bed of sorts in it …’

With every word, every gesture, he drew me to him, like a moth to a flame, a wasp to a honey pot. Like a woman to a man who defied convention, who took fate by the throat and shook it so that it cowered in obedience, who beat his own path through life. A man who was good to look at, quick-witted and silver-tongued. What a future we would make together at Richard’s court, when we returned home. John left me in no doubt that he would win his redemption and take his place at Richard’s side as a valued counsellor, just as my father had done.

‘You look happy,’ he said. ‘Like a cat who has lured its prey and now has it under its claws.’ And he kissed my fingertips as he drew me into the cabin he had discovered.

I flexed my fingers, interlinking them with his to rub along my cheek, smiling like the satisfied cat he called me, saying simply: ‘My happiness cannot be measured. I have you to thank for that.’

‘It is my pleasure.’

Our pleasure was mutual, and then we turned to look towards Portugal and our new life.