Chapter Eleven
Lady Maude Teasdale informed Kit that the Earl of Langston, Edward Markham, would be calling on her that evening. She told Kit that the earl was one of Henry’s most trusted diplomats, who had returned from France only weeks before, and had arrived at Westminster with the king and his party that afternoon.
Langston was a white-haired man, old enough to be Kit’s grandfather. In one hand, he held a document rolled up and tied with a gold ribbon. “My dear Lady Kathryn. How good it is to meet you at last,” the gentleman said when she entered the room. “I must say—you are the very image of your mother.”
Kit’s nerves were already wound as tight as a bowstring, and his statement didn’t help. His words shocked Kit, but she maintained her composure. Just barely. No one ever spoke of her mother except Bridget.
“How do you do, sir?” she said quietly as she curtsied. She trembled slightly in anticipation of what the earl had come to say. “You knew my mother?”
“I knew both your parents.”
She reeled at his words. Both her parents? There wasn’t a person alive who admitted to knowing her mother’s first husband. “I was told you wanted to speak to me,” she said in a quiet voice, full of expectation now.
“Yes. The subject matter is somewhat delicate,” Langston said as he led Kathryn to a chair. “Why don’t you sit while we chat?”
Kit sat in a comfortable chair near the window and was so preoccupied with Langston’s visit, she hardly noticed the dramatic flood of deep purple irises growing in a bed of black earth right outside. Kit had no doubt that the earl was about to inform her of the reason for her summons to London, and she tried to master a suddenly queasy stomach. She had an odd sense of foreboding after his words about her parents.
“I knew your mother when she was here twenty years ago. She was a lively thing, and a bit difficult as well. For her father, I mean.”
“Are you saying that my mother was willful, sir?” Kit asked, her nerves abating slightly. The earl’s manner was direct and friendly and helped to put her at ease.
“To say the least,” he chuckled.
“Disobedient?” The very idea was intriguing. Bridget had never said anything negative about Meghan. As far as the old nurse was concerned, Meghan had been perfect. But what did all this have to do with King Henry V calling Kathryn to London?
“Suffice it to say that your mother was a lively girl, and a much-welcomed addition to the king’s court. You must realize that it was a difficult time, when Henry Hereford took the throne from Richard. Not everyone was supportive.”
Kit wanted to laugh at the earl’s understatement. A group of Richard’s supporters, who were supposedly loyal to Henry, attempted to assassinate the new king and his sons a few months after the coronation. And then it had happened again nearly a year later. It must have been an explosive time.
The earl continued, “However, his highness Henry IV was enjoying a great deal of success after ridding the country of King Richard. Lady Meghan Russell had arrived from Ireland just before the coronation, and she became enamored of Henry. Of course, there were many who loved Henry at that juncture.”
“My mother?” Kit laughed somewhat dubiously. It was ludicrous. “And the king?”
“She...well, she appealed to him,” Lord Markham continued. “Many of the ladies vied for his attention, but he cared only for Lady Meghan. You must understand that there were a great many pressures on Henry then. He did not step into an easy role. It was up to the king to uphold the monarchy, to repair the wrongs done at court, to preserve—Well, I’ve strayed from the subject at hand.”
He untied the gold cord around the document and began to unroll it.
“There is no easy way to tell you this, Lady Kathryn,” Lord Markham said. “However, young King Henry desired that I be the one to inform you since I happened to be here at the time...knowing both your mother and the king.”
“Knowing my mother...and the king?” She looked doubtfully at the document which he placed before her and recognized the royal seal.
“Henry Hereford, King Henry IV, was your father,” he said.
She. shook her head to clear it. “King Henry Here-ford...?”
“Henry Monmouth—Henry V—is your brother,” he continued. “Half brother, actually.”
Kit stared at the parchment before her, as if it could speak, as though it could comment on what the earl had just told her. Then she looked up at him, disbelieving. It was impossible. Intolerable. Her mouth went dry. “No one ever said anything. Why now? Why has his majesty sent for me now?”
“Your father’s wishes were unknown until recently, when this document was discovered,” the gentleman told her. “The king was unable to marry your mother, though I can assure you that was his most desperate wish then. He chose Somerton as a safe place for both of you. The king was most concerned with your safety, especially since we seemed to be on the verge of civil war at the time. His enemies could easily have taken advantage, had they known of your existence. That is why your identity was kept secret.”
“But now...?” Kit brushed away a tear that had spilled onto her cheek. All those years of believing her father had been her mother’s husband, a nobleman who had died honorably somewhere... Yet Bridget had known, had tried to tell her in the end.
“This document was recently found among the old king’s papers. He mentions you, his daughter, several times.”
“Me. His daughter.” His bastard daughter, her heart cried out bitterly.
“Too many people are now aware of your existence. More will soon know your identity. There are many Lancastrian enemies who could take advantage of this information.”
“How?”
“The primary threat, of course, is abduction,” Lord Markham said.
“Are you saying that someone might try to abduct me?” she asked shakily.
He nodded. “That was why King Henry had you brought to London as soon as he verified the information in his father’s papers. To assure your safety.”
“But why should I believe this...this...paper?” she asked quietly. “Why should I accept your word that I...that I am a bastard?”
Lord Markham rolled the document and tied the gold cord around it. He wasn’t particularly satisfied with the way the interview had progressed, with Lady Kathryn so obviously distressed. She had mettle, though, he concluded. She hadn’t broken down, nor become hysterical. It had to be difficult to learn this sort of thing, though. That one’s whole life had been a lie. He certainly didn’t envy her.
“I was there, my lady,” he replied kindly. “Your father confided in me. Believe me when I say I have no wish, no motivation to cause offense or injury to you.”
She could see that his words were sincere, though it gave her little satisfaction. “What now?”
“The king, your brother, wishes that you marry.”
“Marry?” Kit cried.
“He has chosen a powerful man, the Duke of Carlisle, whom he trusts as a brother, to wed you.”
“I suppose this...duke...knows I’m a bastard?” she cried bitterly.
“His grace has been informed.”
“And he agrees?” she asked harshly, blinking back the tears. “He would marry a bastard?”
Lord Markham replied affirmatively.
“What if I refuse?”
“A royal subject does not refuse, Lady Kathryn,” he said. “You are the king’s sister. He is only doing what he deems best for your welfare, in compliance with your father’s wishes.”
“Which are...?”
“That you be wed according to your station. That you be protected.”
He gave Kit the opportunity to digest the proposal. She had no choice in the matter, and she had to realize it. When she was once more composed, he carried on with the king’s instructions.
“His majesty will not be able to openly acknowledge your relationship to him, although many already suspect it. He asks that you say nothing to confirm it, nor must you deny it, either. It is doubtful that you will be confronted to provide confirmation.”
“I go on as Kathryn Somers?”
“Rather, as the Duchess of Carlisle.”
She nodded hesitantly.
Lord Markham smiled then. “You will meet King Henry tomorrow, before the banquet. He has requested that you sit at his left hand, a place of honor.”
She nodded again. What else could she do? She was trapped.
Wolf argued as he walked with his cousin, Nicholas, outside the palace. It was the morning of the banquet, at which his elevation as Duke would be announced as well as his betrothal to the king’s sister. Of course, her relationship to the king would not be admitted publicly. Only Henry’s brothers and a select few of Henry’s advisors were aware of her existence. A few others suspected, but it would never be confirmed.
Wolf had known his recovery of Windermere had been too easy. His marriage to the king’s sister was the price. And he was determined to pay it.
“But Wolf—”
“It doesn’t matter, Nick,” Wolf said. “One woman will suit as well as any other. A close tie to the throne can’t hurt me.”
“But you’ve never set eyes on her, Wolf,” Nicholas protested. “How could you possibly agree to taking one of these damned Catherines to wife?”
“Just be glad his majesty didn’t make you duke,” he said sarcastically. “Then you would be the lucky bridegroom.”
“No, fortunately, I’ve only been made Viscount of Thornton. 1 can choose my own wife. Does the woman know yet?”
“Yes. I understand the lady was told last night.”
They heard voices in the distance. “My God,” Nicholas said as he stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth suddenly went dry as he stared straight ahead. “Who is—? Isn’t that Kit Somers?” he asked incredulously, indicating a woman sitting with a man some distance down the garden path.
She sat next to a man on a wooden bench with a cloud of delicate purple forget-me-nots and white irises at her feet. She wore a gown of jade green with a fitted, low-cut bodice, clearly delineating a narrow waist and pale breasts straining fashionably above the fabric of her gown. Her head was uncovered, and her alluring face was softly framed by curling golden tendrils. Cascades of lush blond curls tumbled down her back in total disarray, and the two men watched as her shoulders convulsed with weeping.
The woman in question was definitely Kit and recognition slammed through Wolf like a thunderbolt. She was the beautiful, sensuous woman from Somerton Lake. Chagrined, he realized that she had known who he was all along, though Kit had chosen not to reveal her identity to him.
But why? His heart pounded as he recalled that she had responded to his kiss with an abandon and a passion he’d never experienced in any other woman. It had been the same every time he’d kissed her, now that he thought of it. He was frustrated beyond reason as he watched her distraught form clinging to her companion. He wanted to go to her and comfort her as he had at Windermere. But he had no right. He was betrothed now, and she probably was, too, and nothing—Damnation! It was Rupert Aires whose shoulder she was drenching with her tears. Here was Kit’s reason for keeping her identity secret, he thought bitterly.
Wolf drew on all his powers of discipline in order to control the urge to go to her, drag her away from Rupert and demand an explanation. His duty was to wed the king’s sister, whether he liked it or no and Kit Somers could only make it difficult. He had finally admitted to himself that he wanted her with a passion he’d never felt before, and he knew that his desire for Kit could only interfere with his marriage. He had promised to marry the king’s half sister, and Wolf was determined to do it. He would pay the price for Windermere, though it was higher than he had ever thought possible.
He had to get Kit out of his thoughts, or he knew the marriage would be untenable.
Kit soaked Rupert’s shirt with her tears. She realized she’d been crying a lot lately, and resolved to stop it. Not even when she was married to the Duke of... whatever... would she allow herself any tears.
“It will be all right, Kit,” Rupert said. “You’ll see.”
“But I always thought I’d wed you,” she cried. She couldn’t bear to tell him the true reason for her tears—the fact that she was a bastard, not the honorable offspring of lawfully wedded parents. That she bore the shame of having been disowned and sent away.
“Marry me?” He was aghast. Kit was more like a sister to him. True, they’d talked as children about being married to one another, but it had only been child’s play. Nothing serious. At least that was what he thought.
She nodded. “Until I came here and realized you weren’t at all what I thought you were.”
“Now, what exactly does that mean?” He feigned offense and pulled back from her. God, she’d grown up to be a beauty, Rupert thought as he looked down at her. Not that he’d want to marry her, but if she had anything else in mind—
“Just that you’re not a particularly good choice for a husband.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he said with a grin, even as she bawled in his arms. “I’d hate to think anyone wanted me for such a horrifying purpose.”
“No,” she sniffled. “But...”
“But what?”
“Nothing.” Kit sat up and wiped her eyes. “I shouldn’t be out here crying like this.” She wiped her eyes on Rupert’s doublet. “If anyone should see us...”
“Don’t worry, Kit. No one at Westminster is ever up and about this early.”
Kit had a long, leisurely bath to calm her nerves. Afterward, Jane made some sort of poultice to lay across her eyes to reduce the redness and swelling from her incessant crying spells. Kit finally lay on a pallet in front of the fire and dozed as Meg dried her hair in the heat of the flame and Jane lay out her clothes for the evening.
The maids knew Lady Kathryn hadn’t slept much the night before, and their lady was out of sorts all day long. Rumor had it that her distress was due to the marriage arranged for her by the king. It hadn’t become common knowledge yet that she was actually Henry’s sister—his bastard sister.
When Kit finally awoke, the maids dressed her in the sleek white gown trimmed in gold thread that had belonged to Meghan, the one Kit had promised Bridget she’d wear when she was presented to the king. The golden bliaut had been altered to fit her form tightly, and additional fabric was added to the sleeves to make them fashionably long.
Jane brushed Kit’s hair until it was a mass of silken curls. Then she talked Lady Kathryn into leaving it unveiled and entwined it with thin, white velvet ribbons. Since Kit owned no jewelry, she was the epitome of simple, angelic elegance when she went to meet the king.
Queen Catherine was formal and reserved in her greeting, yet Kit sensed no lack of warmth in her. Her light brown eyes sparkled benevolently, and she seemed to have a genuine affection for Henry. Kit noticed that she often laid a bejeweled hand on her husband’s arm, and showed other signs of closeness. Her face was long and thin, almost gaunt, though not unpleasant. The style of her crimson gown was the same as that worn by the ladies at court and Kit knew at once whom the ladies emulated.
Looking at her brother, she was struck primarily by the differences in his facial features compared to her own. The only similarities were that Henry’s chin was cleft as was hers, and the shape of his eyes was vaguely similar, though his were hazel and hers green.
“At last we meet,” he said warmly as Kit curtsied. “I understand you’re called Kit.” Henry took Kit’s hand and led her to a seat.
“But how—”
“The Marquess of Kendal told me all he knew of you,” Henry said. “And of course Sir Gerhart’s report was quite complete.”
Kit blushed. She immediately thought of the incident with Wolf on the stairs at Kendal and wondered if he’d included it in his report.
“He was most descriptive when he told of the attack outside of Windermere,” Henry went on, amused by Kit’s reaction to Gerhart’s name. He poured wine into a goblet and handed it to his sister. “I understand the battle wouldn’t have gone so well if not for your leather sling and a few well-placed stones.”
“Gerhart said that?” She knew she sounded breathless and forced herself to correct it.
“Of course.” Henry sat down next to her. “It’s true enough, isn’t it?”
“Then why did he taunt me—?” She stopped, preferring not to speak of Gerhart now. It was upsetting enough to know she was the king’s bastard sister, about to marry some decrepit old duke. It would be disastrous to think of Gerhart now. “Excuse me, Sire,” she said, intending to close the subject, “but Gerhart didn’t seem to think my assistance was particularly valuable.”
“On the contrary, he made a special point of telling me of your prowess in the battle. He thought your actions worthy of the most seasoned soldier in his troop.”
“But—”
“In fact, it is one of the reasons why I decided to betroth you to the duke. Carlisle needs a woman with spirit, one who can see past his faults, his superficial shortcomings. He must wed an equal. Not some simpering, weak-kneed chit—”
“But Your Majesty, perhaps I am not...ready?” It was worth a try.
“Nonsense,” Henry laughed. “Our father stipulated that you were to wed a powerful peer, preferably before your seventeenth year. Unfortunately, our father did not see fit to inform me of your existence. I discovered you quite recently and entirely by accident.”
Kit took a gulp of her wine. “Couldn’t we just ignore our relationship for the time being and go on as before, Sire? No one knows, and I’d prefer to forget it as well if only—”
“On the contrary, dear sister,” Henry said, smiling, resigned to the truth. “There are many who do know. And soon there will be more.”
“No.” It was barely a whisper.
“As king, and as your brother, I have certain responsibilities toward you. We Lancasters—and I stress we—have more than our share of enemies. There are hostile factions who plan strategically to achieve their ends, and some are brazen and rash, like the Lollards, who have proven themselves quite unpredictable and dangerous,” Henry said. “I had hoped that Langston could make this easier for you, but I realize this sort of revelation must be disturbing, no matter how gently put.”
“Disturbing...yes...” Tears were welling up behind Kit’s eyes again, and she fought to maintain control. How could she tell the king that she had no wish to be his sister, that she spurned his efforts at making her secure? Let the Lollard fanatics come or whomever else—
“Let me remind you that there are many... illegitimate members of our family. Our grandfather, John of Gaunt, had sons by a mistress whom he later married.”
“The Beauforts,” Kit said. “Your uncles.”
“Our uncles.”
“Yet our father never married my mother.”
“He could not, Kit,” Henry said. “There were complications. Glendower of Wales, the situation in France, a possible political marriage—” He waved a hand expansively. “A king is not always free to choose.”
She drank the last of her wine in an effort to do something, anything to gain a moment to get control of herself.
Queen Catherine touched Kit’s shoulder. “Lord Langston told us that King Henry loved your mother,” she said gently. Her accent made her voice seem small and delicate to Kit. “He said the king mourned her death till the end of his life.”
“A small consolation.”
“But true, nonetheless,” the queen said. “Try not to begrudge your parents the small happiness they shared so many years ago.”
. “I will try,” Kit said earnestly, though she had no idea how she would ever come to understand the two who had created her. Two people whose love created her and yet could destroy her life.
“Come,” Henry said, standing. He took his wife’s hand and Kit’s in each of his. “Compose yourself and let us go to the banquet. It will be my pleasure to escort a lovely lady on each side.”
“Oh, hell’s fire,” Kit muttered under her breath.
Her brother smiled.
“Your Grace.” A man’s voice drew Wolfs attention from his cousin, who was enjoying the king’s ale. He turned to see the Earl of Langston. “May I be one of the first to congratulate you. Your betrothed seems to be a woman of spirit and substance, and a comely maid as well.”
“Let me offer my congratulations as well, Your Grace,” added Lord Kendal, who was attending the banquet with his son and daughter-in-law. “When do you wed the lady?”
“His majesty has planned for the ceremony to take place three days hence,” Wolf said absently, turning back to Nicholas, only to see his cousin amble away through the thick of the crowd. At least he was amiable while drinking, Wolf thought.
Wolf heard that the king had entered the hall, but he was so far away, he was unable to see the royal couple. He knew he was to be seated next to Queen Catherine, so he took his leave of Kendal and Langston to proceed towards the dais. When the king and queen were finally within view, it was not the two of them who caught his eye. His attention was riveted on Kit, standing next to Henry.
She was a vision, dressed in shimmering white and gold from her chin to her wrists and down to her ankles. Wavy, flaxen hair was uncovered and unbound, cascading gloriously down Kit’s back and gently framing her face. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and his mind reeled at the thought of losing her to Rupert Aires. He thought of those long hours she had spent sharing his saddle, with her body so near. His hands recalled the softness of her skin, his lips remembered the way she’d kissed him at Kendal, and his heart pounded in response. She was all he desired in the world, both the fantasy and the reality. Perhaps the king would—
The truth of the situation suddenly crashed into his consciousness. Kit stood in a position of honor at the king’s left hand. Bloody hell! Kit was the king’s sister, the “Catherine” he was to wed.
Yet he had seen her crying this morning, obviously after receiving the order to marry him rather than her beloved Rupert.
King Henry caught Wolf’s eye and beckoned him forward. Kit turned to see Wolf approaching, and her heart fairly lurched in her breast. Wolf was so much more than Rupert could ever begin to be, she thought, thoroughly appreciating the way he moved his agile frame through the crowd to reach her. He wore a tunic of deep blue, a color which set off his dark hair and the silver in his eyes. If only...but it was impossible. Even if she weren’t betrothed to the old duke, what would Wolf want with King Henry’s bastard daughter?
As he came closer. Kit felt the color rise in her cheeks, embarrassed that Wolf was about to learn that she was the king’s bastard sister. She wanted to run from the room and lock herself away.
Even as she ruminated over her predicament, Kit distinctly heard Henry’s closest knights address Wolf as “Your Grace,” and saw them bow formally to him. She hadn’t realized that an earl was ever called “Your Grace,” and thought only a duke merited that title.
God’s blood! Could Wolf be a duke? she wondered. She’d been so certain that Windermere was an Earldom.
Why was everything so muddled now? Kit cast a puzzled glance toward the king who greeted Wolf with one word as Wolf bowed to him.
“Carlisle.”