Some days, seeing my wariness around horses, Edmund arranged that we take the hawks out into the marshes on foot. There was little sport to be had, nothing but wet feet and icy fingers and shivering limbs by the time that the noon hour approached, but Edmund, in his role of Overseer of Inordinate Pleasure, had all arranged with my Master of Household. As the pale sun reached its zenith, wagons pulled by oxen trundled towards us along the track.
‘What is this?’ I squinted against the hazy sun.
‘Everything for your comfort, of course, my lady.’
I watched with astonishment.
‘When did he arrange this?’ I asked James, who stood with his arm openly around Joan’s shoulders.
‘Lord knows. He’s a past master. Give him an inch…’
And he would take a dozen miles. As he had. Hot braziers, the air shimmering around them, were manhandled onto the ground in our midst. Heaped platters of bread and meat and cheese, bowls of steaming pottage, flagons of warm spiced ale were all unloaded and a group of minstrels produced their instruments, blowing on their cold fingers. Soon the marshes echoed to music and song.
It was magical.
‘Do you approve, Majesty?’ Edmund asked with a bold stare.
‘It’s too late to ask that,’ I replied in mock reproof.
He sank to his knees, head bent. ‘I asked no permission. Am I in disgrace?’
‘Would you care?’ I thought he would not.
‘I would care if I caused you to frown on me, lady.’ Suddenly he was grave, looking up through his dark lashes, all light mockery abandoned, making me recognise that I must consider my choice of words. And so I kept them light as I borrowed a fiddle bow from one of the nearby minstrels and struck Edmund lightly on both shoulders.
‘Arise, Lord Edmund. I forgive you everything. A hot brazier and a bowl of onion pottage on a freezing day can worm your way into any woman’s favour. Even mine.’
He leapt to his feet. ‘Come and be warm.’
Handing over the raptors to the waiting falconers, we ate, then danced on the frosted grass by the river, until the bitter wind dispelled even the heat of the fires and drove us in. I laughed at the irresistible impulsiveness of it all when we joined hands and circled like any peasant gathering, and my hand was clasped hard in Edmund Beaufort’s as we hopped and leapt. As if he felt that I might run away if he released me for even a moment.
I felt like a young girl again. I had no intention of running.
Ah, but some days I felt old, older than my years, unable to respond to the simple magic of pleasure. A vicious cold snap found us skating on the solid stretch of river, silvered and beautiful in the frosty air, the grass seed heads coated in hoar.
‘I cannot,’ I said, when my damsels donned skates and proved their prowess. It looked dangerously uneven to me, the ice ridged and perilous to those who had no balance.
‘Have you never skated?’ Edmund was skimming fast across the frozen ripples, already at my side in an elegant slide and spurt of ice that drew all eyes, while I shivered miserably on the riverbank, reluctant even to try. I had a vision of me, sprawled and helpless and horribly exposed.
‘No.’
‘You can learn.’ ‘I doubt it.’
And there was the familiar gloom lurking on the edge of my sight, waiting for me to allow it to approach closer and overwhelm me.
‘You can, Queen Kat. There is nothing that you cannot do.’ Edmund’s certainty cut through my self-imposed misery. ‘You will be an expert by tonight. I guarantee it.’
Still I sought for an excuse. ‘I have no skates.’
He produced a pair, shaking them by their leather straps over my head. ‘Sit there and I will remedy your lack.’
I sat on a folded cloak on the bank. ‘Permit me, my lady.’
Without waiting for permission, he pushed back my skirt and lifted one foot, beginning to strap on the skate. I discovered that I was holding my breath, watching his bent head as he huffed at the stubbornness of the frozen leather. He wore a magnificently swathed velvet hood, his hair curling beneath it against his cheek; his fingers were sure and clever, even in the cold.
I took in a quick breath as they slid over my ankle, then round my instep. It was an intimate task but not once did he stray beyond what was acceptable. Quick and efficient, he was as impersonal as any servant. Not once did he look up into my face. Until it was done.
And then he did, holding my gaze, his own bright with knowing. ‘There, my lady. It’s done. You may breathe again.’ His eyes outshone the jewels anchoring the velvet folds. He knew I had been holding my breath. My heart jolted against my ribs.
