Was he angry? I dared not look at him. Contrition made me move to walk past him, to escape the inevitable accusations, but as I reached the door Owen took my wrist. I glanced towards Father Benedict but he was occupied before the altar. When I pulled hard for release, Owen simply tightened his grip and drew me back into the chapel.
‘Katherine!’ He huffed out a breath. ‘Are all women so intransigent and intriguing? I swear it takes a brave man to take you on! I want to seize you and shake you for your indecision—and at the same time prostrate myself at your feet in sorrow for my savagery. You tear me apart. Two nights ago, for that brief moment, you burned with fire in my arms. Today you are as cold as ice. A man needs to know what his woman is thinking.’
It shocked me. ‘I am not your woman,’ I remarked. I was indeed as cold as ice.
‘Tell me that you did not want me when you came to my room. If that is not being my woman, I don’t know what is. Or do they have different standards at the royal court in France?’
Doubly wounded by an accusation that had some degree of truth in it, fury raced through me like a bolt of lightning. I felt like throwing my missal at his head. I gripped it, white-knuckled, and without thought, without respect, committing all the sins I had deplored, I replied, ‘How dare you, a servant, judge me? You have no right!’
Gripping my missal hard, I instantly regretted my ungoverned words. Seeing what might be in my mind, Owen favoured me with an unequivocal stare and took the book from my hand.
‘I think your words have done enough damage,’ he observed, the soft cadence for once compromised. ‘To resort to violence would be less than becoming, my lady.’
And I was stricken. It was as if I had actually struck him, for how could I have spoken words so demeaning? Demeaning to both Owen Tudor and myself. What would he think of me now? First to play him fast and loose, and then to lash out in an anger that he would not have understood? How could I possibly explain to him that I feared beyond anything to be likened to my mother and her louche court where lust ruled and principle came a far second? I could not tell him, I could not explain…
‘I am so sorry,’ I breathed. ‘I am even more ashamed…’
And how unforgiving was his reply. ‘Well, my comment was ill advised, I suppose. What would a servant know of such high matters as behaviour between those of royal blood?’
‘I should not have said that. It was unforgivable. Everything I say to try to put this right between us seems to be the wrong thing.’
And I covered my face at the impossibility of it, so that when Owen moved to pull me to sit on the settle he startled me, but I did not refuse, neither did I rebuff him when Father Benedict rose, genuflected, and withdrew into the sanctuary, and Owen took a seat beside me.
‘Don’t weep,’ he said. ‘What I said to you was intolerable for a man of honour. But I claim provocation.’ His smile was wry. ‘Your tears are sufficient condemnation of my actions towards you. Doubtless I should be dismissed from your service for it. I would do nothing to hurt you, my lady.’
‘I’ll not dismiss you. Do you not understand?’ His return to formality overcame me, undermining all my intentions to remain aloof and distant, and the words poured as freely as my tears. ‘I was responsible. I was too impulsive. I am ashamed that I came to your room, willingly kissed you and accepted your kisses, and then my courage gave out at the last moment. I could see no happiness, no future, for either of us. Do you not see? I am not allowed to have what would make me happy. My life is dictated by Gloucester and the Council. Yes, I wanted you. I would have lain in your arms if I had not had a fit of remorse for beginning what could not be ended. For Gloucester’s anger at me would touch you also.’
He said nothing, merely leaned forward, forearms supported on his thighs, studying the tiles between his boots. I could not tell if he understood, or despised me as a weak woman who could not make up her own mind. I feared it might be the latter.
‘I wish I had never seen you swimming in the river,’ I sniffed.
He turned his head to look up at me. ‘Why?’
‘Because since then I am aware of you as I have been of no other man.’
‘I didn’t know you admired my prowess at swimming,’ he said.
‘I didn’t. I lusted after your body,’ I admitted.
He laughed softly, the sound not totally devoid of humour, as he returned my missal to me. ‘So why refuse me?’
‘Because I have to live as I am told to live, discreetly and circumspectly, to honour my son and the Crown.’
The dark brows drew together. ‘You are not a child, to follow orders.’
‘It is not as simple as that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I am alone. I have no one to encourage me, to give me strength. If I am to rebel against those who have power over me, I cannot do it alone. You were right. St Winifred had far more courage than I.’
‘To Hell with St Winifred. I would give you strength.’
‘But if we embarked on…that is to say…’
