And not only that. My lute was newly and expertly strung by morning—one of the strings having snapped the previous evening—before I had even asked for it to be done. Would Henry have done that for me? I think he would have purchased a new lute. Edmund would not have noticed. When we suffered a plague of mice in the damsels’ quarters, I was recipient of a striped kitten. The mice were safe enough, but its antics made us laugh. I knew where the gift had come from.
Nothing inappropriate. Nothing to cause comment or draw the eye. Except for that of Beatrice, who observed casually one morning when a basket of fragrant apple logs appeared in my parlour, ‘Master Owen has been very attentive recently.’
‘More than usual?’ I queried with a fine show of insouciance.
‘I think so.’ Her eyes narrowed.
And the gestures continued. A rose, icily preserved and barely unfurled. Where had he found that in January? An intricate hood, the leather fashioned and stitched with a pretty tuft of feathers, for my new merlin. I knew whose capable fingers had executed the stitching. And for the New Year gift-giving, a crucifix carved with astonishing precision from that same applewood, polished and gleaming, left for me anonymously and without explanation on my
And what did I give him? I knew I had not the freedom to give, as he had to me under the cover of the household, but the tradition of rewarding servants at Twelfth Night made it possible. I gave him a bolt of cloth, rich blue damask, as dark and sumptuous as indigo, to be made up into a tunic. I could imagine it becoming him very well.
Owen thanked me formally. I smiled and thanked him for his services to me and my people. Our eyes caught for the merest of breaths then he bowed again and stood aside for others to approach.
My cheeks were aflame. Was no one else aware of the burning need that shimmered in the air between us? Beatrice was.
‘I hope you know what you’re about, my lady,’ she remarked with a caustic glance.
Oh, I did. And after the weeks of thwarted love it could not come fast enough.
‘When can I be with you?’
It was the question I had longed to hear from him.
‘Come to my room,’ I replied. ‘Between Vespers and Compline.’
It was January, bleak and cold, and the court had slipped into its winter regime of survival: keeping warm; tolerating the endless dark when there was no light in the sky when we rose and it had vanished again by supper. But my blood raced hotly. The physical consummation of our love had to be. I wanted to be with him for I loved him with an outpouring of passion I knew not how to express. All I knew was that I loved him and he loved me.
And I had to take Guille into my confidence. She simply nodded as if she knew I could do no other, opening the door for him, closing it without a glance as she left us.
‘I’ll make sure you are not disturbed, my lady,’ she had promised. She did not judge me too harshly.
And there he stood, Owen Tudor, illuminated by a shimmer of candles because, perhaps out of trepidation at the last, I had lit my room as if for a religious rite. Dark-clad, hair dense as the damask I had given him, face sternly glamorous, his presence overwhelmed my bedchamber, and me. But not quite. I knew what I would do.
‘Will you run from me?’ he asked softly, not moving from the door, giving me all the time in the world.
‘Not this time.’ The words rasped a little on an indrawn breath.
He raised his chin a little. ‘I have nothing to give you but what you see.’
‘It is enough.’
He walked slowly around my chamber, dousing the candles as if it were a final task as my servant, leaving the one beside the bed to flicker and paint shadows on the entwined flowers embroidered on my chamber robe. Drawing back the curtains of my bed, he held out his hand to me. ‘My lady?’ There was just the hint of a query, still allowing me the freedom to choose.
I did not move. I could not take that final step just yet.
‘I have to say that I don’t know…’ I swallowed and tried again. ‘It is just that…’ And I raised my hands in despair. ‘I have no idea how I should make love with a man. How I should make myself desirable to him.’
His expression showed no pity. Owen took the step towards me and laid his fingers on my lips. ‘It is of no account. I will show you. I will lead and you will follow, as you will.’
