His beautiful voice washed over me, calming me, restoring my earlier knowledge of what I wanted, what was right. ‘I am.’
‘Before you fell I thought you looked strained and sad.’ His voice was suddenly ragged. ‘Before God, Katherine, I have been torn apart, not knowing, not being able to come to you.’
‘I was sad, but no longer.’ I touched his sleeve. ‘I heard that it was you who carried me to my room. I did not know what was real and what was in my mind.’
He lifted my hand and kissed it. ‘You fell at my feet.’
‘Then that was fortunate.’
‘I hope your maid is discreet. I can no longer be discreet.’
Before he could take me into his arms, for that was clearly his intent, I stopped him, my hand pressed against his chest.
‘Owen…’ I arranged and rearranged the simple words. And finally I stated them baldly. ‘I am carrying your child. That is why I fell.’
His face paled, eyes darkened, all movement suspended. And then he slowly allowed his arms to fall.
‘Owen…’ I whispered.
But he swung away from me, to stride to the windows that ran along one side, away from the vivid forest, the hunted and the huntsmen. He did not stare down into the Inner Ward, as I expected. Instead, he turned his back to the fast-scudding clouds that heralded an approaching storm and looked at me. Still silent, thoughts masked, emotions impossible to read, he simply stood. As I walked slowly forward I could see how shallow his breathing was, how rigid his chain of office lay on his chest so that the gems were dark and opaque. His hands were splayed against the stones of the wall at his back.
‘Are you angry?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ And as if all his emotions had suddenly re-ignited, he spun from me to drive his fist into the carved window surround. Owen Tudor was no longer my impassive Master of Household. When I placed my hand on his shoulder, I could feel the vibration of his heart beating as hard as mine.
‘Are you angry with me?’ I asked.
‘How could I be?’
But still he did not turn, so I stepped round so that I could witness his profile.
‘You’re scowling,’ I said, hearing the tremble in my voice.
‘I should be whipped for this. I should have known.’ His expression was savage, his tone no less so. ‘What was I thinking, to put my own physical gratification before your safety? Before your reputation?’
‘I am in no danger.’
‘Only from the filth that will be flung at you by the court scandalmongers.’
‘They will fling it at both of us.’
‘You don’t deserve it.’ Now he looked at me, eyes wide, jaw hard clenched. ‘Forgive me, Katherine. Forgive me, forgive me for my wretched selfishness. If I had loved you less, it would never have come to this. If I had loved you more, I would never have touched you.’
I had no difficulty in replying. ‘But if you had never touched me, I would have died from longing.’ I tried to smile as I leaned to kiss his cheek, but he stepped back, away, hands raised against me.
‘How much I have hurt you.’
‘But do you not want this child?’ I asked. ‘A child born out of our love?’
He inhaled sharply, so that now the gems deep set in his chain gleamed balefully in the stormy light.
‘Can you ask me that? How would I not desire a child of your blood and mine? But this is no perfect world where we can choose. I have cast you into a maelstrom.’ His gaze pierced mine, precise as a dagger. ‘And do you know the worst thing?’ he demanded. ‘I don’t know how to put it right for you.’
But I did. There it was, newborn in my mind, as clear and tempting as a sparkling pool for a thirsty traveller, sweeping away all my irresolution.
‘I do,’ I said. ‘I
‘Nothing I can do will.’
I did not hesitate. ‘Wed me, Owen.’
If the air had been charged before, now it screamed with tension.
‘Wed me, Owen.’ I repeated, my words crossing the divide.
‘Wed you?’
‘Is marriage so distasteful to you?’ His thoughts were awry so I drove on, even if it would increase the pain of his refusal if he could not tolerate it. ‘Or is it marriage to me that you balk at?’
And as he flung wide his arms, I saw the blood, along the knuckles of his right hand, beginning to drip to the floor, the skin scraped from flesh along the stonework. Showing me, if I was not already aware, just how close to the edge of control he was.
‘Your hand,’ I said in distress, reaching out to him.
‘To Hell with my hand!’ He took another step back from me. ‘You consider that marriage to me would solve all your problems? To shackle a Valois princess to a penniless servant will make a bad situation even more sordid.’
‘Sordid? I won’t accept that. I do not consider my situation—as you describe it—to be sordid. Do I not love you? Your position in my household can be redeemed instantly.’
‘But my race cannot. God’s Blood! Do you know what it is like for a man to be branded
‘No.’ How would I? I was ignorant of all Welshmen, apart from Owen.
