‘Not that I could see. And why would they? Since they’re fighting for money, they don’t acknowledge my authority. Henry was not overly pleased.’ He did not seem particularly concerned over any royal displeasure, and I said as much. ‘I’ve been a prisoner of the English for fourteen years—since I was twelve years old,’ James explained. ‘I have to keep things in perspective, my lady.’
It made little sense to me, not understanding the situation between England and the Scots. ‘You are not well guarded,’ I pointed out. ‘Can you not escape?’
‘How would I get back to Scotland without English aid?’
‘Will you be a prisoner for ever?’ It seemed a terrible predicament. ‘Will Henry never release you?’
James Stewart shrugged lightly. ‘Who’s to say? Only on his terms.’
‘And what are they?’
‘I don’t know that yet.’
I admired the young man’s sangfroid.
‘Since we’re both here for the duration, can I be of any use to you, Lady Katherine?’ King James asked.
His grin won me over. ‘You can entertain me, sir. Tell me about England.’
‘You’ll not get an unbiased view. I’m the enemy and a prisoner, Lady Katherine.’
I liked him even more. ‘I’ll get more from you than I will from my damsels. And you must call me Katherine.’
‘Then you must call me James.’
And so I fell into the first friendship I had ever had.
‘Will I enjoy living in England?’ I asked, my anxieties multiplying now that the time was approaching. James had described for me the great palaces of Windsor and Westminster, the massive Tower of London, the places I would soon call home.
‘Why not? The English are kind enough. In a cool manner, and as long as they see some personal gain in engaging your support. They don’t
‘I think Henry only tolerates me.’ Shocked, I covered my mouth with my fingers. ‘I did not mean to say that. You must not repeat it.’ How unguarded I had been. How unwise to say what was in my heart. I looked at James anxiously. Would he think me impossibly unpolished?
But James returned my regard, suddenly very serious. ‘He will do more than tolerate you. He will fall in love with you—when he gets the battles out of his system. I would love you if you were my wife.’
My face flushed brightly, my breath caught in my throat.
‘Really?’ I knew I was ingenuous, but how could I not respond to such unexpected admiration? ‘How kind you are.’
I smiled at James, and he smiled back at me. From that moment he became a welcome addition to my battlefield household, which was further enhanced by the arrival of Dame Alice Botillier, her husband and full-grown son both being in Henry’s service.
Her role became something between nurse and superior tirewoman, her position arranged by Henry to promote my well-being and to care for me when I became pregnant. Stern and acerbic, every inch of her tall figure encased in austere black with a crisp white coif as if she had taken holy vows, I found her presence agreeable, although her first words were caustic enough.
‘There’s not enough flesh on your bones, my lady, to feed a starving lion. If you are to carry a child, we must build you up.’
‘If I am to carry a child, I need to see more of my husband,’ I replied crossly. Henry had been absent for almost a week.
Alice pursed her lips. ‘I expect he does his best in the circumstances.’
Her reply warned me that I must take care never to be openly critical of my heroic husband. The loyalty of the English to their masterful king was chiselled in granite, like the blank-eyed statues on Westminster Abbey. Accepting my silence as compliance, Alice dosed me with an infusion of feverfew, the yellow-centred white flowers gathered from the hedgerows.
‘If the King is to plant his seed, the earth must be rich and strong to nurture it.’
I shuddered at the rank smell.
‘Drink up! This will heat your belly and your blood. You’ll carry a child in no time.’
At a lull in the siege operations, Henry planted his seed with thorough attention to detail. I prayed fervently for a satisfactory result.
‘Are you happy here?’ Henry asked as he pulled on his boots and reached across the bed to retrieve his sword. There had not been much in the way of undressing, time being at a premium.
Happy? I did not think I was, but neither was I unhappy. Lonely, yes, but less so in the company of the splendidly garrulous Scottish King. My facility with English was improving in leaps and bounds, as James would say.
‘I am not unhappy,’ I offered, regretting my nervousness, wishing that I could be more loquacious in my stern husband’s company.
‘Good. I would not wish that.’
It had the effect of a warm caress, and encouraged by it I touched his wrist. Henry stroked his hand along the length of my hair.
‘A child will bring you happiness,’ he observed. And then: ‘You’re not afraid of me, are you?’
‘Afraid?’ My cheeks became a puzzled pink.
‘I have never yet beaten a wife.’
