The Forbidden Queen

And as I did so, a wave of pure, bright anger swept through me, scouring away every doubt that had led me to sever our union. I had been wrong. We could overcome this together. And, driven by a conviction so urgent that my head was light with it, I made a silent promise. I would fight. I would fight and I would not rest until Owen and my children were free of the stigma brought by their Welsh blood, and free of Gloucester’s long arm. I would restore Owen’s pride and rank before the law, and I would destroy Gloucester’s power to harm him without redress.

I would not rest until it was done. And I had a thought on how it might be accomplished by a determined woman and a clever man, if the woman could be persuasive enough. Why had I thought that the only solution was to admit defeat and send my love away? I would never do that again.

Shouts from the courtyard rising sharply to infiltrate my room, Owen opened his eyes. And smiled ruefully at me.

‘I think neither of us slept last night.’ And when I shook my head he added, rubbing my brow with his thumb, ‘You look thoughtful.’ He grinned. ‘It is always a danger sign when a woman looks thoughtful.’

What a measureless thing it was to me to see him smile again. ‘Perhaps I am.’ I turned my face into his hair so that he might not see my expression. ‘I am content. I am beyond happiness. And I have just made the most important decision of my life.’

‘As long as it does not entail you living in Hertford and me in Wales,’ he growled, his mouth against my throat.

‘No,’ I said softly. ‘Not that. I was wrong. I cannot live apart from you.’

My mind shrank from what it had decided. My heart trembled with it. But I must do it, and Owen must be at my side when I did.

Since Owen’s obstinacy in matters appertaining to his Welsh heritage and his masculine pride could not be shifted, I needed information. Where best to get it? I considered travelling to pay a much-delayed visit to Madam Joanna at Havering-atte-Bower but my pregnancy was progressing apace. Neither did I think she would have the knowledge I needed to draw on. So who would know? Lord John would, of course, but he was, as far as I knew, still in France. That left Warwick.

I sent a courier to ask him to come to Hertford when he next rode north. I used no pretext, merely that there was a matter of some importance to me that I must discuss.

‘You look as if life at Hertford suits you,’ Warwick observed, saluting my hand and my cheek, when he arrived within the week and I caught a private moment with him.

‘It might if Owen were not threatened.’

‘Threatened?’

‘There have been attacks. But it is my intent to put a stop to them. Before Owen arrives, Richard, I need you to tell me what you know about two men. Their names are Llewellyn the Great. And Owain Glyn Dwr.’ I mangled them beautifully.

Warwick’s brows twitched together. ‘Who?’

I tried again and we made progress.

‘Should you not ask your husband? Since they are Welsh?’

‘But my husband will not talk about them, even under strong persuasion. And you, dear Richard, will.’

It was a thoroughly illuminating half-hour.

‘And how is Young Henry?’ I asked, my inquisitiveness finally slaked.

‘Driving his tutor to tear out his hair,’ Warwick observed. ‘He has developed a keen sense of his own importance since he acquired two crowns.’ He eyed me quizzically. ‘Does your husband know what you are about?’

‘No.’

‘It may be that he will object.’

I was sure that he would, but I would not allow that to stop me. ‘I don’t think he will be in a position to do so,’ I replied, with more confidence than I felt. I had the information I needed, and now that I had it, I knew that I must use it to right a wrong. I was determined on it.

‘I wish to address the Council,’ I told Warwick. ‘I would like to think I had your support, Richard.’ I would call in all old friendships. ‘I would like to think that you would give me a hearing, even when Gloucester refuses.’

‘Tell me what you have in mind,’ he invited.

All my life I had been shifted here, made to hop there, allowed—or forced—to linger in this place rather than that one. I had been raised to expect nothing else, neither had I desired it in my girlhood days, expecting to live out my life in the glory of King Henry’s love, surrounded by our children. Maturity and disappointment had brought me foresight. Now this late-flowering love with Owen Tudor had brought me a single-minded sense of purpose, which the threats against his life had honed into a blade of steel.

Despite my increasing clumsiness, I was driven with an energy that shook me to the core. It sang in my blood, the righteous justice of it, and I knew what it was I must set out to accomplish. I would do it for Owen, for my children. What was I not capable of, with Owen at my side?

‘I am going to Westminster,’ I said, easing myself into a chair in the parlour where Owen sat with a pile of financial ledgers before him.