The Forbidden Queen

Owen’s gaze turned inward as the plangent notes and tales of heroes and battles wove their glamorous mystery in the chamber, and I knew he was thinking of the days when his forebears had had wealth and status and land. When glory had shone on them and they had fought and won.

Owen, although free, had nothing of his own.

The family lands in Wales had not been restored to him with his recognition under English law: how it rankled with Owen that he had no property in his name, to administer and nurture. No house, no land, nothing to pass down to his heirs with hopes and pride for future generations. How degrading for a man of his birth. Neither was it a good thing for a man’s esteem that he be dependent on his wife.

Oh, he masked it well. He was a master of dissimulation, born of the long years in servitude, but sometimes it rubbed him raw and his eyes were dark with a depth of yearning that I could not plumb.

‘Tell me what eats away at you,’ I begged.

‘It is nothing, my love,’ he invariably replied, the crease between his brows denying his reassurance. ‘Unless you mean our second son’s determination to throw himself under the hooves of every animal in the stables.’

And I smiled, because that was what he wanted me to do. Our son’s obsession with horseflesh had its dangers.

‘Or it may be that I regret my wife not having found the time to favour me with even one kiss this morning.’

So I kissed his mouth, because it pleased him and me.

I might lure him into my bed. I might put before him a plan to drain the lower terrace and build a new course of rooms at Hertford to improve the kitchens and buttery. He would always respond, but his heart was not in it. It was not his own.

Well, it could be put right. I should have seen to it years ago.

I summoned a man of law from Westminster, and consulted with him. And when he saw no difficulty, I had the necessary documents drawn up and delivered into Owen’s hands. I made sure that I was there when they arrived and Owen opened the leather pouch. I watched his face as he read the first of them. As he looked up.

‘Katherine?’ His face was expressionless.

‘These are for you,’ I stated.

I was very uncertain. Would his independence be too great to receive such a gift from a woman, a gift of such value? And yet it was given with all my heart. I wished I could read something in the sombreness of his eyes, in the firmness of mouth and jaw, but I could not, not even after four years of marriage.

‘It is to commemorate the day that we were wed,’ I said, as if it had been a light decision to make the gift. As if it were no more than a pair of gloves or a book of French poetry.

‘It was a bold move, for you to wed me,’ he said. His eyes were on mine, the first documents of ownership still in his hand, the rest yet to be removed from their pouch. ‘To choose a penniless rebel was foolhardy, and yet you did it.’ He smoothed the deed with his hand. ‘Some would say that this is a bold move too.’

I still did not know if he would refuse or accept it with the grace it was given. ‘I consider it a decision showing remarkable business acumen on my part,’ I responded lightly.

And his mouth curved a little. ‘I did not see business dealings as one of your strengths when I wed you, annwyl.’

‘Neither did I.’ I paused. ‘But now I have considered. These are mine. It is my desire that you have them. They need a master to oversee them and ensure their good governance. It would please me.’ I thumped my jewel casket down onto the table—for I had been engaged in selecting a chain of amethysts to wear with a new gown. ‘Stop staring at me and put me out of my misery. Will you accept?’

‘Yes. I will.’ In the end there was no hesitation. ‘Did you think me too arrogant?’

‘It had crossed my mind—yes.’

‘I’ll not refuse so great a gift.’ The smile widened, encompassing me in its warmth. ‘I am honoured.’

And removing the companion documents, he sank to the settle to read through them all. The custody of all my dower lands in Flintshire. I sat beside him. Waited until he had finished and replaced them in their pouch.

‘Well?’

‘I will administer them well.’ ‘I know you will.’

‘Now I have a dowry to provide for a daughter. As well as three fine sons.’

I had carried a girl. Tacinda. A Welsh child with a Welsh name, all dark hair and dark eyes like Owen. Another confirmation of our love.

‘You are a gracious and generous woman, Katherine.’

His kiss was all I could ask for.

I had another motive for giving Owen overlordship of my Welsh dower lands. Our idyll was magnificent—but with a lowering cloud of ominous destruction gathering force on my horizon. Like a sweet peach, full of juice and perfume, but with a grub at the heart that would bring rot and foul decay. How fate laughs at us when we think we have grasped all the happiness that life can offer us.

I was afflicted.