The Forbidden Queen

Sometimes my father had believed that his body was constructed of glass that would shatter if he was touched. Then he would withdraw into the corner of the room, holding everyone at bay with pitiful cries. Was that the future for me? Was it possible for the miraculous wood betony to cure that? I did want to think so. And I prayed that the frailty of my father’s stricken mind would not come upon me.

I did not tell Owen the full substance of my fears. Did he guess? I could not tell. He permitted me my times alone, treating me with great care. Perhaps he hid his own dread—and I allowed him to do so because if he admitted to it, then it would be all too real.

And what when I could pretend no longer? I considered it as I lay, my cheek in the soft hollow below Owen’s shoulder, while his chest rose and fell in sleep. The day would come when I could dissemble no longer. What then?

I recalled my sister and I, mocking and fearing my father in equal measure. Would my children mock me, fleeing from me in terror?

God help me. I prayed that this madness would not come to me.

EPILOGUE

The day is here.

I am well and lucid but I know it will not last. I know it, with every breath.

‘We are pleased to see you restored, my lady,’ my new steward says, the man who replaced Owen as Master of my much-reduced household. ‘We have been concerned.’

My steward is perhaps less careful with his words than he might be, for no one else speaks of it, as if to ignore it will deny its existence, but I am grateful for his well-wishing. It reminds me that I am becoming an object of interest to those around me, and I vow that I will not be a burden. I will not be an embarrassment. I will not drag Owen to the depths of despair, where he cannot reach me, and I cannot reach him. It is time for me to take the step I have had in my mind for some months.

Owen reads it in my mind.

‘Don’t leave me, Katherine,’ he whispers against my throat when we lie together on that final morning as the sun rises, as if he can read my intent. ‘We have had so little time together. Six years out of a whole lifetime.’

‘My love.’ I kiss his lips. ‘Enough time for me to bear you three fine sons.’

I catch my breath as I do not speak Tacinda’s name. She died, leaving us within the first year of her fragile life. It is a pain in my heart that cannot be healed, but with my lover’s arms around me I smile, my face turned into his hair. How handsome he is. How I love him. This man who has taught me what love can be like between a man and a woman who trust each other infinitely.

I run my hands softly over the fine bones of his face, smoothing the dark brows, combing my fingers through his magnificent hair. I trace the well-moulded lips, the flare of his straight nose; I press my mouth against his. I need to fix his beloved features in my mind so that they will not fade.

‘Stay, Katherine. I will be with you.’

There is more urgency in his voice now, and his arms band tighter round me. So he knows.

‘I am afraid,’ I say.

‘No need. I love you more than life. I’ll let no harm come to you.’

‘But you cannot stop it. How can you stand before the approaching storm and will it to disperse, my dear love? How can you scatter the winds that will destroy all we have together?’

‘Stay with me,’ he insists, lips warm and persuasive. ‘With our children.’

And I allow myself, for that one brief day, to be persuaded. His love is as potent as strong wine. Of course he will keep me safe.

‘I will stay,’ I promise.

His mouth demands, his body possesses with all the old energy and he enfolds me in love.

‘We will live for ever, Katherine. We will grow old and see our children grow strong and wed.’ And then the softest of whispers. ‘I cannot live without you.’

I hear the desperation in his voice.

‘Or I you,’ I reply. How will I exist without him?

Next morning he is gone, on some weighty errand of business, and my thoughts run clear again.

‘I will return by noon,’ he says, his hand on mine. ‘I will return as soon as I can.’

‘Yes,’ I reply. I fashion a smile and return his clasp.

As soon as he is gone, my eyes blind with tears, I order up my litter. I will need no belongings so I pack nothing. While I have my wits, I will determine my future: I will impose no unnecessary grief on those I love. My mind skitters back to that terrible time when I took the decision to set Owen free because I could not contemplate the anguish of his death, only to return to him when we found a way out together, a solution that our minds could fathom and apply.

But now there is no solution for me. Madness strips away all solutions. Death cancels all loyalties. I know I must free Owen to live his own life without the burden of my slow disintegration. There is no going back for me this time.