Forgetting all, she gripped his arm. ‘But I only learned of my husband’s death a few months ago. I need no help with the land.’ She stumbled over words, trying to make it right with the Duke. ‘By the time the quince tree buds, I had hoped—’
There was stunned shock on his face and on Lady Katherine’s.
She let go of his arm and lowered her eyes. How quickly she had forgotten. She could not speak so to any man, least of all to this one.
‘What, exactly, had you hoped?’ the Duke said, his smile turning sour.
‘I had hoped, my lord, to have a year to mourn.’ A year of freedom, to be left in peace in her beloved garden, beyond a man’s beck and call.
But as she looked at Lancaster’s face, it dawned on her, as it should have done when she first heard of her husband’s death: he had been promised forty marks per year in war, twenty marks per year in peace. For life.
And that life was now over.
His expression gentled. ‘I understand your sorrow, Lady Valerie, but you have no children.’
‘Of course, yes, I know,’ she murmured. And she did. She must be given to a new husband, a new protector, a new man to be endured. And some day, no doubt, she would find evidence of a new malkin defiling her bed.
At least the land was her own, beyond a husband’s reach.
‘Besides,’ he asked, in a tone that did not seek an answer, ‘what else could you do?’
‘Perhaps, my lord, I had thought...’ She paused, not knowing how the sentence would end. She could not tell him what she really wanted. My Lord of Spain cared nothing for her garden.
But he had mentioned his Queen. Perhaps that...
‘I had thought,’ she said, ‘that I might be of service to the Queen. For a time.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Service?’ Lancaster asked. ‘In what way?’
How could she answer? Certainly the Queen did not need a lady gardener in her retinue. Valerie turned to Lady Katherine and raised her brows, an appeal for help.
‘I might be of help to Lady Katherine.’ The woman had his children and her own to manage, as well as her duty to the Queen.
He waved his hand, a gesture of dismissal. ‘The Queen has a bevy of her own ladies from Castile.’
Valerie put a hand on Katherine’s arm and squeezed. ‘That is certainly true, but none of them can help her learn of England. Certainly Lady Katherine will do that, but I thought my connection to her country would be a comfort. And Lady Katherine will be so busy with the children...’
Please. Would Katherine understand her plea? Could she sway the Duke?
She could only pray that another woman would understand her meaning.
‘What a good idea, my lord,’ Katherine said, patting Valerie’s hand and turning her smile on Lancaster. ‘Lady Valerie could be another companion to the Queen as she adjusts to life here. And perhaps help me with your children as well.’
Valerie nodded, hiding her dismay. She knew less of children than of the court. The Queen’s momentary approval had warmed her, but a few remembered Castilian words would not make her fit company for royalty. She had wanted to return to the earth of Kent, not be stranded here in London.
Still, if it would delay the time when she must be sent to warm another man’s bed, at least for a while, she would do it. ‘Yes, I would be happy to be of help.’
The man’s scowl had not completely faded.
Now she must don the obedient smile, the one that made a man feel powerful and generous. ‘Of course, the choice is yours, my lord. I shall do as you wish and be grateful for your kind consideration.’ The words sounded wooden, even to her ears.
He smiled, finally, as if a servant had cleaned up after a guest who had clumsily dropped a goblet. ‘I am certain that Katherine will be glad of your help.’
‘As will the Queen, of course,’ Katherine added hastily.
And Valerie, who was certain of no such thing, dipped and murmured her thanks. Katherine put an arm around her shoulders and Valerie struggled to stay calm as Katherine led her away. A few more weeks, then, when she could move and speak without a husband’s approval. ‘Thank you,’ she said, when they were out of earshot. ‘I cannot yet bear...’
She shook her head and let the words go. She had said too much already.
‘Do not expect a long reprieve,’ Katherine said, patting her shoulder. ‘No later than spring, I would think.’
She looked at Katherine, unable to hide her dismay. In March, she had hoped to be weeding the earth around the quince tree. ‘Has he chosen your husband?’ She could not keep the bitter edge from her question. Katherine was also a widow. Surely she, too, would be given as a prize to some man.
‘No.’ Katherine looked away, a flush of colour on her cheeks. ‘The Duke has been kind to allow me to help his wife and with his children.’
‘I wish I could remain unmarried, as you are.’
‘Perhaps I shall marry again...some day.’ There was a strange yearning in the woman’s words.
Perhaps Valerie had been wrong. Perhaps Katherine had loved her husband deeply and longed for another union. ‘My marriage was not something I want to repeat.’ A difficult admission. One Valerie should not have made.
‘All are not so. The Duke and the Lady Blanche loved each other very much.’ Wistful. As if such a thing where possible.
One marriage out of how many? More than the waves on the sea. She shook her head. ‘I have not seen a marriage like that.’ Certainly not between her own mother and any of her husbands.
And yet, a woman had no other choice. She could marry herself to God or to a man. For some widows, wealthy ones, a husband’s death could mean a new life of independence. She would not be one of them.
She had the land, yes, the earth that had been handed down since that long-ago woman came from Castile: that, at least, would always be hers. It might even have been enough that she could have been left alone, to tend her roses and her quince tree. The very thought was a glimpse of freedom.
Instead, she would be given to a new gaoler whose every whim she would be forced to obey. She knew that. Had always known it. Yet just for a moment, she had hoped for a different life. ‘But you have found another path—’
Katherine touched her arm. ‘Do not seek to trade your life for mine. There are things you do not know.’
She dropped her arm and turned away, and Valerie wondered of the things she did not know. Well, she would allow Katherine her secrets. There were things she, too, did not wish to share.
But why should Katherine be left free with her children when she—?
Ah. Of course. It was because of the children. Katherine had three children. Valerie had none, so she must be given to yet another man. She must take him to her bed, over and over, until his seed took root and she carried his child.
What if she failed again?
* * *
Snatching the discarded silk from the floor, Gil wondered what Scargill had been thinking of, as his life slipped away. Of the battles in Gascony? Of the woman who last warmed his bed?
Or had he been praying to God to forgive the wrongs he had done to the wife he had left behind?
Gil tucked the silk scrap into his tunic. He would drop it in the rubble later.
Now, he looked around the Hall. A waste of time, all the trappings of this fantastical court. A fraud and a distraction for