Seed of the Broom Read online

  Their apartments had been sweetened and a fire crackled in the large brazier, as well too, for the weather had turned stormy. Beyond the arrow slits the sea roared and crashed. Rain lashed the hard stone walls. The wind rushed in to cause the torches to splutter.

  Richard sulked still in his own apartment, unwilling even to look at her, let alone speak. Had he eaten his dinner? Kate worried. Had he tasted as much as a morsel of the roasted swan that had been brought for them? She had been unable to eat, irrationally wondering if the food were poisoned. Edgar had reported that the servants seemed willing to serve the new master and sensed also, that the new lord would perhaps allow them more freedom than she had allowed. Never having felt the strong hand of a mistress, Kate knew they had resented her.

  “What shall I do? Where shall I turn?” she questioned herself. “Dear Richard, could you not show me the way?” She listened for the miracle of his answer but here was nothing but the sound of the wind and the revels.

  When silence came at long last, she still could not sleep. Lying in her great bed, snuggled deep into the furs, still her mind turned feverishly over possibilities. There were none of course. She was trapped, as was Richard. They had to wait for the return of John of Gloucester or one of the late King’s followers. She had made a terrible error of judgment. Richard was quite right. It was all her fault.

  The following morning there was a visitor for her, the Abbot from the nearby monastery. He had been a good friend since they had arrived. Often he sent over a butt of mead that his brothers had made, while she in turn stitched garments for the poor. Rather stern of appearance, an extremely tall ascetically handsome man, he was nevertheless kind and warm hearted.

  “Such tidings,” he said, shaking his head. “And last evening, such behavior.” He held out his hand and she took it. He was cold and she led him the blazing brazier. “All the Dale speaks of it. We could hear the noise at the Abbey. It will not do my dear. This man Caradoc is still abed, but he shall hear of it from me. We do not countenance such behavior in these parts. The Lord Mellor, may God rest his soul, was never one to strut in the garments of a saint, yet even he respected the sanctity of our Abbey.”

  Kate poured the Abbot a goblet of warmed wine.

  “You are pale lady. Who should wonder? To send this man here and such a man! A man who comes to steal the boy’s inheritance, to cast his father’s sins onto him.”

  “It was surely no sin to fight for the king, father?”

  “They can make it seem so.”

  “What shall we do against it? There is no remedy.”

  “Perhaps no remedy, but your husband was a very wealthy man. There should be some settlement. This brigand cannot seize all.”

  “Edgar says he threatens me with a nunnery,” she said the words, then flushed, remembering to whom she was speaking.

  But the abbot merely smiled and raised an eyebrow. “If you see it as a threat, you must never enter, my dear, for you must have a vocation.”

  “But father, ladies have been forced. It is not uncommon that without marriage prospects, a woman had been coerced into a convent. Father, forgive my honesty, but I could not stand such a fate.”

  “And nor should you have to. I will see that you have just recompense. You and the boy. Your marriage was brief but nevertheless.”

  Aye brief, Kate thought and convenient, a game played with the Holy Sacrament, that had been lost. They had mocked the vows and now they were being punished.

  “Where is the boy?”

  “He is in his apartment. I fear he is very upset. Might we leave him at peace, father?”

  “Just so.”

  Kate did not believe, however good the Abbot’s intentions, that he would make much headway with Caradoc. The man would be insensible to any pleas. He was no better than a thief, accepting gifts that could not morally be his master’s to give. Whatever the politics of the matter, it was stealing from an innocent child. But, her lively conscience stirred. Was she, too, not making claims on something that belonged neither to Richard or to her? Richard was not Mellor’s son. She was Mellor’s widow only on paper. The marriage had been a sham. She was no better than Caradoc!

  Richard had been right to question her motives. What they had to do was to get away, to find the secret whereabouts of Yorkist sympathizers. If necessary they should escape to Burgundy to find sanctuary at the Court of Richard’s Aunt. Could they though, just leave? And who would come to her aid against a parcel of Lancastrians. There was no one but Edgar to help, yet he was helpless, unless he would escape with them!

  She dare not confess all to the Abbot. She had sworn to Richard never to reveal their secret. Anyway it was impossible to involve the Abbot in such a scheme for who knew what vengeance the Tudor would wreak were he to discover the plot. People said the Welsh paid only lip service to the Church of Rome. They still clung to the old faith…. The ring glinted. Staring at it, she prayed for help. “Richard, beloved send me a sign.”

  * * * *

  Caradoc confessed his head was full of a blacksmith’s hammering. The Abbot merely shook his own head in dismay and gave not an iota of sympathy.

  In truth, Caradoc had wanted to send the Abbot packing. He certainly had not wanted to see him. Caradoc had no time for holy men, but his Commander had been reluctant to do so. The man, a peasant born and bred, was superstitiously afraid of a representative on earth of the Almighty. Caradoc was not a man to force anyone to do anything against their conscience, so had agreed to see the Abbot. Only now he regretted his capitulation.

  The aristocratic features of the Abbot made Caradoc uncomfortable. He loathed the English anyway. He had served Tudor not because of the man personally, but because he was Welsh and would teach the damned English a lesson they would never forget! The rights and wrongs of the crusade were immaterial, the magnificence of his reward too tempting to resist…and totally unexpected too.

  “I would hope that last night’s episode was an exception my lord,” the Abbot said.

  “Why should it be?” Caradoc growled. “I own my own home. I may do as I please.”

  “That is so, but to be successful you must win the hearts of the people.”

  “What do I care of the people?” Caradoc scoffed.

  “You should. The people work for you. They will work better if you command their respect. They are simple people. God fearing. The struggle of these years had not been theirs.”

  “From what I hear, old Mellor did not command respect.”

  “Oh, but he did,” the Abbot said eagerly. “The gossip from London, what I hear, well the ordinary people do not hear it. When Lord Mellor was in residence he behaved in a circumspect manner. Country people are not like London folk. You should know that, my son.”

  Caradoc’s head came up at the two words. My son. He was no man’s son, no man had ever owned up to being his father. “Superstitious,” he muttered, “narrow and cruel, I know them well.”

  “Perhaps to some extent.”

  “Well, “ Cradoc growled low in his throat, “we will see what happens. I will have the steward show me the estate.”

  “Better perhaps to allow the Lady Mellor to show you.”

  “What? That she devil! That piece of baggage. Besides, she is no longer Lady Mellor.”

  “My lord,” the Abbot exclaimed, “you must try to understand.”

  “Do you think her a saintly goodwife,” Caradoc grumbled. “Running around newly widowed with her hair unveiled and undone.”

  “Condemn other’s sins only if you have none yourself.”

  Surprisingly, Cradoc merely murmured something soft and low, not retaliating. At length he said. “The truth is the boy troubles me.”

  “Ah,” the Abbot said significantly.

  “That faggot I could cast out without a second thought, but the boy is different.”

  “Yes?”

  Caradoc was uncomfortable. Words came and flew out of his mind. He could not quite articulate what exactly troubled him, b
ecause to his ears it sounded rather sanctimonious.

  “Should the child pay for the sins of the father?” the Abbot suggested. “Why cannot the victor be forgiving. Do you have a wife?”

  “A wife?” Caradoc exploded with as much anger had the Abbot suggested he had the pox. “I have no time for women.”

  The Abbot could not help suggesting that there was a solution. Caradoc could join the Abbot’s order.

  “I do not care that little for them,” Caradoc riposted. “They have some function.”

  “My son, I fear you re on the brink of hell.”

  “Days are when I can feel the lick of the flames. Anyway, hell could not be as loud as the hammering in my head at this moment.”

  “Merely a taste.”

  Caradoc said suddenly. “She is no lady!”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

  “The late Mellor’s wife,” Caradoc snapped.

  “I know little of the background of the lady, but she is educated and refined.”

  “Refined? Bah. A fishwife has more respect for her man than that one.”

  “A lioness protecting her cub?”

  “He is not her cub,” Caradoc insisted.

  “Then is it not a measure of her love that she protects him so fiercely?” the Abbot sought to persuade.

  “Umph.” This damned Abbot had an answer for everything. He was not up to wrangling with so wily a mind today. “I have a liking for the boy. If his tongue can be silenced, I may do something for him. I may see that he is trained.”

  The Abbot suggested that the boy had already been trained. He was educated. That irked Caradoc, for although he could read and write, Caradoc had not been educated, at least not in the way that the Abbot meant.

  Obviously the boy’s late father had seen to all those things for Richard. However, if the boy could be cajoled out of his just resentment, the Abbot suggested he might be of invaluable help to the lord.

  Caradoc promised to think about it. “And the lady?” the Abbot persisted.

  Caradoc decided the Abbot had stayed too long. “The lady shall go into a convent,” he declared. “Convents are good places for widows. I will give them something for her. Perhaps you will assure them.”

  “I assure them?” the Abbot questioned. “Have you spoken to the lady?” the Abbot could not keep the concern from his voice.

  “Have I?” Caradoc growled. “When I could insert a word, when she was not ranting and raving. Why then I have had a word!”

  “She is very young, barely eighteen. The lady has no vocation. Perhaps you could find a husband for her?”

  “She has nothing to bring now,” Caradoc mused.

  “You are a rich ma. You cold spare something for a settlement.”

  “I would not wish that…that….” He swallowed on the chosen word. “… woman on any man.”

  “She is comely,” the Abbot suggested.

  “Whores are for comeliness, from a wife a man requires obedience.”

  The Abbot tutted loudly. “The lady was in a state of shock. You judge her too harshly and from a first meeting. The people hereabouts like and respect her.”

  “Her servants hate the air she breathes,” Caradoc insisted.

  “Because she knows how to drill them. Is an Officer ever loved by his men? An ability to deal with servants is surely an admirable quality for any wife. I ask you to give the lady time.”

  “No,” Caradoc roared, standing now. “Enough is enough.”

  “The King’s mother is a saintly woman, but one of strong character. Perhaps you would allow me to send word, to allow her to deliberate the matter.”

  “Do as you like,” Caradoc strode across the room. “And now good day to you.”

  He left the Abbot standing alone in the great hall. The Abbot slid his hands into the sleeves of his robe. Caradoc, the new Lord of Mellorsdale was a man who would not be easy to deal with.

  * * * *

  Kate had much to trouble her mind. The Abbot’s warning that she must treat delicately with the man who had usurped her husband’s lands was infuriating. How could she play such a game with such a man? How could she offer him any respect, or be compliant? She was not, however, incapable of subterfuge. Hadn’t she tolerated Anne Neville’s many moods, bitten her lips until they almost bled against Anne’s angry accusations and demands? That was, though, easy in comparison to what the Abbot implored her to do now, easy because she served the well loved wife of a man she was herself in love with. Caradoc was part of the carnage and slaughter that had led to that man’s death. She could not do it!

  Yet had she any choice? As sure as he was of God in heaven, the Abbot had told her Caradoc would drag her screaming into a convent and he would not even turn a hair. Her fear of such incarceration should be enough incentive, let alone that she must, whatever happened, protect Richard until he was safe from the clutches of Henry Tudor.

  As if such a fear had acted as a magnet to draw him to her side, Richard appeared. Softly, silently, he looked at her and then looked away without speaking. She said good day to him, but he merely muttered a reply, then in desperation asked. “Kate, oh Kate, what shall we do?”

  She moved quickly to gather him in her arms. He trembled, all arrogance gone from him. “We must bide our time,” Kate heard the confidence in her voice. “There will be a rebellion soon, in our name, we must stay together until then.”

  “But he will stop that. He will send me away. The man Caradoc will not want me here!”

  “No, he won’t. The Abbot has been to see me. He is our friend. He gave good counsel to me.”

  “But he doesn’t know anything,” Richard complained. “He is just a priest!”

  “But he is wise and kind Richard.”

  “And he knows nothing about me, about who I really am and if he did…” Richard cried, “and if he did…” he repeated, the thought haunting his mind.

  “He will not find out. Edgar will never tell him. I shall not tell. As we are and as he believes we are cast out of inheritance by Caradoc, he is on our side.” Kate began to feel uncomfortable. Lying to a supporter of the Tudor was one thing, but lying to the Abbot was something different entirely. But what could she do? Surely God would understand that for her there was no other way.

  A torrent of questions came from Richard, what, when, how? Patiently Kate soothed him with her confident answer. They would play roles. They would become people different from themselves, hide their true natures deep inside them. They would make the lord rely on them but not only that, to trust them absolutely.

  “I have had to be nice to all kinds of people,” Richard said without humor, “in particular my Mother’s brothers. But you, it is you who put us in jeopardy yesterday Kate. You challenged him. Women just not challenge men like that. They don’t like it. If a woman wants her way…” He sighed, exasperated by the complication of it all. He had to have seen his own mother spin webs about his father. Elizabeth Woodville had been an expert at such an art. “She must not be like you were Kate,” he said at last.

  Hated by most of the old friends of Edward the Fourth, Kate knew that Richard’s mother had somehow bewitched her husband. Some said she used magic potions, but Kate knew that it came from somehow being sly and manipulative. She was worldly wise in the ways of men, knowing how not to overplay her hand. Elizabeth had even allowed Edward to plow his own special path to hell. Not content with one mistress, Edward had three and Elizabeth had not turned a golden hair, accepting it without even a passing interest, and still somehow being able to wield enormous power over him.

  “I swear that I will try Richard, to be kind and meek. It is worth a chance. Do you not think so?”

  “Well there is no option until we see the lay of the land,” Richard conceded with an intelligence beyond his years. “Our people won’t be defeated. We will win. Right must succeed!”

  “Indeed it must, “ Kate assured him. “All we are doing is biding our time.”

  Richard left then. He wen
t to sit on the battlements where he could be alone. She wished there was more that she could do to convince him that things would be all right, yet it was difficult because she was not certain that they would be all right herself.

  She sat by the brazier, wondering what she would do. Should they steal horses and try to escape? It was ludicrous. She had no idea where to catch a boat from that would take them to Burgundy and who on the roads would be their friends. Everyone would be afraid. Miserably she looked at the burning wood. Hearing a movement she turned. The lord stood in the doorway.

  Quickly she left her chair, standing to face him, trying to stop her chin from tilting and her hands from going to her waist. She had to endeavor to stop her foot from tapping. She did not like the way he looked at her. He allowed his eyes to explore every part of her, from her bound head to her velvet slippers and delayed far too long the way between them both. He stepped deeper into the room. She said nothing. He went to the adjacent chamber and looked inside. Seeing it empty he came back.

  “Where is the boy?” he asked at last.

  “I do not know,” she lied. Unsure of how vulnerable Richard was feeling, Kate did not want him to have to confront Caradoc just yet.

  “You will no longer be served food here. You will come to table in the hall.”

  “Will I?” she asked.

  “You will! If you do not, then you can starve. It is nothing to me.”

  “I am sure that would be very convenient for you…to have Richard and me starve to death. You would then be able to feel comfortable in your role here, happy in these lands without seeing Richard, who will be a daily reminder that you have stolen these from him.”

  He smiled, the smile that was not quite a smile. “I have stolen nothing, but if that is what you think, so be it, I care not for your opinion. I do not canvas your support or your favor. You are nothing to me. But while you are under my roof…”

  “Your roof!” She could not stop the words.

  “My roof lady, and do not forget it. While you are my guest you will be treated as all other guests. You will dine in the hall, or you will not dine at all.”