Seed of the Broom Read online

  “Your guests are whores and I do not treat with whores,” she said, matching his insolent gaze.

  “Whores earn their keep. They are not parasites!”

  “Are you calling me a parasite, sir?” she demanded, then her hands did go to her waist, her elbows akimbo. She was unable either to stop her foot from tapping.

  “I do not see you earning your keep…unless…” He strode across the room and before she could prevent him, he had moved to pull her hands from her waist and to fasten them behind her back. Slowly he bent her backwards and leaned over her. She could feel the intimate curves of his body pressing against her skirt. She moved, conscious of fear creeping up inside her. Her movement seemed to excite him, she felt the hardness more definitely. Somehow she dredged up her courage to meet his eyes. There was something in their gleam, something that was no longer cold, but a glint that told her of his intention to…. She stopped moving.

  “Do you rape as well as plunder?” she asked chillingly. For a moment he met her gaze, then with a coarse word he flung her to one side.

  “Lady,” he spat, “you would not be worth my energy. I prefer my meat hot to cold!”

  The he turned on his heel and stormed out. Weakly Kate fell into her bed, the trembling began in her legs and soon her whole body was shaking. She had to be very careful in her treating with him. He was a dangerous adversary and she, she was beginning to learn, could be a fool.

  Kate told Edgar that they would dine in the hall that night. “Lady, ‘tis no place for you,” Edgar admitted, “last eve…well…” He shook his head sadly.

  “Worry not, for we shall make it our place,” Kate said with a confidence she did not feel. She had to do it, had to show that she could bend somewhat. Besides she did not doubt that he would see them starve to death. He would have no problem with keeping his word!

  From her trunk she took a large collection of dresses. None suited her present position. Grays and browns, the slashed sleeves revealing plain colored linings, the bodices were unadorned, there was not even a pearl or even a little silver embroidery. In the end she chose brown fine wool, for the material was as smooth as silk and had a certain richness. She carefully plaited her hair and wound it around her head, then covered it with a small brown brocade cap. Around her throat she placed the only adornment she owned, a heavy silver cross with a chain that had belonged to her mother.

  The brown of the gown brought out the rich nut brown of hairline, dark against the paleness of her forehead. Her bronze colored eyes looked large and frightened in a face that was not unattractive with its high cheekbones, small nose and pale pink full lips.

  Richard fared little better. He had left most of his belongings at Bosworth. His dark green doublet was patched. His hose somewhat tight, for Richard grew taller with every passing day. It seemed as if he would become the giant of a man that his father had been. Something else to worry about, for if he grew like a mighty oak this, with his good looks, would call attention to him.

  There was a good deal of noise. They heard it as they descended the spiral staircase. It was deafening as, with a fearful look in their direction Edgar pulled back the screen to allow them entrance to the hall.

  The man who now called himself Lord Mellorsdale sat at the center of his table, his men around him in descending order. At the very end of the table were women, their bodices cut so low their breasts were practically completely on show. Their hair they wore unbound and they were as noisy as a gaggle of geese.

  As Richard and Kate crossed the hall silence fell, then a murmuring began, soft and low like the hiss of the sea. Kate and Richard matching their steps, keeping their eyes now fixed upon their feet. Richard’s hand had grown chilly in her own. There was suddenly a shuffling and pushing. Looking up, Kate saw that Caradoc had ordered the two men on either side of him to move along the table to make room for Kate and Richard at his side. In the general shuffling, one of the women was pushed from the bench and there was a burst of noisy laughter, but Caradoc did not even smile.

  Taking deep breaths, they took their place. Kate put Richard on her far side away from Caradoc. By rights Richard should have occupied that place, but she feared his ability to match words with Caradoc, feared his youthfulness would lead him to say more than was proper. It would be hard enough for her to hold her tongue without trusting the task to Richard.

  Caradoc said nothing. Filling their goblets with wine, he signaled a servant to bring them meat. The wine was fine, brought from the late lord’s cellars. It had been imported from France. It irked her to think that this man could just come and help himself to all the castle had to offer, but she swallowed her rancor. She closed her eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the accusations that sprang into her fertile mind.

  The man leaned a little towards her, not touching her but the better to make himself heard over the din of the others’ conversations. “Tell me lady, was the late Lord Mellor parsimonious?”

  Kate looked into the green eyes. “I….” How did she know? And what an unusual question. Even through the heavy folds of her gown, she could feel Richard squeezing her thigh. He could not hear what the lord had said to her, but he had to be aware that she had not spoken. “I believe not, sir,” she said. Not even while playing the game of deceit could she address him as my lord!

  “The Abbot tells me that you have no desire for the convent but…apart from your throat…and…” He allowed his eyes to fall to her bosom, lingering on the creamy mounds forced out by her tight bodice. She felt a hot flush start her throat and had the urge to cover her breasts. At last his eyes moved away and met her own. “You are garbed like a nun…” and then smiling as if it were an exaggeration. “Somewhat, but no nun that I know of exposes quite so much flesh.”

  No man had ever looked at her so impudently before. She felt the surge of humiliation coupled by fear. She felt her hand tremble but still continued to match him gaze for gaze. “Odd that the lord did not buy you fine gowns. The harlots have more embroidery on their gowns than you…a great lady!”

  “There was little time to order gowns,” Kate responded at last.

  “Oh? For how long were you the wife of this man?”

  “I…” Richard heard that, Kate could tell by the way he fearfully mangled her flesh. “A matter of weeks only.” Kate compressed her lips, more out of nervousness than a wish to keep words inside herself.

  “Weeks? I see. Yet you and the lad seem so close,” his voice was soft and low.

  “I new Richard previously. I mean before I even met the lord.”

  “Was he a handsome man?”

  “Oh yes,” she confirmed eagerly, trying a smile.

  Caradoc laughed. “The servants tell me he was as ugly as the devil and three times as immoral!”

  “You should never listen to the gossip of servants, “ Kate said primly.

  “I suppose not. He was very rich. Very rich and very old, I believe.”

  “Not that old, “ she murmured, “not turned forty.”

  “Old in comparison to you, though. I can see why you might marry him, madam, but I fail to see why he should marry you,” he said smoothly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Kate responded, somewhat haughtily.

  “He was rich. You are not from an illustrious family, at least I do not believe that you are.”

  “Pray why do you think that?” Kate countered as lightly as she could.

  “Dear lady, your father would have provided your with fine gowns, the jewelry of your mother, some adornment. All you have to show is a pair of exceedingly pretty breasts..”

  “You…” but she bit off the words. He was enjoying humiliating her. She could see that. He would gain pleasure from her reaction. She would deprive him of that pleasure and so answered as sweetly as she could.

  “My father died some long time ago.” She tilted her chin. Then deciding that partial honesty would be the best way. “I was a lady in waiting.”

  “I see,” he said. “But no shame in that,”
he added brusquely. Then after a moment he continued. “Those who toil are worthy of their hire. Those who have such need the toilers. But you see the dilemma, why should a rich man like that marry a woman to whom marriage can bring no advantage?”

  She thought quickly. “The lord loved me!”

  Caradoc laughed. A cruel laugh she thought. “Loved you? The old goat lusted after you, is it? But why marry you? Lady, noblemen do not marry women like you. They use them, but they do not marry them!”

  “The lord dare not lay a finger on me. My master would have killed him!” It was not necessarily true, but she believed that would have been the case had someone tried to seduce her. King Richard had been a moral man and he would have demanded that respect be given to his servants.

  Caradoc leant his head against the back of the chair, the only person in the hall able to do so, since he had the only high back chair, the rest sat on long benches.

  “Then,” he murmured, “your master must have been very powerful, lady, to even put out such a threat, to stop a man like Mellor from crushing the women he wanted beneath his…” He hesitated, “heel. Who is this caring and considerate and indeed unique, master?”

  “The King of England, of course, “ Kate said boldly. For a moment Caradoc frowned. She knew what he immediately thought. He thought of Edward who was guardian of no woman’s virtue, a man from whom no woman was safe!

  “You speak of the white boar and not the sun in splendor,” he suggested.

  “I do,” Kate said.

  “So then, you must have served the lady he poisoned?”

  “What?” Kate was up on her feet, shock disabling her false calm. “What are you saying?”

  Caradoc hissed. “Sit woman!” As if she were a pet dog. His eyes flashing green lights that ought to have warned her.

  “I am not a dog, sir.”

  “Nay I never said you were, a bitch maybe but not a dog.”

  “How dare you! I have had enough of your insufferable insults. Your innuendo, your vile accusation against a man whose boots you are not fit to clean.”

  “Kate,” she felt Richard’s hand in hers, pulling her to retake her seat. Turning she saw his pale fear ridden expression. She had to control herself for his sake, not to allow this man to bait her, which her common sense had already told her that he was doing.

  The hall was full of an ominous murmuring, herself the target for all eyes. One of the harlots laughed. Humiliation made her skin prickle, but she took her seat once more. Refraining from looking at Caradoc, she took up her goblet and took a long sip of wine.

  “So,” he said, once again smoothly, “a lady’s maid in a noble household catches the eye of a wealthy lord. It is a fairy story, full of changelings, good and evil, like something those people beyond the castle walls tell one another. What was your father?” She almost told him, then smiling she turned the question to him. “Who was your father?”

  “I have no notion He never told my mother.”

  “Why not?” Kate asked with such genuine innocence that Caradoc guffawed.

  “He was passing through Madam, on his way to who knows where or what. My mother was not as fortunate as you. She did not have a powerful protector, but then kitchen wenches seldom do.”

  Kate looked away from him, lowering her head slightly. He had been so low born, yet had flown so high. It explained in part the shield of arrogance he carried. “I am sorry, “ she murmured. “I should not have inquired.”

  The sincerity of her response unbalanced him. No one ever before had not taken advantage of the truth of his birth. Many had scoffed to their cost, others had attempted to rise above him to be superior, some even daring to patronize him. His climb above such absolute obscurity had been long and hard. As the Blacksmith’s apprentice he had suffered physical, as well as mental abuse. But it had toughened him. He grew tall and strong. At thirteen he had the body of a man. His height and his broad shoulders meant that he stood out. People ceased to mock him and call him spiteful, cruel names. He had learned to use his fists to beat the mockers into silence. This was what caught the eye of Jasper Tudor, the King’s uncle. Opportunity came Caradoc’s way and he had seized it with both hands. He had never let Jasper down, had obeyed him unquestioningly . He had such intense loyalty that he had taken the cause of Jasper’s nephew, Henry Tudor, as his own.

  The Tudors knew how to reward loyalty. They were not so wrapped up in the idea of nobility as the old Monarchs, besides the aristocracy had slowly been wiping itself out by the interminable internecine feuds. New blood was needed to lead. Golden opportunities would come the way of any who were the right sort and who found themselves in the right place and on the right side.

  At last Caradoc smiled; a cynical smile. The lady and he were not so different; each had risen beyond their births. A pity but the lady, through circumstances, had found herself married on the losing side. There had been even been time for her to appreciate her good fortune before she was widowed. However, he felt little pity for her misfortune. People like himself and the lady had to learn to rise and fall and rise again. It would be hard for her. She was a woman. Women had few advantages. She was not beautiful, more she was attractive with her strange bronze colored eyes. Her hair was a crowning glory, thick and lustrous and richly brown. However, in spite of that she was not the kind to awaken great passion in a host of men and she was possessed of an acid tongue He could not see her as a great courtesan. The convent would be the best place for her. She would have books and peace, be able to minister to the poor. With her undoubted intelligence she might rise from the ranks, might even become an Abbess.

  “My mother died at my birth. My father was a steward, not at a very great house, you understand, when he died…well then there was no where for me to go and so the Duke of Gloucester, as he was then, came and took me into his castle at Middleham in Yorkshire.”

  “Is that how come you know the lad?”

  “The lad?” she queried.

  “Your stepson, lady.”

  “I… well, yes of course,” she lied with ease, when it came to protecting Richard the lies came easier.

  “He is very fond of you,” Caradoc said softly.

  “I believe so.”

  “His father loved him?”

  “Very much,” and that was true on both counts. No one had doubted how much Mellor loved his own son and Richard’s real father, the late King Edward, had loved him, too, very much. All said that Richard had been his favorite child.

  “That is what I have heard. In spite of your telling me not to listen to the servants’ gossip. I have heard much of the late lord and his child. If a woman is clever she can get to the parent through the child. Tell me lady, is that what you did?”

  All sympathy for him eroded. He was as ever a detestable and suspicious man. But her answer belied her anger. Her voice with effort kept calm and low. “People have said that I am clever, however I have never been accused of being a schemer.”

  “Woman,” he said with a smile, “schemer is the given name of all women.”

  “Is your mother a schemer?” she asked lightly. His lips moved, whether in a smile or grimace she could not tell.

  He took some time to reply. “Nay my mother is the exception. She has never learned to scheme or to flirt. She is as honest a dame as one could wish to find.”

  “Then your mother still lives?”

  “She does.”

  “She will come here?” Kate asked, trying to keep the eagerness from her voice.

  “Aye, that she will.”

  “It may be that she will be a little uncomfortable at first.”

  “I dare say she will be,” he was honest enough to admit.

  Unconsciously, Kate licked her lower lip, her mind bursting with ideas. She was too honest not to admit that perhaps there was something in what Caradoc had said about all women being schemers. Well perhaps they had to fight harder for their survival, she thought.

  “Someone who knows how things are done cou
ld perhaps aid her, increase her confidence to order things. Learn her how to treat with servants, if of course, she does not already have the skill.”

  “And I cannot do that?” he asked a little baffled by her change of tactic.

  “Perhaps you can, if you truly know. Oh, do not believe that I am saying that you cannot, only that a woman’s touch is very different.”

  “In what way?”

  “Those women, lower down the table…”

  He laughed. “They are only treats for my men. I do not intend that they stay forever.”

  “I see. I understand, and of course you have Edgar who will deal fairly with the lady. So of course she will be all right and you would not need anyone else.” She was going to be honest when dealing with this matter, and truth to tell she was not being unkind, she felt a strange sympathy for his mother who had been so abused in her life. It would not have been easy for her having an illegitimate child, yet he had overcome all his difficulties and that in no small part had to stem from his mother’s sacrifices.

  “Edgar is very kind and trustworthy,” she looked towards him and then lowered her long lashes over her eyes. “ I can see that there will be no place for me to carry out those duties. You are well served as it is.”

  He was silent some long while. “My mother is a simple soul. She has been much abused in her life.”

  “People can be very cruel to those who stray from what is considered the normal path.”

  “True,” he mused. Kate put her hand below the table. Taking Richard’s hand that still gripped her thigh, she gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I hear what you are saying lady, but the words do not match the harridan I saw but two days ago.”

  “I was in shock,” Kate partly lied. “Surely you appreciate that. We both have been taught to know our place my lord. It is a lesson neither of us will ever forget.”

  His green eyes stared into her own. She dared herself to meet that gaze for a single challenging moment before lowering her lashes modestly. “Mm,” he murmured, “but if you should so much as show disgust by even the smallest of gestures, to my mother, I shall have you driven out after I have had you whipped!”