Mistress to the Crown. Isolde Martyn

the one who charged in on us.’

      ‘That friend! I see. My abrupt departure annoyed you!’ He tossed his hat onto the small table and surprisingly donned the manner of sackcloth and ashes. ‘Well, I cannot blame you and I do apologise, but the Breton diplomats were anxious to sign the treaty and get back to Duke Francis.’

      ‘Your pardon, I did not understand that at the time.’ I poured him out some wine in a forgiving fashion.

      He grinned sheepishly at me across the rim of our best goblet. ‘Just as well “my friend” interrupted, my luscious Elizabeth. I do not think I could have managed a fourth coupling.’ At least he had remembered the other three. ‘Anyway, I ask you to excuse my friend’s churlish manners. Sometimes he needs a boot on his arse.’

      ‘Do you bow, my lord, before you kick him?’

      My question caused a little silence. He chewed his cheeks before he answered.

      ‘Ah. Clever of you to realise.’

      ‘I didn’t, my lord. Until I had a command from you to meet me at Gerrard’s Hall. Except you did not arrive, he did.’

      Although Hastings seemed to be considering the revelation, I wondered if he had already known. ‘I see,’ he murmured with the cool worldliness that was still so alien to me, ‘and I daresay my “friend” usurped my favour with you.’

      Such a conclusion mightily annoyed me. The bed-swapping habits of the palace might be commonplace to him but they were unacceptable to me.

      ‘He did not usurp anything, my lord, save two little oatcakes. I declined his request.’

      Hastings’ beautiful eyes widened and emotion returned to his face, even if it was merely surprise. ‘Is my hearing amiss, Elizabeth? You said “no” to the King?’

      ‘Of course,’ I exclaimed passionately. ‘I do have some honour.’ Did he think of me only as fresh city meat? ‘I assure you I am no whore to be prancing in and out of gentlemen’s beds.’

      ‘Just so.’ His mouth was a grave slash now. Oh, such a diplomat, shifting position to accommodate my vehemence. A token flurry of jealousy would have been more acceptable. ‘Was that your only reason, Elizabeth?’

      ‘I felt some loyalty to you, my lord.’ Some – my fledgling attempt at Westminster nonchalance. ‘Please do not mistake me,’ I added swiftly to reassure him that I was not infatuated. ‘I certainly do not seek to put any obligation on you. We had an agreement – just you and I.’

      ‘Elizabeth, I hope you are not thinking that I put his grace up to this?’

      ‘No, of course not,’ I lied, resolving to sieve my feelings later. ‘He—’ I cleared my throat. ‘His highness explained you were at Ashleigh.’

      ‘Ashby,’ he corrected. ‘My castle at Ashby-de-la-Zouch.’ His hand rose in a flourish as to how I should find it. ‘West of Leicester.’

      ‘Oh, west,’ I echoed dryly.

      ‘We were celebrating my stepdaughter’s name day. I bought the jewelled girdle for her, remember?’

      ‘Yes.’ I was not a jealous person but I felt it now. Unreasonable of me. I desired his affection. But I had no right. I did not own him. What else had I expected?

      ‘Cecily was introduced to her future husband.’ With a scowl, he took a sweet wafer from the platter and carried his goblet to the window, where he stood, his back turned. With King Edward active on the board, perhaps, like me, he was uncertain of the next move in this game of seduction. If there was a next move? At the moment, trust lay between us like a bleeding corpse.

      His fidelity was a matter of geography. I must accept that. And did Lady Katherine up at Ashby accept that? By Heaven, if his marriage vows could be bent, what rules did he play by? His loyalty to his king? Was that the only standard in his world? If King Edward said, ‘Give me that bread you are eating, that ring from your finger, that woman you are escrewing!’ Did he ever refuse? If his royal master wanted to sample Lady Cecily, his stepdaughter, what then?

      ‘Was she pleased, my lord?’

      He turned. ‘Your pardon, she?’

      ‘Your stepdaughter. Was she pleased by her future husband?’

      A sneer spoilt his face. ‘Yes, for now. That’s one hedge that won’t need jumping. His horns and the forked tail will only come out after they’re married.’ He took an angry swig of wine.

      ‘Who is he?’ I probed gently, seating myself on the footstool.

      ‘Queen’s eldest boy by her first marriage. Tom Grey, Marquis of Dorset. Cecily is a great heiress – vast estates in Devonshire. Fly in the web, poor child. If lightning strikes Tom Grey dead, there’s still his brother to snaffle her up.’

      ‘Can you not withhold your consent?’

      Hastings shook his head. ‘I might as well piss in the wind.’ He downed the wine and slammed the goblet on the small table. ‘And what is so ironic, sweetheart, is that before Ned married Elizabeth Grey – Baroness Ferrers of Groby, as she called herself – she and I had a neighbours’ agreement that if Kate and I had a daughter, Tom would marry her.’

      God’s mercy, before the poor mite was even born!

      I refilled his wine cup, flattered he felt free to speak his mind or was this a means to lull me back to trusting him?

      ‘So Grey was not considered for Lady Cecily back then?’ I asked.

      ‘Hell, no. A landless nobody, son of an attainted traitor? No, Cecily was far too wealthy for the likes of him. It was sheer charity on my part to have any dealings with “the Widow Grey”.’ He took a gulp of wine. ‘Of course, once Elizabeth became queen, she set her sights on Cecily’s inheritance.’

      ‘But you could delay the marriage, my lord. If Cecily is only fifteen, I beg of you, don’t let her go to him yet.’ I should not have spoken so but Hastings did not take offence.

      With a fond look, he reached out a hand and caressed my cheek. ‘You speak from the heart, do you not, sweetheart?’

      I nodded and felt the tears pricking behind my lashes at the kindness of the gesture. I kissed his palm. ‘My lord …’ I began but his mind had moved on.

      ‘So have you’ve begun rattling the bars of Holy Church yet for your divorce?’

      ‘Rattling, yes. I’ve made a start.’

      ‘I’m glad to hear it. These matters take a millennium. If you don’t start proceedings straight away, you’ll still be waiting at the Second Coming.’ Then he realised his improper choice of words.

      I pleated my lips trying not to giggle and then we both laughed. He rose to his feet and slid his arms about my thighs and drew me to him. ‘Let’s go and sup at Gerrard’s Hall. Time for another lesson, my beauteous scholar.’

      Such cunning I learned from the tryst that evening: the act of love does not have to be with the woman underneath; a woman may straddle a man and, what’s more, a man and woman may lie busy tip to tail.

      ‘It is about power as well as passion, Elizabeth, conquest and surrender. A game of subtlety and strategy until you bring the protagonist to their knees, so to speak.’ That disarming smile. He encouraged me to use my imagination and to play out one of my fantasies. I had thought that the reality would spoil it, but with Hastings, I was wrong.

      ‘Soon there will be nothing left to teach you, mercer’s daughter.’ He whacked my behind playfully as I lay on my front after we had sported, and kissed the hollow of my back. ‘And now I desire to ask a favour. Remember I told you one of my duties was to organise revels for the court.’

      ‘Yes, my lord. You were considering The Siege of Troy.’

      ‘Well, the damned