Chapter 12

Richard hadn't cared which of the Queen's ladies had brought his messenger such a crude token as a simple cross of wood. He'd assumed the Queen had been subtly mocking him, sending him to battle with something of so little value.

Until an arrow was sticking out of it.

He'd been caught by surprise, in camp and out of his armor. The blow had knocked him to the ground, and others had sprung into action, racing to his side or grabbing their own weapons to pursue the unseen assailant. He had started to try to pick himself up. Buckingham pushed him back to the ground gently, but not before Richard saw the arrow's shaft that pierced his shirt.

"I am well," he said to Buckingham.

"Of course, of course, Your Grace," Buckingham said soothingly.

"No, cousin Buckingham. I believe I am. See you any blood?"

Buckingham stopped and looked closely. "Nay."

His lower commanders still insisted that a surgeon open the shirt, for fear they might drive it in. But when the man did, he found nothing but a scratch, where the very tip of the arrow had gone through the cross.

"God favors Your Grace," Buckingham said while he helped Richard to his feet.

"God's will be done," Richard said, trying to keep the bewilderment from his voice.

Richard had never truly believed in providence, let alone that God might intercede for him. Still, he was forced to admit to himself that he felt shaken by the near brush with eternity. And while who had given him the token was a matter of no real importance – whoever had offered it had certainly done so with no inkling that it might save him – the question gnawed at him.

"Which of the Queen's ladies gave this, Catesby?" he asked that evening when the uproar had died down.

"I regret that I cannot remember, Your Grace," his messenger answered.

"Was she a comely girl or a plain one? Was her hair fair or dark?"

"Please forgive me, Your Grace. The whole thing was so sudden and strange that I hardly noted her visage. Or her hair."

Richard set the question aside; Oxford's men were still in the field. But after they'd routed the traitor and were returning to receive their recognition from the King at Westminster, he began to wonder again.

He publicly praised Buckingham, as was expected and deserved, and Buckingham returned the favor by lauding his leadership to the King. He noticed the strange, tight expression the Queen's face tended to take on when someone said something good about him, as if every muscle was working to prevent her smile from sliding into a scowl.

"And truly, the Lord was with His Grace," Buckingham said, then told the story of the arrow lodged in the wooden cross.

"Providential," the queen said, without changing her expression. None of the ladies showed the slightest reaction, except for Katherine Bly, whose hand flew to her breast. Of course, it would be her. He'd suspected as much: who else cared about him, would be bold enough to give a token that he hadn't asked for, and possessed nothing finer to give?

He caught her eye, and she ducked her head and blushed. A charming little habit, he was beginning to think, even though it had struck him as ungainly and awkward when she first came to court. He felt an overwhelming urge to speak to her, and wished Buckingham and the King would finish their praising and dismiss him.

When they finally did, he went after her as fast as his mismatched legs would allow. The ladies were mingling with the gentlemen, offering their meaningless congratulations on the victory, but no one approached him, as usual.

She was not exactly hiding, but certainly wasn't drawing attention to herself as she backed into a corner.

"Lady Katherine." She looked thoroughly uncomfortable. "To look at thee, one would believe thou had stolen from me, instead of giving generously."

"I know it was improper," she said, ducking her head. "I only – I felt – I thought it might help."

"And it did. Thy gift saved my life."

"Only God can end men's days or prolong them," Kate said.

"Did God fell thy father, or did Warwick?"

Kate ducked her head again. "Perhaps men may shorten each other's lives, but only God saves."

"And yet we pay physicians." She seemed to be searching for a rebuttal. "Kate. Thou hast saved my life. Do not minimize such a gift."

"Please, Your Grace, say nothing to anyone. The Queen will be angry."

"Angry that I still live?" The idea didn't surprise him.

"No, no, Your Grace. Angry that I so o'erstepped the bounds of propriety."

"And is a man's life not worth more than mere human conventions?"

"I would hope so, Your Grace." That was likely the only true thing she could have said.

"And how am I to thank thee, Mistress Kate?"

"You have already thanked me quite enough."

"There must be something a poor girl like thee desires. Prevail on my gratitude."

"Your Grace cannot give me what I most desire."

"What, would thou ask for a kingdom?"

"No, Your Grace. I-" Richard nodded that she should continue. "I would be far from the court. With my aunt. The lavender is blooming now-" She trailed off. "Your Grace cannot give me that. So please, say nothing more."

"As thou wishest," Richard said. She moved away quickly, without looking at anyone.

He shook his head. The girl was a fool not to demand gold or jewels, or any number of other fine things that were in his power to give. Lavender? Her aunt's presence at her side? How provincial. How idiotic. How –

Undeniably charming in its innocence.

Richard had always prided himself on being a man who understood the difference between what was true and what one only wished for. And what was true at that moment was that he was hopelessly distracted by the girl, however much he wished to believe that he had purged any weak feelings from his body. His plan to slowly maneuver himself into position to take the throne would never succeed if he was constantly wondering what she was doing at any moment of the day. And he had no hope of ever wooing a woman – did he?

Could he make his heaven in a lady's lap? In any other's, no, but in Katherine Bly's? Perhaps. Still not a certain thing, but slightly more likely than outlasting both his brothers and their sons.

"Let us see what fortune's wheel dictates," he said to himself.

00000000

The servants heaped bouquets of lavender around the Queen's drawing room. Some were mixed in with other flowers, primroses and such, but the theme was apparent.

Kate thought she might faint, and not just from the heady fragrance.

The note, expressing deepest regard for a beautiful and virtuous maiden, identified neither its sender nor its recipient. But of course she knew, and she could see Anne Neville reading her expression as the flowers piled up. Neither said anything as the Queen wondered what daft knight hoped to win a lady's heart thus. The question didn't occupy her for long, though – there was a celebration of victory that evening, and they had to dress for it.

Kate helped the other ladies into their gowns before laying out hers. It was the green gown, the best she had, and there wasn't much to do other than slip into it and ask Anne to lace her up.

"Nonsense," Anne said, laying a blue gown atop the green one. "Thou shalt wear this."

"It's too fine," Kate protested. "What if I should spill the wine?"

"Get your duke to buy me a new gown, then."

"I – he – he is not my duke. You are his betrothed."

"Was to be betrothed to that loathsome toad. But I would not agree to be his wife for all the gold in the treasury." Anne shuddered. "Either I should murder him or he should murder me, if we ever were wed. But if thou wishest to try thy fortune with him, let it be so."

When Anne and the servants had finished, Kate looked in the mirror and saw a version of herself she had never believed could exist. It was her, not a stranger, but with an elegance she had only seen on Anne and a few of the ladies.

"You know it is hopeless, Anne," she said as the ladies walked to the banquet hall. "I have no dowry."

"Did the Queen?" Anne asked quietly. "Tempt him, but refuse to be his mistress. See what obstacles he'll o'erleap to get thee."

"I have never tempted a man before."

"Thou hast tempted dozens of men without trying. God gave some of us wealth, and he gave thee beauty. Use it." Anne stopped and turned to her. "Do not throw thyself at him. Make him come to thee. And never forget that thou hast worth. The rest will flow from that."

"Thou hast worth," Kate repeated to herself, and tried to hold her head higher, as Anne did. She could do worse than to imitate Anne for an evening.

She didn't know whether it was the dress or Anne's teaching, but she had more dance partners than at any previous ball. Not the Duke of Gloucester, though. He would never ask her, or any woman, to dance. Several times she felt his eyes on her, but he never approached, and as the night advanced, she began to think he wouldn't. Perhaps she was mistaken about his regard, a fool to think a poor girl such as herself could interest him –

Perhaps there are worlds in which she didn't glance over her dance partner's shoulder in time to see the look of longing before the duke locked it beneath a mask of boredom. But in this one, she did, and understanding struck her like a thunderbolt. For all of his wealth and honor, he believed his body made him unworthy of being loved by a girl who was closer to a peasant than a princess.

She finished the dance and excused herself from the knight who, while pleasant enough, did not hold her heart. As she walked by Gloucester, she strategically pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, dislodging a piece of lavender that Anne had woven into her coiffure. It drifted slowly to the floor and landed on his boot.

"Lady, thou hast lost this," he said, grimacing as he picked it up.

"Oh, so I have. I thank Your Grace." She wondered if dropping something was the wrong choice, but it was the only trick she knew to begin a conversation with a gentleman at court. Things were so much easier at home – when Joanna had wanted Thomas' attention, she simply said so.

He handed her the lavender, their fingers brushing for just an instant. "It suits thee," he said.

She placed it back in her hair while searching for something to say. What would Anne or any of the elegant ladies say at such a moment? But it wouldn't do to play games. "When I told Your Grace how I loved lavender, I never thought you would remember such a silly thing. Why did you?"

"And why didst thou insist on giving my messenger thy token?"

"Because I feared some misfortune would befall Your Grace, and something in my soul said it might protect you."

"And why did you fear for me?"

"Don't you know?" His eyebrows shot up. "You do know what I speak of, don't you? It's not simply the work of my fancy?"

He was about to answer when Anne was at her side. "Kate, thou art wanted," she said, wrapping a hand around her arm. "Thou must come."

"Who could be so important?" she whispered to Anne as she let herself be steered across the room.

"The King," Anne said.

"And what could the King want with me?"

Anne gave her a pointed look, but didn't answer. They both knew.

"Such a beauty," the King said as they curtsied before him.

"No woman's beauty can compare with your Queen's," Kate replied, ducking her head as she curtsied.

The Queen looked down at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Indeed, this court shines with beauty. But none is brighter than our glorious Sun of York. Is it not so?"

"Oh yes, madam, the King is the source of all the court's radiance. To stand in his sun is an honor."

The King looked mollified. "Thou shalt dance with me next, Lady …"

"Katherine, Your Majesty. Katherine Bly. Cousin to your queen."

One did not refuse to dance with the King. In other circumstances, she might have enjoyed a brief moment that contrasted with her overall obscurity. And he was a splendid dancer. He was splendid in nearly everything – tall, strong, handsome, golden from his hair to the ornamentation on his shoes. She still hoped he would release her to finish her conversation.

But on and on they went, whirling the night away. Her heart began to sink. Anne must have played up her looks too well. She should have been herself, in her unremarkable green dress, ornamented with only a few sprigs of lavender.

After a time, the King steered her to the open corridor where the dancers went to breathe. Everyone else found somewhere else to be as soon as he opened the door. Please don't leave me, Kate wanted to say, but she knew that even if she had said it aloud, it wouldn't have changed anything.

The King began professing his ardent love for her. Ardor – yes, he had that. Love – that was something else altogether. She had no doubt each of the others had received much the same speech.

"Your Majesty flatters me," she said when he finally took a moment to breathe. "I am of too mean estate to merit it."

"Mean of fortune, but abundant in beauty," the King began again, then stopped and lifted his eyes from her. Kate turned and saw Gloucester.

"I hesitate to interrupt such an important conference, but the Queen has called for Lady Katherine."

"I must go to my mistress," Kate said without waiting for permission. "Good evening, Your Majesty."

When she reentered the hall, she took care to mix in with the ladies hovering near the Queen. Of course the Queen hadn't called for her – she would never let anyone see that she cared who the King wooed – but it seemed wise not to make the lie obvious. And she had no desire to dance anymore, anyway.

She told Anne the whole thing after most of the ladies were slumbering.

"Thou hast no choice but to yield," Anne said. "Gloucester will have to swallow his pride if he wants thee."

"Do you think the King would kill me, if I refused?"

"Kill thee? No, no. But he could send thee to a nunnery. Dost thou wish to be a nun?"

"No," Kate sighed. "Nor do I wish to be his whore. There must be something else a woman can be."

"Thou wouldst only have to yield for a short time," Anne said. "The pain doesn't last. And every woman must bear it. That's the lot God parceled out to us. Thou canst bear it too." Anne patted her hand and withdrew to her bed, evidently considering the matter settled.

Kate got into her bed, too, but sleep would not touch her eyes. She prayed to Thomas, but her thoughts drifted to Joanna. She would know what to do. But there was no time to send a letter. "Please let him forget me on the morrow," she begged Thomas and any other saints who were listening.