By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (5 page)

James turned back to face her with his arms folded across his chest. “There is a gift that a wife may save for her husband on their wedding night,” he said with an expression of acute embarrassment sketched across his face. “If the choice of your husband were in my power I would expect you to guard that gift.” He paused. “Do you understand what I’m speaking of, Anne?” he asked.

“I think so,” she told him, hesitantly. “I think you mean that a woman should accept no seed but her husband’s. Mistress Payne has spoken to me about such things,” she added to reassure him that she had some knowledge.

He nodded, looking relieved that she understood him. “If your wardship was mine then I would expect to send you to a husband as a virgin,” he said. “But you are Lord Stanley’s ward and he is my enemy. It would not displease me if the gift was bestowed on another.”

Anne nodded slowly. Her uncle spoke in riddles. She was still unsure, but he seemed to be suggesting that she should lie with the Duke of Gloucester as if they were man and wife.

“But surely such a thing would be a sin?” she whispered, wondering how she could face Father Adam, the Harrington’s chaplain, with such a confession.

Her uncle sighed and unfolded his arms to scratch his nose. “There are sins, and then there are sins,” he remarked enigmatically. “The bible tells us that it is a sin not to honour our father and mother. But your father is not here and as I am your nearest kin I expect you to do my bidding. What I’m asking is that you abide by my guidance and show loyalty to your family. We can all benefit from this, Anne.

“Do you understand what it is I ask of you?” he said when she didn’t reply, but sat and twisted her sleeve between her fingers.

Anne looked up. His brown eyes looked worried, even a touch desperate. “You want me to become the mistress of the Duke of Gloucester,” she said. The words tasted strange yet appealing on her tongue. “I would prefer marriage.”

“There is a chance that marriage may follow,” he told her in a reassuring voice. “The duke is a good man who always strives to do the right thing, as he has shown in his support of us here at Hornby. But if the king will not change his mind about the inheritance then a marriage can only be arranged for you by your guardian and Stanley will never agree to your marrying Gloucester. But if the duke has... has known your body,” he explained, looking away from her again, “he may feel he has an obligation towards you... and your family.”

Anne nodded. What her uncle was suggesting was something she had never considered. She was vaguely aware that such agreements were made, but had never thought that she might become part of such an arrangement. Her only fear had been that she would be taken by the Stanleys and forced into a marriage not of her choosing with someone whom she did not like or who was cruel to her. This alternative both startled and tempted her. She liked the duke and thought that he would be kind. Besides, she knew that a refusal would anger her uncle.

“Will you agree, Anne?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment, knowing that she had no choice.

It was almost a week later, as the evening sun disappeared below the battlements leaving a desperate chill in the air that Robert moved forward to take hold of the bridle of the Duke of Gloucester’s horse. He was rewarded by a companionable grin.

“Time was you would have given me a tongue lashing for bringing home a horse in such a state,” he remarked as he ran a hand over his mount’s sweat-stained neck and patted it, the sound echoing around the inner bailey. “We rode hard to arrive before nightfall. I would not have liked to have met with any of Stanley’s villains in the dark whilst we were so few.”

Few indeed, thought Robert. The duke rode with only two companions. They carried no banner nor wore any tunic that would give them away and although they wore armour it was closely covered by their cloaks and their heads were bare.

“The rest of my men are riding to meet the king’s forces, but I thought I would not be missed for a day or two.”

Robert watched the duke’s gaze search the upper windows and knew that he was seeking Anne. James had related some of the conversation that he’d had with their niece and although he had assured him of her willingness, Robert still felt uneasy. Anne was only young and it would have been impossible for her to gainsay her uncle, whom she had been brought up to respect and obey. He knew that James was immovable once he had formed an opinion or idea. It served him well in battle and gave him the determination not to back down over Hornby, but he was using Anne as a pawn, a piece that was worth sacrificing, and Robert couldn’t help feeling sorry for the girl.

As he followed the duke and his men up the steps James came out to greet them. Anne was with him and he knew that his brother had gone to seek her to make sure that she was there to greet the visitors. She looked flushed and was glancing at the duke from below her thick lashes as if she didn’t dare look at him directly. James on the other hand looked pleased and greeted the duke warmly as if he was expecting good news.

James gestured to Anne to pour some wine and Robert saw her hands shaking, making the red liquid surge across the cup like waves breaking on the sea shore. He saw Diccon smile at her as he took his drink and colour rose to Anne’s cheeks as she looked down at the floor. Like a sacrificial lamb, thought Robert, as he watched. He hoped the outcome would be worth the sacrifice for all of them, but especially for Anne. Though the alternative was not any better. Perhaps it was just the proximity of what was planned that plagued his conscience. If she had been taken and wed to a Stanley would he have felt so much disquiet about her fate, he wondered.

James guided his guest forward to a seat near the fire, sending servants scurrying for warm water and towels, whilst the duke’s men delved into their bags for clean, dry hose. Cloaks were set to dry, steam rising to the rafters as the smell of the damp wool fought with the aromas of the dishes being carried in for a late supper. Robert could sense that his brother was overeager to hear the news about the king’s decision on Hornby and he watched as James pressed his fingers to his lips for a third time as if in an attempt to stem the flow of his questions.

At last they were clean and dry and seated at table. “Do you bring word from the king?” asked James.

The duke hesitated and Robert knew him well enough to expect bad news. “He will not relent,” he said. “He is adamant that the letter of the law be upheld and that the land belongs to your nieces.” He paused and Robert watched as he looked at Anne. Beside her James’ expression was guarded, but he knew that his brother was both angry and disappointed.

“I won’t give it up,” he muttered. “But I am grateful for your interventions on our behalf, Your Grace,” he added, remembering his manners.

The duke shrugged awkwardly. “You have possession for the time being,” he said, “of both the castle and your nieces. But I have also come to ask you to join with me in support of the king against Warwick. I know that you have no lord now and I would like to offer you both places within my own household.” He brought out a small parcel wrapped in grey silk, which he carefully unfolded to reveal two badges. They were fashioned in silver gilt and depicted a boar with fierce tusks and a small curly tail: his chosen emblem. “I would be honoured if you would accept this,” he said as he held one out towards James.

“Your Grace, it is you who do me the honour. You show me great favour.”

Robert watched as his brother knelt to the duke who pinned the badge to his doublet.

“You will find me loyal and worthy, and I will repay the favour that I owe to you,” said James. He looked at Anne and Richard’s gaze followed. Nothing was said and Robert wasn’t certain that the meaning was fully understood, but as he knelt to receive his own badge he acknowledged that the Harringtons did indeed owe a debt of gratitude to the Duke of Gloucester.

Later that evening Anne followed her uncle up the twisting stone stairs to the guest bedchamber. The horn lantern that he carried swung as he mounted the steps and strange shadows leapt out at her from the bare walls. She understood now why little Peggy had cried in fright. She was barely succeeding in keeping her own tears under control.

After they had finished eating, her uncle had told her to ready herself and that he would come for her before the bell chimed Compline. She had gone to her own chamber and by the light of a candle had splashed her face with stale water from the basin on the coffer, had used the latrine and then knelt at the small prie dieu and picked up her rosary beads.

She was still at prayer when her uncle had come for her. He had come into the chamber unbidden and had frowned as she’d looked up at him.

“Come,” he’d said, though not unkindly. “It is time for you to do your duty to your family.”

Now she stood meekly behind him as he knocked at the dark oaken door and she heard the duke’s voice as he told one of his companions to see who was there. The eyes of the man who opened the door widened in surprise. He turned in some confusion and for a moment there was an awkward silence.

“Go and find beds in the hall,” said the duke to his men and Anne pressed herself against the hardness of the wall as they passed her with their eyes politely averted. Then she felt her uncle grasp her arm and urge her over the threshold into the bedchamber.

“Your Grace,” said her uncle and before Anne realised that he had released her and stepped back, the door thudded shut and she was alone with the duke. She heard her breath judder in her chest as she tried to steady the wild pounding of her heart. He was undressed for bed and wearing a chamber robe that belonged to her uncle. It was overlarge for him and the blue cloth trailed down onto the floor around him like a puddle. As he walked towards her she saw that his feet were bare. They were small with even toes and well-trimmed nails that looked almost girlish. They stopped a little distance from her and the material of the robe sank and covered them again.

“Your uncle assures me that you have willingly agreed to come to me. But I would like to hear it from your own lips,” he said quietly.

Anne continued to look at the folds of the robe, strewn over the red and green threads of the tapestry that covered the bedchamber floor. It was the most opulent chamber in the castle, reserved for visits from royalty and she had rarely been here before. She heard the crackling of the fire as a log sighed and settled in the hearth and she knew that there was a fine bed, with thick mattresses and rich red hangings, although she didn’t dare look at it. Neither dared she look at the duke. She hadn’t been able to meet his intense blue eyes all evening knowing what her uncle had planned.

“Anne?” She darted him a look and saw that he was watching her carefully. “I do not expect you to do anything against your will,” he told her, and the kindness in his voice, so at odds with her uncle’s insistence that she must fulfil this as her obligation, only served to destroy her self-control and she suddenly sobbed as she felt the hot tears race down her cheeks.

His warm hands pressed against her upper arms as he gently rubbed them up and down to comfort her. His touch sent fire through her body but she pressed her palms against his chest to prevent him coming nearer. The robe had fallen open and she could feel his hard, taut muscles beneath his thin linen nightshirt. For a terrifying moment she thought that he was going to overpower her and pull her against him, but he dropped his hands and stepped back, pulled the chamber robe closed and turned away from her to the fire.

“Go to your own bed,” he told her.

“But... my uncle...”

“Then sleep here. I will use one of the pallets. Your uncle need not know.” His voice was tight and dismissive.

“I will not take your bed...”

“Just do it!” he shouted at her without looking around. “Pull the hangings closed and try to let me forget that you are within such close proximity.”

Anne hurried to the bed and did as she was bidden. She sat curled like a cat inside the curtained enclave and listened as he poured wine and walked about the chamber extinguishing all but one of the candles. She wished that he would say something, but all she heard was the creak of the wooden frame of the small bed that had been provided for a servant as he lay down. She could hear his breathing, but it was not the deep regular breathing of someone who slept and she sat and listened for what seemed like many hours, thanking the holy virgin for answering her prayers, until she must have fallen asleep herself.

She woke in confusion when she found herself lying on the unfamiliar bed. Then guilt and foreboding flooded through her as she remembered what had happened. If her uncle discovered that she had not fulfilled her promise he would be very angry and she was fearful. She sat up and strained to listen, wondering if the duke still slept beyond the curtains and if there was time to make amends. It seemed barely dawn and she thought that she would have wakened before if he had stirred. She reached out cautiously and twitched at the hangings. By the first light that was probing the edges of the shuttered window she could see a shape on the pallet in the corner of the chamber. Trembling with anticipation she slid from the bed and tiptoed across the floor and stood beside him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. His blue eyes, that were usually so serious yet could light with amusement in a moment, were closed and long dark lashes swept his cheeks. His strong nose and prominent chin lay against the rough pillow and his small, but strong hands that had touched her so gently, were curled around the blanket.

He stirred as she watched him and then opened his eyes. “Anne?” he murmured. His voice was puzzled and sleepy.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing for what she was apologising; whether it was for watching him sleep or for not fulfilling her obligation. He reached out a hand and she knelt beside the low bed and stretched hers towards it. They made an almost perfect pair in size, though his were darker, rougher, calloused with the handling of swords and bows and she could feel the roughness of his skin as he intertwined his fingers with hers.