The Golden Widows by Isolde Martyn

Author:Isolde Martyn [Martyn, Isolde]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 15th Century, England/Great Britain, Royalty
ISBN: 978-1488744310
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

Kate

7th January 1462

Westminster Palace

Insane, thought Kate, rugged up in so many layers that she felt like a she-bear as she followed a torchbearer across the wet cobbles of the palace courtyard towards the watergate. Her cloak, lined with rabbit-fur had sensible slits for her arms. Beneath it, for further warmth, she was wearing a stomacher of budge – a lamb’s wool fleece laced tight from neck to thigh – extra petticotes under her gown, and scarfing her throat (on Joan’s insistence) a veil rolled thick as an eel. She did not have fishing gloves, so for now she was wearing her riding gauntlets.

It was a moisty morning. A light fog obscured the beacons of Lambeth Palace across the river and wreathed misty auras around the flambeaux that burned above the walls behind her. Somewhere a dog barked and men’s voices, sharing some jest, reached her from the royal barge, which was waiting for her at the wooden quay below the steps. A lantern dangled on the vessel’s ornate prow, and on tall poles along its sides spluttered torches, each sending reflections dancing out in a set across the black water, constantly fragmenting into glittering shards and melding until they vanished where night and river were indistinguishable.

One of the bargemen hastened up to welcome her. ‘Good morrow, my lady. His grace has not yet arrived.’

But it seemed he just had. The sentries at the gate were stamping their halberds to alert and she heard several heavy footsteps approaching. Aboard the barge there was a sudden, swift rattling of oars as the rowers scrambled into their places.

There was no mistaking Ned because of his height. He was flanked by two companions (no doubt, dragged forth from their beds out of duty) and two young torchbearers. Four servants were at his heels carrying an assortment of baskets and fishing rods.

‘Here she is! Well done!’ Damp fur and strong cousinly arms embraced Kate and swept her onto the cleated plank bridge ahead of the rest.

‘Up river, then, lads,’ Ned ordered, once the last pannier was safe aboard. Within the instant, the tethering rope, freed from the capstan by one of the linkboys, was flung on deck, and at the helmsman’s shout, the oars rose in precision and dipped. The barge surged smoothly forwards but the royal hand beneath Kate’s elbow made sure she was steady as he urged her towards the curtained heart of the barge.

There was a whiff of vomit from the planking but the small pavilion – cered cloth on the outside and silken stripes within – was fragrant with freshly strewn herbs. Kate had never been in one of these before. Hmm, rather like being within a giant four-poster bed, she decided, save that the two oil lamps suspended on a rail beneath the canopy revealed an unlit brazier, a low fixed trestle and two benches set at right angles to a luxurious settle large enough for two. The Yorkist insignia of sunnes-in-splendor and falcons-in-fetterlock glinted upon the plump bolsters arranged

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