Part 2 (1/2)

”He was dressed as a monk and walked a great deal of the way.”

I am crushed that my heroine should have to put up with someone like that. He sounds worse than Richard. ”They seem rather ill-sorted,” I say. Cath bursts out laughing.

”That marriage didn't last long,” she remarks. ”Once Alainor got her divorce from Louis, she married Henry of Anjou, who was thirteen years younger-”

”Thirteen years younger?” I gape at her. ”A younger husband? I didn't think that was allowed.”

”Cath!” says Mary. ”That's enough. You shouldn't fill Cis's head with such ideas.” She turns to me. ”Pick up your embroidery, child; you have much to do so it is suitable for Richard to wear.”

I absently finger the tunic before me. A much younger husband would not even be born yet, for I am only nine- ”Mary,” says Mama. ”Cecylee knows her duty.”

”Not as well as Anne,” says Mary, her lips thinning.

This is true. Anne sits there, quietly sewing. I don't know how she does it. How can you concentrate on something as dull as embroidery, when all these tales are inviting you to imagine all sorts of things? I eye Richard's tunic and turn to Mama. ”Is it true that a woman may marry only once?”

”That depends on canon law,” replies Mama.

”Bishops and the church determine that?” asks Anne.

”Men! Men always do!” I exclaim.

Mama takes some time to explain what canon law is. I pick up Richard's tunic. Perhaps it would be well to finish it soon, so I can make something pretty for myself.

”It's ridiculous, all this talk about canon law,” says Audrey under her breath. She sits down beside me and threads her needle with silver thread. ”I ask you, most women are lucky if they manage to survive one husband, with all those pregnancies, let alone several. Men always want the same thing.” She bites off the silver thread with the one tooth that is left in the side of her mouth. ”They don't always stop to think if their favorite sport is good for their young brides. Look at Lady Anne. She was only twelve when she married the Duke of Buckingham last year, and now she's expecting her first child at thirteen.”

I look up to see Mama's reaction. But she talks as if nothing has happened: ”Most people don't worry about remarrying nowadays. You can marry as often as you please-provided that your husbands are dead first.” She smiles at me, then turns to Anne. ”Which women have power?”

”Abbesses,” says Anne. ”They may ride out of their convents and conduct business with important men.”

”Widows with rank and money,” I put in quickly. ”Once your husband is dead, you may do as you please. You can manage your land, plead lawsuits, spend your own money.” I throw back my head and peal with laughter, contemplating the luxury of so much freedom.

”Makes you wonder why more husbands are not b.u.mped off,” says Audrey, ”when wealthy widows have much more power than rich wives.”

A hush descends. Anne and Jenet stare, their needles suspended in mid air. Mama bites her lip. Catrine looks amused. Mary stands. ”My lady mother, how can you countenance this? If you do not curb her, Cecylee will imagine she can do as she pleases.”

”You're too hard on her, Mary,” says Catrine.

”Life is going to be hard on Cecylee,” replies Mary. ”You know she has no choice in the matter of her husband.”

”I am well aware of that,” says Mama, flus.h.i.+ng. ”But I see no reason why Cecylee may not enjoy the girlhood that is left to her.”

”My lady mother, your judgment is usually faultless, but you are blind about Cecylee,” continues Mary.

Mama rises. ”You know the sacrifices I have been forced to make.”

”How can you expect her to be a dutiful wife?”

”I never see Bess, my eldest, because she lives on the other side of the mountains.”

”Filling her head with the Wife of Bath only makes things worse.”

”I never see Jehane, because she is a nun.”

”You never say no to her.”

”Alainor is lost to me because she is married to the heir of our worst enemy, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.”

”Cecylee is acquiring a temper to go along with her haughty ways.”

”Anne and Catrine must live with their husbands and can make only rare visits.”

”And you do not see this, because she winds you around her finger as if she were reeling in a day's catch.”

”And the only reason why I see you, Mary, is because you are married to a Neville and live at Castle Raby.”

”You're so jealous-” says Catrine, and then stops.

The unmistakable sound of mail-shod feet climbs the spiral staircase. It sends p.r.i.c.kles up the spine. Quick as a flash of steel, Cath bundles Master Chaucer's ma.n.u.scripts into a chest and shuts the lid.

”Mama-” says Anne. But Mama takes my hand and says, ”If it's the last thing I do, I'll not be parted from my Cecylee.”

Papa enters the solar.

Mama grips my hand tight.

Papa narrows his eyes. ”Well, my lady?”

Mama draws herself up. ”You agreed that Cecylee could visit me in Bulmer's Tower-”

”What's this I hear about never being parted from Cecylee?”

I flick my gaze from Papa to Mama. ”Mama means that she would like me to visit more often.”

Papa fingers his beard as he glances at me. He gives a harsh bark of laughter. ”So be it!” he exclaims. ”Provided you include young Richard in your visits.” He strides to the door and turns. ”It would do the lad good to spend more time with the ladies, do you not agree, madam?” And laughing, he pounds down the stairs, his mailed foot striking each stone step.

Mama's fingers clutch mine as we both sweep him a low curtsey.

Chapter 3.

Feast of Saint Luke October 18, 1424 My eyes snap open.

The day of my betrothal; my stomach spasms into knots.

Why be betrothed now? At nine I'm expected to enter a woman's estate, with a woman's cares and responsibilities. Where is my girlhood? I don't want it to end. I'm comfortable with Mama and enjoy my studies. I don't see why all of this can't continue.

Maybe I can delay things.