The Gilded Crown (11 page)

‘The information you have gleaned is incorrect.' Simon lifted the mug to his lips and sipped slowly as he considered his next words. ‘Catherine is not an orphan.'

Catherine slid closer to her husband's side and entwined her arm with his.

Beatrix slammed her goblet onto the table and thrust her finger towards Catherine. ‘Who
is
she then, Simon? Who is this temptress to beguile you so?

‘My wife!' bellowed Simon. ‘And I suggest you show some respect.'

‘Lord Wexford, please excuse your sister. She was overcome with shock when we so recently learned of your happy news.' Walter took hold of Beatrix's outstretched arm, wrestling it back to her side. ‘You must understand, her … delicate condition,' he stumbled. ‘It can befuddle her mind.'

Simon eyebrows shot up. ‘You are with child?'

‘I am,' Beatrix replied as she refilled her goblet. ‘Our circumstances remain precarious for what future can we offer our children in these tumultuous times?'

‘We are not at war, Beatrix,' scoffed Simon.

‘Precisely! So how can Walter distinguish himself, if not on the battlefield?'

‘Quiet, Beatrix, our guests are not interested in our—'

‘
How
can we continue to remain loyal with so few coins in our coffer?'

‘Beatrix,' shouted Walter, rising to his feet. ‘Enough, woman!'

‘I … I … am sorry.' Beatrix sat motionless and stared at her brother before bursting into tears. ‘I … I …am behaving badly,' she sobbed.

Catherine gaped open-mouthed at her sister-by-marriage. Never had she seen such a display. Walter called for the maids and with his assistance they encouraged the drunken Beatrix to her feet.

‘We are to retire. Please forgive your sister, she has been distraught of late.'

‘Can I assist you?' Simon inquired.

‘Not in the way you imagine,' Walter rebuked as he followed his unsteady wife from the room.

Simon directed Catherine out of the hall and along a connecting corridor where a steward awaited them. The elderly Scotsman pushed open a heavy door which led into a large, private room with its own fireplace, desk and a canopied bed. Several rich tapestries hung from the walls, one depicting knights collecting weapons from a battlefield, the bodies of their enemies strewn across the foreground. ‘We will be needing supper,' Simon explained to the manservant as he fell back onto the pillows and began pulling off his boots.

‘Aye, M'lord. I'll send a maid from the kitchen.'

‘Thank God that's over,' Simon uttered, as he lay across the mattress.

Catherine kicked off her slippers and curled up beside him. ‘You knew your sister would view our marriage with disdain?'

‘Yes,' he said without moving.

‘Why did you not share that with me?'

When Simon failed to answer Catherine rose up on her elbows to stare at him. ‘She hates me!'

‘No, just the thought of losing the money.'

‘Are they so very poor? Catherine asked.

‘Not in your eyes,' said Simon. ‘But, in the eyes of their contemporaries, yes, I imagine they are seen as being quite without means.'

‘Can you not help them?'

‘Yes, I could, but not if they are to waste my charity on gambling and other distasteful pastimes.'

Catherine screwed up her nose.

‘Walter has a liking for, well, disreputable women.'

Catherine's cheeks coloured. She had not imagined Walter's lewd behaviour after all.

‘Simon—'

‘Tonight was not the occasion to vilify Walter. However, I
will
be speaking with him.' Simon brushed his lips against hers and was soon kissing her so soundly that he failed to hear the knock at the door.

‘Supper, M'lord,' announced the kitchen maid.

Catherine buried her face in the pillow, mortified to be caught prone on the bed with her husband.

‘I am sure she has seen worse, my love,' crowed Simon as he rose and took the tray from the maid. ‘Might I suggest we enjoy our feast whilst exploring the comfort of this bed?'

‘Simon!' Catherine giggled as she watched him secure the door and then commence to strip his clothes.

The bright morning sun pierced the arrow-slit, shooting a ray of light across the room that landed directly between Catherine's eyes. She rolled away seeking the shadow cast by her husband's girth, but his side of the bed was empty. Her fingers skimmed the imprint he had left upon the mattress and she sighed as the last traces of his body heat warmed her palm. Catherine tucked the sheet up under her armpit and stretched out her legs. The sense of freedom obtained from lying naked beneath crisp linen bordered on sinful but she pushed the thought aside. She regretted Simon's absence as they were rarely granted privacy and even now, settled in their own quarters, Simon had risen early and left her to sleep on.

Catherine sat upon the side of the bed and dragged her fingers through her knotted hair. It had not been a pleasant journey from Cambridge to Edinburgh. The weather had been foul and though her mare was sturdy, the beast had stumbled on numerous occasions. She ran her hand protectively over her abdomen. A fall from a horse could certainly cause great harm to her unborn child.

Catherine retrieved her chemise from the floor and thrust it over her head. She tiptoed to the embrasure and peered out the arrow slit to the courtyard where they had arrived the day before. Try as she might she was unable to shift the unsettling feeling in her heart. Beatrix was not the welcoming sister for whom she had hoped. A cool breeze crept through the opening and Catherine shivered. She snatched up her cloak and wrapped herself within its warmth. Scotland was certainly colder than France. The memory rekindled the longing Catherine so often battled. She missed Cécile and she missed Gillet. There had also been the companionship of Armand and Gillet's companion-in-arms, Gabriel, Guiraud and Mouse. Roderick, her anchor, had been dispatched to Dumbarton. She glanced to the empty corner of the room, which should have contained a small cot. The space brought a sudden rush of melancholy upon her but, she had agreed with her husband. It was much better for their son to follow them at a sedate pace, within the comfort of a covered conveyance, snuggled beneath the warmth of his woollen blankets. A hurried journey to Edinburgh, only a day after arriving in Cambridge, was unfair on a child so young, though she longed to hold him in her arms.

Catherine brushed away a tear as a maid bustled into the room.

‘Would M'Lady like a bath?'

‘Oh yes.' Catherine smiled. A thorough scrub and clean clothes would certainly lift her spirits.

It was not long before several girls scampered into the room carrying between them a large wooden bathing tub, buckets of steaming water and a basket of freshly baked bread.

‘Lady Odistoun sends her compliments.' One young woman curtsied, setting the tray on a small chest against the wall.

‘Please return my thanks and gratitude.'

Catherine sat back upon the bed and nibbled at the flat, round pastry, watching as a progression of servants filled the tub. When the last maid departed Catherine removed her clothes and gingerly stepped into the bath, relishing the indulgence. She closed her eyes and cast her mind back to the moment when she had taken Cécile into her arms and held her sister for the first time. Catherine rarely allowed herself to experience the memory for though it brought great joy, it was accompanied with the searing pain of separation. She had missed so much – Cécile's wedding and the birth of her nephew, events of which she had longed to be a part. Catherine's dream of living with her sister seemed to be growing ever more unlikely.

‘What will M'Lady be wearing today?'

The maid's voice shocked Catherine back to the present and she sat up abruptly, covering the top of her exposed breasts with both hands. ‘I … I … can manage,' she spluttered.

‘Tish, tosh!' An older woman clutching a small, three-legged stool, waggled her finger at Catherine. ‘You can't be washing your own hair, now can ya?' she declared as she lowered herself beside the tub.

‘I
can
manage!' Catherine argued.

‘Aye lass, and I can scratch the top of me head wit' me toes.' The woman plunged a large jug into the water. ‘But I ain't gonna prove it to ya now,' she continued as she tipped the contents over Catherine's face.

Catherine spluttered and wiped her eyes, ready to argue further, but she was stunned into silence by the number of maids filing into the room. She sank beneath the water and watched as they began to unpack the travelling chest, make the bed and clean both her shoes and Simon's spare boots, rekindled the fire and restocked the wood box.

‘Ya could be growing cabbages in here, ya could,' the older woman chortled as she lathered the back of Catherine's neck. ‘Been on the road for some time now, haven't ya?'

‘Yes,' Catherine murmured.

‘I'm English Mary. They call me that 'cause I'm English, ya see. Married a Scot, I did. Poor buggar! Didn't know what hit 'im,' she rambled. ‘As you can see I like me pottage and he, well, he was just a wee twig of a thing. Nearly crushed 'im, I did! But he enjoyed his bath.'

Catherine squeezed her lids closed as Mary scratched at her scalp, strong fingertips dislodging the weeks of grime accumulated on her travel from France and England.

‘You've got beautiful hair, but it's all dry and knotted. I'll fix it for ya,' Mary prattled on. ‘I'll rub some rosehip oil into the ends and comb it through.'

Jug after jug of water ran down over Catherine's shoulders and she began to relax, allowing the heaviness in her heart to be washed away.

‘Sit forward and I'll wrap up your hair,' Mary instructed.

Catherine opened her eyes. They were alone, the maids having departed. The fire burned brightly, warming the room. Her cream chemise and green surcotte had been laid out across the bed and a traditional arisaidh – a long, tartan shawl – had been draped over the chair by the door.

Mary knotted a thick cloth around Catherine's head and then opened a large, woven blanket which she held aloft. ‘Go sit by the fire whilst I tidy this mess.'

Catherine discreetly stepped out of the tub and, with the rug wrapped snugly about her, shuffled over to the stool Mary had placed near the hearth. Her skin tingled delightfully and she felt warm for the first time since arriving in Edinburgh.

‘Lady Odistoun freed me from the nursery so that I may assist you.'

‘Thank you, but I am not sure how much assistance I will require.' Catherine released the binding around her head and shook out her damp curls. ‘Perhaps your time would be better spent with the Odistoun children. Surely you will miss them?'

The maid took up the bone-handled comb and began to ease out a large knot. ‘I can assure you, M'Lady, that will never 'appen!'

‘You do not like the duties of nursery maid?' asked Catherine.

‘It depends on the child.' The servant eased the clean chemise over Catherine's head and assisted with the gown and arisaidh. ‘Some children have far too much devil in 'em, but what can you expect when their father acts like Satan!'

Simon opened the door just as Mary was leaving. He grinned at her sodden appearance, acknowledging her with a nod as she passed. ‘Lady Wexford, you look absolutely radiant,' he exclaimed as the door closed. ‘Who would have thought my grubby travelling companion could be so transformed by a mad, English woman.'

From her seat in front of the fire, Catherine blushed. ‘Simon! You are most uncomplimentary.'

‘Yes, you are right.' He took her hands in his and kissed them both. ‘Sometimes I cannot believe how fortunate I am. Will you forgive me?'

‘What is there to forgive?' she jested. ‘Where have you been?'

‘I wanted to inspect Walter's stables. Our large retinue will be arriving in the next few weeks and I must ensure that the Odistoun's can accommodate our needs.'

Catherine poured her husband a goblet of spiced mead from the jug sitting on the table beside her.

‘Walter has a fine yard and there is plenty of room for another twenty or more horses and sufficient space in the hall for Roderick, Girda, Gabriel and several servants. My guard can bunk down in the unfinished tower and—'

‘But if Lord and Lady Odistoun are financially constrained—'

‘They will greatly benefit from the substantial allowance I intend to offer them in compensation.'

Catherine smiled.

‘That pleases you?'

‘Yes, very much. I would not like to think of us as being a further burden.' Catherine tentatively rested her hand on Simon's knee. ‘Why do you wish to speak with King David?'

Simon picked at the remaining bannock on the platter. ‘Do you remember the courier in Cambridge?'

‘The boy? Yes. He brought word that Walter was going to hand over part of your estate to the King.'