John’s stare was lucid and knowing, and I forced myself to return it, before he addressed my father.

‘If I might make a suggestion, sir, to the benefit of all. That Elizabeth sails with us, in the household of the Duchess and Lady Philippa. This will remove her from any source of unfortunate gossip. By the time she and I return to England, after a successful campaign, the child will be long born and growing strongly. Any scandals associated with our rapid marriage will be well nigh forgotten and the child’s conception of no interest to anyone.’ He slid a glance in my direction. ‘I presume this will meet with your favour, lady?’ Anticipation, thick and sweet, slid along my spine. ‘I will come with you?’

‘Can you think of a better idea?’

He was superbly solemn. So was I. ‘No,’ I replied, breathing shallowly, hiding my breathlessness. ‘If you will allow it, Father.’

The lines in the Duke’s face had relaxed and there was a glimmer of a smile. ‘I feel I have been manipulated by the pair of you. You have more political cunning in your bones, Holland, than a parcel of Scottish ambassadors. And now I must grease some papal hand with gold and get the annulment. As if I had not better things to do.’

I seized his hand. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. I have been pushed into an uncomfortably tight corner.’

‘I will make an inestimable addition to your family, sir.’ John also clasped hands in formal alliance.

‘Make sure you do.’

Philippa came to wind an arm round my waist.

‘You are a cunning woman, Elizabeth,’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

And thus it was done, the idea that had been born in my mind as the towers of Plymouth had come into my line of vision had been carried out to perfection. I had known exactly what I had wanted, neither a hasty bedding with Jonty nor the cage of a convent. This child, so carelessly conceived, drove me to acknowledge what I desired, and I knew I would stop at nothing to achieve it. There was only one escape from shame or enforced seclusion or even from the interminable boredom of life in Kenilworth or Hertford as the respectable Countess of Pembroke, far from events that shaped the kingdom. Perhaps this child, that had become very precious to me, was not so much a disaster as a blessing in disguise.

If I could make it work for me. And I would. I had.

Persuasion. That had been the key to it. But it had needed careful handling, persuading two men who prized their authority as much as a gold crown to agree to my unspoken wishes. Would it be truly possible for me to draw these men into bringing my resolve to fulfilment, without their even knowing it? Why not? If I did not at least try, how could I succeed? It had taken all the patience I rarely lay claim to, and a degree of dissembling and skilful manoeuvring that I did. With solemn contrition, a sprinkling of tears, and reproachful uncertainty, I had used all the tricks of female helplessness, while all the time fighting for a future that would satisfy me. Would not any woman of considerable talent and a determination to influence her own future do the same?

And now I had it, all that I had envisioned, even a sojourn in distant Portugal during which Richard’s court could forget my misdemeanours. Furthermore I had discovered how much John Holland desired me: enough to face my father on the eve of the expedition and fight with smooth words and even smoother arguments to win me.

Thus the Duke put the weight of the Lancaster name and influence into action and I achieved an annulment as fast as it took to send off a courier and hand over a purse of gold. At a time when all I desired seem to be coming to fruition, I found a moment to think of Jonty, who would discover his new unwed status by that same Lancaster courier. It seemed a harsh and cold manner to terminate our marriage. I thought I should have told him, but in the end, the official ending of the contract was all that mattered. His family would find him a more suitable bride of an age to wait for him. He was a matrimonial prize. There would be no difficulty.

Would Jonty miss me? I did not think so. I would remember him with affection. Now my thoughts were all for the future.

To my relief, my father was too preoccupied to do more than remark: ‘He is a man with few morals but the ability to charm a frog from a pond. I see no happiness for you with him, Elizabeth. He is as dangerous as a sharp blade in the hands of an untrained squire.’

‘But I love him.’

‘And does he love you?’

‘He says that he does. And I believe him.’

As for John, I saw very little of him since the Duke kept his organisational abilities engaged from dawn to dusk, but we met together in the castle’s chapel, early one morning, to exchange vows in the presence of a very small and select congregation come to witness the marriage of Elizabeth of Lancaster to John Holland. No important guests, no ceremonial, no bridal garments, merely the sharing of the holy words, a plain gold ring, because John had nothing else to hand, and a nuptial kiss that was deceptively brief and chaste.

I marvelled at our achievement against all the odds, and I loved John Holland even more as my admiration of what he had done gained hold. The clever intellect, often masked beneath the outer glamour of soldier and courtier. His political vision for England. His courage in demanding me, in the face of my father’s ire, with a cold logic that could not be gainsaid.

There was no happier woman in the kingdom than I.

‘So you got your own way in all things, Madam Elizabeth.’

Plymouth was fading on the horizon as a stiff wind took our vessel on a spritely south-west course on our journey to Portugal. His voice in my ear, his hands locking me against the ship’s rail as I looked up into his face. As my husband he was free to approach me in public without censure.

I smiled. ‘Now why would you think that?’

‘Don’t play the innocent, mistress. You are a revelation in trickery, my love. You are as full of guile as a bag of foxes.’

I could not deny it. And what need, now that we were embarked? ‘Would you rather I stayed behind?’ I asked, sure of my love.

‘What do you think?’

‘I think I have never been more content.’

And I was. This was what I wanted. I could see nothing but success in this venture, where I loved and was loved. There were no doubts in my mind to sully my happiness. If I had ever doubted, those doubts had been swept away by John’s shining certainty that he would have me as his wife, and I wanted to be with him, whatever the difficulties. Had we not managed to scale the most formidable of bulwarks, my existing marriage? He was my life; my present and my future. This was love, a depth of feeling that obliterated everything but the sense of his protection. His devotion.

John Holland was not without faults, but neither was I.

I thought we would never live at peace. We would know the clash of equally determined wills, of hot words and wilful disagreements. But equally I knew, his arms solid and supportive around me as the ship lifted and fell in the swell of the waves, that we would remain constant. Ambition might put its stamp on him, but I was an integral part of that ambition and always would be. Were we not dedicated to the nurture and support of the same family, the same King who was so close to both of us?

‘What would you have done,’ he asked, chin resting on my head, ‘if I had agreed that you return to Kenilworth while I went soldiering?’

‘I would have dressed as a man and followed you,’ I replied promptly.

I felt him smile. ‘I suspect you might have done. Fortunately there’s no need, my wife. Have we not made all things to our liking? And now I think we should investigate the accommodations they have made for us in this creaking bucket. I expect it has a bed of sorts in it …’

With every word, every gesture, he drew me to him, like a moth to a flame, a wasp to a honey pot. Like a woman to a man who defied convention, who took fate by the throat and shook it so that it cowered in obedience, who beat his own path through life. A man who was good to look at, quick-witted and silver-tongued. What a future we would make together at Richard’s court, when we returned home. John left me in no doubt that he would win his redemption and take his place at Richard’s side as a valued counsellor, just as my father had done.

‘You look happy,’ he said. ‘Like a cat who has lured its prey and now has it under its claws.’ And he kissed my fingertips as he drew me into the cabin he had discovered.

I flexed my fingers, interlinking them with his to rub along my cheek, smiling like the satisfied cat he called me, saying simply: ‘My happiness cannot be measured. I have you to thank for that.’

‘It is my pleasure.’

Our pleasure was mutual, and then we turned to look towards Portugal and our new life.



Chapter Nine

February 1387, Oporto, Portugal.