Was I actually invited to York, to take precedence at Henry’s tournament and feasting with this marriage in mind? Had this been his plan all along, to make John Cornewall known to me, so that his undoubted expertise in the tournament field would melt my cold heart and encourage me to leap into his bed after a fast blessing of the church?

I was chillingly aloof. I enjoyed every inch of Henry’s discomfiture.

‘Good morrow, my lord,’ I said, drawing on my gloves. ‘I am here to inform you of my departure.’

A frown coloured his eyes. ‘Where are you going?’

Which I ignored. ‘I am also here betimes to inform you that I have refused the offer made to me by Sir John Cornewall at your prompting. I expect you know by now.’ I could see that he did from the wash of colour over his cheekbones. ‘I might have received his offer of marriage more sympathetically if you had discussed your plan with me. Or even asked my preference.’

‘I knew your preference. I knew you would refuse. What point in discussing it?’

‘And I have refused.’

‘Elizabeth!’ Annoyance was high, but there were too many interested ears in the crowded accommodation of Greyfriars and Henry lowered his voice. ‘Reconsider,’ he urged. ‘It is in my mind that …’

I refused to allow him to take my hands but stepped smartly back, away.

‘I will not. I know that I am part of your overall scheme, but I will not. Nor will I return to your court since I cannot trust you to put my wishes before your own.’

‘You will if I command you! I have promised your hand to Cornewall.’

‘Then let’s hope you do not command me. For you will be disappointed. I trust you will discover some means of breaking your promise. I expect you can promote another willing bride to enhance his status and win his gratitude.’

And I turned on my heel.

‘Elizabeth! We are not done with this conversation …’

‘But we are. We no longer have anything to say to each other.’

‘Have you forgotten? You are penniless without an annuity from me. You are dependent on me for—’

‘How could I forget?’ I returned so that the whole chamber could hear how I was treated, and spelled it out for him with furiously bitter words. ‘I am penniless and homeless. My thanks, Hal. I will not stay here to be assessed and prodded like a carcass set for the spit when you choose my next husband. I have more pride than that, and I deny you the right to determine the future direction of my life. You robbed me of my last husband. I will not take another at your hand.’

‘I do not give my permission! You will remain here.’

‘I am not asking for your permission.’

‘Elizabeth!’

I simply stood and faced him.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I deny that it is any of your concern. You have destroyed my goodwill.’ I curtsied deeply. ‘Good day to you, my lord.’ And, with brisk footsteps, I left him to fume and restructure his plans. I would not be part of them. I had been manipulated by the men of my family before. If I wed again it would be my own choice.

I swore I would not.



Chapter Seventeen

Out of that one satisfying blaze of anger towards my brother and his knightly protégé, my need for a confidante had emerged as an overwhelming compulsion. All my life I had been strong, in the confidence imbued in me by my royal blood, by privilege, by unimaginable wealth. The protective arms of my family had banded around me so that I knew I would lack for nothing, and, when there was conflict, I was assured that my father would listen and not condemn me, even if he would not always change his policy in my favour. Many would say that I was too much indulged. Perhaps I was, but my father’s judgement was fair and honest.

Now my father was dead and my brother bent on his own singular path to securing the throne. Who to turn to for advice, for honest opinion? For comfort?

No, not comfort. I rejected comfort. There was no consolation for me. My choices had been made, disastrously, irrevocably, and now I must bear the cost because only I could. There could be no excuses, no redemption. There never could be. The burden on my soul was great, but did I not deserve it?

Yet still I felt the desire to sit and talk, with a cup of wine and no pressures of time, to a woman who would listen and respond as she saw fit rather than offering the platitudes she thought I would wish to hear. I grimaced at the truth of that. Who would be honest with me, sister to the King? There was no one in York. To whom would I open my heart? Not for the first time I wished that my sister were not so far away.

No point in wishing.

There was only one woman. Initially, my mind rejected her, unsure as I was of my welcome, but her calm beauty even in old age and her measured accents returned to haunt me, so much so that I made my decision, just to rid myself of an uncomfortable presence that lectured me in my dreams.

Perhaps it was time I made my peace with her.

Never one to give confidences to my women, not wishing to be burdened with their chatter, I travelled with one young girl in attendance and kept my own counsel as I rode east from York, with a small entourage of two grooms and a quartet of men at arms. Oblivious to the flat expanses of the vale and then the uplift of the ridge of low hills, I spent my time in mentally listing what I would talk about when I reached my destination. How my spirits wallowed as my mind lurched from one thought to the next, casting each aside as an impossibility.

My loss of John, that absolute loss for which there was no remedy, waged war against my inner peace.

My fear of loneliness as my children grew and age touched me. Though that would not be an issue if I remarried as Henry wanted me to.

Which led to another intimate fear that I would reveal to no one: that I might love again and so betray John. How could I risk that?

My resentment towards Henry that he should deal with my future so fast and so ruthlessly without either my consent or even knowledge. Being preoccupied with the recalcitrant Scots was no excuse, after all our lives together, all we had shared, rejoiced in, and suffered. Henry could no longer be a confidant of mine.

Yes, there was only one destination in my mind, and how simple a journey it was once I had set my mind to it.

‘If you are here to see me, Elizabeth, the world must indeed be standing on its head.’

‘I think it is,’ I said.

‘Are we at war? Or is it a crisis of the heart?’