‘None.’

‘Nor I. You are of my Life and Death the Queen…’

I sighed as I recognised the beautiful sentiment, the expression of utmost poetic devotion from the Lover to his Lady.

‘Your brother-in-law, Master Chaucer, has a masterful way with words.’ The Duke kissed me as if he would linger still, although we both knew that good sense dictated that we could not. ‘Keep me in your mind, until we can be together again. Promise me that.’

‘Yes, John. I will keep you in my mind.’

Collecting up the rosary into the palm of my hand, I walked slowly back to my room.

I was John of Lancaster’s mistress.

Back in my chamber I removed my finery, recalling with a smile it being removed with much more alacrity and much less care.

I loved him, I adored him. I would never not love him.

Why had I done it? Why had I turned my back on every rule I had lived by? It shocked me that I had done so, laying aside my principles because a man had asked it of me, as I would lay aside an old gown that I no longer had use for. Now I had a new garment. A glittering cloak made of love, a magical cloak that in my naïve mind would protect me from the slights and condemnations of the society in which I lived. I was wrapped about by happiness. Pickled in it, I decided fancifully with a smile, as I would store beans in brine to last me through the winter.

Why had I done it? Because I loved the Duke and he had offered me the moon and the stars and the sun in one magnificent gesture. The firmament was mine in all its glory.

I searched for a comb beneath Philippa’s haphazardly strewn belongings and addressed the tangles in my hair, allowing other truths to step into my mind.

The end is inevitable, as night will follow this bright day. As grey will streak the gold of your hair and a web of lines mar your skin. One day you will be parted.

I was no blind fool. I could see it so clearly. All the insurmountable obstacles to what for many lovers would be a permanent happiness, whatever words of commitment the Duke and I might choose to exchange. Whatever he might vow to me and I to him. Whatever lasting passion our bodies might promise when they fused with desire.

Did the Duke see those obstacles as clearly as I, an impossible bulwark of walls and ditches, not to mention the stalwart portcullis that would one day bring about our separation and stand between. I did not think he did. When did a Plantagenet prince ever have need to question his own worth? His needs and desires were there to be satisfied.

What would it be that intervened, to destroy this idyll—for that is surely what it was—I mused. Family. Political battles. The demands of England’s policy abroad. He might desire me but his life was not his own to direct as he chose.

Nor was I his first mistress. Would I be his last? In all honesty I did not think so. He wanted me now, but I might yet be a forgotten name on the list of women who took his appreciative eye. It might be that the Duke would simply fall out of need for me.

This day I had stepped beyond the acceptable. I had crossed a forbidden line, knowing that I would have consequences to face. At some point, on one day in the future, for some reason that I could not quite see, he would have to make a choice—and then what of me? What would be left for me but memories and a reputation that would destroy my good name for ever?

Momentarily I closed my eyes to hide the contempt that I would assuredly read in the eyes of many who knew me. Then opened them as I briskly coiled my hair into its netted confines.

I would not allow such thoughts to cloud my happiness. The memory of the Duke’s arms holding me, the heated demand of his kisses—they were more than enough. And indeed they would have to be, for the Duke had not said those stark, simple words: I love you. Not once. Desire and longing. Passion and need. But not love.

What did it matter? I would not allow it to matter. His need for me in his life was enough, and I was free to love him without restraint. But I would choose my words with care. The Duke did not talk of love, so I would not burden him with mine. Silently I vowed that he must never be compromised by my adoration, which he could not return.




Chapter Six

‘Narrow hips. And she’s not strong. Comes of being Castilian, I expect.’