A Twisted Vengeance

“Do you have some brandywine up here?” Kate asked her mother. They were closed in her bedchamber.

Eleanor waved toward a shelf near the window. Kate sniffed the contents of the elegant Italian glass bottle. Costly and strong. She poured only a little in the matching glass cup. Bringing a chair to face her mother’s, Kate sat down and handed Eleanor the cup. She was glad she had poured but a little, for her mother downed it in one gulp.

“Now tell me all of it, and do not think to deceive me, for I learned much from Sir Alan and Dean Richard.”

“All of it, you say.” Eleanor turned her gaze to the window. The skin sagged beneath her clear green eyes, remnants of her grief. Kate steeled her heart to it. “Where does it begin?” Eleanor whispered. “I wish I knew where to begin. Where it all began, when. Your birth? With David’s fury when I presented him with twins?”

“I asked about Ulrich, and you want to talk about my birth?” But down she went, caught in her mother’s web. “What are you saying? Father was angry about my birth? And Geoff’s?”

“That is when David pushed me away. ‘Twins,’ he roared. ‘I am cuckolded. You have shamed me.’ How could he, a Clifford, be so ignorant? Twins have nothing to do with how many men a woman has slept with. You were so clearly both our children – by his first birthday Geoff had my green eyes, you had your father’s nose and his wild hair.”

Kate played along; she could not help herself. She had heard this about twins. Many folk believed it. But her father? He had never said anything like that, not in her presence. “He loved us.”

“Oh, that he did. He loved you and you him. Never me. I was cast aside. You and Geoffrey adored him, and, seeing how he shunned me, you learned to please him by disobeying me. You wished nothing to do with me.”

“Not true, Mother.” But was it? “Our hours at the loom–”

“Yes. We had that.” Eleanor patted Kate’s hand, her eyes glistening with tears. “But you and Geoffrey were so different from your brothers Walter and Roland, so as one that I began to fear it did mean something. You knew each other’s minds, as if you shared a soul. A manservant called the two of you abominations. I sent him packing. And then, years later, the hounds. The four of you bonded so tightly. The master of hounds said he had never seen the like, how the two of you took to training them.”

Kate had taken such pride in the master’s admiration.

Eleanor held out the cup. Kate poured a little more. Her mother drank it down, her cheeks on fire. “Ghent paced and paced the morning Geoffrey went missing, and then he set up a howling. Long before Geoffrey’s body was borne home, Ghent howled. Lille joined in.”

“I remember,” Kate whispered. As her mother spoke, Kate poured herself some brandywine. Drank it down. Such heartbreaking howls. She had known …

“And the pain of your births – the suffering. I would bear no more bairns for David – though that was as nothing to him, he never again came to my bed. Perhaps you were a test. And I failed. But he loved you. He shunned me, but loved you so.”

What had she ever known of her parents? Steady. That was a conversation for another time. “Ulrich, Mother. Was he murdered in the same way as Werner, his throat slit?”

Eleanor turned her gaze to the window, looking out. “Yes. He looked just like Werner when they fished his body out of the river. That horrible wound in his neck.” A hand to her mouth. “The worst of it – I received a letter, unsigned, a fortnight before Ulrich went missing, telling me that he had betrayed David – that all the while Ulrich enjoyed our hospitality he was sending messages to the Scots, everything he learned from David – foolish, trusting David. I went through Ulrich’s things, found nothing. I confronted him. At first he denied it. Said the letter must be from someone who resented his happiness. Sweet words, sweet promises. But I refused to believe him. Memories were speaking to me. All the strangeness since we crossed the channel – the need for secrecy in Calais, the French escort to Strasbourg, how welcomed we were in the finest homes on our journey. French homes – they are the Scots’ allies, why had I not questioned him then? He finally admitted his betrayal, but he swore that his love for me was real, unplanned. It had tormented him. Oh, Katherine, I’ve been such a fool.”

Kate fought the urge for another gulp of strong drink. Geoff was growling in her head as he had done since learning of the betrayal from her uncle. Silence, Geoff, I beg you.

The quiet was so sudden she shivered.

“Katherine? What is it? Someone walked on your grave?”

Still no sound from Geoff, no sense of his presence. “The brandywine is strong,” said Kate as she fought to compose herself. “Tell me. You saw Ulrich’s body?”

“I was meant to. I am sure of it. Some of Ulrich’s men found him. They had been searching for days. I quietly buried him with the assistance of a priest who had befriended me when I went to him for help after learning how Ulrich had betrayed me, how I had betrayed David, taking his enemy for my lover. I did not know how I might ever forgive myself … The priest was kind, arranging everything.”

“You believe Ulrich was executed by someone who knew of his betrayal, who had written to you?”

“Of course. They followed me, murdering his servants, discrediting me with rumors about golden idols and heretical writings. They mean for me to suffer all this and survive to remember. Monsters. Cowards.”