“I am no dancer,” protested Owen.

It was true. I had watched him in the ballroom with great tenderness. I would not have him like those mincing, prancing men who prided themselves on their agility in the dance. Again I thought of Gloucester, who, of course, was the perfect dancer. It was amazing how frequently his image came into my mind. It was a man’s place to excel at things other than dancing.

Owen was embarrassed and continued to protest.

“Come on, Owen Tudor,” someone cried. “Are you a coward, then? What will Her Grace think if you refuse to dance before her?”

Owen stood there slightly flushed. I smiled at him encouragingly.

“It is only a game,” I said.

The musicians started to play. There was nothing he could do but attempt to dance, which he did clumsily, twirling around and around.

“Higher, higher,” shouted one of the courtiers.

Owen leaped, lost his balance and fell straight into my lap.

I put out my hands and caught him. For a few moments I held him against me. I was not aware that I held him longer than I would normally have held anyone who had fallen upon me in such an impromptu manner until I became aware of the deep silence in the room. The musicians had stopped playing. Everyone seemed to be very still…listening…waiting for something to happen. I heard myself laugh.

“My lady …” stammered Owen.

“I do not think that Owen Tudor will win the prize,” I said as he stood up before me.

Owen looked overcome with embarrassment. “I am sorry …” he began.

I waved my hand. “You did protest,” I reminded him. “I shall blame all those who forced you to it. Come, let us continue with the game. I am eager now to see who will be our winner.”

The music had started. There were two more competitors who wished to try their luck. But something had happened. People were watchful. Secretive glances passed between them.

It was not long before Guillemote raised the subject.

She made a habit of brushing my hair before we retired for the night. It was then that we discussed the events of the day and night.

She came to the point in her usual candid way.

“It was noticed,” she said.

“What was noticed?”

“You and the Tudor.”

“What was noticed?” I repeated.

“That he fell into your lap.”

“How could they help noticing? They were all watching the contest. Owen did not fall purposely.”

“It was the way you received him.”

“Received him? He fell into my lap. How should one receive a dancer who falls into one’s lap?”

I laughed at the memory. “He looked so funny,” I said. “Poor Owen, he did not want to do it. They should not have insisted. He knows he cannot dance. And why should he? Dancing is no occupation for a man of intelligence.”

“And wit…and all perfections,” added Guillemote.

I was silent. She looked at me accusingly.

“Did you not realize? It was the way you held him…the way you looked at him…the way he looked at you. It was clear to everyone in the room.”

“What are you saying?”

“My dear…my dearest mistress…how long do you think you are going to keep this a secret?”

“What…a secret?”

“What is going on between you and Owen Tudor.”

I was silent. She placed the hairbrush on the table with an angry gesture. “Secret!” she cried. “After this night it will be a secret no longer.”

“My dear Guillemote, how could I help it if he fell?”

“You could not help his falling. It was afterward. They are whispering about you. Don’t you see how dangerous it is? You are the Queen.”

“It was nothing,” I protested. “It was all over in a few seconds.”

“Long enough for you to have betrayed your feelings…and he, too. It was the way you looked at each other…the way he stayed there …”

“For a second or two?”

“It was too long. The looks were too ardent. And there were all those watchful ones who have already been…speculating. My lady, my lady, I beg you to think what you are doing…of what would happen if it were known to some of your enemies.”

“Guillemote, you are frightening me.”

She suddenly took me into her arms as she used to when I was a child.

“There,” she said in the old manner. “Perhaps they did not notice after all. It is just because I watch over you too much. I care too much …”

“Oh no, Guillemote, do not say that. Go on caring…caring too much.”

She stroked my hair.

“You should give it up, my dearest. It is dangerous. I do not know what would happen if it were found out…in certain quarters. Give it up now…before it is too late.”

“I could not, Guillemote. I have lost my child …”

“He is here…under this very roof.”

“It is not the same. You know they have taken him away from me. Dame Alice and Joan Astley…they are closer to him than I am. They have taken him away from me…no matter what you say. And as he grows older he will be farther from me. I love Owen, Guillemote. I just could not face life without one of them …”

“I know.” She sighed and kissed my cheek. “But you must be more careful. It becomes dangerous…and have you thought that one day they might want to make a match for you?”

“I will not allow it, Guillemote. I married for state reasons once. When I marry again, it will be for love.”

“You are the Queen, remember.”

“Yes, I am the Queen and I will not allow them to arrange my life. I will do as I wish.”

She nodded her head gravely and her eyes were full of fear.

It was soon after that that I made a discovery which, while it filled me with the utmost alarm, both excited and delighted me.

I was pregnant.

Why I should have been so surprised, I cannot imagine. Owen and I had been passionate lovers for some months. We had been living together, oblivious of everything around us. It was only when I had had to go to Court that we had to restrain ourselves.

I felt dazed with the wonder of it. A child—mine and Owen’s. How wonderful it could have been, if only …

As the realization of what this could mean swept over me, I began to tremble. What should I do now? How could I keep this secret? And it would have to be kept secret.

I will not part with this child, I told myself. I will do anything rather.

I had to think. I had to be clever. I was in a difficult situation and I must find a way out of it.

I did not want to say anything to anyone until I was absolutely sure. In the meantime I must begin to plan. What would be the reaction of those about me? But why should they govern my life? I was the Queen. I was the mother of the King and they had taken him away from me. Why should I not have a life of my own…children of my own who were of no interest to the state? It was unreasonable to deny me this. But I knew they would. I wanted to say to them: I will go right away. You can take away my title of queen. I do not want it. I only want to live in peace.

Wild plans came into my mind…plans which I knew it would be impossible to carry out. There was one thing only which I clung to, and that was my determination to keep this child with me…to bring it up as my own.

I was now sure that I was going to have a child.

When I told Owen, his reaction was the same as mine had been—that wonder and delight…and then fear.

“Owen,” I said, “what are we going to do?”

He was silent for a moment, then he said slowly: “There will be trouble.”

“I know. But…what can they do about us?”

“They can separate us to begin with.”

“I will not have it, Owen.”

“My dearest, you will have no say in the matter.”

“No say in the management of my own life!”

“You are the daughter of a king, the widow of a king. It puts you in a dangerous position.”

“Why…why…Henry is dead. They have taken his and my child from me. Why should they take everything else?”

He said: “We need to consider this very carefully.”

“First tell me that we shall not be parted. We must marry, Owen. We owe that to the child.”

He nodded slowly.

“Then,” I said, “I shall care nothing for the rest. We will fight them, Owen.”

“We must decide how.”

For a few moments he held me tightly in his arms. I knew that he was overcome by the wonder of what had happened, as I was. He was visualizing this child we should have…our very own…belonging to us…no pawn of the state, this one. Our child…Owen’s and mine. When I contemplated that, it was difficult to dwell on the problems we faced. But we had to be very careful…for the sake of the child.

“My dear one,” said Owen. “We have to think of this very clearly. We must be very clever. We must look straight at all possibilities…however alarming. We shall need the utmost skill to bring ourselves through this.”

I watched him intently. He was frowning. I could see he was contemplating the problem which loomed ahead of us with deep concentration, knowing full well that it could bring disaster to us both.

“How I wish,” he said, “that you were not the Queen.”

“It is an empty title,” I replied. “It always was. It brought me no power. It only made a prisoner of me. I cannot tell you how often I have wished that I had been born in some humble cottage.”

He laid his hand on my shoulder and smiled gently at me.

“We shall need all our energy…all our ingenuity to bring us through this, Katherine. Let us think of that…and that only. We are going to marry in spite of everything and everyone. We are going to have our child. No one is going to spoil our lives. We must think as best we can how we are going to bring this about.”