towards one of the King’s grooms, who was standing, impassive, by the fireplace. ‘And there are plenty of witnesses to attest to your disgrace.’
‘No!’ Kate cried, wresting herself from his grasp. She ran towards the door but he was there before her. With a swift move, he had her arms pinioned behind her back and pressed himself against her groin.
‘The taking of her will not be such a chore as we imagined, Mother,’ he called, over his shoulder. ‘A prey tastes all the sweeter if it has tried to evade capture.’ Without warning, he thrust his hand up Kate’s skirts. She cried out in shock but he silenced her with his mouth. Frances felt as if she had slipped into a nightmare and, for a moment, she was unable to move. Then she launched herself forward, seizing a glass from the table. The countess shouted a warning to her son but Frances had already brought it smashing down on his skull.
Buckingham’s hand fell away from Kate’s thigh and he stood, panting, as the blood trickled down his neck. Then, slowly, he turned to face Frances. He ran his tongue along his lips, which were almost white. Slowly, he cocked his head and his eyes roamed over her as if he were examining some rare species that the King’s sailors had brought back from the New World. Suddenly he dealt her such a blow that she fell sprawling to the floor, her cheek slapping against the flagstones. Her vision clouded as a searing pain ran through her jaw and she tasted blood. The last thing she saw were Kate’s skirts as she was bundled into an adjoining room. As she slipped into insensibility, a piercing scream sounded in her ears, as if in a dream.
CHAPTER 45
16 May
The late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, warming the stones of the old chapel, which were bare of paintings or tapestries. The only adornment was a simple gold cross set atop the small altar. The King must approve of such a sparse interior, Frances thought. He was seated next to the altar, so close to his favourite that he might have touched his white satin doublet. She had been surprised to learn that he would be attending the nuptials – even more so that he seemed to take great delight in them. Perhaps he judged that Lady Katherine posed no threat to his own hold over Buckingham. The marquess’s passions could hardly be sated by such a plain, timid little creature – or so she had heard someone whisper at dinner the previous night.
Frances glanced at her now and her heart contracted with sorrow. She had seen little of her since that dreadful night – the countess and her son had made sure of that. They had kept Kate a virtual prisoner at Chelsea and even her father had been admitted only once, to sign the marriage contract that he had had little choice but to agree to. Although the court had been scandalised by Lady Katherine’s transgression, Frances had made sure that Rutland knew the truth. It still pained her to recall his grief and fury, and she had been hard pressed to stop him seeking out Buckingham and running him through with his sword. The King had denied his request for a duel with his favourite, declaring that whatever their differences, they must be settled without bloodshed. But Frances knew that Kate’s father would not rest until he had avenged his daughter’s rape. He was standing at her side now, his face a mask of calm, but his eyes blazed as he stared at the man who was about to become his son-in-law.
There were just a handful of guests to witness the marriage at Lumley House, one of Buckingham’s more modest residences. That Frances and her husband were among them was the only concession Buckingham had made to his prospective wife. Although she hoped that her presence might bring some small comfort to Kate, Frances railed against her powerlessness to do anything but watch as her friend was bound to that devil.
‘. . . for the mutual society, help and comfort that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity . . .’
The Reverend Williams’s voice interrupted her thoughts. The young chaplain was clearly revelling in the moment, confident that it would bring him even greater riches from his patron Buckingham. His small eyes darted from the bride to the groom. A few days earlier, he had finally