Katharine of Aragon by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page A

lawn shirt was spotlessly clean as was the fine silk at collar and wristbands; his long gown was trimmed with fur as was his father's, and his fair hair hung about his face, shining like gold from its recent rainwash.
    His skin was milk-white but there was a delicate rose-flush in his cheeks and his blue eyes seemed to have sunk too far into their sockets; but his smile was very sweet and a little shy, and Katharine warmed to him. He was not in the least like his father, nor like her own father. Her mother had once told her of her first meeting with her father and how she had thought him the handsomest man in the world. Katharine would never think that of Arthur; but then before she had seen him Isabella of Castile had determined to marry Ferdinand of Aragon, and she had gone to great pains to avoid all the marriages which others had attempted to thrust upon her.
    All marriages could not be like that of Isabella and Ferdinand, and even that marriage had had its dangerous moments. Katharine remembered the conflict for power between those two. She knew that she had brothers and sisters who were her father's children but not her mother's.
    As she looked at gentle Arthur she was sure that their marriage would be quite different from that of her parents.
    Arthur spoke to her in Latin because he had no Spanish and she had no English.
    That would soon be remedied, he told her. She should teach him her language; he would teach her his. He thanked her for the letters she had written him and she thanked him for his.
    They had been formal little notes, those letters in Latin, written at the instigation of their parents, giving no hint of the reluctance both felt towards their marriage; and now that they had seen each other they felt comforted.
    “I long to meet your brother and sisters,” she told him.
    “You shall do so ere long.”
    “You must be happy to have them with you. All mine have gone away now. Every one of them.”
    “I am sorry for the sadness you have suffered.”
    She bowed her head.
    He went on: “You will grow fond of them. Margaret is full of good sense. She will help you to understand our ways. Mary is little more than a baby—a little pampered, I fear, but charming withal. As for Henry, when you see him you will wish that he had been born my father's elder son.”
    “But why should I wish that?”
    “Because you will see how far he excels me in all things and, had he been my father's elder son, he would have been your husband.”
    “He is but a boy, I believe.”
    “He is ten years old, but already as tall as I. He is full of vitality and the people's cheers are all for him. I believe that everyone wishes that he had been my father's elder son. Whereas now he will doubtless be Archbishop of Canterbury and I shall wear the crown.”
    “Would you have preferred to be Archbishop of Canterbury?”
    Arthur smiled at her. He felt it would have sounded churlish to have admitted this, for that would mean that he could not marry her. He said rather shyly: “I did wish so; now I believe I have changed my mind.”
    Katharine smiled. It was all so much easier than she had believed possible.
    Elvira had approached her and was whispering: “The King would like to see some of our Spanish dances. He would like to see you dance. You must do so only with one of your maids of honor.”
    “I should enjoy that,” cried Katharine.
    She rose and selected two maids of honor. They would show the English, she said, one of the stateliest of the Spanish dances; and she signed to the minstrels to play.
    The three graceful girls, dancing solemnly in the candlelit apartment, were a charming sight.
    Arthur watched, his pale eyes lighting with pleasure. How graceful was his Infanta! How wonderful to be able to dance and not become breathless as he did!
    The King's eyes were speculative. The girl was healthy, he was thinking. She would bear many children. There was nothing to fear. Moreover Arthur was attracted by her, and had seemed