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

to grow a little more mature in the last hour. Was he ready? What a problem! To put them to bed together might terrify this oversensitive boy, might disclose that he was impotent. On the other hand, if he proved not to be impotent, might he not tax his strength by too much indulgence?
    What to do? Wait? There could be no harm in waiting. Six months perhaps. A year. They would still be little more than children.
    If Henry had only been the elder son!
    Ayala was at the King's elbow, sly, subtle, guessing his thoughts.
    “The Infanta says that she does not wish Your Grace to think that only solemn dances are danced in Spain; she and her ladies will show you something in a different mood.”
    “Let it be done,” answered the King.
    And there was the Infanta, graceful still, dignified, charming, yet as gay as a gipsy girl, her full skirts twirling in the dance, her white hands as expressive as her feet. Katharine of Aragon could dance well.
    The King clapped his hands and the Prince echoed his father's applause.
    “We are grateful to the ladies of Spain for giving us such enjoyment,” said Henry. “I fancy our English dances are not without merit; and since the Infanta has danced for the Prince, the Prince should dance for the Infanta. The Prince of Wales will now partner the Lady Guildford in one of our English dances.”
    Arthur felt a sudden panic. How could he match Katharine in the dance? She would despise him. She would see how small he was, how weak; he was terrified that he would be out of breath and, if he began to cough, as he often did at such times, his father would be displeased.
    Lady Guildford was smiling at him; he knew her well, for she was his sisters' governess and they often practiced dancing together. The touch of her cool fingers comforted him, and as he danced his eyes met the grave ones of the watching Infanta, and he thought: She is kind. She will understand. There is nothing to fear.
    The dance over he came to sit beside her once more. He was a little breathless, but he felt very happy.
    THIS WAS HER wedding day. She was waiting in the Bishop's Palace of St. Paul's to be escorted to the Cathedral for the ceremony. She would be led to the altar by the Duke of York, whom she had already met and who disturbed her faintly. There was something so bold and arrogant about her young brother-in-law, and an expression which she could not understand appeared on his face when he looked at her. It was an almost peevish, sullen expression; she felt as though she were some delicious sweetmeat which he desired and which had been snatched from him to be presented to someone else.
    That seemed ridiculous. She was no sweetmeat. And why should a boy of ten be peevish because his elder brother was about to be married?
    She had imagined this; but all the same she felt an unaccountable excitement at the prospect of seeing the Duke of York again.
    She had ridden into London from Lambeth to Southwark by way of London Bridge, and her young brother-in-law had come to escort her.
    He was certainly handsome, this young boy. He swept into the apartment as though he were the King himself, magnificently attired in a doublet of satin, the sleeves of which were slashed and ruched somewhat extravagantly; there were rubies at his throat. His face was broad and dimpled; his mouth thin, his eyes blue and fierce, but so small that when he smiled they seemed to disappear into the smooth pink flesh. His complexion was clear, bright and glowing with health; his hair was shining, vital and reddish gold in color. There could be no mistaking him for anyone but a Prince. She found it hard to believe that he was merely ten years old, for he seemed older than Arthur, and she wondered fleetingly how she would have felt if this boy had been her bridegroom instead of his brother.
    They would not have married her to a boy of ten. But why not? There had been more incongruous royal marriages.
    He had taken off his feathered hat to bow to her.
    “Madam,