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Never had the servants scurried as they did to serve that repast. Never had we been served with such efficiency or such speed. Never had the bread and ale been consumed so smartly. The usual chatter was almost silent, and what little there was in furtive whispers. Eyes glanced from me to Owen and back again. I tried to keep a flow of trivial comment with Beatrice and Father Benedict about something I cannot even recall.

When I could tolerate the atmosphere no longer, I stood and without excuse I marched from the room, Owen still ordering the dispensing of the remains to the poor.

I waited for him in my chamber, knowing that he would come. And if he did not, I would send for him. But things were not as they had been. By the time he opened the door with quiet precision, anger ruled.

‘How could you do that to me?’ Owen had barely closed the door on the hastily departing Guille. I was rarely roused to such passion but the very public audience to our difference of opinion had shaken me, and his inflexible intransigence had stirred up an unusual temper. I would tolerate neither my humiliation nor his. I would not! How could he have made me the object of such interest in the first meal we had shared together? ‘How dare you put our marriage on display in that manner?’ I demanded.

Owen stopped just within the door, arms folded, nothing of servitude in his stance, as I launched into my justifiable complaint.

‘Have you nothing to say?’ I noted with some surprise that my hands were clenched into fists. I squeezed them tighter. ‘You had enough to say an hour ago. It will have set the tongues wagging from here to Westminster and beyond.’

He walked slowly across the room, his eyes never leaving my face.

‘Is this our first quarrel, annwyl?’ he asked mildly, but his eyes were not mild.

‘Yes. And don’t call me that! And certainly not in public.’

‘So what do I call you? Is it to be my lady?’

I ignored that. I ignored the bitterness behind the innocuous question, as if I would so demean him after I had wed him. ‘Do you intend to stand behind my chair at every meal?’ I demanded.

‘Yes. I do.’

‘Is your pride so great? So great that you cannot accept your new status through marriage to me?’

‘No,’ he replied softly. ‘My pride is not so great. But my care for you is.’

‘Your care for me?’ In my anger, my voice rose. ‘How is it possible that this public exhibition of disagreement would denote a care for me? You drew every eye, and made an issue of something that should never have been an issue. I did not appreciate being centre of attention in that manner. And I will not—’

‘Katherine.’ He took a step closer so that he could clasp my shoulders and stop my words with his mouth, notwithstanding my automatic resistance. I was thoroughly kissed. And then when he released me: ‘We’ll not rouse Gloucester to more anger than we have already. If he found me lounging at your side in silks and jewels, ordering ale and venison with all the authority that you would undoubtedly give me, can you imagine what he would do?’

I shook my head, realising that I had not thought about it in quite such graphic terms.

‘I doubt you thought about it at all,’ he said gently, kissing me again. ‘But I have. He would pull the sky down on both our heads. But on yours particularly. You need his blessing, Katherine, or as much of a blessing as is possible. You don’t need him as your enemy. Gloucester is the power in the land whether we like it or not. So, much as I despise the man, I must not compromise your position further.’

He stepped back, releasing me.

‘That is why I will continue to be Master of Household and stand behind your chair until we see how the land lies.’

I looked at him, all that was left of my anger draining away. It was me. It was me he cared about. I walked forward into his arms, sighing as they closed around me.

‘You foresaw this, didn’t you?’ I whispered.

‘I promised to shield and protect you. I will not encroach on your royal dignity. Or not until we have made our position clear before the Council.’

‘I’m sorry I challenged you as I did.’

Owen gave a bark of laughter. ‘Gan Dduw, Katherine! The faces of your women. They’ll have enough to pick over, and gossip about, to keep their tongues as busy as their needles as they stitch their never-ending altar cloths for the next twelvemonth. Your sanctimonious chaplain nearly choked on his ale.’ But beneath his apparent enjoyment I read the gleam of worry in his eyes, overlaid with sharp irritation.

‘I don’t think I can tolerate many more meals like that,’ I admitted. ‘Do you always use Welsh when you are angry?’

‘Not invariably.’ But at last the ghost of humour in his face was genuine. ‘As for the meals—we had better hope Gloucester travels fast.’

‘And when he does?’

‘Then we inform him of some changes to your household.’

It was all we could do. And yet: ‘Living like this is impossible.’

‘So we move to one of your dower properties.’

‘Will Gloucester forbid it?’