Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  She hesitated. Dared she tell even Jack?

  ‘There is no need to hesitate, Cicely. You already have my word that I will not impose my ambitions upon him. He has more Yorkist blood than anyone, but his illegitimacy means he can never be king. Although, I suppose, it is not unknown. William I was William the Bastard, as I recall. I suppose I dare not hope Richard married you?’

  ‘He did not.’ But he had mentioned it . . . ‘Jack, Leo is at Friskney where, at Richard’s command, you took my brothers from the Tower in 1483, after my husband’s ill-advised attempt to “free” them when Richard ascended the throne so unexpectedly.’

  ‘My, my, how fate runs in circles,’ Jack murmured, glancing away a little oddly. ‘Yes, I left your brothers in the care of Thomas Kymbe, one of Richard’s staunchest allies, until they finally came to join the rest of us at Sheriff Hutton.’

  ‘Thomas Kymbe has passed away, and it is his son, called only Tom, who cares for Leo now. Tom Kymbe is my husband’s adherent,’ she added reluctantly.

  Jack was startled. ‘Lancastrian? Jesu, Cicely! So, this Tom Kymbe sits like a cuckoo in my manor, but supports the red rose? That is not what I like to hear.’

  ‘He is a good man, Jack, and I trust him. Friskney is a safe place for Richard’s son.’

  He became quiet suddenly, avoiding her eyes by looking at the window, from where another moving shaft of wintry sunlight shone briefly. The change in him was palpable.

  ‘What is it, Jack? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Do you believe in premonitions, Cicely?’

  ‘I . . . think I do. Why?’

  ‘If my whereabouts should be unknown, or if there is any doubt of my continued existence, remember Friskney.’

  She gazed at him. ‘You frighten me.’

  ‘I have a strong feeling I will have to go there one day. And no, it will not be anything to do with your son.’ He cleared his throat briskly. ‘But we digress, do we not? I must tell you that Lord Lovell and Sir Robert Percy are already in Burgundy, lending their support.’

  Friskney was forgotten. ‘Francis and Robert? They are with you in this?’ The two men were Richard’s oldest friends, and had been party to his love for her. He had even sent Robert to bring her to him that last time in the hunting tower. She knew that only months ago Francis had survived and escaped after leading an ill-fated uprising against Henry, but there had been no word of Robert. Until now. It was good to know they were both safe in Burgundy.

  ‘Cicely, do you imagine either of them would ever miss an opportunity to restore the House of York to the throne? If plans come to fruition, my aim is not only to see Warwick become King Edward VI, but myself as Lord Protector during his minority. Francis and Robert will enjoy the ascendancy and influence they had under Richard.’

  ‘But you are Richard’s heir! Warwick is barred from the throne by his father’s attainder!’

  ‘I have already said that attainders can be as easily undone as they are done. Cicely, any claim I might have now, in this new climate, will be viewed as purely through my mother and therefore secondary to a claim through the male line. If we are to gain the measure of support we need, it has to be Warwick, who if nothing else is legitimate and of a more senior male branch of the family than me or even Richard. Warwick is now the only one with the necessary rank and blood. I hold second place, I fear.’

  She gazed at him. ‘Presumably you will do away with Henry?’

  ‘As he would do away with me in the same circumstances.’

  ‘Do not think you have the measure of him, Jack. He is a very clever man, and he has the luck of the Devil. He will not be easy to defeat. And another thing . . . if this should lead to battle, which it must, you know that you and my husband will be on opposing sides?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Of course you will. He is Henry’s half-uncle, which will matter in the end, no matter what the bad feeling at the moment.’

  ‘Sir Jon Welles is not only Henry’s uncle, he is your husband, whom you love and who loves you. Why else is he protecting your son? He risks everything for you, and after Winchester do not take it for granted he will side with Henry against me, because I do not believe it is a foregone conclusion. But if he and I were to face each other in hand-to-hand battle, we have already discussed it and decided we would thrash the very excrement out of each other.’

  ‘I cannot believe Jon would desert Henry.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself, sweetheart. And him.’

  ‘Perhaps you are overestimating this whole business,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I sought you today to clear my mind, and I have.’

  ‘Your choice had already been made. My advice is to abandon this plot, because I believe it is better left for a while.’

  ‘And permit Henry more time to sink his filthy Tudor talons into England? And into you? No.’ His fingers curled around hers, and the sensuousness with which he did it sent shivers through her entire body. ‘Now is the right time,’ he said softly. ‘We will easily raise the army we need. With Warwick as our claimant, the support is there for the taking.’

  Tears came to her eyes. ‘But will you be able to trust it? Richard could not at Bosworth, and look how he died. I do not want you to die like that too. Please, Jack. Desist from this right now.’

  ‘How heartening you are,’ he said, without his usual humour.

  ‘Because I love you, Jack, and do not want to have to seek you at Friskney. Please, Jack. Do not go on with this.’

  ‘I think I had better go.’

  ‘Please, Jack,’ she said again.

  ‘I realize it is a little late in the proceedings to say that I pray with all my heart you are not closer to Henry Tudor than you say.’

  ‘Oh, Jack.’ Reproach choked her voice.

  He closed his eyes. ‘Forgive me for that. Forgive me. I know that you, above all, would never betray me.’ He caught her hand and then pulled her into his arms.

  The embrace was not quite that of cousins, because she was suddenly acutely aware of him as an incredibly attractive and loving man. Jack de la Pole was like a soothing breeze on a stiflingly hot day, and she wanted to inhale him, take him into herself . . . make love to him. Sweet images passed through her mind . . . and sweeter sensations spread through her body. She should pull away, stop it before it began in earnest, but the way his thumb moved softly against her bare shoulder was fleshly imprisonment.

  ‘My poor Cicely, you have had so much to bear,’ he whispered.

  She could not speak, and hid her face against his shoulder. Craving overwhelmed her, and it was such craving. Desire ran wildly through her veins. It would be so easy now to press closer to him, to steal some reward from his body. She only had to press to his hips, for he was aroused, she knew that. He could not hold her this way, caress her this way, whisper this way, and be indifferent.

  Her eyes closed and her senses stirred as they should not, and for a moment she almost raised her lips for a kiss. It was so natural, so obvious a thing to do, but she knew it would change their friendship forever, and she did not want to forfeit such a precious thing. Jack de la Pole was the lover she must never have. She did not care about Lambert Simnel or the Earl of Warwick, she cared about Jack de la Pole. He was already in danger from Henry, and if she became his lover, he would be in even more danger.

  And so she made herself draw away—but her heart was racing and she knew there was colour in her cheeks. Jesu, she so wanted him! Jack de la Pole was too attractive and caring, too tactile and kind . . . too virile and tempting. And she was suddenly far too responsive to everything about him. She was lonely, unhappy, and in need of physical comfort from someone she loved and who understood everything. Such comfort was within reach now, here, in the room with her.

  ‘Cicely?’ He reached to touch her cheek, but she stepped swiftly away.

  ‘No . . .‘

  ‘Have I upset you?’

  She gazed at him. ‘No, Jack, you know you have not.’

 
There was such a silence, such a charge in the atmosphere. She wanted so much from him, but knew she must fight her fleshly weakness. It would be so very easy. She had only to touch him for him to know. He knew anyway. Yes, of course he did, but he would not make the first move, not with her. There were unspoken words in the air, not just a scattering of them, but pages, and they could both read them. But this was a moment for sense, not sensuousness.

  Yet the tension was there between them, in the open at last, if still silent. For her it was like that first insight with Richard. A sudden realization, the opening of her eyes to a blinding truth. She had always loved Jack de la Pole, but now that love invaded her body as well as her heart. There was a need to hold him, caress him, explore him and know him. A need to share everything with him, every breath and waking moment. She wanted to experience every intimacy with him, as she had with Richard. It was that shocking and forceful a feeling. But she did not dare do anything at all, for fear of Henry’s vengeance.

  Jack’s lips parted to speak, but she prevented him. ‘Do not say it. Please. We both know, I think. Things are no longer the same between us.’

  ‘I have been at fault in this for some time now.’

  ‘But you said and did nothing, except to tease. Today, perhaps because of the carnal things of which I have spoken, everything has changed. I should not have said them, but I did, and for that I apologize.’

  ‘Jesu, Cicely, do you really think it is because of today? I have wanted you ever since I saw you part from Richard at Nottingham. There, I have said it anyway, because to leave it unspoken is wrong. It needs to be said, and no, it will not change my behaviour towards you, if that is what you fear.’

  ‘I fear for you, Jack. Henry is—’

  ‘Plague ravage him!’ Jack broke in. ‘If you only knew how astonishingly affecting it was to see you take your leave of Richard. You were both so close to tears, but he had to show an unconcerned face to his supporters. He was the king, and his heart was breaking because he had to send you away. And then again, at Sheriff Hutton, when he rode to that hunting tower from Nottingham, just to be with you for a few hours. I encountered you as you returned from him. Do you remember?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Jesu, how you glowed with the aftermath of lovemaking, and your unhappiness at being away from him again could have been sifted from the air around you. I was so moved, so filled with feeling for you, so aware of everything about you that I actually thought of making you come with me when I obeyed Richard’s instructions to leave for Burgundy with all his close heirs. Instead I took only your brothers and our little “cousin” Warwick, because Bess would not leave. That meant you stayed with her, and John felt honour-bound to protect you both.’ Jack paused. ‘I wanted you to be with me, Cicely. With me. That is one of the reasons I so dislike your sister.’

  He paused emotionally, and then continued, ‘But for her, John of Gloucester’s mind would not have been destroyed by Tudor’s barbarity, and you certainly would not be coerced into his vile bed, or married to his fool of an uncle, who does not know he has been blessed with the most exquisite woman God has ever created. Yes, Cicely, you are in my heart, and you always will be.’

  ‘Jack, I want you as you want me, but if Henry were to realize this, he would make sure of your death. I was angry with him today, but I will go to him again and be everything he wishes—except his mistress—because I want you and Jon to be safe. I am thankful I can find pleasure with him, because it makes it tolerable.’

  ‘I need to kiss you.’

  She closed her eyes. That closeness again, that yearned-for closeness, and the exciting knowledge that he awaited a signal, any sign at all that she wished him to go further. Surrender beckoned, and when he held out his hand, all restraint fell away. She whispered his name, and gave in to the intensity of her blinding new love. The desire engulfed her completely, flaming between her legs and clutching her heart. And so she went into his arms, raised her mouth, and found his.

  It was a gentle kiss, almost a quivering of their touching lips, but it loosed wild, almost enervating sensations that were totally unlike anything before. She was caught up by it, as if upon a current that flowed through her whole body, but especially through those inner muscles that always gave such pleasure. Her breasts tightened, her skin was flushed and she kissed him with such lazy sensuality that it was almost as if she tasted nectar. She moved her mouth luxuriously against his, relishing him. How she wanted to consummate such a wonderful kiss. How she wanted to offer her body to his, and share love with him.

  These were moments to dwell upon, to learn from and feel so much, to drift into and upon . . . sweet moments that she had sworn to herself should never happen with Jack. Her resolve was as weak as ever, for she could not resist him. He was so very attractive and beloved, devastatingly so, and she could feel her perfidious body urging her on. She pressed to him, her breath escaping on a long sigh as she felt his arousal. Oh, sweet God above, how good this was. How very, very good. And with Jack.

  He brought the spell to a close by gently disengaging her arms. ‘No, sweeting, not in Sir Jon’s house. I may think him a fool for turning his back on you, but I still like him. Curse him.’ He struggled for composure as he kissed her palm. ‘Not that I like him enough to leave his wife alone.’

  She closed her eyes, caught up in her own struggle. ‘I wanted to keep you as my dearest cousin, and not spoil it by taking you as my lover. I even talk of shielding you from Henry, but here I am, yearning to make love with you.’

  ‘And we will make love, I promise.’

  She could not meet his eyes. ‘Please do not think badly of me.’

  ‘Badly?’ He cupped her chin and made her look at him again. ‘I am the last person with any right to think badly of you, nor would I anyway. We have just shared a kiss so laden with feeling that it almost broke my soul.’

  And mine, she thought. And mine.

  ‘Cicely, this is not another passing dalliance. I have never wanted—loved—anyone as much as I want you, and I do not employ the smooth flattery of a practised seducer to say it.’ He drew a tender fingertip over her lips. ‘Just know that when you need me—want me—you have only to say. I will wait. We will find somewhere to be together, as we need to be. Love can always bide its time.’

  He kissed her again, more passionately this time. The first kiss had been warm and rich; this one was edged with fire . . . and the promise of limitless fulfilment.

  Chapter Three

  When Jack had left, Cicely sat by the fire in the almost dark room, for the October afternoon had faded swiftly as more clouds filled the sky. She thought about what had just happened. She had not anticipated it, nor had she even been aware of the strength of her feelings for him. But suddenly her entire being was in complete chaos.

  Jack had always been the one in whom she could confide, the one who understood and comforted her, the one who sensed her thoughts almost before she knew them herself . . . as she anticipated his. They were sensitive to each other, intuitive, and now it had become a binding of selves. Of blood. It came into her, she did not look out at it. And Jack felt the same. They were woven through each other, the warp and weft of a single rich cloth. As it had been for her with Richard.

  She leaned her head back to think of the uncle who had changed her life forever. Now she could only imagine him, yet on one occasion in particular he had been so real that even now she could hardly believe he had not really been there.

  It had happened one night at Westminster Palace, when her grief for him prevented sleep. He had come to the bedside, in the light of the night lamp, and bent down to kiss her. His hair brushed her skin, his lips were warm and giving, and she got up to go into his arms. He wore the fine grey velvet clothes she remembered so well, the circlet still gleamed against his forehead, and on the curtailed little finger of his right hand was the fine ruby ring Henry had stolen from his corpse at Bosworth. How blessedly solid and real he was. She could even taste
the mint on his breath as he kissed her.

  But he had come to reprimand her for going to Henry, on her own, simply to try to gain the measure of the new king. How immature and silly she had been, thinking it would be as easy to make Henry trust her as Richard always had.

  She remembered his voice, light and yet not. ‘Oh, Cicely, you have an incredible capacity to captivate, but you do not yet know how to ration it. Least of all with a man like Henry Tudor. You have to be taught a salutary lesson in what can be done with the gift you use so lightly and that I share. You have no notion at all of its power, but for your own sake you need to be made to understand.’

  He had moved away from her, his tread slightly uneven because of the sideways bend of his spine. One shoulder was a little higher than the other, but it made his embrace so intimate and tender that whoever he held felt cherished. Everything about him was sensuous and alluring.

  Reaching the wall opposite the bed, he leaned back against it, facing her, arms folded. His lips curved with promise and his eyes were dark and warm. ‘Come to me and kiss me. Seduce me.’

  She had gone to him joyfully, sliding her arms around him to put her lips to his, but he made no move at all, not even to straighten from the wall. Yet everything about him invited her to intimacy. Again and again she experienced those familiar waves of exquisite pleasure between her legs. He did not respond, no matter what she did, and yet he implied consent . . . although it was behind an erotic barrier that she could not penetrate, however hard she tried.

  He dominated her without moving or speaking, and gave such unbelievable gratification that she could neither resist nor desist. She wanted him. Desperately. It was intolerably affecting, and he cast such voluptuous sorcery over her that she was helpless. Her kisses had devoured his lips, crushing them with passion. She used all the skills she possessed, remembered all the things she had done with him, tried everything she knew, and when he remained unmoved, she wept. It was only when she sank tearfully to her knees and hid her face in her hands that he relented and took her up into his arms. Bewilderment weakened her, understanding was beyond her, and his embrace was all that mattered.