Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘Get out!’ Bess cried, so overcome with fury that she had to steady herself on a chair back. ‘Get out of my sight!’ Her voice rose on the last word.

  Cicely began to obey, but then turned. ‘Be careful what you say to him about being with child. You have not yet had time to know for certain, because you have not been back from Winchester for long enough. Lie to him about this, and he will know.’

  Then she left.

  As if being at Greenwich and subjected to renewed whispering was not punishment enough for Cicely, Jack was absent as well. Whether by design or not, the moment she arrived from Pasmer’s Place, he was sent to Sheen to preside over numerous courts and hearings dealing with suspected Yorkist malcontents. Jack had sworn fealty, and Henry made him stand by it. Being behind bars would not benefit the House of York, and so Jack did as he was ordered. No one could have known treason was a word he even understood. This was Jack de la Pole at his most subtle and cunning, smiling and evincing amiability and above all . . . loyalty to the new crown.

  Not seeing Jack caused Cicely more pain than anything else. She missed him so much that unhappiness keened through her from morning until night. And when night came, she lay awake, thinking about him . . . knowing that he was thinking of her. Or perhaps he sought solace in the arms of another? For the first time in her life she was beset by jealousy. Jack had always been a womanizer, and had only to look at a woman to make sure of her. Perhaps he did this now. Perhaps his cousin Cicely was, after all, no more to him than any of the others.

  Then at last, one crisp morning late in that same month of October, she saw him again. She was returning to her rooms along the windswept terrace after walking in the gardens, and she was wishing for Jack, when . . . there he was, coming towards her.

  He wore a fur-lined cloak over his fine royal blue clothes, and a jewelled brooch flashed in his soft velvet hat as he snatched it off to bow. ‘Lady Welles?’ He smiled into her eyes.

  ‘My Lord of Lincoln.’ She tried to keep the pain at bay, but her wretchedness must surely be plain to him.

  And it was. ‘Cicely?’ He came closer. ‘Sweetheart?’ He lowered his voice, and almost reached out to her, but prevented himself in time, because there were others nearby, any one of whom might be Henry’s spy.

  ‘I . . . have missed you so, Jack.’

  ‘And I you.’

  She bit her lip and could not answer. The agony was so much she almost wept there and then. The thought of him with someone else was unsupportable, and yet he had to endure it with her all the time, because of Henry. How could he bear it? How could he understand and support her in all she did?

  He decided to ignore the possibility of spies, and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘What is it, sweeting? Mm?’

  ‘Nothing. I am being very foolish.’

  ‘I hoped you would be pleased to see me, not reduced to tears.’ He smiled and tightened his arm for a moment.

  She glanced up at his face, so handsome and animated, so seductively formed, so very, very desirable. But she must not say anything, she could not say anything. She would not be so unutterably weak and foolish. ‘I love you so very, very much,’ she whispered.

  ‘Not more than I love you, sweetheart.’ He searched her eyes, trying to read her. ‘Please do not think I have been unfaithful to you,’ he said then, so accurately that she might as well have put the question to him.

  ‘I could not blame you if you had been, Jack. You know I lie with Henry, and—’

  ‘And nothing, Cicely. You have to do it, I know that. If you were to lie with someone else, and from choice, well, that would be different.’

  ‘I only want to be with you.’

  He put his hand to her chin. ‘And I think it is time we confirmed our love, sweetheart. I can only reassure you by showing you how I love you. By proving it. And I will. You need me, I think.’

  You need me, I think. Richard’s words. Tears welled from her eyes, and she bowed her head. Again ignoring anyone who might be watching, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you do my vanity such service,’ he said lightly. ‘If anyone reports this to Henry, we will say that you needed comfort because of losing your idiot husband.’

  He meant to tease and make her smile a little, but she could not. Being without him had been a torture akin to that of being without Richard. She tried to stop her foolishness, because Jack was alive, and he was with her again now. For these moments he was hers, even though she did not know if he had been constant. He said he was, but she had no confidence at all in her own ability to hold such a man.

  He turned her to face him. ‘Short of pinning you to the wall in front of everyone, there is no more I can say at this moment, except that I love you, that I have not forsaken you for a single moment, and that I never will. Have faith in yourself, sweetheart. You are loved by kings and by this presumptuous earl who has long aspired to your bed. Look at me. Now then, what do you see in my eyes, mm? You see love, pure, unblemished, true love. Do not ever think I would betray what we have. You dishonour me to think it. I am no longer the rakehell you knew before. Tell me you know so.’

  She gazed at him. ‘I know so,’ she whispered.

  ‘There, that was not so hard, was it? Do you go to Henry tonight?’ He made her walk on towards the palace entrance.

  ‘I . . . No, he has a difficult, very late meeting that is likely to go on into the small hours.’

  ‘Good, I hope it strains his brain and incapacitates his dick for a while.’ Jack hesitated. ‘What is this meeting about?’

  ‘I do not know, except that it is connected with private matters in Brittany.’

  ‘Private matters?’

  ‘That is all I know, Jack. Truly. I’d tell you if I was aware of something that would be of interest to you. He certainly has not told me anything. In fact, he never discusses his time there. He will not even speak of it to Jolly Jasper.’

  ‘Oh?’ Jack was intrigued. ‘I thought he and Jasper were like this.’ He crossed his fingers aloft.

  ‘So did Jasper. There was quite a quarrel, but it was all in Welsh so I did not understand, save that it was quite clearly liberally sprinkled with foul words. I did not need Welsh to be sure of that.’

  Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘Henry has Breton secrets? How interesting it would be to learn them.’

  ‘Do not attempt it, Jack. Please. Do not meddle with Henry.’

  ‘You really do fear him?’ Jack searched her eyes.

  ‘I enjoy lying with him, Jack, but yes, he frightens me. He can be so very warm and amusing, and then suddenly, without any warning at all, he changes. That is when he really frightens me.’

  ‘He will not know that I come to you tonight.’

  She was shocked. ‘Here at Greenwich? You cannot!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Is that not obvious?’

  ‘Lady, I have slipped secretly in and out of more bedchambers than I can possibly recount. I can do it as easily here at Greenwich as anywhere else. We do each other no good at all by staying apart. We need to love.’ They entered the palace, where there were unexpectedly few people. He glanced around, and then drew her into a deep window embrasure that was hung with a heavy curtain, which he drew further across to cocoon them from view. There, for a few dangerously exciting stolen moments, they were alone.

  He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her. How she welcomed it, and how foolish she felt for her doubts and fears, because as her lips softened helplessly against his, she was caught up again in the comfort of love. She closed her eyes. These were sweet moments, honeyed and piquant, with the fragrance of thyme so clean and fresh on his breath. Reckless need clutched at her. Let them do it now, for she could not bear to wait until the night!

  He was tempted into the same foolishness, but then there was a trill of female laughter from the terrace entrance and the sound of dainty footsteps as some of Bess’s ladies entered. Dismayed, the secret lovers pressed well back out of sight and wait
ed as the ladies tripped past, giggling over a handsome Breton minstrel who had sung for the queen the evening before. He had come with the party of gentlemen with whom Henry was to have the meeting tonight.

  When they had gone, Jack smiled ruefully. ‘A moment of complete lunacy blessedly avoided, I think,’ he said softly, drawing Cicely’s hand to his lips and lingering over it. ‘Perhaps it would be best to go our separate ways until tonight?’

  She clutched his hand. ‘I so look forward to it, Jack.’

  ‘So do I, sweeting, so do I. Now you go on to your rooms and I will come to you when the time is right and Henry is fully distracted. For the moment I will wait here until you are safely gone.’ He glanced around the curtain, and after another brief, stolen kiss she hurried away. But she wanted so much to turn around and go back to him. Suddenly she was alive again. The days of miserable doubt had gone, and Jack was here again.

  That night, as the first snow of winter fell outside, and the fire glowed in the little hearth in Cicely’s bedchamber, she and Jack faced each other at last. The door was locked, and Mary was in the outer room, sewing a little coat for Leo. He was supposedly her nephew, and she loved him as if he were, and so her needle flashed busily as she kept guard while her mistress gave herself so gladly to the Earl of Lincoln. Mary would not have been averse to submitting to Jack de la Pole herself, given the chance. She smiled wistfully, her needle continuing to flash.

  In the bedchamber, Cicely gazed at the cousin she desired so much. There was such excitement pounding through her now that she wondered he could not hear her heartbeats and feel them pulsing in the air, and yet he had not even touched her. ‘I . . . I am afraid, Jack.’

  ‘Afraid?’

  ‘That I may disappoint you.’

  He smiled. ‘Being mindful of your praise for Richard’s extraordinary talents, I think I may disappoint you.’

  ‘I feel so green, as if this is the first time.’ She also felt so very foolish. This was Jack, whom she had known for so much of her life, and who had suddenly become more precious to her than that same life. She burned with desire for him, but seemed unable to do anything except lack all sophistication. She was a virgin again, unknowing and hesitant, wanting so much and yet afraid to welcome it.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he said softly. So softly. He came closer to unfasten her gown and slide it from her shoulders. He gazed at her. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he whispered, putting a gentle hand to her chin and tilting it. ‘Let us begin with a kiss, that is all.’

  Her lips parted beneath his. He did not touch her, except with his fingers beneath her chin. And his kiss. Such a kiss. It enchanted her, beguiled her, lured her out of the protective little hiding place she had neither sought nor wanted. Slowly, willingly, she slipped free and returned the kiss. No, she did not merely return it, she gave her whole self to it, holding him as tightly as she could.

  His mouth now crushed hers, working upon her, playing with her, drawing more and more wantonness from her. Desire sped dizzyingly through her veins and into every pore. His scent filled her nostrils, his breath was so sweet and fresh, and his kiss so potent and commanding that she allowed her senses to lead her where they would. Where he would.

  And lead her he did, until she was almost faint with need of him. Her inhibitions had now melted away completely, and she took charge of her own desires, undoing his doublet and pushing it back from his shoulders, until there was only his thin shirt beneath, and soon that had been removed as well. But impatience took over. Neither of them could wait until he was completely naked. He lifted her into his arms and put her gently on the bed, and then undid his laces to release the long, thick erection that so many women had desired before her.

  His dark eyes were even darker as he lay with her and looked into her darkened eyes. ‘This feeling I have for you is unlike any other I have ever known. I love you, Cicely, and I always will.’

  He kissed her again. There was nothing to hold them back now. Nothing at all. At last he pushed into her, and they became one.

  Chapter Six

  It was the eve of All Hallows, a year and a day after Henry’s coronation. The night was cold, wet and windswept, but there were still bonfires in the countryside around Greenwich, to ward off evil spirits. Wood smoke carried on the gusting wind.

  Henry’s inner court indulged in a night of merrymaking and disguising, where identities were hidden by hoods, masks and costumes to imitate the supernatural. Minstrels played, acrobats and stilt walkers performed, and there was a hobby horse, covered with ribbons and possessed of savagely snapping jaws that were directed at anyone within reach. A fool was there, supposedly to amuse the king, but the king did not seem particularly amused. Clearly the fool was not enough of a fool.

  Cicely thought Henry looked unwell again. She sat at one of the long, crowded trestle tables lining the hall, and was able to observe him. He was very pale, with shadows beneath his eyes, and he seemed withdrawn. His throne was raised above the flanking thrones at the dais. One would have been unoccupied, because Bess was unwell, but Jasper had taken her place.

  Jasper Tudor was a swarthy, dark-eyed Welshman with an air of assurance borne of having kept his nephew safe for so many years. He was in his fifties, yet his hair was still virtually black and showed no signs of thinning or going grey. He certainly bore no likeness whatsoever to his royal nephew, who entirely resembled Margaret, Lady Derby, his omnipresent mother.

  The new Duke of Bedford’s clothes were a rich ruby in colour, velvet trimmed with black fur and a crusting of gold embroidered dragons, with no hint at all of a mask or a costume, but then Henry did not observe the occasion either, save by his presence. There was a permanent scowl on Jasper’s face when he was obliged to attend festivities, or indeed most social occasions, and in Cicely’s opinion he always looked as if he were chewing upon wasps. The wasps grew larger and stung him even more whenever Cicely caught his eye, because he could not stand even the sight of her. A jolly fellow indeed, she thought.

  It was strange that Henry did not wear his favourite black on this of all nights, when the supernatural brushed with the natural. Instead he chose a furred cloth-of-gold sleeveless coat that brushed the floor, and beneath it a grey doublet and hose. The monarch’s circlet was around his forehead and he sat very still, watching everything, his eyes so hooded he resembled the slyest of foxes. Once, only once, Cicely thought she saw him stifle a cough. Or perhaps it had been a mere clearing of his throat, for it was over in a moment.

  There was not a huge gathering, because he had dismissed most of his courtiers to their own lands for Hallowtide. Those who remained were close to him in one way or another, or, like Jack, were being watched. Free and yet not free. He was permitted into London but had to present himself before the king every morning and night. The last thing Henry would do was send the Earl of Lincoln back to his lands, from where he might be easily able to foment Yorkist trouble. From the moment Henry learned of Lambert Simnel, complete liberty had become out of the question for the former heir of Richard III.

  Cicely and Jack had been very careful not to draw attention, but the atmosphere between them was always charged, as if a thunderstorm were about to break directly over them. He had come to her on a number of occasions now, always very carefully, and never giving a follower the chance to follow. If they encountered each other during the day, a glance was enough to set Cicely’s blood racing and bring colour to her cheeks, but she dared not smile too much at him or linger long in his company. He was not here yet tonight, although she had expected him. His absence made the evening as dull and flat as an overlong sermon by a too-elderly priest.

  Henry’s lip-reading imp had often watched when she and Jack spoke together. She called the little man an imp because that was how he struck her. He was deaf, but had not been so from birth and thus could read lips and repeat to Henry what he had interpreted. Heaven alone knew what Henry might have learned through him, because no one else at court seemed to know what was being done,
right there in front of them. How many unwary remarks had clever Henry been told? She, Jack and her husband Jon knew of the imp, but they appeared to be alone.

  Her costume tonight consisted solely of a little veil over her gable headdress, so that the top half of her face was concealed. It was enough of a disguise, she thought, especially as those on the dais had not made any effort at all. Her gown was rich rose-pink velvet edged with grey fur, its pendulous sleeves lined with silver brocade, and she made full use of the veil in order to avoid eyes because the shocks of Winchester still loomed large in memories. As soon as she could slip away, she would, whether Henry liked it or not. He would summon her tonight anyway.

  Her attention moved to his mother. Margaret was small, thin, fanatical and deadly, and had schemed and murdered in order to see her only child on the throne of England. Most of the treachery that had brought Richard down had been at her instigation. She, being Jon Welles’ exceedingly fond half-sister, had once formed a pact with Cicely to prevent him from learning of his wife’s intimacy with Henry, but since Winchester, to Margaret, Lady Welles had become the Yorkist Whore of Babylon.

  Someone wearing sapphire-blue velvet stitched with charcoal, and a rather peculiar costume, leaned over Cicely suddenly. ‘How now, Coz?’

  Jack! She looked up gladly. ‘Why, Lord Lincoln, and without so much as a mask to hide your identity.’

  He bent close to her ear. ‘Beware, sweeting, Henry’s imp has just taken up a position behind him.’

  She glanced, and there the fellow was, watching their lips as if his life depended upon it. Which it probably did.

  ‘May I join you?’ Jack asked.

  ‘You need to ask?’ She made room as best she could, and he squeezed in next to her. She glanced at his lower regions as he made himself comfortable, and hid her mouth from the imp to comment. ‘How indecently tight your hose are. Tell me, were you melted and poured into them?’

  ‘I had to pull them on with infinite care.’

  ‘The result is mortal sin,’ she said softly, and then glanced curiously at his costume, for he had an animal skin flung over his left shoulder and carried a long scarlet staff that was drawn with magical symbols. ‘What are you, exactly?’