Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘But—’

  He put a finger to her lips. ‘No, sweetheart. No buts. Besides, we waste time now. We are alone, we need to make love, and the bed awaits. Can anything be more important?’

  She smiled. ‘No,’ she answered softly, closing her eyes as he pulled her into his arms to kiss her. Such a seductive and loving kiss. It banished everything. Except him.

  Chapter Seven

  On a wet night late in November, when driving rain stung like ice and water trickled everywhere, riders dismounted in the confines of the Tower. Cicely was among them.

  Hooded and cloaked, she was helped down to the shining cobbles, where torches reflected in puddles. Shivering, she watched Henry dismount. He too was hooded and cloaked, and was agile again as he swung his leg over the pommel and jumped down. He should not have come out in such weather, she thought, for he had still to fully recover.

  He took her hand and led her down some steps to a small, arched doorway. The night was banished as the door was closed behind them, and the Tower folded over them like a stone shroud. More torches flared within, the flames leaping against the ancient stone walls, and servants hurried forward to take Henry’s hood, cloak and gauntlets. He wore black velvet, and tonight seemed taller, leaner and starker than ever. His long hair clung to the velvet, and he flicked it back as he watched the servants attend Cicely.

  Then all the servants withdrew, except one, who waited at a discreet distance to conduct them through the warren of passages. Henry turned to Cicely. ‘Do you wish me to forbid this, even now?’

  ‘No.’ But she knew in her heart that the real John of Gloucester had gone forever, leaving only a living statue.

  Henry was aware of her hesitance. ‘I am gravely at fault, not only because of my shameful guilt for what has been done to John of Gloucester, but also for giving in to you. Refusing you can be like denying morning the light to follow darkness. You can still change your mind, sweetheart, and I dearly wish you would, for it can only be distressing for you.’

  ‘If I do not see him, I will wonder for the rest of my life if I could have helped him.’

  Henry rubbed his eyebrow for a moment, and then nodded. ‘So be it.’ He snapped his fingers at the waiting man, who bowed low and led them through the great fortress that was built to be a terrifying symbol of Norman power. It was still a terrifying symbol of royal power.

  Their steps echoed on the uneven flags, and more bracket torches smoked and fluttered. It was the same part of the Tower as that other room where her father had murdered his brother. She shivered as they mounted winding steps, passing narrow slit windows through which the wind whistled unimpeded.

  A jailer waited at a door at the top, and his keys jingled as he fell to his knees on seeing Henry.

  ‘Your Majesty.’

  Only then, at the very last second, did Cicely’s steps falter and stop. She could see the door at the top, and the candlelight creeping from beneath it, but suddenly could not go further.

  ‘Cicely?’ Henry touched her.

  The torchlight shone on her tears. ‘Please tell me you hold him in comfort, not a room like that other.’

  ‘He is in comfort, in an apartment, as befits his birth.’ There was relief in Henry’s response as he sensed she could not proceed. ‘Illegitimate or not, he is a king’s son and grandson. My conscience—and my affection for you—would not permit me to incarcerate him in a cell. What I did at the very outset of my reign I would certainly not do now.’

  ‘Please, take me from here.’ She was deeply ashamed of her cowardice. Forgive me, John. Forgive me, Richard.

  He shook his head at the jailer, and then ushered her back down the steps. He led her well away from the steps before halting to put his arms around her and hold her close. She buried her face against the costly black velvet of his doublet.

  He stroked soft skin at the nape of her neck. ‘It is the wisest thing, sweetheart.’

  She closed her eyes. If it had not been for her, and the effect she had upon this unsettling king, John of Gloucester would still be as hale as Jack.

  Henry was affected too, perhaps more than he realized. ‘Hate me for what I did to John, sweetheart, but never desert me. If you wish to be avenged for my triumph over your House, and for everything else I have done to you, then deserting me is the way to do it. I need you so much that the breaking of my heart would be so very easy for you. I should not confess it to you, but I do, because I know I can trust you. I know that if you are prepared to vow to me upon Richard’s honour, then you are true to me. You, of all God’s creatures, would never be untruthful with his name.’

  She felt sick, and when he raised her lips to his, the kiss he gave was so loving and gentle that she hated herself still more. And so she returned his embrace with all the fervour she could. It was a vicious circle, the more her guilt, the more she tried to reassure him, and the more he responded, the more guilt she felt, and so it went on. It would be so very much easier if she felt nothing for Henry Tudor, but she did, and there seemed nothing she could do to prevent it.

  She pulled away at last. ‘Take me from here, Henry. Please.’

  He put a hand to her chin and made her look up at him. ‘Where do you wish to go? Back to Pasmer’s Place?’

  ‘No, not there. With you. I want to stay with you. With you, in every way, until tomorrow. Please.’ She needed to have his comfort, and to give hers in return. Atonement? Maybe. Yes . . . probably.

  His thumb moved gently against her. ‘Then I will take you to Westminster. It will be too crowded and public at Greenwich, and more scandalized whispering is the last thing you—or I—need now.’

  ‘You will be with me?’

  ‘Of course. You should not need to ask.’

  He put his lips gently to hers again, a gentle solace that made her weep in earnest. Remorse so engulfed her that she could hardly bear it, but her final loyalty would always be with Jack. It could never be otherwise.

  Henry held her tightly for a moment, sensing her distress, but wrongly attributing its cause to John of Gloucester. ‘Are you able to leave?’

  As she nodded, he took her towards the arched entrance through which they had arrived. Then, having donned their outdoor clothes, they returned to the windswept night, but almost immediately something inexplicable made her turn towards a shadowy corner where there was only one torch. Someone stood there. He stepped forward, into the torchlight, a slight figure with a bearing that affected her even on such a night. She gazed at him. ‘Richard?’ she whispered.

  She saw him so clearly. The rain and wind did not seem to touch him, for his dark chestnut hair fell thickly to his shoulders without blowing. As always, the golden embroidery on his grey velvet doublet glittered in the light from the flames; he was magnetic, bewitching, adored and commanding. His effect upon her was effortless. He was the king, the one true King of England, and she worshipped him.

  Henry ceased to matter and the dismal night was of no consequence as she moved hesitantly towards the corner. ‘Richard?’ Her steps quickened. ‘Forgive me for everything!’ she cried, thinking she saw reproach in his eyes.

  He held out his hand, but as she touched him and breathed the costmary on his clothes, there was suddenly only the rain-swept air and empty night. It was too much. Distraught, and drowning in grief and guilt, she sank to her knees in the rain, her face hidden in her hands. She wanted Richard to still be here. She wanted—begged for—his love and understanding. But tonight he gave her nothing.

  Henry did not take her to Westminster with him, nor indeed did he stay with her, but instructed two of his men to accompany her back to Pasmer’s Place. He said nothing to her, but his face was set and his manner suddenly very cold. She was not too overcome to be unaware of the severity of the change in him, and as he rode off with the remainder of his horsemen she knew how very much she had alienated him.

  She struggled in vain to collect herself. Tonight had been disastrous, and she deeply regretted ever pleading for such a f
avour of Henry. If only she had listened to Jack, and to Henry himself. Instead, she had persisted until she was actually at John’s door. Now she had deeply offended Henry. Deeply. In front of him and those accompanying him, she had reaffirmed her undying adoration for Richard Plantagenet. And just after Henry had confessed so much of himself to her. And made plain his trust.

  Emotion still wrapped tightly around her as Henry’s men left her standing in the middle of the courtyard at Pasmer’s Place. The unforgiving downpour continued, and the wind whined accusingly around the eaves. She did not care, but raised her face to the stormy night, welcoming the sting and cleansing cold of the rain.

  It was only then, as she finally turned to enter the house, that she saw a distinctive white horse tethered in a corner, beneath the low, overhanging thatch of a lean-to shelter, well out of the weather. It was Jack’s mount, Héraut, so fine and desirable a stallion that it was well known as his, but even in the windswept darkness she could see that its saddle was very shabby and nondescript. Nor, when she looked again, was the horse itself as well groomed as it should be.

  After hastening to her rooms, for Mary to help her out of her wet clothes, she went to the candlelit parlour, looking neat in a cream velvet gown, her hair loose. Jack stood by the fire, a thigh-booted foot on the fender, one hand on the stone mantel, a goblet of Jon’s wine in the other. He was gazing into the fire and turned as she entered.

  He wore a quilted peach-coloured doublet and dark brown hose, with a gold collar across his shoulders. The amethyst in his ring shone for a moment as he raised his wine to her. ‘Greetings, Coz. I fear I have made fast and loose with your husband’s best Rhenish.’

  She smiled. ‘I am sure Jon would not have minded while you were still merely my cousin. Now, however, I believe he would take exception to such a liberty.’

  ‘No doubt. I saw you from the window, left standing in the courtyard by Henry’s men. You were—are—upset. I could tell. Why were you simply left there? Why only two guards? Is Henry displeased with you?’

  ‘I did not know I was being observed. Yes, he is displeased with me.’ She went to slip her arms around his waist, rest her head against him and tell him what had happened.

  He held her. ‘Oh, Cicely, why can you not see that you raise Richard? He does not really come to you.’

  ‘He simply appeared out of the darkness, and was so very real that I believed it was him. And I believed he accused me. I could not help it, Jack, and now I have hurt Henry and maybe he will not forgive it.’

  ‘He will. His cock twitches and swells at the mere thought of you. As does mine.’ Jack leaned back a little in order to look at her. ‘You cannot be rid of Tudor that easily, dearling, no matter how you wish it.’

  She gave a reluctant smile. ‘Maybe you are right. I do not know. But yes, he really does love me. I know that now, tonight more than ever. And he trusts me. He really believes that because I swore on Richard’s honour, I am true beyond doubt.’

  ‘And your conscience has become a great weight? Well, do not permit it to be. Henry Tudor was responsible for Richard’s death, never forget it.’

  He coiled her hair around his fingers and eased her head back until her lips were presented to his. His mouth was tender, adoring, rich and infinitely knowing. He made the moment so erotic and tantalizing that she felt her anxiety melting away into the familiar stirrings of unstoppable desire.

  Her hands explored his back through the ornate quilting of his doublet. He had a way of kissing her, a gentle but urgent way, so filled with love and care that she could not help but want to be joined to him again. But not here! Not in Jon’s house!

  The barrier was suddenly there, and she pulled from his arms. ‘No, Jack—’

  He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly as he sought to collect himself. ‘Your damned fool of a husband, I take it?’

  ‘Yes. Forgive me, Jack, but I cannot betray him under his own roof. Not when I have asked Henry to summon him back to London.’

  ‘I trust irksome Sir Jon will not arrive tonight?’

  ‘No. He is to return for Christmas.’

  ‘And in the meantime, you will commit adultery elsewhere, but not here?’ His smile deepened. ‘Well, I suppose there is sweet reason in there. Somewhere.’

  ‘You are a man and cannot understand why such things mean so much to a woman.’ She remembered using very similar words to Henry.

  Jack took her hand and raised the palm to his lips, dwelling over it for a long moment and then entwining her fingers warmly in his. ‘I may not understand entirely, but I respect completely.’

  ‘I do not tease or play games, Jack,’ she said anxiously.

  ‘I know.’ He released her and went to the window, which was lashed with rain as a new breeze swept up from the Thames. ‘The tide is changing,’ he murmured absently.

  ‘Why are you here, Jack? Not simply to see me, I know that.’

  ‘Now she stamps upon this swain’s heart,’ he murmured.

  ‘You have brought Héraut, but have made him look as undistinguished as you can, and I do not doubt that tonight’s weather suits your purpose for him, whatever it is.’

  ‘I shall have to wear a helm when I am with you, to prevent you from stealing right into my head.’ But he smiled. ‘I am taking Héraut to the Mermaid tavern.’

  ‘The one in Gough Alley? Between here and Three Cranes?’

  ‘Yes. To be taken north in due course, as a red herring to Henry.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Héraut is associated with me, and it suits me to have him out of sight here in London. Closer to the time, I intend to send him north, with a group of “merchants” who are actually my men. They will have money with them, and my white hobby falcon from Sheriff Hutton. To all intents and purposes it will seem that I intend to go north as well. In fact I will flee to Burgundy to join Francis, Robert, and numerous others, and thence to Dublin.’

  ‘In support of the Earl of Warwick.’

  ‘The rightful King Edward VI. Yes.’

  ‘And what horse will you ride in the meantime?’

  He clearly bit back a witty rejoinder, and she understood it well enough to give him a cross look. ‘If you dare say that, Jack de la Pole, you may consider yourself to have had the last such ride!’

  ‘Forgive me, sweetheart, but to be fair, I did resist.’ He came to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Is there still nothing I can say to turn you from all this?’

  ‘I must do it, my darling. The white rose should be restored to the throne.’

  She embraced him again. Their lips came together and she hung upon the kiss. She wanted to be with him as she should have been with Richard. She had been parted from Richard against her will, because it was what he wanted; now she would be parted from Jack, because it was what he wanted. What about the things she wanted?

  He extricated himself. ‘Sweetheart, if you want me to make love to you beneath Jon Welles’ roof regardless of finer feelings, you are going the right way about it. Have a little pity, I beg you. I am only human.’

  ‘I love you so much.’

  ‘Then you must wait until we are elsewhere,’ he said, smiling. ‘And I will have to handle my own problem.’

  ‘Just do not let any whore handle it for you.’

  He laughed, but then glanced at the windows as the bells of London sounded midnight. ‘It is best I go now anyway, for I have someone to meet.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That, sweetheart, is for me to know and you to wonder about.’

  ‘Just be careful.’ Suddenly, for no apparent reason, she remembered the poem she had found in one of Richard’s books at Sheriff Hutton. ‘Jack, there is something I want to say to you. Richard wrote a poem when he was young, and it says everything of how I feel about you:

  To be without you is to fade a little within,

  To not hear your voice is to lose the sweetness of music,

  To forfeit your smile is to be plunged into darkness, />
  To never feel your touch is to lose all sense of being,

  To know you have gone forever is to steal away all joy.

  That is how I feel too, Jack. I would forfeit all joy if I lost you.’

  He came to her again and crushed her into his embrace, kissing her hair and then her lips, and when he looked down into her eyes, she saw tears in his. ‘Cicely, I return your love tenfold, never forget it. And you will never lose me.’

  She summoned a bright smile to lighten the moment. ‘So, sir, if I had let you dibble me a moment since, it would have been a hasty matter, a brief passing of the time until you go to your meeting? Shame on you.’

  ‘My hasty matters would still take you to paradise, my lady. I do not have my wicked reputation undeservedly. Besides, do I need to remind you that I was here some time, waiting for your return?’

  ‘So it is my fault? How did that happen? But I will forgive you anyway.’

  ‘Farewell for the moment, sweetheart. I will see you again very soon, you have my word upon it. Your bed at Greenwich still welcomes me, I think.’

  She quelled the urge to again plead with him to be careful, and to clutch his sleeve to prevent him from leaving at all.

  Chapter Eight

  When Jack left, Cicely went to the window to watch him cross the courtyard to where Héraut waited beneath the lean-to. He was hooded and cloaked, and might have been anyone. Certainly he did not seem like the Earl of Lincoln, nor did his horse give him away on such a terrible night. Even through the window, and above the racket of the weather, she heard the clatter of hooves as he rode out into St Sithe’s Lane and thence towards the Thames. Her heart was heavy as he passed out of sight. He risked so very much in this venture.

  She was about to turn away when she saw a stealthy figure hasten past the gates in Jack’s wake. The figure’s hood fell back, and Cicely recognized the whore who had been with him at the top of the Three Cranes steps. There was something about the girl, the way she glanced furtively back over her shoulder, and then hurried on after Jack. She was following him!