‘So, you blame my lack of understanding?’
She met his eyes. ‘No, for I know how it must have seemed to you, especially when you had just told me . . .’ She broke off, leaving his confession silently between them. Then she swallowed, making her lips tremble a little, before looking at him again with lovely eyes. ‘If you had only let me explain to you . . .’ Her voice trailed away softly, promisingly.
‘Well, now you have.’ He fell silent.
In those cold moments she wondered what he would be like if he learned of her love for Jack. Then the moments dropped colder still. What if he did know?
He changed the subject completely. ‘What are your relations with the queen?’
‘The queen?’ She was rattled, as he meant her to be.
‘You do know the queen?’ The acid was there.
‘She is my sister and I love her, Your Majesty.’
‘For God’s own sake, Cicely, have you forgotten my name?’ Irritation flushed over him. ‘Are you and she on good terms again?’
‘Yes, Your— Henry.’
‘So no doubt you have again been regaled with my disgraceful behaviour between the sheets? That would indeed set my cause back by several centuries. Cicely, when I told her to send for you to be in her household, I was not serious, but malicious. And she deserved it.’
‘You were cruel, and no, on this occasion she did not deserve it.’ She dared to spar.
His eyes were alight. ‘So, the secrets of my marriage bed have been laid truly bare? Once again you are so much in someone’s total confidence that all the grim details are related in fine detail?’
‘You were cruel to her,’ she repeated.
‘She seemed to think that one small effort—quite clearly to her distaste—would have me lapping from her palm. For what it is worth, I did try to respond, but then I saw her face. She loathed every moment of it. So yes, I was cruel, but no more than she always is to me.’
Cicely gazed at him. ‘That is not what Bess told me. Yes, she tried hard to be all you wished, but whatever you saw on her face it was not loathing, because she was finding you pleasing. She told me so, Henry. Would I lie about such a thing? She is now mortified and will recoil from you again, but if you are kind, I am sure you can still find happiness together.’
‘So, yet again Henry Tudor is unworthy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you. Your audacity never fails.’ He moved away, dragging his elegant fingers along a table top. Richard’s stolen ruby caught the light from the window, as did its companion emerald. ‘As I was saying, I did not intend my instructions to be acted upon, I was merely being obnoxious. Second nature, I know.’
‘How is someone else supposed to divine your words when you do not mean what you say?’
His eyes met hers again. ‘You would have known, and I would have felt the edge of your sharpest tongue.’
‘You did not say it to me, you said it to the queen.’
‘Oh, do I not know it. I will be more circumspect with her in future.’
‘If you did not mean it, perhaps you should have informed Lady Derby.’
‘My mother? What has she to do with it?’
‘When the queen sought her assistance, to try again to seek your love, Lady Derby criticized and mocked her, as if you had confided everything.’
He returned to her. ‘It would seem you have kept the whetstone to hand, Cicely. Well, my mother has not and will not be party to this delicate little matter. You think I would tell my mother what I do between the sheets? Jesu, lady!’
‘Nor do I wish to know, Henry. I am no longer part of your life, and wish to be allowed to proceed with my own.’ Which she knew was the very last thing he wished her to do . . . unless he proceeded with her.
‘I fear you cannot always have your own way,’ he responded.
She used her eyes upon him again, remorseful, heartbroken, yearning and still with that shimmer of tears. ‘I have told you everything about that night at the Tower, Henry, so if it pleases you, perhaps I should withdraw?’
‘No, Cicely, it does not please me. I must say more about that night, for you have no inkling of what I felt. It was as if Richard really was there. I could almost see him myself, almost perceive him in those shadows. I watched you, Cicely. You were love itself, begging everything from him that I so wanted to give you myself. Never tell me again that your love for him was only that of a niece for her uncle, because you will insult me beyond measure. Please be honest with me now. Tell me the truth. Was Richard your lover?’
‘No. Now it is you who insults me.’ She was afraid again, because for a man like Henry Tudor, it would be but a short leap to wondering about her son, and whether or not death had really taken him. And who his father might really have been.
Henry was bitter. ‘Always you deny it, always I know you lie. And now you are close to your cousin, who has a dagger prepared for my back.’
Somehow she remained unflustered. ‘Lord Lincoln is true to you. He has not said or done anything that would lead me to doubt him. And I am close to him because he is my kinsman and I love him as such.’
‘Do you?’ His eyes seemed to bore into her. ‘Is that really all you feel for him? He is everything that women adore, and you, sweetheart, are a very sensuous and loving creature. I would imagine that Lincoln’s generous proportions can more than satisfy you.’
‘I am sure it could, but he and I are not lovers. So I do not know. I have never been his lover, Henry Tudor, but I was yours.’ Dear God, how she hoped he was not aware of the nights she spent with Jack. Did he know about Gracechurch Street?
‘Yes, you were my lover. I look at you and see my heart’s nemesis.’
She realized he did not know about those stolen nights. ‘Then send me away.’ That he would never do. His anger and suspicion were strong, but so was what his heart dictated. She could see it all in those hooded and—on this occasion—tell-tale eyes. She was employing all her wiles now. And they had to be subtle wiles, because this was not a man who would be taken in by anything even remotely obvious. And it was not all artifice, because this clever, talented, mercurial but unsound king exerted a fascination of his own. Beguilement was never far away.
‘Send you away? Jesu, Cicely.’ He seemed amused.
‘Then what do you want of me?’
‘Everything.’
‘Forget me, Henry, and turn to your queen. Send me back to my husband.’
‘Who has a mistress.’
She was startled. ‘Is there anyone who does not know?’
‘It is common talk. Besides, I have him closely watched.’
Her face showed nothing. If he was having Jon watched, what did he know of Friskney? ‘Surely you do not suspect Jon of being disloyal to you?’
‘He loves you, sweetheart, and so is vulnerable to York!’
‘You have fucked me, Henry, does that make you vulnerable to York?’
He pursed his lips. ‘How to the point you are, as always.’
‘You cannot help it, can you? You have little spiders everywhere, all of them scuttling around and then hastening back to the centre of your immense web to tell you everyone’s secrets.’
‘What a charming analogy.’ He smiled sincerely for the first time. ‘Such a sharp tongue.’
‘You should have the ammunition ready to blunt it.’
He came to put a hand gently to her cheek. ‘Oh, those sparks, in your eyes and on your lips. In all of you. You are alight with them.’
‘Please do not do this, Henry . . .’
His hand fell away. ‘So the rift is to be perpetuated?’
She could smell the cloves, and knew their effect. His effect.
He watched her. ‘Oh, the nuances on your lovely face, how they intrigue me, but I think they would displease me.’
‘Only some of them.’
He smiled, and it was in his eyes as well. ‘Oh, Cicely, I have missed you so very much.’ He came close enough to take her hands and draw her
to him, until their bodies touched. His lips were only inches from hers, the cloves began to filter through her skin as he linked her fingers and stretched her hands down until it seemed they must be torn from his.
Then he swayed just a little—it could hardly to be seen at all—and she swayed with him. He had done this many times before, and it never ceased to be erotic. It was also wistful and moving, captivating, and so imbued with love that she closed her eyes for the magic of it.
Chapter Eleven
Henry was so sweetly seductive now that it seemed impossible he could be savage and cruel, but even knowing this, Cicely wanted to kiss again those lips she had kissed so many times before.
She unlinked her hands from his and slipped her arms around his neck to pull his mouth to hers. The scent of cloves was intoxicating as he embraced her, tightly, adoringly, as if he had been parted from her for a lifetime. She could feel him trembling. He was caught up with emotion, and when she drew from the kiss she saw how dark and aroused his eyes were, how filled with feeling, how steady and intent. ‘I cannot stop loving you, Cicely. Without you I am so intolerably unhappy that my life is nothing but an existence.’
‘Oh, Henry, I—’ She broke off as trumpets echoed from the river.
He drew away irritably. ‘Devil take the French!’ he cried, the words almost exploding from him.
‘Henry,’ she said gently, ‘I can wait for you.’
He hesitated, and then smiled. ‘You will wait for your king?’
‘Of course.’ Yes, she would, because he had twined around her again.
‘I cannot ignore the French ambassador, nor the representative of Isabella and Ferdinand, whom I must also receive today. Already I negotiate a marriage for Prince Arthur, but that is the way of it, mm? Catherine, daughter of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile. She is only a year old herself, but if I have anything to do with it, she will one day be Queen of England. Neither she nor my son will have any say at all in the matter. Arranged matches are a despicable institution, are they not? No, do not answer.’ He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, gently. ‘I must lie with you again, soon. When are you to come to my wife’s household?’
‘In two weeks.’
‘Jesu, I cannot wait that long. You must come immediately, to the same rooms you had before. For the moment I will send someone to see you safely back to Pasmer’s Place, but I want you to come here no later than tomorrow. Do you understand? I cannot endure for longer than that. I have so much frustrated desire to surrender to you.’
‘What will happen when Jon returns? He has to be here for Christmas.’
‘I will still expect you to come to me when I wish. I no longer care what he thinks.’ The trumpets sounded again. ‘I must go. I will send someone to escort you.’
‘I can find my own way.’
‘That is no reason for me to permit you to return alone. I have allowed it the past, but no longer.’ He paused. ‘Cicely, I am sorry for my behaviour at the Tower. I could not see for the redness within me.’
‘I know.’ She put her hands over his.
His parted lips brushed hers several times before he kissed her again. His arms went around her and his body cleaved so close that he seemed to seek consummation through their clothes. He dwelt upon the kiss, as if drawing enough energy from it to sustain him until they met again. ‘Dear God, I do not want to leave you,’ he whispered then, resting his forehead to hers, adding words in Welsh. ‘Tan yfory.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Until tomorrow.’ He left then, his swift steps fading along the passage.
Minutes passed, and she almost decided to leave on her own anyway when more steps sounded, this time approaching. Male footsteps, their swiftness indicative of annoyance. So, she had an unwilling escort. She sighed, envisaging a sullen companion all the way back to Pasmer’s Place.
But when the owner of the steps entered, she was astonished—and delighted—to see it was Jack!
His face changed when he saw her. ‘Cicely? I had not realized you were the reason Henry chose to instruct an earl to be lady’s maid.’
He began to close the door, but she shook her head quickly. ‘Leave it open, Jack. Wide open.’
He obeyed, before placing his cloak and gauntlets on the table along which Henry had drawn his fingers. Then he came closer. He wore dark wine velvet, aglitter with silver leopards’ heads, and there was a large amethyst in the centre of his circular hat brooch. He did like amethysts, she thought.
This room had now seen three very precious rings in the past half an hour: a ruby, an emerald and an amethyst. A fourth, a sapphire, if she included John of Gloucester’s little ring, which had been in her purse since the night at the Tower, when she had entertained a brief, futile hope that he might recognize it.
Jack kept his voice very low. ‘I thought Henry seemed to be in an inordinately amiable mood. Now I know why. You are back in the royal arms. He seemed a little smug when he issued his instruction, and I suspected a hired beauty with secret orders to get me in bed and then wheedle information between fucks.’
‘I would wheedle, sir, but for the fucks, not the information.’
‘Oooh, lady, say much more and I will not dare to leave this room. It would not do for the Earl of Lincoln to be seen with Lady Welles, a staff protruding from his hose.’ He smiled. ‘So, let us leave right now, and I will be a chivalrous but very proper escort. I imagine our times together will be curtailed for a while.’
The air was biting as they raised their hoods on the river stairs, where skiffs and barges jostled for position. There were more clouds than before, and a gentle breeze as Jack assisted her into a skiff. They huddled together, as far from the boatmen as possible, and kept their backs towards them anyway.
Jack’s long dark curls fluttered across his face as the skiff was shoved away from the steps and then rowed upstream. He removed his gauntlet to take her hand and pull her fingers to his lips. ‘Did Henry tell you anything new today?’
‘No. Unless you count that he intends to negotiate a marriage for Prince Arthur with Catherine of Aragon.’
Jack gazed at her, his smile fading. ‘This is true?’
‘I would not invent it.’
He looked away. ‘Such a grand international marriage would certainly entrench his bony arse on the throne. He must be farting roses, and I must pray the negotiations fail.’
‘Leaving only thorns between his cheeks?’ She smiled, but then became serious. ‘He will not give up easily. I think I am the only one against whom he does not have a will of iron.’
‘An understandable weakness, sweetheart.’
She clung to his hand. ‘Jack, Bess is at pains to warn you that Henry is suspicious of your involvement in the Simnel plot. You know it already, of course, but the fact that she has mentioned it makes me feel you may be under closer scrutiny than you realize. She cares about you.’
‘Indeed.’ He was scathingly abrupt.
‘She reminded me of that time at Sherwood when you saved me from drowning.’ Cicely smiled. ‘I may only have been a child, but I did enjoy being able to put my arms around your neck as you carried me to safety. You had spots, I remember.’
‘Thank you. I recall thinking you were pretty. Mind you, at fourteen or so I was hardly much of a judge.’
She dug him with her elbow, and then suddenly asked, ‘How is Tal?’
‘Well enough the last time I saw him.’
‘I saw him when I left you yesterday. In fact, I have seen him several times, although he has always drawn back out of sight in the hope that I have not. He has either been going in or coming out of the court almost opposite your house, where the Earl of Shrewsbury’s town residence is to be found.’ She glanced at him, but his face gave nothing away. ‘He is Welsh, maybe the Marches, which could well be Shropshire.’
‘Do not probe, Cicely, because I really will not explain anything to you. Forget where you have seen him. Forget him, I beg of you.’
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‘Taleisin ap Gruffydd is not his real name, is it?’
‘Yes, it is, sweetheart. Now, leave it, please.’
‘Just tell me if your plans are going as well as you hoped.’
‘Yes. We have many friends, and are raising a great deal of money and support. We already have an army in readiness to assemble here in England, to say nothing of the troops we will bring with us when we invade. And false trails are being laid.’
‘Héraut?’
‘Not yet, but soon.’ He smiled.
Tears filled her eyes and she looked away across the Thames, observing a merchantman slide downstream towards the estuary. Its wake slapped against the skiff, and the current gurgled around the splashing of the oars. The seagulls were joined by others, and their racket was deafening.
There were spots of rain in the air, and the first hint of fading light, when Jack finally escorted her into St Sithe’s Lane, but hardly had they gone a few yards when something made Cicely glance behind. A young woman stood on the corner, her face shaded by her hood. Realizing she had been observed, she turned to hurry out of sight again, but there was something familiar about the way she moved.
Cicely’s fingers tightened over Jack’s arm. ‘I . . . I think we have been watched. By the same whore as before. How would she be here, just as we pass? Henry must have sent her!’
‘And it may also have been accidental.’
‘No, Jack. He sent you to escort me, and now she is here. It is not a coincidence.’
‘All she will have seen is cousinly friendship, sweetheart. And she may not be following us on Henry’s business, but because she is interested in me.’ He paused. ‘I know how vain that sounds, but it has happened before.’
She gazed at him, so handsome and debonair, so aristocratic and stylish. ‘It is not vanity, Jack de la Pole, just a fact of life for you. You turn female heads, including mine.’
‘I am your mirror, sweetheart. Never forget it. Come, it is cold out here and the rain is just enough to be discomforting.’
Soon he conducted her through the gates of Pasmer’s Place, where torches had already been lit and they were suddenly confronted by a recently arrived cavalcade bearing Jon’s yellow and black colours. His horse was there too, capering about in such a way that she knew he had only just dismounted and gone into the house. She faltered uncertainly, for she did not know what to expect, or how she herself would react on seeing him again. Why had he returned so early? She had not expected to see him for another two weeks at least.
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