Henry was seated at a table, leaning back in his chair, his elbows on the arms, his fingertips together, tapping his lips. He was in unrelieved black, the circlet his only adornment, except for two rings, ruby and emerald. Jon wore indigo, and stood with a stony expression, not acknowledging his wife with even a glance. She was dismayed, because at least they had been able to speak civilly when she asked him to come to the palace. Something had happened.
Henry acknowledged her, however, getting up to come to raise her by the elbow. ‘Be seated, Lady Welles.’ He conducted her to a chair. Jon he left standing. She was glad of his hand, and of the gentle squeeze of his fingers before he released her, because the change in Jon was a blow.
Henry resumed his seat and leaned back in his chair again, this time resting his hands on the table before him, as if testing whether it lived or not. ‘So, Uncle, we have a pretty state of affairs, do we not?’ he said at last.
‘I do not wish to embroil you, Your Majesty.’
‘I am already embroiled, which I am sure you have not forgotten.’
Jon did not respond.
‘I am given to understand that you have insulted my sister-in-law—your wife—by permitting your common mistress to take liberties. Sir Jon, you are my uncle, but your wife is a princess of the House of York, a highborn Plantagenet, and closely connected to me through my marriage. I will not have her treated in such a way, do you understand?’
‘I do, Your Majesty.’
She sat forward hastily. ‘May I speak, Your Majesty?’
Henry nodded.
‘There was a misunderstanding. I am no longer as greatly estranged from Sir Jon as was at first the case. I cannot assign the blame entirely to him. And he has assured me that the matter has been resolved. The woman is no longer at Pasmer’s Place.’
Henry looked at Jon. ‘Is that so?’
‘It is.’
For a long moment Henry continued to look at his uncle, and then his gaze returned to Cicely. ‘Your wish is to forget about this?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘Uncle?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
Henry held Jon’s eyes for another long moment, and then nodded. ‘The matter would appear to be settled then, but there is one thing more, Uncle. I need to be sure of your loyalty.’
Jon gazed at him. ‘You really need to ask?’
‘I fear so. Under the circumstances.’
‘The . . . circumstances make no difference to my allegiance, Your Majesty, and I am insulted you should even question it.’
Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘Then forgive me, but it seemed you had every cause to abandon me, because my part in this sorry state of affairs is not innocent. I was not trapped or tricked, I did what I wanted to.’
Cicely fixed her eyes on the floor, wishing for invisibility.
‘That is all, Uncle. You may go.’
Jon bowed low, and withdrew.
Henry came to her immediately, taking her hand and pulling her up into his arms to kiss her. ‘You are sure you do not wish him to be properly reprimanded? I will not have you insulted by his whore.’
‘I insult him with you, and you know it. I wish to forget it, Henry. The creature has now been removed from Pasmer’s Place, and—’
‘He has installed her close by. My spies have their uses. Knowing that, do you still wish to let the matter lie?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I do not live with him now, nor do I wish to.’
‘Yet you wear his ring again? You discarded it, but wear it again.’ He caught her left hand and held it up.
‘Yes. I—’ She did not know what to say.
‘Well?’
‘I . . . do not know, Henry. I left the ring when I left Pasmer’s Place, but when I asked him to come here to speak to me—’
‘To speak? What about?’ he interrupted.
‘I believed his mistress had stolen something, and wished to have it returned. He had found the ring and brought it with him. He said that we were still man and wife, and that it was appropriate that I should remember
I am Lady Welles. He put the ring back on my finger, and I have not removed it. Because I am Lady Welles, Henry.’
‘In the eyes of God, but not in my eyes.’
‘Yes, in your eyes too, Henry. You know it to be so.’
He turned away. ‘Take the ring off and put it in your purse.’
‘But—’
‘In your purse. It displeases me to see you wearing it. You will not wear it in my presence, do you understand?’
‘Yes, Henry.’
He paused, and then closed his eyes. ‘I ask you not to wear it when you are with me. That is all. I do not order you. Forgive me. Again.’
He put his hand out, and when she took it, he drew her gently to him again. ‘Cicely, you have made a slave of me. I have always tried to hide everything I feel and do whatever I must to keep what I have taken. I will strike down anyone who is a threat to me . . . But I am so afraid of forfeiting what I have of you that I cannot sleep at night.’ He paused for a long, eloquent moment. ‘I try not to succumb to my irrational, unreasonable jealousy, but it is not easy.’
She put her hand on his sleeve. ‘I know, Henry.’
‘I am the leopard that wants to change its spots but may never quite succeed.’ He caught her face in his hands suddenly, his eyes direct and intent upon hers. ‘There is something on my conscience. I am sorry for so many things, sweetheart, but especially for the cruelty of showing you that blood-stained kerchief. I knew you must have given it to Richard, and I deliberately caused you pain. I so wanted to hurt you because I desired you so very much that it twisted my emotions. It was not the first time I have been affected that way. There was another woman for whom I felt similar desire. Not as great as the feelings I have for you, but close. I have tried to forget she ever existed.’
‘Who was she?’
He paused, but then shook his head. ‘No one I wish to speak of.’
‘Did she hurt you so much?’
‘She did not hurt me, Cicely, I hurt her. By leaving her.’
Was this mysterious woman the one who had taught him so much about making love?
He drew himself together. ‘Now you had better leave, before it is wondered if I pump you on the floor.’ He looked into her eyes again, ‘Can you try to understand me, sweetheart?’
‘Of course I can. I do.’
He moved away. ‘Please come to me tonight.’
‘I will.’
‘Then go now,’ he said softly,
She hesitated, because she could feel something about him. ‘What is wrong, Henry?’
‘Nothing, I swear. I am well enough.’ He smiled.
By the time she opened the door to the crowded room beyond, he was seated again, toying with a quill as he waited for the next person who had been granted the inestimable privilege of a private audience with the king.
Chapter Thirteen
At dusk on Christmas Eve, Cicely walked quietly with Jack in the walled garden at Greenwich. They were alone, and had come outside openly, making sure everyone saw they did not seek secrecy.
Warmly wrapped, they strolled beside the stark winter flowerbeds, where evergreens gave the only bright colour in the light of wall lanterns. Sounds of the seasonal merriment carried out from the palace, where they had left a scene of great festivity, with minstrels, waits, acrobats, puppets, fools, and a fine Abbot of Misrule. The evening was cold, with an abundance of stars that heralded a frosty night.
Rumours about Lambert Simnel were now multiplying across the land. Fears of imminent invasion and bloodshed were everywhere, even in the depths of winter, and the people expected daily to hear of Henry’s overthrow. It was also now known that Simnel no longer claimed to be Edward IV’s younger son, but the Earl of Warwick. Strangely, when such rumours seethed through London and across the land, Henry showed a calm face to the world. Tonight he even seemed in good spirits, putting himself out to be amiable towards Bess.<
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Cicely so wanted to hold Jack’s hand. Even more, she wished to be in his arms. She needed the physical reassurance, having only been alone with him twice since coming to Greenwich. She was in her old rooms again now, but Henry had instructed a guard to be placed not far from the entrance, which made it virtually impossible for Jack to come to her.
‘Cicely, you have to be reconciled with Jon if you are to see your son,’ Jack said suddenly. ‘You cannot go to Friskney on your own, for you have no reason that will convince Henry, not least because it is my manor. If you attempt to leave London, Henry would know of it almost before you made the decision. He will suspect something, anything. We are being watched even now, I can feel the eyes. Thankfully, not even his cursed imp can read lips in the dark.’
‘I know it, Jack, but returning to Jon, even supposing he wants me, will mean accepting Judith Talby. He has removed her from Pasmer’s Place but she is still nearby. He still goes to her bed. And if I return to him, it may also mean returning to Wyberton, should Jon request it and Henry permit such a thing. I am particularly disliked there because of my father’s victory at Losecoat Field. So many Lincolnshire men were killed that day, including a number from Wyberton. Lucy Talby—Judith’s sister and his then mistress—subjected me to a cruel campaign of witchcraft, abuse and tricks to make me seem to be the hag. And it was believed. She also overlooked Tom Kymbe’s baby and its mother. They both died.’
‘Sweet Jesu. And where was good, noble Sir Jon during all this?’
‘Rockingham. He is constable there. He had to leave Wyberton urgently the morning after we arrived. I was heavy with child and could not travel again. He was right to make me stay behind to rest. Lucy Talby was no longer his mistress, but wanted him back and so set about me, just as her younger sister now also sets about me, and Leo as well. She eventually conspired with my so-called “husband”, Ralph Scrope, whom Henry had sent to Wyberton to spy upon me.’
‘Scrope seems to have been omnipresent.’
She nodded. ‘He claimed to the end that I was his wife, but all we ever shared was a smile when I was only fourteen. He and Lucy practised witchcraft out on the marsh around Wyberton. They are dead, but now there is Judith. My little boy is in danger, Jack.’ She mentioned the pennyroyal and the charm with the locks of hair.
‘Sweet God. I will see to it that she is stopped from now on! I will confront Jon and if he does nothing, I will do it for him. Make no mistake of it. But, sweetheart, Leo is also in danger from Henry.’
She looked away. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘And the only one who can help you even to see your boy is your husband. You have to settle things with him.’ They fell into step again as he continued. ‘There is something else I must say, Cicely, for I am concerned that no matter how great Henry’s feelings for you may be, when I flee the country, he may think you are involved. Everyone knows we are close, and right now we confirm the fact by walking together like this. Henry’s mind is so finely balanced that I fear for you.’
‘He is afraid of himself. It is sad, Jack.’
‘Does he still suck his thumb? Sweetheart, Henry Tudor is a grown man, fully responsible for everything he does. I do not give a fuck how sad he is, because he is also cruel, manipulative, selfish, avaricious and supremely indifferent to the suffering of others—except you. Feel sorry for him, if you wish. I certainly do not.’
‘That is clear, nor can I blame you.’
‘Sweetheart, you will receive a note after I have slipped over the wall. It will be vaguely termed, but will bear my seal and signature, and will state that I have kept everything from you. I want you to go to Henry with it.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. I want him to read it. Please let me shield you this time.’
She nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well. I will do as you ask, Jack.’
They continued to stroll around the garden, and then Jack leaned closer. ‘The new summerhouse is not far ahead of us,’ he whispered.
‘And?’
‘With suitable craftiness, we might be able to steal a few kisses. Only kisses, I fear, but there are kisses and there are kisses, mm? I was not thinking of a peck on the cheek.’
‘You tempt me, as always,’ she replied, excitement kindling, ‘although it might be foolhardy.’
‘All the more stimulating. So, some tears, if you please. You must appear distressed enough to be taken into the summerhouse to recover.’
‘You have done this sort of thing before, Cousin.’
‘Once or twice,’ he replied modestly.
They walked on at the same leisurely pace as before, and she pretended to be in tears. Jack offered comfort, made his anxiety plain, cast around at the summerhouse, and ushered her into the shadows inside.
The increasing chill of the night no longer touched either of them as they embraced and kissed. Such delicious kisses, that made their hearts race and their flesh melt. She found gratification just from holding him and feeling how hard and ready he was. She tasted his mouth, dragged her lips over his cheek and throat, and luxuriated in the rich sensations of twining his hair through her fingers. The scent of thyme infused her as for these few stolen moments they were in each other’s arms again.
But they dared not linger, and after one last, deeply loving kiss, they emerged from the summerhouse again, she still pretending to be in tears, he with a protective arm still around her shoulders. He was solicitous and concerned, she so very much the weak, reliant female, and all for the benefit of Henry’s hidden creatures.
The path at last took them back to the palace, and Jack spoke again. ‘Cicely, if Henry asks you about the summerhouse, which he probably will, tell him that you were upset because you love him.’
She halted. ‘But I do not love him,’ she breathed, keeping her voice low. ‘I will not say that, Jack!’
‘Can you think of a better way to reassure him?’
She gazed at him. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Then say it.’ He smiled. ‘Those three words are easy to say, but when I say them to you, they come from my heart. I love you, Cicely. You have no idea how much.’
‘And I love you, my lord. You have no idea how much either.’
Henry had learned of the walk in the garden within minutes of it commencing, and then within several minutes of the brief adjournment to the summerhouse. He wasted no time about taking Cicely aside in the great hall, in front of everyone. His agitation and changed mood was clear to all, even though he struggled to hide it. The Christmas merriment went on all around, but everyone watched.
Bess, swathed in orange brocade and silks, with a pearl-stitched gauze headdress, observed with dismay, while Margaret pretended nothing was happening. Jasper, needless to say, simply scowled. Jon was not present, having yet to arrive from the latest of Henry’s incessant errands and duties. Perhaps he would not come at all.
Cicely sank into a very deep curtsey when Henry approached her, and he was obliged to raise her. He was resplendent in purple cloth-of-gold and ermine and could not conceal his distraction.
‘You went into the summerhouse with Lincoln?’
‘Yes, Henry, I did. It was not a secret.’
‘What did you do in there?’
‘Please do not make this into a scene, Henry,’ she begged, while trying at the same time to appear as if they discussed the weather. She could feel Jasper’s loathing and disapproval boring into her from the dais.
‘Do not tell me what to do,’ Henry replied sharply.
‘I am not, I only worry for you. Look kindly at me, please. I went into the summerhouse with my cousin because I needed to sit down. Because I was crying, Henry . . . should I call you Henry? Maybe you wish me to be formal?’ She spoke gently, soothingly.
‘I care not what you call me right now, only that you explain yourself. Why were you crying?’
She loathed herself for what she knew she had to say next. ‘Please do not sink back into this, Henry. Please, for I do not want you to be un
well again. I will tell you why I cried. It was because I love you.’
He gazed at her, and then rubbed an eyebrow, trying to retrieve his scattered composure. ‘Do you mean it?’
‘Yes.’ And for a moment she did. The look in his eyes, and the change in his manner was so marked and almost charmingly confused that she felt a great deal for him. Yes, it was possible to love him, but she had only to remind herself of all he had done for that spark to fade again.
‘I would give my crown to have you, Cicely. Tell me again. Tell me you love me.’
‘I love you, Henry.’
‘You already know that I love you.’ He smiled. ‘Dear God, I want to kiss you now. Your hand will have to do.’ He raised her fingers to his lips, and kissed them with such tenderness that a pin could have been heard to drop in the great hall. There was not a sound.
‘We draw attention,’ she said gently, pulling her hand from him.
‘If I had my way now, we would more than draw attention. Please come to me tonight, sweetheart.’
‘I will.’ She smiled . . . and looked forward to him, because tonight he would be such a lover.
*
Midnight passed, and it was Christmas Day as Cicely still waited in her room for Henry to send for her. At any moment she expected to hear his page at the door, and indeed someone did tap, but it was Jon whom Mary admitted.
He wore mustard velvet, clothes she had seen him wear before, and there was an emerald brooch fixed to the soft black velvet hat he removed as he entered. His piercing blue eyes swept over her. ‘There is no mistaking where you are about to go at this late hour,’ he said, placing his hat and gloves on a table.
‘And by your pallor, there is no mistaking that you are still bewitched.’
‘Oh, please have done with this, Cicely.’
‘I will drone like a great bumble bee until you do something sensible to help yourself. You look dreadful . . . and woodruff does not suit you. Rosemary. Yes, you should smell of rosemary. Why did I not think of it before?’ She looked at him again. ‘You have not banished the creature completely. Why?’
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