‘Then support Jack.’
‘How simple it is to you.’ He glanced around with a wry smile.
‘Yes, I know.’ She paused. ‘I am sorry for everything, Jon. I have brought the House of York into your life in a way you could not possibly have foreseen.’
‘I foresaw well enough when I decided to offer you marriage, sweetheart. I may be a numbskull in many ways, but not in all of them.’ He gazed at her steadily. ‘I was once in your father’s household. Did you know that?’
She was surprised. ‘No. Why have you never mentioned it?’
‘It was of no consequence.’
Puzzlement entered her surprise. Of no consequence? How could he think that? ‘Jon, I know that I was seldom at my father’s court because I was so young, but even so—’
‘I was merely one of tens of others, sweetheart.’
‘Were you there when he died?’ The question came suddenly.
‘Yes, along with God knows who else.’
‘Was his death natural, Jon?’ The second question followed swiftly upon the first.
He met her eyes. ‘I do not know. Possibly, possibly not. His symptoms could have been identified as just about anything. He was far from fit, he had given his latter years up to almost every vice you can think of, and he was barely able to leave his bed. He relied completely upon Richard, who—’
‘Who was in the north and could not possibly have had a hand in anything!’ she said quickly.
‘Jesu, sweetheart, I was not about to accuse Richard of causing your father’s death! If anyone did it, we have to look in an entirely different direction.’
‘Where?’
‘I do not know, just that it was not Richard, who was caught completely off guard when it happened. He certainly would not have been far away in Yorkshire if he had a hand in it.’
She watched him keenly. ‘Jon Welles, I recognize signs with you.’
‘Signs?’
‘That you are keeping something from me. You have done it too many times for me not to be alert. You know something about my father’s death.’
‘You have been with Henry too much, sweetheart, and have become as suspicious as him. No, I do not know anything.’
‘You have heard the story of the three wise monkeys?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, my love, I know it. And no, I do not consider myself to be one or all of them.’
‘If I promise not to press you about my father’s death, will you at least give a little ground on something else? You owe me, sir, now I have rid you of a vile hag.’
‘That is unfair, my lady.’
‘No, it is not. Tell me about Henry’s lady in Brittany.’
‘Cicely, you have now seen both sides of Henry Tudor’s coin. He has always been the same, charming, sweet and engaging, and then quite suddenly he changes into someone you do not know at all. He is sharp and shrewd, single-minded and resolute to the exclusion of all else, and more than capable of keeping his hold upon the crown and of ensuring the peace he vowed would replace decades of civil war. But he will do it through fear and intolerance. He unsettled me in Brittany, for I could feel the imbalance in him. Now, however, that imbalance can make a monster of him. You have been a beneficial influence on him, but if there has been a rift, God alone knows how he will react. Believe me, I now regard Richard as a tragic, truly irreplaceable loss. If Bosworth were to be fought again, I would be with him, not my nephew.’
‘You are not answering my question.’
‘Because I dare not.’
She drew back. ‘Dare not?’
‘The less you know the better. Please, sweetheart, leave it alone. I will answer about your father instead. Yes, I believe he was poisoned, but I do not know whose hand administered the draught, or whatever way it was done. Or why it was done. There were whispers, but no more than that. I cannot tell you anything more. Now, please, can we leave both topics?’
‘I will return to them, Jon.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You think I do not know it?’ He reached again for the sealed note he had been about to pick up earlier. ‘In the meantime, perhaps this is of much more importance. It arrived moments before you did, and I was going to open it in your presence as soon as I was dressed. It is from Tom Kymbe. His rider saw my banners raised here. If he had not, he would have ridden on to Huntingdon, and we would surely have reached Friskney without receiving it. Forgive me for not giving it to you the moment you entered. You may open it, if you wish.’
Her hand shook as she took the rolled sheet and broke the seal. She read aloud.
‘Sir Jon – I am glad to let you know that Master Leo is no worse, and my aunt believes he is going to recover with no lasting ill effect upon his health.’
Her breath caught and she looked at Jon, her eyes alight with joy and tears. ‘He is going to be all right, Jon!’
‘Finish it, sweetheart, to be absolutely sure.’
‘It was not the plague, but some ague. Please be so good as to relay this to Lady Welles, whose anxiety must be weighing heavily upon her. Come gladly to Friskney, for bad news will not await you.’
The note slipped from her fingers and she hid her face in her hands, sobbing her relief. Jon went to her, gathering her close to stroke her hair. ‘All is well after all,’ he said gently. ‘I should have given it to you immediately, but the conversation’s direction rather confounded me.’
She clung to him, her face buried against him. ‘Leo is going to be well, Jon! He is not going to die!’ The words were muffled and barely comprehensible.
‘I am so happy for you, sweetheart.’
She drew back quickly. ‘You will still take me to him?’
‘Of course.’
‘This is a moment for a kiss, Jon. Do not deny me now. Not now.’
She raised her lips, but he released himself from her arms. ‘No, sweetheart.’
‘But why not? Is it not plain that we still love each other?’
‘I love you, Cicely, but whatever it is you feel for me, it is not enough. I could accept that Richard would always come first with you, because he was dead. I can force myself to accept Henry, because I now know the truth of it, but Jack de la Pole is very much alive. I will not share you with him.’
‘He is not your rival, Jon. What I feel for him and what I feel for you are two very different things. You own a very special part of my heart, and you always will. You are my husband, and the only man with an undeniable right to my body. It is not a right that I resent; indeed I welcome it because you matter so very much to me. And if I am yours, then you are mine. We belong together.’
‘Oh, Cicely, how sweetly you juggle words.’
‘And how elegantly you begin to think of surrender,’ she answered softly, smiling. ‘You are about to make love to me again, and you know it.’ She moved closer and began to undo his doublet. ‘It is such a shame to take off the clothes in which you have just been so patiently attired.’
‘I feel I should be protesting now, my lady.’
‘Resistance is pointless,’ she answered, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.
And as he responded at last, her eyes closed with the bliss of it. She had missed this husband of hers, for he had a particular and subtle command of her affections. He was her friend and lover, her calming influence and conscience, and she was aware of the honour of having his love.
But Jack possessed her passion and blood, and Richard, the beloved, grieved-for uncle would never be truly dead to her. These three men illuminated her life like the panes of a magnificent stained-glass window, shedding spangles of light over everything she was. She was blessed. The most blessed creature that ever drew breath.
Chapter Nineteen
The muddy roads were drying fast in the brisk breeze, and the final miles from Wyberton through Boston to Friskney took all day. It was nightfall when Tom Kymbe’s 200-year-old moated house appeared ahead, with torches alight at the top of the single tower in the south-west corner. The land was low and mostly marsh
y, fens that in winter suffered from flooding, as did Wyberton and a great deal of east Lincolnshire. There were areas of cranberries, of peat moss, countless small waterways and some small clumps of woodland. Profitable decoys were much in evidence, trapping wild duck, widgeon and teal, as well as many other waterfowl that brought a good price at market. Friskney itself was a prosperous village, relying upon its wet but fertile terrain.
This was where Richard had instructed Jack to bring her brothers in 1483, to the late Yorkist supporter, Thomas Kymbe, and where her boy was now under the protection of Thomas’s Lancastrian son, Tom Kymbe, whose devotion to Jon was such that he was prepared to guard such an important Yorkist boy. It was also where Jack had warned her she would see him if things went against his cause. Three important trails led to this village in the middle of the Lincolnshire lowlands.
Cicely was delighted that Jon was clearly getting better, and being in his bed again was such a longed-for comfort to her. To them both. They were together again as man and wife, and she wished to mark the reunion in a way that was very personal to her. She associated the men of importance in her life with certain scents and precious stones. Costmary, mint and rubies for Richard, thyme and amethysts for Jack, and cloves and emeralds for Henry, although she could no longer think well of the latter. Now there would be rosemary and turquoises for Jon. She would request Mistress Kymbe to provide her with some oil of rosemary, and Lord Welles would find himself being smoothed all over with it by his attentive and determinedly seductive lady.
They drew nearer to the house, where the moat was spanned by a wide, three-arched stone bridge, illuminated with lanterns. The entrance to the torchlit courtyard was through a gatehouse beneath a large arched window, its coloured glass lit from within. The house was not impressive, except for the tower, nor was it particularly beautiful, but it was solid and defended well by the moat. The tower would give an unrivalled view for miles over the surrounding fens.
She reined in suddenly. ‘Jon, do you really have to return to Bolingbroke soon?’
‘Yes, sweetheart. As quickly as possible.’
‘When . . . when you see Henry, will you have to tell him where I am?’
‘If he asks, yes, of course. I will say that you are unwell and wished to be in Mistress Kymbe’s excellent care rather than Bolingbroke.’
‘Can you not say I am at Wyberton? I do not want him to know I am here.’
He leaned over to squeeze her fingers. ‘Sweetheart, with Henry it is always best to stick as close to the truth as possible. Lies can lead to more lies, and thus to pitfalls, and my nephew will pounce upon each one.’
‘But he may think I am here because of something to do with Jack.’
‘Who happens to hold the manor? Yes, I am well aware of that, and so, no doubt, is Henry. He will have made sure of all your cousin’s lands, with intent to seize them the moment he can. Other than that, Henry will only be interested in Friskney if he wishes to see you himself, and then he will send for you, not come here in person. So be easy, sweetheart. You will be with your son for some time, which I am sure will gladden your heart to the exclusion of all else.’
‘No, not to the exclusion of all else, Jon. There is so much danger ahead for you, and I know how divided your loyalty has become.’
‘It is all in the lap of the gods, sweetheart, and fate has already decided who will live and who will die.’ He leaned across to draw her hand to his lips. ‘You must be strong, there is no other way. The men do battle, the women have to wait. Even Lady Welles.’ He smiled.
Watchmen looked down from the tower as the riders approached, the yellow and black colours of Sir Jon Welles becoming plainly visible as they crossed the bridge and into the courtyard, where the surrounding walls were welcome protection from the stream of unexpectedly chill air from the sea. Torches flickered and smoked, servants hurried to attend the tired travellers, there were voices, and the tired horses stamped and snorted.
Tom Kymbe came out to welcome them. He was a little younger than Jon, although not by many years, and was good-looking, weatherworn and sturdily built, with a mass of brown curls and light brown eyes. He was very like Mary, both in looks and, as Cicely knew since Judith’s demise, in character too. There was steel in the Kymbe siblings, hidden within an amiable exterior. His clothes were good, but not rich, and he had a calm manner that Cicely knew concealed a ferocious ability to defend whatever and whoever he had to. She trusted him implicitly.
Mary beamed to see her brother again, for the two were very close, and he winked at her as he came down a shallow flight of worn stone steps to greet Jon. ‘Sir Jon, welcome to Friskney. My lady.’ He bowed to Cicely.
She smiled. ‘Master Kymbe.’
Jon dismounted, and clapped him warmly on the shoulder, a sign of true friendship. ‘We arrive to good news, I think, Tom?’
‘Indeed, Sir Jon. May I say that you look better than when I last saw you?’
‘I am better, Tom. The source of my problem is now extinct.’
‘I know, Sir Jon. My aunt realized the moment it happened.’
Jon smiled ruefully. ‘Ah, yes, Mistress Kymbe has the craft. I should never forget it.’
Then Tom looked at Cicely again. ‘My lady, I am truly glad to be able to tell you that Master Leo is recovering.’ He spoke from the heart, because he had suffered great bereavement—his lady and his baby son—at the hands of the elder Talby sister.
She smiled as Jon helped her down from her tired palfrey. ‘I am so glad, Master Kymbe. Thank you for sending the message, I was so grateful.’
‘I believed you would be, my lady.’
‘May I see my little boy?’
‘Of course, my lady, but will you not wish to take refreshment first?’
‘I have waited since February last year to see my child, Master Kymbe, and will not delay a moment more. He was a few hours old when he went from me, now he is fourteen months. I must see him.’
He smiled. ‘Then allow me to escort you myself.’ He glanced at Jon. ‘With your permission, sir?’
‘I would not dare to refuse.’ Jon took Cicely’s hand quickly, and raised it to his lips. ‘You will be proud, sweetheart, for he is a fine boy.’
Richard’s name was in the air around them as he released her hand again and she followed Tom into the house. Inside, in the candlelit screen passage that led through to a walled garden at the rear, servants came to relieve her of her outdoor clothes, revealing the bluebell gown beneath.
Tom led her up to the great hall on the first floor, where lamps shone, and thence into the private apartments beyond the dais. The rooms were brightly lit by candles, and his aunt stood waiting. Then he left the two women together.
Mistress Katherine Kymbe was a small, almost wizened figure in a grey kirtle and gown, her hair hidden beneath a wimple. Like Henry’s imp, she had not always been deaf, and communicated by reading lips, which she did very well indeed. She began to sink into an awkward curtsey, but Cicely prevented her.
‘No ceremony, please, Mistress Kymbe. Oh, I am happy to see you again.’ She hugged the old lady. ‘Thank you for caring for Leo for me. I am so very indebted and thankful.’ She spoke clearly, the better to be easily read.
‘We do it for you and Sir Jon, my lady, and—forgive my forwardness—I am pleased that you and he are in accord again. It was so sad that you were estranged.’
‘How do you know we are reconciled? We have only just arrived and I have come straight up here.’
The old lady smiled. ‘I know these things.’
‘As you knew of Judith Talby’s demise?’
‘Of course. And I know by the lightness of your tread that you have lain with your husband again. You have been brought together because the hag is dead. Do you deny it, my lady?’
‘There would be little point.’ Cicely smiled.
‘Nor would there be any point in denying that you love another more. Your cousin, Lord Lincoln.’
Cicely recoiled. ‘How can you po
ssibly know that?’
‘I just know, my lady. He is in your soul as was your uncle, King Richard. I can sense the bond between you and these two great men. You mean no hurt to Sir Jon, whom you love greatly, but now it is Lord Lincoln who holds your heart, and for whom you feel great anguish.’
‘It is true, Mistress Kymbe, but I am resigned to having to wait to learn if he is to live or die. I so want to see him again. I long for it.’
‘Do not give up hope, my lady. I am sure you will see him again. He is a very comely lord. I remember when he came here with your brothers, and can see so very well why you love him. If I were many years younger, why, I might even try to take him from you.’ The old lady smiled like a little pixie, but then became more serious, searching Cicely’s face. ‘You will wish to learn of your brothers’ time here.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Yes, Mistress Kymbe, I would very much like to know of them.’
‘I will tell you all. I am the only one here who knows their identities. And Mary, of course. If any others are aware, they can be trusted to hold their tongues. Tom only knows two boys were brought here by your cousin and then taken away not long before Bosworth Field.’
‘The Kymbe family has been invaluable to my family.’
‘We do as our hearts direct. Now then . . .’ Mistress Kymbe indicated a drawn arras curtain. ‘Master Leo sleeps in the nursery beyond, my lady. I will leave you now, but Mary will be within hearing, should you need either of us.’
As the old lady withdrew, Cicely turned towards the curtain, suddenly afraid to step beyond it. How she wished Richard could be with her now.
‘I am with you now, sweetheart.’ He took her right hand and smiled at her.
She closed her eyes and lifted his fingers to her lips. Why did he feel so warm and real? He was a figment of her mind’s longing, but even so he made everything sweet again. ‘I will always love you most of all, Richard,’ she whispered, and for a moment his arms enfolded her again. She could smell the mint on his breath and the costmary on his clothes. Oh, such scents, so evocative, so heartbreakingly beloved.
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