He took it and then examined it.
‘Do not be foolish,’ she warned, ‘because your neck will be forfeit if anything should befall such a jewel.’
The man shoved the ring in his purse and then rode swiftly away towards the encampment, while she and her little party remained where they were, effectively under close guard. Just when she feared the scout had thought stealing the ring too profitable to resist, he returned, and jerked his head at his comrades.
‘She is Lady Lincoln, and we are to take her to his lordship.’
Relief flooded her as her horse was released and she was able to ride behind the scout towards the vast encampment. Her three companions came along as well. The new arrivals aroused great curiosity, for it was clear to one and all that she was not a camp follower, or indeed any sort of whore. She saw men, weapons, pavilions, makeshift tents, horses, armour, mail, banners and coats-of-arms, camp fires, and cannon. Irish warriors had joined the rebels, and she knew their simple clothing would give them little protection in battle; their ferocity was their great weapon. There were two thousand German mercenaries, all armed and clad for the business of shedding blood, and there were English troops as well, less disciplined than the Germans but much more disciplined than the Irish.
There was no sign of Jack, Francis or Robert, until she suddenly saw—or thought she saw—Jack, in the distance, mounted on Héraut, whom he must have retrieved as his army marched through the north. She reined in to watch the rider, who wore armour, except for his helm. He was the same age as Jack, the same build, and had the same long dark curls. He even wore Jack’s colours on his surcoat, but she realized he was not Jack.
One of the scouts manoeuvred his mount alongside. ‘It is not Lord Lincoln, my lady, but a gentleman named Paul de Wortham. He has been advised to ride a different horse and change his appearance, but refuses. So, to the enemy, there will appear to be two earls of Lincoln, but the real one has wisely chosen not to advertise himself to the extent of his famous white horse. He will be target enough without that as well.’
The tents of the leaders had been erected along the edge of a small wood, where a little shade could be had. Jack’s was blue-and-white striped, with his standard curling lazily before it as an evening breeze crept up from the river, about a mile away.
He heard the hooves outside and emerged immediately. He was in his shirt, hose, and thigh boots, and had clearly been washing, for his hair was wet and he was wiping his hands on a towel, which he gave to a waiting page. He was tired, but clearly well, and the smile he gave her was worth a thousand such hazardous journeys.
‘Lady Lincoln?’ He came to take her hand, kiss the palm and slip the ruby back on to her finger.
‘It is so good to see you, my lord.’ She held his hand tightly.
‘You should not be here, you know that.’
‘I received your note from Masham, and knew I had to find you.’
‘I must scold you, but your presence pleases me more than you can possibly know.’ He waved the watching men away, and turned to Mary. ‘If you go to that green tent over there, you will find some ladies who will welcome you . . . wives, so do not fear the worst. Tell them I directed you to them.’ He smiled and the maid, already half in love with him, all but melted.
Then he helped Cicely from her mount and held her close. She clung to him, filled with such passion and love, such tremendous need to hold and protect him, that tears stung her eyes.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he whispered, aware of her trembling.
‘I love you, Jack, so much that I can hardly breathe of it.’
‘Perhaps the privacy of the tent is best?’
She nodded. ‘For several hours at least, I hope?’
He smiled again. ‘I think I can manage that. We have halted for the night. The men need a rest before pushing on to the confrontation. Henry has yet to skirt Nottingham, and is also settling for the night, although I gather he himself does not intend to suffer the rigours of a tent.’
‘How do you know what he is doing?’
‘He has his imps, I have mine.’
He conducted her into the cool, blue-and-white striped tent, which was furnished in accordance with his rank, including a portable bed of reasonable comfort. He dismissed his page and another manservant. ‘I am not to be disturbed unless Henry Tudor himself is hauled before me in chains, is that clear?’
They bowed several times and then hurried out, being sure to close the tent flaps behind them. He relieved her of her mantle, revealing the apple-blossom silk gown she had chosen to please him. He was immediately appreciative. ‘I have not seen this gown before.’
‘It was made just before I left London. I knew you would like it.’
‘I will like it even better on the floor around your sweet ankles.’
‘I know that too.’
He gazed at her. ‘I love you so,’ he whispered, and pulled her into his arms again to just hold her. He did not say or do anything more, he simply held her, one hand to the nape of her neck, the other around her waist.
She could feel how he drew upon her strength and love, just as Richard had done at the hunting tower. The emotion was the same, the intense devotion and understanding was as fierce and binding, and the need to be together as poignant and imperative. Neither of them could move; it was enough to be in an embrace, to feel each other’s warmth and life. The scent of thyme was on him, faint, but it could be breathed in and almost tasted.
‘There has not been a minute when I have not thought of you,’ he said softly. ‘I have slept with you every night, and woken up with you every morning. I almost have my arm around your waist to steady you before me when I ride out. You are with me all the time.’
‘Would that I could be, always. It is what I want so much. I fear for you when we are apart, but seeing and touching you is to know you are safe and well.’ If only . . . if only she had been with Richard like this on the eve of Bosworth. But she was with Jack now, and she would not leave.
He tilted her face towards his, and kissed her gently. It was a moment of sweetness and romance in the heart of an army encampment, where the symbols and sounds of coming battle were all around. They were protected from everything, with each other.
‘I still cannot quite believe you are here, sweetheart,’ he said softly, easing her headdress off and setting it aside before loosening her hair and enjoying its liberation.
She slipped her hands beneath his shirt to slide them lovingly over his naked skin. ‘I am here, and I will not leave unless you make me.’
‘I will have to send you away, sweetheart, for I cannot possibly keep you where there will soon be so much threat. No, do not argue. I know how keenly you still feel your separation from Richard, and that this means the same to you now. I am glad of it, so glad, and we will have some time together, but then you will go.’
‘But, Jack—’
‘No, sweetheart. Not only will your life be at risk, but there is a very real chance of Henry finding out you are here. As I said, he has his imps. You might easily be recognized. Jesu, you came here unhooded. You certainly will not leave in the same exposed state, my lady. And if you claim to be Lady Lincoln, then you must obey Lord Lincoln. Is that not so?’ He smiled, looking teasingly through half-closed eyes.
She considered resistance, but then smiled too. ‘Yes, it is so, if only for the honour of being considered your wife. Make love to me, Jack, that I will know it for certain.’ She drew back and looked down at his thigh boots. ‘And please do not remove anything you wear at this moment, because I feel sinful desire for you as you are.’
He laughed. ‘Then you shall have me, boots and all. You, however, I wish to see undressed, completely, except for the wearing of a tempting smile. Not that I need tempting, for I already stand at the thought of all this exquisite brocade lying on the floor. But . . .’
‘But?’
‘I have been weeks without you, sweetheart, so patience may not be too evident the first time, but I
promise all the skill and pleasure you want after that.’
Her smile did not falter, but she was reminded of what Henry said at Huntingdon. She turned for him to unfasten the gown, and as it whispered down to the reed rug that was one of several placed upon the grass, she turned for him to see all of her. ‘Love me now, Jack. Love me however you wish, for I will exult in every moment.’
‘Do not let me suddenly awaken and find this is merely a dream. A blissfully erotic dream, but a dream nevertheless,’ he whispered, as she took his hand and led him to the bed, which was really only meant for one.
‘How cosy we will be,’ she said, lying down to present herself to him. ‘Do as you will, my lord of Lincoln, for I will most certainly follow your lead.’
He undid his laces and lay down too, and as he leaned over her his long, damp curls brushed her skin. There was no longer an ounce of spare flesh upon him, he was fit, agile, strong and perfect, and there was not, after all, any undue haste as he began to make love to her. The ampleness of his loins was a gift of intense reward, pleasuring her in an entirely different way. It was sumptuous enjoyment, rich and potent.
He was as attentive and passionate as ever, rushing nothing, adoring everything. Having him inside her again was such joy that her entire existence focused upon him. Her mouth was pliant beneath his, her body as soft and yielding as his was hard and demanding.
The climax was gratification and happiness of such power and concentration that it exhausted them both. He gathered her to him as the almost enervating warmth and satisfaction settled into a haze of love. It was several minutes before he spoke, and when he did, it was not of something she expected.
‘Please do not tell me you went to Friskney to wait for me, sweetheart. Please tell me you went because of Leo. If I thought you went for me, it would mean you have no faith in my cause.’
She managed to smile, and hide the doubts and fears that lurked so deep within. ‘Leo was ill.’ Omitting Huntingdon for the moment, she told him everything, ending with Mistress Kymbe and the breadcrumbs.
He laughed a little. ‘So I have the crumbs of your daily bread to thank?’
‘Yes. And she was right. I did find you west of Newark, at a place with “stay” in its name. She also said it would be a mighty battle, Jack, but she could not tell the outcome.’
‘Victory will be ours, sweetheart. We may not have acquired quite the hoped-for force, but we have more than enough. Plus the advantage of high land once we cross the river. Well, as high as it gets in these parts, for the Trent meanders here, and not through hilly terrain. I will take what advantage there is.’
‘Where is it to be?’
‘We go a mile or so further south-west to Fiskerton, where my scouts have found a good ford. The river is only just over two feet deep there at the moment. We will ford it before first light tomorrow, and assemble on the other side on a rise called Burham Hill. The height, such as it is, will place us where Henry will least want us, our backs protected by the river. His main encampment is about twelve miles away, although my scurriers report the Earl of Oxford’s vanguard to be closer. He is a seasoned battle commander, so we know we will not have an easy time of it. We will confront each other tomorrow or the day after. Not beyond.’
‘I cannot bear to think of it.’
‘Sweetheart, I want you to leave again soon. This is not a suitable place for you.’
She sat up, anxiety suddenly pounding through her. She would not be sent away so quickly. She would not! ‘I will stay tonight, Jack. We sleep together, not apart.’
He put his hand gently to her cheek. ‘That you have come to me at all is enough, my love.’
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘You have to go. I will have you taken to safety beyond Newark, and you will set off for Friskney immediately.’
‘No,’ she said again. ‘I will sleep in your arms tonight, Jack de la Pole, and only tomorrow will I let you send me away. I am here for you, and here I stay until my presence becomes a danger, or a worry that weighs too heavily upon you. Which I cannot possibly be at the moment.’
He sat up as well, and smiled resignedly. ‘I have not the heart to argue more, because in truth I want you with me.’
She hugged him tightly, tasting the salt of his throat and then his cheek.
‘Tomorrow it is,’ he whispered, closing his eyes for the pleasure of her lips, ‘but you will leave before our force sets off for Fiskerton, and you will ride with all haste to be well east of Newark. Is that understood? I want you away from here before armies come close to deployment. Argue with me now, and I will be obliged to make you leave immediately. So, please, sweetheart, do not force me to that.’
‘I will do as you ask, Jack.’
‘I will have to inform my companions you are here, at least two of whom will recognize you.’
‘Francis and Robert?’
‘Yes.’
‘I will like to see them again.’
‘No doubt it will be mutual, although what they will think on learning that you are now my lover, I do not know.’
‘They will understand. Richard himself would understand.’
Jack smiled. ‘Maybe. I trust you do not intend to summon him in order to find out?’
She lowered her eyes. ‘No. I am getting better, truly.’
‘Good.’ He reached up to smooth her hair. ‘You can meet your new king as well.’
‘Lambert Simnel?’
‘Your first cousin, Edward of Warwick, now King Edward VI,’ he corrected.
‘You still believe in him?’
‘Yes.’
‘You would be the best king for England, Jack. If you had only risen against Henry in your own name, you—’
He interrupted by changing the subject. ‘Cicely, you have not mentioned Huntingdon. Tal wrote to me, so I know that matters are at an end between you and Henry. For the moment anyway. What happened?’
She hesitated.
‘Sweetheart?’
And so she told him.
Jack’s face changed. ‘He hit you?’
‘Yes.’
Jack gazed at her. ‘I will have his life, sweetheart. I will tear out his miserable gizzard.’ He stroked her cheek, as if by so doing he rubbed away the memory of Henry’s violence.
Now she changed the subject. ‘Tal said he was on his way to Calais.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘To secure it against Tudor.’
‘How can he do that?’
‘And how is good Sir Jon?’ he asked, once again diverting the subject.
She smiled. ‘You and I are adept at evading matters. Jon is well on the road to recovery. He is no longer hag-ridden, because she is dead.’ She explained Judith’s demise.
‘Sweet God, lady, I cannot turn my back without you are in some new scrape.’
‘You were right about his loyalty to Henry. It was uncertain even before I told him how Henry made me go to him, and then it became far worse. I do not know what he had decided when he left to go to London and the surrounding counties to raise ten thousand men to Henry’s standards.’
‘Those ten thousand men might come over to me? That would be very helpful.’ Jack got up, straightened his clothes and reached for his doublet. ‘Come, we will make ourselves respectable and you must meet—’
‘Oh, no, sir, not yet. You must bed me again before I meet Francis, Robert, or your new King Edward VI. Nor am I ready to meet your double.’
‘Ah, you have seen de Wortham. He is an obscure supporter who joined us in Lancashire. He had the white horse with him, and nothing would induce him to change it for something less conspicuous. With that and his undoubted resemblance to me he is a prime target to my enemies, but he will not listen to reason. It may cost him his life.’
‘So he is not another intentional double?’
‘Certainly not. Nor does he sing in the streets of Peterborough.’ He smiled.
How she loved his smiles. ‘Jack de la Pole
, I fear you must love me at least twice more before I will set foot from this tent.’
‘I am that good?’
‘Oh, yes. And so am I,’ she added.
‘So I recall,’ he said softly, and began to unfasten his doublet again.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was before dawn the following morning, with a thick mist rising from the river, when Cicely left Jack to return across the Trent. She was hooded, with no chance at all of being recognized as he and an armed escort rode with her to the rope ferry. The raft glided silently towards them out of the vapour, the ferryman only lured by the promise of a fat purse. Jack’s escort waited at a discreet distance as he helped her down from her horse for one of the Friskney men, Daniel Green, to coax it onto the sturdy raft, where his friend Rob Haydon waited with Mary and the other horses.
When Jack embraced her one last time, she held him as tightly as she could. A thousand and more fears span through her. This might be the last time—the very last time—she ever held him. One of three things could happen in the coming hours: he could be victorious, he could be taken prisoner or he could be dead. Or—there was a fourth—he could escape with his life to Friskney, hunted by Henry.
Her tears were wretched, and her fingers clawed his doublet, for he had yet to don armour. ‘Do not send me away, please,’ she begged again.
He put his gauntleted hand beneath her chin and made her look up into his eyes. ‘Please, my love, just go. Do not make my pain even worse. I will be with you again soon, as Lord Protector of England. I swear it.’
‘I love you so much, Jack. Be victorious. Defeat Henry and restore York to its rightful place.’
He smiled. ‘You give me all the strength I need, Cicely.’
From her purse she took a lock of her hair, cut before leaving Friskney. Together with a sprig of sweet cicely, it was tied with silver satin ribbon. She kissed it and then gave it to him. ‘Now I know I will be with you.’
He bent to kiss her softly on the lips, and then released her gently. ‘Go now, sweetheart.’ He turned her towards the waiting raft.
She was almost blinded by tears, and even as she stepped on to the ferry she almost ran back, but when she glanced over her shoulder, he was remounting his large dun horse. Their eyes met for a long moment, and then he smiled one final time before turning his mount and riding back towards Staythorpe. His escort followed, and even though they disappeared into the mist, leaving it swirling behind them, the drumming of their hooves seemed to take forever to dwindle into eventual silence.
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