Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘Until another time.’

  ‘Now, rest a while. You will receive all the help you require.’

  ‘But no escort, I beg of you. We will travel better if we remain as we are. Unless you would prefer Cicely to be under your separate protection.’

  Jon laughed. ‘Dear God, man, do you honestly imagine she will return to London with me and let you go off without her? Her injured, beloved Jack de la Pole? I know her, even if you do not.’

  With that he left again, pausing only to speak briefly to Cicely. ‘Well, my lady, you have saved him, and so will I. See that his damned hair is cut to disguise him a little. I will send some of my clothes. At the moment he is too clearly a knight without his armour.’

  ‘Thank you, Jon.’

  ‘I do not do this for you, but for him. I was on my way to join him. But as far as you and I are concerned, well, I was wrong to think I could endure your love for him, for it bruises me too much. I should have known better than to let you in again. You are his, Cicely. I relinquish you.’ He removed his gauntlet and the turquoise ring she had given him. ‘Take it back, for I think the wrong finger wears it.’

  ‘Please, Jon, do not do this.’

  But he walked away, remounted his horse and rode back the way he had come.

  Two days later, at dusk, the tired little party was within half a mile of Friskney when a strange feeling came over Cicely. It was nothing she could have identified, just a wariness that told her it would be very unwise to go on.

  Jack, his hair now unbecomingly shorn, clung to his pommel, for he was very weak and weary, in need of Mistress Kymbe’s attention and a good sleep. ‘What is it, sweetheart?’ he asked.

  ‘I do not know, Jack, just that I am afraid to take you to the house. I need to see that all is well.’

  ‘What could be wrong?’

  ‘Anything where Henry is concerned.’

  ‘My imps told me that if Henry triumphed, he would commence a triumphant progress to the north, so he is hardly likely to come here. I heard some of the searchers mention it as well. His lack of presence on the battlefield was not appreciated by those who risked their lives for him.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I must be sure. I could not endure it if, after all this, you fell into his hands anyway. He knows I am here, because Jon will have told him.’ She turned to Daniel and Rob. ‘Is there somewhere safe to hide?’

  ‘There is a hut at the decoy a quarter of a mile over there.’ Rob pointed.

  ‘Then go to it and stay with my lord of Lincoln. Mary and I will go on to the house.’

  Jack was uneasy. ‘Two women alone at dusk? Sweetheart—’

  ‘Are you in any position to stop me?’

  ‘I could make a damned good try of it.’

  ‘And open your wounds again? Go with Daniel and Rob. Do as you are told, my lord.’ She looked at the two men. ‘Take what food and drink we still have, and see to it that my lord is comfortable and safe. And make certain the horses cannot be seen from the road. We have to be very cautious.’

  Daniel took the choice away by leaning across to take the bridle of Jack’s horse, and the three men left the road.

  Cicely turned to Mary. ‘Something is wrong. I know it. Come, we will find out.’

  They rode quickly on, and soon the village and the Kymbe house was ahead. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful, but the feeling of anxiety and trepidation grew worse the closer Cicely rode. She and Mary rode unhindered over the bridge into the quiet courtyard, where torches were already alight and grooms came out to attend their horses.

  ‘Is all well?’ she asked one.

  ‘Why, yes, my lady.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  She waved him to take the horses away again, and then hurried inside, to her apartments, where an astonished Mistress Kymbe soon came hurrying.

  ‘What is it, my lady?’

  ‘I do not know, but I have a very bad feeling. Mary, I must change quickly, and wash as best I can.’

  ‘But, my lady—’ the maid began to protest.

  ‘Quickly, Mary. I just know that if it has not happened yet, something is about to.’

  She washed by candlelight, in cold water, scented herself with a little rose oil, put on a simple grey gown, and then sat for Mary to attend to her hair. ‘Leave it loose,’ she said then. Instinct was driving her now. Every nerve was jangling, every heartbeat filled with fear, but she knew she looked as if she had been here at Friskney all day.

  She went down to the courtyard again, and as she emerged at the top of the steps she heard the drumming of a dozen or more horses approaching at speed along the very road Jack, Daniel and Rob had quit to go to the decoy.

  Armed men rode out of the gathering dusk. They carried no banners, nor wore any colours, and had clearly been riding hard for some time. Their horses were flecked with sweat and breathing heavily as they clattered noisily into the yard.

  Only one man dismounted. It was Henry.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dread plunged viciously through Cicely as she froze on the step, staring at Henry. How right her intuition had been! Thank God above she had not allowed Jack to be brought to the house. But why had Henry come here at such an important time? He had won a great victory—not that he could be aware she knew of it yet—and should be attending to great matters of state, keeping the peace and embarking on his royal progress. Instead, he had ridden to an unremarkable house in a remote Lincolnshire village.

  Henry paused, tossing his reins to a groom who hurried to him. He wore simple tan leather, and she could not tell by his eyes what his purpose might be. Removing his gauntlets, he came slowly up the steps towards her. ‘Lady Welles?’

  She sank into a belated but very deep curtsey. ‘Your Majesty.’

  There was a startled stir among the watching Kymbe servants, because Henry was not known here, and his nondescript clothes and small party of unmarked riders had given no indication that he was the king. Several men and maids ran to spread the word, especially in the kitchens.

  He bent to raise her by the elbow. ‘So, my lady, we meet again after all, it would seem.’

  Cloves. ‘I . . . I am honoured, Your Majesty. Please, I extend the hospitality of this house.’

  ‘Of which you are not mistress.’

  ‘That is true, but I know not what else to say or do, Your Majesty.’ She looked up at him. His eyes were not entirely in harmony, so she knew he was tired or feeling stress. Or both. Why was he here? Why?

  ‘I accept the generosity, Lady Welles.’

  She led him into the house, where he was divested of his outdoor clothes. ‘May I offer you some refreshment, Your Majesty?’ she enquired nervously.

  ‘Nothing formal. Certainly a little wine.’

  She nodded at a hovering servant. ‘Some wine and a little supper. Only the very best you have. In the solar,’ she added. Her mind was spinning as she looked at him again. ‘Please . . . come this way.’

  He followed her up to the solar, where servants hurried to light candles. Wine and refreshments were brought, and also towels and water, that the king could wash his hands. They almost fell over themselves trying to be all they should be, and she dismissed them the moment she could, indicating that the door should be firmly closed behind them. Whatever Henry had to say, she knew he would not wish anyone else to hear.

  Henry hardly seemed to notice anything as he calmly dipped the corner of the towel into the water to cleanse his face as well. Then he ran both slender hands through his long russet hair, pushing it well back from his face.

  Cicely could not help watching him, because everything he did was paced and thoughtful, and above all dignified.

  He looked at her at last. ‘Will you not serve your king some wine, my lady?’

  Tom Kymbe’s Rhenish was not of royal quality, but was probably palatable enough for a thirsty man, even a king, she thought as she obeyed. She hoped her hand did not shake too much as she presented the
cup to him.

  ‘Drink with me, Lady Welles.’

  ‘Your Majesty.’ Again she obeyed. Huntingdon had destroyed the affection she had been able to feel for him. His gentle side was nothing more a distant memory.

  ‘You are well again now?’ he asked. ‘My uncle told me you had to stay here because you were ill, and Mistress Kymbe is skilled with medicine.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. I am well now. As you see.’

  He gazed at her. ‘Yes. I see. I have been most concerned about you. My uncle also told me he came here due to some dispute with your cousin Lincoln?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty. A mill, I believe. It is ongoing.’

  He gazed at her, and she felt he was trying to gauge her truthfulness. She had to say something. ‘You have ridden a long way, Your Majesty?’

  ‘From Lincoln. The city, that is. Small light horses, a constant swift trot, with a few sensible rests. About forty miles using back lanes and marsh crossings with a local guide who knows every inch of the terrain. The weather conditions are as good as they are ever likely to be.’ He spoke almost absent-mindedly, but his eyes told her he was still assessing her.

  She knew something was weighing heavily upon him, but could hardly press the King of England to explain himself. He was not Henry to her now.

  At that moment Leo began to scream with temper in his nursery. The solar door was closed, but still the piercing sound carried. Another door was quickly closed, and the crying was muted.

  Henry glanced towards the disturbance. ‘Whose child is that?’

  ‘Tom Kymbe’s son, Leo, Your Majesty.’ She was the very model of calm collectedness, but it took a huge effort.

  ‘Ah, yes, the inestimable Tom Kymbe. On your cousin’s manor but loyal to my uncle and, I trust, to me.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘It cannot please you too much to be in a Lancastrian house, my lady.’

  ‘I am Sir Jon’s wife, and adhere to his wishes.’

  ‘Indeed? That will be the day. You are York, my lady, and always will be.’

  ‘May . . . I enquire why you are here, Your Majesty?’ she ventured at last.

  ‘No, you may not.’

  She lowered her eyes quickly, feeling so much at a disadvantage that she could not summon even one small smile of the charm that had served her so well in the past. She was so aware of him, of his closeness, of the cloves and the sound of his voice, that she felt like a cornered hen, waiting for him to put an end to her with a quick twist of her neck.

  He drained his cup and put it down on the table next to him, indicating he did not wish to be offered more. ‘Do you have de la Pole’s ring?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘His . . . ring?’ She was startled.

  ‘The amethyst. Do not pretend you have never noticed it. Every woman in the land notices that amethyst, just as they notice the size of his dick!’

  ‘I do not have the ring, Your Majesty.’

  ‘So, if I search your purse, I will not find it there?’

  No, but he would find much more! The letters from Richard and Jack, for instance. And the little lock of Leo’s hair. She removed the purse and placed it boldly on the table beside her. ‘Search if you wish, Your Majesty, but I swear I do not have Jack de la Pole’s ring. If I had it, you can be sure that amethyst would be on my finger.’ She held up her hands to show that she only wore Richard’s ring. She was playing with fire by inviting him to examine the purse, but she felt he would not, because he was in control of himself and would not wish to appear foolish if the purse revealed nothing.

  The seconds hung, and then he waved the purse away. Relieved, she returned it to her belt.

  He glanced again at Richard’s ring. ‘So, what is the ruby to you now? No doubt it is still Richard’s ring, not a gift from me.’

  She gazed at him. ‘It is both things, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Liar.’ He said the word so softly it was almost an exhalation.

  ‘Please . . .’ His first name was so nearly on her lips, but she knew she could not say it. ‘Have you come to torment me?’ she asked then, finding enough courage for that at least. But it was only a whisper.

  ‘No, Cicely, I have not.’

  Her name at last? She looked at him. ‘I do not know how to speak to you, Your Majesty, and even if I did, I would not know what to say. I am at your mercy, and I think that is what you seek.’

  ‘I seek many things, Cicely, but having you at my mercy is not one of them.’

  There was a note in his voice, almost an echo of something that was itself unheard. It rested its sad little fingertip upon her, gentle, invisible, but there all the same, and she felt it so keenly that he might almost have touched her physically.

  ‘What is de la Pole to you?’ he asked then.

  ‘Only my cousin, Your Majesty,’ she answered, noticing that he used the present tense.

  ‘As Richard was only your uncle?’

  ‘Please, Your Majesty, I really do not feel able to spar with you.’

  ‘Stand up to me, Cicely.’

  ‘I cannot.’ She met his eyes.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You surely do not have to ask?’

  He paced a little, linking his fingers and tapping his mouth. ‘I do have to ask, Cicely, because I need to know what is in your mind at this moment.’

  ‘You would not like it if you did know.’

  ‘Really?’ He stopped pacing. ‘Pray tell.’

  ‘I do not wish to provoke you.’

  ‘You will not.’

  Now she gauged him, and decided to take him at his word. ‘At Huntingdon you said such vile things, made terrible accusations and struck me so hard that I fell. You said I was plotting against your life and that I was never to come near you again. You said you were considering punishing Jon, and that . . . Well, it does not matter what else you said. You spurned me, and—’

  ‘In the end you spurned me, Cicely. You know it. In that final moment, you could have stopped me from leaving, but you did not. I did not want to go. I had said so much and done so much, but I did not want to go from you.’

  She looked at him. ‘You hid it well.’

  ‘No, Cicely. You knew the precise moment I realized what I had done. I needed you to extend your hand.’

  ‘To permit you to save face?’

  He did not answer.

  ‘I was not going to spare you, Henry, I was afraid of you, and did not want you to stay. You had shown violence before, at Winchester, when you also accused me of that treasonous letter, but you had never struck me. Can you not understand how I felt at Huntingdon?’

  ‘Yes, I understand, but I hoped . . . needed you to turn me from it. You know me, Cicely, and—’

  ‘I knew you were violent, but had never thought you would hit me.’

  He gazed at her. ‘To have done it at all was monstrous. To have done it to you . . . I seek your forgiveness.’

  ‘You do not have it.’

  ‘Cicely—’

  ‘No, Henry. I do not wish to be close to you. I do not wish to spend every minute wondering when you will explode into fury again, when you might strike me . . . or worse.’

  ‘Jesu, Cicely, I am not a violent man.’

  She looked at him, askance.

  He paced a little. ‘Very well, yes, I can be violent. Yes, I have struck a woman before. And yes, I craved her forgiveness too.’

  The woman in Brittany? ‘And did she give it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I will not. I bore the mark of your fury for some time, and have not once regretted being estranged from you. Now you come to me like this, mysteriously, without explanation, questioning me about my cousin’s ring and not even mentioning the rebellion, when it is clear something has happened. Do you think I am reassured by this?’

  ‘You know I did not mean what I said and did at Huntingdon.’ He ignored the mention of the rebellion.

  ‘You astound me, Henry. How can you stand there, looking so sorrowful, and pretend
you did not mean it? Of course you meant it! The result is that while I respect you as my king, I have no respect at all for you as a man. If you wish to strike me again for my temerity, then go ahead. I cannot prevent you.’

  ‘You must still be the only person in England who dares to deal with me in this fashion.’ He glanced away towards the window. ‘You consign me to Hell, do you know that?’

  ‘You do not burn enough.’

  ‘Always you have a pin with which to prick me.’ He gave a slight laugh. ‘And yes, I know it, I have a prick with which to pin you.’

  ‘Why have you come here, Henry? I do not believe you wish to mend things between us, so why?’ A thought occurred. ‘Has something befallen Jon? Please tell me it is not that.’

  ‘You ask about him before your cousin? You surprise me.’

  ‘Is Jon safe?’ she asked again.

  ‘As far as I know, although he failed to join me when I ordered it. Ten thousand more men might have been useful.’

  ‘Might have been? The battle has taken place?’ Was she innocent enough?

  He did not reply.

  ‘He certainly intended to join you, Henry. That I do know.’

  ‘Cicely, your husband turned craven. Or traitor.’

  Her lips parted. ‘Craven? Jon? No, never! And you know it, Henry.’

  ‘Then perhaps he turned traitor.’

  ‘I do not believe that either,’ she replied, without a flicker.

  ‘Would that I had your faith.’

  ‘You are bound to suspect. Your nature leaves you no option.’

  He inclined his head. ‘So kind.’

  ‘Is it because of Jon that you are here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why? Surely not to ask about my cousin’s ring, for I will not believe it.’

  ‘I needed to know about the ring, and I needed to see your face when I asked you about it.’

  ‘Well, you have.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  She was cautious. ‘Has a battle taken place, Henry? Yes, I can see that it has, and I believe you have won, because no matter how furtive this visit may be, you do not have a hunted look. So how do you not know where my cousin is? Did he escape? Is that it?’ Her mind’s eye saw Henry on the battlefield, looking down at Paul de Wortham’s lifeless body.