‘Of course.’
It was late evening before Jon returned to Pasmer’s Place. Cicely waited in the parlour, where settled coals and logs glowed in the hearth, and candlelight picked out the tapestries and panelling.
He was angry to learn where she had been, and with whom. ‘The Red Lion? Have you taken leave of your senses, Cicely?’ he cried, slamming his goblet of wine down on the table.
‘You were not here to ask, Jon, and I had to hear what he would say.’
‘Which was?’
‘That Jack was not dead when Henry found him.’
Startled, Jon gazed at her. ‘What, exactly, have you been told?’
‘Nothing that would incriminate you, as you seemed so sure Tal would do. Quite the opposite, in fact.’ She then repeated the story of how Tal had managed to get Jack on to a horse, and what he had seen afterwards.
Jon listened very carefully, and then took a deep breath. ‘And that is all?’
Her eyes widened. ‘All? How much more do you wish? Jack was alive, and Henry knew it! Henry dislocated Jack’s shoulder, and—’
‘Can you prove it? No. And Jack is certainly dead now, the last person with him being Tal!’ He removed his doublet and almost threw it aside, a sign of there being far more to his reaction than appeared on the surface.
‘I can tell you that Tal did not end Jack’s life, but tried to save it,’ she said. ‘Oh, Jon, surely you do not believe Henry’s version of events?’
‘I always doubt him, and if what Tal says is true, it means Henry is deliberately saddling me with the sole responsibility for Jack’s demise.’
‘Yes. Even I do not wish to think he would do that.’ She paused. ‘There are other things I know from Tal that you certainly did not tell me.’
‘Other things?’ A guarded look entered Jon’s eyes.
‘That it happened at Knole, for instance, and that you and Henry met with a Breton man and a boy named Roland.’
Jon relaxed; clearly what she said was not what he anticipated. Feared, maybe. ‘I wish to God Tal had held his tongue. If you should let slip your knowledge, Henry will believe I told you.’
‘You already know the lengths to which I will go to protect you, Jon, and that will never change. I would cut out my tongue rather than endanger you. Or Leo, of whom Tal also knows.’
‘Oh, my cup runneth over,’ Jon groaned. ‘You do realize that we dangle by threads if all this gets to Henry’s little rosebud ears?’
‘Yes.’
Jon paced, and then returned to her. ‘So, pretty-maid Edmund de la Pole—God spare us!—fails to be appealing. No Jack he. But then, Henry will already have death warrants for every Yorkist male he can think of in an idle moment while passing a stool.’
‘Jon, why is Henry’s secret treasonous?’
‘Jesu, lady, that sly insert was worthy of Henry himself.’
He was right, she thought, a little ashamedly, for she had done it to catch him off guard. It was Henry’s favourite ploy.
‘I plucked the word for effect,’ Jon said then. ‘I do not actually know what lies behind it all.’
‘That, sir, is a falsehood.’
‘Maybe, but it is all I intend to say, are you clear?’
She nodded. ‘But at least answer this. Tal’s badge appears to be a flop-eared silver hound. Do you know it?’
‘No.’
Yet another falsehood, she thought.
‘Cicely, Tal will bring perdition upon us. I do not care if he was close enough to Jack to share the same pair of hose, you are not to communicate with him again. Never! Jamais. Nicht. Nunquam.’
She lowered her eyes, signalling consent but hiding her true intent. She would see Tal again if necessary, and do all she could for the protection and furtherance of York. Richard’s House. Leo’s House. As the last crept into her mind, she began to accept that she could not obstruct her son’s destiny. Whether or not she, or even Leo himself, might wish otherwise, his lineage was already his fate. But she did not accept it yet. Not yet.
Now it was Jon who changed the subject. ‘Henry, who is still in a foul mood, is to go to the palace at Esher in a week or so.’
‘Which is of interest because…?’
‘Because I am to be there too.’
‘Why?’
He spread his hands. ‘I think maybe Roland, but am only guessing. I have a feeling your presence will also be required, and not for the obvious lascivious reason. He ordered me to hold my tongue about the boy, which means you must too. You know nothing of Roland, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. But her chin came up in that mulish way he knew so well, and he smiled.
‘Oh, Cicely, am I going to have trouble with you?’
The smile was one of those that endeared him to her so much, and she forgot her displeasure. ‘I do love your smiles, Jon Welles, even when you are being aggravating and deceitful.’
‘Deceitful?’
‘I know you have been less than honest with me tonight. Several times.’
He had the grace to look a little guilty. ‘But otherwise, I am still your dear husband?’
‘Perhaps.’ She took his hand. ‘In fact, definitely. I need you now, Jon Welles.’
‘I trust it is a disgracefully, shockingly, shamefully carnal need?’
‘Libidinous to the ultimate degree.’ The desire had come from nowhere.
They had spoken of such momentous matters, but now, without warning, he had stirred the wantonness within her.
He was amused. ‘My lady, has it never occurred to you that I know exactly which smile to employ in order to get what I want from you?’
‘You would not be so calculating.’ She moved closer.
‘Ah, you forget that I share blood with Henry, so can be just as sly and manipulative.’
‘Well, I could say that I know that you think you know, but that you do not know what I know. I do know, however, and intend to act on my superior knowledge.’
‘I think I understood that.’
She smiled and began to unfasten his shirt.
‘Here, in the parlour?’ He pretended to be shocked.
‘Well, we can go down into the great hall and summon the servants if you desire an audience. Or I could wait, and catch you by surprise when we break our fast in front of everyone in the morning.’
He grinned. ‘If only I had the courage to call you out on that!’
‘So, you will settle for here, now?’ She slipped her fingers inside his open shirt and let them wander through the dark hairs on his chest. The warmth of rosemary was blended with his fresh masculinity, and her senses stirred still more. She was so glad to be his wife, and so glad that he loved her. Their practical contract had become so much more than just an arrangement.
They undressed and lay together before the fire, purposely omitting the locking of the parlour door. They felt daring and foolish, choosing the risk of discovery over the secrecy of a curtained marriage bed. It was almost a forbidden passion.
She leaned over him as he lay on his back. The firelight was mirrored in her eyes, and flushed her breasts to deep rose. Her alert nipples cast little shadows as she brushed them to and fro against his chest. He had such a good body. Small wonder two beautiful witches had fought so hard to keep him, she thought.
She leaned down to kiss the pulse at his throat, running the tip of her tongue over it while her hand explored the damp hollow beneath his arms. The perspiration was clean and fresh, and the hairs fine, dense and clinging. Her lips moved from his throat and down to his nipple. He gasped and arched a little, for it was so sensitive, but she did not spare him. Her lips and teeth played sweet havoc with him, even as her hand moved from his armpit down to that other forest of hair, out of which there now sprang an arousal that heralded a dazzling union to come. Yes, dazzling, because she needed him so much right now, and knew that he needed her. She would not think of Knole, nor would he; instead, they would join together in an act of love that would banish everything for a while, an
d give them back to each other. But then there was shouting in the snowy courtyard.
Jon was furious. ‘What in God’s sweet name—?’ Then he became still as they both heard the king’s messenger seeking to deliver a message to Lady Welles.
Cicely’s heart sank, and the pleasure of lovemaking was banished in an instant. Henry was summoning her!
Chapter Six
Henry’s apartments at Westminster were decked for the season, but in a manner as restrained as the man himself. They had once been Richard’s rooms, and Cicely remembered so much as she knelt before his usurper.
Henry’s gold velvet robe was tied loosely at the waist, revealing the reddish hair on his chest. His hair was damp, because he had bathed, and the warm air drew out the scent of cloves on his skin. There was no sign of him having been attacked, he seemed as perfect as ever, except for his wayward eye, and he was still as fascinating as a beautiful but deadly plant.
She wore a particularly revealing plum brocade gown—the one he liked most—and was sure to bend forward a little, to display her shoulders and the soft, curving shadow that disappeared between her breasts. On entering his presence, she had deftly removed the pins in her hair, so that her chestnut tresses tumbled free. Her only jewel was the emerald ring he had given to her. The purse at her waist contained no mementos, only the things any woman would be expected to carry with her.
Tonight, she had done all she could to make herself desirable to him, because she had to retain his favour if she was to protect herself, Jon and Leo. And at the same time she had to pretend not to know anything of events in Kent, except the bare fact of Jack’s death. Certainly she could not mention Knole itself. Nor could she think of Jack being tortured, because preoccupation with that horror would prevent her from even smiling at this icy king who could also burn with such fire too.
‘It is good to see you again, Cicely.’ Henry raised her, cupped her chin in his slender fingers, and made as if to kiss her, but released her again and moved away.
‘You honour me, Henry.’ The kiss that was not a kiss disturbed her. He had never done such a thing before. Why now?
‘How are you, cariad?’
‘As you see, I am well.’ The Welsh word for sweetheart always sounded good on his lips.
He looked at her again. ‘More than a week without you is a long time.’
‘And so I only get a pretence of a kiss?’
‘Ah. Well, perhaps I fear the response will be a pretence too.’
‘You do not fear any such thing, Henry Tudor, not after all this time.’
His eyes seemed more hooded than before. ‘You still make me very aware that you are York and I am the enemy.’
She summoned a smile. ‘And so you are. Henry, I am ashamed to enjoy you so much.’
‘There’s honesty for you.’
‘I do enjoy you, Henry. How can you possibly not know that by now? My treacherous little muscles, remember? They give me away every time.’
His strange eyes were like the North Sea in November, and there was no sign of the cast in the left one. He was trying to unsettle her. Was it to rattle her into revealing if she knew anything she should not? She decided to forestall him.
‘Jon has told me what happened to Jack.’
‘I thought perhaps he would. His part in it, at least.’
‘He blames himself.’
‘Yes, I imagine he must. It was … unfortunate, but his aim was perfect. Now I will never interrogate your cousin.’
She had to look away. ‘Jon also told me you were attacked. Are you all right?’
‘Enough to have a grim temper, yes. Candlesticks and my scalp were not meant to come into contact.’
He did not mention his other, more embarrassing injury, so she pretended not to know of it. ‘Where did you have Jack buried?’
‘That need not be of concern to you, Cicely.’
‘He was my cousin.’
‘And more.’
‘No.’
He gave a cool little laugh. ‘Deny it if you wish. His whereabouts are nothing to do with you. As far as England is concerned, he lies beneath a willow at Stoke Field, with a living sapling growing through his treacherous Yorkist heart.’
She knew it would be wise to turn the conversation. ‘I … I believe I have yet to thank you properly for the emerald.’ She spoke brightly and raised her hand to show him that she wore it.
‘The giving of which was perhaps a little clumsily handled.’
She looked at him. ‘I know you, Henry Tudor, you enjoyed yourself because of the embarrassment it caused. Including to me.’
‘You? Cicely, it was a mark of my high regard.’ He seemed genuinely surprised.
‘You did it immediately after Jon and I had exchanged those totally unnecessary second vows of marriage, which you insisted upon, and you did it in front of Bess and all the courtiers present. Bess did not deserve to be humiliated. Nor did Jon. Nor did I.’
‘How very remiss I seem to have been.’ He went to a window overlooking the Thames, where lanterns marked the whereabouts of the few vessels plying the low night tide. His movements were sinuous, and his manner unhurried. ‘I laid claim to you with that ring, Cicely. It was a defiant gesture. No more and no less. If it humiliated others, they must put up with it, but never think I intended to belittle or mortify you. If I did, I regret it very much. I would never wish to hurt you.’
‘You would if it suited you.’
He glanced back with the hint of a smile. ‘Being apart has not softened your tongue or dampened your spirit.’
‘I sincerely trust not. Being rude to you is one of my greatest pleasures.’
‘Another being to fuck me.’
‘I wish it were not so,’ she replied honestly.
‘I know that too.’
‘We are adulterous sinners, Henry.’
‘On my death bed I will implore the Almighty for clemency, pay to have masses said for me in perpetuity, bestow lavish gifts upon Holy Church, forgive everyone I can think of, and thus ensure my time in Purgatory is brief and my entry into Heaven prompt and irreversible. Oh, and just before I go, I will whisper in Arthur’s ear that he is to forget my so-called mercy and behead everyone I protected by so foolishly giving my word. And he will be told to punish those covered by some damned treaty or another.’
‘How very unchristian.’
‘As are my thoughts at this moment, because I so want your lips to play sweet merry Hades with me.’
‘Then they will.’
He came around her to caress her shoulders gently before kissing them. ‘You are an exquisite jewel, Lady Welles,’ he whispered.
Her eyes closed with pleasure. She could not help it, he was irresistible.
Next he coiled her hair over her left shoulder to unfasten the gown, as he had so many times before. He eased the rich plum brocade gently down until it slipped around her ankles. She wore nothing else, and closed her eyes as his lips moved enticingly into the crook of her neck.
‘I need you so much, cariad,’ he whispered.
His touch was so unerring that her secret struggle increased.
He turned her to face him. ‘I pray that tonight you will not threaten me with the codfish.’
It was their little silly joke, that when he displeased her she would lie beneath him like a codfish on a slab. Then he smiled at her, and it was in his eyes as well as merely on his lips. A man’s smile could do so very much. A few hours ago it had been Jon Welles, and now Henry. She was confronted by the mostly hidden Henry, loving, warm, amusing and engaging.
‘Oh, Henry …’ She could hardly speak, her emotion was so great. Was this what it was to have one’s heart truly torn? ‘What are you called in Welsh?’ she asked then, for this other Henry needed a name.
Surprise lit his eyes. ‘Apart from twll tin?’ He smiled again.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Arsehole.’
She smiled. ‘No doubt your fellow countrymen do call you th
at, for you have not done much for them, but it is not what I mean.’
‘My Welsh name is Harri Tudur. Why?’
‘Because that is who you are right now. I see you, Harri, looking out from the cold shell of Henry Tudor. The true man is with me now.’
‘Harri Tudur died a long time ago,’ he said abruptly. ‘In April 1471, when my life changed forever.’
‘The Battle of Tewkesbury? When you were a boy? No, Harri Tudur is here now, with me. I know which man I have been lying with, which man I laugh and smile with. Admit it, please.’
He put his hands to her waist, caressing her skin with his thumbs, and then leaned to whisper in her ear. ‘As you wish. I am Harri Tudur.’
She closed her eyes, for the gentle attention played havoc with her senses. Shame warmed her skin, because she wanted him. She always wanted him, for the way he satisfied her every need, and then did it again.
He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. ‘My waking moments are spent in imagined sin with you,’ he whispered.
She smiled a little wickedly. ‘I will not remind you that you have a wife with whom you can sin whenever you wish.’
‘Do with Bess the things I do with you? Jesu, she would believe that Old Nick himself had possessed me, and she would rush to take the veil if I actually attempted to explore her body with my tongue.’
He was right, she thought. Bess was as warm and responsive as a stone. ‘Am I to be on my knees before you, or beneath you on a bed?’ she asked flirtatiously.
‘Here. Now.’
In a trice she was back at Pasmer’s Place, saying something so very similar to Jon. ‘So, you will settle for here, now?’
She went to her knees and parted his robe, to find his excitement already evident. He smiled. ‘My anticipation is unbearable.’
‘Then let me help,’ she breathed, the muscles in the apex of her legs trembling with an excitement of their own as her hands enclosed the base of his erection and eased the tip towards her lips. Her eyes closed as she kissed him, tasted and cherished him.
His beautiful fingers moved richly in her hair, stroking and loving, and she heard him whisper her name.
Desire plundered her, and she was lost amid so many pleasures that time almost seemed to halt. She exulted in possessing Henry Tudor, because he was at her mercy now, his relief dependent upon her command. And she was relentless, prolonging his ardour until she thought he would no longer be able to bear it. Oh, the joy of this particular man, whom she both hated and desired.
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