Cicely's Sovereign Secret

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  Jack rose from the bed, his body pale, and went to the window. There had been snow the last time they were here, not spring sunshine.

  ‘Reassure me, Jack,’ she whispered.

  ‘Reassure you? Of what?’

  ‘That you still love me. I know how much you want me to go with you.’ She fingered the topaz, which, rather strangely, did make her believe in its previous owner’s sincerity.

  He smiled. ‘I love you, Cicely Plantagenet, and I will wait for you, however long it takes you to decide.’

  ‘When will you leave?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’ The knowledge settled wretchedly over her. She would be without him again, but her mind was set upon what she had to do.

  ‘I understand, sweetheart, and will not hold anything against you.’ He smiled and returned to the bedside. ‘Except, perhaps, myself.’

  She smiled too. ‘I do hope so, sir, because if you are to leave tomorrow, I cannot imagine how long it might be before we can be together again.’

  ‘One thing more, Cicely, do not trust Henry! He will promise you the world, and perhaps the moon as well, but you can never be sure of him. So now it is my turn to extract a promise. The moment you realize your sacrifice has been in vain, and you can no longer protect anyone by being Tudor’s plaything, I want you to promise to join me in Bruges. With Leo. So … promise.’

  She nodded. ‘I promise.’

  He came to pull her from the bed and up into his arms. ‘We have spouses, I know, and break more than one Commandment, but we belong together, Cicely Plantagenet.’

  She closed her eyes as he held, kissed and caressed her again.

  Later, when Cicely and Jack walked back to Pasmer’s Place, as unremarkable as any pair of lovers, there was a disturbance in St Sithe’s Lane, a rider on a bolting horse.

  As it commenced its wild flight towards them, someone behind them shouted a warning. ‘Beware! It is no accident!’

  Cicely whirled about, and just saw Stephen Perrings draw back out of sight by St Anthony’s church at the southern corner of Budge Row. He must have hidden as they passed! She tried to pull Jack to the side of the lane, into the very doorway where she had been attacked, but something about the oncoming rider kept Jack where he was.

  There was more than enough room for the horse to swerve around him, but the rider had no such intention. His face was hidden, but she saw his leg, wearing tight wine-red hose exactly like those worn by Edmund de la Pole … and there was a dagger in his right hand!

  ‘Jack!’ she screamed, hauling upon his arm, but he pushed her back.

  ‘Stay out of danger,’ he said quietly, as if all was well in the world, and then he faced his brother again, stepping swiftly from side to side, panicking the horse into slithering to a noisy halt and rearing.

  Jack immediately darted forward to grab the bridle. ‘So, Ned, you would stoop to this? To fratricide?’

  ‘You do not exist, Jack! And I will not give up anything to you!’ Edmund cried, trying to reach down to stab him.

  Jack caught his wrist and twisted it until Edmund cried out and dropped the dagger. ‘And you think to murder me in order to have what is mine?’

  ‘It is now my right!’ Edmund breathed, his face contorted with loathing.

  ‘I am not dead enough for anything to be yours by right, little brother, and you are not man enough for the task anyway!’ Jack grabbed Edmund’s boot to haul him from the saddle, but Edmund managed to hold his seat. The terrified horse reared and danced around, finally tearing from Jack’s grasp, and set off towards the corner of Budge Row. Within seconds it had gone.

  Cicely advanced nervously. ‘Jack?’

  He pulled her close. ‘I am all right, sweetheart,’ he said, his voice muffled as his lips were against her head.

  ‘He tried to kill you!’

  ‘I know.’

  She clung to him, terrified of what had so nearly happened. ‘Mary’s new love warned us!’ she said then.

  ‘Her new love?’

  ‘Stephen Perrings.’

  ‘Perrings? The name seems familiar …’

  ‘He is a squire in Henry’s household, and I have seen him in Edmund’s company.’

  ‘But clearly he is not Edmund’s friend.’

  ‘It would seem not.’ She was anxious. ‘Jack, Edmund knew we would come this way.’

  ‘As did Perrings. It had not escaped me.’

  ‘Perry—Mary calls him that—will have known from her, I am sure. But how Edmund knew …’ She gripped Jack’s arms suddenly. ‘I cannot lose you again, but would rather you were safe and far away from here. Edmund might succeed the next time, so do not wait until tomorrow, go now!’

  ‘Oh, thank you for the comfort.’

  She stretched on tiptoe to kiss him, and sink her fingers through his hair for the last time. ‘Please, my love, do not delay a moment more. Edmund will not rest until he knows you are dead once and for all.’

  ‘If you only realized how hard it is to leave you …’

  ‘I do know, Jack, because I feel the same pain, but I cannot bear you to stay and be in as much danger from him as you are from Henry! Go, please.’

  He held her tightly, and their hearts pounded together, then, after one last kiss, he went, his boots echoing on the cobbles.

  Cicely gazed after him. Her heart felt as if it were splitting in two. When would she see him again? Would she see him again? Perhaps he had just walked away from her forever. The salt in her eyes was so hot and stinging that it was several moments before she could continue the final few yards to the gates of Pasmer’s Place.

  Later, she learned from Mary that the maid had asked Perry to be on guard for anything Edmund de la Pole might do against his brother, so he had followed Edmund to St Sithe’s Lane, and known by his manner that something was planned. Thus he had been able to shout his warning before making himself very scarce indeed. Edmund could not have realized he had even been present.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The April wind was strong as Cicely stood at the bedchamber window at the rear of the small, unimportant manor house, near Sheen, where she and Henry had met before. It had been on her seventeenth birthday, 20 March, 1486, St Cuthbert’s Day, and his present to her had been Richard’s ruby ring.

  Now she watched Henry through the uneven panes. He leaned thoughtfully against the willow that overhung the swollen stream in the garden below. There were evergreens, jonquils that shivered in the fierce draughts of air, and ducks huddled together in the lee of a wall. It was too cold for April, but Henry did not seem to notice as he watched the water racing past his feet, the swift current dragging winter fronds and weeds like drowned banners. He had been there since arriving over half an hour ago, and seemed to be preparing himself to face her. She heard him cough occasionally.

  There were two very different men within that lonely figure, and it was as King Henry VII, the enemy of her House, that she had to think of him now. She had been frightened and unsure of him when they first met. Now, countless acts of love later, she was frightened and unsure again. Not on her own account, but her child’s, and those others who helped her to shield that child.

  Even leaning there, deep in thought, Henry was naturally arresting. When his furred cloak lifted and flapped, she saw he wore purple. The jewels in his hat brooch caught the cold light occasionally, and sometimes his hair blew across his face, obliging him to push it aside.

  His expression was strained, and she knew that, like her, he was dwelling upon what to say and how to say it. He had told her there had to be complete honesty between them, but what did she dare to tell him? Common sense said one thing, her heart said another. But, looking at him now, she sensed he had come here today to be truthful, and because she had decided she must be close to him for a long time yet, she had to risk being truthful with him. Well, as much as she dared without betraying others.

  Turning, he looked dir
ectly up at the window, and she knew he had been aware of her all along. Their gaze met for several moments, his face gave nothing away, and then he made his way towards the house.

  She did not go down to greet him, but waited where she was, with the bed to remind her—and him—of the happiness they had shared here before. Her gown was the plum brocade. If honesty was required, she showed it with this gown, because she knew he liked it best of all. Her hair was loose, and her only jewels were four rings—Jon’s wedding band, Richard’s ruby, Jack’s amethyst and the emerald Henry himself had given to her. Tal’s topaz was omitted, for to wear it would concentrate Henry’s attention, and not to the good. His Silver Hound was trusted at the moment, and should remain so.

  The inclusion of Jack’s amethyst was quite deliberate, and an indication that she meant to be sincere in the minutes to come. Although not sincere enough to tell him that Jack was still alive and sheltering in Burgundy to raise an army for another invasion. She smiled a little wryly. Here she was, wondering how honest Henry would be, when all the time she was not going to be completely forthright either.

  At last she heard his steps, always so light. Her pulse raced and her mouth was dry as he opened the door. His outer clothes had been discarded so that he was bare-headed, and as he paused in the doorway, the light from the window shone on his silver collar … and the twisted-dragon pendant.

  He smiled to see the plum brocade. ‘Do you have seduction in mind, cariad?’

  ‘Only if you do.’ His smile and use of the Welsh endearment was reassuring, yet the foundations of any pleasure were washed by undercurrents. She sank into a deep, respectful curtsey.

  He closed the door softly, and came to raise her. ‘There is no need for that, cariad.’ The brush of his fingers was light upon her bare shoulder, and very cold from the air outside, but the scent of him was more of a comfort than she wished.

  She rose slowly, every nerve tingling, the blood flowing through her veins as swiftly as the stream past the willow. She was alive to everything about him. Everything. And it was not simply fear.

  He moved away, as if her closeness made him uneasy. ‘How are you?’ he asked then, clearly for something to say.

  ‘Better than you, I think. I heard you coughing out there.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He looked from the other window, which faced over the Sheen road, along which he and his entourage had set off on his royal progress less than a year ago. ‘I seem to remember it was here that I promised you the emerald you wear now.’

  ‘Yes, you raised your hand as you rode past at the head of your progress. And you smiled.’

  ‘You also wear Lincoln’s amethyst. And this time it is his amethyst, as no doubt it was at Flemyng Court.’

  He missed nothing, and the first moment of truth was upon her. She met his eyes. ‘Yes, for the honesty you wish there to be today. I admit what you have always suspected about Jack. He was my lover, and he gave me the amethyst at Friskney.’

  ‘Warm from his finger?’

  ‘Yes.’ And now from somewhere else as well …

  ‘Well, his finger will never now be warm again.’

  ‘No.’ Oh, little do you know, Henry …

  ‘How very small and lonely a word that is. Do you still love him?’

  ‘I will always love him. Death cannot take that away.’

  Henry regarded her. ‘You believe that I killed him?’

  Was it a trick? ‘I think so, but that was in self defence.’ Here is a way out, Henry. I offer it to you.

  ‘No, it was not self-defence. I did not think myself to be in any danger at all.’

  It was not the response she had expected. ‘What, then?’

  ‘In all honesty? He was still alive when I found him, and there was no sign of his accomplice, who, incidentally, must have been the one who dislocated his left shoulder. Now, I admit that I wanted him dead, and even more wanted to interrogate him first. I would be a liar to state otherwise, but …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘When you and I have made love, and I have slept beside you, how many times could you have murdered me? Mm? But you have never done anything at all. Not once. Well, when I was confronted by your cousin, wounded, in great pain and at my mercy, I could not do anything except try to push the joint back into place. I see you do not believe me, but it is the truth. And that was when I was struck from behind. And kicked. When I eventually regained consciousness, there was no sign of Jack de la Pole.’ He smiled almost wistfully. ‘I see you still think me a liar.’

  Every word he said could be a lie … or the truth. What he said and what Tal said could both explain what happened. The only person who would have known the truth was Jack, who could not remember.

  ‘Cariad, his shoulder was not only stabbed and dislocated, but your husband’s dagger had been savagely twisted. Jack was losing a lot of blood and was in agony. If he had received full attention, he would have survived, but as it was … he did not make it further than the woods just outside Knole.’

  ‘And you saw him dead?’ she asked.

  He hesitated. ‘I believe so. I did not go close enough to examine the body.’

  Still possible, she thought. Certainly not an outright untruth. ‘Jack has gone, and I accept it,’ she said.

  ‘One day it may be my turn. After all, my enemies will never stop trying.’ He went to the fire and bent for a fresh log, which he tossed on the flames. Using a poker, he forced it down, setting myriad sparks scattering and swirling. His face was illuminated, and his hair was burnished to bright copper as he straightened. ‘Will you now admit to Richard as well?’

  She met his gaze. ‘Yes. I loved Richard in all the ways of which you have accused me, and I still love him, as I do Jack. It will never change. I cannot help it, nor do I wish to pretend otherwise to you. Richard returned my love.’

  ‘And gave you a child. A boy. Leo Kymbe.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you are telling me these truths, will you also tell me if my uncle is loyal to me?’

  She looked into his eyes. ‘Yes, he is. How can you possibly think otherwise?’

  ‘Because I have made a cuckold of him. Perhaps the insult is enough to drive him from my side. As I am sure would have happened at Stoke Field. Jon Welles was prepared to be a traitor to me.’

  ‘No, Henry. Jon is your man, your blood relative.’

  ‘If Lincoln had faced me on his own account, not that ridiculous Lambert Simnel puppet, more men would have been drawn to his standards, and I would have had a far harder time of it. He was my sworn enemy, Cicely, intent upon my life. I cannot mourn with you, only for you.’

  ‘I do not expect anything more.’

  ‘Where is Leo?’

  ‘I do not intend to tell you.’

  Surprise lightened his eyes. ‘Indeed? How very defiant.’

  ‘You want truthfulness, Henry, and you have it. I know where my son is, but you will have to torture me to learn anything more.’

  ‘Oh, cariad, what a fighting bantam you are. I am sure I could soon find out, if I put my mind to it. And if I put a little pressure on Tom Kymbe.’

  ‘More coercion to make me bow to your will? Do that, Henry, and I will never lie willingly with you again.’

  ‘You love Kymbe?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘No, I protect him, as I will protect anyone who has helped me and is in danger from you. Please leave the Kymbes alone. They are loyal to Jon, and have helped me because of him. The only disloyalty Jon has shown to you is in protecting me and keeping my secret. Otherwise, he is your man to the core.’ How she hoped she convinced him. ‘I am telling the truth. And Leo is no danger to you. He is illegitimate and born of incest. He can never be a true Yorkist claimant to the throne.’

  ‘Oh, what a fool I would be to take that at face value!’ Henry came close enough to touch a finger to her chin. ‘Cariad, your child’s blood descent is irrefutable, and you and I both know how easy it is to forge marriage contracts.’

  She lowe
red her eyes. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘I have held your boy in my arms, Cicely, and wished that I was his father. Oh, yes, I still wish that you could bear my child. I am a fool, I think, because you would never wish for that.’

  ‘I so want another child, Henry, but it is my fate not to have one. By any man.’

  ‘If I had any wisdom now, I would root your Leo out and imprison him somewhere until he is old enough to be considered adult and to have his head lopped.’

  ‘Please do not say that,’ she whispered, drawing back.

  ‘Truthfulness is the order of this day, my love, so I tell you what I know I should do. I should also punish the Kymbes and my uncle for the treason of hiding a Yorkist child.’

  ‘But … will you?’

  He turned away, and deflected the subject. ‘Did Jack de la Pole know of the boy? Yes, of course he did. Well, that means there will be others who know, because your cousin would convey it to the right places that Richard left a son by you. The choice would not have been left to you. Lincoln would want it realized that one day, in the not too distant future, there will be a boy of the House of York—the son of Richard III and grandson of Edward IV—of an age to challenge me or my heir. That will unite Yorkists, because many of them will have discovered to their vexation that I have not advanced their prospects. Lancastrians will have realized the same, because I do not intend the nobility, of whatever persuasion, to have the power it has wielded in the past. I am bringing men of lesser rank to the forefront, and that is how I intend to go on. I am not liked among the populace either, I am well aware of it. They all wish Bosworth had gone the other way. As do you.’

  She could not answer.

  He changed to yet another matter. ‘After all that I have done to you, how can you bear to be close to me, alone like this?’

  ‘I enjoy being with you. Does that make me a fool? An eager victim? Or a silly woman who thinks she can change you?’

  ‘I pray it means none of those things, cariad,’ he said softly. ‘I am tired of keeping secrets, or fearing to let slip something I do not wish you to know. Tired of starting at every looming shadow. I want there to be complete trust between us, Cicely. I have never, in my entire life, wished to share this utter faith with another. You have become part of me in every way. I have tried to give you up, but I cannot. I cannot do anything without finding you are somehow there with me. You fill my thoughts from the moment I awaken until the moment I sleep again, and then I know you are in my dreams as well, even though I do not always remember them.’