Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  “You did!” she accused jealously.

  “I admit to nothing,” he told her, “and besides, if I did, it was long before we ever met and married.” Then he kissed her on the tip of her nose and began to fasten her bodice. “When we reach the inn, we do not want to cause a scandal.”

  “I think I shall ask Tillie to ride with us tomorrow,” Nyssa said sweetly. Then she smiled up at him.

  “You do, and I’ll beat you,” he responded, a dangerous light in his green eyes. “There are other games we can play to while away the tedium of travel, but I fear Tillie would be shocked.”

  She pushed his hands away. “See to your own attire, my lord,” she told him, fussing with her hair, which had come undone.

  “No Tillie,” he growled, and she laughed seductively.

  Suddenly everything had changed. Knowing she loved him now, Nyssa found herself growing jealous of any woman who looked upon her husband. Was this what love did to you? But she could find no fault in Varian, for his eyes were for her alone. If anything, her surprising and sudden admission of her love for him had only deepened his own feelings toward her. She found herself reveling in the love he gave her, which she had never been able to do before. She had felt guilty accepting that love when she had not been able to reciprocate it.

  The journey to Lincoln became a real honeymoon for them. They were both reluctant to have it come to an end. They traveled across Worcestershire, with its rolling farmlands. There were great green fields filled with ripening corn ready for harvest, and grassy pasturelands of fat cattle. There were extensive woodlands for the maintenance of the deer, and some sheep, although the flocks were not as big or as extensive as in neighboring counties. The apple and pear orchards were near to harvest. The residents of Worcestershire made a country wine from the pears, which was called Perry. It was quite delicious, the Earl and Countess of March thought, when they were given it to drink their first night on the road. Nyssa discovered it was also far more potent than she had anticipated. Indeed she grew quite tipsy, to Varian’s amusement.

  The architecture of the region was very pretty. The town and the individual houses they passed were timber-framed. Their crucks, posts, and beams were painted black and white. Only the fine manor houses and the churches were of red sandstone, which was indigenous to the area. Gardens bright with color bloomed everywhere. When Nyssa commented on how pretty it all was, her husband agreed, but then he told her that they were fortunate to be passing south of the town of Droitwich, which was a foul place by virtue of its salt industry. Droitwich had three brine springs, and four hundred furnaces in which to dry its salt. The air for miles of the town was rancid and reeked.

  They traveled on to Warwickshire. They were north of the river Avon, where the land was mostly woodland with common rights for the small landholders and the landless cottagers. The more powerful landowners in the district were constantly trying to enclose the forests and usurp their tenants’ rights. There was much resentment in the area, and bandits could be a danger, but they were well-protected by their own men-at-arms.

  They stopped in Coventry, which was a walled town. The Reformation had cost Coventry its cathedral, and had ended the cycle of Mystery plays for which the town had been famous. The loss of this industry had lost Coventry its prestige, not to mention a great deal of commercial income, for many small shops had done quite well selling their goods to the pilgrims. The town was in decline, but it was still beautiful.

  “Why are there so few farmsteads?” Nyssa asked her husband.

  “The land isn’t good for farming. There are surface deposits of coal and iron, which are mined,” he told her.

  They moved across Leicestershire, and Nyssa was fascinated. She had never seen a landscape like Leicestershire’s. There were virtually no trees, fewer hedgerows, and no deer to be seen at all. The fields were planted mostly in barley and pulses, although there was some wheat. They seemed to stretch on forever. Pastureland filled with cattle and black-faced sheep lined the roads for miles.

  But there was much rural poverty because these lands were mainly in the hands of the nobility. The cottages showed neglect and were the poorest Nyssa had ever seen; single-room dwellings built of a mixture of clay, straw, and animal waste. Although the county produced wool, there was no cottage industry of weaving which would have brought the cottagers a better income.

  They stayed a night in the town of Leicester. It was a center for the leather trade, and it was known for its excellent trade goods, cattle, and horse auctions. It was a prosperous enough town, but had not the happy air of the market towns in their native Herefordshire.

  They were almost at the end of their journey as they crossed the boundaries from Leicestershire into Lincolnshire. This area’s economy was dependent upon livestock. The fleeces of Lincoln’s sheep were considered so fine that they were sold immediately upon shearing to outsiders, the prices being so high. The extensive fen and marshes produced reeds used all over England for thatching. Flax was also grown in the marshes, and woven into linen. Like Leicestershire, however, the great landowning families controlled everything in the region. The farther north one went, Nyssa realized, the more feudal everything became. The north, decimated in the time of William I for its continued rebellion, had never really recovered.

  The town of Lincoln had lost its preeminence to Nottingham, but it was still a charming town, with a castle and a cathedral. The court had not arrived by the time they reached their destination, but the royal baggage carts had. The pavilions were being set up in the fields about the city. The Earl of March found the household steward who was in charge of setting everything up, and the steward directed them to a space on the very edge of the encampment.

  “We have certainly not been given a prime site,” Nyssa remarked, amused. “So much for being the queen’s friend.”

  “At least we are not surrounded by a host of other pavilions, and we have a fine view of the countryside,” he said with a smile.

  The earl helped his servants set up their pavilions. They were placed upon wooden platforms, a larger one for the de Winters, and the smaller one for the servants. The little pavilion was divided neatly down the center by a heavy curtain so that the men and women could preserve their privacy. The Earl of March’s pavilion was striped red and blue. His banner flew from the top of the tent pole, which would allow anyone looking for him to find him easily. Inside, fine carpets had been spread over the wooden platform. The living area and the sleeping area were divided by tapestries. There were braziers for heating the pavilion, for though this was August, they were in the north.

  The living area contained a table for eating and several chairs. The sleeping area had a bed which was actually a large leather hammock fastened to four stout pegs set upon a rugcovered platform, with a feather bed atop it. The chests containing their personal effects were placed about. There were footed bronze candelabra and several glass lamps hanging from the ceilings for lighting. Outside the pavilion a small campfire was set up. These preparations would be repeated each time the royal progress moved on; sometimes every day, and sometimes every few days.

  The servants drew water from the nearby river and heated it over the fire so that their master and mistress might bathe before the royal party arrived. Nyssa and Varian washed themselves in a small wooden tub, sharing the bathwater and toweling each other dry in the chilly air. Tillie and Toby had both been quite shocked when told that Nyssa and Varian would bathe each other.

  “What is the world coming to, I should like to know?” Tillie huffed, annoyed. “The next thing you know, there will be no need for us servants. I never thought I’d see the day when my mistress would be so immodest as to bathe her own husband!”

  “I don’t like it any better than you do,” Toby agreed, “but they ain’t going to do away with the likes of us, Tillie, old girl.”

  “Tillie, come and help me dress,” Nyssa called to her tiring woman. “I’m on the sleeping side of the pavilion. Toby is to help his lord
ship on the other side. Hurry now!”

  “You see!” Toby grinned. “They couldn’t do without us.”

  The Earl and Countess of March were elegantly garbed by the time the royal progress began to arrive at the encampment. Nyssa’s gown was of deep blue velvet, its bodice sewn with silver beads and pearls. The underskirt was of silver and blue brocade. The neckline was low and square, the sleeves wide and bell-like, turned back at the lower edge. About her neck Nyssa wore two fine ropes of pearls. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and gathered in a silver caul. A single sapphire on a silver ribbon was affixed about her forehead.

  The earl was garbed in an elegant costume of wine-colored velvet. His silk shirt was ruffled at both the neck and the sleeves. His stockings were striped wine and gold. His doublet was sewn with gold beads and pearls. Atop his dark head he wore a flat bonnet with ostrich tips. A heavy gold chain was about his neck.

  The progress was settling into the encampment. Protocol demanded that the Earl and Countess of March wait to be summoned into the royal presence. The Duke of Norfolk arrived to greet them, looking weary and travel-stained. It was a hard progress for a man of seventy. They had not seen him since they had left court over a year ago.

  “Will you be seated, my lord? Some wine, perhaps?” Nyssa was the model of a perfect hostess. Only her husband noticed her cold tone.

  The duke settled himself heavily into a chair and grunted his thanks as the goblet was offered him. He drank deeply. “You carry good wine with you,” he noted. “How are my great-grandchildren?”

  “Thriving, Grandfather,” the earl said. He thought the old man looked a trifle worn.

  “They would be better if their parents did not have to trek over half the English countryside following a royal progress because of the whim of a chit of a queen,” Nyssa said sharply.

  “Have you not yet beaten the high spirits out of her?” the duke said, not bothering to answer Nyssa directly, and thereby infuriating her even more. “At least she’s a good breeder. Would God that your cousin Catherine proved as fecund.”

  Nyssa opened her mouth to respond, but Varian sharply reprimanded her. “Nyssa! Be silent, sweeting.” He turned to his grandfather. “We heard that she had miscarried in late spring.”

  “Perhaps,” the duke said gloomily. “She is very secretive about it. She has not the wit of a flea, and loves nothing but constant pleasure, but the king adores her. So far. She can do no wrong in his eyes.”

  He looked directly at Nyssa, and to her surprise, addressed her. “I am glad you are here, madame. The queen is restless, and she is bored. That is not good. I know not why she feels this way. She has everything her heart desires, yet she complains she has not her best friend. You seem to have that distinction, although I cannot comprehend why. Try to calm her, madame. Turn her to a more reasonable behavior.”

  “Cat cannot be turned if she chooses not to be,” Nyssa said quietly. “How little you really know her, my lord; and that, I think, may prove dangerous for you both.”

  “The future of the family depends upon your success,” the Duke of Norfolk told Nyssa.

  “Nonsense!” she snorted. “Besides, we are not Howards, my lord. Varian and I are de Winters. We do not seek power and riches. We were content at Winterhaven with our children. If you fall from grace, my lord, it will not affect us.”

  He looked at her admiringly. “By God I could wish that you were a Howard, madame. You look like a wild rose, but you are hard as iron.” He turned to his grandson. “Are you happy with her? You should be. She is strong, and loyal to you. She loves you.”

  “I love her,” the earl replied. “I have from the first moment I laid eyes on her at Hampton Court. Nyssa is not of a mind to forgive you for the way in which we married, but we both owe you a debt of gratitude, Grandfather, for without realizing it, or even caring one way or the other, you brought us together. For that we will attempt to help you, will we not, sweeting?” His green eyes bore into hers.

  We are one, she thought, triumphant. If she asked him to take her home now, he would. He loved her! “We will remain, my lord,” she said quietly, “and I will try to be a good influence upon the queen.” Her look was imperious. She was granting him a favor.

  The Duke of Norfolk grinned wolfishly at both of them. If I were younger, he thought, she is just the kind of woman I would want for myself. Clever and proud. He could but imagine, with envy, the pleasure she gave his grandson in bed. She would be all fire and ice. A wild rose with sharp, sharp thorns.

  “The queen would see you,” he told Nyssa. “I will take you to her; and you, Varian, can make your presence known to the king. He is in an excellent mood today. The hunting was good for a change.”

  They followed him through the encampment directly into its heart, where the magnificent cloth-of-gold and silver-striped pavilions that housed the royal couple were set up. Beneath a scarlet and gold awning cooks were busily preparing a feast for the evening meal.

  “The queen is there.” The duke pointed to a slightly smaller pavilion. “She is expecting you, madame.”

  Nyssa curtsied to her husband’s grandfather, but there was nothing subservient in the movement. Her eyes met those of her husband, and she could see his mouth twitching with laughter. “My lords,” she said, and then moved on past them into the queen’s pavilion.

  Lady Rochford hurried forward. “Hurry!” she said to Nyssa. “She is so anxious to see you, my lady.”

  The Countess of March followed Lady Rochford into the queen’s privy. Catherine Howard, gowned in the king’s favorite rose velvet, rose from her seat, and running forward, threw her arms about her friend, to the shock of her ladies.

  “Nyssa! Ohh, I am so glad you are finally here. We are going to have such fun now!”

  One look at Cat told Nyssa that something was very wrong. Could no one else see it? Her friend was like a lute string that was too tight and ready to break. Nyssa curtsied low, and when she arose, she smiled at Cat, saying, “You must tell me all about being a queen, madame, and I shall tell you all about my wonderful babies.”

  Chapter 12

  The queen felt freer on progress than she had anywhere else since her marriage a year ago. Suddenly she was surrounded by a group of attractive young people whose sole goal in life was pleasure. Her best friend in all the world had arrived to keep her company and share her secrets. They would hunt all day along the route, and dance the night away. Henry was a fine companion in the mornings, but after his dinner, he usually wanted to sleep. She need only spend half the time pleasing him. The other half was her own time, and she would spend it as she pleased.

  Nyssa hated the royal progress. It was the worst time of her life. Am I getting old? she wondered. Why can I not lose myself in the mindless pleasures that Cat does? Would it have been different if Varian and I were not wed; if we did not have children? But she knew that that was not so. There were many young married couples in the court, and they all seemed to be having a wonderful time. All Nyssa could think of, however, was that there was soap and perfume, jams and conserves to be made. Meat and fish had to be salted for the winter. How was this going to get done if she was not there to supervise? Oh, young Mistress Browning was capable, but Nyssa wanted to be home, overseeing her own household, not trekking all over England in the company of the court.

  “Why can I not enjoy myself?” she asked her husband.

  “For the same reason I cannot,” he told her. “You and I are country people at heart. We are not courtiers who can while away their days in frivolous pursuits. I know Master Smale can oversee the harvest and the shearing, but I would prefer to be there myself.”

  “There is something strange happening with Cat,” Nyssa told her husband, “and whatever it is, Lady Ferretface is part of it.”

  “What do you mean?” he responded.

  “If it were anyone else but the queen,” Nyssa said slowly, “I would say there was a man involved, but that cannot possibly be.”

  Varian
de Winter felt a shudder ripple down his spine. Could his cousin be foolish enough to have taken a lover? Holy Mother! He prayed it was not so. The Howards had lost one queen to the headsman’s ax. If Catherine were stupid enough to involve herself with a man not the king, she would eventually be found out. There was always someone watching when you least expected it. And a queen’s adultery was considered high treason.

  “Can you find out?” he said. “I do not want to speak to my grandfather unless you are certain of what you suspect.”

  “I will have to spend more time with her,” Nyssa said, “and I have been avoiding it so we might be together.” She leaned over and kissed him softly. “I prefer to spend as much time abed with you, my lord, as I can. Bed has ever been your strong point,” she teased him, running a single finger down his thigh.

  “If Catherine is silly enough to have taken a lover,” he told her seriously, “we are all in danger of the king’s wrath.”

  “We are not Howards,” Nyssa said. “Why should the king hold us responsible if his wife’s behavior is light? What have we to do with Catherine Howard, Varian?”

  “You do not know how the king thinks, sweeting,” he told her. “I was raised at court. He will accept no blame for anything. He seeks scapegoats whenever he finds himself liable for a fault. If Cat betrays him, he will not consider that part of the fault lies with him—that a man of his age should not have wed a chit so young and ripe to bursting, that Cat is not a rose without a thorn, but a flighty little girl, who thinks only of herself and of her own pleasures. The king will feel abused and ill-used by everyone about him if he runs true to form, and he will. He will blame everyone else for what happens. He will blame my grandfather in particular, and the Howards in general. My mother was a Howard, and I am Duke Thomas’s only grandson. We will not escape his anger if Cat behaves badly.”

  “I will see what I can find out,” Nyssa said, now genuinely concerned. “If there is another man, Varian, I am certain that it is just a harmless flirtation. Cat would never violate her marriage vows.”