Catherine took the little linen square and mopped at her face. “Ohh, Nyssa,” she said, “what would I do without you? You are my only friend! I never knew being a queen would be so lonely. You must never leave me! Promise me!”
“Nay, I will not promise you such a thing, Cat,” Nyssa said. “If you love me, you will let me go home soon. I miss my children.”
“If you went home, Nyssa, then you would never see Sin Vaughn again.” She giggled, adroitly turning the subject away from what she considered unpleasant ground. “He is quite taken with you. Do you think he is handsome? As handsome as my cousin Varian?”
Nyssa laughed. “He is not as handsome as my husband, but he is a pretty fellow with winning ways. A notorious seducer, I am told. Neither of us should be seen in his company, Cat.” She said nothing of the encounter she had had with Sin Vaughn. Cat would be unable to refrain from gossiping about it with the others; and she would read something more into it than there was.
“Was it Bessie or Kate who once said that handsome, wicked men are far more interesting than handsome, nice men?” the queen asked, and the two young women dissolved into laughter.
That night at the evening meal, the king was in a particularly fine mood, for he had personally killed six stags that day. When Nyssa and the queen danced together for his amusement, he was well-pleased. His little eyes followed their graceful movements as they pirouetted and twirled before him. His wife was wearing a gown of rose-colored silk. It was his favorite color on her, complimenting her lovely russet hair. Nyssa was equally lovely in a silk gown of pale spring-green, the bodice encrusted with pearls and peridots.
Afterward the king took both young women upon his lap, and said first to Nyssa, “I will grant you a boon for the pleasure you have given me with your dancing, my wild rose. What will you have of me?”
“I would be home with my family by Christmas, Your Grace,” she said sweetly, and then kissed his cheek.
The king chuckled richly. “You are a wicked chit, Nyssa, for I know your desire conflicts with the desires of my queen, but I have given my word to grant your wish, and so I must.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied meekly.
The king laughed again. “You do not fool me, madame. You do not fool me one bit. Your good lord tells me how you have wrapped him about your little finger. I did not do so badly by you, Nyssa, did I? You are happy, are you not?”
“I am very happy, Your Grace,” she answered him honestly.
The king turned to his wife. “Now what new extravagance will you have of me, madame? Another gown, or perhaps a new jewel?”
“Nay, sire, but one small thing,” Cat told her husband. “The dowager duchess Agnes sent me a distant relative of hers, and begs that I find a place for him in my household. I could use another secretary, my lord. Will you allow me to do the lady Agnes this favor?”
“Aye,” he said, “for by not coming on this progress and complaining constantly about the state of her health, she has done me a favor. Appoint this fellow if you will. What is his name?”
“Francis Dereham, my lord,” the queen replied, and her eyes met those of Nyssa’s in the shared conspiracy.
They left Pontefract Castle and traveled on to York, arriving in mid-September. The weather was becoming more autumnal, and it was raining more now, which made the journey uncomfortable at best. At York the king hoped to meet with his nephew, King James of Scotland. There had also been speculation that Henry might crown his queen at Yorkminster. The king, however, made it quite clear when queried that Catherine’s coronation rested with her ability to produce another heir for him. She was obviously not with child.
The royal pavilions were set up in the grounds of an old abbey which was being refurbished for use as the site of the conference that Henry hoped to effect between himself and King James. The hunting was excellent. On one day the king and his huntsmen slew two hundred deer. The nearby marshes belonging to the river offered a bounty of ducks, geese, swans, and fish of all kinds. Nothing went to waste, and the cooks in the field kitchens were kept as busy as if they had been at Hampton Court, or Greenwich.
Nyssa had a headache and had not gone hunting that first morning in York. She knew that the queen was also in the encampment. When her headache eased, she sought her out, knowing how easily bored Cat could become, and thinking to offer her a game of cards. The guards outside the queen’s pavilion nodded and smiled to her as she passed by them unchallenged. Inside, Nyssa was surprised to find that the pavilion was deserted. There were no ladies hovering, waiting to do Cat’s bidding, no servants bustling to and fro on a variety of errands.
“Cat?” she called softly. “Cat?” Nyssa passed through from the outer antechamber into the queen’s privy. “Cat?” There was no one in the little room outside the queen’s bedchamber. Perhaps Cat was asleep. Nyssa drew back the curtain gently, not wanting to waken her friend if she slept. Instead her eyes grew wide with shock.
The tableau before her was so sensual that Nyssa could barely breathe. For a moment she could not even move. She simply stared, mesmerized. The queen and Tom Culpeper lay sprawled and entwined amid the satin and fur coverlet of the royal bed. A single lamp, burning fragrant oil, cast a golden glow over them. Cat was naked as the day she had come into the world. Culpeper wore naught but a silk shirt that was open. Nyssa could see the queen’s full breasts, round and lush as for a brief moment her lover changed position. Then he was between her legs, laboring mightily. Cat, her pretty face suffused with lust, was moaning her pleasure, encouraging him onward.
“Ohhh, God, yesss, Tom! Fuck me, darling! Ohhh, yessss! Don’t stop! I need you, darling! Fuck me! Fuck me!”
“I won’t stop, Cat,” he growled quite distinctly. “I am not that sick old fool you’re married to, my hot little bitch. I’ll fuck you well this day, as I have before and will again!” He ground himself into her, and the queen groaned lustily.
Nyssa let the curtain fall, finally able to move. Then she fled the queen’s pavilion.
She could not believe what she had just seen. Surely her eyes had deceived her. But she knew they had not deceived her. They had seen what they had seen, and now she was in a quandary as to what to do. She stopped in her flight, closing her eyes, and drew a deep breath to clear her head. The memory filled her brain, and her eyes flew open again. She needed time to think, to compose herself, to decide what she must do, or if she should or could do anything.
Reaching her pavilion, she called to the groomsman, Bob, to fetch her the gelding she liked to ride.
“Will ye be joining the hunt then, m’lady?” Bob said.
“Nay.” Nyssa shook her head. “I simply wish to ride off this headache. I will not go far, Bob. You need not come with me.”
Entering the pavilion, she called to Tillie to help her change her clothing. “Bring me the heather-colored riding skirt, and my boots.”
“Yer as white as a ghost, m’lady. Are you all right?” Tillie’s tone was one of great concern. “Perhaps you should lie down.”
“Nay,” Nyssa told her. “I need to get away from here, and be by myself for a little time. Ohhh, Tillie! I hate the court!”
Tillie helped her mistress out of her clothes and into a riding outfit consisting of the velvet skirt and a purple velvet bodice edged in gold braid. Kneeling, she fit Nyssa’s boots onto her slender feet. “Are you joining the hunt then, m’lady?”
Nyssa shook her head. “I want to ride. Alone.”
“Bob should ride with you, m’lady. His lordship won’t like it that you’ve gone off alone. ’Tis dangerous,” Tillie fretted.
“Living among the court is far more dangerous, Tillie,” Nyssa told her tiring woman. “I will take my chances in the hills hereabouts. Besides, I will not go far, and his lordship will never know if you do not tell him, will he?” She patted the maidservant’s shoulder and hurried from the pavilion, mounting the horse that Bob had saddled.
She cantered from the encampment, not really even h
eeding where she was going. The countryside about her was bleak. Outside the walls of York there seemed to be nothing but sky and hills. Here and there bits of autumn color were showing. She rode on and on until finally, as she topped a hill, she drew her horse to a halt, gazing out over the landscape below. Nyssa sighed deeply. She had caught the queen in adultery. What was she to do?
The king adored his young wife. He was unlikely to hear any ill about her from anyone. Particularly not from me, Nyssa thought. I cannot accuse the queen of light behavior without proof, and the mere evidence of my own eyes will not be enough. They will say that I am jealous that the king married Cat instead of marrying me. That I seek to turn the king away from her, and back to me. The question of my marriage to Varian will come up all over again, and my own behavior will be questioned. I can say nothing. I am forced to be silent in the face of this adultery and treason. I dare not even tell Varian, for he will go to his grandfather, and then Duke Thomas will go to the queen. Cat will not like it, and she will surely find a way to get even with me. I am no match for a reigning queen. I must remain silent to protect my family.
“I have never before seen such a serious look in any woman’s eyes,” a familiar voice said, amused. “What weighty matters do you ponder, my dear Countess of March? You are too beautiful to be so gloomy.”
Nyssa looked up, startled to see Sir Cynric Vaughn beside her, mounted upon a fine black stallion. “I am thinking of my babies, and how I wish I were home at Winterhaven,” she lied to him. “Surely, my lord, you know that I prefer the country life to that at court.”
“When I saw you leave the encampment, I thought perhaps that you were going to meet a lover,” he told her boldly.
“My husband is my only lover,” Nyssa replied, irritated.
“How quaint,” he drawled, “but surely dull.”
It would be useless to bandy words with him, Nyssa quickly realized. He would not understand the love that she and Varian shared. “You do not hunt today, my lord?”
“Nor do you,” he countered. “I am bored with this constant pursuit of game, which seems to amuse the king so greatly. Tell me, madame, what would you be doing if you were at home instead of here?”
“Harvesting apples and preparing to make cider,” she said. “And then in a few weeks the October ale would need to be brewed.”
He laughed, and his horse danced nervously at the sound. “Do you not have servants to do these things, madame?”
“The servants do the labor, of course, sir, but they must be overseen. Without direction, servants falter, my mother taught me.”
“What about a steward, or a housekeeper?” he wondered.
“They can help, and in some cases take over for a master, or a mistress,” Nyssa told him, “but they cannot substitute for them. Estates possessed by absentee lords are frequently poor ones. Their people lose heart when they do not have the direction of their true master.”
“Hummmm,” he considered. “Perhaps that is why my estate is not a profitable one, but I need a rich wife to restore it, and I cannot find a rich wife without a profitable estate.” He laughed. “It is a serious conundrum, madame. So I remain at court.”
“Where is your home?” she asked him, beginning to gently nudge her horse back in the direction from which she had come.
“In Oxfordshire,” he said. “You would like it since all that is bucolic seems to appeal to you. I possess a tumbling-down old hall, a deer park, and a few hundred acres of overgrown fields.” He moved his horse along with hers as they spoke.
“Are your fields not tilled?” she asked him, shocked. “What of your tenants? Have you no cattle or sheep?”
He chuckled. “You truly are a serious country woman. ’Tis no pose to make you stand out from the others, is it?”
“Sir, the land and its people are a trust. They are England. The king would tell you that himself,” Nyssa said.
“I stand reprimanded, madame,” he said with a smile. “You must teach me how to mend my ways and become a model landowner.”
Now Nyssa smiled. “Sir, I think you mock me.”
“Nay, madame, I should never do such a thing,” he protested.
“Then perhaps, sir, you are again flirting with me?” Nyssa queried him lightly, thinking as she did that it was possible that Culpeper had confided his adultery with the queen to this man. The more people who knew, the more serious the situation had become. She had to find out.
“I think, madame, that it is you who flirt with me,” Sin Vaughn said.
She laughed. “I thought you said it was Tom Culpeper I’d set my sights on,” she said cunningly.
“Did I not warn you that Culpeper had a jealous mistress?” he growled, leaning over so that their faces were near.
“Why do you care?” she asked him daringly, and smiled into his handsome face. She was amazed at her behavior, but time was growing short. If Cat continued her dangerous course once they returned to London, she would surely be caught. The king’s wrath would fall on them all.
“Because,” Sin Vaughn said harshly, “I want you, Nyssa! The thought that you should want another infuriates me. Culpeper is a callow fellow. You deserve better!”
“I thought Master Culpeper was your friend,” Nyssa taunted him gently, “and have I not told you, sir, that I am a happily married woman? I am aware of the direction in which your friend’s interest flows. ’Tis a dangerous game he plays, my lord. You should tell him so.”
“Do you think I have not?” Cynric Vaughn said. “He considers his lady a benevolent provider of all he desires.”
They had reached the encampment. When they came to her pavilion, Sin Vaughn slid from his horse and, reaching up, lifted Nyssa down from her mount. They were standing very close. When she made to move away from him, his arm pinioned her hard, preventing her. Their lips were quite dangerously close for a brief moment. Then he smiled down into her eyes.
“You are really not experienced enough for this game, madame,” he told her quietly, “but I will play it with you if you desire,” and then he loosed her. With a quick bow he turned and led his horse away.
“Take yer mount, m’lady?” Bob was at her elbow.
“Aye, take him,” she told the groom. “I’ve not ridden him hard. Just enough to get the kinks out of his muscles.” She handed the reins of her horse to him and hurried into the pavilion.
What on earth had she been thinking of, trying to flirt with Sin Vaughn? The man was positively dangerous, a man without conscience or morality. She could sense it. I will not dally with him again, she thought. Now I know that he is aware of the queen’s treason.
If Cat Howard fell, then all the Howards would fall, Nyssa knew. She remembered what Varian had said about it. I am the duke’s only grandson. Surely the king in his anger would not strike out at the de Winters, but he could. Henry Tudor was a ruthless man. Everyone knew that he had slain Anne Boleyn when she could not produce a living son for him, and his eye lit upon Jane Seymour. Look how he had untangled himself from his marriage to the lady Anne of Cleves; had allowed Lord Chancellor Cromwell to be executed; had murdered the Countess of Salisbury. Nyssa shuddered. She had to know if anyone else knew of the queen’s adultery.
The king issued an invitation to his nephew, James V of Scotland, the son of his sister Margaret, to join him at York. The ancient abbey stood refurbished and ready for the meeting between the two kings. James’s queen, Mary of Guise, was enceinte with a third child. She must be brought safely to term, as their two young sons had recently died and Scotland had no heir. She did not want him to go. His council did not want him to go. James was no fool. Once he crossed over the border, putting himself into the lion’s mouth, he could find himself a prisoner of his most dearly beloved uncle of England. He did not come.
Each day the English, stationed at vantage points on the border, sent word to Henry Tudor. There was no sign of the Scots. Indeed the border, usually a hotbed of activity on both sides, was unusually quiet. After five days the
English king gave up and faced the truth. His nephew was not coming. Henry was not pleased by the slight, and those around him tread lightly until his temper had worked itself out. The queen was particularly clever at coaxing him. When finally his good humor was restored, the king gave the word that they were to move south. The time had come to return to London. Autumn was upon them, and the weather was beginning to turn colder, and wetter.
They crossed the Derwentwater moving southeast for the town of Hull on the Humber River. The emerald-green hills were almost treeless. The royal progress plodded on relentlessly. Its coaches and baggage wagons lurched over the gentle inclines, the court laughing and riding with it, the great packs of hounds barking excitedly, keeping pace with the horses.
Hull, a fishing port, had been granted a charter in 1299 by Edward I. It had originally been called King’s Town upon Hull. Why the king wished to go there, no one really knew, but when he arrived on the first day of October, the weather changed for the better, to everyone’s relief. The blue skies were cloudless, and the sun shone down brightly. The air was mild. It blew fresh and salty from the sea beyond. The pavilions were set up overlooking the water. The king, it seemed, wanted to fish. His energy appeared to be inexhaustible. But at least one could sit in a boat or stand upon the beach when fishing. The ladies, excused from such activity, took the time to rest, bathe, and repair their clothing, for the king had announced they would remain five days.
Arriving to wait upon the queen one afternoon, Nyssa saw Lady Rochford in deep conversation with Tom Culpeper, standing in the shadow of the pavilion’s awning. They did not see her as she moved quietly past them, and then, safe from their view, stopped to listen.
“You must be patient, Tom, my laddie,” Lady Rochford said. “She is as eager for you as you are for her, but we are not safe here. Too many of the ladies are about, and there is no excuse to send them away from her without arousing suspicion. There are many who are jealous of her, but of course she will not believe that. Her heart is so good. It is beyond her ken to even consider that many would betray her. We must wait for a more propitious time for you to meet again.”
Love, Remember Me Page 33
