‘Yes. I am sorry. But only sorry because of you, not because I confounded Henry. Or that dreadful Willoughby creature. My brothers were put on a ship for Burgundy, but that is all I know. Truly. There has been no word of them since. That is the truth, Jon. All that I know.’
‘But can I believe you even at this juncture? Or are you misdirecting me yet again?’
‘You can believe me. It is all I know of my brothers, and it is not sufficient to induce Henry to destroy the Scrope contract. And even if I do tell him, he will still believe I hide more.’
‘At least he would be certain Richard had not had them killed in the Tower. It would warn him of the real danger of legitimizing the children of Edward IV.’ Jon drew a heavy breath. ‘Better you had taken his offer, Cicely.’
‘And volunteer information of use to him? I am the wrong House to do that!’
‘Cicely, you have just told me.’
‘I trust you.’
‘I am a Lancastrian and Henry’s blood uncle, sweetheart, nor should you forget it.’
‘But you honour my Yorkist secrets, Jon Welles,’ she replied.
‘So I do, God help me.’
She gazed at him. ‘I did tell him Richard would not have put my brothers to death, I simply did not say it as if it were an absolutely undeniable fact. Forgive me, Jon, because I have let you down so much.’
‘Well, I would have preferred not to know about your brothers, if for no other reason than I now feel a complete fool.’
‘You are not, Jon. How were you to know they had been there? You were sent specifically for Bess, me, Jack, John and Warwick. On top of which, if I recall correctly, it was Willoughby’s responsibility. You, as Henry’s half-uncle, had been sent to extend his greetings to us, especially Bess.’
‘Which duty I exceeded because of Willoughby’s conduct. None of this makes me feel any better. But it would have been wiser for me to know the nature of Henry’s personal interest in you.’
‘Would it have changed your mind about marrying me?’
He gave a slight smile. ‘No. I would not turn from you simply because my half-nephew wishes to bed you. He cannot marry you, and he knows it. He is angry about it, yes, and I can now hazard a fairly accurate guess as to the extent of that anger when he discovers we have gone ahead without his approval. However, if he is too venomous towards us, he will arouse talk. He knows that as well as anyone else. He may boast of being able to do as he wishes, but he cannot always have his way. His arse is not yet firmly enough upon the throne for that. I believe he may well give his belated consent, and we will stay married.’
‘That relies on the good nature we know he does not have.’
He searched her eyes. ‘Why have you told me this now?’
‘Because of the way you smiled at me.’
‘The way I . . . smiled at you?’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Please tell me there is logic in here somewhere?’
She gave him a rueful little smile of her own. ‘You have a good smile, Jon Welles, and it forced me to confront what I was doing to you.’ She went closer, but not to touch him. ‘There is still time for you to step away from this marriage.’
‘And why would I wish to do that?’
‘Because I am your burden. I remember all that was said between us in the palace gardens, but now, when it comes to the actual fact of what I bring to you, I cannot go on. The information about my brothers, even though so small, is something Henry would dearly like to know. It will prove that you are loyal. You will . . . placate him.’
‘Placate him?’ Jon’s tone was suddenly very cool.
‘You have crossed him because of me, and I have made my vows with you today without warning you of the extent of his interest. I am sorry, Jon, sorry to have ever entered your life and caused you such trouble. Please forgive me.’
He was silent for a long moment, and then reproached her. ‘Cicely, you do me a grave disservice by suggesting I go to Henry to wheedle my way cravenly into his good books. I will not set you aside, for any reason, other than that you wish it. Certainly not in order to save my own hide. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, hanging her head.
‘I am more concerned now to know exactly how far things have gone with Henry. Has he touched you?’
She hesitated.
‘Well? Has he?’
‘Not as you may think. He pulled me to my feet by the chin. It hurt. But then he apologized.’
Jon had stiffened, and his eyes became like flint. ‘He pulled you to your feet by the chin?’ he breathed.
‘Yes. Oh, make of him what you will, Jon, for it is impossible to know what he is thinking.’ Or where he is looking, she thought, remembering the cast in Henry’s eye.
‘King or not, nephew or not, if he were here now I would rip his heart from his body!’ Jon looked at her again. ‘What did you actually say or do that made him so hot to have you? Beyond merely exist, I mean.’
‘He wanted me to stand up to him, he taunted me, and so I did as he wished. I told him what I thought of him, I criticized and did not always show him the respect he warrants. Whatever I may have felt, he is still the king, but I told him I hated him for it, that I wished Richard were still here, that—’
‘For pity’s sake, Cicely, I have heard enough. I am amazed your silly head is still attached to your equally silly neck. No one speaks to Henry Tudor like that.’
‘He goaded me to it, he really wanted me to confront him like that. It is the only reason he sent for me. To amuse himself.’
‘He said that?’
‘About amusing himself with me? Yes.’
Jon gazed at her for a long moment. ‘I can well imagine you aroused more than just his interest, Cicely, because when you defend Richard and give someone a piece of your mind, you do it with such style, conviction, brilliant contempt and fervour that most men could bed you there and then. You stir men’s senses and desires, Cicely. I wanted you at Sheriff Hutton, so I should know. Well, small wonder Henry has an itch for you rather than Bess. Fire between the coverlets, not ice.’
She bit her lip. ‘I have not done any of this very well, have I?’
‘No.’
She lowered her eyes, because of tears.
‘Oh, God above, Cicely, do not cry. I cannot bear it when women cry.’ He came close enough to raise her chin and make her look at him. ‘I am your husband now, and will do all I can to preserve you, your child and my good self. I will begin tonight by telling him of the marriage. I was going to wait until after the coronation, but I think it best to tell him when he has so much else on his mind. He is better told disagreeable things when he is distracted by something more important.’
‘Please do not let him know I’ve told you that he—’
‘That he has a lustful itch for my wife? Oh, that will be the very first thing on my lips! Be sensible, Cicely. Tell him that?’
She flushed.
‘Well you might go pink, madam, because you certainly have enough to go pink about. I will only tell him we are married. He will send for you, of that there can be little doubt. And he will treat you to a most disagreeable and demeaning interview, but he has no real option except to marry your sister.’
‘I am sorry, Jon,’ she said again, biting her lip as she struggled not to cry.
‘I really do have my hands full with you, do I not? It seemed so simple when I first offered you this marriage, but suddenly I am in the lion’s den. Is there anything else you have omitted to tell me?’
‘Not that I can think of now.’
‘Then please do not think too hard. What did you believe you saw in the church?’ he asked suddenly. ‘You said the king, but which king? Ah, the light that passes so swiftly through your eyes tells me all I need to know. You thought you saw Richard.’
‘Yes, but I do know I could not have seen him,’ she replied quietly.
‘I trust so. Promise me one thing, Cicely. If this child is a boy, please do not ask me to let him b
e named Richard. I will not spend my life with an heir—son or daughter— who not only belongs to him and will most likely look like him but, if a boy, carries his name as well.’
Oh, the echoes. ‘You must choose the name, Jon, for the child will be born and brought up as yours. Your son or daughter.’
He nodded. ‘If that can be achieved, I will be glad of it.’
‘If? What do you mean?’ She felt a sudden sense of foreboding.
‘I mean nothing, Cicely. Do not look for things that are not there.’
‘Will you stay with me tonight? Here, in this room?’’
‘So that you can apologize to me? I think my answer to that is no, Cicely.’
‘Not to apologize, Jon, but because I want to show you how grateful I—’
‘So now it is gratitude? Sweet God, Cicely, you really do know how to offend me.’
She was appalled. ‘I did not mean it in that way.’
‘Yes, Cicely, actually I think you did. Oh, not deliberately, just thoughtlessly. I have kept my side of this bargain, and will continue to do so. And, as originally made clear, I see no reason for us to pretend in private, but I will still expect you to be faithful.’
‘If that is your wish.’
‘It is. And let us be honest, Cicely, even if I did take you into my bed, there would be one too many there. Do you not agree? Richard Plantagenet would be present. In spirit, of course, but present all the same. He has an unfair advantage over a mere mortal like me. How can anyone compare with him, mm? Young, handsome, tragic, brave, betrayed, bereaved, beloved, cultured, powerful, just, loyal, intelligent, sensitive, unbelievably engaging, gifted and endowed with more attraction in his big toe than I have in my entire body. Jesu, what a list. And he could fight like a warrior, converse like an archangel, negotiate like a king, and dance like a courtier. Not even the imperfection of his body detracted from his incredible appeal. He did not only wear a crown, he wore a damned halo! Dear God, he is an impossible figure to contend with.’
‘He was not a saint, Jon. He lay with me.’
‘Ah, Leviticus again, Chapter Eighteen. If you were my niece, I would lie with you as well.’
‘You are my husband, sir, and I would welcome you to lie with me, but you do not wish to.’
The reply wrought a change in him, for he went to the door suddenly. ‘I cannot juggle words with you any longer. I have to go now. Good night, Cicely.’ Inclining his head, he left.
Chapter Ten
Cicely did not attend the coronation. She was unwell, and it was no sham. From the moment of awakening she felt sick, and was sick. It was quite impossible to attend the great service in Westminster Abbey because she was obliged to remain in bed at Pasmer’s Place. Thus she also missed the state banquet at Westminster Hall. When she awakened on the morning after the coronation, she was feeling much better. At least she did once a less serious bout of sickness had subsided.
She had not seen Jon since he left Pasmer’s Place, although he had sent a brief note that Henry had been informed of their marriage. The information had been received without a single word, except Jon’s dismissal from the royal presence. Other than that, Jon had been kept close with extra duties that denied him the chance to return to his house and new wife. The last part of the message urged her, if she was able, to attend the eve of All Hallows merrymaking in the palace at the Tower.
‘Be there if you can, my lady, for it will reflect badly upon you if you are not. There is not to be a disguising, so dress only for court, that is all. Whatever you do, you have my support. Jon.’
When the evening came she felt able to go as Jon wished, and so she dressed in her coronation gown and headdress, beneath a fur-lined cloak and hood, and was conveyed by river to the Tower, where everything was alight with torches and banners. She did not want to accept that Henry Tudor was now as anointed a king as Richard had been, or that the pageant and ceremony had been as magnificent. Whatever he did, however much he spent upon his own glorification, he could never be a king—or man—in Richard’s mould.
She was received with all due respect at the Tower. A lot of noise greeted her in the hall: minstrels, fools, tumblers and dancing. It was a sumptuous scene, with ample food and drink, and coloured banners, hangings and candles. There were no masks and disguises as was usual on the eve of All Hallows, but it still appeared that the whole of the nobility was present, and there seemed not an inch of space to be had. A lull descended as she was announced, not as Lady Welles but as Lady Cicely Plantagenet. Henry had clearly not accepted the marriage.
Her arrival was a matter of interest because it had proved impossible to suppress the whispers about the king’s half-uncle and future sister-in-law. Margaret’s ladies had witnessed so much in the garden at Westminster Palace, and every court loved a salacious story.
Henry, set-faced, was seated on a throne at the centre of the dais, aloof from those near him. The long trestle table was garlanded and white-clothed, and there were silver-gilt vessels, beautiful goblets and golden cutlery, choice foods and drinks, and beautifully arranged sprays of evergreens. A table fit for a king. He wore a long robe of royal blue velvet, trimmed with sumptuous ermine, and beneath it a doublet of cloth-of-gold. The livery collar across his shoulders was one she had seen Richard wear. It was rich with diamonds, pearls and sapphires, and to see it upon Henry Tudor was a grievous shame. It was even more of a shame to see Richard’s gold circlet around his pale forehead.
Margaret, still black-clad and, in her way, as menacing as her son, sat on his right, her chair almost as grand as his. To her right was Jasper Tudor, swarthy in the darkest of crimsons, and clearly not particularly comfortable or interested in the revelry. He looked, Cicely thought, as if he were chewing a wasp.
To Henry’s left sat Bess, on a lesser chair than her future mother-in-law. She would not warrant a throne until she was queen. She was very beautiful in oyster velvet and russet fur, but her face was as set as his.
The Queen Dowager was at one end of the dais, gazing straight ahead as if she were not really there at all. Jon was opposite her, and by his expressionless face he—like Jasper—wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. He wore pine-green, the sleeves of his doublet slashed with grey, and as soon as she was announced he rose to go to her. All eyes watched, and then glanced at the dais, where Henry’s face was like thunder. Bess was ruddy with resentment as she watched the sister who so effortlessly—if unwillingly—commanded attention.
Jon bowed over Cicely’s hand, and she sank into a curtsey. He smiled. ‘I am glad you were able to come.’
‘Even if I am apparently not recognized as your wife after all?’
‘Even if.’
‘I am here for you, Jon. No one else. And I can tell by the interest we cause that our secret is not as secret as Henry would wish. Well, I wear your ring and we exchanged vows before God, so perhaps you should kiss me? Let us give the world proof of our affection.’
He tilted her chin and kissed her on the lips. Chatter broke out because Henry suddenly rose from his throne and left the banquet. He did not speak to Bess or to anyone else, but walked out, leaving confusion behind him. Bess’s bitterly accusing gaze was riveted to her sister. Margaret sat forward to look at Jasper, who shrugged angrily and then hurled some meat to the congregated hounds that had long since gained the measure of his generosity. The Queen Dowager gazed around as if nothing had happened.
Jon presented his arm to Cicely. ‘Come, Lady Welles—for that is what you are—we cannot allow the king to concern us.’ He smiled again, and they proceeded to the dais, where she took the seat next to him. But hardly was she seated when a royal page came to her.
‘The king requests your presence, Lady Welles.’
Her heart plummeted. ‘Jon?’
‘Go, sweetheart. There is nothing else for it.’
Slowly she rose again, aware that almost all eyes watched her follow the page through the very archway that Henry had used only moments earlier. The festiv
ities tried to recommence, but everyone knew—or thought they knew—that at the very least she was about to be severely reprimanded for having married without the king’s consent.
She was conducted deep into the Tower, away from the hall, away from the comfortable apartments, and eventually up winding, draughty steps to a narrow doorway that was lit by a wall torch. She could hear the croak of a raven somewhere. As the page opened the door, there was something about the poorly lit room beyond that made her loath to enter. Superstition and dread seemed to lie in wait, and she was conscious of the drag of her gown upon the rough boards as, unwillingly, she went in. The fact of it being the eve of All Hallows seemed fitting, for dark spirits really did seem to be all around her.
A horn lantern glowed on a shelf, revealing a table and several chairs, but nothing else. And yet she felt so much in that room. Something terrible had happened here, and its memory was in the stonework. She shivered, but it was not only the cold that made her wrap her arms around her belly, because the very air seemed menacing.
The page withdrew and closed the door. She almost expected to hear the key turn, but it did not. She glanced around, sensing the ghosts around her. Whose ghosts she did not know, but they were sad. If there was one ghost she wished to see now, it was Richard, but she strove not to think of him. Not now, for she needed to keep her wits and be ready for whatever Henry Tudor had in mind.
The door opened and he entered. His steps were quick and angry, and he closed the door behind him. ‘Well, now, my lady,’ he said, removing his circlet and placing it upon the table, almost as if he did not intend to confront her as the king. His rich clothes were at odds with the surroundings as he turned to face her. ‘What have you to say to me?’
‘That I am here at Your Majesty’s summons.’ She had gone to her knees the moment he entered, and kept her eyes fixed to the floor.
‘You did not attend the coronation.’
‘I was indisposed, Your Majesty. I crave your pardon.’
‘Look at me.’
She obeyed, reluctantly.
He considered her for a long moment, ‘Yes, you do not appear well. Perhaps I forget my gallantry.’ He came to put a hand firmly under her elbow and help her to rise. No fingers gripping her chin this time. ‘Please be seated, my lady.’ He indicated one of the chairs, and the emerald on his finger caught a little light from the horn lantern.
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