Cicely's Second King

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘Nothing that need concern you.’

  ‘You should not stay here. Especially not tonight, the eve of All Hallows.’

  ‘Concern for me? Am I not more evil than evil itself?’

  ‘This is a wicked room, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Indeed it is.’

  ‘Do not stay here. Leave with me,’ she said suddenly. Not even Henry Tudor should be alone here tonight. She did not know why the feeling of dread had suddenly descended over her. Only that it had.

  ‘I did nothing here, Cicely, nor did Richard. It was your own father. He was more cruel than any.’

  ‘I do not want to know. Please do not tell me. Please.’

  ‘Do you smell the fragrance of malmsey? It clings still, or so I am told. I confess I cannot detect it.’

  ‘Malmsey?’ she whispered, beginning to understand.

  He met her eyes. ‘Your father killed his traitorous brother Clarence in this room. With his own hands.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I do not believe you. My father would not murder his own brother.’ George, Duke of Clarence, had been her uncle as much as Richard. He had not shown Richard’s undivided loyalty to Edward IV, but he had always been kind enough to her. He had betrayed her father, more than once, and had been married to Isabel Neville, elder sister of Richard’s queen. He believed the throne should have gone to him, and in the end he had been imprisoned here in the Tower, dying mysteriously in 1478, at the age of only twenty-eight. There had been many rumours of how he died, and being drowned in a large butt of malmsey wine was but one.

  ‘Cicely, your father would kill with ease if said brother were to become too troublesome, and Clarence was certainly that. If I wish to model myself upon a cruel man, that man would be Edward IV. I know what was done here because someone kept a record. Who it was I do not know, only that it came to light when I was having this place searched for information concerning your brothers. The witness identified this exact room.’ He encompassed their surroundings. ‘Your beloved Richard did not know. I doubt if even he would have continued to support your father if he had. Although, it has to be said that he might have been complicit. Edward knew how to reward his youngest brother.’

  She could no longer hide her shudders. ‘Please, let us leave.’

  ‘Together? How charming.’

  ‘Please, Henry.’ His first name slipped out. Her sudden fear made her forget herself, but then he had been calling her Cicely for a while now.

  ‘How lovely you are when you plead, and with my name on your lips.’

  ‘I am sorry for my presumptuousness. The familiarity was not intended to offend.’

  ‘I do not know if you offend me or not, Cicely, only that I cannot leave you alone. I should, dear God, I should, but you have something that I crave so very much.’ He rubbed an eye again. ‘Such sweet torment,’ he murmured. ‘Very well, my lady, by all means let us return to the banquet together.’

  ‘Without the symbol of your sovereignty?’ She glanced at the circlet, which still sat upon the table where he had placed it.

  ‘I am surprised you remind me, Cicely,’ he said, taking it and resting it carefully on his head. ‘Perhaps I should have requested you to do this.’

  ‘It would not make you more of a king.’

  ‘That remark has a rather double-edged quality.’ He offered his arm, and she rested her hand over his. Again she felt Richard’s ring. Again she hesitated. ‘What will you do about my marriage?’

  ‘I will leave it alone. But you will not be known as Lady Welles until I decide to give my public consent. Which will not be before your lying-in.’

  ‘You are spiteful?’

  ‘Yes. And still suspicious. But better you are married to my half-uncle than to some powerful lord who might use you to win support to challenge me.’

  ‘If that is how you feel, why did you not simply say so?’

  ‘And end our conversation before it had begun? Certainly not. Kiss me, and you will have my word. In blood, if you wish.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Cicely gazed at Henry Tudor. This was a moment when she had to show him she was not already conquered. She knew it as certainly as if Richard had told her. ‘No,’ she said. But she wanted to kiss him.

  ‘No?’ It was clearly not the response he had expected, and she could see how he tried to gauge her. ‘Another provocative challenge, Cicely?’

  She did not respond.

  ‘You tantalize so exquisitely well. A sixteen-year-old should not know how to do it with such sophistication. Your touch is so delicate but knowing, so effortlessly instinctive. Your eventual tally of conquests will be something to behold.’

  ‘Another compliment?’

  He gave a faint smile. ‘It was merely an observation.’

  She gazed at him in the glow of the lantern. Somehow he had managed to take back the advantage. He played the game so very adroitly, and with such subtle attraction that she was now the one faced with the unexpected. If he enjoyed sparring with her, she began to do the same, and it was not what she wanted at all.

  ‘You are lost for words, Cicely?’

  ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘So, this new Bosworth hangs in the balance?’

  ‘I am not necessarily Richard,’ she replied.

  ‘For once.’

  ‘The battle may go on for some time, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I do hope so.’

  She trapped his gaze. ‘And the victory may not be worth the strife.’

  ‘Oh, it will be.’

  For a long moment she merely returned his look. She had to emerge from this room the victor. But how? Her following action was not what she foresaw, for it was another impulse that she may well come to regret, but she knew it would achieve what she wanted. And she did want. She stood on tiptoe to link her arms around his neck and kiss him. She wanted to imagine he was Richard, but he remained Henry Tudor. Her lips were parted, her body pressed to his . . . but the moment she intended to be little more than casual took on more meaning than she could help. The scent of cloves was all around her, on his garments and his breath. It was pleasant, not heady or overpowering, but seductive, and he was unexpectedly good to kiss.

  He embraced her and prolonged the kiss, moving his mouth richly against hers. It was not a clumsy or thoughtless kiss, and it knew so much that it disturbed the symmetry of her convictions about him.

  Now he was the one who did not conform, and he stole the victory, making her want to go further . . . much further. She could not, would not surrender to her sensuousness. Or his. There must be more of a battle, but at this most sensual of moments, his power was too great.

  He took his time, but eventually drew back. ‘Oh, how you struggle with yourself, sweetheart. That was not what you expected, was it? So, are you still so sure you can name your price? Or might I have a price of my own?’

  ‘You have already named your price, sir. The lives of those I love.’

  He smiled. ‘Then I have added a surcharge.’

  Yes, he had. What an engrossing viper he was, she thought, realizing she knew less of him and more of herself than she had a minute or so before. ‘And I merely put down a deposit,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, how I look forward to the paying of the balance.’

  And so did she. God help her, so did she. But she would never let him know.

  He gazed at her. ‘Never kiss my uncle in front of me again, Cicely. Never.’

  ‘You are unfair.’

  ‘I know. Promise me, Cicely.’

  ‘I promise, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Henry. When we are alone I am just Henry.’

  She looked into his eyes. ‘I promise, Henry.’

  ‘Now that we have reached some understanding, I think we should return to the gathering.’ He offered her his arm again.

  She hesitated. ‘You should not have brought me here, Henry.’

  He put a fingertip to her lips and drew it gently along them. ‘I do things, Cicely. You will
have to forgive me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I cannot explain, for I do not have the answer myself.’ He met her eyes. ‘No, do not ask me more. Please.’

  Please? There was something almost humble in that single word. Almost. Not quite, for it was Henry Tudor who said it.

  ‘Come.’ He extended his arm again and she rested her hand over his.

  The noise of the junketing drifted towards them as they walked together, but he halted again before they reached the brightness and festivities. ‘You are mine, Cicely. Never forget it.’

  ‘I cannot be yours, Henry,’ she said softly.

  ‘In every way but a wedding band, you are mine, and you will stay mine. There is no argument, no room for compromise or conditions. I want you and will have you. As I choose, when I choose. Is that clear enough for you?’

  ‘Henry—’

  ‘Is that clear enough for you?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I will wait until maternal nature has taken its proper course, but after that, you will come to me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can promise talent enough.’ He smiled a little.

  ‘Yes, I realize that.’

  ‘I am sure you do. Oh, well, let us give them all something more to whisper about. I think I will smile. That will make ears prick and eyes widen.’

  ‘And make them all think you have straddled me.’

  ‘So it will.’

  ‘You really do not care, do you? You have now damaged what is left of my reputation and slighted my husband’s honour. You have also insulted my sister.’

  He caught her hand and raised the palm to his lips. ‘She insults me with every glance, sweetheart, but your glances fire me with passion. Which of those facts do you imagine I appreciate more? As for my uncle, he married you without my consent, and for that he must endure the consequences.’

  ‘Do not be cruel to him, Henry. He is dear to me.’

  ‘I know, and he by some miracle fathered a child on you in June, at Nottingham, right under Richard’s refined royal nose. Sir Jon Welles has married you to protect you, and to conceal the identity of your child’s real father. Which of those facts do you think I believe most?’

  She pressed her lips together and said nothing.

  ‘I thought as much,’ he said, and conducted her into the hall, smiling as he did so. There was the expected pause in the celebrations as everyone noticed what a rare good mood the king now appeared to be in. And all eyes rested upon Cicely, whose exertions they all imagined.

  Henry escorted her to Jon, who stood to bow the moment they approached. His face gave nothing away as Henry ushered Cicely into her husband’s keeping, but then retained her hand.

  ‘I return your lady, my uncle. I congratulate you upon your conquest, and could almost wish myself in your place.’ Henry’s smile was bland.

  Jon was his equal in blandness. ‘I am flattered, Your Majesty, as I am sure my lady is as well.’

  Henry’s fingers clenched momentarily over hers, but then he surrendered her hand to his uncle’s and went back to the throne that presided over the gathering, exalting him. He did not glance towards her again, but sat there, being the king.

  Jon ushered her to sit down, and leaned closer. ‘Are you all right, Cicely?’

  ‘Yes, but I have now told him about my brothers having gone to Burgundy, so you are no longer in possession of a secret that is not known to him.’

  ‘What of the itch in the royal scrotum?’

  ‘I do not think he is as eager to scratch it as he was before. My condition dampens his ardour.’ She felt a great need to lie, because she wanted to shield this man as much as she could, just as he tried to shield her, but she was dismayed by the ease with which lying came to her. She had promised to always be honest with him and faithful to him, yet here she was, already being dishonest and already contemplating unfaithfulness. But Jon had to be safe, and so she did not hesitate. If he thought she was no longer of interest to Henry, he would be more natural in the king’s company. That was what mattered to her now. ‘This is a horrible court,’ she said then.

  Jon nodded. ‘Because it is a Lancastrian court. No, actually I fancy it is the first Tudor court.’ He glanced at her. ‘But most of all it is not Richard’s court, is it?’

  ‘It is where you are, Jon, and for that alone I will endure it.’

  ‘Cicely—’

  ‘Please hear me out, Jon. Henry has made it plain to me that he will not let me leave court. I am not to be permitted to live at Pasmer’s Place with you, or travel with you when you attend to your duties. But you will be welcome to stay at court with me.’

  ‘And you say his itch has diminished?’

  ‘It is punishment, Jon, no more than that. He intends to let our marriage stand, and will give his royal consent, but not in time for your name to give my child your full protection. He is set upon that.’

  ‘No wonder he smiled when he returned. He enjoys mean victories.’

  ‘Jon, he told me he holds you in affection.’

  ‘Did he, by God? Well, the feeling is not reciprocated.’ He smiled a little ruefully. ‘He is my nephew and my king, and I dislike him intensely.’

  Oh, Jon, you would abhor him still more if you knew what intentions he really has towards me, she thought. She could not tell anyone. She would give herself to Henry and say nothing.

  Jon took her hand. ‘You have to be very careful with him, Cicely. It is no exaggeration to say he is dangerous.’

  ‘I . . . begin to know it.’

  ‘What happened?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Nothing, truly. It was something he said. About not being able to help himself.’

  John nodded. ‘It is the truth, sweetheart. Always remember it, and always, always take care with him. It is perilously easy to lose his friendship. You are my wife, and I care very much.’

  She gripped his hand, almost crushing his fingers against the turquoise ring. ‘You have made it plain you do not intend to be my husband in the full sense of it, and—’

  ‘Cicely, I did not intend to give you the impression that I will always shun you.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you did, and I can understand why. I have never meant to hurt you, Jon. Nothing could be further from my mind. Please believe me.’

  ‘I do.’

  She gazed at him. ‘You are such a good man, Jon. I am indeed fortunate to have you. Well, to have your name and protection, if not you yourself.’

  ‘I will not share you with Richard, sweetheart. That is all. His hold is too great. Nor will I desert you, if that is what you still fear. We will do what we can to keep out of Henry’s way. Let him enjoy the diversions of kingship. It will keep him busy, for I do not believe he has any idea how hard his predecessor worked at his responsibilities. I am told Richard was always half-hidden beneath letters, petitions, legal squabbles and just about everything that can be set down in the written word. The most Henry has been buried behind is a mound of his personal account books. He counts his money to perfection.’

  She glanced past him, and found Henry’s eyes upon her.

  The following morning, All Saints’ Day, when the atmosphere of the coronation still diffused the London air, and the weather was overcast and lowering, something took place that finally drove a deep wedge between Cicely and Bess. It happened because Bess sent for her sister, and Mary Kymbe had not fastened Cicely’s purse to her belt as well as she should.

  The meeting started off well enough, because Bess intended to smooth things between them. Had Henry reassured her in some way? Cicely could think of no other explanation after the daggers Bess’s gazes had thrust into her at the Tower.

  Bess soon came to the point, and it concerned how Henry had departed from the coronation banquet. ‘What happened, Cissy? Am I to wonder if you grace Henry’s bed as well as your husband’s?’

  Cicely rose from her chair, gathering the heavy folds of her pale green velvet gown. ‘Certainly not,
Bess! He was angry because Jon and I had married without his full consent. He intends to be sure the child I carry is illegitimate. It was spite. That was why he made me speak to him in a horrid room where he said Father had murdered our uncle Clarence with his own hands.’

  Bess stared at her.

  ‘Be honest, Bess, we know Father was not the gleaming hero we used to believe. I now believe him to have been quite capable of personally extinguishing his own brother. Anyway, you wished to know why Henry sent for me, now you do.’ She thought she had stepped swiftly and successfully aside from the question.

  Bess rose as well. She was as slender as ever, and as beautiful, her salmon-shaded brocade gown shining even though there was no sunlight. ‘And that was his only reason for sending for you?’

  ‘He wished to taunt me in general. It is his way, Bess.’

  ‘You are clearly of the opinion that you know all about him. Does he want you?’

  ‘No.’ Cicely moved around the room a little, for she felt particularly uncomfortable and unwell today. ‘Why cannot we be friends as we once were?’

  ‘Because you hide things from me, Cissy. Because you had more of Richard than I did, because you have Sir Jon Welles eager to protect you, because you are clearly so very glad to be with child, and because you now begin to have more of Henry as well. I am the eldest, the most important and the most beautiful, yet you have everything. When you returned with Henry last night, and there were sly whispers about kings and nieces, can you imagine how that made me feel?’

  ‘Do you honestly believe I would become Henry’s lover? Well, do you? You think I would go willingly into his bed?’ Cicely paused amid her fibs. Henry was perhaps not quite as deserving of such vehemence, nor was she entirely innocent—in thought, at least.

  ‘You see, Cissy? You have to pause to think,’ Bess said quietly.

  ‘Sometimes he chooses to be amusing, and he is good company, Bess. That is why I know that if you only put yourself out—‘

  ‘You know men so well, do you not?’ Bess broke in. ‘Tell me, how many have you lain with? Three? Four? Half a dozen?’

  ‘Clearly at least one more than you, Bess.’