Cicely's Second King

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  Katherine gasped suddenly. ‘She carries the child in the wrong position! See? It comes feet first!’

  Cicely wanted to laugh in the midst of her tears. ‘If you are right, Mistress Kymbe, I am truly my uncle’s niece! Is that not what they now say of him?’

  She drew his hand to her lips—his hand—and kissed it adoringly. ‘I do not hate you, Richard, I love you with everything I am.’

  Katherine read her lips. Richard? The women exchanged glances as well. Mary lowered her eyes.

  ‘You will be safe, my dearest, and so will our child. Your suffering will soon be over. Have heart.’

  ‘I have your heart,’ Cicely breathed, stiffening in readiness as she felt the pain returning. There was scarce any time between the contractions now, scarce any time to breathe, let alone endure the paroxysms. The pain convulsed through her, as if her inside would be outside, and she almost began to wish she could die, to be free of it.

  Richard’s fingers tightened. ‘Never think it, Cicely! Never!’

  She clung to his hand. ‘Tell me you love me. Tell me you will always love me.’

  Again Katherine read her lips, and the ladies looked at one another again. Lady Welles was clearly not in her right mind. Had she gone mad of the pain?

  ‘I love you, Cicely, and I always will. You know I am yours, only yours, and that if I could spare you this, I would. I am ashamed to have brought you to such a state, ashamed that as a man I can have all the pleasure but none of the pain. But I do know pain, sweetheart, pain that I can no longer be to you what you need of me. I cannot tell you how much you mean to me, how much you have warmed my heart and my soul, but my love will never fail you. Never. Be strong now, my dearest Cicely, for it is almost over.’

  Oh, his skill with speaking of his love, her sovereign lord, her dearest lord. . . . She felt herself relax suddenly, unwilling to fight any longer, and Katherine gave a cry of relief.

  ‘It comes at last, the child comes! Help me, we must lift her to the chair. This will not be easy for her, not with the child the wrong way around.’

  The women hurried forward, and Cicely felt Richard release her hand as she was carried to the birthing chair. She was hardly aware as Katherine did all she could to help the child into the world. The pain was such that unconsciousness pressed close. She was not giving birth to a child, but to every organ! She screamed in the final moments, as Katherine at last drew the baby from her.

  Cicely heard the midwife slap the child, and then its first wavering cry. The ladies forgot their suspicion of Lady Welles, and gathered around in delight as the baby was wiped and oiled, and then swaddled.

  ‘You have a fine boy, my lady, a beautiful, strong, healthy child. A child of St. Valentine, for it is only now midnight. He is early, but you need not fear he will be weak.’ Katherine gave the baby to Cicely, who hardly had the strength to hold him.

  Cicely gazed through tears at the tiny, puckered face. Oh, how she wished to call him Richard, but she knew she could not. ‘I would see my lord now,’ she said.

  Katherine disapproved. ‘So soon? My lady, that is not the accepted way.’

  ‘I would see my lord, now,’ Cicely repeated, making certain her lips could not be misread.

  The midwife nodded at Mary. ‘Tell Sir Jon.’

  It seemed an age before Cicely heard his step at the door, but then he entered. The women stood around disapprovingly, for men were definitely not welcomed at this early point, before the mother could be cleansed.

  Cicely smiled as he came to the bedside. ‘You have a son, Jon.’

  He looked into her tired eyes. ‘You should sleep, sweetheart.’ He touched her face gently, and the turquoise caught the firelight, shooting with green, gold and blue.

  ‘He will be yours,’ she whispered.

  ‘I know that is your wish, sweetheart.’

  She saw something in his eyes. ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. Nothing at all.’

  But she knew there was, and needed reassurance. ‘Kiss me, Jon. Please.’

  He bent over the child to put his lips to hers. ‘I love you, Cicely, please know that I do.’

  She gazed up at him. ‘You love me?’

  ‘God help me, yes, I do.’

  She closed her eyes again, for it seemed the room swam a little. She needed to rest. There was a name she breathed as she sank into sleep, but no one knew what it was. She did not awaken as she was carried back to the bed. She did not stir as Jon gave the baby to the women, or when he kissed her again. When he had gone the women cleansed her and changed her, but she slept throughout.

  It was still dark when she awakened. The room was firelit, and there was no one there. Not even Mary.

  ‘There is someone here, sweetheart.’

  She turned her head. Richard was at the bedside, and he bent to take her hand. ‘How are you, sweeting?’

  ‘The better for seeing you again.’

  ‘So, I am not hated now?’ He smiled that smile, and she looked away.

  ‘Do not make me want you now, Richard, for I vow I will kill you.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, I believe you would.’ He went to the crib. ‘We have a son?’

  ‘You knew that already.’

  ‘So I did. You see? He is healthy and will live.’

  She watched him. He was still so very beautiful to her eyes, the most beloved prince God had ever created.

  ‘I am not quite that, sweetheart, nor should you think it. I am very human indeed, with all the weaknesses that state entails.’ He looked down at the baby again. ‘We did well, I think?’

  ‘What is to become of him, Richard?’

  ‘I only know that he will live.’

  ‘You would not lie to me?’

  ‘Cicely, do you not believe your king?’

  ‘My king led me astray,’ she reminded him. ‘But no, my king would not lie to me, he would simply be judicious with the truth.’

  He came back to her and she saw something in his eyes. She had seen it earlier, in Jon’s eyes. What was it? ‘Richard? There is something wrong, I can feel it.’

  ‘You must do as your husband tells you, Cicely.’

  She gazed at him. ‘You are going to leave me now, are you not?’ she whispered. ‘Now, of all days, you are going from me. Why do you not crush my heart as well? You could not do more.’

  ‘I came to you tonight to be with you and our son, just once. Together. I wanted to affirm my love, for you and for him, but from now on you must turn to Sir Jon. Do not be his Anne, and do not make me the instrument of his misery. That is why I will not come to you again. You must not summon me. You must not. I demand your vow on this.’

  All the moments of their love moved before her now. Every kiss and caress, every tenderness and shared understanding. She knew again that very first kiss, when she had at last realized her feelings for him. And that first night, when she had given her chastity so very gladly. It was all with her again now. He came to her and put his hand to her cheek. She felt him. Jesu, how alive he seemed. She could even catch his fingers and press them to her lips. She wanted to be the greatest fool in all Creation.

  ‘And so you will be if you do not relinquish me.’ Richard smiled gently.

  ‘I wish I could hide my thoughts.’

  He smiled. ‘Not from me, sweetheart. Never from me. Cicely, your husband has now told you of his love, he confessed it truly, and I will not stand in the way of that love. You are his wife and are not indifferent to him; indeed you like and need him. What more do you want? You cannot have me. I am dead. Dead, Cicely. And I will no longer assist you to make his life the torment I endured. Please tell me you understand.’

  She saw him in a blur. ‘I know you are right,’ she whispered. ‘I know it.’

  ‘And have known it in your heart all along.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her fingers clenched over his. ‘One last kiss? Please?’

  ‘No, sweetheart. If I do that, I will lose my resolve
. We both know it. One of us has to make this decision, and it must be me.’

  She heard the slight break in his voice, and could hardly bear it. ‘Then go, now,’ she whispered, closing her eyes, ‘before my courage fails.’ She did not need to open her eyes to know he was no longer there. But he was still in her mind’s eye. Her Richard. As clear and shining as ever.

  Dawn was in the offing when Jon came to her. She had awakened only moments before, as if anticipating his approach.

  ‘How are you now?’ he asked, coming to the bedside and taking her hand.

  ‘Tired.’ She smiled, linking her fingers through his. ‘I am so glad you have returned. Please believe that I did not kiss you that time because of Lucy Talby, I did not know she was watching. It matters to me that our marriage is made complete. I want to be one with you, Jon Welles, and when I am able to lie with you, when I have been churched and am strong again, I will beg you to let me come to you.’

  ‘And what of Richard?’

  ‘He must be put in the past. I know that. Now. I did not before.’ But all she could see was Richard’s smile, and the look of love in his eyes. She strove to banish the image. ‘I am truly happy to be with you now, Jon.’

  ‘You may soon wish you were not.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, close to her. ‘You already know that Henry’s suspicions are now stronger than before?’

  ‘Yes. It was Ralph Scrope who told him. He said it out of mischief, for he did not actually know anything. But Henry cannot be certain, Jon. Ralph was not even in Nottingham when I lay with Richard. Henry can still only suspect, and I will continue to deny everything except that my son is yours.’

  ‘Well, Scrope and Lucy are beyond causing any more trouble.’

  ‘Beyond?’

  ‘I have taken the necessary steps. They were found on the marsh, alive, but are no more.’ He looked away. ‘I too can murder to protect those who are dear to me. You are dear to me. Your son is dear to me, sweetheart, simply because he is your son. That is enough for me.’

  ‘Oh, Jon . . .’

  ‘Love forces decisions on us all, Cicely.’

  How well she understood the truth of that. ‘I am sorry I was so foolish before you left.’

  ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’ He smiled, but then became serious again. ‘Cicely, it would seem Henry does give credence to what Scrope told him, but my sister continues to believe I am the father. I will not change what I have said to both of them, but . . .’ He looked at her. ‘Henry will not wish Yorkist factions to learn there is a male child with Richard as his father and you as his mother. Sweetheart, Henry has to be rid of the threat.’

  Her lips parted and she snatched her hand away as she tried to haul herself up against the pillows. ‘Rid? Murder him? Is that what you mean?’

  He made her lie back again. ‘It is what Henry has to do, Cicely, and he is bound to act soon. Your child is far too close to the throne.’

  ‘Where are you leading me now, Jon? I know it will break my heart, whatever it is.’

  He drew her hand to his lips, and then clasped it tightly. ‘The only way I know to be sure of the baby’s safety, is . . . to say that he died after birth.’

  She struggled to sit up again. ‘Died? But he is healthy!’ Her eyes were wide, her heart thundered, and she felt dread deep within. ‘Jon?’

  ‘And he will live, sweetheart.’ Jon gathered her close. ‘I intend to send him to Friskney with Tom Kymbe, now, before first light, to be brought up as his child. The child he has just lost, the child whose body Katherine Kymbe brought here, will be placed in your—our—son’s crib. Tom it was who thought of it. He knew from my message that our child was not mine after all. No, I did not state as much to him, he inferred it from my words and saw what had to be done. I did not know his notion until I spoke to him after he had returned from the causeway with you. His son will take the place of yours, and will be buried as my son.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘It must be done, sweetheart.’

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘Please do not do this, Jon. Please, I beg of you. Not my baby. I cannot lose my baby.’ I cannot forfeit him as well as his father!

  Jon kissed her hair. ‘Forgive me, sweetheart, but I must save him, do you not see? It is because of Richard that Tom must take the boy back to Friskney, and treat him as his own child. Tom can do it. The deaths of his lady and his child are not known, for he has not yet informed of them. His lady’s demise he can do nothing about, but your child—our child—can take his son’s name and identity. I will provide for him. Your baby will not lack for anything.’

  She struggled to be sensible. ‘But, Jon, the ladies here know the baby is well and healthy.’

  ‘They will know they are wrong when they find only a little body in the crib. By then Tom will be well on his way back to Friskney. Mistress Kymbe will take care of him there, for as long as she is still able. Then another will be found. Perchance Tom will find himself a wife.’

  ‘The Kymbes will have my child, while I do not? I cannot bear to think of that, Jon.’

  He held her more tightly. ‘Tom is a good man, and does not live at the other end of the earth. You will be able to see your boy, Cicely. I do not expect you to give him up completely, just help me to do what I can to keep him safe. You cannot know how it pains me to do this to you, but please tell me you understand and accept.’

  She tried to compose herself, tried to accept what was happening. ‘Jon, this will break my heart.’

  He stroked her hair. ‘I know, sweetheart, but the child’s well-being must come first.’

  ‘I have hardly held him in my arms.’

  ‘Do you wish to hold him now?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  He propped her up a little more on the pillows, and then brought the tiny bundle to her. She cradled her baby, her tears falling upon his little face. He did not like it, and grizzled, but she smiled. ‘My tears are because you are to be sent from me, my little boy, but sent to safety.’ She looked at Jon. ‘What name will you give him?’

  ‘Tom’s son was named in honour of my father, who was Lionel. He was always known as Leo, and so Leo is the chosen name. I am happy with that, Cicely.’

  ‘He should be Leo Welles, Jon.’

  ‘No, sweetheart, because he is Leo Plantagenet.’

  She gazed at him, and then kissed the baby’s forehead before calling upon all her willpower to hold him out to Jon. ‘Tell Master Kymbe that I trust him, Jon.’

  ‘Do you forgive me?’

  She nodded. ‘You know that I do, because I know you are right.’

  Jon touched her cheek, as Richard would have done, and then turned. ‘Mistress Kymbe?’

  Katherine Kymbe was in the doorway with the bag Cicely had seen when she arrived. She watched the old lady put the bag down and then take out a little form wrapped in a blanket. When the blanket was unwrapped, Cicely saw that the dead child was bound with exactly the same swaddling bands as her baby. Tom Kymbe’s son was placed in the crib. Taking up the bag again, she curtseyed to Jon. ‘I will wait outside, my lord.’

  Jon nodded, and then looked down at Cicely again. ‘It is as good as done, sweetheart.’

  ‘I feel so for Tom Kymbe.’

  ‘And he for you, sweetheart.’

  ‘Then take my baby to him, Jon. I know well my little boy will be safe and loved.’ And very well protected, she thought, remembering Tom’s actions out on the marsh.

  He bent to kiss her on the lips, and then left. Leo Plantagenet went with him.

  She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Her heart was so devastated that she could not feel anything. It was as if she was only acting, and at any moment the performance would end. She wanted to call Richard. Surely he would not be so hard as to abandon her now? When their baby had been taken from her? For a moment his name trembled upon her lips, but she did not say it. She must turn to Jon from now on. And be the wife she had just promised to be.

  Chapter T
wenty-One

  Cicely was feeling well again. Truly well. Her body had recovered from childbirth, she had been churched, and now it was late May. She was seventeen. No, she was now in her eighteenth year. She smiled, hearing Richard’s teasing tone, and even seeing the sparkle in his eyes.

  She had not tried to summon him, although there had been times when she had come so very close. But the thought of him not responding was even worse than the distress that drove her to the point of wanting to see and touch him. Sometimes, when she longed most for her baby, it was Richard’s comfort she needed.

  All had not gone well on Henry’s progress, for there had been a rebellion, led by Richard’s close friend and supporter Francis Lovell, with two members of the high-ranking Stafford family. It had been ill-timed and unsuccessful. The elder Stafford had been executed, the younger spared. Francis Lovell had escaped, it was believed to Burgundy, where he was with Richard’s other close friend, Robert Percy, who alone had accompanied Richard to the hunting tower near Sheriff Hutton. To be with Cicely for a few stolen hours.

  On first learning of the uprising, she feared Jack had been with the rebels, but it seemed he was with Henry. Against Francis? It did not seem possible. Perhaps he had been involved, but not found out. That seemed more like the Jack she knew. She was relieved he was still alive, and that Francis had escaped. What was happening now she did not know, except that Henry was more secure upon Richard’s throne.

  There had been no word from him, but just as she began to wonder if Ralph’s information about her baby had not been taken seriously after all, there were reports that a man wearing the king’s livery had requested to see the registers. He would have found a correct entry, confirming the birth and death of the son of Sir Jon and Lady Welles.

  Tonight, however, it was of Jon Welles that she must think. It was time to be a true wife to him. If he would have her. He had made no demands of her, not complained or shown impatience, but had been a courteous and attentive husband. She had not mentioned Richard to him again, but only spoke of her child, at Friskney, not thirteen miles away across the Witham as the crow flew. Further by horse, for the way was inland through Boston, where the first bridge was to be found. She received word of him, and knew he prospered, but until she had been churched she had not been able to leave the castle. Now, perhaps, with the fine spring weather, Jon might take her there. Perhaps.