Cicely's Second King

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘I cannot, Cissy. Not yet. I am married to the wrong king, you see. I have Henry, but it is Richard I still want.’

  ‘Richard is dead, Bess. You cannot have him. Nor can I.’ Cicely lowered her eyes. ‘So you and I must remain at odds? Very well. I cannot make you like me again. How should I address you now? As Your Majesty?’

  ‘Henry reserves that for himself. I am still Your Grace.’

  ‘It was good enough for Richard, and he was a far greater man and king than Henry Tudor will ever be,’ Cicely reminded her.

  ‘Yes, it was good enough for him, and he was everything you say.’ There was a long silence, and then Bess looked at her again, her lovely blue eyes alight with tears. ‘Dear God, Cissy, I have missed you so.’ The Queen of England ran to her sister, flung her arms around her, and began to sob. ‘I am so wretched, Cissy, so wretched that I wish I were dead!’

  ‘Please do not say that, sweeting. Please.’ Cicely returned the embrace, whispering that last word because she was weeping too.

  ‘Henry does not care for me at all. I know nothing of love, of tenderness or true desire. I know that you do, because you lay with Richard, and everything that I am tells me how very fortunate you are. You now know love in all its sweet facets and moods, whereas I . . . know only Henry Tudor’s rough servicing against a wall!’

  Cicely held her tightly.

  Bess paused, and then drew back. ‘I have never said anything about you to Henry, you do know that, do you not? I knew who had fathered your baby, but not a word passed my lips. If he has learned anything, it was not through me. I could not do that, Cissy, no matter how hurt and jealous I was. And . . . I am so sorry you lost your little boy. You cannot know how sorry I am, but at least you have found some measure of happiness with Sir Jon, although as he is Margaret’s half-brother, I cannot imagine how you can even like him.’

  Cicely smiled. ‘You do not know him. He is very different from his sister, and is so good to me.’

  ‘Where is he now? I know he came south with you, but have not seen him.’

  ‘He has been sent to Winchester.’ Cicely looked away, for Jon had hardly been allowed to set foot in London before he was sent off again. As yet Henry had not summoned her. She had not even seen him, but his tentacles seemed to be all around her. The waiting was agonizing, but she prayed that he would summon her soon, and do what he would, before Jon returned. She did not want Jon to know, nor would she say. She would tell him Henry had not shown any interest. She looked at her unhappy sister. ‘Oh, Bess, I do wish Henry could be good to you.’

  ‘Even I know he will never be a great lover. I have only to see him to know that! How he even knows what I look like I do not know, for his eyes still swivel. You may be thankful that you do not have to go to his bed.’

  ‘I am. Very thankful.’ Cicely lowered her eyes.

  ‘I did not want him to choose you to carry my baby at the christening. I railed against it, but it seemed the more I objected, the greater his pleasure became to insist upon it. But now I am glad he prevailed, Cissy. You will be my child’s most senior aunt, and no matter that Henry will be the father, I know you will be kind and affectionate.’ Bess laughed. ‘Half an hour ago I would not have believed I would ever say such a thing. Or be reunited with you.’

  ‘I am glad we are reunited.’

  Bess looked at her. ‘I am not the Bess of before. I have become hardened and selfish, fighting Henry over everything. It is not the way, I know that. You would have him taking those crumbs from the ground at your feet. Oh, those crumbs. I destroyed everything so much that in the end it was all I had from Richard. Do you remember?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do.’

  ‘I was such a fool. Well, I will not be a fool again. I will not beg anything from Henry Tudor. I will simply spend his money.’

  Cicely was startled. ‘His money? I will warrant you do not get much of that!’

  ‘I have discovered a taste for greyhounds and playing cards. A very expensive taste. He has to pay for it all. He does not like it, but he does it. He fears to upset me so much that I lose his precious heir. His Arthur! What he will do if I produce a daughter I really do not know. I suppose he will ram me up against the nearest wall and do his kingly duty again.’

  ‘Is it really that bad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Cicely wondered if even Henry Tudor, who had been so incredibly sensuous with her, could really be so brutish with Bess. But then, see what he had done to John of Gloucester. It had been vicious. But how full of loathing Henry was when speaking of Bess. And vice versa.

  Bess glanced at her. ‘He will send for you soon.’

  ‘He has said so?’

  ‘No, but I know it. Men cannot stay away from you, can they? They are bees, and you are an irresistible honey-pot. Even Henry Tudor feels it.’

  ‘Henry does not want me, Bess,’ Cicely replied with almost glib untruthfulness. She to deceive in this. How could she possibly do anything else? ‘He likes to torment me, Bess, and probably for the same reason he does you. We both think too much of Richard and he cannot forgive that.’

  Bess nodded.

  Cicely loathed herself, because she knew there was far more to Henry’s attention to her than she was saying. Unless he had changed very much while she had been in Lincolnshire.

  Her hope of being no longer of interest to Henry was soon dashed. Not long after, at nightfall, he summoned her to his apartments.

  On the way there she came face-to-face with Jasper Tudor, who treated her to his usual glower. She smiled sweetly and dropped him a curtsey. ‘How pleasant to encounter you, my lord.’

  He grunted something and started to walk on.

  But she spoke again, her smile even sweeter. ‘Really? How very charming and gallant of you to say so. You are a real adornment to the court, and such an embellishment to the reputation of your homeland.’

  He paused and turned. ‘I wish I could say the same of you, my lady.’

  She was not abashed by what was meant to be a crushing snub. ‘Oh, I will never be like you, Your Grace, for which I am, of course, exceedingly thankful.’ Head held high, she walked on, and felt the glower following her.

  Under Henry’s rule, the royal apartments were not well lit. It did not matter to him whether or not he created a good daily impression, only that he spent as little as possible. He was a man of the grand gesture, but not the day-to-day style and refinement that had been Richard’s mark. Henry did not like to spend money on unnecessary light, and so he did not. He would rather strain his eyes than open his purse strings.

  His manner was calculatedly intimidating as he stood by a paper-cluttered table without looking up from the document he was studying. His doublet was black brocade, rich and intricate, with a thick, jewel-studded belt that emphasized his slender waist. The emerald was on his finger. It was the only ring he wore.

  She sank to her knees in a whisper of silver-stitched violet brocade and lowered her eyes respectfully. ‘You wished to see me, Your Majesty?’ To call him Henry now might be a little foolish.

  He looked at her then, and once again she saw his pale, arresting face. Not good-looking at all, with those high cheek bones, almost hollow cheeks, prominent nose and small chin. His arched eyebrows and hooded, strangely divergent eyes gave him such a cold, menacing air, and his wide mouth was unsmiling. But she now knew what that mouth could do to her composure.

  He pushed his long hair back from his face. ‘You appear restored, my lady, and as delightful as ever.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I am sorry you have suffered so sad a loss.’ Had he actually pointed at the brocade she wore, he could not have drawn more attention to the absence of black.

  ‘Please do not speak of loss, Your Majesty.’

  ‘It was Richard’s child, was it not?’

  ‘Richard’s? You know it was not, Your Majesty, for I have protested my innocence on more than one occasion. The child was that of your half-uncle.’ />
  ‘With whom I am told you are very close.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How fortunate he is. You will have to marry him again, of course, for which ceremony I will give my royal approval. Eventually. It has now been determined there never was a marriage with Scrope, as I believe you kept telling me. I should have listened. It will be annulled anyway, to be sure of an end to it.’

  ‘So I will be believed to have been married twice?’

  ‘What difference does it make? Marriage is marriage. There is no stigma.’

  ‘There is to me. I despised Ralph Scrope more than you can ever understand.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The past tense. You would now be his widow anyway, would you not?’

  ‘You do know he consorted with a witch? Together they turned sorcery upon me, to destroy my unborn child.’

  Henry looked at her. ‘I was unaware of this.’

  Her dark eyes were wide. ‘Your Majesty, perhaps you should hope you were not also the object of their wicked necromancy.’

  ‘I do not believe in such things.’

  ‘Nor did I, but I lost my child.’

  ‘Not through witchcraft, I hazard a guess.’

  She returned to the matter of a remarriage. ‘If you wish me to take my vows a second time with Sir Jon, Your Majesty, then so be it, but please, I beg you, do not expect me to welcome the Duke of Bedford as a guest.’

  ‘Jasper? Why?’

  ‘Because we loathe the sight of each other. He thinks I am a very bad influence on you. He does not appear to know that you can be a perfectly effective bad influence on yourself. I do wish you would tell him so, for I have so many daggers in me—front, back, sides and no doubt the soles of my feet—that I find it hard to move.’

  ‘Jasper means well,’ he answered, with a hint of a smile. Only a hint.

  ‘Not to me, so please, Henry, do not inflict him on me, or me on him.’

  ‘As you wish.’ He bent to raise her by her elbow, and suddenly she was face to face with him. There was nothing indirect in his eyes now, for both were very much upon her. ‘I trust that, having vented your spleen on Jasper, you are not going to be meek and mild with me?’

  ‘I must show full respect for your rank, Your Majesty.’ His touch kindled an unwanted warmth within her.

  ‘Full respect? That will be a change.’

  ‘You have brought me here, Your Majesty, and I am at your disposal.’

  ‘How very dull of you, Cicely. Will you at least snarl at me?’

  She gazed at him, conscious of his closeness, his voice, his presence. His virility. Yes, she was so conscious of that. ‘But I am incestuous, is that not what you think?’

  ‘I struggle immensely with my Christian principles.’

  ‘You have some?’

  ‘I do not always have them with me.’

  She had to look away. That humour could always sway her, and she so wished it otherwise.

  ‘I have decided not to honour your uncle with a fine tomb after all,’ he said then.

  She met his gaze again. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘Because, sad to say, you now know a little of me.’

  ‘I know you to be shabby,’ she retorted. Did her voice shake a little? Was he aware of it? Yes, he would be, for he was aware of everything.

  ‘Oh, excellent. At last you have your tongue fresh from the whetstone.’

  ‘Do you wish us to fight our way to the bed?’

  ‘The thought has a certain appeal,’ he answered. ‘Oh, do not fear I mean to leave your precious uncle in a mean grave. I will set a suitable monument over England’s anointed king. I simply cannot resist goading you, for the sheer exhilaration of your forthright response.’

  ‘I have another quarrel with you, Henry.’ She intended to catch him unawares, but she failed.

  ‘Oh, first names at last. I begin to get quite excited.’

  ‘You treat my sister badly.’

  He paused. ‘And what business is it of yours?’

  ‘It is every bit my business. She is my sister.’

  ‘Your fond sister?’

  ‘Yes, fond, for we have made up our differences.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Again. I may have promised to make your possession of my body the most carnally rewarding of experiences, but while you do wrong by my sister, I too can be untrustworthy.’

  ‘Yet you persist in demanding truthfulness and sincerity from me? How very contrary.’ He rubbed an eyebrow. ‘So, now we must haggle over my queen? Very well. What is it you wish of me? That I pretend to cherish her?’

  ‘Why not? It is surely not beyond your capabilities. You are Henry Tudor, King of England, and clearly skilled between the coverlets. Or perhaps I give you too much credit.’

  ‘You will soon find out if you do or not, Cicely. As for your sister, she is the most miserable, emotionless woman it has ever been my misfortune to fuck!’

  ‘She speaks highly of you too. Walls are so romantic.’

  A light passed through his eyes. ‘You think me a brute?’

  ‘I know you are. Any man who can treat a woman like that is a brute.’

  ‘Then change me, Cicely, turn me into the chivalrous hero you clearly think I ought to be.’

  ‘Chivalrous? I wonder you can even say the word.’

  ‘You still think you know everything about me, do you not? You think that because I desire you, I will be grateful for your charity. Well, the one who has to hope for charity is you. I want you to make love to me tonight, Cicely, and I will yield a great deal if you convince me with your kisses.’

  ‘I know I can please you until you will not know which way you face. I can make you want me so much that you will beg me to relieve you of your load. If, indeed, you can hold on to it that long!’

  ‘War is declared?’

  ‘A challenge has been issued. Whether you pick up the gauntlet is entirely up to you. But know this, I will make you beg.’ She intended to use everything she knew upon him, and, God help her, she looked forward to it.

  He smiled. ‘Then let us begin.’

  ‘Without preamble?’

  He laughed. ‘Cicely, merely talking to you is all the preamble I can endure. I want to be inside you, and I am not wasting time on foolish nothings.’

  ‘There speaks the royal lover.’

  He moved behind her and removed her headdress, discarding it upon a table. Then he loosened her hair until it fell about his hands. For a moment he paused, moving his fingers into its warmth. ‘Even your hair is temptation, Cicely.’

  ‘Should I say the same of yours?’ She turned her head, into the lure of cloves, and before she knew it he kissed her on the mouth, there, as she looked around to deliver the retort. His hand was to her throat, smoothing and caressing her as he dwelt upon the moment. A clever little kiss, from lips that knew so much.

  Then, as if nothing had happened, he began to calmly unfasten her gown. ‘What delights am I about to uncover, my sweet lady? I hope you live up to my many daydreams.’

  ‘And will you live up to mine?’

  ‘I cannot promise a beautiful body, but this is a meeting of minds as well, I think.’

  ‘My mind remains my own,’ she said softly.

  ‘No, it does not. You speak back to me, insult me, are untruthful to my face, and I love every moment. You are such a prize, Cicely, such a prize.’

  ‘Do you really see me like that?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Her gown slipped to the floor and she was naked.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Henry stepped back to look at her from head to toe. ‘Fully clothed, you are astonishingly desirable, Cicely, but without any clothes at all, you steal my very breath. I imagine you have already been told that. By your husband, by John of Gloucester, and, I think, by Richard.’

  ‘I keep telling you that I have never lain with my uncle,’ she repeated. ‘Ralph Scrope lied to you.’

  ‘You are the liar,’ he breathed. ‘Every t
ime you speak Richard’s name, your desire for him is as naked as you stand before me at this moment. Well, I am your king now, and, thank God, I am not your uncle.’ He began to take off his clothes.

  ‘No, you are my nephew and brother-in-law.’

  ‘Both only by marriage, for which I am sure a little secular and ecclesiastic dexterity would soon absolve me. Provided it could be overlooked that I fucked you before setting aside my inconvenient wife. Cicely, you are simply the woman I have to possess at all costs. The fact that you happen to be married to my mother’s half-brother, and are also my wife’s sister, is a matter of indifference to me. My morals are . . . selective.’

  She watched him, suddenly unable to believe she was about to be bedded by Henry Tudor. It had the feel of a dream. But she knew it was not, and when he was naked too, she gazed at him. He was calm, unaroused, it seemed. He had a good body, pale, with reddish hair on his chest, loins and under his arms, and she concealed the thrill she felt to see him thus. That body was about to make demands of hers. Invade hers. She looked up into his eyes, which met hers very steadily indeed. There was no strangeness about them now. And oh, those cloves, moving softly around her. Like an invisible embrace. His embrace.

  ‘Where shall we begin, my lady?’ he asked quietly.

  She started to move past him to the bed, but he caught her wrist. ‘No, not just yet. I require a little intimate attention first.’ He pulled her hand down to his genitals, where quiescence had begun to give way to something much more forceful.

  Such contact electrified her. That part of him, the one part that could give her the pleasures and ecstasies of lovemaking. Her pulse was beginning to race with anticipation, and as her fingers enclosed him, she exulted in the way he hardened and lengthened. How good it would be to go down on her knees now and take that male joy into her mouth and do all the things she adored to do. She wanted him!

  But if she obeyed him without question, she would have lost the battle before it had even begun. ‘I have been on my knees to you once since entering this room, and will not go on them again. I will do what you wish, but in the comfort of the royal bed.’

  He hesitated, as tempted as she to make a point, but then he gestured towards the bed in question. ‘As you wish.’