As Jack approached her, Cicely had to concede again that he was a truly engaging figure, nor could she help but think what a king he would make. Another magnetically charming Yorkist king.
He allowed his knowing glance to move approvingly over her as well. ‘How now, my lady? I do pray you seek me?’
‘I seek my husband.’
‘That is excessively dull of you, and entirely lacking in romance.’ He put an arm around her waist and planted a warm kiss upon her cheek. To others it would seem like a friendly kiss between cousins, but she sensed it to be more. Something had happened.
He pretended to sigh dramatically. ‘Oh, to have you spread beneath me, Lady Welles.’
‘Would it be an unforgettable experience?’
‘Hm, methinks thou hast a barbed tongue.’
She smiled. ‘Now, why would you immediately leap to such a conclusion? Can you possibly be that uncertain of your attraction?’
‘In your case, yes, most probably. I should have pursued you more intently at Sheriff Hutton, when I had the chance.’
‘Another missed opportunity.’
‘Yes.’
They both knew they were speaking of something else entirely. Of Sheriff Hutton.
‘Something is about to happen, is not it, Jack? I can feel it. You are going to flee?’
He smiled.
‘That is all the answer I need. Do not tell me anything more. Please.’
‘Would you come with me?’
‘Me?’ She was startled.
‘You may be married to a Lancastrian lord, Cicely, but you are York through and through. Tell me I am wrong and I will not say any more.’
‘Of course you are not wrong, Jack, but I will not come with you.’
‘The thought of my ardent kisses does not lure you?’ He grinned. ‘Come now, sweetheart, Richard was your lover and you have his child. You should not be here in Henry Tudor’s court.’
‘Jack, please. You know my situation.’
‘That Henry desires you? He would not be normal if he did not! I desire you.’
She smiled and looked away.
Jack watched her face. ‘What is it, Cicely? What are you thinking?’
‘I wish I could say that lying with him is an abominable experience, but it is not.’ She glanced at him again.
‘You can lie willingly with that twist-eyed, twist-minded, misbegotten maggot?’
She put a finger to her lips. ‘Certainly not with the huge reluctance I should feel. I am being honest with you. There are times when, God help me, I can actually like him. And he is far better on a bed than I imagined.’
‘This is still Henry Tudor we speak of?’
She smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘Then he is clearly Janus.’
‘Yes. But I am not untrue to York, least of all to you.’
‘Take care with your marriage, sweetheart, because you tread a very precarious line. Sir Jon Welles is far too good a husband to risk losing.’
‘There speaks the expert on marriage?’
He smiled. ‘I may not have done well in my own, Cicely, but that does give me insight.’
‘I have no control over Henry. He will say and do whatever he pleases, and if it pleases him to destroy what I have with Jon, he will do it without hesitation. And if he chooses to trump up a charge against you and execute you, he will. I could not endure that. Your death will leave York without a natural and capable leader. You must be careful, Jack. At the moment you are absolutely irreplaceable. You always will be to me. I love you, Jack, so very much. You and Jon both mean everything to me.’
He put his hand gently to her cheek. ‘And my feelings for you are the same, sweetheart. But how in God’s own dear name can you actually like this paltry Tudor?’
‘I do not know, but I do.’
‘I could serve you far better, sweeting,’ he said softly, his eyes dark.
The unspoken attraction that had long been between them came to the surface momentarily, but then melted away again as he laughed. ‘Women! Creatures of no discernment.’
They laughed together.
Jon was eventually found in a small turret room where he had retreated to write some important letters to Ned Grebby at Wyberton. He looked up in surprise and pleasure when she entered.
‘Why, Lady Welles, you are a vast improvement on Ned Grebby.’ He got up and came to embrace her. He kissed her on the lips, and then kissed her again. ‘I think I begin to forget how to write,’ he said softly.
‘I have never been taken over a table, sir.’
‘No? Well, we must rectify such a glaring omission.’ He bolted the door, dashed his letters, ink, quills and all to one side, and then seated her on the edge of the table, before freeing the urgent erection that leapt from his loins. ‘Will this do, my lady?’ he asked.
‘It looks delightfully potent and promising, my lord. I do hope you will be suitably deft with it?’
He smiled, hauled up her skirts and drew her gently forward until it would be easily able to enter her. Then he kissed her again, before pulling her right on to him.
They made swift but rewarding love, enjoying full reward, and then they clung together afterwards, he leaning against her, she still on the table, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips to keep him inside her. ‘I love you, Sir Jon Welles,’ she whispered. ‘I really do love you.’
‘And I you, sweetheart,’ he whispered, turning his head to catch her lips to his.
She closed her eyes as she returned the kiss, and then smiled at him. ‘I cannot believe I am so fortunate as to be your wife. I do wish we could go home to Lincolnshire.’
‘Home? Is that how you think of it?’
‘If you are there, yes, I do.’
He embraced her still more. ‘When all this pomp is done here, I will beseech the king for permission to leave.’
She closed her eyes, because she knew it was very unlikely indeed that Henry would agree. But she could hope.
Someone tried to turn the ring handle of the door, and they pulled apart hastily. ‘Jon? Are you there? Why have you bolted the door?’ It was Margaret.
‘Jesu!’ Jon gasped, stepping away to straighten his clothes. Cicely slid hastily from the table and shook out her skirts. Then he went to open the door.
Margaret hastened in like an anxious black crow. She had not ceased hastening everywhere since arriving in Winchester, but there seemed something extra in her manner now. She paused on seeing Cicely, clearly dismayed, and then turned to look at Jon. ‘Well, I believe I can now understand the bolt,’ she murmured.
Jon spread his hands. ‘There are times when privacy is very much to be desired.’
‘Yes, I imagine there are.’ The way Margaret’s eyes encompassed Cicely raised Henry’s image.
‘You wished to see me?’ Jon indicated the only chair.
‘Ah, well . . .’ Margaret accepted and then glanced at Cicely again, this time with almost tangible wariness.
Jon watched her. ‘I am sure that whatever you wish to say can be said in front of my wife.’
‘That may not be so.’
‘What? That you cannot say it? Or that she is not my wife?’
‘That I cannot speak openly.’ Margaret turned to Cicely. ‘With all due respect, my lady, you are still a Yorkist.’
Jon straightened. ‘What is this, Margaret? You cannot possibly believe Cicely would—’
‘She is thick with Lincoln, Jon.’
Cicely came forward. ‘Thick? What do you mean?’ She suspected that Jasper the Cockerel had not stalked completely out of the hall.
‘You were observed today, in the great hall, hugging and laughing, kissing, and seeming to discuss something dangerous.’
Jon’s lips parted. ‘Dangerous?’ He glanced at Cicely, whose face bore an expression that lay somewhere between dismay and guilt.
Margaret thought the same. ‘What is afoot, Cicely?’
‘Nothing. Truly. I happened upon my cousin when I was looking
for you, Jon. We talked a while, that is all. It is impossible not to talk and laugh with him. You should know that. And of course we kissed. We do sometimes. It means nothing. We were in the great hall, for Jesu’s sake, with many people around. Hardly a clandestine tryst!’
‘He said nothing to you that was out of the ordinary?’ Jon asked.
‘Nothing at all.’ Cicely returned his look. ‘Why? Was he not loyal to Henry when Francis Lovell and the Staffords raised their rebellion?’
Margaret laughed disparagingly. ‘Too loyal by far. It was unnatural.’
Cicely was incensed. ‘He cannot satisfy, can he? If he is disloyal, he is a vile traitor. If he is loyal, he is suspect and unnatural. What would you have him do, my lady? Swallow poison and remove the uncertainty?’
Margaret looked away.
Cicely turned to Jon. ‘What is he suspected of doing? If, indeed, he is suspected of anything.’
Jon folded his arms. ‘Margaret, you must say whatever it is you really came here to say. And Cicely remains in the room as you say it.’
‘As you wish. There is word of an . . . imposter . . . coming to light in Burgundy. Some child, purporting to be Cicely’s younger brother, Richard, Duke of York.’
Cicely gazed at her. ‘Dickon?’
‘Yes, my lady, and now that it is known they set sail for Burgundy last year, it is obviously possible that this boy really is your younger brother. Equally, he may be a stranger, set up simply as a cipher, to foment unrest and rebellion. There is indeed a likeness to your younger brother, and the fellow is of the correct age. I know no more than this, but the king has certainly been informed.’
‘And you think the Earl of Lincoln knows something of it?’ Cicely asked.
‘Certes, I do, Cicely. Lincoln is the most important Yorkist lord in the land, and if he decides to lend his support to this false boy, whatever his claimed identity, I do not doubt that disaffected Yorkists will flock to rebel.’
Jon paced a little. ‘And you say the king knows?’
‘Yes, and it has not exactly pleased him.’
Cicely could well imagine. Had this been what Jack would have told her?
Jon came to take his wife by the shoulders. ‘Did Jack mention any of this to you?’
‘No.’ She could answer truthfully. ‘Our conversation was entirely innocent, Jon. Truly, and I do not believe Jack will be guilty of treason.’ Oh, the urge to cross her fingers behind her back.
Margaret looked at her. ‘Then you will need to convince the king of that, my dear.’
‘I will be able to face him in all innocence, Lady Margaret, as I am sure my cousin will as well.’ Cicely looked at Jon. ‘I do not know of anything, Jon. Please believe me.’
‘I do, sweetheart. I do. Although whether I would trust your cousin as well is another matter.’
Something made her take his hand and hold it to her cheek. ‘I have not done anything I should not, Jon. I have not lent my name to any Yorkist dealings.’
‘And Jack?’
She looked at him. ‘Jack is his own man, Jon, but I have no reason to believe he has broken his oath of fealty to the king.’ Not yet, anyway. That Jack was about to, she did not doubt at all. But she would never say it, not even to Jon if she were alone with him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cicely expected word of events in Burgundy to spread around the court like wildfire, but nothing was said. If it had not been for her being present when Margaret informed Jon, she would not have known anything at all about the boy who was apparently claiming to be Dickon. Who maybe even was Dickon. She decided to hold her tongue, even to Bess and her mother. If rumours spread and her name came to light, Henry would be certain to punish her. Not by hurting her, but by hurting the ones she had been seeking to protect.
But even so, there was a confrontation that brought out a violence in him she had not seen before. She was sitting with Bess and her mother. It was raining heavily outside, for which everyone was thankful because it cooled the air, and as a consequence, Bess was a little lighter in spirit and was seated by the window.
‘Oh, I know there is nothing I can do about what lies ahead,’ Bess said. ‘I pray I have a healthy son, but if I do not, I will have to hope Henry accepts that I am not at fault.’ She glanced away. ‘In truth I do not know what to expect of him. Ever. One day he is sweetness itself, the next he is cold. How can I possibly know where I am with such a man?’
The Queen Dowager was at pains to reassure her. ‘My dear, even if things are not as the king plans, there will be other babies. You will bear him a son.’ She smiled. ‘But if you do not, have you a name for a daughter?’
‘I have not dared to think of one.’
‘Then know it has to be Margaret. None other will do, I think.’
Bess looked at her in dismay. ‘Oh, I suppose you are right.’ She leaned her head back. ‘I do not feel well again. I am suddenly hot.’
Elizabeth beckoned a nearby lady. ‘A fan, if you please, and a cool drink for Her Grace.’
The lady curtseyed and hurried off, but as she reached the door it was flung open in her face and Henry strode in. Anger bristled from him, and it was no ordinary anger. His eyes were arctic, and as he halted, his rich clothes swung so much they all but lashed. ‘Lady Cicely?’
Cicely was already out of her chair in a deep curtsey, but she looked up, unnerved by the way he addressed her. ‘Your Majesty?’
‘I will not have treachery so close to me, do you hear?’
‘Treachery?’ She was frightened of him.
Bess struggled to her feet. ‘What is this, Your Majesty?’ She shrank from addressing him informally when he was in this mood.
‘This has nothing to do with you, madam.’ He did not look away from Cicely. ‘Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?’
‘I do not know what this is about, Your Majesty.’
‘Oh, yes, you do!’ Suddenly he stepped forward, seized her arm and dragged her to her feet.
Her mother was shocked. ‘Your Majesty!’
‘Silence! Before I reconsider your position as well!’ Henry pinched his fingers tightly upon Cicely, and to everyone’s amazement, hauled her from the room.
Cicely tried to free herself, but he was so caught up in his fury that he only tightened his hold. He bundled her along a passage and then into a vacant room, the door of which he slammed behind them, before almost flinging her away. She stumbled and lost her footing, but he made no move to prevent her from falling so heavily against the wall she was quite winded.
‘You have lent your name to treason, madam! Treason!’
She stared at him, trying to draw deep breaths. ‘But I have not! Please, Henry!’
‘This is not the time for intimacy.’
She raised her chin. ‘At least have the courtesy to tell me what I am supposed to have done.’
‘Courtesy? You demand courtesy?’
‘Yes.’
‘You shall not have it. Explain yourself.’
She met his eyes. ‘About what . . . Your Majesty?’
‘Your precious brother, Richard, Duke of York.’
‘What has happened?’
‘Oh, I know you are aware of this imposter, for my mother has told you.’
‘All I know is that someone in Burgundy is claiming to be my younger brother. That is all.’
‘And on this small evidence you wrote to him? Wishing him well of overthrowing me?’
Her hand crept to her throat. ‘I wrote no such letter,’ she whispered, jerking her face aside, eyes tightly closed, face screwed up in readiness as he raised his hand and stepped forward threateningly.
He truly meant to strike her, but then he halted, lowering his arm again as he saw how she cowered from him. When she dared to look, he was gazing at her, a mixture of expressions vying on his face. ‘Swear it, Cicely. Swear you did not write it.’
‘I swear it, Your Majesty. I have not written anything to anyone. I certainly have not conspired against
you.’ She searched his eyes. ‘What is really wrong? You are so bitterly angry with me, but not, I think, because of this conspiracy in Burgundy or any letter I supposedly wrote. There is no letter, is there? It is only something you fear I will write. What is it? What have I really done that hurts you so? I have hurt you, have I not? Although I do not know in what way. I have not done anything knowingly, Henry, I swear it upon all I hold dear.’
‘Upon Richard’s memory? Upon my uncle’s life? Lincoln’s life?’
‘Yes, if that is what you wish me to say. I swear upon all those things.’
‘Had you really made love to my uncle, when my mother found you both in that room? Had he taken you over a table? Had he?’
She stared at him, for whatever she had expected, it was not this. She had to be honest now, for anything less would be the height of foolishness. ‘Lady Margaret is not discreet, it seems.’
‘So he had?’ He tossed his hat away and rubbed his hair with both hands. ‘I cannot bear to think of it. You belong to me, Cicely, to me! The thought of anything else splits my heart.’
His anguish was almost painful to see, and its depth shocked her. She went to him. ‘Henry, I do not belong to you. I am your subject, yes, but I do not belong to you. You would have to lock me up and be the only man with a key.’
‘I have thought of it, you had best believe me.’
She continued, ‘Nor should the secrets of my marriage belong to you, or the secrets I share with you belong to Jon Welles. I am two women, one a wife, the other a king’s lover, and I cannot be truly, completely, absolutely faithful to either role. You know that to be so. I lie with you, Henry, not to you.’ But you do, Cicely, you do . . .
‘Dear God, Cicely, you always manage it, you always say something that robs me of the upper hand.’ He lowered his hands from his ruffled hair, and then bowed his head. For a moment she thought his shoulders shook.
Relief rushed through her, for the change in him was palpable. The rage had gone, and left him almost weak. ‘Are you really this angry because I may have lain over a table with my husband?’
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