‘Yes, damn you! Yes! I cannot bear it, Cicely. I am constantly reminded of how dear he is to you, and it devours me. Do you still not realize what you are to me?’
‘Yes, I do realize.’
‘I will have you tonight. I do not care how much lying and subterfuge you have to use upon my uncle, I will have you. He will be sent on some urgent business for him to attend to, somewhere miles away from here.’
‘He is to be your Uriah the Hittite?’
‘Yes, for as God is my witness, I am King David, and you are most certainly Bathsheba.’
‘King David had Uriah murdered. If you do Jon Welles any mischief at all, I—’
‘I will not, I swear it. I will not.’ He turned to put his hand to her face. ‘Sweet God, how I need you Beth arall y gallaf ddweud,’ he breathed, sliding his fingers beneath her headdress at the nape of her neck, and sinking them sensuously into her hair.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means “what more can I say?” I need you, Cicely. I need you beyond all endurance.’ His voice was choked with emotion as he drew her towards him, and put his lips to hers.
He no longer seemed able to maintain his customary icy control, and she did not know what to do. He had burrowed his way into her affection. It should not be that way. It should not! He was responsible for Richard’s death and John of Gloucester’s madness, a fact that should never cloud her judgement, and yet here she was, wishing to help him!
He pulled back from the kiss, his fingers still toying with her hair. ‘I am sorry, Cicely, sorry for what I have done today and on other days. You have become my obsession.’
‘Then you must send me away.’
‘No!’
‘Yes, Henry. After the christening Jon intends to seek your permission for us to return to his lands in Lincolnshire, and I think it best if you allow it. For your own sake, as well as mine. You know I am right.’
‘Put so many miles between us?’
She nodded.
‘Is that what you really wish?’
‘It does not matter whether I wish it or not, Henry. I must go, so that you may be yourself again.’
He sighed and moved away. ‘I do not want you to go.’
‘Please, Henry. Your child will soon be born, and God willing it will be the boy you pray for. If I am not here, you can turn to your queen. She is the one you should lie with, not me. She can provide you with more heirs, which is what you need if you are to found a dynasty. Is that not what you really wish for? The House of Tudor?’
‘You want to go to Lincolnshire, do you not? You smooth butter all over me, to bring me to your view.’
She lowered her eyes. ‘A little too much butter, evidently.’
‘If it were indeed all over me, and you promised to lick it off, slowly, it would certainly not be too much.’
He said it so evenly and naturally that for a moment she did not know he teased her. Suddenly, yet again, the humour that never failed to make her like him. ‘Henry Tudor, you should not say such things to a married woman.’
‘The king can say whatever he wishes to whom he wishes.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Cicely, if I let you go, you must promise that if I send for you, you will come immediately.’
‘I cannot promise that, Henry. If I can come, I will. You know that.’
‘But it will not be because you love me.’
‘Please, Henry . . .’
He looked away for a moment. ‘You will come to me tonight anyway. There is to be no argument. I need you and I will have you.’
‘I will come to you tonight. I will say that Lady Margaret wishes me to be with her at Coldharbour. She will confirm the story should anyone ask. But for Jesu’s sake, Henry, be more discreet from now on. You may have enjoyed Richard’s discomfort when rumours spread about his so-called designs upon my sister, but will you exult so much if similar rumours abound about your actual designs upon your sister-in-law, who also happens to be your aunt? I think not, Henry. And do not tell me you do not care, because you will, believe me. I was with Richard, I know how much it grieved him to have to publicly deny the calumnies.’
‘And you regard his embarrassment as being my fault?’
‘Indirectly. I suspect it was mostly Lady Margaret’s fault. There would not have been so many rumours and insinuations if she had not encouraged them.’
‘Oh, probably. She is behind most things. And he was easy prey.’
‘Please, do not speak of him like that.’
‘I will have him out of your thoughts one day, Cicely, so help me I will.’
She did not comment, but looked at him. ‘Are you yourself again now?’
‘Only if I can kiss you.’ He embraced her again, and this time his kiss was so very tender and loving that it enveloped her heart. He was a man who never failed to astonish. Never failed to affect, one way or the other.
She found her arms moving around him as she began to return the kiss. It was impossible not to, for it made such sweet love to her that she could have wept for him. This kiss deserved to be received with all the love it offered, but she failed it. He had truly frightened her today, and she no longer knew quite what her feelings were, and so she held him, linked her arms around his neck, pressed to him, and pretended everything he needed.
And that was the awful moment when a second door into the room was opened, and Jon walked in with Margaret and Jasper Tudor.
Cicely closed her eyes and took her arms slowly away from Henry’s neck, while Henry himself drew a long breath as he sought something to say. He and Cicely had been caught in an embrace and kiss that could never be mistaken for mere friendship. He released her and turned awkwardly towards Jon.
‘You have me at a disadvantage, I think.’
Margaret was frozen to the spot. Knowing of her son and Cicely was one thing, seeing them together like this was quite another.
Jasper was outraged, but although he harangued Henry in Welsh, and she heard many heated utterances of Harri and Siasbar, the latter clearly regarded the fault to lie solely with Cicely, who did not need to speak Welsh to feel sure that when he gestured towards her and said words like putain and ysguthen, they were not complimentary. She was later discover that one meant “whore” and the other “bitch”.
Jon gazed at Cicely, not at Henry, whom he did not even acknowledge. His silent reproach was so well placed that she had to lower her eyes to hide the hot tears that brimmed in them. Then without a word, he turned on his heel and strode out again.
She found her wits and ran after him. ‘Please, Jon, let me explain!’
He walked on.
‘Please!’ she sobbed. ‘Please, let me explain.’ Her voice ended on a whisper, and she sank to her knees.
He turned then. ‘If you wish to fuck my nephew, that is your business, Cicely, for as God is my witness, it is no longer mine!’ He began to remove the turquoise ring, but then paused, still about to discard it. Their eyes met, for what seemed so many heartbeats, and then he strode away again, the ring remaining on his finger.
He passed the door of the room in which Bess was still seated with the Queen Dowager. The door was open. Of course it was, Cicely thought almost ferociously. How could it not be open at a time as momentous as this? Let everything go wrong! Let the world know her shame!
She knew her sister must have heard Jon’s damning words, and to confirm it Bess emerged from the doorway, her hands clasped over her swollen belly. She gazed bitterly at Cicely. ‘You cow! You whore! You had to have this king as well!’ Then she gasped and clutched her belly more tightly as her pains began.
Henry sent for Cicely that night. She did not go to him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Henry’s son, his longed-for Prince Arthur, was born at just after midnight on the twentieth of September. It had been a long and difficult birth, and Bess was exhausted. The ague had returned during her travails, and her ladies strove to make her comfortable.
The baby was strong and healthy, and
quite clearly not a month before his time. There was no hiding the fact that his parents had anticipated their vows. It would be regarded across the land as a sign that the royal marriage was a love match, but those in court circles knew differently. Whatever had brought the little prince into being, it had not been an act of love.
The birth of the heir to the throne was celebrated with bonfires in the streets and the singing of the Te Deum at Winchester Cathedral. Arrangements for the lavish christening had already been put in place, but now needed bringing forward a month.
Jon had left for Lincolnshire the same day he saw Cicely and Henry together. He neither sought the king’s permission, nor took his wife with him. He refused to speak to Cicely and departed so suddenly that she had not even realized he had gone.
She found herself the subject of much whispering. As, of course, she deserved to be. She could not in all honesty defend herself. For how could she tell anyone that she had become the king’s lover in order to shield the husband who now despised her, and the cousin who still made plain his affection and support for her? How could she confront the fact that she found so much pleasure in Henry Tudor’s arms?
‘Come, sweetheart, walk with me a while,’ Jack said, coming to the apartment she had shared with Jon.
‘I cannot, Jack. The one thing I dreaded has happened, and I have lost Jon.’
He sat beside her. ‘You must find your Plantagenet spirit, Cicely. Hold your head up and to the eternal conflagration with them all, Henry included. Has he said anything to you? Offered anything at all?’
‘Jack, he knows as little as me what to do in these circumstances.’
‘He is the sovereign, he has done this to you and so he should protect you.’
‘How can he? He is my sister’s husband. She has just borne him the son he wanted, and she has first claim on him.’
Jack drew a long breath. ‘If I could protect you, I would.’
‘Your wife might have something to say about that. Besides, you help by coming to see me like this.’ She managed a little smile. ‘I am, quite literally, in a bed of my own making.’
‘In a bed of Henry Tudor’s making. Dear God, if Richard were here now—’
‘Do not say it! Please, do not say it. Richard is the one who really matters to me. I still love him so much that I can hardly bear it. I love Jon, truly I do, but it is nothing compared to the feelings I have for Richard. It will never change.’
Jack put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I would gladly have given my life for him. I can understand how you feel, Cicely.’
‘I dream of him sometimes. I lie with him again and everything is so sweet and real that when I awaken, and he is not there after all, I cry. I cry so much.’ She blinked back tears and smiled bravely. ‘I should not tell you such things.’
‘I can contain my excruciating jealousy.’
‘Stop it,’ she said, trying not to smile as she prodded him with her elbow.
Nothing was said for a moment, and then she looked at him. ‘Am I still to hold the prince at his christening?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why? After what has happened, I am surely the very last person who should perform such an honour.’
‘It is Henry’s wish, and he will not be moved on it.’
‘I sent a note to him, begging to be released from something that will deal my sister such an insult. He sent a message back. One word. ”No.” How very Henry. I imagine he is enjoying it all. Certainly he will not be sad to have caused such a rift in my marriage.’
‘You have captured him, Cicely, and I do not think he likes it.’
‘I do not want to capture him, Jack, I want to be away in Lincolnshire with my husband. Now I do not think Henry will ever permit me to leave.’ She looked away. ‘Nor will Jon wish to see me again. Oh, Jack, what he saw looked so very loving and filled with desire, but it was not. Maybe it was on Henry’s part, but not mine. He had just made a violent, totally unnecessary and unwarranted scene, publicly accusing me of treachery. He frightened me, and even though I am still greatly affected by almost everything about him, I could not respond to him as freely as I might have done shortly before. It was pretence.’
‘Well, come the twenty-fourth, you have to perform your task at the christening, Cicely. There is no choice. It would have been earlier, but the godfather, the Earl of Oxford, was still lolling in East Anglia when the birth was . . . a month early, as we are supposed to believe. Oxford is coming with all haste, or so it is hoped. The twenty-fourth is the day of his reckoned arrival. Jon’s abrupt departure has meant the Lady Margaret having to hastily find someone else to take his place alongside me at your side. I believe we are to have the pleasure of Thomas Grey, now Marquess of Dorset, no less.’
‘My half-brother, Thomas the Tub.’ Thomas was the Queen Dowager’s favourite child, offspring of her first marriage, and he had been the one with whom she had plotted to prevent Richard, Duke of Gloucester, from becoming Lord Protector. It had been their conversation, in April 1483, that Cicely had overheard from that open window in Westminster Palace.
‘Oh, but we still have dear Jasper with us on the day. No doubt his eyes will plunge daggers into your back every inch of the way.’
‘He blames me for leading Henry astray, and so does Margaret.’
‘Henry Tudor is a dangerous bastard who happens to be king.’
She smiled, but then became more serious. ‘Jack, are you involved in this business in Burgundy? Because if you are, you should know that Henry is well aware of what stirs over there.’
‘I have done nothing, Cicely.’
‘Yet.’
He did not answer.
She put a hand over his. ‘Please, Jack, as you loved Richard, do not fail him now by falling in a flimsy cause.’
‘Are you so sure it is flimsy? Cicely, I am loyal to the true succession, and will never act out of self-interest.’
‘Then God be with you, Jack.’
Cicely was alone in the bed that night. She could hear the festivities with which Winchester continued to celebrate the royal birth. Would they all have enough energy left to celebrate after the baptism? Did it matter? Did anything matter now?
Her fingers reached over to where Jon would have been lying, and fresh tears stung her already sore eyes. She felt as if her real self had slipped away to be with Jon at Wyberton. But her empty shell was still here in Winchester, wretched with distress and disbelief that for all her good intentions, she had come to this.
‘Come to me now, Richard. I need your arms around me.’ The unhappy little whisper seemed to fall upon empty air.
‘My poor Cicely,’ he said softly, and she turned her head to see him lying there, where Jon had lain.
‘Please hold me,’ she begged, reaching out to him.
He leaned over her to gather her close and she closed her eyes. ‘I was too young and silly after all, Richard, and look at me now.’
‘This is all Henry Tudor’s fault, not yours. He has behaved without honour.’ Richard kissed her forehead. ‘As perhaps I did too. You steal the hearts of kings, sweetheart.’
‘I only want one king.’ She slipped her arms around him. How good it was to embrace him again, to feel him so close, to touch that body, so cherished and almost delicate. He had such an allure, such a spellbinding quality that she knew no other man would ever reach him. She saw no flaw, only the perfection of the uncle who had her total, everlasting devotion.
‘I am not perfect,’ he said.
‘Do not keep reading my thoughts.’
‘Your thoughts are mine,’ he reminded her.
‘Even now?’
‘Even now.’
‘I do still need you.’
‘I know,’ he answered softly.
‘You will not leave me alone again? I can face them all if I know you are here.’
‘I am always here. I will not go away, not until you are yourself again.’
‘That may be never.’
He smil
ed. ‘Such gloom and loss of all confidence? You are my sweet Cicely, and you are still precious to me. You will face them all at the christening, and be the princess you are. If there is one thing Henry Tudor has done well, it is to appreciate and love you. There is some hope for him.’
She gave him a little smile. ‘I adore you, Richard Plantagenet.’
‘And I you, Cicely Plantagenet.’
‘If I were to make love to you now, what would you do?’
‘Respond.’
‘Truly?’
‘Sweetheart, I am what you make of me, and this time, especially, I know how much you need me.’
‘If only—’
‘Enough, my sweetest Cicely. Make love to me, before I decide to start without you.’
‘You cannot start without me, because you are me,’ she said quickly, sitting up to look intently at him.
‘So I am. I should not forget it, mm?’
She searched his eyes. ‘You are not entirely my imagination, are you?’ she whispered. ‘Part of you really is here with me now.’
‘Do not seek too many answers, Cicely.’ He smiled, and pulled her down into his arms again. ‘It is time to grant you your wish, and to give you so much pleasure you will be dizzy of it.’
‘Is that a promise, Richard?’ she breathed.
‘You dare to doubt?’
Oh, imagination. Such imagination. . . . Was not it?
Cicely carried the new heir to the throne towards the great priory of St Swithin’s. Little Prince Arthur Tudor wore a flowing mantle of crimson cloth-of-gold trimmed with ermine, and he made small snuffling sounds. Her own gown was the grey velvet, stitched with gold, that she had worn at Christmas and to her wedding; the one that echoed Richard’s clothes of that other Christmas. And she had all her precious things in her purse. She carried herself proudly, as the daughter of Edward IV and beloved of Richard III should, and if there were whispers as she passed, she did not care.
Jack walked on one side of her, and her half-brother, Thomas the Tub, on the other. Behind her was Jasper Tudor, who occasionally stepped so close that he almost trod on her train. She ignored him, and hardly looked at Thomas, for whom she had never cared, but she glanced often at Jack, who winked. She knew he was pleased to see her so much better than when last he had seen her, and she wondered what he would think if he knew why.
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