by Diana Rubino
THY NAME IS LOVE
Book 2 of The Yorkist Saga
Diana Rubino
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SYNOPSIS OF THE NOVEL
REVIEWS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
BIBLIOGRAPHY
SYNOPSIS OF THE NOVEL
The story first begun in Destiny Lies Waiting continues as Denys Starbury and her beloved Valentine are thrust into the world of medieval English power politics at the Plantagenet court.
One by one the royal family is eliminated, until Denys and Valentine find themselves allied with the only man left standing who can contend for the throne: Richard, Duke of Gloucester.
Denys faces even more peril in her personal life, for as she continues to search for her lost family, she finds only a trail of murder, mayhem and destruction.
Denys also seeks the love of Valentine, bound to her by political expediency, but whom she aches for passionately. Yet in a world dominated by the hunger for power, not love, the only certainty is shifting allegiances and even betrayal.
Despite the love and desire they seem to share, how can she ever bring herself to trust the man to whom a capricious quirk of Fate has bound her?
For the path Denys has stepped onto is fraught with pitfalls. One false step could mean certain death. Is the truth about her parentage really worth sacrificing everything for, friendship, love, even her own marriage?
Valentine's love, loyalty, and very life hang in the balance as Yorkist and Lancastrian battle for the throne at a little place in the north called Bosworth Field. Can he remain faithful to King, country, and wife when he discovers the real identity of the woman he has wedded?
REVIEWS
"Set against the turmoil of 1471 England, Denys Woodville and Valentine Starbury's love story is woven through with the tangled historical threads of the War of the Roses in such a way that history and fiction merge. "Richard of Gloucester plays matchmaker to his friends Valentine, a knight, and Denys, King Edward's niece. The queen wants Richard to wed Denys, but he marries his beloved Anne, leaving Denys and Val to marry at the kings command. "Val and Denys are drawn into the conflict that arises when Edward dies and the Woodville followers face off with Richard III and his loyal knights, including Val.
"As Richard's allies, their lives become even more complicated, with Val as Chancellor of England and Denys as confidante to both Richard and Anne as they follow their destinies toward war. Anglophiles will enjoy the depth of detail and the large cast of historical personages Ms. Rubino has included in her debut novel. We meet kings, queens, nobles and commoners, even Christopher Columbus, in this colorful tapestry. -Romantic Times
"An excellent sequel. I couldn't wait to find out Denys's true identity. Richard and Valentine pitting their wits against the Dowager Queen Elizabeth had me on the edge of my seat.
"The romance is heady and sensual, sure to delight readers eager for a wonderful voice in the world of romance and historical fiction." — Sorcha MacMurrough,
The Hart and the Harp, The Sea of Love
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Having lived in England for several years, I devoted much time to historical research on the Middle Ages. My membership in the Richard III Society, with access to its library and the invaluable assistance of its Research Officer, has given me an additional wealth of material.
My publication credits include stories in Espionage and
Fiction Writers Monthly , among other periodicals. I also served as Editor/Staff Writer of a Washington D.C. trade association magazine in the late 1980s. I am a current member of Romance Writers of America, and the author of twelve novels.
Also by the Author
The Yorkist Saga (Medieval Period, Wars of the Roses, also known as The Cousins' War)
Destiny Lies Waiting
Thy Name is Love
The Yorkist Saga (Tudor Period, [Henry VIII's court])
The Jewels of Warwick
The Crown of Destiny
The New York Saga (1890s)
I Love You Because
It Was Like This
THY NAME IS LOVE
Book 2 of The Yorkist Saga
Diana Rubino
HerStory Books
Dedication
To my grandmother.
Copyright the author, First Edition 1999
Second edition with all new material, 2009
Third Edition, 2012
Fourth edition reformatted for new Kindle format 2013.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Under the 1988 UK copyright laws, the author asserts the right to be identified as the creator of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.
Published by HerStory Books
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CHAPTER ONE
Denys remained in the garden of Middleham Castle until the sun disappeared over the distant dales, stunned at how the last of her remaining hopes regarding her future had been so cruelly dashed. She pushed back one stray silver blond curl, and hugged her arms tightly around her waist, crumpling the peach satin without heed.
She needed to be alone, to think, to do just what Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had said. To catch up with the changing events in England that
were passing her by with dizzying rapidity, leaving her nothing but a spectator in her own life and the events that were shaping the nation.
She had longed to escape from her adopted aunt and her clan, the avaricious Woodvilles, only to find herself more entangled with their scheming than ever.
The three people she thought she could trust had turned out to be other than they had seemed, leaving her stunned, and feeling betrayed and more alone than ever before.
Had she made the biggest mistake of her life coming here, confiding in Richard?
With a sinking heart Denys realized that now that she had told him everything, and he was demanding she trust him, she had nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to…
She clutched the sketch she had produced from memory from her last clue as to her identity, the rosary she had lost in the fire at the inn near Leicester which had killed her only potential relative, and nearly taken her own life.
She squeezed so hard that it crumpled for a moment, before she noticed what she had done and opened her clenched fist.
She now laid it on the bench to try to smooth it out. A stray tear fell next to it.
She gazed at the picture through blurred eyes. "Mother, grandmother, aunt, please, please help me."
Her heart ached as the painful recognition of the reality of her situation swept aside any hope of a fairy tale ending for her.
Every man I've ever loved seems to have betrayed me. Uncle Ned, who loves me, but is married to his spider of a queen, and turns a blind eye to my erstwhile aunt's faults because to do otherwise would be to admit what a failure his marriage is.
Valentine, glorious, vibrant Valentine, my knight in shining armor, whom I would have given anything to love, had I not feared him being so tarnished by greed, ambition, and lust.
She tucked the sketch of her possible female relation back into the bosom of her gown and held her hand over it and her aching heart.
And now Richard, whom I thought was true, but seems as capable of guile as any Woodville, and appears to be siding with Valentine and using me as a pawn in whatever plot they have between them.
Please, whoever you are, Mistress, please help me save myself, and find my way to my true family. To true love.
But when all in the rose garden remained silent, Denys at last dried her tears and bestirred herself. She was still alive, and where there was life, there was hope. She wasn't going to let these unplanned happenings master her destiny.
Events were things; they had no beating heart, no blood, no life—no mind. And she was damned if she was going to let a thing—a mere non-entity—master her fate.
She might not know who her family was, but as Valentine had said, she was who she was, her own person, and that would have to be enough.
In the end, she would triumph. This was merely the road leading to that end. But it was going to be fraught with detours, rugged terrain, and streams swollen with muck. She would simply have to take the rough with the smooth.
Anyone would have thought she'd conjured Valentine right out of a storybook. He was so noble, with wonderful worldly prospects.
But part of that fancy had been to fall in love with her dashing knight—and it simply hadn't happened. She told herself that they weren't suited to each other in any way. She was too uneasy about him on every level, as a man, lover, husband, to ever be happy with him.
Even if Richard was correct and Valentine was not guilty of all she suspected, Denys felt sure that to try to turn her courtly lover of the rose garden into a faithful and honest husband would be to court disaster.
She was certain that even if she allowed her heart to open to him at last as she longed to, she would always be just another priority somewhere on his long list in his life. She would never come first in his heart or head, but instead far below all the other demands upon him: the King's council, his political duties here in the north, his friendship with Richard, his need to be the center of attention amongst the women of the court, and his aspirations for greatness.
She couldn't bear to be a mere cipher in his life, doing naught but patiently waiting for him to return from a battle or important matters of state. He was a dashingly handsome and debonair lover, but the truth was, he wasn't husband material. Certainly a statesman. Surely a hero. But not domesticated.
Valentine was the stuff of legend, fairytale. She ached for the mundane: a family of her own, and a sense of belonging, of being treasured and valued. She knew she was never going to find that at court or in the upper echelons of English royalty.
Denys longed for an ordinary, real life, a genuine marriage, not a politically expedient one. She wanted a man who held her in his arms every night, and made her feel as though she truly belonged.
That man was not Valentine, and never could be. Better to admit it now, than be trapped for the rest of her life in a loveless union. For however long Valentine chose to allow her to remain alive…
A waft of wood smoke coming from one of the castle chimneys was enough to set a chill up her spine as she recalled the horror of the inn fire that had so nearly killed her, and taken the life of the one man who might have been her kinsman and held the key to her real identity.
She leapt to her feet, bunching her peach-colored skirts high around her knees as she began to run. Valentine was expected at any moment. Richard had told her to wait here for him. But how could she smile in the face of the man who had betrayed her so foully?
She was hurrying from the garden as if the hounds of hell were after her when she heard a cry of, "Denys! Dove! Wait!"
Oh Lord, it was Valentine!
She froze on the spot for a brief moment, staring at him across the courtyard. Her gaze drank in his brilliant golden hair, his bright blue eyes, his sumptuous deep blue and silver raiment making him even more dazzling than she remembered. Every inch the successful courtier…
She recalled Richard's command to her that she do nothing, say nothing, that would make Valentine aware of her suspicions regarding his being complicit in some nefarious plot of the Queen's.
But though her head told her to stand her ground, play her part as Richard had advised, her heart was a different matter.
He had betrayed her. Almost sent her to her death in Leicestershire. She simply could not look into his eyes, feel his touch, accept his kiss, pretend to be engaged to him, with that knowledge cutting through her soul to the very heart of her.
Her feet began to move of their own accord now, faster than before.
"Dove, wait! Dove, what is it? What's amiss?" Valentine shouted, but it was already too late.
He chased after her through the large door leading into the castle keep, but all he heard was the echoing of desperate scurrying footsteps along one of the many corridors within. Much as Valentine ached to be with her at last, after their weeks of separation, his beloved Dove was already gone.
He stood staring, ground his teeth in frustration, and went to seek Richard for some sort of explanation as to his betrothed's headlong flight from him as though she had seen the Devil himself.
CHAPTER TWO
"‘Tis bad luck to see the groom before the wedding, so I shan't see him," Denys insisted the next morning as she dismissed the messenger wishing her good morrow on Valentine's behalf.
She slumped down in the bed once more and pulled the coverlet up over her head.
Weak sunlight cast wan shadows throughout the chamber. A gentle rain had just finished splattering the windows. The weather outside was as miserable as she felt inside.
"But the wedding is not for ten more days," Mary, her maid, reminded her. "You can't hide from him ‘til then!"
"It makes no difference. I shall be seeing more of him than I ever wish to once we are married. I see no reason to face him now."
"But Mistress, you were once so, well, enamored of him. I can't think what could have made you change your mind about him so utterly," the maid said, concern evident in her kind brown eyes.
"Some men improve upon acquaintance.
Others have the opposite effect," she said stiffly, thinking of all the Queen had said about Valentine and his exploits.
Which would not have been so bad, had she not also been sure he had betrayed her to Elizabeth, nearly killed her in the process, and destroyed any hope she might have had of finding her real family so that these nuptials did not have to take place.
