Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga)

by Diana Rubino

  At this point, Denys didn't care if she was a bastard from the lowliest hovel in England. She just wanted the truth as to her real identity. Above all, she wanted out of the spider web they had all so cleverly tried to weave around her.

  So out she would get. As soon as she was rested after her long journey up here from London, she would make her move…

  And for that she needed time, and a plan. Especially now that she could not even be sure of her oldest ally Richard's help any longer.

  Perhaps she could make her way to her old home at the Duchess of Scarborough's estate? Mayhap her husband might help, in memory of his deceased wife. Or find Uncle Ned, wherever he was on his royal progress, and have him as King bring all these vipers to justice…

  At that thought, she popped her head out from under the covers, dismissed Mary, and rose from bed for the first time that day.

  Her limbs ached and her eyelids were heavy from restless sleep. How she wished she could simply dream the next few weeks away, and awaken to find her loving family here next to her. She was so weary…

  But of course that was only wishful thinking. Only she could make it so. Only Denys could find her own family. She had waited too long as it was, pining for Valentine once they had met, allowing him to distract her, to even trick and deceive her into taking the wrong path.

  Well, she was not going to compound the error by marrying the varlet. She would resume her search once more in earnest. If only she knew where to start looking….

  She started to perform her toilette from force of habit, brushing her rare silvery hair until it sparkled like a silken veil, while her mind began to try to piece together the few clues she had about her origins. Think, Denys, think…

  She held firm to her resolve, keeping to her chamber no matter who summoned her.

  "'Tis bad luck for the bride to see the groom before the wedding!" was all she said to anyone who asked her why she didn't emerge from her chambers to join the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester in the great hall or watch the mummers or partake in backgammon or any card or dice games.

  By day, when Valentine was out and about tending to his business as governor of Yorkshire or sitting in council meetings, she was able to escape the castle and ride Chera through the lush countryside.

  But by nightfall she was back behind closed doors, where she spent her time organizing what she would need to take with her when she made her escape.

  And the sooner, the better. In Denys' mind did not bode well that Richard had not sought to resume their private conversation since their interview in the rose garden. He either didn't believe what she had said, or worse still, he knew all too well that it was true, and had actually been party to it himself.

  Denys plotted and went over all she knew until her head ached. As one more phase of her life was ending, and the next was about to begin, she wrote down everything she could ever think of that her supposed aunt Elizabeth had ever said about her mother or parents, and what she could surmise from having been left as her ward.

  One evening about a week after she had arrived at Middleham, she was alone at her desk writing, and was so distracted that she answered a short rap at the door, expecting Anne's tailor Henry Ive.

  To her dismay, it was Valentine. His presence was so overpowering, her breath practically halted in her throat, whether from fear, or the overwhelming nearness of him, she couldn't say.

  She had dwelled on his many impressive attributes often ever since they had met, but she hadn't remembered him this tall, his shoulders so broad.

  He was dressed like a regal nobleman in a velvet doublet of mulberry, a House of York color. The satin sleeves flowed in folds, nearly reaching the floor. Matching hose were tucked into embroidered shoes, their pikes chained at his knees. Rings of many colored gemstones glittered on his fingers. A feather peeked out from the rolled brim of his velvet cap which was studded with jewels.

  Before drinking in another inch of him, she at last stepped back quickly and moved to shut the door.

  "Please go away. I'm very busy and I've naught to say to you."

  But her efforts were hopeless. She was no match for his strength. He pushed the door open with one hand, scowling, and entered the chamber. He closed the portal behind him and put his back to it, making her feel more cornered than ever.

  He removed his cap and twirled it on his forefinger. "I care not about your daft superstitions that the bride must never see the groom before the wedding," he said airily.

  Denys glared at him.

  "You must let me speak with you, to explain many things, including what I could not that night when those brutes dragged me away from you at the palace in London."

  She shook her head, "I do not want to hear it, Valentine, because I'm not sure if I shall believe you."

  His remarkable blue eyes narrowed. "You are going to listen to me, and you will believe it, for ‘tis the truth, and nothing but, I swear it."

  He clutched her arm, lowered his face to hers, and she could detect the faint scent of mint on his lips.

  His eyes were like daggers piercing through her, but she defended herself from his kiss and seductiveness by looking away, and stepping back from his touch.

  She would not let her heart become the consistency of a cloud again. But here he was in her bedchamber, so close, so commanding, allowing no means of escape.

  She told herself that this was the last time he was ever going to command her time or attention. She sat on the chair she had vacated and said, "Very well. Talk. You have three minutes."

  He let go of her arm and straightened his tabard, his muscles stirring so gracefully beneath it. She pictured the thick mat of spun gold covering his chest.

  "Talk!"

  "I broke in to Elizabeth's chambers when court was away. A serving wench caught me and, oh, never mind what happened hence. Suffice it to say it was a harrowing experience."

  She gave him a sharp look. "More harrowing than nearly burning to death and plunging out of a third-story window naked?" she asked, her voice surprisingly calm, for her heart was thumping like Chera's hooves in a sprightly canter.

  He looked horrified. "Nay, my darling, I shall never forget how distraught I was about what had happened to you. I blame myself. I was careless and got discovered."

  "Careless?"

  "Aye. I'd deciphered Elizabeth's elaborate filing codes and found a letter which I was sure had a connection with your search. Written by the Countess of Somerset, it mentioned ‘the babe' several times, and was dated the Monday next after Martinmas, 1457, November of that year.

  "That is why I told you of the Countess that day we were interrupted. I would have looked further, but it was dark by then, and when I tried to get another torch, I got caught, and—"

  "Spare me. I don't want any of your excuses."

  His brows knit. "Excuses? Nay, explanations—"

  "However you claim to have come by the information, it still smacks of conspiracy with Elizabeth."

  His eyes bulged. "Conspiracy? With that she-devil? Nay! Good God, Dove, how could you ever think—"

  "What else can I think, when you went to such pains to be helpful, only to lead me into a trap which nearly caused my death?"

  He looked truly horrified. "Dove, you can't possibly believe—"

  She folded her arms across her chest, giving him credit for being a good mummer if nothing else. "I can, and I do. So please tell me, why would you risk so much doing what you claim, breaking into the Queen's own apartments and searching her papers?"

  "I wanted to help you in your quest for your family, of course," he said firmly.

  "Why?"

  "Because I want you to know who you are. I want to help you. And now that I'm going to be your husband, I can help you all the more. And give you the family you've always longed for, I hope.

  "While it is true I am an orphan with no siblings, I do have connections, and Richard is like a brother to me, as well as to you. Now Richard and Anne have a child on the way, and, w
ell, everything is changing. We need to change with the times. Perhaps even have the same bright future they have one day, in the not too distant future?"

  His pleading look nearly melted her. Somewhere in her heart she knew he was telling the truth. But at the same time, how could she ever trust so worldly a man?

  "I believe in your quest, Dove, like no one else. I would never do aught to hurt you. You must believe that!" he begged when she remained silent.

  She arched her brows. "The truth is, from the moment we met, I don't know what to believe. In fact, all of this is almost too good to be true."

  "It's real, I swear it."

  "We meet in a rose garden, Richard tells you to woo me to take me off his hands. The Queen warns me you are a backstabber and whore monger of the first order one minute, and wants me to marry you the next."

  Valentine scowled fiercely. "The devil, you say! Whore monger! Why—"

  "Richard even warned me that if I didn't snap you up fast, there are plenty of maidens here who will be more than happy to do so. Is that how you've been conquering the wild north, my Lord? With your mighty sword?" she sneered.

  His look was one of complete outrage. "Damn it, Dove, why are you being like this?"

  "Because I've finally learned what kind of world I live in, am trapped in, and I despise it."

  He reached out one hand in supplication, but she slapped it away.

  His breathing grew ragged. "You see betrayal at every turn, my dear, and mayhap, having been brought up with the Woodvilles, that is not surprising. But I give you my word, I was only trying to help you find the family you seemed to so desperately long for."

  She gave an arrogant toss of her head. "Well, after that last disaster, I shall find my true parentage on my own, without your help."

  He raised one hand in a gesture of surrender. "Very well, Denys, I shall not interfere once we are married. I shall just do my best to make you happy."

  "Happy?" she hissed. "Having to fear poison in every cup or dish?"

  CHAPTER THREE

  Her betrothed's eyes widened. "Poison? Nay!" Valentine's tone was one of anguished horror at her accusation that he was marrying her only in order to kill her. "Nay, Dove, I want you to be my wife, not my sacrificial victim!"

  She squared her shoulders, determined to be obdurate. "So you say, but I nearly died—"

  He moved closer to her, forcing her out of the chair. She had to move, lest he touch her, and her body betray her once more.

  "I tried to help with the best of intentions," he said, "but they backfired. Yet so help me God, Dove, I give you my word, I am not in league against you with the Queen. I don't know what Elizabeth has said about me, but surely you know her for a vicious, scheming woman. How can you believe her over me?"

  "Because I don't even know you!" she fired back, pacing in front of the hearth now in agitation.

  "You do," he insisted. "Richard does. Anne does. Meet my friends, and colleagues. Find out who I really am. Now that we are betrothed, with the sanction of the Queen, there is no need to hide in the shadows any more, my Dove, or in locked rooms."

  He strode over and flung the door open with an impatient gesture. "My life, my character, is an open book, and I don't care what the Queen or anyone else says."

  She paused in her pacing, impressed despite herself at his protestations of innocence, and honesty.

  He saw her wavering, and sought to press home his point. "I don't know what the Queen has said, but I don't care. I am not going to beg and plead for you to see my way. All I ask is that you listen to your heart, Denys, my dove. Do you really think that Richard or the King, your uncles by marriage, would willingly harm you? Marry you to a murderer?"

  "This is a man's world, and we women are mere pawns," she said stiffly.

  "Nay, not a pawn, my wife, and hopefully the mother of my children." He put his hand on his heart now. "I swear to you, Denys, I don't care if you are base-born or the richest woman in the known world. I want to marry you, make a home for you, give you the family you always wanted, even if you never know your true name. I want to give you laughter, and romance and tenderness, be lover and husband to you as long as we both shall live."

  "Some of us may live longer than others," she pointed out sharply.

  He crossed himself as he declared, "God forbid anything should ever happen to you. And the devil take all these damnable suspicions. When I marry you, I will be promising before God to love, honor and cherish you, to be your protector and helpmeet. Any man who does less is no man at all.

  "Do you really think I am so lacking in honor, or so, what, dazzled by whatever carrot Elizabeth is supposedly dangling in front of me, that I would damn my immortal soul to perdition for it? If you really think that, Denys, then it is true, you know me not one jot."

  Now it was his turn to pace as she stared at him, impressed by his words despite herself. He was either the most cunning of men, or the most innocent.

  And one point he had made was valid, and worth considering. As his wife, he was her protector. As the Queen's ward, well, she would be at Elizabeth's mercy forever if she did not escape now.

  And not just escape by fleeing Richard's castle to take to the roads to find her family, though she did not have a single clue at the moment to aid her.

  No, she needed to remove any chance of Elizabeth forcing her to do anything, including force her to make an even worse match than the one being thrust upon her at the moment.

  She had her suspicions of Valentine, but he was not a brute beast like some of the knights…

  Valentine rumpled his normally perfect golden hair with the fingers of one hand, making him look like a disgruntled hedgehog.

  Despite herself, she smiled inwardly. Liar and flirt he might be, but he was right about two things. She knew Elizabeth for a lying bitch, and knew not Valentine. Not yet. But perhaps in time…

  She also admitted that her anger at Valentine all along had stemmed from the duel to woo her, which had been Richard's idea in the first place.

  Finally, she did know Richard. For all his lack of understanding of human emotions, he had never tried to harm her. He was painfully candid most of the time. Nor had she ever met a single friend of his who had seemed objectionable or dishonest.

  Valentine reached out one hand to her. "Well, say something, for pity's sake, Dove. Anything but sit accusing me with your eyes of crimes I can hardly dare to even guess at!" he rasped.

  She sighed, and gave a curt nod. "Very well, my Lord Starbury. If I must marry you, so be it. More marriages are forced than not. But that is where my duty to you ends. I will be a wife, but not willingly. You in turn will be my protector, as per the oath you will give."

  "Aye, and your husband, and the man who will love you, Dove, as no one has ever loved you before. I want no political match, my sweet, but a real marriage."

  "That remains to be seen," she said as she rose to her feet, her back ramrod straight. "But now, having made this decision, I shall point out that I am in no one's charge at the moment. Therefore, I shall do as I please."

  "Anything you like, only—"

  "I wish to see neither back nor front of you until our wedding day. Good morrow to you."

  She forced herself not to look into the eyes begging for something she could not understand nor give him.

  "Is there nothing else you care to say so close to the day when we will be joined forever in matrimony?" he asked incredulously.

  She shook her head. "My marriage to you is meant to be a punishment. It shan't do me a bit of good."

  "Are you the only person you can think about? Do all your liaisons exist for your own convenience?"

  "Liaisons! Hah! I'm sure yours do! And that's the question that worries me most, my Lord. Just what do you hope to gain out of marrying me?"

  His teeth ground together audibly. "I had hoped for a reasonable helpmeet and companion, but all you seem to care for are your own needs. As for me winning a bride whom all might envy, I have to say,
I know of no one who is particularly enamored of you or enjoys your company," he fired back.

  "Then what are you doing here?" she fumed. "Begone if you find being with me so tedious." She folded her arms over her chest with a flounce.

  "I came to try to settle things between us more amicably. I thought we were getting along better once you forgot my idiocy over the whole bat guano thing the second time we met."

  Despite herself, she smiled. And even though she tried to suppress it, she couldn't help remembering his magnificent physique that evening, the way he had been so near, so compelling…