by Diana Rubino
Then it began coming back—the quiet slipping away, her clinging to old Owen, cradling his head, the name "John" on his lips as he breathed his last, the surname passing into the beyond with him.
"Owen..."
"Owen died with an arrow wound through the chest. You were half frozen to death. You would have perished had they not gone for help and brought it back for you."
"Oh, poor Owen!" she sobbed, eyes filled spilling over with tears that he dabbed at with a cloth.
She grasped Richard's shoulders, her fingers unable to bend on their own, sliding down the front of his surcoat. "Where is Valentine?"
He grasped her hands gently and laid her back down on the pillows. "We have summoned him. He is on his way."
He sat with her for a while longer, holding the goblet to her lips whilst she sipped, giving her a piece of buttered bread to nibble.
Then the horrifying events of the past few days came rushing back, haunting her with their petrifying details. "Oh, Richard, I was so very cold. I couldn't move. I was so sure I was going to die. And the highwaymen. One of them tried to—"
He shook his head and said gently. "Do not dwell on it, my dear. You are warm, you are safe, and you shan't go off on another mission like this again until the spring thaw comes at last." His voice seemed to be coming at her from a distance.
"I wonder if Valentine was worried about me," she said, each bite granting her more strength, so that now she was able to concentrate on more complex thoughts.
"Don't be daft, of course he was worried. He couldn't even eat, he was so beside himself at the thought of what might happen to you."
"He has never cared before," she stated, shaking her head. "Oh, Richard, you have no idea what our marriage has been like. He is so distant, so cold."
His lips thinned and he shook his head. "‘Tis most likely he is unused to married life and his role as a husband. ‘Tis not in his nature to be cold. I know he feels a lot more than he lets on."
She would have laughed if she'd had the strength. "Nay, he deliberately shuns me, Richard. At first it was a relief, for I held nothing but mistrust and fear of him. Then his attitude waned to chilly aloofness. But now..."
He stared at her for a moment. "Have you talked to him about it?"
"Aye. He says that he will not touch me until he is sure that I love him and go to him willingly as a wife."
"Ah, I see. So that's the way of it then." He nodded. "It explains a great deal. I'm sorry for you both."
She reached up to grasp his hand and he took it in his, then laid it down beside her.
"Oh Richard, what am I to do," she sobbed, feeling as though all of her was truly thawing at last. "I care about him a great deal. But he refuses to possess my body without possessing my heart. Yet how can I love a man who won't even take me in his arms and attempt to treat me as his wife? We go in circles like this. I fear we'll forever be circling each other instead of...coming together." She hoped that was putting it daintily enough not to embarrass him.
He blushed slightly, but said in a kind tone, "Dove, men have greater vulnerabilities which women, in their stable circle of family and well-defined duties, cannot quite comprehend. We go to war, we kill each other, brother against brother, in combat for what we feel is rightfully ours, whether it be or not.
"‘Tis Valentine himself. He wants to be loved. Your body means nothing to him without your heart. Aye, he can have a dalliance with some wench who strikes his fancy. Any man can. But when it comes to winning a maiden's heart, that is a different thing altogether. That is the prize that all men covet. He wants your heart, Dove. Then and only then will he give you everything he has."
"Sometimes I don't know if I can love anyone, even my own husband," she admitted with a sigh. "It's as if, well, I'm frozen inside. I find myself wishing I felt otherwise, but what can I do. I lie awake at night in my bed as he lies in his, and I wish so strongly that he would come to me. I've been desperate enough to end this impasse that I've tried going to him, but I always back off again. Or he steps away from me, shuts me out of his chamber as if I were no more than a whipped dog," she said with a sniff.
Richard sighed heavily. "He mayhap has the same problem as yourself. After so many years of war, perhaps he knows not how to love. I thought that about myself once, but Anne lit my way.
"Since then I've discovered that hearts are instruments capable of expanding. They have a great capacity. There is room for more than one within. You don't need to pin all your hopes and dreams on one perfect knight, but be surrounded by family and friends whom you love and cherish and will always have a place in your heart."
"But mayhap that's just the trouble. I have no one."
Richard looked injured at that.
"I mean no one of my own, my blood kin. Perhaps that's why. I don't give my trust easily, because I'm not sure I have anyone who will always support me through thick and thin."
"Then we have done a poor job of showing you how much we value you, and for that I am sorry."
"Oh, not you—"
"And as for blood kin being so supportive, well, just look at my darling brother George trying to wrest the kingdom from your Uncle Ned. Be careful what you wish for, Dove."
"I know, Richard, I know."
"And even if you did find your family, Valentine is your lord and protector now. You can rely on him."
"Can I?" she asked with a wistful sigh.
He took her hand, his face more serious than she had ever seen. "Yes, completely, I swear it. I know you've had your doubts, and perhaps I should have taken them more seriously at the time, in order to better refute them. I know Valentine. He is the friend of my heart. Which as I said, does not love easily, is capable of expanding to encompass many, not just a few.
"Anne has a place in mine, as do you, and Val, Ned, and there is still plenty of room for more. For children one day, for example. But it takes time. True love cannot be rushed. It does not miraculously wash over you after one tryst in the great hall, or even in the bedchamber.
"It must come gradually, sometimes painfully slowly. I talk not of lust, which can hit you like a shower of hot embers. You must both give it the time it needs. Who knows how long that will be. But when it happens, you will know. And it is worth waiting for. He will see you quite differently now that he almost lost you another time."
"Oh, how I prayed. When I realized we were all going to perish, I begged for a second chance!"
"Well, now you have it. And so does Val. Make sure you both use it wisely."
Their eyes met and although she could still see a spark, it was but a remnant of lost youth, for Richard's gaze was distant. Did she look like that too? she wondered. Battered by the passage of time.
"How did you learn all this wisdom about love in so short a time, Richard?"
"Simply by living, my dear, being married to Anne, and noting the difference between having her in my life and what it was like before. Valentine has seen his share of tragedies and so have you. Both having lost your parents, you both believe you were abandoned. You're both holding back, but for different reasons. You will realize how much he cares, but you must show him you care. But it takes time, and acts of kindness, not mere words. You must give it time, and some effort, if you wish to be happy."
Creases formed around his mouth as he smiled and took her hand once again, this time grasping it warmly.
"Oh, I hope you are right, Richard."
"He should be here any time now. When he arrives, I shall disappear. And after you've recovered, I'll be sending a new palfrey to you in Chera's place."
Chera. Oh, that beautiful animal, her prized pet. Stolen by the highwaymen.
"Your beloved mare is probably halfway to Scotland by now, but she's one in a thousand, so I am sure we will find her one day soon."
"I pray so," she said numbly. Once again the horrors of the past few days returned and her flashback continued as if she were there again.
Owen was gasping, blood trickling down th
e side of his mouth, he was trying to talk, and she remembered the rasping sound that began to make sense...
"Richard, I think I have come closer to finding my true beginnings than I ever have before!" she gasped, recalling all that Owen had said.
"That was the purpose of the journey, I take it. So do tell me, if you're not too tired."
"After the highwaymen robbed us, old Owen Gwynne lay on the ground and I held his head in my lap as he spoke his dying breath."
"What did he say?"
"He told me that in 1457, he remembered seeing a man at Mass giving a babe to King Henry. That he told him to take care of her because she might prove useful one day."
"Did he say what was this man's name was?"
"Aye! John."
His dark brows knit. "John? John what?"
"I know not. That was all he said! He said ‘John.' Then he took his last breath, and with that his eyes rolled back in his head and he shut them forever."
"Hell's bells, Dove, do you know how many men in this kingdom are named John?"
"Quite a few, I expect."
Richard clasped his hands, his rings clinking against each other. "You could summon every man named John and still not find for whom you look in five lifetimes! He may even be dead!"
"But Richard, surely you can find out. You have access to all the court records! Do you not remember anyone named John?"
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I've known lots of men named John. Do you want me to summon every one of them?"
"Nay, just the ones who could have given an infant female to King Henry."
"I shall put a lot of thought into it. Memories do have funny ways of creeping up sometimes, even in dreams."
"Thank you ever so much, Richard."
Just then the chamber door opened and Valentine entered, saw Richard, and nodded briefly. Then he went to the other side of the bed.
Her husband's eyes were dark as winter shadows. A shadow of stubble grazed his chin, roughening his smooth lines. He looked as if he'd been tortured by some unrelenting demon. She'd never seen him look so anguished. A stab of guilt pierced her heart when she realized it was all because of her.
"Valentine!" She reached out and he took her hand gingerly, as if afraid to touch her. "Oh, I am so sorry for all the worry I caused you! But look, I am fine, I can almost sit up, even stand."
"Nay, do not do that. I shall be happy to carry you." He spoke as if to a wounded soldier on the battlefield. He looked across at Richard. "She gave us quite a scare here, aye, Dickon? She would make a fitting warrior!"
She could tell he was struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice.
Richard nodded and rose, straightening his surcoat.
"Well, I shall disappear as promised. Dove, I shall try to aid you in your search as best as I can. But you survived both a fire and a freeze in one lifetime. Miracles do not happen in threes. Do not get greedy."
"Oh, Richard, I know you will remember something! Just try to remember!"
"John," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he strode out of the chamber. "Whoever solves this mystery deserves the throne!"
Valentine sat at the edge of the bed once his friend had left and brushed Denys' silvery hair back off her forehead. "How do you feel?" he asked, more caringly this time.
His tone gave her a spark of hope. Lines of worry creased his features, telling her it was not just mere words, but feelings within in his breast, and the time for coldness between them was past.
"I feel fine, a bit weak. Mayhap I'll tell you all about it later, if you would care to hear any of it."
His hand was trembling slightly. She looked into his eyes and he averted his gaze for an uncomfortable moment.
"Tell me only what you want to. I appreciate that it must have been a dreadful ordeal. I prayed every second you were gone and thank God you are all right."
"Richard said you were worried about me. Were you, Valentine?"
His dark gaze swept over her face, then focused squarely in her eyes. "What do you think, Dove? When that storm hit I went out there myself with every servitor in the house. We saddled every horse in the stable, and when we ran out of horses, the rest went on foot. Then I summoned Richard and he saddled every one of his mounts. They were just starting to come straggling back when I left to come here."
"What...what happened? Is everyone all right?"
"Everyone returned relatively unharmed except Kevin, the stable boy. We know not what happened to him and have started a search for him."
"Oh, dear, the poor lad." She shuddered in shame, thinking of all the misery she'd caused over this escapade.
"You said you were heading south, but there was no sign of you."
She blushed at the lie.
"So we made a ten-mile circle around the grounds, and it was while I was searching that Nottingham's messenger intercepted me to tell me you had been found at last. I sped right over here. Oh, God, why couldn't I have been the one to save you!"
He looked at her again and she could see his eyes brimming with tears. How hurt he looked. Although she was the one who was recuperating, she felt the need to take him in her arms and comfort him.
"You stubborn, stubborn woman! To go to these lengths, to tempt the gripping fingers of death itself twice already just to seek the truth! You are braver than any soldier who has ever fallen on a battlefield! I am proud of you, and yet would like to shake you at the same time!"
"‘Tis not bravery, Valentine. ‘Tis blind faith. I know in the end I shall find them. I have to believe that. ‘Tis what keeps me going."
"See, I told you we were more alike than you cared to admit."
She thought a moment and smiled. Richard's words echoed in her mind. As much as she disliked his ambition and relentless perseverance, there was something about these traits in him that she shared.
Does he care that much? she asked herself once again. The pain in his eyes said it all. She felt an overwhelming rush of emotion she'd never experienced before. She'd nearly gone to her death, leaving him alone, never to know how she really felt about him.
She would wait until they were in the privacy of their own home, and once again, exchange vows—not just verbally, but with their hearts and their bodies, truly joining as husband and wife.
"Valentine, hold me," she whispered.
She feebly tried to pull him close to her. He leaned forward and held her with more care and tenderness than she thought he would ever show.
"Do not ever do anything like that again or I shall turf you into the dungeon until you come to your senses!"
"I shan't, Valentine. I shan't ever go anywhere again without you or without telling you first...in person! And telling you the truth this time, trusting you. But, my darling, that matters not, because I think I am near the end of my search!"
"How? What is it you've discovered?" He pulled away and his eyes twinkled. He was truly interested, and she could tell it was more than morbid curiosity.
"When one of my escorts was dying, he gasped the name ‘John' with his last breath. He'd been in King Henry's service at the time Owen was there, and handed him and infant, saying she might prove useful some day. It happened in 1457, the year I was born, and it was a girl child."
"That certainly confirms your theory, but the name John is common enough."
"I know, Richard said the same, am not going to stop until I find every John that served King Henry."
"There could be hundreds. Besides, half of them are probably dead by now, my dear."
"Someone must know. I know I am close, Valentine, I can just feel it in my bones. Have you ever had such a feeling?"
He nodded and sighed. "Aye, many a time. But I've been let down as well."
"All I have to do is find this John and I will be on the way to my family. My real family!"
Valentine clasped her hands, which trembled with excitement. Then he let go just as quickly. "So, did you and Richard have a nice visit?"
"Aye, it w
as very short, but pleasant."
"Did he have any ideas as to the John issue?"
"He said he would help."
"I would think anyone in the palace at that time would know something of a rare silver-haired little girl turning up at the palace and being raised in the King's household. All we have to do is find some of the old servitors—"
"But it was the man John who would know where I came from—"
"Mayhap not. He might have just been given you by some stranger, and handed you over with the message."
Denys refused to be dejected. "Nay, Owen seemed to feel sure that Henry knew this John, and that John knew of me."
