Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga)

by Diana Rubino

  Richard, finally out of mourning, was draped in a purple velvet ermine-trimmed gown over a blue cloth of gold doublet, surrounded by his pages, dressed in white cloth of gold gowns. Anne, weakened and frail, rode in a richly decorated litter, attended by her ladies on horseback dressed in crimson and blue satin.

  To Denys, the most resplendent figure was Valentine, in a robe of blue velvet blazing with gold threads that glistened in the sunlight, shooting back almost blinding rays of gold. The procession made its way to Westminster Abbey.

  Denys walked in state alone behind Richard's sister, while Valentine walked directly behind the King, as first officer of the coronation, with the honor of bearing his train.

  The red cloth was rolled out and the procession, led by musicians and heralds, made its way to the Abbey. A great cross led the line of priests, abbots and bishops. Then came the principal magnates, bearing swords, maces, the Duke of Westminster carrying the scepter. The Duke of Windsor carried the jeweled crown in his hands.

  Richard walked with a bishop on either side, a cloth of estate borne over his head. A troop of earls and barons preceded the lords who carried the Queen's regalia, then Anne walked alone with one of her ladies bearing her train. Following them was Denys, and another line of noble ladies, knights and squires.

  The procession entered The Nave and a burst of singing began. The King and Queen walked to the head altar, were anointed with the sacred chrism, then were arrayed in cloth of gold. Cardinal Bourchier set the crowns upon their heads, and the music burst from the organs. High Mass followed, and after receiving Communion, the procession retraced its steps over the red cloth amidst the sound of trumpets, clarions, and the organ.

  The coronation banquet took place later that afternoon in Westminster Hall, a feast of many courses at which Richard sat in the middle of the high table on the dais, Anne at his left. Cloths of estate were held over their heads and Valentine served him with dishes of gold and silver.

  Throughout the hall led by the King's Champion, resounded the cry, "King Richard!" As darkness fell, attendants began entering the hall bearing flaming torches. Before the procession of subjects, Denys approached the royal dais. She dipped in a low curtsy, took his hand and kissed Uncle Ned's coronation ring. Only now did it hit her—it was no longer Uncle Ned's. It was King Richard's.

  "God bless you, Your Highness," she whispered and looked up at the jewels embedded in his crown. His eyes did not glitter quite so brightly, but he gave her his first smile as King.

  All this while in sanctuary, her sons sequestered in the Tower, Elizabeth Woodville knew she'd lost everything in the space of two months. The invasion by sea had also failed.

  "God damn that Valentine Starbury!" she spat. And how he had survived that barge accident, she'd never know. She could flog herself for having told him to go to Stillington!

  "Oh, how greedy I have been," she wailed, gazing forlornly at the miniatures of her two sons, whom she knew she'd never see again. "If only I'd wanted less, how much more I would have had!"

  Richard's first appointment as King was to Valentine, whom he made Chancellor of England. Along with that came an annuity of eleven hundred pounds, plus the castles of Stokesay and Rockingham. Prince Edward seemed relieved to have been spared the burden of kingship; he simply wanted to be a boy.

  "Oh, Valentine, I shall never get used to your being involved in all this," Denys said as the moon lightly dusted their bed with a pale beam streaming in through the open window of their chambers in Warwick Castle.

  "The throne is secure, and Elizabeth is a shriveling old woman. Henry Tudor is more of a threat than she'll ever be."

  "But he is in France. He hasn't set foot on English soil in ages."

  "Nevertheless, he and his spies and his followers exist and we must look out for him," Valentine replied. "His mother was seen handing Bishop Rotherham a large parcel, and we don't think it's a donation to the church."

  "Are you considering capturing Tudor and taking him prisoner? Or fighting him again?" That old fear crept up on her again like a lingering ague.

  "Nay, Richard is not like Edward once was. He likes to leave well enough alone. ‘Tis not his style to strike first."

  But Denys couldn't help thinking that her husband's was to do so.

  "Just do not provoke anyone, Valentine. I could not bear to lose you in battle."

  "So you're madly in love with me and can't stand to be torn from my loving embrace?" he asked playfully, enfolding her tightly, causing her to shiver under the thick coverlets.

  "Nay. Well, aye, but I hate battles, hate wars. I wish we could just have peace."

  "Well, then why don't you make yourself more comfortable," he whispered, wrapping his arms round her waist and sliding the coverlet to the floor, leaving them clad in their robes on the cool linen sheets.

  "A lot more comfortable." He ran a finger down her side, over the curve of her body. "We are men. We can't help fighting. Just the way we can't help loving." Already her pulse was racing.

  He rose, tossed another log onto the expiring flame and returned to bed, pulling her down gently next to him, his eyes running the length of her body, causing little volcanoes to erupt at her pulse points as renewed burst of desire surged through her.

  "Now, what were we talking about?" he asked, his face glowing in the flickering flames, reflections of their fire lit evenings together. She momentarily lost all sense of time and that romantic, night-time feeling came over her as she moved closer to him, raising her lips, wanting with dire urgency to kiss him.

  "Fighting, loving..." he whispered, holding his index finger to her lips, tracing their delicate pout.

  "Something like that."

  "No more talking." She caught her breath as she felt his arms encircle her.

  She melted into his embrace and ran her hands over the smooth musculature of his chest. Her fingers found the belt of his robe and began to untie it. The robe fell open, revealing his exquisite nakedness. She slipped her hand between his thighs. He inched closer and she felt his body against hers, warm, hard, impatient. Her hands explored, caressed, felt his throbbing urgency.

  Quickly, yet gently, his hands rode the curves of her body and she felt the rush of warmth from the fire against her flesh. Their mouths locked in a fiery kiss that tasted of unsated love, warm embers and mint. She tugged at the robe and slid it from around his shoulders. He slowly brought her to her feet and they swept across the floor in a silent pavanne until her back touched the edge of the velvet-cushioned window seat. He gently leaned her back and she felt her feet leave the floor as her body reclined on the window seat's softness. Still standing over her as she now lay supine, he kissed her, slowly and deliberately, over every inch of her body.

  She held her arms out to him, hungrily wanting him to envelop her, possess her, love her.

  Still standing, he parted her thighs and as he caressed her, entered her, moving her with him as he leaned over and buried his face against her breasts, his tongue flicking lightly over them. She wrapped her arms around his back and he continued to love her with expert mastery.

  Afterward, he carried her back to the bed and lay beside her—his scent blending with the earthy essence that she felt even more strongly with her eyes closed. She reached out and he was there—right next to her. She released an overflowing reservoir of passion for this man. She swallowed hard, her next breath coming in a gasp.

  He lowered his head and she raked her fingers through his thick hair, breathing in its fresh clean scent. His tongue explored the sensitive hollows of her neck, flicked her earlobe, making her shudder. His lips and tongue explored the curve and swell of her breasts in agonizing gentleness.

  They kissed and explored and stroked—her arms urgently pulling him closer, closer, until he was all hers, in her, with her, hers in every sense of the word. Together they soared and drifted, the only sounds being those of their desperate need for each other and the sharp crackling fire. Finally when she felt as if both their bodies
would burst, she screamed, she cried, caught up in the most blissful rapture she'd ever felt.

  She heard Valentine's voice as if from a far off tunnel, groaning, "Only you, only you..." Afterward, he looked into her eyes, seemingly confident that he had satisfied her completely. He propped himself up on an elbow and lifted a strand of hair from her moist cheek. "Love and war," he said. "How alike those two passions are."

  At Valentine's ancestral estate of Fiddleford Manor, Denys spent hours in the gardens planting roses, lilies, geraniums, all the flowers she loved, enjoying their delicious fragrances wafting through the house with the cuttings she brought in each day. It was almost as peaceful as their Yorkshire sanctuary, but something about the buzz of London life was beginning to attract her. In trying to adapt to the city, she began to enjoy the narrow winding streets, the vendors shouting out the virtues of their wares, the throngs of people, the bustle of commerce along the Thames.

  She walked the dusty streets alone on occasion, just like any other common subject, and lost herself in the crowd of brightly colored cloaks, hose and shoes, drawn faces, and the smiles of the children all rushing about to perform whatever tasks life demanded of them. She entered the poor areas, she and her escorts handing out breads, meats, fruits from her garden, the likes of which these people had never seen. It rewarded and saddened her at the same time.

  Would she have become one of these, had Elizabeth not adopted her? Could the ragged little girl who'd ravaged the strawberry tart and licked her fingers be her sister? She never stopped wondering.

  Now that Richard was King, she had to make an appointment for an audience with him. This irked her to no end; he'd always been so accessible. How she missed the freedom to saunter past the guards through each of his outer apartments, then clear through to his retiring chamber.

  Now he was unapproachable. But today, finally, she was going to get to see him—alone, without a hovering entourage.

  Two palace guards escorted her into his audience chamber in the White Tower where he sat signing papers. The crown rested on a pillow well within his reach. He looked up at her and a thin smile began, but didn't quite make it.

  He stood to greet her. She curtseyed and kissed the coronation ring. But now she wanted to speak to him as an old friend.

  "Oh, Richard, you look grand tending to your duties, but so tired. Is it all catching up with you?"

  "It has caught up with me and surpassed me, leaving me in the dust," he replied wearily, easing back into the chair and resting his head in his hands for a moment before resuming his erect posture. "An enormous responsibility; it is just overwhelming. Sometimes I find it hard to believe I am actually here; I keep expecting Edward to come walking through that door any minute and shoo me away."

  "I find it hard to believe, too, Richard. Part of me refuses to believe Uncle Ned is gone. I still see him when I close my eyes, I can still feel his hands around mine, I can hear his laughter." She shook her head and wiped a tear. Would she ever stop grieving Uncle Ned, or ever stop missing him? "But you are handling it beautifully! I am sure within a short time, you will fall into a comfortable routine and adapt to your position as King just like any other job."

  "Routine? That will take years. There is so much to do."

  "Valentine loves every minute of it, as I was afraid he would." He looked at her and his eyes sharpened, almost regaining that glimmer of confidence. "My newly appointed Great Chamberlain and Admiral of England is more popular than I!" He said it without a trace of resentment or jealousy.

  "I've noticed. I wish I could slow him down at times."

  "‘Tis your wifely duty to deplete his energies when he becomes a bit too feisty," Richard said, tilting his head and drumming his fingers on the table, his rings glittering in the sunshine pouring through the chamber.

  "That just seems to revitalize him even more," she quipped back. "Just ask Elizabeth's potion crone. I'm sure she can concoct a batch that will arouse and pacify him at your will; she's cooked up enough potions to kill both my brothers."

  "Richard, please. What happened is in the past. Do not think of her. I have finally put her out of my mind. She can harm us no more. It fairly galls her that you are King. It must! Just think of how furious she is, languishing in her hovel, the last of the Woodvilles wiped from the palace grounds as if struck by plague. Her attempts to kill Valentine and me failed. The kingdom is yours now. You must bear its burdens, but you must also enjoy it. ‘Tis grand taking part in tournaments and feasts and banquets, without Bess excluding me from royal events."

  He lifted the last paper he'd signed, admiring the royal seal, then gazed off into the distance. "Aye, ‘tis grand, is it not?"

  "Richard, I am here not only for an audience with you, but to ask of you a favor."

  He tossed the paper back on the pile and sat back in the chair. "What do you need, an increase in Val's salary, a castle on the sea, perhaps?"

  "Nay, you have been more than generous to us. I need only one thing of you. I need you to help me find the man who took me from King Henry as a baby."

  "Ah, yes, the mysterious John. Dove, I would love to help you, but this is not something I can look into immediately.

  As you can see, I have—"

  "I understand you cannot physically search the kingdom for him. If you can access a list of King Henry's courtiers for me, I shall continue the search myself."

  "You are not to go on another search in winter. No travelling on this quest between the months of November and April. That is an order, and I am speaking to you as your King now."

  "I heed and obey thee, King Richard." It gave her a strange dread to address her childhood friend in this way. "But with summer upon us, I should have no difficulty in travelling. Besides, Elizabeth is powerless. I trust there will be no more mishaps."

  "I shall assist you in every way I can. Now I really must get back to business. Give Val my regards and tell him that I shall see him when Parliament convenes."

  "And how fares the Queen?" she asked, not having seen Anne since the coronation.

  "She is not in the best of health." His eyes clouded over as they always did at the mention of Anne's increasing absences at court functions.

  "I am so sorry, Richard. Please, if there is anything I can do—"

  "Just continue to be as kind to her as you always have. She needs all the love anyone can bestow upon her."

  "Oh, that is the very least I can do! For I did take your advice, and have found much more room in my heart than I ever dreamed possible!"

  They stood, she curtseyed and they parted. As she left, she felt herself longing for the simple life she had once shared with her old friend, and the concentrated attention Valentine had given her before the cares of state had begun to weigh on them all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Richard's court glittered in splendor, rivalling even that of the late luxury-loving King Edward. Every evening there were mummers, jugglers, tumblers, fools, minstrels playing gaily in the gallery, games of dice and backgammon, dancing.

  Now Valentine's and Denys' dress was even more extravagant than before. His doublets and surcoats were of the richest velvet. His undertunics were of satin or fine Holland cloth. His head was always topped with a velvet cap gleaming with gold fleurs-de-lis or shot through with gems.

  Her gowns were of velvets lined with satin or cloth of gold, furred with ermine or sable, blazing with patterns and swirls of gold, studded with jewels, the satin sleeves flowing to the floor in layers. Rings glittered on every finger.

  Chains and pendants dripped from their necks. They sparkled, radiating all the splendor due their status.

  Queen Anne, however, did not make many appearances; she was usually ailing and bedridden. Denys could see the sadness in Richard's eyes as he sat next to the empty place at the high table, but that spark immediately returned when his darling son Edward came scampering into his arms.

  It was whilst on progress in Cambridge that they received the tragic news that the lit
tle boy had quietly slipped away in his sleep. The entire court went into mourning, and the grief-stricken king and Queen rushed to Middleham for the burial of their only son.

  Of course the inevitable buzz began to circulate through the court: who would now be Richard's heir to the throne? "Are you not glad we do not have these problems, Valentine?" Denys asked him as they lay in bed, their bodies twined, their hearts beating against each other. "I expect the biggest problem of all for a king to have would be to choose a fitting heir, with no legitimate children of his own."

  "I am so glad you are not a blood relative of his. there would be no doubt in my mind that he would have chosen you."

  "Hmmm..." Valentine pondered the thought then dismissed it quickly. "Even if we were related, I would rather be here at his side, a mere subject, while he lives, than a king after his death."