Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga)

by Diana Rubino

  "Perhaps he is not in residence," Valentine remarked as he helped her dismount. They hitched their horses up to posts at the front door and he knocked. No one answered, but Valentine noticed the door was ajar. He knocked, but still no reply came from within.

  "We can't just barge in on him, Valentine," Denys exclaimed, grabbing on to his sleeve as he swung the door open and called out loudly.

  "Well, it's not like I didn't knock!" he retorted in an impatient manner that echoed her mood exactly.

  They crossed the threshold, Denys cringing with embarrassment at this unwelcome entry into a stranger's home, and entered the dark cottage. Valentine groped his way along the wall, finding a torch and lighting it. Their feet stopped shuffling through the worn rushes on the floor as they let the torch blaze into life.

  "Hallo?" Valentine called out once more, heading for the staircase and peering upwards, shaking his head at the silence that surrounded them. The torch's weak light cast a glow over the furnishings: a trestle table, chairs, cupboards.

  She followed him across the hallway into a solar.

  "There's no one in, Valentine, let us depart and..." When she turned to exit the solar, she saw it. She leaped back in shock as she emitted a horrified scream.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  In an instant Valentine was at her side and she clung to him, trembling, pointing at the figure sprawled on the floor, a lifeless form under a heap of burned and blackened rushes, the features charred beyond recognition.

  Valentine approached the body, lowering the torch, and she looked away, too stunned to even beg him to get them out of there. "He's been burned to death," he said, circling the body, his knees and head bent to get a better look. "And this doesn't look like any accident. Someone murdered him."

  "Oh, the poor man!" Her voice was as scratchy as a briar patch, her body trembling in fear and dread that whoever committed this heinous deed was still lurking about.

  "We must raise a hue and cry, and fetch the bailiff!" They exited the house after Valentine shut the door tightly, and they headed to the cottages of the four nearest neighbors, informing them of their find, to carry out the hue and cry.

  Led by the sleepy villagers, Valentine and Denys proceeded to the home of the bailiff, hoping the coroner would arrive quickly and try to find out who'd murdered John Butts.

  That same evening, Valentine rounded up all their servers and questioned them about the violated oaken chest. None of them had seen anyone enter the house at any time.

  He and Denys believed their trusted staff and ceased their questioning.

  "Someone is trying to thwart my efforts, and it is now all the more unlikely that it could be Elizabeth," she said to him after they dismissed the staff. ‘Tis a murderer, Valentine, a cold-blooded murderer!"

  "Don't be frightened, my darling." He held her close and stroked her hair. "I'll never let any harm come to you. I shall post two extra guards at the door round the clock and I do not want you travelling anywhere without two armed escorts. Not even to go marketing; you are never to be alone!" She shivered and wrapped her arms more tightly around his warm, strong body. Somehow she knew she would never be harmed with Valentine at her side.

  "Oh, Valentine, who else but Elizabeth could possibly want me to remain in the dark about this?"

  "Why, it could be..." But he was unable to think of any other possibility.

  Physicians examining the body of John Butts determined that he'd been dead at least two days when Valentine and Denys found him.

  "That would have been the same day I went to see the other John, who told me about Butts," Denys said. "Valentine, someone has been following me. Whoever it is knows our every move!" Once again he held her, trembling, and tried to calm her.

  But by now he was far from calm.

  She planned to solicit more of Richard's help after joining him on progress. They set off for Windsor, where they planned to meet the court, and while there, they received word that Henry Tudor had invaded from France.

  "Why does he not give up?" she exclaimed as the inner courtyard of Windsor Castle filled with caparisoned horses led by armored men, plumes and banners streaming out behind them.

  "He is no match for us," Valentine replied as she clutched at his arm, encased in gleaming silver. "We shall return shortly, do not fret." Led by the King, the army of 9,000 converged and rode off to fight off their deadliest enemy.

  While they were away, Denys gathered the names of the Johns they'd procured on the last mission and, surrounded by her armed retinue, determined to find them. John Smith, John Drury, John Freke and John Knolles were the last four names they had. But where to find them? Then a thought popped into her mind. Why not ask Marguerite of Anjou? She'd been married to King Henry all those years; surely she must know! The old Queen dowager had nothing to lose; she was exiled away in France and probably would welcome such a challenging task.

  She sat down and in her nearly flawless French, penned a letter to the woman who was quite possibly her last hope. She dispatched the letter by messenger, and hoped Marguerite was not too bitter about the turn her life had taken to help a woman who, in many ways just like her, was also lost.

  She was bursting to tell someone, anyone, about her exciting new idea. She dashed a note off to Valentine, but doubted he would ever get it. The only person besides Richard who'd shared in her triumphs and shattering disappointments was none other than the Queen, Anne Neville.

  She called for Anne, and together they strolled the castle grounds followed by some of their ladies and Valentine's hired bodyguard, the sun's rays glinting off the River Thames like floating gems. They stood on the bridge, overlooking the calm currents and watched the swans glide by.

  "Anne, I have come up with another possible lead, one I should have thought of a long time ago. Marguerite of Anjou!"

  "Why, that is interesting," Anne replied, a flush of color returning to her cheeks. "She may have been there when you were given to King Henry—she was his wife, after all."

  "And if she does not remember, she can tell me who those Johns were!"

  "That is a joy to hear, Dove! I truly hope your search comes to an end soon. How fares life with Valentine? I remember how apprehensive you were on the eve of your wedding." Valentine hadn't left her thoughts for a second; even when she was excitedly scratching out her letter to Marguerite of Anjou. Her heart took a nervous leap and her stomach sickened as it always did at the thought of him in battle once more.

  She wanted to gush forth with her declaration of love for Valentine, but Anne was still in mourning attire for her son and Denys didn't want her to feel any worse by hearing of marital bliss. But, she thought again, this was Anne, the surrogate sister who'd honored Denys with her very own wedding gown, and having met Valentine, she was grateful to Anne for being Richard's wife when he otherwise would have no one.

  "Oh, Anne." She smiled, the sun glinting off her hair. "I have grown to love him so very deeply! I am sick with worry over him right now."

  "Oh, they will be all right. They cannot go wrong. ‘Tis so marvelous to hear how you've grown together. You are such a beautiful couple. So suited to each other," Anne replied, tossing a stone in the water and watching the ripples, her brown eyes thoughtful.

  "And to think Elizabeth married me to him for a punishment!" Denys laughed bitterly. "Just another of her cruel acts that backfired."

  "Ah, yes, he is a rare gem indeed. Were I married to Valentine, I would don a suit of armor myself and guard him with raised lance!"

  The remark alarmed her. "Why? Is he that bad a soldier?"

  Anne turned to her and laughed. "Oh, nay, Dove, Richard has nothing but praise for Valentine's military talents! I was referring to his powerful looks, his handsomeness! That is something I would want to guard jealously! Just ask any of the other ladies at court; they twitter and sigh and nearly swoon when he walks by!"

  Denys shook her head. "Oh, really now?" She knew he'd had his pick of the lot at court after his return from Fr
ance, swaggering into the great hall, wenches of every shape, age and size clustering about him like bees to honey, but none of this occurred since they'd been married. "Where am I when all this sighing and swooning is taking place?"

  "Oh, sometimes you are off on your missions to find your family. Mayhap you do not notice."

  "I would notice a bevy of swooning wenches swarming round my husband!"

  "‘Tis not that obvious. Most are quite covert about it.

  Richard has told me on the last few campaigns they resided at the nearest lord's castle and Valentine was always at the center of attention...the ladies' attention, that is. ‘Tis quite harmless, Dove. Do not take it to heart. Just be pleased you have such an attractive husband whom many fair maidens would love to have sweeping them off into the sunset!"

  "And when all this sighing and swooning occurs, does he return any of their ardent admiration?" She'd seen Valentine flirt, he was an incorrigible flirt at that, probably having perfected the art at that lusty French court. But just how much he still dallied, she did not know, and was resentful that she didn't.

  "Oh, Richard says he cold-shoulders them politely, but quite firmly. ‘Tis all very amusing to him, I expect. Do not worry about a thing, Dove. Valentine would never stray."

  "I witnessed some of his antics with the wenches at Elizabeth's court, before we were betrothed, of course. But now? Nay, it bothers me not." Anne nodded and turned her gaze back to the river.

  "Good." But the topic was hardly closed.

  "I know Valentine is handsome, Anne. Painfully handsome.

  But do not envy me. I trust him, but it is those...women I do not trust. You know what can happen when a man succumbs to the feminine wiles of an engaging wench."

  "Do not fret, Dove. He is safe enough. As long as you love him and he loves you. He certainly loves you." She glanced over at Anne, still with a shred of disbelief that the young girl standing next to her was the Queen— and she mistrusted no one.

  "Aye, I know he does, Anne," she replied softly, believing it, believing it deeply. "He loves me now."

  "There is one lass I would be wary of, Dove, but not in any serious way; she is but a child and still harbors dreams of fairy stories in her young heart."

  "Who is it?" Denys asked, her heart stepping up a bit.

  Someone was after her husband? Oh, she did not need another problem! "‘Tis only Elizabeth's daughter. She fancies Valentine something fierce." Anne laughed, brushing it off with a toss of her head.

  "But do not fret. As I said, ‘tis simply a young girl's fancy." Bess' daughter Elizabeth was not exactly young. There were many times when she herself wondered why Bess had never married her off. Not only that, she was quite beautiful, with shining hair and eyes like the midnight sky, possessing all Bess' lost beauty of youth, the fair skin, the tall and willowy posture. She was probably the most beautiful of the younger women at court. And sweet on her husband!

  "Why did you not tell me this before, Anne?" Denys' voice hardened, causing Anne to face her and place a reassuring hand on her arm.

  "I did not think it important. It still is not important. She is like a falcon set free from a cage, Dove; Elizabeth only recently released her to Richard, just think of how you would feel if you'd just been released from sanctuary. All she wants to do is spread her wings a little."

  "Perhaps they are due for a clipping," was Denys' curt reply.

  "Dove, she may be an adult by virtue of her age, but in her mind she is still such a child. This is her first taste of freedom."

  "Then do I have to pour verjuice all over my husband to render that taste just a trite bitter?"

  "She resides up at Middleham for the most part, Valentine hardly sees her.

  He hardly fancies her, I can assure you." She could see Anne was amused. But she knew how hard Valentine always tried to please and hated to reject anyone—for any reason. It could be taken the wrong way, especially with an impressionable maiden like Elizabeth.

  "Dove, you are not jealous! It means nothing, really! Surely you had crushes on older men when you were young." Nay, no one real. Just her made-up storybook knight.

  But whether it meant nothing or not, it bothered her. It bothered her because she now knew what Valentine had gone through in trying so desperately to capture her heart.

  "Aye, Anne. It probably means nothing." But it bothered her still. And now that Elizabeth was free, she couldn't help but wonder if her husband's biggest admirer wasn't carrying her fancies just a bit too far.

  "Anne, someone broke into my oak chest at Burleigh House recently and stole all the genealogical tables."

  "Oh, dear." Anne's eyes darkened with mystification.

  "Was anyone harmed?"

  "Nay, not at all. And neither was aught else disturbed. It was as if they knew just where to go."

  "Has young Elizabeth ever been to Burleigh House?" Anne had been a step ahead of her the whole time. It surprised Denys; she'd never credited the meek and unassuming queen consort with much in the way of skepticism.

  "Aye, she's been a few times for feast days and such. But Elizabeth? Why would she want to—"

  "Perhaps she is working on her mother's behalf."

  "Nay, she wouldn't. I have heard her confiding in Valentine; she was as anxious to escape Bess's clutches as I'd been. I couldn't help feeling a bit of empathy for the lass, knowing what she'd been through, having been there myself."

  "Mayhap it has something to do with her feelings for Valentine. In her naive child's mind she may hope Valentine will tire of you and your endless quest eventually and turn to her."

  "Anne, you are more astute than I ever thought possible.

  Has Richard ever solicited your advice on matters of state?"

  "Oh, never, Dove! He leaves all the matters of statesmanship to Valentine. Besides, that is one area in which I would never interfere. We must not forget who my father was. He went to his death by meddling in places he had no business. I intend to die a natural death, not at the hand of the executioner's axe!" Anne's strong words made her shiver, only because she was right. With so many factions vying for the crown, politics was the most dangerous game of the times—it rivalled plague in her eyes.

  "You are right, Anne. I suppose it is wise for you to let Richard run the kingdom as he sees fit. But stay out of it I can't. My husband is in too perilous a position. I constantly fear for him."

  "He is a capable soldier, Dove. Do not become a prisoner of your own fear. Accept fate, like I do, and you shall breathe easier." Anne's complacency with the world was borne from resignation; she'd never been well, and knew the consumptive ills that weakened her so would carry her to an early grave.

  But Denys was a fighter, and she was going to find her true line even if it meant a messy death, the same death she so dreadfully feared for her husband.

  Valentine and his retainers marched through the gates in a triumphant line, banners streaming behind them. Valentine dismounted, and his squire removed his helmet and gauntlets so that he could give his wife a loving embrace.

  Coupled with the relief that he'd survived yet another battle, she thrilled at once more having her knight to welcome home—just as she'd always dreamed.

  With Henry Tudor on his ship headed back to Brittany and his mother finally imprisoned in the Tower for treason, peace once more reigned over the land.

  Court was currently residing at Sandal Castle. As always, there were mummers, jugglers and fools galore to entertain them, food and drink to consume to the point of sickness.

  Upon the army's return, Richard bestowed another fine grant of lands upon Valentine and other faithful followers. He also presented Valentine with another gift, his very own fool. Reggie the fool was an expert juggler, singer and dancer, and joined the troupe in keeping their problems at bay, for the time being, anyway, as Richard constantly spoke of the Tudor threat. "But his mother is in prison. Is she not his main source of revenue?" Denys asked him one night as they strolled the castle grounds.

&n
bsp; "Oh, she can run his life well enough from her Tower cell. She's married to Thomas Stanley, who wavers between sides like a turtle on a fence post. Whichever side looks good is the side he follows. Besides, he's been gathering a following, Dove, a faction of his own. Mostly Welshmen.

  Richard does not act like it bothers him, but deep down I can tell he is deeply tormented."

  "But with loyal followers like you, and the Duke of Buckingham and the others, Richard knows he has naught to worry about."

  "Oh, but people have a way of turning, Dove. Lord Stanley mightn't be the only one."