by Diana Rubino
Her heart took a sickening leap as the reality of it hit her.
She mouthed the words as she read them, over and over again.
Her intended was Richard Plantagenet, the King's brother. Good Lord!
Queen Elizabeth always married her relatives off to the cream of the nobility, and as Duke of Gloucester, Richard was the highest ranking bachelor in the kingdom.
But he was far from her idea of a husband. A brother, yes. A husband—never!
He was a prude. He was maddeningly fastidious. He was also planning to wed Anne Neville, daughter of the powerful Earl of Warwick, known as the Kingmaker. But he was not marrying Anne for political expediency. She the love of his life. Certainly not Denys.
Denys and Richard had played together as children, and renewed their friendship when she had recently returned to court.
She had been his companion, tennis partner, chess opponent, but naught else. Just the thought of kissing him made her wince.
And the Queen wanted them married on Christmas Day!
She strode over to the hearth and tossed the parchment into the flames. They licked and charred it beyond recognition, but the words still burned in her mind as the enormity of it all struck her.
She rejected her supper tray, stomach heaving, and headed for the relative comfort of her bed to have a long, hard think.
There had to be a way out of this, there just had to be…. But how?
CHAPTER THREE
Denys felt as though she were living in a briar bush now that the Queen's plans for her to be married to Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had been revealed.
She had bided her time all day, avoiding any area Elizabeth Woodville might chance to visit, until suppertime had forced her to put her plan into motion.
The meal now over, King Edward stood to bid his queen good eve. She left the dais, and her bevy of maids escorted her from the great hall.
The Queen fixed her eye on her young ward for a brief moment, then jerked it away coolly.
Denys knew her of old. She was so confident of getting her own way in most matters that she had probably taken her silence as meek acceptance of the arranged match. Little did she know…
She made sure the Queen was far out of the chamber before coming up to sweep her uncle a graceful curtsy. "Uncle Ned, I need speak with you."
"Dove, my dear! Come, sit, sit by me!" His large hand wrapped hers in comforting warmth, before indicating the chair his wife had so recently left. "I've hardly seen you, what with all the battles and council meetings and so forth. You must let me get my own back on that chessboard!"
She couldn't help smiling, remembering how she'd captured the King's own king with no more than a rook and a pawn.
"I would much enjoy that, Uncle." She kissed his ruby coronation ring, and sat next to him.
"So—" He motioned for a passing steward to bring Denys a cup of wine. "How's my little Dove, then? Are you happy back here at court? Or would you rather have stayed up Yorkshire way where it's quiet at least?"
"Oh, I was feeling especially misty today. 'Twas the first anniversary of the Duchess of Scarborough's death. She was like a mother to me. I'm missing Castle Howard so much."
And it was no lie she told. Castle Howard was where warmth and love surrounded her, embracing her childhood with gently rocking cradles, a lullaby every night, and the Duchess' soft shoulder to rest her head on.
"I loved it there, Uncle. I had my studies, gave alms to the poor, read to the little urchins. They loved those tales of King Arthur. I looked forward to those visits and reading those tales more than they."
Her tone lightened as she recalled how rewarding it had been to bestow gifts upon the poor, read to the children, and bring some happiness to their lives, however briefly. She longed to do that again.
"I know how much the folk and Duchess adored you, my dear." King Edward's eyes grew soft and thoughtful. He and his siblings had spent much of their childhoods at Castle Howard as well; the Duchess had been like a mother to all of them.
Denys nodded. Her eyes held fast on the blur of lights glinting off her goblet. "She used to spend hours fussing over my hair, especially when the sun bleached it white. 'How pretty you are, like a little dove!' she said to me one day."
She had been Dove from that day on. But now her halcyon childhood was over, and her whole future lay in the balance…
A playful grin frolicked on Edward's lips. "She had nicknames for all of us. Richard was Gumpy. George was Ulchy. I was Knobby, because my knees and elbows were so big. But I seem to have grown into them."
He held out his hands, rough and calloused from years of wielding swords and pikes, the hands of a fearless military leader.
She admired her uncle's robust figure, how strong and powerful he was. Powerful enough to help her escape from the web his wife was weaving for her?
"I'm lost here, Uncle, with the constant buzz of politics, and the trappings of royalty. I just don't fit in here."
"I understand. It's hard adapting to your new role in the royal household. But given time—"
"If all I've seen since you were blessed enough to be granted the throne, I don't think I want to give it more time."
He stared at her, and nodded wisely.
She was stating no less than the truth, and counted herself blessed that she could talk to her uncle by marriage, the King, in this way, without pretence. His was the most sympathetic ear of all her confidantes. He shared her longing for the Yorkshire countryside: the lush green fields, the gentle dales, the moors purple with heather.
London was a filthy, crowded stink hole and she hated it. Most of all, she despised the Queen's greedy family, and was not going to let it devour her as well.
He sipped his wine thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, "So what would you like to do with yourself then, child?"
"What I really want to do is find my true origins. I'll never believe I'm the Queen's niece. I want to know who my parents are, where I came from."
His brows knit. "I know nothing—"
"I know, else you would have told me. Only the Queen knows the truth, and if she has never seen fit to confide in you, it must be a very dark secret indeed."
"Which is why I feel it is my duty to dissuade you—" But as soon as the words left his lips, he could see they were futile. He tried a different tack.
"Have you appealed to her since you've been back at court? She might be a bit more accommodating now that you're older. That you are more aware of the ways of the world and won't be, er, unduly shocked should your parentage not be all that you might wish."
Denys blushed, but nodded. "I'm prepared for whatever the truth is. And aye, the day I returned to your household from Castle Howard. I asked her then."
"What did she say?" he asked, genuinely curious.
She shrugged one shoulder. "She dismissed me with, 'your father never married my sister, they died of the sweating sickness, so be grateful I adopted a little bastard like you.'"
"Hmm." He didn't look any more convinced than his niece, for all it was a likely enough tale.
"She's hiding something, Uncle, you know she is."
In fact, Denys had known it almost the whole of her life. As soon as she learned to talk, she had begun asking Elizabeth—who were my lord father and ma mere?
Her aunt either slapped or shooed her away, and when the questioning had become too annoying for Queen-to-be Elizabeth, with coronation jewels and feasts on her mind, she had shoved Denys off to faraway Yorkshire.
But Denys had never stopped wondering who her family really was, and why they had ever given her up.
What was Elizabeth trying to hide? Who were my parents? Who am I?
Edward nodded, a dimple in his cheek punctuating his frown. Oh, he knew his conniving wife, all right. The trouble was, he knew her too well. A secret like this could only portend ill for them all if Denys poked about too much into the affair.
Elizabeth loved power. The power of silence on the matter, but even
more worryingly, what she hoped to gain from keeping the secret and holding Denys within her household as her ward, even though the relationship between them had been tense at best.
"I know she is hiding something, but might it not be for your own good, my dear?"
Denys shifted uneasily in her chair and shook her head, setting her pale blue veil aflutter. Her own good, certes, but not mine…
"Uncle, last eve, her Highness dispatched me a most alarming demand. I must appeal to you about it."
"Oh, no, what the shite did she want this time?" Edward responded wearily, motioning one of the servers to refill his wine goblet. "Shall I fetch a pitcher for this?"
"I would fetch a cask for this," she said with a roll of her eyes.
"Oh?"
"She wants me to marry Richard. On Christmas Day."
"Richard. Richard? My brother Richard?" Edward stared at her as though she had sprouted three heads, and then took a hefty swig of wine.
She nodded.
They both knew what the Queen was thinking: "High time we married off the urchin."
But not to Richard!
"Good Lord. You and—"
"I knew it was just a matter of time before she betrothed me. But I cannot not marry Richard, Uncle. 'Twould be a disaster! Besides, he's been planning to wed Anne for years, and the Queen well knows it!"
"Aye, indeed, so do we all."
She took a much-needed gulp of wine. "Elizabeth has pushed me round since infancy, shunting me out of the way when it suited her, now bringing me back because she thinks me useful. But she cannot marry me to Richard on Christmas Day or any other day. Uncle, please, do deny your permission."
"So that's what the urgency was about." He chuckled, shaking his head and relaxing in his chair once more.
"Urgency?"
Edward nodded. "Richard already cornered—uh—" He twirled his goblet. "—er, requested that I grant him permission to marry Anne on the morrow. I've seen men anxious to get unmarried, but not the other way round!"
"Oh, thank God." She sighed with relief. "They should be wed. They're ever so fond of each other. So they are to marry on the morrow, then?"
He nodded. "Aye, but not at the crack of dawn as he requested. He was all ready to engage the services of any priest he could drag out of bed, but I thought it wise that he inform the bride first," he said with a smile and a playful wink.
Denys laughed then, allowing herself to relax for the first time since the missive had come from the Queen the evening before.
"I promised him I'd post the banns between council meetings tomorrow, so he can't enter wedded bliss at least until after vespers."
He glanced around distractedly. "Now I've got that dreaded funeral mass to attend, so I must be gone, my child. But we shall have that chess game, I promise that."
"Whose funeral?"
"The Earl of Desmond. He was executed, as were his two small sons."
Denys felt as though her stomach had dropped to her feet. "Desmond? Executed? Why, he was a most loyal Yorkist. What was his crime?" Dove shuddered at the thought of another execution. This court was a bloodbath.
"There was no crime. Not on his part, but on the part of my wrathful queen." Edward spoke as if resigned to the steady flow of executions Elizabeth had instigated.
"When Desmond first arrived here from Ireland, he and I went hunting. I lightly solicited his opinion about my marriage to Elizabeth. You know—just making idle chit-chat."
"I see." Denys could feel a heat blush her cheeks. Everyone thought Edward could have done far better for himself than he had….
"Desmond replied in all honesty that I would have done better to marry into a foreign alliance. Respecting his candor, and really thinking no more of it, I made the mistake of casually mentioning the conversation to Elizabeth.
"She flew into a rage, and cajoled the Earl of Worcester into devising a trumped-up charge against poor old Desmond. He was arrested a week ago and brought to the block yester morn."
"But why could you not stop it?" Denys gasped.
"I had intended to grant him a pardon. Whilst in the council chambers, I led a futile search for the royal signet, and discovered Elizabeth had confiscated it in order to seal the death warrant. By the time I found out, it was too late." He let out a tired sigh.
"Jesu, those poor men." She crossed herself.
"Aye, Desmond was ever so faithful. I wish I could say the same for er, others round here." But she knew exactly whom he was referring to.
She frowned in disgust, knowing she didn't have to hide it from her uncle.
"Whenever will your rope snap, Uncle?"
"No need, lass." The King cast his eyes downward, swinging the tankard like a pendulum between his thumb and middle finger.
"The Queen's breeding now, and I'll have her breeding for the rest of her days. She's bound to bring forth a prince fit to be king, or at least as robust as the two wags she whelped by that other canker."
That other canker was her first husband, John Grey.
"We shall hope that's where the similarity ends."
Uncle and niece exchanged amused glances.
"I must take my leave now and change into some black raiment." He leaned forward and hugged her affectionately. She felt so safe encircled in his warmth.
"Thank you, sire."
"Sometimes I wonder why I bother changing out of black. One would think I was a widower or something."
"Be careful what you ask for, Uncle. You may get it."
They shared a more secret exchange of smiles this time.
"It is as God wills, but I do need heirs."
"Amen to that, my lord."
"So, no more worries about that whole Richard matter?"
"Nay, none now. I thank you."
"Very well, my dear, I shall see you anon."
King Edward rose and took his leave, several members of his retinue following him out.
CHAPTER FOUR
Denys watched King Edward's departure from the dining hall with mixed feelings. She loved Uncle Ned with all her heart. He was her sanity—the one she went to with every problem when she was residing with her aunt. He was father, brother, and friend to her. She missed him so when he was away in battle or on progress.
He was the only good thing that had come out of this twist of fate that had led her to become his wife's ward, and now a member of the royal household.
But why had he fallen under Elizabeth's spell? She'd heard so many stories, ranging from the sweetly romantic to the outright bawdy, about the other maidens Uncle Ned had courted. He'd nearly married one of them.
But Elizabeth Woodville had fixed all that. And many thought it was witchcraft.
She'd first met Edward under an oak tree. The night before their wedding, the thirtieth of April, was notorious as one of the sabbaths in the witches' year, and witches always held their sabbaths beneath oak trees.
Elizabeth's neighbor had publicly accused her of witchcraft, producing two small leaden figures representing the king and queen, and Edward had taken the charge so seriously, he had investigated it personally.
But he was hopelessly smitten with the Grey Mare, as she was known. He had still married her. Was it because she wouldn't give him what he truly wanted until they were lawfully wed? Denys had always wondered.
But even more pressing was what she was to do now. She had always wondered about her true family, and no matter how terribly shameful the tale of her birth might be, it couldn't be worse than becoming a pawn of the Queen.
She had won this battle and halted the Queen's plan to marry her off to Richard, but she was of marriageable age and close enough to the throne to be worth bargaining for, questionable heritage or not.
Denys might have avoided wedding Richard. She only hoped her ambitious aunt didn't have a worst fate in store for her…
All throughout Mass the following morning, Denys watched Richard in the front pew. It was clear from his actions that his mind was not on worship, either
.
He toyed with his rings, smoothed his tabard until she thought he would wear the fabric out, and spent the latter half of the service with his head in his hands.
She couldn't let the Queen do this to them. Poor Richard. The Queen wanted to take away his only chance for true happiness with the girl he loved.
Well, she was not going to get away with it, she swore before God.
