Destiny Lies Waiting

by Diana Rubino

  "You shall have your wish. And I shall see you again as soon as I can arrange a progress north."

  "Oh, please, Uncle, do you really want me to marry him?" she found herself blurting out. "And if all is so well and as innocent as it seems, why am I being kept to my chamber with an armed guard?"

  He blinked at that, and glanced around. "Why, to make sure you are not talked about. Nor that Valentine shall pluck the rose before it is in full bloom. You're forgetting, I've seen the way the two of you look at one another. The Queen is merely trying to make sure that no seven-month infant makes an appearance and causes any of us scandal."

  "Uncle Ned!" she gasped in protest. "I never—"

  "Nay, and you won't get the chance now," he said with mock severity. "Not until you are decently wed."

  "But Uncle, I hardly even know—"

  "Take my word for it, my dear, sometimes you are better not knowing." He shook his head.

  "Is that not letting the person get away with their er, crimes, scot free?" Denys said, sitting up more fully in the bed to look at him intently.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as if to ease a stubborn ache. "Aye, mayhap. But Valentine is a forthright man. I have got to know him as my brother's staunch friend, and now an able councilor and ally. He may not be perfect, my dear, but then what man is. He has most definite personal regard for you, and you seem to like him. He is an upcoming man with all of his titles and responsibilities, and in all honesty, the only thing I've ever heard said about him is how fond women are of him. He is merely taking the fruits which are offered, not raiding the orchards, my dear."

  She smiled despite herself. "Is that all you know of him, then?"

  "Aye, except that 'tis a rare thing to not get talked badly about at court. There was some nonsense about him not acquitting himself well at the last battle, but all it was in the end was ignorant female tittle tattle from George's silly wife. So all I can say is, you can do worse."

  Her brows knit, but he rose to his feet, clearly of the opinion that the discussion was at an end. She would have asked more, but he leaned over to kiss her farewell. She wound her arms round those strong, sturdy shoulders, which looked massive even under the plain linen shirt he was wearing.

  He planted a kiss atop her head, then cupped her face in his warm hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

  "Don't cry, Dove," he whispered. "I'll always be here for you if you ever need me. And you'll soon have a new husband to discover earthly delights with. And while I know you have an honest maiden's fears, trust me, it will be all right. There are many to look forward to."

  She knew Uncle Ned was all too acquainted with life's earthly delights. The trouble was, it was life's miseries she feared, married to a man who did not love her.

  He kissed his finger and pressed it to her lips. He rose and slipped on a heavy robe in royal purple.

  Then Uncle Ned was King Edward once more. With a last formal bow, he departed without another word, duty taking him away from her once more, and leaving her alone again in her luxurious but cold, desperate prison.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The Queen's dressmaker arrived on the eve of her nuptials with a magnificent satin wedding gown. Its neck was dramatically low, its sleeves slashed and flowing, lined with ermine, the bodice trimmed with rubies.

  Trying it on with the assistance of her ladies-in-waiting, she marveled at the high-waisted skirts that began just under her breasts and how smooth and cool the embroidered satin underskirt felt against her thighs.

  The gown was fitted to flaunt the fullness of her breasts, to enhance the contours of her neck and shoulders. It was exquisitely tailored, a work of art. Only it wasn't white. It was of the brightest crimson, the color of fresh blood gushing from a new wound.

  "Why a red wedding dress?" she asked of Elizabeth on the day of her departure for Yorkshire to meet with her betrothed.

  Valentine had been notified of his impending wedding and, even though there'd been no time for a reply, Denys was sure he was the most mightily chuffed man in the kingdom. The preening peacock was getting exactly what he wanted, damn him.

  "For you to wear white would be a travesty, a mockery of the church and a blot to this family, as the entire court knows of your lewd behavior with this scoundrel."

  Denys promptly gathered the dress in her arms, bunched it up and attempted to fling it into her hearth. She wanted nothing more than to see the flame charred it into black ashes.

  "I won't be delivered of a child in six months' time! And I defy any liar who says I will."

  Elizabeth's hand went flying out and landed on Denys' cheek. But the sting hurt no longer. In a few hours she would be forever severed from Woodville bonds.

  She regretted it had to be this way, instead of her departing the palace to join her true kin, but the freedom from Elizabeth and her dreadful tribe made her look forward to that final passage through the palace gates.

  Then she'd be on the path to her future. She would cherish those few in-between days as no one's ward but her own, and make the most of them.

  "You will have only your own children to abuse after today, Aunt Bess, for I am no longer in your charge. And as such, I no longer obey your commands. So you can take your blood-red dress and insert it in your stink hole bay, rubies and all!"

  "Get ye gone!" Elizabeth shrieked. "Out, I say, you are a disgrace! You should have been wrenched from your mother's womb as soon as she realized you'd been poked into her!"

  Denys turned her back on the Queen and slammed the last of her trunks shut.

  As the grooms removed it from the chamber, she took one last glance around the stark room and departed, leaving Elizabeth, the red wedding dress designed to make her look like a whore, and her bitter memories behind her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  On the road north, Denys finally felt as though she could breathe again. Her fury at the way her aunt had treated her at last began to subside, and now her thoughts turned to her future, and her freedom.

  She thought about trying to give her ever vigilant retinue the slip, to take refuge at a religious house along the way, or perhaps return to Leicestershire to continue seeking the truth about her family, and what had happened the fateful night of the fire.

  Or perhaps back to Malmesbury, where she was sure the old Abbot had been hiding something….

  But the guards kept watch on her every move, and in any case, she was actually going in the direction she knew she really needed to go. If anyone could help her, it would be Richard, and perhaps Anne. The two of them possessed no end of brains and good connections.

  If she could convince one or the other of them that she was not merely pursuing an idle fancy, perhaps they would lend their help and resources in finding her real family so that she need not wed Valentine Starbury or go to a convent for protection as a last resort now that she had severed all relations with the Queen.

  Richard could not dismiss what had happened at the inn as a mere accident, he could not. She would convince him of the truth of what had happened, though she was not even quite sure herself, and tell him all she suspected of Valentine.

  Then she would see what he would do.

  With that plan in mind, she resolutely rode north with her retinue. On the seventh day, she was relieved to see Middleham Castle in the distance as she and her companions crossed the small stone bridge over the River Ure.

  She had never seen it before, but if she had been shown a hundred castles, she would know this was Richard's favorite.

  The Norman keep stood at the center and rose above the outer walls, which ended in square towers at three corners, the fourth corner containing the gatehouse.

  Walking through the private quarters of the keep, as she was conducted to see her host and hostess, she recognized some of the items King Edward had given Richard: a set of velvet chairs, paintings of Edward III and his sons, elegant sets of golden candelabra atop heavy carved tables.

  They reached a
group of more snug, less grand apartments, and she began removing her gloves.

  "Tell His Grace The Duke of Gloucester I shall just freshen up and be with him momentarily," she ordered the usher as she surveyed the chamber.

  It was comfortable, but lacked a stylish touch. The bed hangings, an insipid pale green, were unadorned and hung limply. The furniture was sparse; besides the bed, the only substantial piece was an old wardrobe chest.

  It must have been Anne's job to supervise decoration of the private apartments, but she had always been indifferent to fripperies.

  The usher bowed, and told her that His Grace was awaiting her in the rose garden. He then said he would wait outside the chamber to show her the way as soon as she had completed her ablutions, and departed, closing the large oaken portal behind him.

  Denys felt true joy for the first time in many a week as she stripped off her travel-soiled clothes and availed herself of the warm water and hip bath that had been brought.

  She was actually going to see her dear friend again, and be able to confide in him at last. Her nightmare would soon be over.

  Her maid Mary fitted her with a peach satin gown trimmed with damask, pulled her hair back and crowned her with a tall steepled head-dress, angling it, looping the muslin train. It caused her great discomfort. She swiftly swept it off and replaced it with a velvet circlet instead.

  "Such pointless pointy head-dresses are for the court, Mary. We need not ever wear them again." She tossed it into the corner as if it were no more than a chicken bone.

  "Yes, my lady."

  "There, all done."

  "Lovely."

  "Thank you for your help." She opened the door herself, and followed the usher down the corridor, past the great hall, down the exterior staircase and out into the courtyard.

  Her old friend was sitting on a stone bench in the rose garden, twirling his hat between his fingers.

  "Richard!"

  His eyes met hers and he smiled, placing his hat on the bench. The smile touched his eyes and she rushed up to him. His embrace tightened for a moment before he gingerly pulled away.

  "I am pleased to see you, Dove, and wish you the most heartfelt happiness in your upcoming marriage."

  "Let us dispense with the falsities, Richard, at once."

  He blinked at her in stunned surprise.

  "Elizabeth is marrying me to him to further her own ends, and I am going into it with trepidation."

  "Trepidation—with Valentine? The storybook character plucked from King Arthur's table round?"

  "He is a mere man, nothing more, and one I do not trust."

  His brow knit. "He's the one you fancied, Dove, from the moment you met in the rose garden the day of the triumphal procession."

  She sat down with a sigh, "He was. But looks can be deceiving."

  "You described him right down to the last toenail."

  "I did, but his handsome appearance hides a devil within."

  "A devil, you say?" He shook his head. "I thought you'd have arrived today in wedding raiment counting the minutes until you say 'I do.' What can possibly be the problem?"

  "For starters, we don't love each other."

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, as if surprised that was a prerequisite to marriage. Well, for her it was, clearly. At length he said, "Valentine is so smitten with you, how can you not return the affection of someone so devoted and taken with you?"

  She twirled round and faced the castle. "Devoted, taken, smitten—that's not love, Richard. Nay, that is not going to happen to me. I fear that the love of a husband and even the love of a true family will elude me forever. And I fear that whatever Valentine ever felt for me, his worldly ambition will always come first."

  "Nay, he wanted you from the moment you met. He told me so, which is why he dreaded taking my unwanted bride off his hands."

  "He wooed me all the more diligently when he found out I was the Queen's niece, though, did he not?"

  Richard sat down beside Denys and reminded her in a gentle voice, "But we do not know your precedents, whether or not you are even legitimate, and he never had any cause to think you could expect anything from the Queen—"

  "Except Foxley Manor, which she offered you to take me off her hands, if you will recall."

  "Aye, there is that—" he admitted reluctantly.

  "Which reminds me—"

  She fumbled under her bodice, causing Richard to look away with an embarrassed flush, and slipped a piece of paper out.

  "Do you know who this woman is?"

  He studied the sketch she had made of the destroyed rosary carefully, and finally shook his head. "Who is she?"

  "I wish I knew. It was on a lovely silver rosary I found at Foxley Manor."

  His brows rose. "When did you go there?"

  "Right after you departed. It was deserted, empty of all furnishings except this, above a doorway. If the land is indeed connected to my family and Bess has it in her possession, she overlooked this small detail."

  "It may not be so small. Have you been asking around?"

  "I've been asking those who are worth asking. But no one knows her. And the rosary was destroyed in a fire."

  "A fire, you say?" Richard's solemn face grew even more grave.

  She nodded. "Which is why I've come to you. Not to be married, but to find out the truth about, well, about all of it. I was nearly killed in the fire, at an inn called The White Boar in Leicestershire."

  "My God, are you all right—"

  "Aye, but does it not seem strange that this is the first you've heard of it?"

  He stared at her. "Well, you said nothing of it in the one letter you sent, nor indeed did you mention Foxley Manor—"

  "I dare not. The Queen has been watching me for weeks, keeping me confined to by room, forcing me to marry Valentine, when she was the very person who warned me he was no more than a wandering minstrel when it came to women."

  Richard shook his head. "Dove, you know how circumspect I am in my manners. I assure you, while Valentine is no saint, nor is he the sinner she makes him out to be. If he were, I would not sanction the marriage."

  "But don't you see, how can I marry him without knowing who I am, and what part he and Elizabeth have played in all this?" She let out a heavy sigh. "To come this close..."

  "But now you have a marriage to look forward to, a new life. A future. Not the past. I'm sure you'll be happy as Anne and I. We both enjoy visiting our tenants and subjects. We are setting up endowments for two colleges, and we have instituted the Middleham Fair. Life is going much more smoothly than it ever has at court. We're finally at peace, and can start enjoying the fruits of it. Starting a new life is the best way to purge the memories of the old."

  "Well, I am pleased for you indeed. I commend you on your wise choice of a mate."

  Richard smiled and polished a sapphire ring on his doublet. "I was fortunate, wasn't I? As you will be, when you and Valentine become man and wife."

  She shook her head. "I came here to ask for your help in finding my family, and avoiding this marriage if I can."

  He stared at her. "Valentine is a noble gentleman, Dove. He is greatly regarded in these parts, thanks to his hard work and deportment. And I do not merely speak of the subjects' devotion to their governor. He has turned more than one noble female head since his arrival. I daresay they will continue to turn should you not claim him and force these craning necks to relax."

  "So he is a roué here, just as he was at court?"

  He gave a dismissive wave. "Nay, impossible. I have been keeping him much too busy for dalliances. Besides, since he found out he was your betrothed, he has been so busy decorating and preparing his manor home for his new bride that he actually requested a temporary leave from his duties. He has practically gutted Lilleshal and rebuilt her from the floor up!"

  "Has he?" For the first time, she caught a whiff of the sweet roses in Richard's garden. For a moment their scent carried her back to when she and Valen
tine had first met….

  The dazzling golden knight plucked a white rose from the vine behind him, reached down, and handed it to her.

  This display of tenderness, and the striking contrast between the delicate rose and the hard plate armor encasing his body, sent a thrill rushing through Denys. She wished he hadn't been wearing gauntlets so their bare fingers could have touched.

  "Why, thank you, my lord."

  Then his blue eyes fixed upon hers, so deeply, so intently, she knew he shared her loneliness, her displacement.