My blood fired anew with every touch, and my body welcomed my husband’s advances but he paused and pulled back. “Blanche,” he whispered in a low voice. “Will you come to bed with me?”
My carnal desire for him exceeded my expectation. “Yes.”
“Willingly?” He held me, half-naked in his arms, asking permission to take my virginity. As my husband he had every right to it, but he waited for agreement. With no help coming from York, or from the Scots, and the queen steadfastly ignoring her kin, my safety depended upon this marriage, and perhaps my life.
“Yes, willingly.”
He lifted me off my feet to the curtained recess where the bed waited. The layers of my clothing peeled away, one by one, until I stood in lace undergarments modestly covering the last part of me unseen by Giles Beaufort.
“Gods,” he muttered.
“What is it?”
“You have the loveliest curves. The shape of your hips and legs…” His fingers unlaced his breeches as he spoke and my attention went to the hard bulge awaiting release. I had seen anatomy on cherubs and paintings but not on a man equipped and ready to enter a woman. He removed his breeches and it was my turn to gape. “Oh!” That feeble cry hardly began to describe my thoughts.
He cupped my face in his hands. “I promise to be a good husband, Blanche.” His mouth closed over mine, blocking all thought.
After a night in his bed it left me no doubt he made a good husband. I had surrendered eagerly as he loomed over me, pressing my legs apart. His groans and sweetly whispered words filled my head with praise. The knowledge dawned on me that his compliments came too fast and too often. He smothered me with kindness and I suspected the motive lay in his need to report to the king.
“You have done your duty, my lord. The king will be pleased.”
“I serve the crown, as we all must do.”
“But you, as a Beaufort, especially.”
“Henry demands loyalty from his subjects. A hint of betrayal and he will strike down those responsible.”
He pressed a hot kiss on my cheek eager to resume our love play.
“And what of my letters?” He paused, wary of my intent.
“They must burn.”
“Truly,” I whispered. “You will destroy them?”
“Blanche, we must make a son together. If not, Henry will take Langley and bestow it elsewhere.”
“I am the rightful heir to this estate.” He raised an eyebrow at my boldness.
“You have nothing that is not given to you by the king. Believe me, this estate will pass from you if your children are not of Beaufort blood.” His voice became barely a whisper behind the curtains of our bed. “Plot against them and you will lose. I say it for your sake. Avoid your father’s friends and your Yorkist family if you wish to remain mistress here.”
I struggled to leave the bed but he captured me in his arms until I settled. “Blanche, promise me you will not go against Henry.”
“I promise.” I whispered a lie and to cover my deceit I pulled his face to mine and kissed his hungry lips.
****
Gerda announced a new priest from the nearby abbey arrived to hear my confession and I prayed in my room before greeting him. I had no intention of confessing the details of my marital activities to the clergy. Giles assured me our nocturnal undertakings were the natural acts of marriage but I fancied he overstepped the bounds of the church’s decree when he honored my body every night in a variety of ways and encouraged me to do the same to him. A woman must obey her husband and I took no quarrel to his bed.
Father Simon visited the household quietly dispensing church business. We sat in the garden before the noon meal and he moved to occupy a seat closer to me than common courtesy considered necessary.
“News from London,” he whispered.
I froze. Living with Giles these last few weeks had been a dream but I owed it to my father and my brother to hear the priest.
“Your cousin sends greetings.”
My hand shook. “My cousin?”
The priests voice lowered to a faint whisper. “John de la Pole.”
The Earl ruled the county of Lincolnshire and represented my Plantagenet cousins but he had reconciled his differences with Henry after Richard’s defeat at Bosworth last year.
“He seeks your permission to use the old place if necessary.”
The stone cottage at the far end of my estate once housed fugitives for the York side.
I nodded in agreement but de la Pole may do as he pleased as patriarch of the Yorks. I dare not speak but to know of his discontent warmed me. The tide may be turning in favor of my family and our cousins may be rising against our rivals. My heart beat in thunderous excitement.
“When?”
“Within the coming month.”
“Why?”
Father Simon sighed. “He has his reasons.” He shrugged, his mouth closed firmly. I heard a sound and turned to see a nearby bush swaying. Mayhap I imagined it but we changed the conversation to the weather and the health of my household.
Giles arrived to greet the priest and talk over the parish business. I excused myself and returned to the house, to take out the letter given to me by my husband a few weeks ago. My aunt in London had penned a note to inform me of ill health around the great city and of the many citizens rushing for the continent to avoid the sickness. The best time to visit would be in late September.
My head spun. Late September was the expected arrival of the royal baby. Pole’s kin—my supposed aunt—made it clear the time to act coincided with a time of great distraction for the court. Giles and his liegeman had read the note but whether or not they understood I did not know. The surety was that John de la Pole planned to use my cottage and our kinsmen scattered from the court. A breeze from the window stirred the letter in my hand to remind me of its presence. I dare not chance a reply but news of my compliance would reach the ears of Pole soon enough.
Chapter Four
~ Giles ~ October 1486
The joyful word of a son and heir for Henry came from the court, recently moved to Winchester, where the royal couple celebrated the birth of the Prince of Wales in late September. Royal historians proclaimed the city to be the site of Camelot and, accordingly, Henry Tudor descended from King Arthur. The royal gamble paid off and the country took the new prince to be a sign of Henry and Elizabeth’s accepted position. God granted the royal pair a son named Arthur and bells rang throughout the country announcing the happy news. Henry’s grip on the throne increased as much of England enjoyed relative peace and quiet under their young king and his fertile queen.
I provided my new wife with nightly service in hopes of filling her with a child. If the king enjoyed his queen as I enjoyed the mistress of Langley he must suffer from delirium by now. Word of Elizabeth York’s beauty had spread up and down England. No secret that the king delighted in his wife, as I delighted in mine.
Murdo’s advice proved true once again. I courted Blanche during the first weeks of our marriage. She tested my patience on more than one occasion but my persistent attention to her needs, especially at night, worked in my favor. My nature usually tended toward an easy manner and not being the kind to bear a grudge I overlooked her futile attempt to hold onto the hope of a Yorkist revival. I disagreed with Murdo over the need to isolate my wife from the outside world. He grumbled over it but watched my lady with the keen eyes of a hawk. One waiver on her part and I’d know.
Blanche accepted my advances at first but soon began to initiate our couplings. I’d find her waiting behind the curtains of our bed, attired in pretty nightclothes, ready and eager to embrace me and explore the art of lovemaking. We did not speak of the pressing need for her to provide a son. In time she would grow fat with child and I would return to the business of running two estates—my late father’s and my wife’s.
Murdo found me with my horse. Grooming gave me time to think in solitude.
“The priest is suspect. He’s new to the
abbey and comes from London. A message has gone south to inform them of his arrival.”
I sighed. The plots of an unsteady kingdom held no interest for me. I’d prefer to spend time fruitfully managing Langley. “And my wife?”
“She writes no letters and receives none.”
I had burned my wife’s notes but was not so sure Murdo had not read them and made copies. He worked for my father when I was young and held a special place with me for years. His steady devotion pleased me but once in a while a nagging thought surfaced that he guided me toward a purpose unknown.
“You’d best keep an eye on Father Simon.”
“A stranger has been seen around the village. I’ve ordered our men to keep a watch for him.”
“He may be passing through. Langley is on the road to Lincoln.”
Grubby fingers worked through the whiskers on Murdo’s weather-lined face.
“I don’t like it overmuch. The countryside in these parts breeds treachery. The Tudors have no friends here,” he muttered.
My liegeman left me to finish grooming the horse. I washed and changed before seeking my wife in her chamber. The eerie silence of the upper rooms chilled my bones. My footsteps creaked over a few floorboards as emptiness greeted me in every room. Curiosity ate at me and rushing down the maid’s staircase I bumped into Murdo running up from the kitchens.
“Where are they?” Murdo’s face threatened to burst with annoyance.
“I ask you the same question.”
“Damn.” He bolted a retreat and I followed, concerned over my missing wife.
He flagged two men with ready horses and we rode out of Langley’s courtyard.
“To the old, stone cottage at the far end of the estate,” he yelled. I marveled at his knowledge and canny ability. As we neared the place, we slowed the horses to survey the lay of the land. Dead silence greeted us.
We slid off the horses, tied them to a tree and moved closer. A crawling sensation ran up my spine as we reached the cottage gate. The faint sound of voices reached us as we ducked under the window, poised to act. I registered the sound of a man and held my breath to hear the conversation. A woman’s voice, sweet and rich, responded and I knew it to be Blanche. Murdo waited for me to make a decision. He dare not interfere with my wife but he’d offer advice if asked. A sliver of jealousy tore at my heart. A man alone with my wife caused my temper to flare but my head ruled me for the moment. The door to the cottage opened and a man dressed in modest traveling clothes stepped into the bright sunlight. He took three steps before my fist connected with his jaw sending him into thick lavender bushes lining the path.
Blanche screamed and I turned to see her eye me with horror.
“No,” she cried. My jealous heart overruled my head. I picked up the stranger by the scruff, preparing to injure him further.
I paused in mid-swing. “Father Simon?”
The priest shook in fear as Blanche pushed me away. “Gerda!”
The maid rushed to her side.
“What in damnation is happening here?” I growled.
Murdo assisted the priest into the cottage as Blanche and I faced one another.
“Father Simon’s priestly robes have been stolen.”
“And what does it have to do with you?”
“He sent to me for help.”
“This is no business of yours. I deal with matters concerning the law.”
Blanche fumed but I cared not.
Murdo came to me with a look that meant he held information.
“Well?”
“Father Simon’s thief left behind clothes with an interesting mark. The shirt has a York crest upon it. Our stranger is a spy.”
“Who?”
“Someone who wishes to travels disguised as a clergyman.”
“Escort the foolish priest to the abbey and burn the clothing.”
I turned to Blanche. “You are restricted to your chambers.”
“I have done no wrong.” She spat angry words toward me in the presence of Murdo and her maid, sealing her fate. To relent made me appear weak and I would not concede.
I suspected the priest knew much more than he cared to share but I had no taste for torture and I chose a course of action, one that would anger my wife but in unfamiliar countryside where every man posed the risk of a traitor my choice became clear.
For three days Blanche stewed in her rooms. I took the opportunity to organize the household and my men. I chose a man from my camp to oversee the arrangements. Robert Dorset rode at my side since boyhood and was eager to prove his loyalty. Dorset set about gathering my lady’s household goods and packed them into ten carts found in the Langley stables. Murdo arranged and ordered the men who cheered at my hasty tidings. Only one person remained uninformed and she would be the most difficult to handle.
I stood in the solar gazing out the window at the large setting sun. The rustle of skirts took me by surprise and I met my wife’s cool gaze.
“When did you plan to advise me of this journey?” She reined in her temper as she drew level with me at the window.
“Tomorrow.”
“How much time is left?”
“One day at best.”
Dainty fingers trembled and twitched the fine lace decorating her wrist.
“May I ask the reason for this departure?”
“I have business in Somerset. It cannot wait.”
“Must you take the silver and fine tapestries from Langley?” Her lips thinned but she stayed admirably calm.
“They belong to me.” I purposely sounded cold. For a mad reason the urge to goad her into an argument took hold of me rather than offer a simple explanation.
“Surely you have enough to keep a good house after inheriting a baron’s estate.”
I returned my gaze to the window to see the sun drop below the treetops.
“Giles,” she whispered my name. A tingle ran up my spine. “I have no wish to fight with you.” Her hand slid onto my arm, her fingers curled around my sleeve.
“What do you wish?” I played her game, wondering where this might lead.
“Is there a way to change your mind?”
I bit back the first reply from passing over my lips. An image of her lying in my bed appeared in my mind. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her sweet mouth. A gentle sigh left her body as I swept her off her feet and carried her to my chamber but before removing my breeches I told her the truth.
“I must reach Somerset before the weather turns colder. The men are not equipped for travel in winter weather. I will not delay.”
Her soft brown eyes traveled the length of my person as her welcoming arms stretched out to touch me.
“Come,” she whispered.
I lost all thought of resisting her allure. We eagerly came together; too overwhelmed to speak or question the moment. Blanche voiced her thoughts first, complimenting my performance. I gathered her in my arms on the verge of expressing my happiness but I held back, unsure of her ultimate purpose.
For a long time we lay together, saying little, enjoying the sensation of nakedness between us.
“You leave me here with nothing,” she whispered in soft accusation.
“Leave you?” The moment came to voice my intentions. “I’m taking you with me to Somerset.”
She sat upright, the covers falling around her waist revealing her pleasing breasts.
“But I thought…”
“That you’d be rid of me?”
“You were angry over Father Simon.”
“He’s a foolish puppet.”
I wasn’t sure but better for me if Blanche thought him weak. “I strip the house to ensure your comfort in Somerset. You cannot miss your home if it comes with you.” Her enchanting brown eyes held my gaze. I hoped she believed me. The truth of the matter lay in the fact that Somerset Castle stood on beautiful grounds and posed a formidable sight but it’s inner walls sorely lacked the splendid luxuries of Langley Hall and I coveted its fine treasures. My lady wi
fe must have no cause for complaint once she realized our journey to my Lancastrian estate proved permanent. “Have you not been away from Lincolnshire?”
“No, and I’ve dreaded the day.”
“Surely you expected to travel to your husband’s lands.”
“But now that my father and brother are… No one is left to attend the needs of Langley.”
I understood her concerns and allayed them as best I could but the possibility of her consorting with York sympathizers forced me into swift action. I prayed to avoid the bitterness of betrayal.
Chapter Five
~ Blanche ~ November 1486
We reached Somerset on a wet and windy day that threatened to drive us into the castle whether we liked it or not. The journey proved an easy one and Giles thoughtfully arranged the best accommodations money could buy as we traveled south in early winter.
It suited him to sleep in a fine bed and eat fine food as the new-made baron of Somerset. I secretly enjoyed my young husband’s taste for living and every night after we refreshed, ate good meat and drank delicious wines, it came time to retire to bed and we made love under the dark canopy and cool sheets of our lodgings. On occasion our accommodation was an abbey or the home of family friends and relatives who curried favor with Giles Beaufort. They eyed us with the keen interest of those seeking allies in a dangerous world of shifting favors.
I noted Giles had changed into a stronger, more capable man these past weeks, with broader shoulders and harder muscles straining against his clothing. I suspected before we reached Somerset that the absence of my courses was a sign of a child growing in my belly but I kept my counsel, preferring to dwell upon my condition alone.
Tall, green trees lined the long avenue leading to the entrance of a castle that stood magnificent in the distance, even on this dreary day. My husband beamed as we finished the last few miles of our travels and as we sighted the cluster of bodies huddled under an archway waiting to welcome us. Giles yelled out excited greetings.
A Rose for Lancaster (The Tudor Rose Novella series) Page 3
