At His Command-Historical Romance Version (25 page)

“And I believe he wants what is best for England. We need someone who can rule.” She needed to tell him the rest, about the poems. “I also—”

Nicholas held up a hand to stop her flow of words. “I remain Henry’s sworn man. A member of the House of Lancaster. You support the House of York. In my view, that still makes us enemies. I can’t see it any other way. If you were a man, I’d not willingly consort with you. But you’re the woman I love.”

Amice’s heart lifted. Nicholas still loved her. How she cherished hearing those words. She started toward him with a joyous smile. Finally the time had come to remind him that she loved him, too. She reached for him, but he stepped back.

His blue eyes were dark and dull. “The woman I thought I loved. Now I’m not so certain.”

Amice stopped in her tracks. Following her heart had ruined everything.

Nicholas walked away. His broad back had never looked more forbidding. His heart had never been more unreachable.

Amice frantically sought words to call him back. But she couldn’t think of any. Her heart pounded, yet ached with despair. Never had she thought to hear such hostility in his voice, each word slicing her like the blade of a finely honed sword.

What could she say to make things right? Would he want to repair the breach, too, before it grew too wide to mend? Was love strong enough to survive such dissension? He still didn’t know exactly what she’d done. If he knew, he might never forgive her. Had she been a fool to choose her country over a man she couldn’t have?

Amice packed up her writing materials. No more words would flow from her pen today.

She searched within for a positive thought. Perhaps Nicholas was only upset, and would return later with an apology. Couples often quarreled and forgave each other.

This was different. This wasn’t a squabble about the best way to run a manor or how much to spend on flour.

It went to the depths of their souls.

As he squirreled away coin after precious coin, Harry made discreet inquiries to locate an herbalist or apothecary in London. He’d heard that city was so crowded he’d go unnoticed. After much searching, he had a name. After much saving, he could finally afford his plan.

At last he made the trip to London. It was all he could do not to gape like a fool. More people, more buildings, more wares than he’d thought possible. He resisted the temptation to spend hard-earned coin on meat pies hawked by vendors, though his stomach rumbled at the smells. The sour stench of refuse turned his stomach the next moment.

He passed goldsmiths and cobblers, markets, taverns, inns, until his head spun. Finally, his destination on Aldrichgate Street was before him.

Behind a counter covered with bottles, pots and jars stood the tallest woman Harry had ever seen, barely visible in the dim light. Her hair was completely white, though she didn’t appear to be old. Wise silver eyes watched him approach.

“I hear there is a way to dull the senses,” he said. “You see, my wife raves all day. I cannot control her.” He hung his head for effect, trying to evoke the woman’s sympathy. “I love her, and couldn’t bear to put her aside. I just want to calm her. Can you help me?”

Her gaze bored through him. “You lie. But that matters not as long as you can pay.”

“I can pay.” He hoped he hid his surprise at being caught out.

“We might try mandragora officiarum,” she said, her voice rich and full.

He liked that she said “we,” as though they were partners. “How do you use it?”

“It must be smelled or spread on the skin.”

How would he get close enough to Amice to accomplish that? “No, no, no! I need something she can eat.”

“It is the best substance I know to do what you require. It is not meant to be eaten. I can prepare a lovely, sweet-smelling cream.”

“Hmm. What will happen if she uses it?”

“She will become sleepy. But I warn you, take care. If she uses too much, she’ll fall asleep…or die. And if she uses it too often, she will die.”

He waved her concerns away with a swipe of his hand. “When will it be ready?”

“Mandragora, otherwise known as mandrake, is not easy to obtain at this time of year.”

“Did you say mandrake, as in mandrake root?” Harry shuddered. “I’ve heard that’s dangerous. The root looks like a person, legs and all. They say the plant screams when uprooted, and if you hear it you can lose your mind.”

“That does not concern you. I have means to obtain what I need,” she said. “Come back in four weeks.”

Harry regained his composure and adjusted his hat. “I’ll double what you ask if you make it two.” If only Edwin could hear him bargain.

She raised a white eyebrow. “Done. If something goes wrong, I never saw you before.”

“What could go wrong?” He liked to believe he had the ability to see several steps ahead. But he always lost at chess.

The apothecary frowned. “What could go wrong? If the person dies because you lack the skill to administer the drug properly. If this person happened to be of sufficient importance that an investigation ensued.”

“Oh, I assure you I will use utmost care.” He knew how to be humble when it was required. “I appreciate your advice.”

He smiled. At last, things were progressing smoothly.

Chapter 17

April 1454

Amice was in the midst of packing when she heard a knock. She gasped with hope. Nicholas? If only he had come to her. But she hadn’t spoken to him since their quarrel. Nor had she spoken to Belinda since York was named protector.

She had alienated her closest friends, so it seemed a good time for short visits to her uncle’s home in Lincolnshire and Castle Rising.

Her visitor was Belinda, elaborately gowned as always, with delicate embroidery and beads for trim and a fur hemline. A heart-shaped headdress with a long veil made her seem regal.

“I’m glad to see you,” Amice began.

Belinda had a bitter look in her eye as she indicated the piles of clothing on Amice’s bed. “Running away, are you?”

“I beg your pardon?” She stopped folding a pile of underclothes.

“The disgrace with Margaret. She’s said she’s forgiven you, but how could she, really, after what you’ve done? I understand why you’d want to flee. Having to hold your head up after being tossed into the Tower can’t be easy.”

Amice had heard others tell of Belinda’s scathing tongue. Since she’d never fallen prey to it, she’d thought the tales mere fodder for gossip.

“Still, your travel plans are the topic of choice,” Belinda continued. “I came to bid you farewell.”

“Really?” Why would anyone care where she went?

“Yes, as I was breaking the fast with Nicholas this morning, I heard several people discussing your journey. They think you’re leaving in disgrace.”

So that was her game. Had Nicholas resumed his friendship with Belinda, or was Belinda hoping to make her jealous? Did she know Nicholas had said he loved her? That they’d quarreled?

Well. She wasn’t sure if Nicholas still felt the same, but she did. Despite their differences, despite everything, she felt more at peace with him than without him.

Amice continued packing with a calm she didn’t feel. “Have you been spending a lot of time with Nicholas?”

“He seems more receptive of late. A shame he’ll never marry.”

As though he’d marry you?
But the comment had gotten her attention. “Why do you say that?”

“Ah, so he hasn’t told you about his parents?”

Jealousy mixed with sadness stabbed her chest. Why hadn’t he talked more about such things? Why hadn’t she asked? Maybe Belinda was making all this up.

“They fought constantly, sometimes threw things, sometimes hit each other. That convinced Nicholas no man and woman could live together happily for years and years. He told me so,” she said.

Strange to discuss Nicholas’s most private thoughts with Belinda, stranger still that she knew none of this, but curiosity kept her going. “Surely he’s seen good marriages, where couples stay in love or at least enjoy being wed?”

“He says those people hide their misery and show the world false smiles.”

“Doesn’t he want an heir?”

Belinda picked up one of Amice’s chemises and held it up to the light. “I’d have thought he’d have told you. Well, as he told
me,
he’s not certain what, if anything, he will inherit. His mother holds any lands that might be his, and as a second son….”

No. Nicholas couldn’t have spent so much time with her, said he loved her, made love to her, only to get access to her money, her lands. Amice wouldn’t admit to Belinda that she and Nicholas barely discussed his family. Amice had looked forward to talking of such things, of goals and dreams. She’d delighted in images of the sharing they’d do. Politics and quarrels had gotten in the way.

Belinda was still talking. “…and working for the king, has probably not received his due. Well, I must go. Have a wonderful journey.”

The second the door closed, Amice’s tears began to fall. What had she been thinking, that Nicholas had been as miserable without her as she was without him? Belinda couldn’t lie about spending time with him. It would be too easy to verify.

Belinda had encouraged her to write poems for York. But she had asked to get involved in the first place. Or had Belinda known Amice was behind the bush and read the letter aloud apurpose? Could Belinda be devious enough, clever enough to create a scheme to embroil Amice in the activity Nicholas would despise most? To draw them apart?

She rinsed the bad taste in her mouth with water from the pitcher by her bed and flexed her trembling hands.

Nicholas had never mentioned his hatred of marriage. How could he love her without wanting more? Perhaps love didn’t mean the same thing to a man as it did to a woman.

Amice would be away from court for a few weeks. The queen had granted her request to visit her home because nothing had changed with Henry’s condition and none was anticipated. She’d spend the majority of the time working up the courage to ask Nicholas many difficult questions upon her return.

Belinda waited until she saw her nemesis ride away. Now she’d be free to pursue Nicholas. As the French said,
Ou chat na rat regne.
Where there is no cat, the rat is king. Revenge would taste as delicious whether Amice was here to see it or not.

Amice’s dismay had been priceless. Likely her doubts would grow as her time away from him increased.

Securing a seat next to Nicholas at the evening meal proved a simple matter. As servers made their way through the hall with heaped platters, she prepared to have the cupbearer keep filling Nicholas’s cup with strong ale. That she’d never seen him so melancholy before bothered her, for it would make her task more difficult. But in her gown, cut lower than Henry would approve were he able, she had hopes of success. If only Nicholas would look at all she offered.

Why wouldn’t he drink? If she imbibed, perhaps he’d join her.

“The ale seems particularly fresh.”

“I prefer the cider.” He turned to talk to the man on his other side.

Belinda wound up drinking a bit more than she’d planned, and as she was too excited to eat, her head spun. Time to make her move. She put her hand under the table, high on Nicholas’s thigh. She tasted success when his hand rested atop hers. But he merely put her hand back in her own lap.

One advance rejected. No matter. She had many more up her sleeve.

The ale really was delicious. She waved for the cupbearer to fill her cup and top off Nicholas’s still full one.

“The fairest daisy petals lack the power to keep all safe in this treacherous hour.”

“What did you say?” Nicholas demanded.

She stilled. Now she had his full attention. But the flow of ale had to stop right now, or she’d end up in trouble. “It’s from a poem I heard.”

“And where did you hear that poem?” He leaned closer to hear her answer. His scent went to her head faster than the drink.

She couldn’t think clearly. The first words that popped into her head were, “I wrote it.”

Hmmm. He didn’t look very happy about that. Nor was it true, was it? Why would she write such a poem? Why would she write at all?

“
You
wrote that poem? Do you know how many hours of work that and other seditious, slanderous tomes are causing me? I’m charged with finding all the copies that have been posted in a vain attempt to stop rumors from spreading.”

Nicholas wouldn’t want to be with her if he was angry at her. Had she written the poem? Of course not. Who had? Ah, now she remembered. “I meant to say, Amice wrote it.”

Let her be the one he was mad at.

He gripped her shoulders tightly. “Are you certain? Amice wrote those poems? How do you know?”

She giggled. Her head fell back because she could no longer hold it up. “‘Prince of Nothing.’ ‘The Falcon Eats the Daisy.’”

Nicholas cringed upon hearing the title of one of the true poems, which referred to the Duke of York’s badge, the falcon, and Margaret’s symbol, the marguerite, or daisy. Was Belinda making this up, or had Amice’s betrayal taken on a new dimension? He would get to the bottom of this.