Destiny Lies Waiting (10 page)

Oh, that vile, wicked nymph, pilfering his clothes, nearly scaring a poor old lady to death. He could wring her little neck!

Yet as his thoughts dissolved into disjointed randomness, he dreamed. His manhood surged against the crisp linen sheets, as he imagined that when she had tumbled into the water and his arms, his lips had crushed hers, and his hands slid up and down that luscious body…

CHAPTER TEN

Denys sat under the elm tree at the edge of the palace grounds, Chera grazing contentedly at her side. She was trying to put the humiliating events of the previous evening out of her mind by writing to the Archbishop of Canterbury, telling him of her possible connection to Malmesbury, soliciting his help in finding anything more.

The words seemed to flow more easily than she'd expected, her penmanship steady and confident. Finally—she was able to take some action in tracing her origins, after all those years of hushed whispers.

At the sound of thumping hooves on the earth, she looked up, expecting one of the royal pages to escort her back to court. But her breath caught and held as he came closer—now she could see it all—the shock of white playing through the windblown hair, puddling around his shoulders as he brought his mount to a halt.

Their eyes connected, even before she could focus on his other features. The recognition brought an expression of amusement to his face. After tarrying too long, she finally tore her gaze from the exquisite vision towering over her.

"I wish no company today, my lord," she stated. Her fist closed nervously around the pen, the quill's point digging a hole right through the parchment. She didn't want him to see her trembling with the sparks of excitement his nearness was causing. "So good morrow to you."

"Despite what you may wish, I had not deliberately sought your company, nor shall I give you the satisfaction of knowing how I managed to return to the palace yester eve with my dignity intact!"

"You are lucky you escaped with anything intact, my lord. Mayhap you will think twice before maligning someone you know not."

"If my raiment is out of my reach, I certainly shall. I shall also think before removing my clothes for any reason from now on. Especially when in the present company."

He grinned despite himself as he dismounted and took the necessary two strides for them to be at arm's length. From where she sat, she was at eye level with his knees and furtively observed the embroidered tunic molded to his torso, the flat abdomen tapering to the squared-off hips and the tight hose outlining his masculinity.

A soft breeze carried his woodsy scent. She realized she was staring. Once again she forced her gaze away and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Moonlight didn't do him the justice he commanded under the bright sun. The cover of night had shadowed the brilliant blue eyes she'd marveled at in the courtyard.

She focused on those eyes once more, still radiant with the innocence of youth, nary a wrinkle in sight, so untouched by the turmoil of adulthood or the hurt of lost love.

Yet she was sure they hid grief…

She swept over the broadness of his chest now that it wasn't submerged in water or encased in armor. His attitude enhanced his presence with an intangible quality rendering him nearly illusory.

"Removing yourself at this moment would give me greater pleasure than you ever removing your clothes in my company again, my lord." Her voice carried an unintentional whispery quality.

So it was no surprise when he took a step closer, ostensibly to hear her better.

"Come now, do not be so disagreeable. We are even. I vexed you and you inconvenienced me. I admit I started it. I thought I was delirious...when diving into the river for a solitary swim, I never dreamed I'd open my eyes to that same vision I'd encountered in the courtyard. You must admit that it would knock the senses from any healthy male. So can we not start afresh?"

If she said no, he would probably mount his stallion and call it a day. Something was telling her not to dismiss him—so, he'd talked about her to Richard, but he hadn't known who she was—that was worth forgiving, wasn't it? After all, no one was perfect. She could forgive one blunder. But only one.

Most of all she wanted to live out her fancy by inhaling more of his scent, studying that fetching smile, and listening to the voice that refreshed her like a sun shower.

"I suppose there is no harm in our being civil to one another, as I am a...a friend of the court, as you are. But I would inform you, I am betrothed," she added, to maintain the distance of arm's length, in case he had any ideas of narrowing it, as she was unchaperoned, not another courtier in sight.

The smile vanished but he didn't move a muscle. "A nobleman, I presume?"

"Aye, of course, a nobleman. Titled and landed."

"And when is the wedding date to be?"

"Soon," she replied, unable to force any eagerness into her tone.

"You sound as if you dread the prospect and dare I say you don't look all that eager to unite with this noble gent. Pray tell, is it to him you write, calling the event off?" He peered at the letter and she clutched it to her breast possessively.

"Nay, it is...'tis none of your business! Have you naught to do today, my lord? Are you not in training? Or do you believe practice is beneath you?"

"Hardly. I am constantly at practice—with a sword or without. I just returned from the Tower, where I attended a council meeting. The King is in preparation for another battle with the Lancastrians."

She gasped, and her eyes rounded. "When?" She felt no reason to hide her alarm. Oh, she hated these battles, how they threatened the well-being of the kingdom and the lives of those she cared for.

He shook his head. "I know not as yet. But if another battle is imminent, I shall be joining their forces."

"'Their' as in the Yorkists', I trust?"

"Of course. I told you my father died beside Richard's. These battles won't be over until every last Lancastrian traitor is in his grave! And God forbid it, should King Edward perish in battle, we've still got George and Richard to continue Yorkist rule."

Now she began to wonder just how well she wanted to know him. "You should go straight to the confessional for entertaining that possibility. Speaking of the King's death is tantamount to treason." She crossed herself piously.

He did not take her a bit seriously. He'd talked with Edward at length many times, and knew the King accepted the reality of death in battle, yet it never once stopped him from fighting to uphold Yorkist rule.

"I am merely entertaining the possibility. King Edward's military genius notwithstanding, he is constantly in danger of perishing in battle. And should Richard inherit the throne, I would be at his side serving any office in which he sees me fit. The kingdom would thrive ever so healthily with a king like Richard and a councilor such as I. As he is such a great soldier and I am as civic-minded as I am, our talents would blend as one. We would endow colleges, reform the justice system, build up a navy, oh, what we couldn't accomplish together!"

"It sounds like you've got it all planned out save for the coronation date," she said witheringly. "Richard as king? Not half unlikely, but downright frightening!"

"You're just peeved because of what Richard said about that wench he wants me to woo. 'Tis a good thing she didn't see me last night
au natural
as I was. I would never get her out of my hair then!"

Denys rolled her eyes. "I see modesty is not among your brief list of virtues, either."

"Nay, and I am proud to vaunt my person, my dear lady. My many years of hard work at tilting and jousting and wielding battle axe and sword have given me my share of knocks and bruises, but have made me quite firm indeed."

He ran his hands over the slim hips and muscled thighs straining under his hose. "Military acumen is not my
forte
, however. I am far more gifted in the art of diplomacy.

"Why, King Louis called on me divers times to compose letters to his foreign counterparts, not to mention love letters—" He cocked a brow. "I assisted him with several of his political addresses, and I trust King Edward will keep this in mind when he decides to bestow his next preferment upon one of his most loyal knights."

So he aspired to a higher office and the title that went with it. For starters.

She fixed him with a cold stare. "And on that note, we are at odds, my lord. You revel in court intrigue, and I despise it. Are you sure your name isn't Woodville?"

"Furthest from it," he said with no small degree of hauteur. "Starbury is the name, my lady. Sir Valentine Starbury. And I intend to earn my higher titles the honorable way, through loyalty plain and simple. To carry on where my father left off in his support of the Yorkist cause."

Not knowing who his father had been, she couldn't make a judgment. The kingdom was so rampant with traitors and spies; she didn't know who was who any more. He could've been Lancastrian at matins one day, and Yorkist by vespers the next.

Despite herself, she indulged in another stare upon that military-conditioned body. Aye, physically he was alluring, but far too immersed in vainglory for her tastes. His appearance matched her description of her fairy-tale mate to the tiniest detail, but his ambitions were against everything she believed in.

It put her off him as a person, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Such high hopes were bound to be dashed. Perhaps he would think more sensibly after seeing just how treacherous and dirty court politics were?

At that more tender emotion towards him, and the way he was staring at her, she knew she had to muster a stinging retort.

"Go gaze at your reflection in the Thames, Sir Preferment. I am busy."

"Care to join me?"

She didn't reply, but pretended to return to her writing as if he'd never interrupted, though she sneaked one last glimpse at him from under the veil of her lashes.

Thus dismissed, he grunted, bade her good day, and returned to his mount, swung one leg over its back stiffly, rigid with anger at her rejection, and galloped off.

As he rode away, an unbidden smile touched her lips. Oh, the maleness of him, his commanding height as he towered over her.

She tried to wrench her gaze away from the imposing figure astride his mount, but couldn't. His thigh muscles molded to the animal's flanks. They cantered as one in exquisitely pure cadence. As man and beast descended the grassy slope out of her view, her frenzied heartbeat dwindled to an uneasy thump.

Her eyes slid shut, but his image behind her lids was as sharp as if he were still standing there. She let the fantasy linger for a moment longer, then returned to the real world. But it was not easy.

She could not help but wonder what might have happened had he lingered longer….

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A short time after Valentine Starbury had left her in peace, she finished her letter, and then found a reliable messenger to take it to the Archbishop.

That most pressing business dispatched, she now strode through the palace corridors to seek Richard, and ask him exactly what was going on with his rude friend, and how he could have possibly ever said such dreadful things about her.

She also had to admit she was worried. Starbury had gossiped about some rather alarming items of news…

If another battle was looming, he would undoubtedly be in the chapel praying, far from the cacophony of hangers-on, minstrels and most of all, Woodvilles. She climbed the great staircase and headed for the far wing of the palace.

Valentine had already found Richard there, in the front pew, not in his usual pensive pose, but simply sitting there thinking.

"Dickon!" he whispered.

Richard motioned for him to sit.

"I found her! She's the one I told you that I saw standing alone in the courtyard after the battle." His voice took on a dreamy tone. "She's gorgeous. Like a nymph. I've never seen anyone like her."

"Neither have I," Richard said dryly.

"And for the life of me I can't remember her name. I was too enthralled with her beauty to even wonder about something so mundane as a name. Oh, I should have asked her today."

"Today?"

"Aye, I met her again today at the edge of the palace grounds. She was sitting writing a letter and...oh, I could have ravished her right then and there!"

"Were she French, perhaps she would have let you have your wicked way right there in the dirt."