Queen by Right (52 page)

Cecily stroked his soft beard and tried to smile. “Aye, but you have never ridden off to confront your sovereign before.” She got up and went to the window of the solar, looking down at the steep slope below her. He came to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“Why the glum face, Cis? I cannot ride away with you angry with me.”

She weighed her next words carefully, not wanting to alarm him. “I dreamed of La Pucelle’s burning again last night,” she said softly. “’Tis the first time in a year, and I could not help but think it was an omen.”

Richard crossed himself, but if he was unnerved, he did not let her see but instead made light of the dream. “Mother of God, my love, ’tis no wonder you are so lily-livered today. I cannot believe you still dream of her. It was so long ago,” he said, putting his arms around her. “No doubt you dreamed of her after listening to Ned frightening Bessie with tales of witches yesterday.”

His dismissive tone was too much for her already jangled nerves. Wheeling round to him, Cecily declared, “Jeanne d’Arc was not a witch, my lord. I am sorry I ever confided to you what an impression she made on me. You mock me and her with your insinuations. Mark my words: One day they will revere her in France.”

Richard sighed. Anxious to begin his journey to London, he gave in. “That I doubt, my dear, but I promise never to call her witch again. Now let us go and find the children. I wish to make my farewells.”

As Cecily reached the courtyard, quiet now after Richard’s departure, she hurried to the chapel and was once again comforted by its intimate circular nave. She sat down at her favorite spot opposite one of the sculpted stone corbels that supported the upper floor, clasped her hands together, and closed her eyes. “Blessed Virgin, sweet Mother of God, hear my prayer. I have not begged for your help for a long time, but now I ask that you guard the life of my beloved husband and guide his feet onto the right path. He has become rash and quick to anger of late, and I fear his tongue or his sword may lead him astray”—she lowered her voice to a mere whisper—“or to treason.
Mother of God, in your divine mercy, watch over him and bring him home safely to us.”

She did not hear or see the door from the upper floor open, but she suddenly sensed she was not alone, and her eyes opened wide.

“Who is it?” Cecily’s hoarse whisper echoed eerily around the walls.

A bright light seemed to float before the chancel door and bathe the chapel, making Cecily put up her hand to shield her eyes. And then it dimmed, and she felt once again alone in the quiet gloom.

“Sweet Jesu,” she murmured, falling to her knees on the tiled floor. “Was I dreaming? Or was that a spirit?” She crossed herself and, finding her rosary beads in a leather pouch on her belt, began to pray.

What could it mean? The last time she had seen such a light was in the dungeon at Bouvreuil with Jeanne. She suddenly thought, could it be the same? Had Jeanne visited her in the dream? Was Jeanne’s spirit here in the little chapel now? she asked herself, trembling. Mumbling the
aves
one after another as fast as she could, she found the rote prayers calming. “You have always been with me, Virgin Mother, have you not?” she murmured reverently, kissing the golden crucifix on the end of the rosary chain. “It was a sign, I am certain of it.”

She smiled. It was then she knew that Richard would come back to her. “Holy Mother, give me strength to do my duty and ask God to keep my family in His care.”

G
RACIOUS LADY, DUCHESS
of York, and right well beloved wife, I greet
you well from Fotheringhay, where I have lately arrived from London following a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham’s shrine. Your sister Katherine welcomed me into Norfolk, as did her son and my niece, his wife.

Cecily paused in surprise. Richard had declared his intention of staying close to the king until Parliament opened at the end of November. She read on.

Upon my journey from Ludlow to London, I encountered much discontent in the towns and cities where we passed. You will be right pleased to know that often we were cheered by the people as we went, and some even embraced our cause and joined us on our journey to see the king.

Cecily breathed a sigh of relief for Richard. Despite the force he had taken with him, Richard had confided that he did not know how the people of England viewed him—whether as a rebel, as a threat to the king, or as someone who might take their grievances to Parliament and the king and fight for redress of grievances. It was gratifying that he encountered no ill will, she mused, looking back at John Oram’s neat script. She was not to know that there had in fact been several attempts by the court faction to halt his progress to London, and the speaker of the Commons had been murdered on his way to meet secretly with York.

Instead, Richard chose to give Cecily the happier news:

Our sovereign lord, King Henry, received me in his presence at Westminster, where I again swore I was his true liegeman and obedient servant. He took me at my word and called me his dear cousin, and it was agreed I should be included in the council, but he would not listen to the need for reform. I went away to stay at my lord Bishop of Salisbury’s house, and I drafted yet another bill.

Cecily drew in a breath. This was the bill, she knew, that would make hard demands on the king. Richard had said he would submit such a bill only if the king had received him kindly and listened to his declaration of loyalty. This bill would demand not only reform but also the dismissal of Somerset. She shook her head. If she could read between the lines, he had submitted it, it had been ignored, and Richard had felt the need to retire to Fotheringhay.

Richard continued:

London is no place for women and children now. Since Somerset returned disgraced from France in August, the city is filled with disaffected soldiers—veterans of the endless years of war. They have nowhere to go and no work and have resorted to violence and crime. Even Somerset’s life was threatened in the street one day. You will be amused—or not—that I helped rescue him from disaster, and the king had him housed in the Tower for his safety. He is a fortunate man on many counts, in truth.

Cecily rose from the wooden bench in the knot garden, where she was enjoying some privacy, and began to pace around the neatly clipped privet
hedges. Constance, always a constant in her life, was nearby, deadheading roses, and somewhere in the distance she could hear the high-pitched shouts and laughter of her boys playing on the grass along the western wall of the outer bailey. She wanted more information, but upon reading the letter’s last paragraph, she knew that, as always, a wife must be patient.

Look for me before Martinmas, my dearest wife. I shall answer all your questions—for certes, you must have several—when I next greet you. Commend me to my sons and daughters and tell them I count the days until we are together again. To you I send all honor and love. Your humble and faithful husband, Richard.

T
HE COLD, DRIVING
November rain pelted the windows, smearing the view of the drab, leafless trees. Ned and Edmund were playing draughts, Edmund slumping further and further on his stool as he watched Ned gleefully amass a large pile of white pieces by jumping Edmund’s black pieces on the chequered board. Cuddled on cushions by the crackling fire, Gresilde was telling Bessie and Meg a story, and Constance pored over the writings of Galen, an ancient medical text that was never far from her side.

“The hogs must be good and fat by now, judging by the number of acorns the oaks produced this year,” Cecily remarked to Gresilde as she moved the delicate wooden frame around to start on a new corner of her tapestry. “It means ’twill be a hard winter, so they say, but we should have plenty to eat. The steward will order the slaughter to begin in a few days, and I pray my lord will be home for the Martinmas feast.” She stopped when she heard the sound of voices in the passageway.

The door was flung wide and a guard outside cried, “His grace—” but was cut off by Richard, who finished the announcement for him. “Duke Richard is come home and desires an audience with his wife, the Duchess Cecily.” He had changed out of his soggy traveling clothes and presented himself in a new short gown of saffron velvet trimmed with sable, and a square black bonnet.

“And me!” Meggie squeaked joyfully as she ran headlong into her father’s arms.

“By all that is holy, child,” Richard exclaimed, pretending to find her heavy as he lifted her. “How you have grown since September.” Meg giggled and snuggled her face into the soft fur collar. “And Bess, my good girl. Have you
been staying out of trouble?” Richard smiled down at his elder daughter, who had her arms wrapped around his thighs and was nodding her blond curls furiously. “Aye, I am sure that you have.”

By now the boys were kneeling for their father’s blessing, their earnest faces seeking approval. “God give you welcome, Father,” Ned said, his face flushed from the heat of the fire. “We are right glad to see you.”

“As am I you, my son. You may rise,” Richard told him and kissed Meg on the nose. “I must put you down, sweeting, for I have not yet greeted your mother.”

Cecily had risen but had stood back to watch him with the children, her heart rejoicing. Why, Cis, she told herself as she felt the familiar sensual tug in her breasts, you still lust for him after all these years. His face was haggard and he had lost weight. She longed to melt into his arms and soothe away his troubles.

Now Richard was kissing her hand, his slate-gray eyes looking at her with love.

“I trust your journey was safely made, my lord.”

“I did not come alone, my lady, and so, aye, it was safely made. We shall be having a few more mouths to feed before I return to London, if my plans bear fruit, so I hope the cattle and sheep are herded in and some are ready for butchering.”

Richard sank into a chair close to Cecily’s and held his feet up to the fire. “You do not know how I dreamed of this moment on the last leg of the ride from Worcester. God’s bones, it was miserable.”

Cecily sat down in her cushioned seat, and Edmund sat on the footstool near her and allowed his mother to play with his fair hair. Cecily raised an eyebrow at her husband. “How many people are we expecting? The sheep are penned, and the swineherds will round up the hogs in a day or so.”

“I shall instruct the steward to butcher enough animals for a small household this winter. The rest I will take and buy more along the way to feed an army of, I hope, four thousand,” he replied. “It must not be said that Richard of York’s men pillaged when they came to London—as the retainers of some noble houses are doing.”

“Dear God, four thousand?” Cecily exclaimed, dread creeping into her heart. “Are you not merely attending a session of Parliament? You wrote to me that the king received you kindly. What has changed that you need so many retainers?”

Richard shrugged and stared into the flames. “Nothing has changed, and
there is the rub. Somerset is still the king’s chief councillor, and more than that, he has become the queen’s champion. Thus my bills calling for his dismissal are no doubt now residing in the Fleet ditch. I have gained the support of many disaffected citizens and veteran soldiers from Normandy who see Somerset as the reason France is lost. A few nobles may be sympathetic as well, but even so I am not prepared to enter the city without troops at my back.” He straightened in his chair and took a sip of wine, averting his eyes from his wife’s. “But enough of such disheartening talk. How have the children been behaving? And when may I see George?”

Cecily’s face softened at the mention of her youngest. “He chose his first birthday to take his first steps, my dear. He is a beautiful child and a charmer. ’Tis my belief he will get all he desires in life as no one will be able to resist that smile. Our Meggie worships him already, and ’twas she who spent hour upon hour helping him to walk.”

Richard grinned and looked over at his favorite daughter. She was sitting close by Bessie, who was busy dressing a poppet, but Margaret’s eyes and ears were fixed on her parents. She looked down quickly and fiddled with her own poppet, afraid she might be chastised for eavesdropping.

“George may have all the charm, my love,” Richard murmured, “but that child has all the brains. She does not miss a thing.”

D
ESPITE HIS WEARINESS
, Richard joined Cecily in her high tester bed that night, enjoying its downy luxury.

“I swear to you, my bones cannot tolerate sleeping on the ground or even a straw pallet anymore,” he declared, watching Cecily draw the heavy velvet curtains around them, his fingers itching to wind themselves in her still glorious hair.

Cecily chuckled. “Aye, old man, how does it feel to be in your fortieth year?” She playfully touched his prick through his nightshirt, making him jerk his knees up to protect himself. “Does everything still work?” she teased.

Richard grasped her arms and roughly pulled her down on top of him. “Aye, my lady, it does,” he replied, laughing. “Let me show you how well.” Finally fulfilling his desire, he ran his fingers through the silky tresses that concealed them both from the outside world and whispered, “How I love you, my sweet Cecily,” as their lips met. They lost themselves in a lingering kiss. As their passion mounted, Cecily reminded herself to eschew a climax and thus, she believed, conception of a child.

I have had too many babes, she told herself, as she took Richard to pleasurable heights. She was not prepared to bring another child into a world so full of strife and danger for the house of York.

T
HEIR TIME TOGETHER
was all too short. A week later, after more and more men had answered their lord’s call and arrived to camp around Ludlow, he was yet again bidding Cecily farewell on the great hall steps.

“If I can, I will be with you for Christmas, my love,” he said, dismayed to see her close to tears. “But the longer Parliament is in session, the better for my cause, I believe. If aught goes wrong, I will send you word with Roger Ree. You are safe here, Cis. ’Tis far from London, and I trust the men I am leaving to protect you.” He frowned. “You are pale, my dear.”