The Rose at Twilight (42 page)

Gwilym nodded, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Alys said slowly, “I can see that despite her manner with him, Jonet likes him, Nicholas, and ’tis clear that Hugh likes her, but how can they be happy if they can never be together in the same room without slinging verbal stones at each other?”

“You must learn to read passion where you find it,
mi calon
,” he said, smiling at her in such a way that her skin began to tingle and her blood to run more warmly through her veins.

She wrinkled her nose at the Welsh phrase. “It does spoil the pretty sound of those words to know you are merely calling me ‘wife,’ as you frequently do when I have vexed you.”

Gwilym, diverted from his thoughts by her words, shook his head. “’Tis scarcely the same thing, madam, for he calls you his heart. The Welsh word for wife is simply
call.
”

Nicholas smiled ruefully but shot a look at Gwilym from under his brows that boded no good for that gentleman’s future, and said brusquely, “’Twas a slip of the tongue. Henceforth, I shall simply call her ‘sweetheart’ in the English manner. Now come to supper, both of you, for I mean us all to be abed directly after compline, with the holy brothers.”

Hugh, overhearing him, shouted with laughter. “How now, Nicholas! You, with such a winsome wife as my Lady Alys, would have us believe you do prefer an armful of praying monks!”

Nicholas laughed then, and Alys, who was slowly coming to understand the Welshman she had married, realized that, in his mind, to be caught by his comrades in a moment of tenderness was equal to being caught in a moment of weakness, while being teased by them, or willfully misunderstood, was a perfectly normal state of affairs, and something to be cheerfully tolerated.

Later, in bed beside him, having feared he might notice the slight changes in her body after four months of pregnancy and not sure if she was glad or sorry when he did not, Alys contemplated the future. She would have to take care. Nicholas would be more than a little vexed if she displeased Elizabeth again, or spoke words that could not be repeated to the king. She hoped she would do neither. She had faithfully practiced her lute, at least, and she did not doubt that her playing would be acceptable now, unless Elizabeth chose to be difficult.

Elizabeth did not. It was evident almost the moment Alys saw her the following day in the queen’s presence chamber at Greenwich that she was extremely pleased with herself for having produced an heir to the throne, and was of a mind to be gracious to everyone who came near her. The storms had struck as Nicholas had said they would, but the palace walls were thick and no one heeded them, not even the small prince, who was carried in by his nurse while Alys was there. She soon learned that he was looked after by three such nurses who had each sworn an oath of loyalty to him, and that his personal physician attended every feeding.

Elizabeth had regained her figure and looked as beautiful and serene as ever, and she was so gracious that for the first time Alys considered confiding some at least of what she had learned in the past year. Surely Elizabeth would want to know that one of her brothers still lived. Though she did not speak about them, Alys did not think she could be indifferent to their fate. What would she say if she learned that one at least was not dead, as she believed they were? But the presence chamber, in the company of her women, was not the place for confidences.

Not all of the women were present. Alys still had not seen Madeline, and did not see her until that evening, at supper in the great hall. Then, catching sight of Alys, Madeline rushed up and flung her arms around her. “I had nearly given you up!”

“Madeline, my dear,” said the man behind her, a pensive-looking older gentleman in a short black velvet robe trimmed with gold thread, and a flat hat with a golden plume, “before you knock Lady Merion over, perhaps you will present me to her.”

“Aye, sir,” she said, laughing, “to be sure I shall. This is my father, Alys, Sir Walter Fenlord. He and my brother Robert are to remain in town through the Christmas festivities.”

“’Tis to be a family Christmas then,” Alys said when she had properly greeted Sir Walter. “Nicholas has taken a house on the Thames near Queenshithe for his family.”

“His
whole
family is in London then,” Madeline said, a note of innocent query in her voice.

“Gwilym brought Jonet and me to town,” Alys said, answering what she knew to be the real question first. “The others arrive in a sennight. Gwenyth was distressed that her sons’ duties prevented our going to Wales, and so they will come to us instead.” She smiled at Sir Walter. “I know that my mother-in-law will be pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. You must visit them when they arrive.”

“I will certainly do so,” Sir Walter agreed with a nod. “She and her family were most kind to our Madeline at Merion Court, and I would thank her properly for her hospitality.”

“We will, Father,” Madeline said cheerfully, “but you go and talk to someone else now, sir, for I have much to say to Alys.” He went, smiling fondly, and Madeline, taking Alys by the arm, said, “Come and tell me everything you have done and everything that has happened since I left you. I missed you dreadfully!”

Just as anxious to exchange confidences as she was, Alys went to Madeline’s chamber. So delightful was it to have someone to talk with other than Jonet, someone who was as fond of her and as interested in her activities, that Alys soon found herself telling Madeline more than she had intended.

“A baby! By our Lady, how exciting! I warrant Sir Nicholas has been strutting about like one of the king’s own peacocks.”

“He does not know, and you must not tell him!”

“Not tell him?” Madeline frowned. “But you must. You cannot think he will be displeased. No man would be!”

“Except for the small fact that I did not tell him before,” Alys said. “I was afraid he would not let me come to court. And he might yet forbid my taking part in the Christmas festivities, for he is likely to fear that I shall harm the babe.”

“Men,” Madeline said with a sigh. “They think they know everything. Very well, I will not tell him, but you must take care all the same. Perchance you will find that you can confide in his mother when she arrives. I think her very kind, and not at all the sort to make a fuss.”

“I could not tell her before Nicholas,” Alys said firmly.

The point did not arise, however, for by the time his family arrived in London, the Christmas festivities at court had begun, and though the family members were invited to enjoy much of the feasting and entertainment at Westminster, there was little time for Nicholas or Alys, who still had their rooms in the palace, to spend at the house near Queenshithe. The king enjoyed Christmas, and for once he spared no expense. By the twelfth day of Christmas, Alys, accustomed as she was to keeping household accounts, was certain that he must have spent a fortune.

The feast of the Epiphany saw as many as sixty dishes of confections alone on the groaning boards. Alys and Madeline tried counting all the courses but soon became more interested in eating and talking with friends and relatives, and lost count. The religious services in the chapel afterward were accompanied by glorious music, including pipes and trumpets, and after the services came the pageantry, the entertainers vying to outdo one another, portraying chapters in the story of Christ’s birth.

After the pageants, the activity continued with dancing in the great hall. A Lord of Misrule mimicked many of the great lords present, and there were minstrels, traveling jugglers and acrobats, a dog act, and even a man with three hawks trained to fly high above the crowd and then swoop down through flag-decorated golden rings the man held out in his hands.

Prince Arthur was present, wrapped in scarlet velvet and lying in a canopied, gilded cradle on the dais near his mother’s armchair, with his own yeomen and squires at hand to rock him if he cried. And Alys, who had been admiring the queen’s elegant purple velvet robe, caped with ermine and sable, and the way the bright lights of the hall glistened on her gold crown and jewels, was watching when she bent over her son and reached out a slim hand to smooth his coverlet. The doting look on Elizabeth’s face put an end to any lingering thought of confidences. Clearly, she would be no happier now than the king would be to learn that a prince of York still lived. By the look of her as she gazed at Arthur, she would fight much harder to see him on the throne of England than she ever would to see one of her brothers there.

“May I have the pleasure of leading you into this dance, Lady Merion?”

Alys whirled at the sound of the familiar voice, to find herself face to face with Henry Tudor. She had observed earlier that he was no longer on the dais beside the queen, but she had never expected to find him standing before her, slim, tall, elegantly clad, and smiling. There was even a perceptible twinkle in his pale blue eyes. He waited for her to reply.

Stunned and not a little embarrassed after the turn her thoughts had taken, she made her curtsy, wondering how she would get through the next few minutes without saying something foolish or unwise. But, palm to palm, they danced the stately dance, and she soon found herself conversing easily with him, responding to his smiles and pleasantries. Before the music ended, she truly was enjoying herself, and she saw her mood reflected in the faces around her. The whole court was relaxed and happy, basking in the warmth of Christmas and delighted by the presence of Prince Arthur, whom many believed was their hope for a peaceful future.

Alys saw Madeline dancing with Nicholas, and Jonet smiling up at Hugh Gower. Even Ian MacDougal was dancing, with a rope dancer from a minstrel troop. Only Gwilym was not smiling. He did not show to great advantage among the splendid courtiers, and he stood to one side, watching his brother and the laughing Madeline with a quizzical, rather enigmatic, glint in his eyes.

When the music ended, Alys saw that Elizabeth had descended from the dais and was walking toward them on the arm of the Earl of Lincoln. The queen smiled at something the earl said to her, and beside Alys, the king chuckled, a sound she had never expected to hear from one she had long thought of as her chief enemy. She looked up at him in surprise.

He said, “Lincoln is trying to cut me out with my lady wife, I believe. I shall have to speak sharply to him.”

Alys said, “He means no harm, your grace. He is but—”

“Make yourself easy, madam,” Henry said wryly. “I was speaking in jest. The earl has such an aptness for never saying or doing anything for which he might be censured that I know well I have naught to fear, not at least where my wife is concerned.”

Something in his tone made Alys look closely at him, but there was nothing to be discerned from his expression.

Just then there was a touch on her arm and Nicholas said, “I have come to claim my wife, if you will forgive me, noble highness. The hour grows late, and she has been enjoying herself rather too much these past twelve days, as have we all. With your permission, we would have leave to retire.”

The twinkle reappeared in the king’s eyes. “I shall allow you to pretend you have concern for this radiant lady’s health, sir, because it is a time for joy, and thus do I willingly grant permission for you to … to see to her comfort.”

His words were the closest Alys had ever heard the king come to making a spicy remark, and it was all she could do to make her curtsy without betraying an unladylike awareness of his meaning. But she had sensed tension in Nicholas’s voice, and so she was unsurprised when, waiting only until the king had turned away, he grasped her arm and urged her toward the stair hall. He did not say anything at once, however, for the castle was still very much awake and its halls teemed with merrymakers.

Inside their chamber, Nicholas nodded at the maidservant who jumped up from a joint stool in the corner, and said to Alys, “Jonet will soon be here also to help you remove your finery and prepare for bed, but I wish to speak with you before you retire.”

“You are not staying?” She stared at him, bewildered.

“I will return shortly.”

His tone told her she would be unwise to question him, but she stood gazing thoughtfully at the door after he had shut it, wondering what had vexed him. The maid helped her take off her headdress, but despite what Nicholas had said, it was some time before Jonet hurried in. Alys had intended to tease her about dancing with Hugh, but she swallowed the words after one look told her that Jonet was big with news.

Dismissing the maid, Alys demanded to know what had occurred, adding, “Something has certainly put Nicholas out.”

“Not this,” Jonet said, her eyes gleaming with happiness and some other, less easily definable emotion. “’Tis only our Davy, mistress. He came up to me in the hall, as brazen as you please, and gave me a grand hug. He even made his bow to that gowk, Hugh Gower, and would you believe it, that wretched man had the impudence to demand Davy’s permission to marry me. On the spot! Said he knew not when he’d get another chance to ask him.”

Alys grinned. “And what did Davy say?”

“The daffish fool said he was welcome to me, but that he’d not be able to attend a wedding till the spring.”

“And what did you say?”

“Not a word. I was that stunned that they thought the matter so easily settled, and then that Hugh kissed me, and I couldn’t say a thing. Why, Davy just laughed and—”

“Fetch Davy in,” Alys commanded. “I would speak with him, for I warrant he will have word of Lord Lovell.”

“Oh, he was not so daft as to linger, but he did bring you a letter.” Jonet reached into her bodice, and Alys heard a crackle of paper before a grim voice from the doorway startled them both.

“I will take that letter, if you please,” Sir Nicholas said.

F
OR A MOMENT THERE
was utter silence, and Alys wished she were the sort of woman who could simply collapse at the first threat of adversity. But, having a notion that Nicholas would either leave her lying where she swooned, or shake her to her senses, so that he might more thoroughly berate her, she stood her ground, watching Jonet reluctantly hand him the letter.