FOR 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.
“Leave us,” he said, and Jonet went without a word. He broke the seal without looking at it, but shot a fierce look at Alys before he unfolded the single sheet and began to read.
Watching him, she was surprised to see shock as well as increasing fury in his expression. When he finished, his face was drained of color, and for a moment he seemed unable to speak. Then the color flooded back, and Alys, her nerves stretched nearly to breaking by the tension in the silence between them, demanded before he could begin shouting at her, “What does he write? It is my letter, sir. I would like to see it.”
To her surprise he handed it to her, then turned and walked toward the hearth to stare down at the dying fire. Knowing he was containing his temper only with great effort, she quickly scanned the letter, her hands shaking so that she could scarcely read it, but it took only a glance to understand a portion at least of his outrage.
“Oh, if that is not like him!” she exclaimed. “To call me Godiva and never consider the consequences! But, Nicholas, it is not what you think, truly! ’Tis only that he had need to conceal his true identity, and mine, and decided to tease me a little.”
“You do not know what I think,” he retorted, not turning.
“But I do! What else can it be, particularly when he signs himself ‘Dauntless Tom Peeper,’ but that he has seen me naked?”
“And has he?”
“Aye, sir, he has,” she replied honestly. “He saved me, Nicholas. I told you that before, but not the whole. I will tell you now if you will let me.”
He turned then, but he did not look particularly appeased. He said dully, “Is it not enough that you were naked with him?”
“In faith, sir, ’twas on account of Sir Lionel that I was naked. I told you he meant to ravish me, and he would have, had Lovell not killed him. I told you, too, that Sir Lionel murdered Roger, and meant to kill you. He meant to have me for his own, Nicholas, for the sake of Wolveston. Once he learned its value, he felt cheated, so he did it all for the land, the wealth. You should understand that. You married me for those same things.”
The last words came forlornly and without thought, and she instantly wished them unsaid when she saw his face tighten, but all he said was, “Fate turns the dice, madam. We can but read the numbers and take our winnings, or suffer our losses. I am sorry that yours have been so hard.”
“But they have not!” she cried. “Oh, why do you say such a stupid thing to me?”
“You still believe yourself wed to an enemy, do you not?”
She shook her head. “You are not my enemy, Nicholas. To be sure, I once thought you so, for you do fight for the wrong side, but I stopped thinking of you as an enemy the first time you did sing to me. I think of you now only as my husband.”
“An unfortunate circumstance for you,” he said, “since it allows me to forbid you to see his lordship again.”
His grim tone enlightened her, and for a moment her eyes lit up, but knowing he was still angry, she controlled her feelings and said evenly, “You need never be jealous of Lovell, sir.”
“Need I not?” he snapped. “Not even when he is most likely father to a child I shall be expected to claim as mine own?”
Thunderstruck, she stared at him while the echo of his words pounded at her mind, shouting them at her until she had to accept that he had really said them. He took a step toward her, and she could see in his eyes that he had little control left over his temper. He meant at least to shake her, and what else he might do did not bear thinking about.
“You are mistaken, sir,” she said steadily.
It was the wrong thing to say. He stood directly before her and put his face close to hers. “The devil I am! Madeline told me you are with child, and since you have not seen fit to tell me yourself, and since he has been sneaking about ever since I first laid eyes upon you, what else am I to think? The man is a—”
“The man saved my life,” Alys cried, “and the child is yours and no one else’s. Do not touch me,” she added, losing her own temper at last and whirling away when he reached for her. “By heaven, you will listen for once, and heed what I say!” Glaring at him, daring him to move again, she said nothing more until she was certain he would come no closer. He did not look any the less dangerous, but he did seem willing to let her speak.
“’Tis a matter of honor,” she said, gathering her dignity and speaking more gently. “I would never have let another man touch me once I had become your wife, cared I ever so much for him. I was taught, sir, by people who held honor and loyalty most dear. And never would Lord Lovell attempt to seduce me. Even his worst enemies have never accused him of dishonor. He is a gallant man who still believes in the dying codes of chivalry, just as our late king did, and just as yours—who could break sanctuary to capture his foe—does not.”
“By God—”
She spoke quickly. “I should not have said that last bit, Nicholas, but Lovell does believe in the code and follows it. He is the most loyal of all Richard’s followers, and thus, sir, you may believe that he would no more take advantage of one like myself, who had been protected by his liege lord, than King Richard would have murdered nephews entrusted to him by his. Moreover, Lovell would never betray a man who, even unknowingly, had granted him shelter in his time of need, as you did.”
He had been glaring at her, his expression that of one who listened only because he was forcing himself to do so, but when she mentioned Lovell’s loyalty to Richard, that expression sharpened to an arrested look, and by the time she fell silent, to her astonishment, a gleam of amusement lit his eyes.
“You dare to laugh at me?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
He shook his head. “I am not laughing, madam, but you ought to thank heaven that I can find some small humor in your daring to suggest that Lovell’s having taken shelter from me in mine own castle is reasonable cause to believe he would not betray me.”
She smiled, recognizing the irony, but watched him warily, uncertain whether he believed her yet or not. He remained silent, however, until she could stand it no longer and blurted, “The child is yours, Nicholas. I did not tell you before of my condition because I feared you would not let me travel and I wanted more than anything to come to London. And Madeline, the witch, had no right whatever to tell you!”
He came to her then and put his hands gently around her, drawing her close as he said, “She did not intend to tell me, but you know how she is, sweetheart. The words just tumbled out when she least expected them to do so.”
“I knew you were angry when you spoke to the king,” she said, leaning her head against his chest. “I did not know what was wrong, but I am learning to know your tone of voice, so even though you spoke calmly, I knew something was amiss. And when you took that letter, your outrage reminded me of that dreadful night at Burton when you lost your temper with me. I thought that tonight I would not be able to … to …”
“To tame me with your woman’s wiles?” He held her away and looked down into her eyes, and for a moment she saw tenderness, but then he said, “My fears about Lovell and the child were brief and only part of the whole, for however gallant he may be, he has no business to be communicating with you. And you ought not to be accepting his communications, madam, let alone harboring him whenever the opportunity arises. By the rood, I find it hard to think why he would endanger himself so. Why does he confide in you if he has no affectionate interest?”
“But he does not! I give you my word, Nicholas.”
“And I believe you, so mayhap you will explain to me how it is that, having no such interest in you, he writes to say you need not expect to hear from him again for a while, since he is presently with Margaret and means to take a little journey to Ireland soon, to stir up mischief guaranteed to annoy the king.”
His tone was dangerous again, and she said carefully, “I do not know what mischief he means. He has written nothing else to me, and all he said before was that he meant to go to Flanders, to Richard’s sister, Margaret of Burgundy.”
Nicholas frowned. “If he were here in England now, I should believe him responsible for certain rumors we have heard, that the young Earl of Warwick has escaped from the Tower.”
“Neddie? But he has not done any such thing, has he? In faith, I should have heard of it if he had.”
“No, he is still there, but my men have encountered the rumors in more than one county. And,” he added, giving her a shake, “I do remember those so-called other brothers of yours. Your explanation, when I taxed you for one, was glib enough, and I have never spoken of them to anyone, but it occurs to me now that I have never asked you to give your word of honor that you do not know more about the matter than you have admitted.” When she stiffened in dismay, he added dryly, “I will not press you to do so now, madam. I, too, honor loyalty where I find it, but these little intrigues of yours are dangerous. Leave such matters to the queen dowager and her ilk.”
Relieved, she said faintly, “Is she plotting again?”
He shrugged. “Elizabeth Woodville has a reputation for plotting. That was all I meant. I am told she cannot keep her fingers out of any intrigue that drifts within her orbit.”
“But surely, sir, with her own daughter already called queen, and expecting at any time now to be properly crowned—”
“The lass will enjoy no coronation until Harry is convinced that he holds the throne by his own right. He does not want his people ever to believe he holds it by right of his wife, only that he chooses to unite his red rose with her white one.”
“But the people will clamor like they did before, until he grants her a crown of her own, and even if he does not, Prince Arthur is the queen dowager’s grandson. She would not plot against him, or against his mother.”
“I hope you are right.” His tone was somber. He turned away. He had already distanced himself from her emotionally, and though Alys was sorry for it, she could not abandon her beliefs merely to please him. She tried to take heart from the fact that he had said he honored her fidelity, but the sudden physical separation left her feeling bereft. Then he turned, and the look in his eyes was different from any she had seen there before. “I was a villain to frighten you tonight, sweetheart. I could never really hurt you. I don’t expect you to trust me so soon after my own failure to trust you, but mayhap one day you will find strength enough to believe that I will not betray you.”
It was so quiet in the room that the sudden collapse of a log in a shower of sparks startled them both.
Alys felt tears at the back of her throat. The only time after that first day that he had ever questioned her about the mysterious boys, he had accepted her suggestion that they might have been sons of some other Yorkist family. She knew he was not stupid, that it was possible he had believed all along that she knew, or at least suspected, more than she had admitted. But no more than she doubted her own loyalty could she doubt his to Henry Tudor; and, while she knew instinctively that she could trust him, that in many ways she had trusted him for some time, too much was at stake to trust him with a secret that was not hers alone to share. She knew she could depend upon him to do all in his power to protect her, and their unborn child, from the king’s wrath, but she was just as certain that his strong loyalty to the Tudor would compel him to reveal the existence of any living prince of York who might threaten the Tudor crown.
He had not moved. She swallowed her tears and held out a hand to him. “Nicholas?”
He took her hand. His was warm and strong. He drew her close and folded her into his arms, kissing the top of her head.
She tilted her face up. “You do believe the child is yours, do you not?”
“Aye,” he said, kissing the bridge of her nose, “I do. Had I not been caught off guard by Lovell’s addressing you as Godiva, I doubt I’d ever have thought otherwise. One day I shall thank him properly for murdering Everingham. You did not tell me the villain had ripped your clothes from you.”
She blushed and would have looked away, but he held her chin. “It … it was not quite that way,” she said.
“Tell me.”
“You will be angry.”
“I have been angry before and will likely be so again,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose again. “Tell me.”
Sighing, she leaned against him. “Take me to bed, sir. I am so weary, I am nigh to dropping where I stand.”
With a wry smile, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, helping her undress, and tucking her in. Then, snuffing the lights and stripping off his clothes, he got in beside her and lay back against the pillows. Slipping an arm beneath her, he drew her closer, and when she had snuggled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, he said, “Tell me now.”
She began at the beginning, but he hushed her, telling her he had heard about that and to get to the part that had come after she had sent Ian to fetch him.
“They came the next morning to search for him,” she said. She went on glibly enough until she began to explain that when Sir Lionel had ordered her from the bed so that his men might search beneath the bedclothes, she had wrapped one of the coverlets around herself. “I … I had nothing—”
“I understand, sweetheart,” he said gently. “’Tis as well that Lovell killed him, or else I should have to go now and do it myself. Everingham ripped the quilt away, did he?”
“N-no,” she said. “He was coming to do so, I think, but I dropped it—nay, flung it aside—and leapt for the poker. That gave me time, you see, for it startled him and made him pause.”
To her astonishment, he chuckled. “I’ll warrant it did. But you are too small, sweetheart, to face a swordsman, armed with no more than a poker.”
“He said the same,” she admitted. “He said, too, that I would kneel to him in the hall before them all, and swear an oath of fealty to him as if he were my king, that if I did not, he would strip me naked and thrash me until I begged to serve him, and … and that was when I saw the door move behind him. I thought it was you, Nicholas, and I had all I could do to keep from crying aloud my relief that Ian had found you so quickly. I kept my eyes on Sir Lionel, but when he leapt at me, I was not strong enough to keep hold of the poker. Then he collapsed at my feet and I looked up to see Lovell grinning at me. I had nearly flung myself into his arms before I saw it was him and not you.”
“I do owe him a debt of gratitude,” Nicholas said grimly, “but you must forgive me for asking why he came to you.”
“He had taken shelter at Wolveston before,” she said, “after Bosworth, with Roger, and he thought to do so again. He knew you had not yet taken residence, and even when he discovered I was there, he had no cause to believe …” Her voice trailed away. She knew she was plunging into deep water again.
“You need not explain. No doubt my tenants are as loyal to his cause as you are.”
“No longer, sir,” she murmured. “They are grateful to you and to your brother for setting things to rights at Wolveston. They would still be reluctant to betray me, I suppose, but you are my husband, and I warrant that if you asked them for answers, even about Lovell, you would get them.”
“Then mayhap you had better tell me the whole truth now, to disarm me in the event that someone decides to confide in me.”
“I had not considered that a possibility,” she admitted.
“There is a more dangerous one,” he said quietly. “I have accepted your reluctance to trust me, knowing that it grows out of your fealty to the cause of York, but you can scarcely expect Harry to respect that explanation if he were to discover that you are somehow linked to Lovell’s mischief.”
She was silent, staring at a point on the bed curtains where the glow from the dying fire set shadows dancing. Nicholas was entirely unpredictable when his loyalties conflicted with hers.
“I can feel by your reaction that I have hit the mark,” he said. When she still said nothing, he went on in that same quiet voice, “I can protect you better, mi calon, if I am forewarned. I point out, for what it is worth, that I have not yet lost my temper tonight, though the temptation has been strong. I am perfectly calm now and prepared to hear the worst.”
“I believe the boy who died at Wolveston was Prince Edward Plantagenet,” she blurted, wanting the worst over quickly. She felt immediate tension in his body. “I am not certain, Nicholas, but I did think it might be he, and when I told Lovell—”
“You told him! When? At Doncaster?”
“Aye, I did not go there for that purpose,” she said, “but when Davy Hawkins said he was near, I sent Davy to fetch him so that I could tell him what I’d seen and ask him what he knew. He admitted Richard had sent both boys north, like Elizabeth, only not to Yorkshire, where they would have been sought by men who wanted to make trouble for him. My father was loyal to York, and not a combatant. Lovell said Father agreed to take the boys only if Richard would send me to live away from the court, to protect me, so that I might never be thought part of any plan.”
“Then Edward Plantagenet is dead,” Nicholas said. “What of the younger one, Prince Richard of York?”
“I do not know for certain,” she said. “You told me someone had taken him away—for fostering, you said.”
“Do you know who that was?” he asked, very casually.
“I think I do, but I doubt I would be wise to tell you.”
She waited for the explosion, but it did not come. Instead he said, in that same quiet, murmuring tone, “’Tis true, you would not. I am still loyal to my king.”
“And I, to mine.” She sighed. “I doubt that Richard of York still lives, sir. I had doubts before, and since summer I have been certain he must be dead.”
“What happened then to convince you?”
“The man who most likely took him from Wolveston submitted to Henry Tudor and received a general pardon,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but he sued for a second one before a month was out. One has to assume he must have done something perfectly dreadful in the meantime. I think he killed the prince.”
Nicholas sat up, grabbing her and lifting her to peer intently into her face. “Tyrell? You believe Tyrell had him!”
Her gasp gave her away, and she knew it, but she did her best to recover, saying, “I did not mention any such name.”
“His pardons were much talked of, madam, but he has sworn fealty to Henry Tudor, and has served him well in Glamorgan.” He stopped. “By our Lady,” he said, staring at her, “that was why you asked about Glamorgan when we were traveling to Merion. Did you think to visit the man and ask him flat out where Richard was? Well, did you?” he demanded, giving her a shake. Even in the dim glow from the hearth, he must have seen the answer in her expression, for he released her with exaggerated care and leaned back against his pillows, shutting his eyes as though he feared what he might do if he continued to look at her.
Sitting up, facing him, she said, “I did think some such thing then, Nicholas, but I realized when I saw how treacherous your Welsh mountains were that there was no way I could go.”
“’Tis fortunate that you could not,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at her in such a way that she shivered, “for if I had caught you trying to do such a perilous thing …” He did not finish, nor did he have to.
She swallowed. “I know, Nicholas. I saw at once that it was impossible, and in faith, I know not what I would have done if I had found him. I could scarce ask him if he had Richard of York hidden away in his castle.”
“He cannot have him,” Nicholas said firmly. “He swore allegiance to Henry. If he had control of a Yorkist prince, he would never have done so, not without telling Henry he had him.”
“But he might well have had him and told the Tudor so. They still could not announce it to the world without putting Henry’s position on the throne in jeopardy. And Henry could not kill the prince, for if it ever became known that he had, he would have had more trouble than he had already. And if he simply locked him in the Tower with Neddie and me and the others, a host of conspiracies would have erupted to get him out again.”
“If Richard of York is still alive, then why has no one come forward to say so?” Nicholas asked.
“If he lives, ’tis because his keepers still do not know the fate of Edward Plantagenet,” she said, “and even if Henry and Tyrell have dared to kill him, they cannot speak lest the news cause Edward to step forward with an army at his back to claim the throne. But there have been rumors that Richard murdered his nephews, Nicholas. You mentioned them yourself. Henry can have no proof that they both are dead, or he would have told whatever tale he liked to explain their deaths, but I think that when the rumors failed to bring Prince Edward out of hiding to challenge him, he decided it was safe to kill Prince Richard. When he gave the order, Sir James insisted upon the first pardon as an act of good faith, then sued for the second when the deed was done.”
Nicholas was silent, and Alys was grateful. She recalled Lovell’s insistence that Sir James Tyrell had been as loyal to King Richard as Lovell himself was, that he would never have harmed either prince, and it suddenly occurred to her that there might be another reason for Tyrell’s second pardon. What, she wondered, if Sir James had taken the same expedient step that her brother, Sir Lionel, Lincoln, and so many others had taken, of submitting to the Tudor in order to protect his lands and titles? What if he had sued for general pardon, as so many others had done and then, afterward, had arranged for Richard of York to get safely out of England to Flanders? Had he hoped a second pardon would protect him from the Tudor’s wrath? Was it possible that the crazy rumors of Neddie’s escape were meant to cover the movements of another, and far more important, Yorkist prince?
She was glad that Nicholas appeared to be deep in his own thoughts, for she knew that if he had been watching her, he would suspect she knew still more than she had told him. She would have liked to share her ideas with him, but the old fears returned to haunt her. She knew he would protect her as well as he could, but if she confided her new suspicions, she was certain that his duty would be even clearer to him than it was to her.
“You may have the right of it,” he said at last, and for a wild moment she thought he meant she was right in what she had been thinking, and she had to struggle to remember what she had actually said to him. Before she could comment, he went on, “It does not matter, however, because from this moment you are out of it. No, do not argue with me,” he added, reaching out to place a finger on her lips. “I will, if necessary, exert every right my position as your husband grants me to see to your safety. I ought to have Gwilym take you straight back to Wolveston—”
“No! Oh, Nicholas, I promise—”
“Make yourself easy,” he said, straightening and pulling her close again, drawing the bedclothes up over her. “I am not such a fool as to insist that you travel such a distance in this uncertain weather, let alone in your present condition. You will, however, leave the court and move to Queenshithe, where my mother can see that you take proper care of yourself. It cannot be good for you to continue in attendance upon the queen now, particularly in view of your precarious relationship with her.”
“We get on well enough now,” she said, holding her resentment in check, knowing that to lose her temper now would do her no good. “Since Elizabeth has presented the Tudor with his heir, she is well satisfied with herself and gracious to all of us in attendance on her.”
“No matter, you will be better off in Queenshithe. Once this weather settles, I must be about my duties again, and will feel the better for knowing you are safe with my parents. And do not think you will be able to work your wiles on them to let you have your own way, sweetheart,” he added, “for I will make my wishes clear to them, and they know that I have not only the right to command you, but the will to enforce my commands.”
She did not doubt him, and she was too glad to have got through the past hour without having been banished to Wolveston again to resist him further. She murmured that she would do her best to behave, but her sigh of resignation made him laugh.
“You had better see that your best is enough,” he said, “or be prepared to face my wrath.” Then, sobering, he said, “Don’t think that because I do not scold you, I am not displeased by all this, madam. You tread too lightly upon the threshold of treason to suit me, and if either Elizabeth or Henry should catch you at your tricks, I doubt I could protect you. Now that you carry my son, it is more important than ever that you behave.”
“Your son, is it? It might as easily be my daughter, sir.”
“Aye, and a right little baggage she would be. In either case, madam, you will take care.”
“I will,” she said. “Kiss me, Nicholas, so that I know you truly are not angry with me anymore.”
“You would bewitch me,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her thoroughly. His hands began to move over her body, and his breathing deepened and quickened, and soon she knew he would speak no more that night of her misdeeds.
That she could stir him so easily was an increasing delight to her. She gloried in the pleasure that he gave to her body and in what she could do to him with no more than a touch, a kiss, or a caress. She exerted herself to please him, reveling in each lusty groan and gasp of pleasure, tantalizing and teasing him until he could stand no more, and took command of the proceedings in such a way as to leave her breathless. Stirred to heights she had never explored before, Alys abandoned modesty to follow her instincts, murmuring endearments, responding to his every touch and stimulus with new ones all her own, and crying aloud her pleasure at the end. By the time the two of them fell back to their pillows, exhausted, there were only ashes left of the fire on the hearth. But in Alys’s heart the glow of love for Nicholas burned warmly, making her wish that she had the power to keep him near her always, safe, to love her and to be loved in return.
But the next morning Nicholas took her to stay with his parents in the house at Queenshithe. He was kind and loving, and he stayed there with her for the first two nights, but on the third morning he left the city at the head of a troop of his men, bound for Somerset, to look into incidents of mischief-making. Sadly, Alys watched him go, feeling her child stir, and wondering if these new incidents had aught to do with the mischiefs Lovell had promised to stir up to annoy the king.