Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  Lanterns and torches were dimmed and haloed in the gloom, and church bells echoed eerily. Sound carried a long way, although from which direction it was hard to tell, except for the wavering horns of ships on the Thames, which could only come from one place. The atmosphere was fanciful and unsettling, and she hesitated as she emerged into St Sithe’s Lane. No one seemed to be there, but then a cloaked man moved out of the slowly swirling murk.

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘Tal?’

  He came close. ‘Did you destroy my note?’

  ‘Yes, I burned it.’

  ‘Good. Come, I will take you to him. It is not far, only around the corner in Budge Row. The sign of the Red Lion. You know of it?’ His Welsh accent seemed more pronounced tonight.

  ‘Yes.’ She fell into step beside him, and they soon reached Budge Row, where the only sounds appeared to emanate from the inn, but Tal paused before reaching it.

  ‘I trust you will forgive the familiarity of my arm around your shoulder? And the further impudence, if not to say insult, of it appearing as if you are, well, paid for?’

  She hesitated. He was so serious, without even a small smile to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Is that necessary?’ she asked.

  ‘It is convincing and will not attract a second glance. The Red Lion is often used for such, er, encounters.’

  ‘Then . . . by all means.’

  ‘No liberty will be taken, I swear. Please pull your hood well forward, your face should be in as much shadow as possible.’

  She obeyed, thinking he wore reserve like a suit of armour, and she was again conscious of the crucifix and Catherine wheel she knew he would be wearing beneath his cloak. As he put his arm around her, she could smell cinnamon again. The Holy Land in the midst of a bitterly cold London night.

  The Red Lion was busy, even if the street outside was quiet. It got its name from the great carved wooden lion by the entrance to a large courtyard full of shops, among which was the inn’s main doorway. No one paid attention as they went in, except for one or two suggestive comments. The innkeeper nodded at Tal, who conducted her upstairs to the first-floor bedrooms at the rear of the hostelry, and then halted before one of the doors. ‘I will return you to Pasmer’s Place in due course, my lady.’

  ‘You disapprove, do you not?’ she observed suddenly.

  ‘It is not my business to approve or disapprove, my lady.’

  ‘What you wear around your neck tells me what I need to know of you.’

  ‘No, my lady, you know nothing of me. Absolutely nothing. And the beliefs to which I hold do not prevent me from understanding love. I know my friend is completely devoted to you, as I am sure you are to him.’

  ‘We break the Commandments.’

  He smiled at last. ‘Not all ten, my lady, at least I trust not.’ He knocked briefly on the door and then went back to the stairs.

  Jack admitted her, and then stretched past her to lock the door. Richard had once leaned past her to do the same—so long ago, it seemed— and now both worlds seemed to collide within her. Memories blended with the present, and both so sweet and beloved that she would gladly have given up her life in them.

  Then he removed her cloak and embraced her as life itself. Their hearts beat wildly together and they just stood there in each other’s arms. No words, only silent love. Then his parted lips caught to hers in a gentle kiss that was at odds with the ferocity of his embrace. Thyme caressed her, but she knew this was to be a farewell. He was going to leave and needed to be with her one last time.

  Her heart was rent in two, half to go with him, the other half to sustain her until he returned. If he returned. Oh, the parallels. She had parted from Richard like this, and he had not come back, except in her imagination. Please do not let the same thing happen again. Please.

  Jack’s lips trailed kisses from her mouth to her cheeks, to her forehead, to her eyes, where he tasted the tears she could not restrain. ‘Oh, please do not cry, sweetheart,’ he breathed.

  ‘I know this is goodbye.’

  ‘Yes, but only for now. I will return, sweetheart, and so will the House of York.’ He took her face in his hands, stroking her tears with his thumbs.

  She gazed at him, committing him to memory. He wore russet stitched with tiny white leaves, and his gold collar of sapphires and pearls caught the firelight, reflecting in her eyes. He meant so much to her. To be granted such love once was more than many ever experienced, but she had now been granted it twice, with Richard and now with Jack.

  He took off her headdress and allowed her hair to cascade over his waiting hands. ‘I have been miserable without you, Cicely. A brief kiss at Sheen, and then a week of not even seeing you! And all the while knowing that Henry Tudor has you in his bed every night!’

  ‘He believes I love him.’

  ‘I am supposed to sympathize with him?’

  ‘No. With me, Jack. With me. I know what he is and how you despise him, but it is very hard indeed to deceive him about such a thing. He loves me so very much, and I have led him to believe I return his feelings. I do not admire myself.’

  He put his hand to her cheek. ‘You are right to think I feel absolutely nothing for Tudor, and right to accuse me of not thinking of you. I am sorry, sweetheart. I did not think it would affect you that much.’

  ‘Men have no idea, do they? It is all so simple in your eyes. Henry is no different. You use us, even as you need us so very much.’

  He gazed at her, and she saw the remorse in his eyes. ‘Forgive me, Cicely. I did not think, and I should have. But even so, I defy you to say the ruse did not work. In the midst of war and threatened rebellion, Henry Tudor is a happy man. Would you rather he were not?’

  ‘You, sir, are being guileful.’

  ‘True, but I want your forgiveness. And your love one last time before I leave.’

  ‘That was even more guileful.’ She smiled a little, but was then serious again. ‘When do you go?’

  ‘Imminently, sweetheart. The deliberations of Henry’s Great Council alert me to the preparation of a noose or scaffold for the heir of Good King Richard. I sit there with the rest of them, knowing they are aware a dire fate awaits me. My rebellious Yorkist neck already feels the strain.’ He paused. ‘Today it was decided to punish your mother by banishing her to Bermondsey Abbey. Did you know?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘It is being said that she requested isolation at a House of God, but the truth is that Henry is punishing her for imagined involvement in Lambert Simnel. If she is involved, I certainly know nothing of it.’

  ‘Mother would not do anything to help put Clarence’s son on the throne. She could not abide him. Nor he her. And she still has every reason to believe my brothers are not only alive but have been made legitimate again. She would never support Lambert Simnel. As she is at present, she is mother-in-law to the king, the mother of the queen and the grandmother of Prince Arthur. She would be mad to endanger all that.’

  ‘Nor has she endangered it. I believe Henry is finally punishing her for coming out of sanctuary to Richard. He cannot forgive her because he feels he was made to appear a fool when she left sanctuary with her daughters after he had taken a vow to marry Bess and unite York and Lancaster. Henry never forgets, and always punishes in the end. He has not only forced your mother to Bermondsey but has taken her lands and property as well. She is to have accommodation and a small pension, but will live a frugal life, believe me.’

  ‘Has Bess tried to prevent this?’

  Jack glanced at her. ‘No. Nor did she do anything to help Dorset. She will not raise a finger for anyone but herself, because she is so unsure of Henry. You did not expect otherwise, surely?’

  ‘Thomas the Tub has been arrested too?’ Had she been asleep? How had all this happened without her knowing? Thomas Grey, Marquess of Dorset, was her elder half-brother, from her mother’s first marriage. Her mother doted upon him as upon none other of her children.

  ‘Dorset is being detained as a precaut
ionary measure, according to Henry. Another such measure is Robert Stillington.’

  ‘The Bishop of Bath and Wells?’

  ‘The same.’ Jack ran his fingers sensuously through her hair, closing his eyes for the pleasure of it.

  Robert Stillington was the priest who had once overseen, if not conducted, the secret marriage between Edward IV and Lady Eleanor Boteler, born Talbot. Unfortunately, Edward had then proceeded to ‘marry’ Dame Elizabeth Grey, born Woodville, and became a bigamist. It had apparently been through Stillington that Richard had learned of his brother’s first marriage, and thus that the second marriage was not legal. That Stillington, now a bishop, might concern himself with this new plot to restore the House of York was more believable than the Queen Dowager or Thomas the Tub.

  Jack continued, ‘Henry has decided to have the supposed Earl of Warwick, the boy in the Tower, paraded through the streets of the capital, to prove that the Duke of Clarence’s son has not escaped. Henry also decided today to make a progress through East Anglia, to show himself to the people, remind them of his strength, and to make them understand that he takes nothing lightly.’

  He moved behind her to unfasten her green gown and ease it from her shoulders and thence to the floor. Then he undressed and kissed her naked shoulders before leading her to the bed, where they lay down together. He was leisurely, allowing every small pleasure, and taking his own, and she closed her eyes with the ecstasy of it. Whispered endearments brought them even closer, and they moved in unison. They both knew how to give and to take, how to experience everything as one. She gazed at his face as he gave himself to her. It was an image to hold forever and never relinquish.

  And when they lay in each other’s arms afterwards, she studied his dark-lashed, dark brown eyes, the firmness of his lips and the strong line of his clean-shaven jaw. Oh, how striking his eyes were, shining with love and humour, with kindness and thoughtfulness. And his hair was so tangled and wayward that she just had to touch it, separating the strands between her fingers.

  ‘You are perfect, my lord of Lincoln,’ she whispered.

  ‘And you are more than perfect, sweetheart.’ He brushed one of her nipples with his fingertip. ‘We must remember tonight for some little while now, dearling,’ he said then.

  ‘I am so frightened for you.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart, but justice will triumph, Tudor will pay for destroying Richard.’ He smiled a little, holding her gaze. ‘A week without you seemed like a lifetime, God alone knows how even longer will feel from now on.’

  ‘Then we must make use of this time together,’ she whispered, putting her lips to his again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cicely was to encounter Jack once more, at sunset on the eve of his flight. They had a chance meeting at the thronged river steps by Sheen palace. The sky was blood red and the air was very cold as he arrived at the very time she was leaving to return to Jon at Pasmer’s Place. Jack was preoccupied, huddled in his cloak as he paid his boatman and then hurried up towards her, his head bowed beneath his hood.

  She was escorted by two of Henry’s men, who drew back discreetly as she paused to draw Jack’s attention. ‘Cousin?’

  He started, and then realized who she was. ‘Lady Welles.’ He smiled and drew her aside from the busy steps and smoking torches. ‘How are you, sweetheart?’ he asked.

  ‘The better for speaking with you. I have missed you so.’

  He gazed at her, the sunset shining in his eyes and finding glints in his dark hair. ‘Believe me, sweetheart, if I thought I could pleasure you here and now, I would, but even my notorious skills would not pass unnoticed with Henry’s escort watching like hawks.’ Then he leaned close to whisper. ‘I go tomorrow, sweetheart.’

  ‘I will miss you so very much, and worry about you even more,’ she whispered, her face turned from the guards.

  ‘You will see me again, sweetheart. I vow it. How is Jon?’ he asked then. ‘His health, I mean?’

  She was surprised. ‘Not well. His witch is still in the offing and he says he cannot be rid of her. I do not understand him.’

  ‘If she is doing evil to him, sweetheart, he may indeed be unable to cast her off.’

  ‘You know about witchcraft?’ She was astonished.

  He smiled. ‘Not exactly, but I once made love to a rather tempting sorceress. Well, maybe more than once. She was really quite innovative. However, she gave me this . . .’ He searched in the leather purse at his waist, and took out something small, round and blue. ‘Give this to Jon.’

  It was a blue marble, perhaps half an inch in diameter, very beautiful, and cold enough to be felt through her glove. The torchlight flickered over it, catching colours: bluebell, lavender, rose and azure.

  ‘It is a charm to protect against witchcraft,’ Jack explained. ‘My sorceress once gave it in gratitude for my stallion services.’

  ‘Your ladies pay you?’

  ‘Certainly not, nor do I pay them. Give the bead to Jon, and tell him it will help to protect him. It will help more if he knows he carries protection. My sorceress knew her art, and it is important that Jon knows this. It will hearten him. It was given to protect me from the jealousy of others of her kind, whom she said would all wish to lie with me.’

  ‘Good heavens, Jack, you must have been exceptional that night.’

  He grinned. ‘I am always exceptional.’ He became serious again. ‘I have to go now, sweetheart.’

  ‘No—’

  ‘Until we see each other again, Cicely.’ He kissed her cheek, and then hurried on to the palace. She gazed after him until he disappeared through the entrance. Maybe she would never see him again at all.

  She struggled with tears as, still under escort, she was conveyed downstream to London, and to the steps at Three Cranes. More steps, more memories of Jack. Tears could no longer be denied as she hurried uphill through the narrow, overhanging streets towards St Sithe’s Lane, forcing Henry’s men to hasten after her.

  Jon had just ridden into the torch-lit courtyard ahead of her. He was alone, and saw her as he dismounted. ‘Cicely?’ He had come from his mistress’s arms. She, his wife, knew him so very well, certainly she knew when he had made love. Except he had not made love, he had fucked his witch-hag!

  She halted, a thousand expressions upon her face. She could not speak, she could only struggle not to cry in front of him. But he saw anyway, and handed the reins to a waiting groom before coming to her. He nodded at her escort that they could leave, and to her relief they did.

  ‘What is it, Cicely?’ Jon asked then.

  ‘I am being foolish, Jon.’

  ‘Has something happened at Sheen? Has Henry—?’

  ‘It has nothing to do with Henry.’

  ‘Sweetheart, surely you know me well enough by now to know that nothing you tell me will go further? So, what is the matter? Is it Jack?’

  ‘He is on the point of fleeing,’ she whispered, for not only did she not wish to be heard, but saying it aloud would make it all the more final.

  ‘Fleeing the country?’

  ‘Yes. He suspects Henry of intending to arrest him.’

  ‘Come inside, for it is too cold out here.’ He ushered her into the house.

  ‘I am so happy we are together again, Jon.’ Realizing she might sound inviting, she added quickly, ‘Do not fear I am making overtures.’

  ‘I would not dream of it.’

  ‘Not that it would be worth my effort anyway,’ she added.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘That you are still spent from your exertions in Judith Talby’s bed. The prospect of the infinitely greater exertion in mine would probably kill you. Do not deny anything, for I am your wife and we once shared a rewardingly physical marriage. I recognize all the signs with you, Jon Welles. She will be the death of you yet.’

  At noon the following day, Cicely and Jon were about to leave for Sheen when a messenger arrived with a note for her. Jon was with her as
it was brought, and she knew it would be from Jack. One glance at the seal was confirmation.

  Without opening it, she dismissed the messenger and turned to Jon. ‘Jack.’

  ‘Are you not going to open it?’ He watched her face.

  ‘It will be to tell me he has gone.’ She bit her lip and dug her fingernails into her palm to prevent more tears as she handed it to him, still sealed.

  He glanced shrewdly at her, and then broke the seal to read aloud.

  ‘My dearest Cousin. There is no time to say goodbye in person, and so I do it in writing. My secret plans I have never divulged to you, for fear of your implication, but my silence has never been an indication of any lack of regard. Think of me. I pray to see you again in more fortunate circumstances. Loyaulte me lie. Jack.’

  Jon lowered the note. ‘And the inclusion of Richard’s motto makes his purpose plain enough. He intends to restore the House of York, for himself, I fancy.’

  ‘No. Jack seeks only to be Lord Protector.’

  ‘I trust you are not actively involved?’

  ‘No, only in as much as Jack is my lover. But then you already know that.’

  ‘He has not embroiled you in more? Cicely, if you have supported him in any way, Henry will—’

  ‘I helped him once, by warning him that one of Henry’s spies was watching, but that is all. Except that I have held my tongue, of course. Jack would not have permitted my inclusion in anything. Unless matters became so extreme that he needed to speak with Henry in person. For that he would have asked my help.’

  He looked at the note again. ‘Why has he chosen his words so carefully?’

  ‘Jack fears my closeness to him may prove dangerous to me, so I am to show the note to Henry.’

  ‘He is right. So, will you? Show it to Henry?’

  ‘Yes. Jon, I do not want to put you in an awkward position.’

  ‘You do not. In spite of his impudence in purloining my wife and issuing high-handed commands concerning my mistress, I think a great deal of your cousin.’