Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  She looked at him. ‘Could you support him?’

  He did not answer.

  ‘Jack told me he thought you were no longer strong for Henry.’

  ‘Did he? How very sharp of him. No, Cicely, it is not open for discussion. What I may or may not feel is for me alone to deal with.’ He changed the subject. ‘I imagine Henry does not yet know Jack has taken himself off, so we should waste no more time, but get the note to him.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I intend to be there, to defend you should it be necessary. I opened the note, and I will say that you did not know what it contained before I read it out to you. As for what lies ahead for Jack, you must be prepared, sweetheart. He has committed himself now, and his fate is in the lap of the gods.’

  *

  They arrived at Sheen to find Henry and his Great Council still waiting upon Jack’s presence. It was Jon who sent word in that Lady Welles felt it most urgent that the king should speak to her. Cicely knew her name would bring Henry, who came quickly to the crowded anteroom where they waited. He wore black again, tight and perfect, with an elaborate golden collar and the circlet.

  He dismissed everyone else, and they both began to make obeisance, but he bade them stop. ‘There is no need for ceremony, I think.’ His eyes swung to Cicely. ‘Why do you wish to see me, my lady?’

  ‘I have word of the Earl of Lincoln,’ she replied, and held out Jack’s note.

  He read it quickly, and then screwed it into a ball and hurled it into the fire. ‘So, his true colours at last,’ he breathed. ‘Where has he gone? To the north? He sent money, his horse and his white fucking falcon there some weeks ago.’

  ‘I do not know where he has gone. Truly, Henry, I do not. This note was delivered as we were about to come here.’

  ‘It is the truth,’ Jon said. ‘I broke the seal and read it first.’

  Henry’s glance encompassed him for a moment and then returned to her. ‘Lincoln’s choice of words appears to clear you of any involvement.’

  ‘Because I am not involved. Nor is my husband. The Earl of Lincoln is my cousin, that is all.’

  Henry gazed at her, and then turned apologetically to Jon. ‘Uncle, forgive me, but I wish to speak to your wife alone. I do seek your understanding, and I mean you no insult.’ He extended a hand as a mark of respect.

  Jon met his eyes for a moment and then bowed to press the hand briefly to his forehead. Then he withdrew.

  Henry turned to Cicely again. ‘Is this the truth, sweetheart? Did you hand the note to him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You did not trust my reaction?’

  She smiled ruefully. ‘Henry, there is so much happening now, and you have to deal with it all. I feared you might not be as understanding as might otherwise have been the case.’

  ‘You should have been a damned ambassador,’ he observed.

  ‘I have come straight to you.’

  ‘You made a hard choice, did you not?’

  ‘I love you, but I also love my cousin and my House.’

  ‘And Lincoln even chose to use Richard’s motto. Loyaulte me lie.’

  ‘With all due respect, Henry, I think you and Richard have a lot in common at the moment.’

  ‘Not least you. But yes, I now fully appreciate his dilemmas.’

  ‘And you do not have grief to contend with as well.’ Richard had lost his queen and his son before Bosworth.

  He touched her cheek. ‘Have you lain with Lincoln?’

  ‘No. Would you prefer me to say yes?’

  ‘I accept your word, Cicely, because I do not think you would have come to me this morning if I could not trust you.’

  Another guilty knife twisted in her heart. ‘I am still the wrong House, and even though I love you, there may come a moment when I am torn just a little too much.’

  ‘I cannot ignore treason, sweetheart, not even from you. I know what Lincoln means to you, but treason is too great an offence.’

  ‘He has not done anything as yet,’ she reminded him. ‘Do not put him to death unless you have no choice. Please.’ She was begging for her love. She had to.

  Henry pulled her closer and rested his cheek to hers. ‘I do not wish him dead, Cicely, not least because I want to find out exactly what this monstrous plot is all about and who is mixed in it. Nor will I do to him what I did to John of Gloucester. Never think that I would. That is my past, not my present or future. If it comes to a battle, I will issue orders that he is to be taken alive.’

  ‘Do not leave for your progress to East Anglia without sending for me. I must be with you again before you depart,’ she said.

  ‘You will be.’

  She gazed at him again. ‘Then return to your Great Council, and do what you must.’

  ‘I wish Lincoln had remained true to me, sweetheart, but he has made his choice. I think you will need some moments alone, to compose yourself again, and will forbid anyone to come in. Leave when you are ready. I will send for you as soon as I can.’ He drew her hand to his lips, then thought again and pulled her near to kiss her on the lips. He had drunk wine, and she could taste it. Wine and cloves, a reminder of Christmas.

  Then he had gone, and within moments she heard the uproar as word of Jack’s flight spread through the palace. Her love for her cousin was so immeasurable that it seemed to pull at her from all directions. Jack was York, and first and foremost, he was the man she loved, but it was Richard’s arms she needed around her now.

  ‘You summon me again, sweetheart?’

  He did not speak within her, but was present in the room . . . behind her. She turned, and went to him without a word. His arms folded around her once more, and she was where she belonged. But it was all false.

  ‘You do what you have to, sweetheart,’ he said, his lips moving against her ear, sending erotic shivers over her entire body. ‘You cannot do right by everyone, no matter how you wish it. You love Jack, and you unfailingly do right by him. He could not ask for more, and to him you give all the love you gave to me. Well, almost all of it.’ He smiled.

  ‘But to shield him I must continue to soothe Henry, whom I still do not dislike as I should. I cannot hate the good side of him. And I have lied to him that I love him.’

  He drew back, his hands upon her upper arms as he looked into her eyes. ‘I know everything you think. You do not need to explain to me. Not about Henry, about your husband, or indeed about Jack, who has taken my place. I am still in your heart, I know it, as I know I will always be there. I ask no more of you. Wish no more of you.’

  He took her face in his hands. ‘Face the facts about Henry Tudor. He adores you, and is filled with joy that you love him at last, but he is still constantly filled with mistrust and suspicion, always watching for you to make an error that will finally prove he has been a fool with you. That is the truth, sweetheart. Part of him wants to be proved a fool, because that will pacify his insecurity. After that he will feel justified in never trusting again, and never placing himself in the arms of so much emotion and happiness that he is frightened by it. His constant suspicions comfort him. He knows how to deal with suspicion, but not love. Do you understand? So never, ever be taken in by his charm and smiles. I am telling you this, but it is only what you know—fear—in your deepest heart.’

  ‘I wish so much that you still lived, Richard.’

  ‘But I do not. I am dead, utterly, completely and irredeemably. I am your past, and you have three other men now. A king you must fear, a husband you will always honour, and a cousin for whom you feel so much love that it dominates you. That is your life now, and I have no place in it. Jack is my successor in every way, sweeting, and you know it.’

  ‘Kiss me again, Richard,’ she begged and closed her eyes as his lips claimed hers. She held him tightly, afraid that he would go from her again.

  The door opened, and he was suddenly not there anymore. She turned to see Jon entering. ‘I came to be sure you are well, Cicely. Henry said you were not to

 
be disturbed, but I need to be sure nothing is wrong.’

  She smiled. ‘I am well, Jon, very well indeed. I have been with my king.’

  ‘I think I do not need to ask which one.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  A few days after Jack’s escape, Jon was instructed to take up his duties as Constable of Bolingbroke castle, which lay north of Boston in Lincolnshire. Its position made it essential to the defence of the east coast, Lincolnshire being considered almost as likely a place for invasion as East Anglia. Jon’s responsibility was to strengthen the defences and rally as many men as he could to the royal standards. Cicely knew the invasion would not come from the east, but she did not say anything, not even to Jon.

  Bolingbroke was also only about ten miles north-west of Friskney, which remained Jack’s until the moment he landed back in England at the head of a force intended to topple Henry from the throne. From then on he would be a traitor, all his lands would be confiscated by the crown, and he would be attainted. Only victory in battle would save him after that. Which could also be said of Henry.

  Jon departed for the north on his own, because Henry would not permit Cicely to leave the capital until he himself had set out on his progress into East Anglia. Such a progress necessarily took longer to arrange, it being required to make a pageant of the sovereign’s appearance to his people. He would leave on 20 March, the Feast of St Cuthbert, the northern saint so favoured by Richard. It was also her eighteenth birthday.

  Cicely had not seen a great deal of Bess in recent weeks, but they managed to see each other when Jon had departed. The first thing Bess said was, ‘Do not mention Mother. I will not speak of her.’

  ‘I . . . was not going to.’

  Bess paced angrily up and down. ‘I have had Henry lecturing me about her, interrogating me, as if I know what she has been doing. I do not care what she has been doing, Cissy. I loathe her.’

  ‘Please sit down, Bess, you are in such a state that it has made you look quite unwell.’

  ‘I am not unwell, I am simply with child again.’

  Cicely’s lips parted. ‘Why, that is happy news!’

  ‘Is it? All it proves to me is that Henry‘s prodding around has had the desired effect. I will not be bothered by him again until after the birth, when I have been churched and am again considered ripe for the royal cock!’

  ‘Bess!’

  ‘Oh, he makes me so angry!’

  ‘So I see. I thought at Christmas that things were better between you.’

  ‘They were. In a manner of speaking. But as soon as he realized he had succeeded in his purpose, he stayed away again. I feel like a breeding mare!’

  ‘Bess . . . there is something you probably do not know about Henry.’

  Bess halted. ‘More advice from one who knows him far better than his wife? Well, why not? I really do not care anymore.’

  ‘It has nothing to do with knowing him better, rather that he once said something to me that I have not forgotten. Bess, he will not lie with a woman who is with child. It is because his mother was so small and young when she bore him. It matters to him. He is afraid to do anything that might cause harm.’

  ‘His father was an odious molester of children, forcing himself on a twelve-year-old child,’ Bess replied acidly.

  ‘Well, you will not hear anything bad of Edmund Tudor from Margaret. She loved him then and still does now.’

  ‘Really?’ Bess was startled.

  Cicely nodded. ‘So she tells me.’

  ‘Even she confides in you? You amaze me, Cissy.’

  ‘I amaze myself. Believe me, I do not enjoy being confided in. I’d rather mind my own business and get on with my own problems. Of which I have plenty.’

  ‘Not least being Jack’s disappearance.’

  Cicely nodded.

  ‘I am so sorry, Cissy. You love him very much, do you not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I suppose my husband still summons you? Oh, these men, how they impose themselves upon us.’

  ‘And how we love them.’

  ‘I do not. I cannot abide Henry!’

  ‘Liar,’ Cicely replied softly. ‘You have now glimpsed the pleasant side of him, and it affected you more than you like. When next you see him, ask him to sleep with you. Just that. To sleep and be together.’

  ‘After the loathing and anger that has passed between us, he will think I am mad.’

  ‘I do not think so. But Bess . . . be careful of him.’

  Bess’s blue eyes met hers. ‘Sometimes, just sometimes, that darker side of him excites me.’

  Cicely stared at her.

  ‘Do not look at me like that, for it is true.’

  ‘Then you are certainly not indifferent to him. Persevere, Bess, for I know that in the end you will be happy.’

  ‘Unless Jack de la Pole puts an end to him this coming summer. You see, while part of me is excited by Henry, the other part wants his sly head sliced from his shoulders with his severed cock shoved in his mouth!’

  Cicely began to laugh. ‘Oh, Bess, you really are with child! I have never heard you being so contrary.’

  Cicely spent the night with Henry on the eve of his departure for East Anglia, very secretly, at an ancient manor house a mile from Sheen. There were hardly any servants, and those there were had been paid handsomely for their discretion. Henry arrived cloaked and hooded, and so did she. Thus very few even knew where the King of England was that windswept March night.

  They made love as the gale gusted and whined around the eaves, and the firelight flickered over the otherwise unlit room. The draught sucked down the chimney, and then clouds of sparks fled up into the night as the wind changed.

  Henry fell asleep in her arms. She wanted to sleep as well, but her mind was too busy. She wondered where Jack was, and if he was safe. And whether she would ever see him again.

  The gale continued to bluster, and the firelight gradually faded to a soft glow as she cuddled close to Henry in the bed with its rich wine-red velvet hangings. She had only slept once with Richard. Truly slept. And that had been at the hunting tower near Sheriff Hutton. It had been the last time she had seen him alive. The very last time.

  ‘You cannot sleep?’ Henry asked sleepily.

  ‘I am content to just lie here with you. When you leave in the morning it will be after Easter before I see you again. In Huntingdon,’ she added, for that was where he wished them to meet next. Huntingdon was where his route from East Anglia to the heart of England crossed hers as she rode north to Lincolnshire. She could not leave London until then, he had forbidden it. After that he intended to wait in Coventry for Jack’s invasion, as Richard had waited at Nottingham for Henry himself to invade.

  He turned to pull from her arms and take her in his embrace instead. Then he rested his cheek against her hair. ‘I know you wish to join my uncle, although God knows why, but I have to spend Easter in Norwich and Walsingham, and then go across country by way of Huntingdon. I cannot pass through that place without seeing you. I need you too much.’ He kissed her hair. ‘I hope to be there on the twentieth or twenty-first of April. Somewhere thereabouts. I wish to spend a day or so there, but it will depend on many things. I only know that I will be glad if you are there. Just an hour or so in your arms and I will be restored.’

  She looked away. How often had she wanted to restore Richard? Especially at the hunting tower near Sheriff Hutton, where his weariness, his wretched exposure, his despair, his haunting masculine beauty and appeal had almost destroyed her soul. Just a few minutes with her had lightened his heart so much.

  Henry drew a long breath. ‘It all depends upon when your cousin chooses to make his move. God damn him, I wanted to be at peace with him, not to have this.’

  ‘You killed Richard, and men like Jack will never forgive you for that. When Richard took hearts, he never relinquished them. His influence reaches out still, and I do not doubt it will for many years to come. There was something in him. I do not say this
to anger you, Henry, just to help you to understand what it is that you must battle with. Richard Plantagenet was not an ordinary man, he was extraordinary, with a charm that was akin to magic. I do not exaggerate. And like you, he was not born to be king. And like you, he was capable of being a great king. You still can be if only you will be true to yourself, not to the notion of what you think you have to be. The face you show to the world can be quite horrible.’

  ‘Thank you, you are too kind.’

  She kissed his mouth, dwelling upon the moment because it was pleasurable, and then she looked at him again. ‘Well, it is true. You can be horrible.’

  ‘As you have been at pains to tell me on more than one occasion. Have you no sympathy for my wretchedly crippled nature?’

  ‘None at all.’

  He smiled. ‘So, you will not let me be Poor Little Henry?’

  ‘Well, you can be Bad Little Henry quite convincingly, and Royal Big Henry. Occasionally you manage to be Good Little Henry, but Poor Little Henry . . .’ She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  He chuckled. ‘Well, I fully intend to be Rich Big Royal Henry.’

  ‘Yes, well, the royal purse strings are notoriously hard to undo, and those behemoths are still unable to escape. So, rich you will definitely be.’

  ‘I am not that mean,’ he protested.

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘Then let me prove you wrong.’ He slipped from the bed, his lean body pale, flushed with the moving firelight. He went to his purse, took something from it, and brought it back. ‘Not that you deserve it after being so rude to me,’ he said, taking her hand, pressing a small velvet bag into her palm. ‘For your birthday.’

  She gazed up at him. ‘I did not know you realized.’

  ‘The Feast of St Cuthbert? Yes, I rather think I do. The significance is not lost upon me.’

  She sat up to open the little purse. There was a ring inside, and as she took it out, he caught her hand suddenly. ‘I do not do this for any poisonous reason, sweetheart, I give it to you because I know how much it will mean to you.’

  He released her again and she saw that he had given her Richard’s ruby ring. She gazed at it. How often she had seen Richard toying with it as he listened to conversation . . . or music.