Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘I will do as you wish, Henry.’ She could not be sure what Jon would say. Their last parting had not been exactly warm and loving, and the turquoise ring was in her purse to prove it.

  ‘My wish is to have you as my queen, to take you away from all other men, living and dead, to cherish you as my own. I cannot have that wish, but I can make love to you again, now.’ He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

  Henry rode away from Friskney at barely daybreak, intending to return to the city of Lincoln as swiftly as he could. He took his public leave of Cicely with every formality, except in his eyes and the way he squeezed her fingers. As another king had once done, in another courtyard.

  When he and his riders had gone, disappearing into a low morning mist, she ordered the red rose to be removed from the tower. The sky was almost grey, but not quite, and the dawn chorus of birds was shrill across the countryside.

  Barely half an hour later, Daniel and Rob brought Jack into the courtyard. He was weak and had lost more blood from his shoulder. His complexion was almost white, and he looked strange without his long hair, but his smile was still the same as he saw Cicely coming down the steps to greet him. ‘Well met, Coz,’ he murmured as he was lifted down from his horse.

  She hugged him as best she could without hurting him. ‘You are safe now, sweetheart,’ she said, kissing his sweat-dampened cheek.

  ‘You have had royal company?’ He met her eyes. ‘I trust I served my purpose?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, Coz, I thought of you all the time.’ But it was not entirely true, because there had been a point when it was only Henry she held.

  ‘How did you know Henry would come here?’

  ‘I did not, I only knew something was wrong. I cannot explain it.’

  ‘Do not try, for your instinct was timely.’ He drew a long breath. ‘I trust there is a good bed here?’

  She turned to Mary, who waited at the top of the steps. ‘Please tell Mistress Kymbe that a gentleman requires her attentions.’ She deliberately did not use Jack’s name or title, for the fewer who knew who he was the better, and he did look different without his long curls. ‘And see that he is taken to a suitable room,’ she added.

  The maid was uncertain. ‘The one that you and the king—?’

  Jack gave a wry smile. ‘Any bed will do.’

  Mary hurried away to find her aunt, and Daniel and Rob helped Jack into the house. He knew very little as he was carried upstairs to the first room they came to. Maids were already laying the bed with fresh laundry, and within moments the two men had placed Jack carefully on the mattress. He was barely conscious now, and more blood, thick and dark, oozed from his shoulder and forehead. His head lolled sideways.

  Mistress Kymbe hastened in with her caskets of medicines, balms and herbs, and waved Daniel and Rob away. ‘Get to your duties, whatever they may be.’

  Cicely detained them a moment. ‘I am in your debt, both of you. Thank you.’

  Daniel smiled. ‘We will do it again, should you require us. Lord Lincoln may not be of Lancaster, but he is a gallant and good lord.’

  Rob nodded. ‘Aye, and he would have been a better king than the bastard we have now.’

  Daniel nudged him. ‘We have committed treason enough already, without your great mouth adding to it. Come on.’ He shoved his friend out.

  Mistress Kymbe began to examine Jack, and then looked at Cicely and Mary. ‘I think you two should go now, for I must cut his clothes away.’

  Mary went out without a word, but Cicely stayed. ‘I have seen all there is to see of my cousin, Mistress Kymbe, as I think you know. It will be better for him if we both attend to his clothes.’

  ‘You have power over men, my lady.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  The old lady studied her face. ‘And it is to protect Lord Lincoln and Sir Jon that you lie with the king.’

  ‘Is there anything of which you are not aware, Mistress Kymbe?’

  ‘Oh, a great deal, but I feel close to you. Close enough to sense things. Very well, my lady, take this knife and begin to cut away these quilted undergarments, but carefully, or you may cut away the source of a great deal of gratification.’

  Soon Jack lay naked, the amethyst ring his only adornment. The stone gleamed purple against his pale finger. The old lady looked down at him approvingly. ‘Good heavens, what a very comely fellow. I ceased to be a maid a very long time ago, and with such a man as this. Dashing, handsome, winning, and more able to make love than was decent. A nobleman, too. Oh, yes, I know a little more of life than you have realized, Lady Welles.’ She smiled mischievously and patted Jack’s genitals. ‘This part of him will certainly give women much pleasure again, you mark my words.’

  ‘I certainly hope it pleasures me.’

  ‘Oh, it will. It will. Now then, dip that towel in the bowl of water over there and wash him carefully, while I prepare the best salve I know for his wounds. He will soon be well again and able to cross the sea to Burgundy, my dear, so do not fret for him. Yes, I know that, too. Little passes me by.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  That night Cicely remained with Jack, sitting beside the bed, trying to read, but not succeeding. She thought he was still asleep, until he spoke suddenly.

  ‘Are you about to read me a story for bedtime, Coz?’

  She smiled. ‘So, you are back with me again, my lord.’

  ‘So it would seem, and feeling better than I did, although I stink of some vile herb or other. What is it?’

  ‘It is not an “it” but a “them”. Mistress Kymbe has mixed a salve that has been applied to your shoulder and forehead, and then bandaged.’

  ‘So, no thyme?’

  ‘Maybe, there were so many leaves that she pounded with a pestle. All I saw then was a smooth green cream.’

  ‘Delight upon delight.’ He gazed at her, and then took her hand. ‘Did Henry treat you civilly?’

  ‘Yes. More than civilly. But he strongly suspects you are still alive.’ She told him everything Henry had said. Well, almost everything, for she did not disclose any of the very private things he had told her, of his feelings and how he viewed his situation. Having lain with him again, been drawn into his spell again, she could not betray such things. Even to Jack. Perhaps especially to Jack.

  ‘Was this before or after you let him make love to

  you again?’

  Her lips parted and she looked away.

  He smiled and put a finger to her cheek. ‘It does not matter, sweetheart. Ignore me. I confess to jealousy. How could I not?’

  ‘I have always been able to make love to him, no, with him.’

  He nodded. ‘I know.’ He glanced at Richard’s ruby, and then removed the amethyst. ‘Your hand, sweetheart.’ When she did not extend it to him, he took it anyway, and slipped the amethyst on her middle finger, but it was still too big. ‘There, now you do have it, but for pity’s sake, do not wear it anywhere near Henry.’

  ‘Oh, Jack . . .’

  ‘See how beset by generous lovers you are? You have Richard’s ruby and my amethyst, soon you are bound to have Sir Jon’s splendid turquoise, and Henry will give you that emerald I know you covet.’

  She bit her lip, and then took the turquoise from her purse. ‘It was my father’s, and I gave it to Jon, but he has returned it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he finds it too hurtful that I love you so much.’

  Jack gazed at her. ‘Oh, sweetheart . . .’

  ‘I can understand it. He is a proud man, and I do wrong by him.’

  ‘So do I, and yet he helped me at great risk to himself. I am so sorry, sweetheart. I did try to make him understand . . . about you.’

  ‘He does understand, he just cannot accept everything. It is not your fault, but mine. I should be faithful to him now, but I love you. And I have permitted Henry to lure me into his arms again.’

  ‘But you love Jon too,’ Jack reminded her.

  ‘Not as much as
you, and he knows it. He has always known it, first with Richard. He deserves better.’

  ‘You cannot help it if you wreak havoc with male genitalia. We men should pray and brandish our rosaries instead of brandishing our knobs.’

  She smiled. ‘And how strong is your knob right now, Lord Lincoln? Strong enough to enjoy assault by kisses?’

  ‘It heard you, sweetheart. See how excited and eager it suddenly is.’

  ‘Indeed. Totally irresistible,’ she whispered, moving closer to caress him and make love with her lips. All he had to do was lie there, and be satisfied as only with her.

  She was soon weak with the joy of it. Mistress Kymbe had been right. This part of Jack de la Pole was pleasuring her again, and it took her to the same paradise that she took him.

  Late that night, as the racing clouds fled to make way for clear skies and a good moon, and all was quiet, Cicely slept in the bed she had shared with Jon that one night before he and Tom Kymbe left to raise men for Henry. A sudden clatter awakened her, and she sat up with a start. Something had fallen, or been knocked over!

  She sat up in alarm, listening as she had the night before, but this time heard nothing else. There were no little baby sounds to suggest Leo had wandered out again. But then . . . was that struggling and footsteps? Slowly and nervously she got out of the bed to put on her night robe, and then listened again at the door. There was a scuffling sound, from further away now. Towards the stairs.

  She opened the door and looked out. Leo’s door was closed, so it was not him. But Jack’s door was wide open! She hastened to it and halted in the entrance. The bedclothes had been dragged to the floor, a small table had been toppled against the wall near the bed . . . but of Jack there was no sign at all. The pillows were askew as well. He had not simply got out bed, he had been dragged from it!

  ‘Jack? Jack?’ She cast around. There was silence now, until she heard the clatter of horses in the courtyard. Swift horses, being urged towards the gatehouse. She ran to the window and was in time to see four cloaked, muffled horsemen riding swiftly away from the house. One of them had something slung over the horse before him. It was pale and looked like a naked man. Jack!

  As they galloped away to the west, along the same road Henry had taken, she dashed out into the passage and raised the alarm. ‘Help, someone! Help!’

  The whole house was disturbed by her screams, and both Daniel and Rob came running. They were fully dressed, having fallen asleep while sharing some relaxing ale in the kitchens. Daniel seized Cicely’s arms to calm her. ‘What is it, my lady?’

  ‘They have taken Lord Lincoln!’ She gestured towards the open door, and the two men went to investigate. ‘I heard something fall,’ she explained, and then told them what she had witnessed.

  Daniel turned and ran down through the house, followed by Rob, and they roused every man they could. But no one admitted to having seen or heard anything. Then it emerged that the night guards had all been knocked unconscious or tied and gagged, although someone had to have opened the gates to the bridge, because the horsemen had entered the courtyard and been able to slip into the house undetected.

  Daniel and Rob took parties of armed riders to try to follow the trail, but the culprits were long gone. Who had they been? They must have known the identity of their victim, and yet who could possibly have known that the Earl of Lincoln was in hiding, not only in Friskney, but in the Kymbe house?

  Cicely waited anxiously in the solar for the search party to return. Mistress Kymbe and Mary were with her. At last, long after sun-up, the horsemen returned and Daniel came up to speak to Cicely.

  Mistress Kymbe poured him some wine, which he accepted gladly. ‘There is no trace of them, Lady Welles, and no one around about seems to have seen anything. Except one man who did not want to say anything because he had been poaching. In the end he said he kept out of sight when four horsemen halted in a clearing in the marsh wood, near the small decoy. They had a naked man with them, young, dark haired and bandaged, but bleeding from the forehead and shoulder. It had to be Lord Lincoln. He was conscious—just—and his hands and feet were tied. They had stuffed something into his mouth to keep him quiet. They forced some clothes on to him and then flung him back over the horse. They rode on again, directly to the west.’

  Cicely bit her lip. Oh, Jack, what do they mean to do with you?

  Daniel could not offer comfort. ‘There is nothing more we can do, my lady. We cannot even raise an alarm, because to do so will mean risking his identification, and the fact that he received succour here. He is surely the man, proof of whose death, the king wants most in all the land.’

  Henry? ‘Do you think the king might have ordered his abduction?’ she asked.

  Daniel spread his hands. ‘How can I say? As far as we knew, no one was aware of Lord Lincoln’s presence. Well, there are those here who know, of course, but they would never betray anything.’

  ‘But someone inside admitted those four men,’ Cicely pointed out.

  He nodded. ‘I know, my lady, and if I discover who it was, he or she will not be long for this world.’

  ‘But it might yet be the king’s work?’

  ‘He has reason enough to want to be rid of your cousin, my lady, both as a Yorkist prince, a rebel, and as someone close to you.’

  ‘The king wanted my cousin alive to question him,

  and . . .’ She stopped, because if Henry was indeed behind this, then he had Jack alive after all, and in spite of all his promises, the spectre of John of Gloucester rose before her. ‘I cannot bear to think of what might happen to my cousin if the king has him. I truly cannot.’

  Daniel made so bold as to touch her shoulder. ‘You need Sir Jon, my lady. Rob and I can take you to him in London, if that is your pleasure.’

  ‘You would do that?’ Whether or not there was another rift in her marriage, it was Jon she needed now.

  ‘Of course, and it is what he would wish, I am sure. You should not stay here now. There is nothing you can do anyway. If there is any news of Lord Lincoln, it will be sent to you, but—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do not hope too much, my lady. Remember, as far as the world is concerned, he is a dead man already, buried at Stoke Field.’

  Tears welled from her eyes, and Mary rounded on him. ‘Have you no tact, Daniel Green? Can you not see how upset my lady is?’

  ‘But it has to be said. I saw him the night before the battle and during the battle. He was brave, gracious, natural, knew how to give heart and lighten spirits, and he was a fine military commander. If he had not been believed to have been killed, I am not at all sure we would still have King Henry. And that could also have been said of Good King Richard, whom the Lancastrian in me would not have been ashamed to serve.’

  Cicely got up shakily from her chair. ‘Forgive me, but I must be alone.’ Her voice was choked as she caught her skirts to hurry to her room.

  It was time to leave with Daniel and Rob, and a dozen other horsemen, to see Lady Welles safely to Pasmer’s Place. The horses were waiting in the yard, and Mary was ready too, standing outside to say farewell to her aunt.

  Cicely had just had a final long play and cuddle with Leo, and found it very difficult. She loved her little boy, and parting from him again was a hard thing to do. If only she could be his mother openly, but any suggestion of such a thing would endanger him, and he had to be put first. And so she kissed him goodbye, and then gave him back to the maid who looked after him in the mornings.

  To go down to the courtyard Cicely had to pass the room where she had slept with Henry, and then the room where Jack had been. The door of the latter still stood ajar, and she paused to look inside. It had yet to be tidied, and the bedding remained scattered on the floor. She went to take one of the pillows and hide her face in it. She inhaled the mixture of herbs from Mistress Kymbe’s salve, but not thyme. Suddenly she feared so much that she really had seen Jack de la Pole for the last time that she hugged the pillow tightly, as if it wer
e Jack himself.

  Richard’s voice was sharp behind her. ‘Do not wallow, Cicely!’

  She whirled about. He stood at the foot of the bed, and his grey eyes were disapproving.

  ‘Richard?’ Confusion drove everything else away.

  ‘You are wallowing in self-pity, and I will not have it!’

  ‘Wallowing? I am not!’ She began to find her tongue.

  He came around the bed to her. ‘Yes, sweetheart, you are. You think of all that you have lost and you let yourself sorrow for it. By all means be sorrowing, but for Jesu’s sake do not let it rob you of your wits! You have consigned Jack to the grave, yet you have no real reason to believe he is dead.’

  ‘No real reason?’ Her eyes began to flash as brightly as his.

  ‘You know he is not dead. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘How do I know that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Because I do, and I am you.’

  She gazed at him. ‘I do not know it,’ she answered.

  ‘Where is your common sense? Well? You summon me, albeit unknowingly, because you need me to point out the obvious. If Jack was abducted, it was because someone wanted him alive. If they wanted him dead, they would have killed him here, in this bed. Why go to the trouble of carrying him off? Why risk being seen, or even apprehended? A few sharp stabs as he slept, there would be no sound, and they would have been able to leave as silently as they came.’

  Her lips parted. It was obvious. ‘They may mean to torture him. Henry would take him and torture him, to learn who else might have been involved in the rebellion.’

  ‘Do you believe Henry is behind it?’

  ‘I . . . do not know.’

  ‘He has to be a suspect, sweetheart, but there may be others, of whom you know nothing, men with as much reason as Henry to interrogate Jack de la Pole. Did Jack say anything to you? Hint at anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are sure?’ He put his hand to her cheek, and spoke more gently. ‘You need me now to help you assemble your thoughts. This kidnapping has shaken you and your thoughts are everywhere at once. Jack is not yet dead, of that I am sure, although he probably is in danger.’ He searched her eyes. ‘You do not believe it is Henry, do you? Not deep in your heart.’