Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I do not know, it is simply how I feel.’

  ‘Be careful, sweeting, do not allow yourself to be completely lured back into his web. Yes, he loves you, with all his heart, but it is his head that will rule in the end. You now know he is irrational. For Jesu’s sake, tread on eggshells.’

  She gazed at him. ‘I have been so blessed, Richard. First to have you, and now Jack. Two such great men, two such great loves.’

  ‘You are also blessed to have Sir Jon Welles, lady, and do not forget it. My sympathies lie with him, because he loves you so truly and yet never comes first. I know the sorrow of that.’

  ‘I know, and I bear such guilt, but I cannot stop loving you, or turn away from my love for Jack.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘How good it would be to spend a night with you again.’

  She looked at his face, those features that were sculpted upon her memory, and she reached up to take some strands of his hair between her fingers, parting them slowly, as he had once parted hers. ‘Richard, whenever you come to me, and I see and talk to you, you put everything else into perspective.’

  He pulled her into his arms, into the embrace that was totally unlike any other man’s, and he kissed her. There was mint on his breath, and his lips were as dear to her as ever. She closed her eyes and enjoyed him again. He was the personification of first love, the essence of every good feeling and thought, of everything that was right and true. She did not care that theirs had always been, and would always be, forbidden, because it defied the words of the Bible. So much of her still belonged to him, to her uncle, to Richard III, the most captivating and incorruptible king ever to reign over England.

  But there were voices from the yard as the party bound for London prepared to leave Friskney. She could hear Mary hurrying upstairs, calling to her.

  Richard smiled again. ‘Go now, sweetheart, and do not give up hope for Jack. He may yet need you.’

  ‘I love you, Richard.’

  ‘And I love you,’ he replied softly.

  Mary was at the door, and Cicely was alone when the maid entered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There was still tension in the streets of London, although it had now become clear to all that Henry had won the battle and was secure upon his throne. Jon’s ten thousand men had helped to restore calm, and now he awaited further commands from Henry, who was somewhere on his way north towards York.

  No commands came, and Jon had no option but to wait. He happened to be at Pasmer’s Place when Cicely arrived, and he came out into the yard on hearing the horses. His face changed on seeing her. ‘Cicely?’

  She gazed at him, biting her lip to stop even more of the foolish tears that had flowed so freely since Jack’s disappearance.

  ‘What is it? What brings you here?’ Jon asked, hurrying to lift her down from her palfrey, and then holding her tightly as she clung to him, her face hidden against the gold-embroidered bronze cloth of his coat. He looked enquiringly at Daniel.

  ‘By your leave, Sir Jon, we should speak in private.’

  ‘As you wish.’ His arm tight and reassuring around her shoulder, Jon ushered her inside and shouted orders. Then they adjourned to the parlour where they could not be overheard. He made her sit down, and then pressed a small cup of wine into her hand. He poured larger cups for himself and Daniel. ‘What has happened?’ he asked.

  Daniel told all, and Jon’s face changed. ‘Abducted?’

  ‘Yes, Sir Jon. I have told you everything we know. I have no idea who might have been responsible for it, what their ultimate purpose, or whether, indeed, the earl is still alive.’

  Cicely closed her eyes again, gripping her cup in both hands. Now she was no longer with Richard, it was so hard to cling to the hope that Jack still lived.

  ‘And the king was at Friskney? Do you suspect him?’ Jon asked Daniel.

  ‘Well, he came because he knew Lady Welles was there, not, I believe, because he knew Lord Lincoln was there as well.’ Daniel was careful not to meet Jon’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, he knew her whereabouts from me. Damn it, sir, I know all there is to know about my nephew’s dealings with my wife, but clearly seeing her may not have been his sole purpose. You say he doubts Lord Lincoln was killed at Stoke Field?’

  Cicely answered, and held up her hand to show Jack’s amethyst. ‘Henry was suspicious because the dead man was not wearing this ring. He thought I might have it. If I did not, then someone else clearly did, and that someone else might be the real Lord Lincoln.’

  ‘And clearly you do have Lincoln’s ring,’ Jon replied.

  ‘Jack gave it to me after Henry had left Friskney, not any time before then. I will not wear it when I am with Henry.’

  ‘Damn it, you will not wear it at all!’ Jon cried. ‘Has Jack lost his senses?’

  ‘No, Jon, he warned me not to wear it when Henry might see.’

  ‘Well, I do not want to see it either! I reminds me how many horns I wear! Please, sweetheart, put it away somewhere and leave it there. That ring, like Richard’s, cannot be mistaken. The world knows it was Jack’s.’ He paused, and then looked at Daniel again. ‘This whole thing has the feel of the king’s work. It cannot be coincidence that he was there at such a time. As if he knew Lincoln would go there. And I cannot believe he actually chose to do that instead of remain where he should have been after victory in battle. What was he thinking of?’ He turned to Cicely. ‘How was Henry when he departed? Did you notice anything amiss?’

  ‘No. He was all that was natural and courteous, without hint of suspicion or animosity. Yes, he wanted to know about the ring, but he was also very anxious to make amends with me.’

  Jon studied her for a moment and then dismissed Daniel. ‘All is quiet here now, and I have no further need of you. If you wish to stay, by all means do, you are welcome to my hospitality. But if you wish to return to Friskney, you may.’

  ‘By your leave, Sir Jon, I will go home again in the morning.’

  Jon nodded. ‘As you wish. See that your entire party is accommodated and the horses taken care of. There is room enough here.’

  When Daniel had gone, Cicely looked guiltily at her husband. ‘I have always brought you such trouble, Jon, and have never been worth it.’

  ‘Life would be intolerably dull without you, Cicely.’ He smiled.

  She took the turquoise ring from her purse and went to him. ‘Will you wear it again? Please?’

  He held out his hand, and she slipped the ring back where it belonged. Then she hugged him tightly. ‘I do love you, Jon, please do not ever think I do not.’

  ‘I know you do, sweetheart. I was upset, that is all. I find it harder to accept everything than I believed I would. But I am myself again now. I know I will never have all of you, and that you are true in your way.’ He pulled her close for a moment. ‘Take heart now, your scoundrel of a cousin is most likely still alive. You must not give up hope. Whoever took him must want him alive, otherwise they would have put an end to him at Friskney, in his bed. By taking him, they made it clear they have some other purpose.’

  Richard’s words, she thought. No, her own common sense in disguise. ‘If Henry is behind this now, I fear what he will do with Jack. He will torture him for information, and if Jack gives up that information, will Henry make another John of Gloucester of him?’

  ‘I do not think so. You and he have clearly smoothed things, and if he has you back, the last thing he will wish is to do something that is bound to lead to losing you again. Perhaps irredeemably.’

  ‘He will see to it that I do not find out.’

  ‘Please do not see only clouds. We do not know anything for certain, not even that Henry’s finger is in the pie. Come now, tell me how Leo is.’

  ‘Well. Flourishing, in fact. Henry held him in his arms,’ she added. ‘He even commented how like me he is.’

  ‘So, he saw you in the boy, but not Richard?’

  ‘He gave no sign of it, but then
he only ever saw Richard as a demon in armour and then as a blood-soaked corpse, not as the living man.’ She remembered something. ‘Jon, Henry started to tell me that he was used to children, because he was a father twi— Just that, a word beginning T-W-I, and then he broke off. I can only think he meant he had been a father twice. Am I right?’

  Jon drew a long breath. ‘I will tell you, Cicely, but only on your vow never to repeat it.’

  ‘You have my word, but why such secrecy?’

  ‘Henry has an illegitimate son in Brittany. I doubt the boy will be acknowledged openly. Not after all the furore about kings and their bastards that we have endured since 1483.’

  ‘Why is Henry not open about it? He was not married to my sister then. High-ranking men mostly acknowledge their bastards, do they not?’

  ‘Cicely, my half-nephew’s mind twists like woodbine. Who in God’s own name knows what he is thinking? Leave this whole thing alone, or you will find your damned ring returned again. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Jon, it is, but I will say only one thing more. It does not press you for information, it is merely my own conclusion. I think this Breton lady must have meant a great deal to him, Jon. I am sure she is the one who taught him about lovemaking, for he certainly knows a great deal. He learned from someone he loved very much. He told me he had been violent to a woman before me. I think it was this same lady.’

  ‘Conclude as you wish, sweetheart, for I am more concerned with our marriage. Henry wishes us to renew our vows, in front of him, after the queen’s coronation.’

  ‘Do you wish to renew them?’

  He smiled.

  The remaining summer months passed in a haze of dreamy sunshine, but without any word at all of Jack. The unrest and unease of the earlier part of the year had lifted, and Henry’s progress was a great success for him. But in his absence his queen lost the baby boy she had been carrying. It was the result of stumbling while taking a morning stroll with Cicely in the gardens of Westminster Palace, but she had fallen heavily. Her pains began an hour later, and by the evening she had given birth to a stillborn son. Henry did not even hear the news until well over a week after it had happened. Preparations for the coronation continued, because Bess would have recovered by the end of November.

  It was the beginning of that month when Henry returned to his capital, entering in triumph. He was proven as king, but there was no way of knowing it as he rode through the streets. He was magnificent, bejewelled, elegant and regal, but still he did not smile. Cicely watched him ride past, and could not help imagining the difference if it had been Richard or Jack, who knew how to win hearts with smiles.

  Within days of Henry’s return, Jon was ordered north again, to Rockingham, and it was made clear he was not to take his wife with him. His obligations did not allow for protest or disobedience, and the orders were of sufficient import to warrant complete and immediate attention. And so Sir Jon Welles rode out of the capital at the head of a large force, to be certain of subduing any lingering Yorkist support around Rockingham. Uriah had been sent away, and Bathsheba waited to go to King David’s bed.

  The summons came quickly enough. Henry lodged at Westminster, even though his wife and the court were at Sheen, and he received Cicely alone, saying nothing as she sank into a very deep curtsey. She wore primrose silk, and her only jewels were Jon’s wedding band and Richard’s ruby.

  Henry wore black, and no jewels at all, but he smiled, and as he raised her she was amid cloves again.

  Should she mention the lost baby? It would be wrong not to. ‘I . . . am so sorry about your son, Henry.’

  He paused. ‘Such things happen. I have offered words of sympathy.’

  Words were not what Bess needed! ‘Henry, would words suffice if it were me?’

  ‘You know they would not. No more, Cicely, for I will not speak of it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Jesu, lady, do you think I enjoy the loss of my child?’

  She gazed at him. He was truly upset! ‘Forgive me, Henry, I did not wish to cause you pain.’

  ‘Your sister sent word to me in the curtest of terms and made it clear she did not wish to see me. I observed her wishes. That is the truth of it, so do not lecture me. Even a king can be put in his place by his wife.’ He lowered his eyes for a moment. ‘Sweetheart, if you were to lose my child, I would be heartbroken. You once told me that if you carried my baby, you would not go full term. Do you still feel that way?’

  ‘No. I would carry your child and cherish it, Henry. I saw you with Leo Kymbe. I know you love children.’

  He pulled her closer for a moment, to kiss her forehead. ‘Thank you for saying that, sweetheart. It means much to me. Now, however, I think we should talk of your cousin. I know he was at Friskney when you were. I am not such a fool that I did not realize the significance of the red rose banner that suddenly appeared on the tower.’

  She could not speak.

  ‘Do not fear me, sweeting, for I am not about to do as I did at Huntingdon.’

  ‘Why? Surely you have every right. I would have helped him to escape.’

  ‘I forgive your deceit, but that does not mean that I will not hunt him down.’

  ‘You do not have him already?’

  Surprised, he stepped back to look at her. ‘No, I do not have him. I would have told you if I did. But I know he has been abducted. My agents discovered the poacher of whom you must already know, and he repeated to them what he told Daniel Green, which I believe is your fellow’s name? I do not have Lincoln, Cicely, nor has his disappearance anything to do with me. And no, I do not know who does have him.’

  ‘What will you do with me now?’

  ‘Lock you up in the Tower and seal the door until the day of doom.’ He smiled, but then became serious. ‘I will keep this throne by whatever means I need, Cicely, I will cut out anyone who challenges my authority or my crown, and I will found my own dynasty. Make no mistake of it. The white rose will not stand in my way again, for I intend to rid myself of it. All of it. Every York male will suffer at my hands, just as I would suffer at theirs. I would not expect otherwise. If Lincoln had won at Stoke Field, I would not be here speaking to you now. It has all changed now, sweetheart. I have to be harsh, and I will be.’

  He came close again. ‘Hold me, Cicely, for I need you.’

  When she drew him into her arms, she could feel his distress. ‘Henry?’

  ‘I have had enough of conspiracies, plots, rebellions, invasions, Cicely. Enough. I am thirty years old, and I feel as if I am forty-five. My health is so indifferent that I must be careful every winter, and the only time I sleep well is if you are with me, because it is only then that the nightmares are kept at bay.’

  His confidence seemed to have deserted him completely. He was a victorious king, returned to his capital after defeating his greatest enemy and having made a triumphant progress around his kingdom, and yet he seemed as if he were the defeated leader. His mind’s uncertain balance was close, and her distress for him was tinged with unease.

  ‘Henry, if knowing my cousin was at Friskney has caused you this pain, I—’

  ‘I am simply weary, Cicely,’ he broke in, ‘and Richard’s shade is always upon my shoulder. I did not think I would defeat him at Bosworth. I was swept along by idiocy and the ambition of others, and then Richard lost. Can you imagine it? He fucking well lost, and there I was, the new King of England, wondering how in God’s own name I had managed it.’

  ‘You . . . did not think you would win?’

  ‘I expected to suffer as your cousin has. I expected to be the one bundled naked over a horse and carried ignominiously into Leicester. Except, do not say it, Richard would not have inflicted such an indignity on the corpse of a fallen enemy.’

  Cicely did not answer.

  He moved away, ‘And I have been trying to deal with the aftermath ever since. I have no choice now but to cling to my throne. And cling to it I damned well will. It is mine. The wind has been sown, and now
I reap the whirlwind. I must rid myself of the House of York, because until I do, there will always be pretenders.’

  She was shaken by his utter resignation to fate, coupled with the ferocity with which he would cling to what he had taken. The paradox within was killing him, as slowly and inexorably as his health already did. He would never be an old man.

  ‘This is what I am. Cicely. This is what has cowered within me since Bosworth. Mostly I am able to hide it, and I appear cold, hard, in control, relentless, devoid of feeling, call it what you will. But I cannot hide from you any longer. Here I am, in all my ignominy. A frightened man who has no choice but to rule.’

  She went to him and held him as tightly as she could. He was so unutterably vulnerable and in need of her that he tore her heart. Henry Tudor intended to annihilate her House, and yet she could still hold him close.

  His arms went around her, and there was a truly haunting tenderness in the way he kissed her, a sense that he feared she would suddenly disappear and he would find it all to have been only smoke amid the shadows.

  They swayed together again, as if to the faint music of minstrels, somewhere in a distant part of the palace.

  It was snowing as Lord and Lady Welles—Jon having been elevated to the rank of viscount—took their vows again in the upper chapel of St Stephen’s Chapel at Westminster Palace. The upper chapel, crowded today for the wedding, was only used by the royal family, and could only be reached from the royal apartments. It was richly adorned, with an azure-blue ceiling that was liberally scattered with gold stars.

  Cicely wore dark green velvet, with a golden gauze headdress, and Jon wore a charcoal doublet and grey hose. They held hands as they repeated the words that had already united them once before, but now they had royal consent. Henry was present, and so was Bess, now truly the Queen of England. Margaret was there too, smiling benevolently. Cicely was in her favour again, as if nothing had ever happened.