Cicely's Sovereign Secret

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  He was silent again, before meeting her eyes. ‘I now have your secret in my palm, and with it a power over you that can ensure you remain in that palm forever more. You will do anything to shield your little boy.’

  She gazed at him, her heart contracting. Had he fooled her after all? Was this nothing more than one of his cruel tricks?

  ‘Oh, what I see in your eyes now, my love. The fear and uncertainty, the dismay.’ He came to her again, and tilted her chin so she could not look away from him. ‘I asked for your trust today, cariad, and you have given it. It is not misplaced, truly. You see, I think the balance between us should be even, not weighted towards me. You should know things that will place me in your palm.’ His lips touched hers, like a leaf in autumn, and then he drew away again.

  What was he about to say? She could hear her heart pounding. Could he hear it too?

  ‘My mind is made up on this, Cicely, and it may be that when you know it all, you will judge me and find me sadly lacking. Perhaps my confession will mean it is soon ended between us forever.’

  ‘Which in turn will mean Leo falls into the utmost peril,’ she said. ‘So do not tell me anything, Henry. I do not want to know, whatever it is. Please. Leave me in ignorance, because you may wish you had kept it from me. Do not make me a danger to you.’ She was suddenly too afraid of the secret; afraid for those she loved.

  ‘I want you to have as much reason to hold your tongue as I will have to hold mine. Besides, you have been a blessed danger to me since I first saw you at Lambeth, and will be a danger to me until the day I die. I realize the risk I will be taking, but still I take it. I have to. You thought you were the one with matters to hide, but I have them too.’ His eyes were steady. And warm. ‘I need you as I need to breathe, Cicely.’

  The words, and the way he uttered them, demolished her guard, and she went to him. To Harri. His lips trapped hers in a kiss that was fresh and sweet, but too vigorous to be honeyed. But she retained the knowledge that she had to bind him to her.

  ‘Make love to me now, Henry, before these things are said. And afterwards I want to rest against you, body to body, your lips close enough to be kissed again and again. Then tell me what you must. Please.’ The last word was barely audible.

  ‘It may be better that we postpone such a union, cariad.’ His eyes were closed as her lips continued to move gently over his neck. His arms were around her, one hand enclosing the nape of her neck, his thumb caressing into her hair.

  ‘No. Now.’ She turned slowly away from him, holding her hair aside for him to unhook her bodice, and she closed her eyes as he kissed her shoulder. He was swift, for he had unfastened this gown many times. When she was utterly naked, she turned to face him again. His gaze, level and loving, moved over her body.

  ‘We have been apart for some weeks, cariad, so I may not be able to take my time.’ He removed the belt that rested on his hips.

  ‘I do not need time, Henry, only to be joined to you again.’ She eased his doublet away, and lifted his costly but delicate shirt over his head, before putting her hands flat upon the soft hairs of his chest. Then she kissed the place where his heartbeats could be felt.

  He removed his footwear and hose and then gathered her closer; she relinquished herself to him, completely, without question. He was her sister’s husband and her husband’s half-nephew, a threat to all she held dear, but Henry Tudor was good to be with like this, and she, the daughter of Edward IV, niece and lover of Richard III, and beloved of Jack de la Pole, could not stop what was within her.

  They lay together beneath the coverlets, and gave themselves up anew to the spell that had always compelled them. As they kissed, and the old longing and need swam deep within her, guilty tears stung her eyes. She knew that these moments would remain with her forever. If he was finally betrayed and destroyed, would she be able to live with herself? Would she? Would she?

  Their kisses filled with more desire and passion, until at last she was beneath him, and he pushed into her. She heard the almost exquisite satisfaction in his sigh. Once—so long ago now—she had believed she would only be able to make love with Henry if she thought of Richard; she had expected to think of Jack now, but she could not. It was Harri with whom she lay, and with whom she shared every pulse and spasm of his release.

  When he could not love her any more, he sank down into her arms, and they lay together, warm, damp and close, still sharing lingering ripples of gratification. He linked her fingers tightly, and hid his face in her hair, but did not stretch her arms above her head. The omission of the fond gesture robbed her of a little confidence, because it took her back to those devastating moments at Westminster, when she realized he was going to end everything between them. She was not only betraying Jack, but Henry himself. Jack—of all men—would understand, because he shared her blood and House, but Henry never would. Nor was there any reason why he should.

  He lay over on his back suddenly, breaking all contact. ‘Cariad, it crucifies me not to have told you what I have been at such pains to hide from everyone else. I must tell you about—’

  ‘No!’ she interrupted urgently, in a last-minute bid to stop the spiral into which she was plunging. She wanted to do as Jack bade her, but she simply did not have enough loathing for Henry. And this, even though he may well have tortured Jack. She could take her pick from the versions of what had happened at Knole. Both were plausible. Now, the lovemaking she had shared with this man was too tender and rewarding for hatred to cling on.

  He left the bed and went to pour some wine, but although he picked up the jug, he put it down again without pouring anything at all. ‘It does not concern your son, cariad, but mine. Roland.’

  She drew the bed coverlet around herself and sat up unhappily. ‘But you have already told me he is your son.’

  ‘This father has feet of clay. You have probably always thought it, but not even you could guess from what quagmire that clay came.’

  ‘Quagmire?’

  ‘I am two-faced, duplicitous, false, cheating, dishonest, call it what you will. All these words apply to me. If it had all been known when I invaded England, I would never have had Yorkist support, and Richard would still be king. You have always called me a usurper, and so I am. Treason drips from my fingers.’

  She stared at him. ‘What are you saying, Henry?’

  ‘I once asked you to swear on Richard’s honour. I must ask the same of you now. Please, my love, swear it.’

  Cicely hesitated. ‘But you say he would still be alive and still King of England if this terrible secret were known, so how can I possibly swear upon his honour?’

  ‘Please, if the way we make love together means as much to you as it does to me, grant me this indulgence.’

  ‘I am reluctant to make this vow, because I do not think Richard would wish it.’ Her throat tightened. ‘But … I swear on Richard’s honour.’ Forgive me.

  Henry returned to the bed and slipped in beside her again, to draw her down into his arms and kiss her so sweetly that she could have melted of it.

  ‘Cariad, I am not your king now, but your bondman. I belong only to you.’

  Sweet God above, what was this terrible secret? Her voice shook. ‘What can there be about Roland that weighs so heavily? He was born before you married my sister, so what prevents you from accepting him? Most kings acknowledge their bastards, unless they have been born after the royal marriage.’

  ‘What reason do you imagine there could be for my silence about him, cariad? Mm? What was the one thing your father had to conceal at all costs? The thing that gave Richard the throne?’ His voice was a whisper.

  She was stricken with disbelief, and drew her hand away. ‘No!’

  ‘But yes,’ Henry replied quietly. ‘When I married your sister, I already had a wife and son in Brittany. Now do you understand the consequence of what I wish to confess to you?’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cicely was utterly appalled. ‘You … you married Bess bigamously? P
rince Arthur is illegitimate?’ She pulled away from Henry and had to leave the bed as she struggled to absorb what he had said. The room felt suddenly cold, in spite of the fire in the hearth, and she shivered because she was without clothes.

  ‘The answer is yes to both questions,’ he said.

  The implication was so enormous that she could hardly breathe. How glad she was that Jack and Tal had not told her, because her reaction now was only too genuine!

  ‘Have you nothing more to say, cariad?’ Henry asked.

  ‘Why did you do it, Henry?’ She searched his eyes, which were so dark with guilt and anxiety.

  ‘Because I could get away with it.’

  Anger grazed her. ‘And that is your answer? Glibness, without repentance? Without conscience?’

  ‘Sweet Jesu, Cicely, I am nothing but conscience!’ he cried. ‘I am eaten up with it. I wish to God I had stayed in Brittany. No, I lie, for what I really wish is that I had made terms with Richard. If York and Lancaster were to be reunited, I would have been glad to marry whomever he chose. I wanted a peaceful existence, after spending so long being hunted. Instead, I kept my shabby secret, made grand promises to marry Bess, and swept to glory on the back of Yorkist support that would never have been mine if the truth were known. Nor would I have had much Lancastrian support either. So I have guarded the sordid truth.’

  ‘Oh, Henry …’

  ‘Cariad, if my marriage had been known, I would have been crushed like the insect I really am, and Richard would still be king. Still your lover. And if my secret is learned now … I will not long be on the throne, and not long for this world either.’ He gazed at her. ‘You see before you King Henry VII of England, but if you stretch your hand out to touch me, you will feel no substance. I am a trick of the light.’

  ‘You did not need to tell me this, Henry!’ she cried. ‘You could have kept your secret and taken it to your grave.’

  ‘No, for it is no longer safe anyway.’

  ‘Who else knows?’ She already knew of at least two.

  ‘Jack de la Pole knew, I imagine. He had somehow caught wind of it. God alone knows how. His accomplice at Knole will also have known, for one. Who else he may have told I do not know, but it is impossible to believe he acted alone.’

  Yes, Jack and Tal are fully aware of the truth, and intend to use it to bring you down. ‘If Jack knew, he did not tell me,’ she replied. It was the truth.

  ‘Oh, I can tell that you knew nothing until just now.’ Henry smiled ruefully. ‘My Breton wife knew, of course, but she had urgent reasons of her own to remain silent.’

  ‘She has not wished to take her place beside you, as Queen of England?’ Cicely was curious, and noticed that he spoke in the past tense.

  He shook his head. ‘Definitely not, because she too had married bigamously after me, and wished to remain so.’

  She was shocked again. ‘Double bigamy?’

  ‘I offer no excuse for what I have done, Cicely. I know it was wrong, and I cannot defend myself. Come back to the bed, cariad, for you are too cold.’ He extended his hand, but was uncertain and hesitant. A very different Henry Tudor; different even from Harri Tudur.

  She went to him, for his appeal was relentless, and he pulled her down into the shelter of the coverlet. Then he lay back with her in his arms.

  ‘Tell me everything, Henry. From the beginning.’

  The fire shifted and crackled, and flame shadows played over the room. The wind buffeted outside, but in the bed, together, it was warm. He cleared his throat, to quell the urge to cough, and then rested his cheek to her hair before continuing. ‘I was fourteen and a half and, after your father’s victory at Tewkesbury, deemed the only remaining Lancastrian heir. I was sent to safety in France in the charge of my uncle Jasper, but we were driven ashore in a storm off Le Conquet in Brittany. Duke Francis wanted bargaining power with your father and France, so he offered me protection. I remained in his charge for the next fourteen years.’

  He paused thoughtfully. ‘In England I was merely Henry Tudor, a hunted, untitled, landless Lancastrian, but in Brittany and France I was the Earl of Richmond, with a claim to the English throne. I was well treated, but separated from Jasper and sent to l’Argöet, where there is a tall octagonal tower known as the Tour d’Elven. I was housed at the very top, the sixth floor, so that escape was impossible. L’Argöet’s lord is Jean IV de Rieux, Marshal of Brittany and commander of the Breton army, and therefore not a minor noble. He treated me with honour and consideration.’ Henry laughed dryly. ‘Not that I was to return the courtesy.’

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I lived mostly in the tower, but was often with the family in the château, and that was how I met Jean’s youngest sister, Tiphaine, who, like me, had been born seven months after the death of her father. I was about seventeen by then, she was fifteen and in Jean’s care. She seemed older than merely fifteen, and was very flirtatious, but sweet-natured and kind. She was also very beautiful, blonde, with blue eyes, and a penchant for yellow. It was her favourite colour and she wore it almost all the time.’ He paused. ‘But that is not why I complimented you on your daffodil gown. Please do not think it.’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘Tiphaine de Rieux would have attracted a good match, which I most definitely was not. On top of which, I was an ugly, gangling youth with divergent eyes and the charm of a grasshopper.’ He smiled.

  ‘But you both fell in love?’

  ‘I thought so. I could not believe she favoured me at all, but she was not the innocent she seemed, not that I would have cared even had I known. I was besotted. If I had been all I should have been to Tiphaine, I would never even have thought of invading England.’

  ‘You said that you feared my opinion of you would be ruined once I knew the truth. I have not yet heard anything that would do that.’

  ‘Oh, cariad, I would have thought your opinion well and truly set already, because you know now that my crime against Richard was far worse than you realized.’

  ‘Does Jolly Jasper know about Tiphaine?’

  ‘Dear God, no! He would have split a gut if he had found out that I had been tampering with the Marshal of Brittany’s little sister! You are the only one in whom I ever intend to actually confide everything. Whatever stories may circulate because of those damned Yorkists at Knole, you alone will have heard it all from me. You will know, because I will not spare myself.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I am painfully honest now, cariad. When I had lain with her, believing myself her first lover, honour demanded that I marry her. I regarded it as my duty. And I wanted to anyway. Young passion can be so blind, can it not? We both feared her brother, so we were wed at a clandestine ceremony, by the local priest. It was a true marriage, there is no doubt of that. She became my Countess of Richmond, although only we knew. If de Rieux had found out, I soon would not have had any cock to dibble with. Looking back, Tiphaine and I actually had no idea at all which path to take after that. We were married, but what next? I am amazed we were so hot-headed, particularly me, for it was out of character. Although …’

  ‘Although?’

  ‘I have since been even more hot-headed over you, cariad. Hot-headed, hot-blooded, and hot everything else. When my heart and desire is engaged, I am not in the least the calm and collected man everyone believes me to be.’ He smiled apologetically, and then continued about Tiphaine. ‘We saw ourselves as Tristan and Yseult, and this Tristan was completely driven by his new-found dick!’

  Cicely gave him a look. ‘You had not discovered it before?’

  ‘Only in solitude.’ He held her closer, and kissed her forehead. ‘I am sorry for everything, cariad,’ he whispered. ‘You have no idea how sorry.’

  ‘Tell me more, Henry.’

  ‘Well, Duke Francis decided to have me removed from l’Argöet and returned to live with Jasper, whom I had not seen in some time, and who was not apprised of anything I had been up to. Being at a distance from Tiphaine meant that my in
fatuation—for that was all it was—began to dwindle almost immediately. There were other girls, and women, and I was swiftly in other beds, learning more and more about the fair sex. And the art of making love.’

  He fell silent for a moment, remembering, and then continued. ‘Barely a month after leaving l’Argöet, Tiphaine wrote that her brother had received an important offer of marriage for her and was forcing her to accept. The prospective bridegroom was Briand du Coskäer, whom I now know to be a ferocious, unpleasant man, all dark passion and no sense. I did not know his true character until it was too late. He is lord of this and that. I have forgotten how many titles he has. Certainly he was not a mediocre match in that respect. He wanted the marriage to take place quickly, because he was in urgent need of an heir. His first wife gave him none and had taken an unconscionable time to die. So selfish. And he such a caring fellow. De Rieux was forcing Tiphaine to accept. She wrote to me in desperation, begging me to claim her.’

  ‘And you did not?’

  Henry drew a long, heavy breath. ‘I had ceased to be honourable and chivalric, Cicely. There was no hint in her letter that she was with child. Nor did she mention the sort of man Briand du Coskäer was. How honourable I might have been if she had said, I do not know, but my only thought at the time was that she could marry the fellow and need never say anything. It is what I hoped.’ He paused, and then added, ‘I was a shit, and do not attempt to deny it. Is that honest enough for you?’

  ‘You really did not know she carried your child?’

  ‘How doubting you sound. I knew nothing, cariad, I swear. I convinced myself it was best for both of us if we pretended nothing had happened. So I said and did nothing at all. She managed to send another letter after her forced marriage, in which she did tell me of the child she carried, but still did not tell me what a brute du Coskäer had turned out to be. I was implored to forget our union, destroy all evidence of it and not to write to her or attempt to see her. I was more than happy to comply. It seems du Coskäer believed he had impregnated her the moment he showed his cock to the fresh air, and eight months after the marriage, Roland was born a du Coskäer, but in truth is Roland Tudor. My heir.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Do not say it, cariad. Both my sons have apparently been incredibly bonny eight-month babies.’