Cicely's Second King

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘You will always come to me and be with me, Cicely.’ He gave a hint of a smile. ‘Oh, that haughty, challenging look, that pride and defiance. Confronting your uncle at Bosworth was nothing compared to confronting you on a bed. You stir my blood so very much. So go, my lady, before I decide I must have you again, right now.’

  As she went to the door, he spoke again, softly. ‘Thank you, Cicely.’

  She turned to study him, and saw sincerity in his gaze. ‘Perhaps I should thank you too,’ she answered.

  ‘Perhaps. I want you to know that was one of the two most exquisite experiences of my life.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘Gaining the crown at Bosworth. But I will not tell you which matters most.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bess had sent a message that she wished to walk with her sister in the palace garden, and so Cicely waited by the wall, where the river lapped the stonework. It was a week since she had lain with Henry, and she had not heard anything from him since. She had not even seen him. Jon was still detained in Winchester, and there was no freedom for her here. She could not even ride out, because Henry ordered that the queen’s sister had to have an escort of a dozen men-at-arms, with all the trappings of her royal position.

  She continued to wait, pacing slowly. There was no sign of Bess. The spring breeze fluttered the gauzy veil of her headdress, and her lime silk gown dragged on the grass, where the daffodils had now disappeared, to return again next spring. There were so many memories here in the garden, but not of Richard. She had never been with him here, only in the palace. She had been with John, though.

  She drew a long breath, and thought instead of her husband, whom she missed so much, and whom she set completely apart from Henry, in a corner of her heart and body that the king would never reach. It was where her faithful self still dwelt. Oh, how she tried to justify herself. She had lain with Henry, and enjoyed it far, far too much. She would enjoy the next time too, and the time after that.

  When Jon returned, she would lie with him again, and enjoy him as she had before. And she would give him all the pleasure she could—and more—not only because she loved him, but to assuage her guilt.

  There was a tread behind her, and she turned, expecting to see Bess, but instead it was her cousin. ‘Jack? What brings you out here? Surely not the sun and air?’

  He seemed puzzled. ‘I rather thought you brought me out here? I received a note.’ He bowed over her hand. His wine-red doublet was slashed with gold satin, and his black hose clung almost wilfully to his perfect legs and hips. There was a soft charcoal velvet hat on his long, wayward curls, with an amethyst brooch that went so very well with the same stone on his finger. He did not reek of the Tower now, but was fresh with thyme.

  ‘You are as fragrant as a herb garden, sir,’ she said. ‘I still cannot believe Henry imprisoned you, a royal earl, in a miserable part of the Tower. Why not the royal apartments? It was your right.’

  ‘Henry is not concerned with my rights at the moment, sweetheart.’

  ‘Thyme suits you.’ She leaned closer to sniff. ‘In your hair as well?’

  ‘I washed everything, believe me.’

  ‘I can well imagine. If I were not already taken, I might offer to smooth all of you with a scented oil.’

  He grinned. ‘What an arousing thought.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Sweetheart, I was very sorry to hear of your baby. I know how much it must have meant to you.’

  She hesitated. Should she tell him? She wanted to tell him. ‘Jack, my baby—’ She broke off, for there, seated beneath an apple tree about ten yards away, was Henry’s imp, and he was watching their lips very carefully.

  She caught Jack’s sleeve and made him turn to lean on the wall, looking out at the river. ‘We have a spying imp,’ she said quietly. ‘No, do not look around, for I do not wish anyone to realize we are aware. I am here because, supposedly, Bess wishes to walk with me. This meeting between you and me has been designed, most likely for Henry to learn if we plot anything. Or if I will embark upon an affair with you.’

  He smiled. ‘If Henry spies upon you, he clearly still has an itch.’

  ‘This may not be anything to do with that, Jack, more that he is watching for any sign of planned rebellion by the House of York. But yes, he has an itch for me.’ She did not add that in the end it had been an itch she had more than enjoyed alleviating.

  ‘There is something on your mind, sweetheart?’ Jack was watching the nuances flit across her face. ‘I confess your expression is most intriguing.’

  She smiled. ‘Nothing you need to know about, Jack de la Pole.’

  ‘Which means I would like to know, very much. However, if you mean to be disagreeably tight-lipped . . .’

  ‘I do, but there is something I wish you to know. Jack, my little boy did not die. Richard’s son is well and healthy,’ she whispered, putting her hand on his, although it could only have been seen from the river, and there were no craft close by.

  He gazed at her, his dark eyes alight. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Yes. I will not tell you how or where he is, just that he . . . is. I have not seen him since only a few hours after he was born, but I know he is safe, and with someone I trust. Someone my husband trusts. I would have seen him again by now, but he had a snuffle and the lady caring for him decided it was best he did not travel. He is well now, though; word was sent.’

  ‘So, we do after all have Richard’s son, by a highborn Yorkist princess?’

  ‘Yes. But Jack—’

  ‘I know. I am to leave him alone. I will. Until he is of an age to understand his heritage. You must at least allow me that, Cicely.’

  ‘I cannot stop you, Jack. I will tell him of his father, make no mistake of that, but the decision about it must be his, and his alone.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘I will also make sure that he fully appreciates and respects Jon Welles, who may not be of the House of York, but is one of the most honourable men I have ever met.’

  Jack smiled. ‘I will keep faith with you. You are astonishingly strong, Cicely. I see more and more why Richard cast caution aside for you.’

  She looked away, because suddenly the pain of her loss brushed close again.

  Jack drew her hand to his lips. ‘You had his heart, Coz, and that will always carry you. Just remember it.’

  She studied him again. ‘You always seem to know what to say.’

  He pretended to be offended. ‘You do not have to sound so taken aback.’

  ‘I was praising you, sir.’

  ‘Then I forgive you.’

  ‘Have you seen John again?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘He does not know me. Oh, he is treated well enough now, when it is too late. Tudor is a barbarian.’

  ‘Yes. But he does have a conscience.’

  Jack’s eyes met hers. ‘And how would you know that?’

  She returned his gaze, and said nothing. But her face felt hot and she knew she blushed.

  ‘Jesu, you have been in his bed?’

  ‘Jack, if I had not gone to him, you might now be as John is.’

  He straightened. ‘You went to him to save me?’

  ‘And Jon—who does not know, nor must he ever! I would protect you both, as I believe you would do for me, Jack. You and I are of the House of York, are we not?’ She smiled.

  ‘Oh, Cicely . . .’

  ‘I have told you because I am afraid you may tread unwarily with him, Jack. He is so very poisonous. You must take care, and always seem loyal to him, even though you are not.’

  ‘I already take care, sweetheart. Believe me.’

  She gazed at him. ‘I do so like being with you again, Jack. It reminds me of . . . other days.’

  He nodded. ‘I echo that feeling.’

  She watched his handsome face. ‘There is something planned, is there not?’

  ‘Perhaps it is best I do not answer that, except with a denial.’

  ‘Please be careful. I cannot lose you as well.’
<
br />   He changed the subject. ‘So, soon we will all be whisked away to Winchester, eh? To await the birth of the new Arthur? Dear God, Tudor has grand notions of his rather mundane ancestry. Still, every member of the House of York is to be there. And the House of Lancaster too, one supposes.’

  ‘The House of Tudor,’ she corrected. ‘I think it will not be long before Lancaster is forgotten and Jasper has become the second lord of the realm.’

  ‘No doubt, although I fancy Jasper wishes to sit back from the reins of government.’

  ‘The further back the better, as far as I am concerned. The middle of Cardigan Bay during a terrible storm would be perfect.’ She looked at Jack. ‘Did you know I am to carry the baby at the christening?’

  ‘Yes, and very pretty you will look too. I was so angry when I heard, believing you had lost your own baby, but now— Well, the joke is upon Henry, methinks.’

  ‘Jack, I do want to help you, but I will not put my husband at risk.’

  He smiled. ‘I know, sweetheart, nor will I seek your help. But I will seek your company and your counsel. Besides, from what you have said of Henry, you already do more than your fair share for the House of York.’

  ‘Oh, Jack, there are kings and there are kings.’

  ‘Yes, and you, my lady, have very personal experience of two of them.’

  ‘Which Bess does not know, Jack, nor are you to make the mistake of thinking she does. She knows of Richard, and my child, but believes the latter lies buried at Wyberton. You and Jon are the only ones at court who know.’ She thought better of mentioning Mary Kymbe.

  ‘I would not speak of such a thing to Bess anyway. I certainly do not seek her out.’ He gazed over the river. ‘I know she loved Richard and loathes Henry, but I cannot sympathize. Oh, I flirted with her at Sheriff Hutton, but it was merely to pass the time, and I have lost all respect for her since then. When I left there with your brothers and Warwick, it was Bess’s fault that you, she and John would not accompany me. I will not forgive her for that stubborn selfishness. She simply would not leave while she believed Richard to still be alive. Yet he wished her to leave. He wished us all to leave. If it were not for her, John might still be free, still able to recognize and reason.’

  ‘I was as guilty as Bess, Jack, for I would not leave without her. And be fair, even if John had gone with you, he would not have gone to Burgundy any more than you did. The boys probably went willingly enough, although how Warwick remained behind I do not know.’

  ‘I thought he was with them. I only realized too late that he had somehow disembarked. But your brothers did go, Cicely, and to the best of my knowledge are now safe at your aunt’s court in Burgundy. Word would have reached me by now if they had not arrived. I think.’ He paused. ‘Does Henry know about your brothers?’

  ‘He knows they set off for Burgundy, but that is all. It is all I know.’ She glanced at him. ‘I told him, Jack. I did it because of Jon. Oh, the whys do not really matter, just that I gave up the fact of their survival during Richard’s reign.’

  ‘So he knows he has legitimized them while they most probably still live? Oh, joy, I love the sweet irony.’

  ‘But they will not live long if his agents find them, and then he will blame Richard for their deaths and all else that is bad he can think of.’

  Jack glanced at her. ‘I will clear Richard’s name, sweetheart. If it is the last thing I do, I will restore him to true honour.’ Something made him turn around, and he straightened from the wall. ‘Sir Jon!’

  She whirled about, her breath catching as she saw her husband’s tall, journey-worn figure approaching between the apple trees. She was happy! So happy, just to see him again! Jack was forgotten as she ran to him. ‘Jon! Oh, Jon!’ She flung herself into his arms, and put her mouth to his in a kiss that could surely leave him in no doubt of her delight. She held him, her arms tightly around his neck, her body pressing to his as she savoured the reunion, relishing the feel of him, the taste of him, the unkempt, travel-weary scent of him. Everything else was forgotten as she made the sweetest love to him with her lips.

  At last he held her back slightly. ‘Jesu, lady, would you have me roll you here on the grass?’ He smiled.

  ‘Yes, oh, yes! Jon Welles, I have missed you so!’

  He kissed her forehead. ‘And I you, Lady Welles.’

  ‘Why were you so long?’

  ‘There was one excuse after another to keep me there.’

  He met her eyes, and she knew he feared that Henry had made sure of his absence for a very personal purpose.

  ‘I am quite all right, Jon,’ she said softly, choosing words calculated to reassure him that nothing had happened. She was aware of Jack, but knew he would not betray her.

  Jon smiled. ‘Good.’ Then he looked at Jack. ‘My lord of Lincoln?’

  ‘Sir Jon. Would that I was in your boots at this moment.’ Jack came closer, and then turned a little to conceal his mouth from Henry’s little spy. ‘Beware of imps under apple trees, Sir Jon.’

  Cicely caught Jon’s hand, aware that the veil of her headdress had floated around in such a way that whatever she said could not be observed. ‘Jack and I did not meet by accident, Jon, nor did we arrange a meeting. We were both lured here on a pretext. It has to be Henry’s work, because the imp has been set to watch every word we say. We have been careful to conceal our mouths. Henry must be alert for any hint of a Yorkist plot. That is all we can think.’

  Jon looked intently at Jack. ‘And is there any sign of such a plot, my lord?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do not involve my wife.’

  ‘There is nothing in which to involve her, Sir Jon.’

  ‘You had best not be lying to me.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘I do not lie.’

  But Cicely knew he did. Swearing fealty to Henry Tudor meant nothing to the trueborn heir of the House of York.

  Jack bowed. ‘I think perhaps my presence is superfluous at the moment. I will leave you to your conjugal pleasantries.’

  Cicely kissed his cheek. ‘Be careful, Jack .’

  He smiled. ‘Would I be anything else?’ Seeing the look in her eyes he laughed. ‘Perhaps it is best not to answer that, my lady.’ He bowed to Jon, and then walked away towards the palace, and as he passed beneath a certain window, Cicely was suddenly back in April 1483, three long years ago now, where she had first heard her mother plotting against Richard, then only the Duke of Gloucester, but intended by the dying King Edward IV to be Lord Protector of England during the minority of the new king, Edward V. Even now that fateful window stood open to the spring air.

  She smiled at Jon, making sure this time that the imp could read every word. ‘Come to my bed, sir.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. I need to be with you.’

  ‘I am expected to go straight to the king.’

  ‘But I must have you first, Jon. The king can wait.’

  His dark blue eyes were quizzical. ‘Have you really missed me that much?’

  ‘It would seem I have, my lord. I certainly know how very glad I am to have you with me again. So glad that you have my blood rushing and my body all a-stir.’

  Leaving the imp to ponder what he had been allowed to read, Jon took Cicely back to the apartment that had been set aside for them. Mary left them alone immediately, and Cicely slipped her arms around her husband’s lean waist. ‘I am true in this, Jon, I do need you. Now. Because I have been without you long enough to know how very much you mean to me.’

  ‘I should go away more often if my return is to be so welcomed, but perhaps I should take a little time to make myself cleaner and more presentable for the bedchamber? I have come straight to you from a long ride and am far from—’

  ‘No! I want you as you are, sweaty, dirty from the road, and wonderfully male.’

  He laughed. ‘Very well, madam, that is exactly how you shall have me!’ he declared as she placed herself in readiness on the bed. ‘Just how wonderfully male do you wish
me to be? Ardent? Rampant? Or frantic with lust?’

  ‘The latter, if you please.’

  He flung off his coat, loosed his virility, got on the bed, thigh boots and all, to pull up her gown and shove her legs apart. ‘Right, madam. Your desire is mine as well.’

  He straddled her, his member rigid and his eyes dark. ‘Not even a little finesse?’

  ‘None at all,’ she whispered. ‘Come into me now, Jon! Now, please!’

  And so he did, and she writhed with the pleasure of it. She begged him to take his satisfaction, to thrust into her as he willed. Her excitement was beyond control. She did not know why she felt as she did, only that seeing him again had driven all other thought from her mind. She wanted him so much that she was convulsed with pleasure. Her lips demanded of his, her hands explored him, and his name was on her lips. Over and over. This was nothing like being with Henry. This was Jon, the husband she now knew she adored.

  She ground her hips to his, tightened her muscles hungrily around him, and arched herself to meet his strokes. Wilder and wilder her emotions ran. She kissed him, licked his skin, adored him, almost fought with herself to have him. There was no thought of others now, for this was her marriage bed and Jon Welles was all that mattered.

  His strokes matched her urgency. He was past thought, swept up by her hunger. He could not contain himself for long, not like this, and suddenly he reached a peak that jolted through him so intensely that he could hardly breathe. He gasped at the sheer force of it, and gathered her to him, the better to hold her onto his erection, even after he had been drained.

  She clung to him, still moving richly against him and stealing more waves of that delicious pleasure she enjoyed so much. But at last even she was sated, filled with warmth and contentment, and she allowed him to roll on to his back. Then she leaned over to put her lips softly to his again, and breathe the wonderful scent of him.

  He returned her kiss and then smiled. ‘I feel as if I have been in a battle and somehow achieved victory.’ He cupped her breast and smoothed his thumb over the nipple. ‘Dare I ask what that was about?’

  ‘I saw you again.’

  ‘You . . . saw me?’

  ‘Yes. That is all. I was so overjoyed that I just had to have you. Without delay. And it was good, Jon, so very good.’