by Diana Rubino
In the past, her quarters had never been luxurious by royal standards. Neither had her clothing, but it mattered not. She'd never cared for the dubious trappings of wealth. She looked around the room in awe, and now down at the gorgeous creamy confection of a wedding gown Anne had loaned her. The gown of Anne's own mother, no less…
But now that Denys was married to the closest advisor of the second wealthiest nobleman in the realm, she knew she would be expected to care, to put on a show. The room was lovely, she had to grant him that. She vowed to try to enjoy it.
Yet impressed as she was by the beautifully appointed chamber, she had a declaration to make before he began throwing out conjugal orders.
So she cleared her throat, squared her shoulders, and did not even stop to thank him for the evident trouble he had taken over her set of rooms.
"I realize we are now husband and wife, Valentine, but that changes naught about my feelings for you. By the laws that bind me to you, you have a right to my bed. But I must tell you now, you have no right to my heart."
She was sure he would not have been more surprised if she had slapped him. His eyes threw out blue sparks as he gazed back at her, as though desperate to believe that he had misheard, but sure he had not.
She half expected him to swagger up to her with his usual confident gait, tear her bodice with forceful potency, throw her on the bed and demand his conjugal rights, as she squirmed under his might, writhing with indignation.
But he neither made a move toward her, nor did he reveal any hint of desire, nor of his innermost thoughts.
When he finally spoke, it was in a light, banter tone, which was at odds with the look on his face. "Were you hoping for a row so early in our marriage? Well, I hate to disappoint you, dear, but I'm all in. Furthermore, I pay no heed to ancient pagan rituals. I have no intention of violating the honor you so valiantly guard. I have never forced myself upon a woman, nor shall I ever do so.
"You are free to continue the search for your parentage, join me on my official progresses, or stay here and grow roses and lilies. ‘Tis up to you. So, if all is to your satisfaction, dear lady, I shall retire to my own chambers."
He was already walking away, so quickly that she didn't realize he was taking his leave until he was halfway to the door.
"Valentine!" She shouted his name without thinking, more out of surprise than anything else.
He turned, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.
"Yes?" he said with one quirk of his brow.
"I, er, well...I just want to bid you good eve. ‘Twas a lovely day, was it not?"
He smiled tightly, but again, his tone was cordial, emotionless. "Indeed it was. The weather was splendid and the cooks were in top form. And you looked lovely. Just as a bride should, apart from the long face most of the time. Ah well, many women are like that when they are breeding—"
Her cheeks flamed. "Nay! I've never—"
His eyes twinkled with barely suppressed mirth. "So I am sure it was not paid much heed to. Well, good eve to you."
He lifted his hat at its brim and placed it back down upon his head. Kicking his leg up behind him deftly, he swung the door closed with his foot.
She stared wide-eyed at the shut portal. She didn't know whether to laugh with relief or cry with anger. She felt so many emotions, no one single feeling stood out above the others.
She still mistrusted him—she feared his governorship of Yorkshire would lead to a dangerous hunger for more power. He had no use for anyone who couldn't give him what he craved—attention, prestige, wealth. She could give him none of those things he most craved.
But his abrupt exit from her chambers perturbed her. He hadn't even given her a chance to push him away!
He'll be back, she told herself, wrapping her arms around her waist, and now glad he had not tried to be forceful with her, for surely it would be a desecration of the lovely gown Anne had loaned her. He'll be back, she told herself again, but couldn't help wonder if it was something she was dreading, or actually looking forward to.
She decided to try to keep busy to make the best of her bad lot. Well, not so bad, she amended as she turned and began to look in more detail at the chambers that were now hers.
They had some warm and inviting touches, but because she had had no part in them, they felt as foreign to her as her palace apartments.
She could do something about the room once her little possessions were within it, but what of her role her at the castle? She wished Uncle Ned were here to reassure her about the benefits of being a married woman.
Yet all the baubles and trinkets in the world, and duties as chatelaine of a large castle such as this could not make up for the emptiness of the room.
Alone again.
Well, she had chased away her bridegroom, hadn't she, she reminded herself with a wry twist of her lips. And she was used to that. Sometimes she was her own best company. She wasn't going to let loneliness get the best of her ever again. She was now a married lady, with status, prestige, this exquisite estate, beautiful chambers.
She immediately began planning as she moved over to unpack her small bag in which she had placed her most useful items, her latest needlework and supplies, her Bible, hair brush and comb, and a tiny mirror Ned had once given her.
She would make two visits to the poor a week, one visit specifically to children. Two seamstresses would make clothes for the peasants, they would find ways to increase the yield of vegetables in the garden to help feed the poor, a troupe of musicians would entertain them. She wanted to share whatever she could with the people of her estate. They were entitled to happiness, too.
As she looked around and this new vision of her future loomed up before her, it didn't look so dismal after all.
A tap at the door caused her to start, one hand to her throat. He was back so soon!
But it was only a pair of quiet older women who offered her assistance in unpacking. She thanked them, but refused their offer, merely accepting help in unlacing her wedding gown at the back. Then she led them to the outer door to the suite.
Once she was alone, she opened one of the trunks that a server had left in the antechamber and pulled out her favorite nightwear—a yellow linen gown, threadbare at the elbows, the flower pattern faded. It was her last vestige of her Yorkshire years, the only chapter in her life when she'd felt wanted, had felt as if she truly belonged.
Gliding off her wedding raiment, and laying it carefully in the empty coffer under the window until she could return it to Anne, she slid the nightdress over her head and inhaled deeply of its old but familiar scent.
Then she climbed into the big empty bed. The feathery mattress enveloped her, and she realized it was the most comfortable bed she'd ever known.
She pulled the cover over her head and tried to leave her past behind. She rolled over with a sigh and closed her eyes. She would unpack her things later.
For now, she needed to mourn the past, and try to muster enthusiasm for her new life as Lady Starbury, which would begin at dawn on the morrow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Denys had feared that the addition of a husband in her life would prove an onerous and oppressive cross to bear. In fact she soon found herself wishing for even the merest glimpse of his sparkling blue eyes as his duties to the realm took precedence even over their honeymoon, which should have been theirs to enjoy uninterrupted in accordance with tradition.
But her husband was the man of the hour in the North, and so Valentine's responsibilities as governor took him all over the shire. There were endless council meetings at Richard's official residence at Pomfret Castle, and trips to the surrounding towns to look in on his tenants, ascertain the profitability of their efforts, and settle disputes.
As a result Denys was left alone for weeks on end, and she soon felt heart sore at being so alone. She did go to visit Anne from time to time, but she always seemed so busy, so content, that Denys felt lonelier than ever once she returned to Lilleshal and found no one awaiting her there save
her maid Mary.
Everyone in the household was kind and capable, however, so she tried to make the best of her new situation by carrying out the plans she had first made, gathering supplies and arranging to visit the poor villagers.
It brought her out from behind four walls, made her feel wanted, and she smiled through tears at the looks on their faces when she and her escort rode into an impoverished hamlet, handing out sacks of food and soft linen squares. They were a decadent luxury in themselves, but when wrapped around coins, they were like a gift from heaven.
The dialect was strange to her, but she could certainly make out the many thanks they shouted up to her, the angel on horseback.
Back at the castle, she also kept busy by overseeing the household, supervising the marshal as he aired the hall, freshened the rushes, and cleaned and beat the hangings. She assisted in helping the steward order and inventory supplies. She sat with the controller and balanced the accounts.
Denys even went into the kitchen to help prepare meals, startling the staff. One of her favorites was ‘Brawn in Comfyte,' a dish made by grinding boar meat in a mortar, mixing with almonds, then boiling with sugar and cloves. It was then thickened with cinnamon and ginger, and pressed into shape with a linen cloth.
She shocked everyone, from the steward down to the apprentice cooks, with her culinary skills. She loved trying variations on recipes and mixing different types of herbs, substituting mint for garlic or cinnamon for parsley.
Her ‘lampreys in galytyne,' a roast seafood dish made with powdered ginger, raisins and bread, became her specialty.
They grew peas, beans, cabbages in the castle garden hotbeds, and she was told that in the summer and autumn there would be apples and pears in the orchards near the castle. She had to make due with dried ones as the winter weather seemed to linger, but her sizable kitchen garden grew several spices and herbs, sheltered as it was, and with a canopy over it which could be pulled open or shut as needed to protect the tender shoots.
She hired live-in musicians, and accompanied them on their lutes, viols and pipes. She formed quartets and quintets, and arranged her favorite songs with different harmonic parts for voices of all ranges.
She had an organ delivered, set up in the great hall, and played it a least a couple of hours each day. The strains of music eased her loneliness, but only somewhat.
She insisted on music until the wee hours, rotating all the musicians in shifts so the house would never be silent. The trouble was, they seemed to do nothing but sing of love, until she grew more heartsick at being so alone in her married home.
When not engaged in all the activities around the castle, and the weather was too inclement to venture outside the castle gates, she spent endless hours poring over genealogical tables conveyed to her from the governors of the shires and the mayors of as many Wiltshire towns as she could discover that were near to where she had last sought her family, and which were large enough to have such a personage residing there with whom she could correspond.
She also contacted every abbot and abbess in the district, for all the churches kept records of births, marriages and deaths. She did not really know what she was looking for. She had no names or places to go by, only the vague date of around Martinmas 1457 to help her, which so far as she knew, was around the time she had been born.
Valentine's information had not been off the mark, but it might have been one way to lure her even further in to whatever web Elizabeth Woodville might have woven for her. And which was why in some senses she was glad to be alone to plot and prepare, for when the time came, he would not be able to stop her from seeking her destiny, which had lain waiting for her for so long.
She sent a copy of her sketch to each of her correspondents, and prayed someone would recognize her as a possible relative, or give her a crumb of information which would tell her where to look next.
Throughout it all, she ached to be able to confide in someone, but even had her husband been at home, her misgivings over his past conduct and future ambitious would have been enough to give her pause.
Still, it would be nice to start feeling more like she belonged here, she decided one day, rising from her desk, her back aching from the effort of having passed the rainy day penning still more letters to Wiltshire.
She gazed out at the lovely if rain-drenched landscape, and hoped Valentine was safe and warm somewhere. She hugged her arms around her waist, and finally admitted to herself just how much she was really looking forward to Valentine's homecoming.
Awaiting his return from York one afternoon with a restlessness that simply would not be contained, she mounted Chera and rode a few miles in the direction his last note to her had indicated him to be.
The freezing air filled her lungs with exhilarating crispness as she burrowed deeper into her ermine cloak. The remnants of the previous night's frost dusted the earth with a sparkling blanket of blue-white that turned her breath to crystals in the slanting sun.
Thin streams of smoke curled skyward from the villagers' cottages surrounding her. All was quiet; the only sound was the dull clopping of Chera's hooves on the hard earth.
She halted the palfrey and, from atop the hill, swept her eyes over Lilleshal and her grounds. The sandstone glowed and the stream twinkled in the sun's weakening rays. Smoke billowed from the chimneys, and lights flickered in the oiled paper windows and occasional glass windows as the surrounding shadows grew longer, casting a gleam over the earth.
She yanked on Chera's reins and galloped back, a rush of warmth welling through her. She could not wait to nestle before the fire in the parlor, her fingers wound round a tankard of mead.
The thought of being with Valentine again soon gave her a rush of uneasy anticipation.
She supped with the staff in the great hall, not tasting the food, but glancing up every time a newcomer entered in the hopes that it might at last be her husband.
Finally, heartsore, Denys gave up, and headed back to her chambers to write a few more letters before bedtime.
When at last Valentine arrived, around midnight, she was already abed, but something made her leap up, drag on her night robe, and hurry down the corridor to meet him.
He was already ascending the stairs, heading for his bedchamber. A cold breeze scented with outdoor freshness rushed at her when he passed by. She indulged her gaze on the hard muscles under his short doublet.
"Valentine! Welcome back!"
He turned, a momentary look of questioning in his eyes, as if surprised to see that she actually lived there. They'd seen so little of each other since the wedding, and her manner had been anything but friendly.
At first, the fact that he had not tried to press his conjugal rights had been a great relief to her. She'd planned on blissful independence as the mistress of the manor, running the household as she saw fit, and a man intruding upon her person, or a babe coming, was the last thing she wished for.
But she hadn't realized how empty a house full of dutiful servitors could be until his distance had become so unbearable as to render them almost strangers in their own shared home.
"What awakens you at this hour, Dove? I thought I was lighter on my feet than that. Or are you a poor sleeper? I can remove you to the stables if you require complete solitude."
She could see his cheeky grin in the torchlight behind him, casting a halo about his head.
"Do not jest, Valentine. It has been terribly lonely here."
He looked surprised. "I thought you would be thoroughly engrossed in covering every square inch of the place, tiptoeing through the secret underground passageway, exploring the cellars."
"Snooping is your style, not mine," she said with a lift of her chin.
He gave a thin smile. "Do not be so sure, my lady. You and I are more alike than you care to admit. When we want something, and I do not mean anything money can buy, I mean intangibles, like the truth, we stop at nothing to achieve it. You should have fun exploring round here. And, if you tire of the indoors, ther
e are old churches and graveyards, a Roman ruin or two, a few Druid megaliths. York is full of Viking remnants.
"The graveyard of Saint Alkelda at the foot of Middleham Castle is rich with old tombstones, and the church is just as interesting. With your vivid imagination, you can recreate past worlds and transport yourself back in time to the days of the pagan rituals..."
He moved closer and she automatically took a step forward. "...where they sacrificed the most beautiful virgins on the pyres, who screamed for mercy as the flames consumed them. Just think, if you had lived in those days, you'd be dead already!"
"Oh, cease! You're spooking me! You are no comfort at all!" she said with a petulant frown, shoving at his chest and then heading back to her own room.
He laughed, removing his cloak and draping it over his arm. "You left a warm feather bed and ventured into the cold corridor and stairs for comfort? What sort of comfort could possibly await you out here?"