Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga)

by Diana Rubino

She blushed. "Yes, yes of course, I only meant you and Edward, and his children and—"

  "I understand. Thank you. Adieu, my dear."

  Denys raised her hand in benediction to them both, and got a nod from Richard, and a blown kiss from Valentine. Then all the mounts began to pass out of the gates in twos, pennants fluttering in the brisk spring breeze.

  Denys watched her husband go with a sinking heart, keeping her eyes on him for as long as he could until he at last vanished out of sight.

  She sighed heavily. He seemed so certain all would be well, but who knew what fate awaited them in London?

  As soon as he was gone Denys hurried upstairs and began yanking clothes from her wardrobe chests and hastily tossing them into trunks

  But she found herself stopping every few moments with a new wave of shock, as if hearing it again for the first time.

  Uncle Ned was gone. England was kingless. She had to stop and indulge her grief, stare at a wall and let tears come.

  The biggest, kindest heart in the kingdom was gone. The flurry of activities, Valentine taking off for London, Richard gathering a council, made it all the more surreal. She was in a stage play but couldn't close the curtain.

  And Valentine—she was more afraid for him now than when he had ridden out to battle. The power he now wielded was formidable. One wrong move and he was dead. She wished he didn't think he had aught more to prove.

  She got to London before they did, and heard they were in Stony Stratford with Prince Edward. As her servants readied Burleigh House, their Chelsea town home, she went to Saint Giles unescorted for the first time, with some coins and sweets for the children in the Totten Orphanage.

  "Tell me a story!" the children begged, giggling with excitement. "Our angel is back!" She held back tears as she lovingly caressed each head and looked into those brightened eyes.

  "Oh, which story to tell?" she said, sitting on a wooden crate as the children gathered round her, smacking their lips, sugar sprinkled on their faces and hands. "You've heard about Arthur and Guinevere and Merlin. They lived long ago. Now, one more special king belongs to our history. I shan't tell you a fairy tale this time. Today, my story is true— and strictly from personal and very fond memories. I shall tell the story of a brave and fearless king and warrior, my uncle, King Edward the Fourth."

  Never having so much as glimpsed him while he lived, to them he was as much of a storybook legend as the fabled Arthur. But, to Denys, Uncle Ned was still so near, brandishing his special grin just for her.

  Valentine and Richard finally arrived in London. At the White Tower the following eve, she raced down the corridor towards the council chambers where a meeting had just ended. She spotted Richard surrounded by the members of the council, who, she noticed consisted of many bishops.

  Some of Elizabeth's brothers were also on the council, and her brother Lionel was not only a council member, he was Bishop of Salisbury as well. Then there was Edward Woodville, commander of the small Woodville navy. They all mingled among an array of guards, more liveried nobles and lesser hangers-on.

  "Richard, I must see you right now." Studying him, she could see his eyes were sullen and troubled, his brow creased deeply, as if warding off the remains of a nightmare. He was dressed in his mourning attire. He looked dreadful all in black. It darkened his eyes, turned his complexion sallow, and cast a somber mood over his entire being. He did not want to be here; she knew it.

  "Richard," she said as a guard closed the inner council chamber door, leaving them alone. She glanced around the cluttered room. Books, papers and inkwells lay scattered on the table. More papers were piled on chairs. Maps were pinned to the walls. Something in glittering contrast to the chamber's starkness caught her eye and she barely repressed the gasp that escaped her lips. Resting atop a pillow in regal splendor on a sideboard was the Crown of England.

  "Richard—what is happening here? Where is Bess? Where is Prince Edward? Surely you are not going through with this!"

  "My nephew the prince is safely secluded in the Garden Tower and Bess Woodville is even safer...or should we say the kingdom is safer...she is in sanctuary in the Abbot's lodgings at Westminster with her children. But not before naming herself Queen Regent."

  "Bess named herself Queen Regent?"

  "Aye, but she could call herself Queen of the Nile for all it means, which is sod all." Richard sank into the polished wooden chair that had been for Edward's exclusive use as king. It seemed to swallow him up.

  She knelt at his feet. "Richard, I am frightened to death for you and for my husband. All these so-called advisors clamoring about you and Valentine, some convincing you to take over the throne, others backing the Woodvilles.

  Loyalty means nothing with these men; your so-called followers can turn on you right before your very eyes." Her voice broke with a sob. "Look at our history, Richard.

  The last King Richard, a boy king, had his uncle murdered when he reached his majority. The boy King Henry the Sixth's Lord Protector was murdered. Most horrifying of all, both these men had been Dukes of Gloucester! Don't let that happen thrice, Richard. Put Prince Edward on the throne and come back to Yorkshire with us."

  "Cease the superstitious babbling. You sound like that bloody soothsayer Elizabeth always had hovering round court mixing up love potions for her ugly sisters. This is not history—'tis here and now. Lest you forget Prince Edward is half a Woodville?" Richard said, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

  "I cannot return to Yorkshire as long as Elizabeth Woodville and her family have any sway over that boy." She remembered Valentine having said those exact words and her insides churned in fear.

  "The place was crawling with Woodvilles during Uncle Ned's entire reign, Elizabeth was as commanding as ever, they had their poxy fleet in place, and he managed to handle it all. You can certainly keep them in check, can't you?"

  "‘Tis not that simple. There is no telling how they can bend and sway a little boy. Have you not noticed that Woodvilles make up a great part of the council? Not to mention the bishops; the clergy has been pro-Woodville ever since Harry the Sixth."

  "And how much control do they really have at this moment?"

  "For starters, their little navy, which was formed ostensibly to protect us from French freebooters, is growing.

  Edward Woodville has set about gathering more ships. Oh, and you should have heard him defending his arse in the council meeting; what a load of codswallop! ‘We have to protect our realm from foreign invaders, protect the coastal towns and merchant shipping!' he mimicked Edward Woodville's thready voice. "Does he play me for a dolt? I know damn well he's filling those ships with his own followers.

  ‘Tis almost laughable, them thinking they're sea dogs now."

  "What has Anne to say about of all this?"

  "‘Tis not her place to say aught."

  "She is your wife. Do you not think she is concerned about your fate? Does she not want you back home?"

  "She is on her way here as we speak. ‘Tis a blessing she has been quiet on the matter; to have her on my back in addition to all you lot would break it in two!"

  "Please reconsider, Richard. You can oversee Woodville treachery and Woodville fleets from the north." He made a fist and pounded the chair arm, his ring rapping against the wood. "I am here because my brother wanted me here. I must respect his wishes. I served him all his life, and I shall continue to serve him in death. He made me Lord Protector of the Realm, on paper, and embossed with the royal seal, but in our moments of private conversation, he spoke from the heart. He told me what he wanted."

  "He had no idea he was going to die so young! No one did!"

  "But he never wanted the kingdom slipping into Woodville hands. He never told a soul, but he had grave reservations about any of his sons ruling as long as Elizabeth and her family were still alive."

  "But as soon as he's crowned, your protectorship ends."

  "We shall see about that," he said in his usual cryptic manner. "And thoug
h the Woodville followers be few and far between, they are formidable. Do you know what Margaret Beaufort did? My sources tell me she paid someone to pinch the Great Seal and bring it to Elizabeth, along with just about everything else they could drag from the palace, including half the royal treasure!" His eyes bored straight into her, and with them was conveyed a determination that looked like a wild-eyed quest for power.

  "Margaret Beaufort holds a rather distant claim to the throne. She may even come forth in a bid for it—for herself or for her son. The throne is literally up for grabs at the present."

  "You mean she may finance yet another army for Henry Tudor and try to usurp the throne? With all this going on?" The mere thought was preposterous.

  "I know not if it'll be Henry Tudor or just another ugly Lancastrian lot. But all hell can break loose and it will happen a lot faster if I simply go trotting off into the sunset!" She realized the gravity of his situation, of the painful decisions he had to make, how quickly time was running out. No longer the young knight and Lord of his northern realm, Richard now carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. And it showed.

  She turned away from his discomfited gaze out the window to the inky depths of the busy river, streaming with barges and trading vessels, then further beyond at the vastness of the realm, the stretch of marsh to Battersea and the blue-green Surrey hills beyond. The increasingly threatening clouds hovered upon them. She felt trapped between many elements of the unknown, at the mercy of whichever way this voyage took them—helpless, out of control for the first time. She prayed.

  "We'll just have to take one step at a time. Do not talk of thrones or pretenders just yet," Richard added quickly. "‘Tis too early to tell. I am here; that is the important thing, and I am not leaving."

  "And it all will go exactly your way?" she asked, turning to face him. "You don't have the command over life that you think you do."

  "It may not necessarily fall into place the way I want it to, as hard as I may try," he answered, reaching up to rub his eyes. "I believe you can't argue with fate. Our lives are charted from the day we are born. ‘Tis in the stars; since the beginning of time man has known that. It's the way we fit into the scheme of things. Whatever's planned for us is going to happen whether we want it to or not. I was summoned here for a reason; ‘tis my fate to be here, and I am not going to defy fate."

  "Nay, I don't believe in the stars or the supernatural. I believe that I've got a free will, and I use it. I make the decisions; I am not ruled by any gods or whatever the Babylonians dreamed up. It's pure science. You're not in someone else's hands, because you are in your own hands." Such a confident individualist as Richard could easily thwart fate and control his own life.

  "Enough has gone amiss in my life, things happened beyond my control," he said.

  "They went amiss because you let them."

  "Oh, really, I let my father die, then? Nay, you can thank the bloody Lancastrians for that!" he snapped.

  "We all die, Richard. It's part of the cycle. We all get to heaven in the end, no matter which path takes us there.

  Some of us lose our parents, some outlive our brothers and children." He looked at her and gave a solemn nod. Looking closely, she could see his hands were trembling slightly.

  Oh, how she wished they could just escape all this! "Am I not trying to do what is right for this kingdom?" he implored.

  "I understand your fears, I appreciate that you are deathly afraid. But I cannot afford that luxury. I cannot run away; I cannot be afraid. I must decimate the Woodville faction and thwart any other rebels, may it be Margaret Beaufort or her pox-faced son. I must go now, Dove. I need to summon my first Council."

  She turned to leave. "Very well, I shall go, but please tread carefully. Watch out for all of them."

  "They are busy enough watching out for me." The usher opened Burleigh House's front door to Sir Valentine, outfitted like royalty. He swept off his plumed hat and Denys fell into his arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After a private dinner in the solar, which she hardly touched, they sat together watching the early summer sunset.

  "What happened at that Council meeting?" she dared to ask at last, though she dreaded the news and the need to talk of anything other than their romantic future, the loving marriage they had created for themselves which was now under threat by forces not even her daring husband could control.

  He stroked her hand reassuringly. "Parliament proclaimed Richard Protector and Defensor of the Realm, as per Edward's will."

  "Protector and Defensor? And what about you?"

  "He made me his chief councllor, for the time being."

  "For the time being? The only step above that is king." He took a generous swig of wine. "This is happening fast enough so that I can't even think straight. Don't rush things, please, Dove," he said, staring deeply into the jewels of his ring.

  "But you're enjoying all the politics, aren't you?" He stood and turned to face her.

  She looked at him in the sinking sun. Despite the boundless energy he always thrived on, he'd had an enormous amount of responsibility thrust upon him in a short time and it was beginning to show, to replace that innocence of those early carefree days.

  His hair rustled in the breeze through the open window.

  He blocked out all light except of that shining around his figure like an aura. She could never leave him, even if Richard turned out to be a power hungry dragon usurping the throne from his nephew, forcing Valentine to assist him along the way. There was no turning back now. His presence drew her to him, especially now when he was running his thumb up the inside of her wrist so gently . . .

  "Oh, Valentine, this is what I began to dread, ever since you got that note announcing Uncle Ned's death and Richard rushed you off to court with him. We'll never see our beloved home again." Tears of longing sprang to her eyes as she pictured her lovely garden, those purple moors.

  London had none of it. London had nothing for her but bitter memories of court politics, back-stabbing and power mongers. Now they were caught up in it all.

  "Oh, cease your dreading, Dove. Ponder the good parts. With Richard as Lord Protector, we will be royal courtiers and could have any castle, any manor, any lands we wish.

  "We will have the second largest retinue of servitors to the royals themselves, the court banquets and feasts will be ours to attend as we wished. That will be you and me at the high table instead of Elizabeth's brothers and their tatty wives.

  That will be me riding through the town to the blasts of clarions and trumpets. All ours, Dove, riches beyond your wildest imagination! "Think of the gowns, the silks, the satins, the ermine and sable furred capes trailing on the floor behind you, the cloth of gold and silver, sparkling jewels on your fingers and around your beautiful neck." He reached for her, but she pushed him firmly away.

  "I want none of those things. I want to go back to Yorkshire, to our cozy home, to the realm I love! I do not want Westminster Palace and all its grandeur! I care not about jewels and banquets and royal trappings. Or dare I say ‘traps'?"

  "Well, this is what I want, Dove. Ever since age nine, when I suffered my father's death, I wanted to live the life he never lived, to have what he'd fought for but never lived to attain. Now is my chance to make him proud of me—" He hesitated, then said in a somber tone, "to make you proud of me, too."

  "I am already proud of you! I was proud enough of you when you were governor of Yorkshire."

  "This is something I must do, Dove. Just the way you must find your family. I'll never be king, so this is my chance for greatness. This is my quest."

  "It all scares me, Valentine." She was barely able to speak, her mouth was so dry with fear. "We've already got the Lancastrians as enemies. We've got Henry Tudor vying for the crown, and his mother spying on the court. The Woodvilles are as treacherous as ever. Now there's Richard moving in on the throne with you at his side. Why couldn't he leave us in Yorkshire?"

  "He needs me,"
was his simple answer, without a trace of conceit.

  And she knew all too well that was true.

  "My father's last words to me were to give something back to my kingdom—something great." He spoke as if to God, in a tone she'd never heard him use before. His voice rumbled with emotions that sent a chill up her spine. "Now is my chance."

  "Valentine, I know you want to honor his memory. But you were doing that already so beautifully. I'm sure he didn't want you to be a martyr—or a saint."

  "Nay, although being a saint is all well and good. Saints make the most beloved leaders. They are revered and worshiped by us mere mortals throughout history. But they make paltry husbands. And tedious, boring, lifeless lovers."

  He rose and approached her, her already nervous heart leaping in anticipation. The last wedge of light was fading in the window's colored glass as he gathered her into his arms and began kissing her tenderly on the forehead, nose, cheeks and lips.