by Diana Rubino
Richard laughed heartily. "You must share special moments, like on those dark cold nights when drafts whistle through the house, does he not keep you warm and safe? Does he not comfort you when you are feeling ill, or lend sympathy to your female moods, or appreciate the way you run the household? Is he not attentive to you? He beams like the sun when he looks at you, I can see it. And I do not mean when he is looking at your breech. He risked all to help you find your parentage. He is forever grateful that he was lucky enough to win you."
Her gaze shifted from Richard's eyes inward to her soul, and she pondered what he'd said.
How clever her old friend was. Valentine did look at her like no man ever had before— his eyes did light up like beacons when he looked at her.
He was supercilious at times, at times he was downright brash, but...
"I can see how much you love him."
Denys would have hidden her smile from anyone else, but with Richard, she needed to hide nothing. "Oh, Richard, you were so right, you made me see my true feelings. I really love him, with all my heart. But we went from Yorkshire gentry to this..."
She waved a hand in the direction of the palace. "...with you practically on the throne and Valentine literally running the kingdom with you. ‘Tis all so scary. You both...you have some formidable enemies out there."
"Do not be afraid." Richard's fingers drummed his prayer book. "I'm not. Of all the people in the world for me to fear, the man I love like my own brother is the closest to me."
"It all happened so fast, Richard. It was like lightning struck us all and hurled us here, and here we are sitting in the palace, and you where I'd always seen Uncle Ned, literally filling his shoes, but one step from the throne."
"You think we were struck like lightning, I feel like I got here between blinks of my eyes, it happened so fast." He shook his head.
"But this invalid marriage of Edward's and Elizabeth's… That was the most stunning blow of all. How on earth did this come about?"
He explained about Bishop Stillington's revelation, the stark disbelief with which he'd read the Patent Rolls that Valentine had stumbled upon in his search for her real family and had brought to his attention.
It was all too much for her to take in after everything that happened in the last few weeks. Her heart racing, her mouth dry, she searched his eyes. They looked dark and pensive. She was already exhausted by the devastating chain of events. She asked the question she dreaded most, but she had to hear the truth.
"Does this mean you are England's next King?"
He nodded, his steady gaze not leaving hers. She detected the hint of a smile.
"There's no one else of legitimate claim so close to the throne."
"I can't believe it."
His eyes lightened and he cocked his head. "Aha, you speak treason, wench! I shall drag you to the block and the mob will cheer when your severed head rolls into the blood-soaked basket!"
She did not laugh at his morbid humor. "You know what I mean, Richard." She shuddered.
"I know. But better me than George, would you not say?"
"Not that I ever wished him dead, but you are right." She shivered again.
"But you are right—all I can hope for is Valentine's safe return and an account of his triumphant negotiations. Then he'll be coming home to this...all this upheaval, and the anguish hits me so much the harder because it is happening right before my eyes. This may not be a battlefield, but the council chamber can be so much more dangerous. Even they are divided, between clergy and anti-Woodvilles."
"That's why we're working day and night to reach some semblance of order, to get the government running again, and oust the Woodvilles once and for all, so we can run things the way Edward would have wanted. Once my coronation is over, we'll settle into a pattern of normalcy."
"But that won't be for months."
He looked at her then quickly glanced away. "Sixth of July." She gasped, realizing how fast all this was really going.
"That is barely a month away!"
"The sooner the better."
"This is like an elopement!"
"Oh, you are laying it on with a trowel! I know exactly what I am doing. I have but one request of you as my most loyal subject—my most loyal lady subject, that is." He sat back in the pew and crossed his legs.
"What is it? I would do anything if I can serve you better."
"Just be a good wife and serve your husband. Leave matters of state to us. You think I have problems, just wait ‘until Elizabeth finds out she's got a nest full of illegitimate offspring. It'll be a real shite-fest then!"
She tried to stifle a giggle, but Richard caught her, and the corner of his mouth lifted, creasing his cheek as a grin of his own spread across his face, a face that was much too serious these days.
Seeing him try to suppress his own grin caused Denys to titter out loud, softly at first, then joining in his hearty laugh, and both their voices echoed through the shadowy chapel.
Oh, it felt so good to laugh, to release all that pent-up tension that had wound them all so tightly for so long.
"When was the last time you really laughed like this?" she said, wiping her eyes with the end of her sleeve.
"The last time I saw Elizabeth, when she missed the bottom step and plopped down on her fat prat." This produced another wave of laughter and she doubled over, holding her sides.
Eventually he sobered. "Fret not, Dove. When all the dust is settled and we are safely ensconced in our designated roles, the laughter will flow freely once more in this court."
"I pray so, Richard."
"Just hold your thoughts of Valentine. A prayer or two for him would not hurt either."
She gave an impatient wave of her hand. "Oh, he believes he needs no prayers. He cheated the very hands of death just the other day, and walked away like it was nothing."
"Now, do you not think that is an admirable trait?"
"But he was whisked away to sea before he had a chance to gloat over it. Just wait ‘until he returns! He will never cease to flaunt his triumph over the Italian galleon."
"Valentine believes his biggest victory was winning your heart."
"More than his promotion from governor to chief councillor with the entire court at his command?"
Richard's cocked brow told her the answer.
She gave a demure little smile.
"‘Tis rather quiet without him about, is it not?" he admitted.
"I do hope the Italian sailors appreciate what I've sent them."
"Richard, are there any wenches aboard any of those Woodville ships?" she asked pensively.
"I think not. If there are, I'm sure they're rather salty by now."
Her heart and mind now at ease thanks to her friend's confidences, she smiled. "I had best be getting back. There is much to see to for your special day and my husband's return."
"I'll come with you."
They rose and he escorted her all the way back home.
"Thank you for everything today, and blessings upon you, Anne and your son. Their lives will be completely transformed by this news as well."
He patted her on the shoulder. "I know this is not quite the family you had in mind for yourself when Valentine began to help you on your quest, but you do know how dear the two of you are to us all. I can't think of any two people we would rather have share our good fortune."
She gave a tremulous smile and curtsey. "Aye, fortune, and fate. I only pray Valentine returns home soon with news of his success. Otherwise, God help us all."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Valentine quietly let himself into the house in the middle of the night. She heard the familiar rhythm of his footsteps coming up the stairs. Throwing on a bed gown, she scrambled out of their chamber to meet him.
"Oh, Valentine, thank God you are home! Are you wounded at all?" She ran her hands over his body, not feeling a bandage or any trace of a wound; just the hard muscles, the powerful arms that always embraced her so tenderly.
"Do tell me!"
"Well, two of Dickon's old sea dogs, John Wellis and Thomas Grey, went to take command of fortifications at Portsmouth. They provided stores and armament for our little flotilla. Richard sent Lord Cobham with a small sea force to Dover and Sandwich to prepare the ports, just in case of a surprise Woodville attack. And ‘twas Edward Brampton and I who went to the Downs, where Woodville's fleet was. Brampton and I did sail forth to the great Genoese galleon straightaway and simply shouted up to them that we come in peace—and that we were quite hungry.
"They invited us aboard immediately, methinks out of eagerness to share some hearty repast with us—we planned it so that we approached them just at the hour when most people are finishing their evening meal, so their bellies would be full, and their minds not as sharp. The captain's name was Colombo. He's a Genoese explorer. We had quite an engaging tête-à-tête."
The name sounded familiar; she'd heard it somewhere before. Then it hit her. "Aye, Colombo! He was here once before. George held a banquet in his honor...well, you know what George used to pass off as banquets.
Everything available for consumption was of the liquid variety. The occasion didn't hold enough interest for me to stay and meet him. I was too rushed that day to go and find the Countess of Somerset. It was one of my wild goose chases and I was in no state to attend one of George's quaffing contests."
"Aye, he did mention that rather questionable visit. It seems his first ill-fated voyage to England was cut short by a French attack, so he ended up in Portugal. He later visited Bristol and London on his way to Ireland and Iceland, but never secured an invitation from Edward. George was the closest he ever got to court. He mentioned some very provocative theories about the world.
"He was very cordial to me. After an evening of wine and engaging discussion, mainly about the antics of the Woodvilles over the years, Sir Edward's underlying motives of the fleet, their plans to capture Richard, and explaining that they may wrest England's crown and God knows how that would affect trade, he agreed to break the back of the fleet. The remainder of the fleet followed, steamed into London and gave themselves up on the embankment at Westminster. Edward Woodville, coward that he is, fled to France. We hope he's cooling his heels with the likes of Henry Tudor, and we won't be seeing either of their hides again."
"Oh, Valentine, I only wish I could read about you in a history book in years to come! How I envy future generations!"
He laughed. "Why, I would not think living it is more exciting than merely reading about it in a book."
"So, have you informed the council of the success of the mission?"
"Nay, I came straight here without even stopping at the Tower. I left that to Brampton and Cobham; somehow I don't think they'll waste any time informing the King of their great success."
"King?"
"Oh, I meant Dickon."
"Valentine, I didn't stop worrying about you for one minute!"
He stroked her cheek and chided, "You worry too much. Is there not enough activity about court to keep you occupied?"
"There has been more than I can bear! There was a rash of arrests and executions. Two of Elizabeth's brothers were beheaded for treason, and Richard proclaimed all of Uncle Ned and Bess' children bastards because of his plight-troth to Eleanor Butler."
He sighed deeply, grew very pensive and wrapped an arm round her shoulders. "These are times of great upheaval, Dove. I never promised you that it would be an easy, smooth transition. Let us just serve the kingdom in the best way we can."
"I have been trying, Valentine. You have no idea." She put her arm round his waist and they walked back to her chamber.
He swung the door shut and she began unlacing the front of his shirt.
"I realized this was the first time you'd gone to battle without Richard," she said as he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands winding through her hair, gathering it in bunches.
"And I became terribly worried about you until I was frantic with fear that you would not be able to manage without him leading the vanguard, but somehow I knew you would do it without him, and you did. Valentine, I am so proud of you."
Their mouths locked as she pulled him down to her and their arms wound around each other in a passionate embrace that neither wanted ever to end. Finally she gently eased away, evoking from him a frustrated moan.
"Valentine, you once said that a nobleman's wife never performed such menial chores as bathing him. Well, you are not just any nobleman. You are a valiant soldier, our kingdom's bravest subject. Would it be a menial chore for us to bathe each other?"
He cupped her breasts gently through her chemise. "That should be even more fun than defeating the Woodvilles," he said as he let her remove his undertunic and hose, wrapping him in his satin robe.
The fire was blazing in her retiring room hearth as she ordered her chambermaid to prepare a bath. Moments later maids were filling her tub with buckets of hot water which she doused liberally with lavender oil. She closed the door and removed her chemise, her kirtle, her underskirts.
Valentine approached her, dropping his robe to the floor. He stepped into the hot fragrant water and lowered his body, stretching his taught muscles and leaning his head back so it rested on the tub's edge, his hair drinking up the water, plastering itself to his neck.
She eased her body in next to him, spread her fingers and smoothed the hair off his forehead, feeling the texture of the golden locks, feeling the coarse body hair tickling her smooth skin.
He kissed her deeply, and she felt his hands run up and down her thighs under the silky water. She arched her back towards him and they floated together, their bodies joined, the water embracing them and adding to their heat with its inviting warmth. His natural scent melted into the bath and rose up with the steam, entering her head, its whispering fragrance telling her how good it felt to be close to him, how important she was in his life.
"Love me, love me right here, Valentine!" she gasped as he soaped her body.
He wrapped her legs around his waist and began thrusting, slowly at first, the more rapidly as the passion and excitement consumed them. Their voices were smothered by the water sloshing against the sides of the tub, splattering onto the floor.
Now he reclined in the tub and she straddled him, their bodies sliding, moving together, their souls synchronized with the laws of the universe that brought them together.
He got out of the tub in one swift leap as she watched the rivulets of water roll down his body, droplets clinging to his forehead, darkening his hair to the color of wheat.
He patted his body leisurely with the towel, wrapped it around his waist, tucking in an end, and approached her.
She breathed in the freshness of soap and lavender that emanated from his body. His hair fell across his forehead and hugged his cheeks, droplets rolling in trickles down his neck, dampening the mat of hair on his chest. She ran her eyes over his body and noticed that the towel barely concealed the bulges.
She got out of the tub and towelled herself off, coiling the towel around her head. "Come here and let me tear this towel off you," she said invitingly, moving close enough so that she could feel his manhood rubbing against her thighs. Clenching her fists round the towel, she yanked away and it fell in a heap to the floor. She fanned out her fingers and ran them over his back.
He lifted her so that their lips were level, and kissed her deeply, heading back for the bed.
They lay in bed, their bodies warm and moist, the soft sheets clinging to them, their hands intertwined.
"Is that what they call good clean fun?" he asked just as she was drifting off into slumber.
"Aye, my love, most certainly." Denys gave a smugly satisfied grin and fell asleep, feeling like she had not a care in the world now that her husband was home. He was right. All had gone their way. What was t
here to fear? Richard would be crowned soon and the best would be yet to come for them all….
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
King Richard III had the most splendid coronation in the history of the kingdom. Denys was thrilled to be a part of it, and swelled with pride at Valentine's achievements, but still her heart was distressed at the thought of his assuming the exalted positions Richard wished him to take.
So she forced herself to enjoy the fanfare as the King and peerage rode to the coronation in unequalled magnificence.
The procession rode through the streets of London the day before the coronation amidst magnates, prelates, knights and household attendants. The crowds cheered along the route from the Tower to Westminster.