by Diana Rubino
Now she began to wonder just how well she wanted to know him. "You should go straight to the confessional for entertaining that possibility. Speaking of the King's death is tantamount to treason." She crossed herself piously.
He did not take her a bit seriously. He'd talked with Edward at length many times, and knew the King accepted the reality of death in battle, yet it never once stopped him from fighting to uphold Yorkist rule.
"I am merely entertaining the possibility. King Edward's military genius notwithstanding, he is constantly in danger of perishing in battle. And should Richard inherit the throne, I would be at his side serving any office in which he sees me fit. The kingdom would thrive ever so healthily with a king like Richard and a councilor such as I. As he is such a great soldier and I am as civic-minded as I am, our talents would blend as one. We would endow colleges, reform the justice system, build up a navy, oh, what we couldn't accomplish together!"
"It sounds like you've got it all planned out save for the coronation date," she said witheringly. "Richard as king? Not half unlikely, but downright frightening!"
"You're just peeved because of what Richard said about that wench he wants me to woo. 'Tis a good thing she didn't see me last night au natural as I was. I would never get her out of my hair then!"
Denys rolled her eyes. "I see modesty is not among your brief list of virtues, either."
"Nay, and I am proud to vaunt my person, my dear lady. My many years of hard work at tilting and jousting and wielding battle axe and sword have given me my share of knocks and bruises, but have made me quite firm indeed."
He ran his hands over the slim hips and muscled thighs straining under his hose. "Military acumen is not my forte, however. I am far more gifted in the art of diplomacy.
"Why, King Louis called on me divers times to compose letters to his foreign counterparts, not to mention love letters—" He cocked a brow. "I assisted him with several of his political addresses, and I trust King Edward will keep this in mind when he decides to bestow his next preferment upon one of his most loyal knights."
So he aspired to a higher office and the title that went with it. For starters.
She fixed him with a cold stare. "And on that note, we are at odds, my lord. You revel in court intrigue, and I despise it. Are you sure your name isn't Woodville?"
"Furthest from it," he said with no small degree of hauteur. "Starbury is the name, my lady. Sir Valentine Starbury. And I intend to earn my higher titles the honorable way, through loyalty plain and simple. To carry on where my father left off in his support of the Yorkist cause."
Not knowing who his father had been, she couldn't make a judgment. The kingdom was so rampant with traitors and spies; she didn't know who was who any more. He could've been Lancastrian at matins one day, and Yorkist by vespers the next.
Despite herself, she indulged in another stare upon that military-conditioned body. Aye, physically he was alluring, but far too immersed in vainglory for her tastes. His appearance matched her description of her fairy-tale mate to the tiniest detail, but his ambitions were against everything she believed in.
It put her off him as a person, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Such high hopes were bound to be dashed. Perhaps he would think more sensibly after seeing just how treacherous and dirty court politics were?
At that more tender emotion towards him, and the way he was staring at her, she knew she had to muster a stinging retort.
"Go gaze at your reflection in the Thames, Sir Preferment. I am busy."
"Care to join me?"
She didn't reply, but pretended to return to her writing as if he'd never interrupted, though she sneaked one last glimpse at him from under the veil of her lashes.
Thus dismissed, he grunted, bade her good day, and returned to his mount, swung one leg over its back stiffly, rigid with anger at her rejection, and galloped off.
As he rode away, an unbidden smile touched her lips. Oh, the maleness of him, his commanding height as he towered over her.
She tried to wrench her gaze away from the imposing figure astride his mount, but couldn't. His thigh muscles molded to the animal's flanks. They cantered as one in exquisitely pure cadence. As man and beast descended the grassy slope out of her view, her frenzied heartbeat dwindled to an uneasy thump.
Her eyes slid shut, but his image behind her lids was as sharp as if he were still standing there. She let the fantasy linger for a moment longer, then returned to the real world. But it was not easy.
She could not help but wonder what might have happened had he lingered longer….
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A short time after Valentine Starbury had left her in peace, she finished her letter, and then found a reliable messenger to take it to the Archbishop.
That most pressing business dispatched, she now strode through the palace corridors to seek Richard, and ask him exactly what was going on with his rude friend, and how he could have possibly ever said such dreadful things about her.
She also had to admit she was worried. Starbury had gossiped about some rather alarming items of news…
If another battle was looming, he would undoubtedly be in the chapel praying, far from the cacophony of hangers-on, minstrels and most of all, Woodvilles. She climbed the great staircase and headed for the far wing of the palace.
Valentine had already found Richard there, in the front pew, not in his usual pensive pose, but simply sitting there thinking.
"Dickon!" he whispered.
Richard motioned for him to sit.
"I found her! She's the one I told you that I saw standing alone in the courtyard after the battle." His voice took on a dreamy tone. "She's gorgeous. Like a nymph. I've never seen anyone like her."
"Neither have I," Richard said dryly.
"And for the life of me I can't remember her name. I was too enthralled with her beauty to even wonder about something so mundane as a name. Oh, I should have asked her today."
"Today?"
"Aye, I met her again today at the edge of the palace grounds. She was sitting writing a letter and...oh, I could have ravished her right then and there!"
"Were she French, perhaps she would have let you have your wicked way right there in the dirt."
"Hmm." Valentine nodded. "Or Irish." He shrugged, adding, "But alas, she is betrothed to another. A nobleman." He continued with renewed exuberance. "Oh, if only I'd gotten there first! But I think 'twould take more than a title to win her."
"Hell's teeth, Val, you don't even know who she is! She may be the daughter of a Lancastrian, or undowried even."
"I care not, Dickon. I possess enough inherited wealth. I would want her if she didn't have a groat to her name. And if she is here near the palace grounds, I doubt she is a Lancastrian."
"Have you forgotten our little bet? You did lose fairly and squarely, my good friend."
"Nay, I have yet to meet your cow. I was all ready last night, and she never showed up. No doubt out grazing somewhere."
"A fine thing if she had turned up, with you way in your cups. Aye, you would have made a grand stinking impression!"
"Well, what do you expect, the way you described her? And after meeting this...oh, her name should come to me. Her hair reflected the moonlight, and her eyes were the lightest green, her skin so smooth and milky."
He conveniently omitted running back to the palace clutching a sprig of birch to his privy parts, nearly scaring that poor old serving wench to death "...and, might I add, a feisty minx as well!"
"Nay, I know no one of milky skin or nymph-like stature," Richard said, shaking his head. "Not in this country anyway. Now how are you going to lavish the necessary attention on Dove if you are chasing after this...fancy one?"
"Come, you know me. I can budget my time...and my affections...quite well. I shall have time for both. What man doesn't?"
Richard fixed him with a hard stare. "I don't."
"Ah, but that is you, my friend. I was referring to us lesser men." A br
ow arched over a twinkling eye.
Denys leaned on the chapel door and grasped the handle as she peeked in. Right she was. There was the dark brown head in the front pew.
Then she heard a voice, and realized he was not alone. She didn't dare open the door farther. It was so creaky, it would give her away immediately. She stood in stony silence as Richard spoke.
"Very well, go chase your nymph all over London if you wish. You can chase a dozen more for all I care, but only if you meet Dove right now. I am sure she is about. I shall go fetch her, and then you can bestow your...procedures upon her. But you must be about this business straight. Time is short, and of the essence."
So Richard was still trying to set her up with another man in order to outwit the Queen.
"So be it," his companion replied. "I shall wait right here." She knew that voice. By God, 'tis him!
Denys let the door close with a whoosh of musty chapel air and lunged toward the corridor. She'd have barely a few seconds to catch her breath before Richard entered her apartments to fetch her.
But she couldn't move. Something was tugging at her skirts. She turned frantically to see what was impeding her escape. Oh, God's foot! Her skirts were caught in the chapel door! It was too late. Even Richard would notice a lady's skirts caught in a door.
No sooner did she shove at the door than it swung open, and there stood Richard, his eyes puzzled. "I simply came in to pray, Richard. I am sorry. I did not realize you were here."
She kept her tone crisp and detached, trying to maintain an air of poise despite her distress.
He handed her the end of her skirts, which had torn clear away in her effort to be free.
"Hello, dear. Do come meet a mate of mine."
She glanced toward the altar and saw him standing there, looking as delighted as if he'd discovered gold in the holy water, his eyes dancing with joy, his grin widening as her heart lurched.
She grasped the edge of the pew, the only way she could steady her trembling legs. Does he have this affect on all women? she wondered.
"Let me introduce the two of you—"
"I think not, Richard. It seems we have already met."
Her gaze dallied on the knight who made her heart beat wildly.
"Oh, you've met Dove?" Richard folded his arms as he turned to face Valentine. "You didn't tell me you'd met her."
His jaw dropped. "I, er, oh God!" Valentine's stammering echoed and faded into the upper reaches of the fan vaulting.
Richard stood waiting calmly, while Denys seethed with anger and hurt.
"I demand an explanation from you, Richard, and will not give you the dignity of explaining to me in private. I would have it now. Look into my eyes right now and tell me they're the color of guano, and that I am a hideous cow!"
"Hideous?" His brows knitted in puzzlement. "That is not even one of my words, dear. When have you known me to be so vivid?"
"That is what he said you said I was!"
She pointed a trembling finger at Valentine, who looked too stunned even to move one of the rippling muscles he'd undoubtedly developed for flaunting purposes.
"Well, maybe not verbatim," Valentine finally said after a prolonged silence. "That was the impression I got from Richard's description. Like one of his sisters," he said.
"I would never call my sister a cow, Val. Jesus wept! And you supposed to be a gallant knight just back from France. Thank God we're not at war if these are your manners," Richard said over his shoulder.
He turned back to Denys, shaking his head.
"In light of our sticky situation, I thought it advantageous if the two of you met. We obviously each see you in a completely different light. He told me he had met a lovely woman the day of the battle triumph, but had not even asked your name. It was you he was babbling and raving about all this while, but I was sure I'd never met anyone matching his florid description."
She looked from one to the other mistrustfully.
"So you're Dove." Valentine's gaze raked over her, and she found herself enjoying it, knowing she was flushing with rage at the same time. This rogue couldn't even keep his eyes to himself in a house of God!
"You know you are like a sister to me, Dove. But Valentine insisted that I describe your physical appearance, and I told him how I saw you—"
"Well, I would have naught to do with him, Richard. And neither should you! He spoke of the King's demise!"
A deathly silence followed as Richard's eyes questioningly searched Valentine.
"Did I?"
"Did you not speak of King Edward's perishing in battle, my lord?" Denys demanded.
He shrugged one shoulder. "Since both our fathers perished in exactly that way, we are aware of its distinct possibility. All I said was should King Edward perish in battle, Yorkist rule wouldn't end," Valentine said. "And were a reliable witness present, he would have heard my words 'God forbid.' What is so treacherous about that?"
Richard began to nod wholeheartedly, then stopped. "Uh, naught. Not a thing. You misunderstood his intentions, Dove."
"No matter what he meant, 'tis dangerous to trust anyone anymore. He may be a Lancastrian spy, for all you know."
"Oh, you couldn't be more wrong." Valentine said quietly, not taking his eyes from her.
"Val is like a brother to me, as you are like a sister. Now if you'll only put your madcap imaginings aside, I trust you will grow fond of him as well."
She regarded Valentine, standing there at the altar, not bothering to hide the jubilation on his face, his golden hair catching the candles' glow.
When she realized how intently she was staring at him, and how much she was enjoying it, she became flooded with guilt. Here she was in a chapel, and having such thoughts, she was mocking its hallowed aura.
Mumbling a silent prayer, she turned and fled, her mind teeming with the jumbled emotions and misunderstandings created by the three of them.
She had had such high hopes of her brave knight, only to have them dashed in the cold light of day.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The door slammed shut behind Denys as she fled from the chapel and the two men she felt sure had made sport of her.
Richard gave Valentine a long, hard look as he walked up the aisle, deep in thought.
Valentine was oblivious to his friend's somber mood. He was simply elated and found no reason to restrain it. "That's Dove! She's the one I met...oh, God, I am ecstatic, enraptured, enthralled!
"Ah, Dickon, you are a sly one! Making me believe she was a homely slag just so I'd be doubly pleased when we finally did meet! You and your wicked sense of humor! Too bad she found out, but no matter, I shall make it up to her."
"'Twas was no joke, Valentine. That is the way I see her. Are you so obtuse that you do not understand that?"
"No dukedoms or manors could ever come close to what you have just given me!" He licked his lips and swallowed continuously, for his mouth was as dry as sheared wool. "She told me she was betrothed to a nobleman. 'Tis to you she referred, I now see. And she harbors just as much trepidation about the match as you."
"Well, of course she does. Neither of us wants to marry the other. Elizabeth wants to ruin a dear friendship, not to mention my own plans, and gain still more power as she makes us dance to her tune. But I was counting on you to possibly change all that. Now you've made a right culls up of it all!" Richard turned to leave.
"I can fix it all," Valentine said quickly, hurrying up to his friend to clap him on the shoulder. "Believe me, I know what I'm doing. There's been this sort of, well, simmering between us since we first met. Like lamprey stew, bubbling, not boiling, but just enough to be a tease—"
"Lamprey stew, is it? Mayhap you'd best get your nose out of the pot before it gets burnt. Forgive my lack of perception, but I haven't seen her tripping over her skirts to get to you, Sir Galahad."
"Consider yourself forgiven. Did you not see the intensity in her eyes? But then, I trust she's never looked at you that way."
"Thank
heaven," Richard said with a delicate shudder. "But with all that talk of guano and cows, and your most ungallant attitude, all you've managed to do is make her cold shoulder you. Are you sure it was lusty France where you spent the last three years, and not bloody Flanders?"
Valentine grimaced and sighed. "So we got off to a bad start. Do not be such a doomsayer, Dickon." Valentine glided down the aisle after Richard.
"She's seen a brief glimpse of but one side of my character, and has sampled none of my chivalrous and courtly qualities apart from when we first met and I gave her a rose! I will win her over, you'll see."