Destiny Lies Waiting

by Diana Rubino

  "Believe me, she will," Denys warned with a shudder.

  He put his arm around her shoulders. "Let her try. But I am not so eager for preferment as you think. If I were, I would give in to her. The fact that I am not must make you see that I am a true Yorkist who would never sell my soul, no matter what the offer."

  Denys remained silent, wanting to believe it, but the very fact that he was even saying it made her question his motives all the more….

  But she didn't want to think about that now, for she could see where he was going with her, and her heart skipped a beat.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Denys felt as though she were floating in a dream. Valentine was there with her, safe after battle, and had his arm around her.

  He was gently leading her through the palace gates and down the narrow path to the river, the site of their unforgettable second meeting when she had caught him swimming naked at night.

  She accompanied him, delightfully fearful of the responses his nearness was evoking.

  "I've been warned about the Queen. We must take her accusations with aplomb, and at times even laugh them off. Those of us in high-ranking places are subject to all kinds of slander and yet we must learn to brush it off."

  He swept a dusting of earth from the front of his tunic, "Like the dirt it is. As long as it's not true, of course."

  A chuckle escaped the depths of her relieved sigh. "Those of us in high-ranking places? Do you consider us among those ranks, my lord?"

  "Aye, I do, if only to be worthy of such a treasure as you."

  Her heart soared at his words. Damn him for an arrogant fool at times, but no other man had ever made her feel so desirable.

  He stepped back, letting his gaze linger on her features before leisurely sliding down her entire body so admiringly that it embarrassed and flattered her at the same time.

  Her soft voice filled his eyes and ears with wonder. His hands itched to caress that smooth skin, his lips tingled at the thought of kissing her again, his breaths quickening as he took in her freshly washed fragrance.

  Her face had been etched so deeply into his memory: the sparkling eyes, the arched brows, the curved nose centered in a delicate bone structure giving way to the succulent mouth, just ripe for kissing.

  The jawline was as sharp as the piercing blade of his dagger, and the exquisitely shaped shoulders supported the neck, her collarbone jutting subtly to introduce a lithesome frame. Her shining hair caught the fading light like a tiara of pearls.

  He was beginning to feel something for Denys that he'd never felt for another woman in his life. It rendered his heart soft, and brought a tightening to his throat every time he thought of her.

  The tender waves of affection mingled with something more powerful and profound—a sense of possession, a desire to take care of her, a willingness to fly to her side at her every call.

  He'd thought of many French words to describe his feelings, but not one in English. Except maybe—

  "Certainly we are lofty," he said a moment later. "You especially. You are royalty now."

  She looked away and nodded, ready now to change the subject, but wishing she could tell him the truth. She was not royalty. She knew not who she was. In fact, she might well be a bastard…

  She quickly wiped away a tear that had clung to her lashes.

  "Don't cry, Dove. I know your Aunt Elizabeth has not treated you as well as she could, but she has tried. But you still have royal blood in your veins, as only a lucky few ever will. Even if you do not marry Richard."

  For a moment she was tempted to sob out the whole story to him. But then she paused. No! She couldn't tell him the truth. It might mean losing him forever, and she wasn't yet ready to risk that.

  "Not such royal blood, since she of course married into the Plantagenet line."

  "Aye, but you were raised well too, and your person and deportment more than make up for any lack of blue blood."

  "Thank you. I can see now why I have so many suitors that I have to fight them off," she said tightly.

  "You do have a betrothed at the moment," he reminded her gently.

  "Ah, yes," she said through a forced sprinkling of laughter, "the best way to ruin my comradeship with Richard would be to marry. Just his la-di-da neatness alone would drive me distracted!"

  He chuckled, adding, "Ah, he is a fussbudget, all right!" He regarded her, sensing her forced joviality.

  "There is naught to be sad about, Dove. 'Tis a happy time for all of us, especially for me. If it hadn't been for that duel with Richard, I wouldn't be here right now, sitting here, relishing the splendid delight of your company."

  "Duel?" She leaned forward, giving him the perfect vantage point from which to gaze at her endowments, which he of course did. "What duel?"

  "Richard and I had a duel over you."

  "You dueled? Over me? When?"

  He blushed. "I believe it was, uh—"

  "Richard never mentioned a word about it."

  "Well, you know Richard, forever the modest one."

  "Well, I can see why. Losing a duel is not something you want tongues wagging about."

  "Oh, he did not lose. Had I not been suffering an injured arm, 'twould have been anyone's game."

  "You mean he defeated you?"

  "Fortunately for me, yes. Because I won you as a result."

  "Are you saying I was at stake here? The trophy to be bestowed upon the loser?" Her voice gathered volume, her fists clenching into tight balls.

  "Nay, not exactly."

  "Then what are you saying?"

  "'Twas a friendly match. It meant nothing, really."

  "So you dueled and whoever lost would get saddled with me! Friendly, indeed! Who was the father of this cunning brainchild? And I have a strange inkling it wasn't Richard! He simply does not possess the imagination, or the gall."

  She just didn't want to believe Richard would be so callous as he had whilst describing her with his unflattering vocabulary.

  "'Twas his idea that I court you to provide the possibility of getting out of your marriage!"

  "But to turn it into a contest? So that was the bargain you spoke of! Playing for stakes! With swords!"

  "They were blunted."

  "That doesn't change the idea behind it all! You could've been playing tiddlywinks!"

  "Knocking the wind from an injured man proved more than sufficient to grant him his victory."

  "Of all the insolent...you churlish varlet! I shall be the laughing stock of court should anyone hear of this!"

  "No one has found out. I am a man of integrity. All I am doing is trying to uphold my end of the bargain."

  "Is that what you consider spending time in my company? Upholding your end of the bargain?"

  "Nay!"

  "Be glad you are upholding that smug grin, lest I smack it off!"

  "I didn't even know it was you, Dove!" he protested. "I made the bet over paying court to the woman he was being fobbed off with. The man must be blind not to want—"

  But Denys had already heard more than enough.

  In a blur of tears, she lifted her skirts and escaped the conniving rogue, the eyes that sparkled too brightly, the hair that arranged itself too neatly upon that too-handsome face.

  Stumbling on a dead tree root, she toppled over, her hands splayed upon the ground.

  She struggled to pick herself up, smoothing down her skirts and straightening her body with an attempt to look dignified.

  Two warm hands gently lifted her as she scrambled back to her feet. He started brushing her back with slow sensuous strokes.

  She turned to face him, to rake him with a jumble of furious words, when his fingertips lightly wrapped around a tendril of her hair.

  "Your hair's mussed," he said softly, as if her bruised hands and knees didn't matter. Then he stroked down the hour glass of her body.

  His strong hands warmed her with their velvety touch and remained clasped around her just a moment longer than necessary.
/>   "It was nothing personal, never meant to humiliate you. I had no idea Richard was talking about the same woman I had dreamed of ever since I had met her in the rose garden. Would it were that you were as grateful as I am that it turned out this way, Dove. You are just not ready to admit it."

  She stepped away from his compelling caresses, and said stiffly, "Valentine, you are too uppish for your own good—and with a queen like Elizabeth, that trait can be deadlier than all seven deadly sins! Just remember that anyone who runs afoul of her, no matter how brave, is more expendable than you think.

  "Just go to the King and tell him what I've told you. And make damn sure that royal signet is in his hands lest you find yourself strutting around the great hall with your head tucked under your arm!"

  "You really are worried about me, aren't you?" His voice took on a soft reverent tone, devoid of all loftiness. He was now so near, his arms wrapped around her once more.

  She struggled out of his grasp. "Pray let me go. Your presence vexes me so. I need to be alone—to think."

  "What about? Us? Or me?" His voice brightened. His eyes lit up.

  She let out a puff of air. "Me!"

  Her hem caught on a scraggly branch, snagging the satin of her gown, and tearing it to trailing ribbons.

  He leaned over and calmly unwound the frayed material from the branch, but he didn't hand it to her. He tucked it away under his surcoat. "Just a memento. If I may."

  "Valentine, I warn you—stay out of Elizabeth's way. And for the time being, mine as well."

  With one more sharp glance, she turned and strode up the hill back to the palace. She didn't turn around to look back.

  By now he was ingrained sharply enough in her mind's eye that she didn't need to.

  As long as he wasn't worried about Elizabeth's accusation, she needn't worry so. He'd managed to calm her a great deal about that.

  It was the rest that had her in such turmoil….

  She slowed her pace to a stroll, then turned and sat under a tree beyond the palace gates, trying to sort out the mixed feelings she had for him.

  Beneath the lofty and lordly air, and her shame over Richard trying to fob her off on his best friend, there was something about him that seemed genuine. And very possibly, perfect for her, despite his flaws.

  She had never wanted a country squire who just let life pass him by. And he still treated her like no man ever had, like a woman, not a little girl.

  She liked the way he teased her, with his smart answers for everything she said.

  Is this what they call romance? All the smiling and exchange of quips and dancing around each other's personalities to see if they could get on?

  She wanted to flirt, but didn't know how. So for now she'd let him lead, and just follow in the dance of love.

  But as she headed back to the relative privacy of her chambers, what Valentine had said about royal blood struck her and gave her pause. She had delayed her search long enough. She didn't know what kind of future she could have if she didn't face her past first.

  She had dallied long enough, embroiled with the civil war and the ample temptations of her heroic dream knight.

  Well, she had found him now, and she knew where to find him again. That part of her quest was over.

  Now her quest for her family could begin in earnest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Richard welcomed Valentine to his receiving chamber the following evening.

  "Val, you remember my dear cousin, Anne Neville?"

  He bowed to the tiny young woman. "Indeed I do. 'Tis a pleasure to see you once again, Lady Anne. My, how you've grown since I saw you last."

  Lady Anne curtseyed to Valentine, a warm smile spreading across her face, touching her brown eyes. "'Tis so good to see you again. You have done quite a bit of growing yourself! It's hard to believe you used to dunk me in the river and flip me upside down!"

  "And crack eggs over your noggin!"

  "And crush snowballs down my cloak!"

  They laughed heartily, the sweet memories coming back briefly to visit them. "Oh, come hither, Annie, and give me a hug!"

  The childhood playmates embraced tightly and Valentine held out his arm to take Richard into the warm circle. The trio stood together, arms wound round one another, laughing heartily.

  When at last they broke their embrace, Valentine stood back and held Anne's hands.

  He thought adulthood had been thrust upon her much too soon. The creases around the expressive eyes shared Richard's same look of wisdom peeking through that simplistic innocence.

  Although they were only distant relations, Anne shared Richard's swarthy coloring. Dark hair peeked out from under the head-dress, heavy brows arched severely, giving her expression sharp definition, the straight nose and jawline were rigid with determination.

  They were both equally slight of stature, their complexions glowing from an abundance of time outdoors.

  "You have my greatest sympathy on the death of your husband Edward."

  "'Twas not a true marriage, Valentine. We never lived as man and wife, not even for a day," she replied.

  "Nay, indeed they did not," Richard echoed emphatically, his sharp tone piercing the serenity of his receiving chamber.

  "In any event, I called you here to solicit your services, Val, and I trust you will honor my request."

  He knew what was coming.

  Richard and Anne sat side by side in ornately carved oaken chairs and for a fleeting moment a picture flashed before Valentine's eyes—Richard and Anne upon thrones as king and queen.

  How regal and majestic they looked, their heads erect with that royal air of subtle superiority, yet how gently their eyes caressed each other when the tips of their fingers touched.

  "I would like you to stand up for me at our wedding."

  "I should be happy to," he replied without hesitation. "When is the date?"

  "On the morrow after vespers. And God willing before Elizabitch has a chance to muck it up again."

  "I offer you both my most heartfelt wishes."

  They nodded in unison.

  "Thank you, friend."

  Richard and Anne rose and she tucked her hand into his sleeve.

  As Valentine bowed he saw a sparkle in Richard's eyes he'd never seen before, lighting up in tranquil recognition when he gazed upon his future wife.

  Valentine was immensely happy for his dearest friend, but envious at the same time. What he wouldn't give to share that same magic with Denys.

  He had some work to do in order to get her to open her heart to him. Let alone to win anything more.

  Richard murmured to Anne for a moment, and she left the room silently. Then he stood by the window. He placed a foot on the seat and rested an elbow on his knee.

  Valentine joined him, looking out over the Thames, its bustling traffic slowing to a halt in the haze of eventide.

  "So Anne is finally free to marry. And this dissolves your betrothal to Dove," Valentine said.

  "Aye, Dove is quite relieved, although she's a bit saddened that I'll be taking up residence in Yorkshire. She was expecting that we'd continue to reside at court."

  "The Queen knows naught of these plans, I take it."

  He shook his head. "Nay. And Edward agreed to keep it quiet until after we've exchanged our vows," he hastened to add, in a near-whisper. "But as you know, friendship knows no earthly bounds. So this means you needn't hasten to capture Dove's heart. You may take your time."

  Valentine's smile widened. "I'd rather not. I thank God I lost that duel and agreed to your plan, so I could meet her and find the one lady I had been seeking. But though I may have found her, winning her heart is another matter. I know I shall do it. It may just take a bit longer than I thought," he added airily.

  "Well, if anyone can make a woman go from slapping your face to kissing it, you can."

  He laughed. "No doubt, no doubt!"

  Richard invited his friend to sit. "Val, I am telling you about my wedding in the utmost
confidence. George mustn't know we're marrying so quickly either."

  "Why? What could George possibly do to sabotage your marriage to Anne?"