“Why not?” Fat Rosamund’s face quivered with horrified pleasure. “My mother knew a woman who could make any man fall in love with her.”
“A pity you didn’t learn how to do that!” Jennet’s sneering laughter whipped a hot bloom into Rosamund’s plump cheeks.
“Oh I’m sure there are some who can look into the future.” I spoke softly. “I knew an old woman who possessed the Sight and she taught me to use her special cards—”
Four pairs of eyes fixed on me.
“Would you like to see them?” In a moment of pure recklessness I slid the bundle from my pack of belongings and offered to tell their fortunes. It wasn’t the time to be boasting of such matters but I wanted to see if I still had the skill. Besides, Mara had been on my mind ever since I’d heard about Tewkesbury. Now her wry smile and the wise twinkle of her black eyes teased me, as if she urged me to this daring act.
“How can you know that?” Cecily’s amazement at my vivid description of her grandmother’s house clearly impressed. “You’ve never been there, and she’s been dead fifteen years.”
“Tell me if I’ll marry,” begged fat Rosamund, snatching the cards. The others sniggered and made cruel faces behind her back.
Even shy Dorothy demanded to know her fate.
“How did you learn such tricks?” Sallow-faced Jennet examined the curious images with a suspicious frown.
I shook my head. “No trickery.”
“Witch-craft’s a hanging offence.”
“It’s just a game,” said Kate carelessly, but Jennet’s vindictive glare put me in mind of Johanna Nettleship and the ducking she’d given me in the village pond.
“I told you, an old woman gave them to me. She taught me their meanings.”
“You didn’t tell Anne’s fortune.” Cecily indicated a thin, quiet girl on the corner bed. Green eyes brilliant in the rush-light, she huddled against the wall as if ready to ward off a blow. She’d only recently joined our company and so far no one had heard her say a word.
“I’m sure she’s not right in the head.” Kate whispered in my ear as we turned to face the newcomer.
“She’s in shock,” I replied without thinking. “Mistress Mercer told me she lost her father recently and one of her relations begged Sir Robert to take her in.”
“She has very fine hands.” Dorothy’s words turned our attention to the refined quality of the girl’s appearance in spite of her coarse clothes.
“Would you like me to read your fortune?”
She stared at me with such anguish, a lump of pain formed in my throat.
“You have to shuffle and make a wish.” Rosamund thrust the cards at her with an air of superior knowledge.
She took them as one might a dish hot from the oven, staring at them for a long time.
“Go on, shuffle them,” Rosamund said.
With mounting apprehension, I laid out the familiar pattern.
“Well?” Kate asked impatiently. “What wondrous future lies in store for Mistress Anne?”
“Too much noise up there!” We jumped apart. “Who’s wasting light?”
“Master Rowland!” Cecily leaped into the bed she shared with Dorothy. “Put out the light, for God’s sake or he’ll be up here!” She pulled the coverlet over her head and someone speedily extinguished the light. Kate muttered a curse on all troublesome stewards. Amidst a general scrambling into sleeping places, a shuffling and arranging of bed-linen, I found myself abandoned trying to retrieve the dropped cards.
“What did you see?” The fierce whisper shocked me. Icy fingers seized my wrist.
“A crown,” I answered, amazed by the strength of those delicate hands.
She uttered a hard laugh that made my scalp prickle.
“What’s that?”
“Ssssh! Go to sleep. You’ll have old yellow-breeches up here.”
In the anonymous dark the girls shrugged down into their mattresses with a shift of limbs, a flap of coverlets, a sigh and settling of breath.
“Lady,” I said to my companion in an undertone, “you have many secrets. You’re not what you seem.”
In the glitter of her eyes, slanted and green as a cat’s, shone an astonishing rage. I knew instantly some terrible injustice had put it there. Clearly there was more to this strange girl than the shock and fear I’d first noticed.
“If you two don’t stop whispering, old Rowland will punish all of us.” Jennet’s peevish tone hissed a warning.
“Your destiny lies in the north lands, lady, for in the south there’s danger. And in spite of all, the crown will be yours.”
Jennet snapped another caution and I slunk to my bed. Fat Rosamund already snored and grumbled. But long after the others slept, I lay shivering beneath the coverlet.
You’ll take me with you, lady, I thought. Your destiny and mine are intertwined, but why do I have such awful premonitions concerning the outcome?
Chapter Forty
When Master Rowland assigned our morning tasks, a sour expression distorted Jennet’s features. “Why can’t Anne go to the fishmonger’s?”
“If she went with you to fetch the fish,” said fat Rosamund, “I could go with Nan to the market.” Her moon-shaped face beamed in pretended innocence
Jennet rewarded Rosamund with one of her particularly spiteful glares. “You could take Anne to the fishmonger’s just as well as me. Then I could go to the market. Why should I always have to go for the fish?”
“Because you’re so much better at dealing with slippery things.” Rosamund’s sweetly spat venom made us gasp.
“My dear young ladies!” Master Rowland pressed his index finger against the corner of his mouth as if perplexed, although he knew perfectly well none of us relished the stink of Billingsgate’s fish market. “I’m amazed at these displays of ill-temper.” With a martyred sigh, he explained our duties again as if addressing simpletons. “Dorothy has tooth-ache and Mistress Anne will go nowhere.” He glared at a truculent Jennet. “Her family requested she remain in the house until stronger.”
His fishy-pale eyes followed us as Jennet flung on a shawl, and Rosamund lumbered off to collect her basket.
“Who is this Anne?” Jennet asked. “Why should she merit special treatment? Anyone would think she was royalty the way Master Rowland talks.”
We spilled into the street.
“Mistress Mercer said her father died recently. Perhaps he was killed in the fighting at Tewkesbury,” said Cecily.
The appearance of the carpenter’s apprentice, a handsome lad with an abundance of auburn curls and a winning smile, quickly diverted our attention.
“Good morning to you, ladies,” he called out jauntily. His eyes appraised Rosamund’s voluptuous curves with amusement.
She simpered coyly, plump cheeks wobbling, and while he and Jennet fell into the sparring conversation of young men and women who find one another interesting, she stood gazing with calf-like eyes. Cheerful Cecily scampered off towards Smithfield and I headed to the Chepe.
A strange quiver of unease passed through me as soon as I entered the market. I lingered amongst the press of matrons by a pie stall, aware of a dark-clad figure lurking at the edge of my vision. Heart thumping, I turned carefully and caught the stranger melting into the milling crowds. Feeling foolish, I moved among the stalls pausing to make purchases and exchange pleasantries with familiar traders. Eventually, however, I realised the hooded stripling followed my every step. He paced with stealth and purpose, steadily closing the gap between us. My heart quickened its beat. I tried to keep my gait unhurried whilst pretending interest in the stalls, but my mind teemed with thoughts of escape.
Unease finally gave way to panic. I almost fell as I slipped into the narrow darkness of Cutter’s Lane. Sunlight rarely penetrated this passageway and the cobbles lay slick with slime. Turning sharply, my basket struck against the corner with such force several objects leapt out and rolled away.
I daren’t stoop to search, the lane being infamous as th
e haunt of petty thieves and drabs who brought customers to conduct their business amongst the shadows. Before my eyes could adjust, I flung myself headlong down the twisting alley, desperate to shake off my pursuer.
Recklessness proved my undoing. I bumped into a group of crouching figures sharing the objects of their recent pilfering, lost my balance, and tumbled, sprawling in the dirt. I managed to retrieve my basket but as I staggered to my feet a greasy hand encircled my ankle. Instinctively, I kicked out. My cursing assailant loosed his grip, but wrenched at my skirt to maintain a hold. With an alarming ripping sound, I fled amid a roar of ribald laughter. Voices slurred with ale called lewd remarks.
“Stop that woman!” A refined, youthful voice rang with authority.
“Has the wench cheated you, sir?” Another voice cackled with mirth. “She’s a lively one. Sim can vouch for that, can’t you, lad?”
Attacked from behind by another pair of exploring hands, I elbowed and wrestled using basket and contents as weapons. Picking eggs from my basket, I ground them into a face, aiming for the eyes. From the furious yelping, I guessed they’d found their mark.
There followed a mad scramble amongst lurching shapes and angry, screeching noises. I registered vividly the shocked face of a girl entwined with a wrinkled goat of a man against a wall.
By some miracle, I finally escaped into daylight at the end of this evil-smelling tunnel. Filthy and dishevelled, my kirtle torn and my bodice spattered with egg and grease, I hurled myself among the crowds. From the look of disdain a stout tradesman’s wife gave me, I guessed she mistook me for a whore. Clutching my empty basket like a talisman I raced back to Dowgate.
Just outside the house a jangle of raised voices caught my attention, and once in the kitchen I encountered a scene of utter confusion.
“My purse has been stolen!” I fumbled in my sleeve, conscious of my soiled gown with its torn skirt. “I was attacked—”
“She’s gone!” Kate shouted above the roar of voices, jumping up and down with excitement. “Oh there’s been such a to-do! You should’ve seen. And you’ll never guess who she was!”
Dorothy tried to speak but I couldn’t catch her words. Fat Rosamund pushed towards me, gabbling and gesticulating, her enormous bosom heaving.
“Too bad you missed it,” Jennet said. She thrust Rosamund aside.
“—some noblemen came to fetch her.”
I caught the tail-end of Dorothy’s explanation as the room fell silent and Master Rowland ushered in our illustrious patron. “Sir Robert wishes to acquaint you with the truth of the unusual events which took place this morning,” he said. His fishy eyes flicked a warning.
“Where’s Anne?”
Dorothy nudged me with her elbow, nodding towards Sir Robert.
“Lady Anne Neville was here at the request of her brother-in-law, George, Duke of Clarence—a particular friend of mine.” The refined, nasal voice finally caught my attention.
Lady Anne Neville! Anne Neville! The Kingmaker’s daughter! She’d stayed here among us, disguised as a cook-maid and I’d spoken to her as an equal! I barely heard the rest of Sir Robert’s speech.
“Imagine! Her father was the Earl of Warwick.” Kate’s excitement trembled in her shrill tones.
“Who was killed at Barnet.” Grim-faced Jennet glared a challenge at Rosamund. “And good riddance.”
“Oh Jennet, that’s unkind,” gentle Dorothy said.
“He was an arrogant, ambitious knave—and deserved to die for the way he treated the queen.”
“How can you be so heartless, Jennet? He was Anne’s father.” Cecily looked plainly dismayed. “And her husband was killed at Tewkesbury.”
“Husband?” Rosamund stammered, goggle-eyed. “Was she married, then?”
“To daft King Henry’s son.” Kate’s enthusiastic prattle engaged us all. “He hid in an abbey during the battle. A woman in the Chepe said King Edward dragged him out and killed him in revenge for the murder of his own young brother who was hacked to pieces years ago—”
“But why was she here? What’s going to happen to her now?”
“She’s been taken to St Martin’s Sanctuary.” Cecily’s expression grew dreamy. “The Duke of Gloucester means to marry her. Isn’t it romantic?”
“Well, I don’t suppose she’ll be inviting us to her wedding,” said laughing Kate. “She’ll have forgotten us already.”
The Duke of Gloucester! Hadn’t Harry told me my black-haired man wore Gloucester’s device? But why had Anne Neville lived in disguise at Dowgate? If the Lancastrian prince had become king, she’d have been his queen. Hadn’t I promised her a crown? But now she’d wed a mere duke—and youngest brother to the king at that—
“Nan told her fortune.” Jennet’s dark eyes fixed on mine like those of an adder. “She’s certain to remember that.”
When Master Rowland sent for me after breakfast the next morning I swallowed nervously. No doubt he means to chastise me for the loss of purse and purchases, I thought, drying my hands on my coarse apron. How can I explain?
“You’ve to get all your things,” said the serving-lad who’d been instructed to find me. “Hurry up! Roly’s in one of his bad moods.”
This didn’t presage well. I wondered what Margaret Mercer would say.
“Well, Nan.” Master Rowland’s shrewd, pale eyes perused me. He pressed his index finger to the corner of his lower lip. “Mistress Mercer, whose opinion is much prized, commended you to me. But now you seem to have found favour with Lady Anne. So much so she’s desirous to make you her maid-servant—a more pleasing prospect than being a cook-maid, I think, even in such an illustrious house as this?”
“Lady Anne Neville desires me to be her maid, sir?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Indeed she does.” Master Rowland looked equally surprised. “She’s sent this gentleman to bring you to her without delay.”
Bewildered by my summons, I failed to notice the other occupant of the room. Leaning with his elbow against the casement, half-hidden by the shadows, stood a tall, broad man dressed in livery. My heart skipped a beat when I recognised the emblem of the white boar. My escort stepped into the light and then I saw his face clearly.
“Lady Anne’s instructed me to guard you with my life.” He spoke courteously but his piercing blue eyes moved hotly over me. His mouth twisted in a sly smile. “Will you go with me, mistress?”
Like one under a spell, I joined him by the hearth, my heart hammering with a curious mix of delight and apprehension.
“I’d the devil’s own job to find this place.” He turned to Master Rowland. “I’ll be glad to quit London for the clean air of the north. Fortunately my master’s keen to conclude his business and get back to Middleham without delay.” Pride and mockery rang in his voice.
Somehow I found myself out in the street.
“Miles Forrest at your service,” said my escort. He performed an insolent bow. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time. But you know that already.”
Shock kept me tongue-tied. Amused by my evident embarrassment, the black-haired rogue leaned nonchalantly against the wall. “Do you believe in fate, mistress?”
For a heart’s-beat I pressed a hand to the bundle of cards hidden in my bodice as if it burned into my flesh. “Without a doubt.” I raised my eyes to meet his, my face aflame at the delicious memory of a kiss in Silver Street and a score of wanton dreams.
“Then you and I are fated to be together.” The pleasing, sensual mouth grinned; the blue eyes devoured me. “Everywhere I go, you turn up. I’ll swear you put some spell on me. But why didn’t you keep your promise?”
“Promise?”
“To meet me at the Boar’s Head. I waited for you. Even in dreams I’ve been looking for you ever since.”
Taking my bundle with a possessive air, he turned towards the city.
“Perhaps we’ll have time to better our acquaintance now.” He awarded me a secretive, knowing smile, driving a delicious flutter throu
gh my belly.
“Where are we going?” I asked, trotting along at his side like a dog who’s found its master.
“St Martin-le-Grand,” he answered in the curt manner of the north. “Lady Anne’s lodging there until arrangements can be made for her marriage.”
He took my hand with a boldness I ought to have dismissed. “You must be a special wench to have found favour with the Neville maid. They say she’s proud like her father—but I can’t fault her choice.” He smiled so winningly the hot blood rushed into my cheeks. “I look forward to our onward journey together.” The saucy glint in his blue eyes set a flood of delightful anticipation coursing through me.
So I found myself in attendance on the Kingmaker’s daughter in the sanctuary apartments of the church where I’d prayed as a child and lit candles for my beloved father. But this time the promise of freedom and fulfilment beckoned.
Miles Forrest and I were bound to go to Middleham together.
Chapter Forty-One
Middleham Castle
The broad hand clamped across my mouth, stifling a giggle.
“Ssh!” A voice, husky with desire, whispered by my ear. “Christ, girl, do you want me dismissed?”
We struggled together, hands busy with laces and buckles, tongues probing, breaths gasping, hungry for consummation. Staggering back into the dark, I heard the stamp and snort of horses in their stalls, smelled leather harness and warm animal flesh, the mingled scents of hay and dung.
He forced me back, my nails raking the tight fabric of his doublet as we fell into soft straw. We rolled and clung while fingers squeezed and caressed, wrenched at garments, hoisted heavy skirts, and mouths tasted new delights. I clung to the hard, muscular body while it heaved and twisted above me and the strong hands explored the soft, wet core that betrayed my need.
“Now you can laugh all you like,” he said, as he thrust inside me, but I didn’t want to anymore. Instead I fastened my mouth on his and drew him deeper until we panted for air and broke asunder. At the last, I threw back my head and opening my eyes, saw the triumph in the shocking blue of his.
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