Destiny Lies Waiting (12 page)

He followed her to the bay window where they sat in the cushiony velvet seat and she took a few rapid sips of her own glass of wine before speaking. "I take it you haven't yet located Anne."

He shook his head. "Nay. But I depart for East Grinstead this eve. There's a chance she may be there."

"God willing. Meanwhile, I have found someone to escort me to Malmesbury. It's Hugh Corey, the brother-in-law of the Duchess of Salisbury's seamstress. He's worked as a courier, he's from Gloucestershire, and knows the countryside thoroughly. He can take me directly there via the quickest route. I was fortunate in finding someone who knows the roads quite well. 'Twill make the journey much safer and easier. He is confident we should be able to locate Foxley Manor once we enter Malmesbury. He's not available to depart until Thursday, so I'll be going even if you're not in a state of wedded bliss with Anne by then."

"I'm relieved you have a navigator so you won't be traipsing about unguided and alone, but how can you be so sure that's where your origins lie? All we know is that's where Bess rustled up a dowry for you."

"Oh, I'm quite sure. When I asked Bess casually about Foxley Manor, she spun one cockered tale after another, but she was lying."

"With whom?"

She slapped his forearm. "Nay, I mean lying. As in not telling the truth."

"How could you tell?"

"She strummed her pearls."

He nodded in instant recognition. "Oh." He knew the gesture too well. "Well, do not put much stock in this venture of yours. It just may lead to heartache."

"I am going to do this, Richard. And 'tis not just to get out of our quandary. I need to find my family."

She stepped over to the casement, no longer wanting to speak, to try to explain. She needed some air. As she pushed open the diamond paned window, colored fragments of light illuminated the chamber, mingling with the soft gold of the flickering candle flames.

"Speaking of our quandary...and Val..." Richard said, and she raised her head.

"What about Val?" She tried to sound nonchalant. "And what's he got to do with our quandary?"

"I fully expected you to take to him. Especially since he's the very one you were gushing about—King Arthur and all that rot. You really don't know him at all. He may come across as lofty at times, but he's got the sincerest heart in the kingdom. Even you said so, before you knew who he was."

Letting out an impatient sigh, she clutched at the opening of her robe. That chest-thumping knight elicited such a jumble of responses in her; it was hard to sift through them all.

Though he certainly did think the world of himself, his compliments seemed genuine and sounded not like false flattery. She closed her eyes and fleetingly imagined herself tasting him, drinking in his essence. She wondered what his mouth would feel like locked to hers, how she would savor those warm lips…

Richard was still speaking, but she hadn't been listening, lost in her romantic reverie.

"Sorry, Richard. What was that?"

"You wanted to meet someone like him, and what do I do. I go and find not merely someone like him, but none other than the very character you'd been blathering about. I opened your damn storybook, the hero jumps off the page at your feet, and you won't take part in the romance and happily ever after!" He shook his head in mild exasperation.

She pushed back her heavy fall of silvery hair over her shoulder. "But I can't help hesitating. I have doubts about him. He aspires to high office. We all have to be careful these days, Richard. What he said may have been innocent, but we do have an enemy faction out there, and we never know who's part of it. He may even enter George and Warwick's clutches."

"If anyone is a Yorkist through and through, it is Valentine. His father the Earl of Pembroke died next to mine. He would never do anything to harm any of us. I just wish you would give him a chance. He isn't about to go away from court or my life, so you may as well get used to him. You may even grow fond of him, as was my wish. He is my very dearest friend, and you, my very dear niece by marriage. You have so much in common, apart from me, if you did but get to know him, that I can't see how the two of you could fail to be well-matched and happy."

She didn't want to tell Richard that was precisely how she was beginning to feel. So she denied it as forcefully as she could.

"You and Uncle Ned are men of few words, and harbor your closest feelings deep within your souls. Valentine is as transparent as glass, and as such, would never pique my interest." She hoped she sounded convincing enough.

A rap on the chamber door startled them both. In a second, the door burst open. It was King Edward's Page of Honor. He bowed in front of Richard.

"His Highness the King summons your lordship immediately. 'Tis a matter of urgency."

"What is it? And how did you know I was here?" Richard demanded.

"Her Highness the Queen told me to look for you—" the page cleared his throat quickly and averted his eyes, "in the company of your betrothed, my lord."

"Bloody cheek!" Denys hissed under her breath, turning away.

"It could be worse, Dove. If you were really in love with me, she'd be trying to marry you off to anyone but me." Richard straightened his dark velvet doublet and turned to the page. "Now, what is amiss?"

"The Earl of Warwick is planning to invade from France, my lord."

"That pestiferous fool!" Richard swore roundly then, and without so much as a backward glance at Denys, strode past the guard out of the chamber.

Suddenly he turned on a heel, rushed back into the chamber and ran up to Denys. "Godspeed on this quest of yours. And remember what I said. You can trust your life to Valentine. I always have," he whispered. Then he was gone.

"Godspeed to you!" she whispered into the darkness.

She turned back to the casement, closing it now against the bitter chill that had blown into the room, guttering the candles.

"I pray this issue with Warwick will be much ado about nothing, and you'll be home soon. Mayhap I'll have a family for you to meet upon your return."

Then she wondered his last words. Trust Valentine…. How could she trust him, when the way her heart leapt in her chest every time she even thought of him made her even fear she was betraying herself?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Valentine rose early for sword practice, just before the sun peeped over the horizon, a streak of pinkish fingers waved on the new morning. He went through drill after drill until Mass.

Oddly, Richard did not attend.

When Richard didn't show up for breakfast in the great hall, Valentine strode up to his chambers to fetch him.

The yeoman of the guard let him in, and Valentine quietly approached the ornately carved bed, pushing the velvet hanging aside.

Richard's face was troubled in sleep. Perhaps he was having a bad dream, Valentine thought.

"Wakey, wakey, Dickon." He nudged Richard gently and finally he stirred.

Opening one eye and glimpsing Valentine, he groaned loudly and turned over.

"Come on then, rise and shine! 'Tis a belter of a day, and tomorrow's the tourney. You can't win by dreaming of victories. We've got to get out there and flex our muscles."

He wielded an imaginary sword, relieved that his arm was healed. The paste of mandragora leaves the physician had wrapped it in had worked wonders.

"Val, I do not give a fig if the sun stops coming round and we plunge into eternal night," Richard mumbled into the pillow.

Valentine had to bend over to discern what he was saying. "What is it, Dickon? Are you ill? Shall I summon the physician?"

"Nay, Val, fetch no one. I heard some news last evening that fairly broke my heart." His head was no longer buried in the pillow, but he'd pulled the coverlet up over his head.

"Oh, I'm sorry you are so downtrodden. But do rise and break your fast. Then we shall talk. You will feel so much better with a full stomach. I shall be practicing maneuvers in the courtyard whilst I await you."

Finally, after what seemed like an interminable wait during which Valentine had two mock duels with the young Earl of Towton, cornering him both times,

Richard arrived at last. His face was sullen and drawn, and his gait lacked its usual lively stride of a man so eager to end one activity just so he could start another.

Valentine rose to meet him. "Dickon, where have you been? The sun has nearly disappeared over the treetops! Have you broken your fast?"

"Nay. Why should I add a broken fast to the broken heart I now possess?" he replied, passing Valentine, not looking up, barely acknowledging his presence.

"What has happened then?"

The pounding of hooves on the hard earth, usually music to Valentine's ears, only served to annoy him as the flurry of activity in the courtyard intensified.

Armored soldiers, in shining silver splendor, plumes floating from their helmets, were entering the palace gates on caparisoned horses bearing the Yorkist standard, banners streaming behind them.

"What is going on here? The tourney is tomorrow, is it not? Or is the next battle about to commence sooner than expected?"

Richard looked around with a sigh, and lowered his head again as they passed the gatehouse and walked along the embankment.

"Aye. Warwick is at it again. He is planning to invade from France with Marguerite of Anjou. They are on their way here on a fleet of ships provided by King Louis. My brother George is waiting in the wings. They are going to try to dethrone Edward again. That is easy enough to handle, for they'll never succeed, but it is a damned bad business all around."

"Bad indeed," Valentine muttered, wondering why his friend had not summoned him, why he had not got a single hint from anyone at the palace as to the imminent danger.

It is to stop a panic
, he decided.
And now Richard does not trust even me
, he determined with a start a short time later.
He has suffered so much betrayal…

They left the palace grounds silently, and sat on a grassy mound. Valentine kept looking over his shoulder for the arrival of more knights as Richard drew his knees up to his chin.

"So are we going out to battle this afternoon or not?" Valentine persisted, knowing he had to prepare himself mentally for the rigors of battle just as he had to train in military maneuvers.

He shook his head. "Nay, we've got to meet with the council first. But I have to say, my heart is sick. You will not believe what they have done to Anne."

"What?" He sat up straight.

"Last night I found out that she was married to Marguerite of Anjou's son, Edward."

"Oh, good Lord, I am sorry," Valentine said, and meant it. No wonder Richard had been hiding his head under the covers. The whole world he had dreamed of for himself had ended.

Marguerite of Anjou—wife of the deposed King Henry VI—the former queen was one of the most tenacious Lancastrians in the realm, even worse than Warwick.

Valentine could see why such a marriage would suit Warwick's political agenda. But poor little Annie!

His heart went out to his dear friend Richard. He wished there were something he could do. He felt helpless—an emotion truly alien to him. He was beginning to realize how devious politics really was—and how he would change things were he a statesman.

"Blast it!"

"It's the hell-hated Elizabeth Woodville, Val! Again! She wants me married to her niece, so she'll stop at nothing to thwart my plans. Her and her cohort, Anne's father, Warwick. That little twit Edward is no good for Anne! They have never even met! Because of that conniving witch and her greedy ends, now Anne is lost to me forever!"

Valentine's heart felt like it had been dropped from the Byward Tower. "I suppose there is no escaping your marriage to Dove now."

He cupped his chin in his palm and heaved a disheartened sigh. The only woman he'd ever met who had filled the aching gap in his life, now, in a cruel twist of irony, was to be married to his best friend.

Richard shook his head, and his eyes glinted with fierce determination. "Nay, Valentine, on the contrary. 'Tis entirely up to you now. Do you want her?"

"Of course I want her! I would marry her on the morrow if the King gave his blessing and permission."