FLAME OF DESIRE (35 page)

Matty put her hands on her hips, meeting Heather’s eyes. “Richard remembers the old Agnes. The one who sat him on her lap and told him and his brother stories. Starved for love, those two were, and she had plenty to offer them, being childless herself. I wonder if there wasn’t a reason for her being so kind to the boys. Perhaps in truth she is no better than their mother was.”

“What was Richard’s mother like, Matty?”

“Beautiful, with hair like ebony and eyes like the sky, but her beauty did not go beyond her face. She was selfish and thought only of herself. Why else would a mother bind her own son in marriage to a woman who would never be a wife to him?” Tears shone in Matty’s eyes as she reached out to touch Heather’s hand. “I’m so glad you came, God bless you. I knew the moment I saw you that you were the one who could make Richard happy. He’s had so little happiness in his life. Someday you two will be man and wife, as it was surely meant to be.”

“Perhaps someday, Matty. I can only hope that Mary will listen to Richard’s brother and grant him his divorce. Richard plans to take his case all the way to the pope.”

Matty’s eyes grew as large as saucers. “The pope! Imagine that. Merry-come-up.” She giggled. “Oh, how I would like to see Agnes’ face when you marry your Richard.” Her eyes searched about the room. “Where is Agnes?”

“Richard instructed her to watch over Edlyn tonight. Whenever there are people about, she is edgy and at times can even be dangerous.”

Again Matty chuckled. “She will be livid. This will be the first time since the death of Richard’s mother that she has not been the hostess for the Christmas festivities. Serves her right, I say.”

Heather left Matty without offering a reply. Walking toward the hallway, she sought out the hiding place she had chosen for the presents. There were presents for Matty, Edlyn, and of course Richard, hidden behind a large indentation in the wall, which was covered by a wall hanging. It was there that Richard found her.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he whispered, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He eyed her suspiciously.  “And just what are you about?”

She kissed him back. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Pushing her gently aside, he found her hiding place and brought forth the packages. “I used to hide presents in that very same place,” he said with a smile. “Which one is mine?”

Heather started to answer him, when suddenly her eyes grew large in fright as she saw Edlyn perched high above the solar on the balcony of the stairs.

“Edlyn!” she gasped. Leaning against the stair rail, the woman was reaching out her hand to try to touch a sprig of holly fastened there. “Dear God, she will fall!”

Picking up her skirts, Heather ran with Richard up the two flights of stairs. They reached out just in time to catch Edlyn before she fell crashing to the wooden floor below. Though she was shaken herself, Heather nevertheless managed to calm the young woman.

“What in God’s name is she doing out? I told Agnes to watch her.” The sound of his voice startled Edlyn, who now thrashed about, holding her arms up as if he would strike her. His voice softened. “I won’t harm you, Edlyn. For God’s sake, there is no one who will harm you here.” He reached out a hand, turning her face to look into her fear-glazed eyes and it was then that he saw the bruises.

“There you are, you fool idiot!” Agnes shrieked, running from one of the upstairs chambers. Seeing Agnes coming toward her, Edlyn cringed in stark terror, leaving no doubt as to the source of the bruises.

“Oh, Richard, can’t you see?” Heather cried. “It was Agnes who harmed her. Open your eyes to the truth of what the woman is. You are not a child now, Richard.”

Agnes narrowed her eyes, hissing, “What do you know, you whore? How can you seek to judge me? You. You, of all people. How I hate you. Why don’t you go back to London where you belong? I got along very well without your interference.” She raised a hand as if to strike Heather, but Richard’s grip stayed her.

“That’s quite enough, Agnes,” he shouted, his eyes pools of sorrow. “I want you out of here by tomorrow.”

“Out of here? No. You can’t mean….”

“I should have listened to you, Heather. I was blind. So blind!” Although Agnes tried every way to change his mind, this time Richard was firm in his resolve.

“It is your fault!” she shrieked at Heather. “You have not heard the end of this. I will see that you pay for what you have done.” Heather was stung by her words of hatred and had the sudden fear that Agnes would make good her threat.

“Come, my love. Our tenants await us,” Richard said, seeking to ease Heather’s troubled mind. He led her back to the tables, where the air was rich with the aroma of the sauces made from herbs and wine and spices from the East.

Heather went about her duties as hostess, watching as the tenants quaffed their ale and ate heartily of the roast beef and plum pudding, the goose and bread stuffing. After the main courses had been eaten, Richard passed around loaves of bread cut in three parts for the ancient Christmas game in which a bean was hidden in one of the loaves. The person who found it became king or queen of the feast. Much to everyone’s delight, it was Matty who found the surprise and got to wear the paper crown upon her head. Bedecked in red wool, she looked like the spirit of Yuletide.

A gesture from Richard sent the minstrels forward to play their instruments and lead the assembled tenants in singing carols, and while the others were occupied, Richard gave Heather her gift.

“I have one for each of the twelve days of Christmas,” he said, watching as she unwrapped the present, “but this one is special.”

It was a ring, a gold ring inscribed in tiny letters that said “I love you” on the inside. “Richard….!”

“Until that day when my brother convinces them to free me of my matrimonial bonds and I can give you a wedding ring,” he whispered, slipping it upon her finger.

Deeply touched by his gift, she knew of no words that could express her love for him at that moment. Not even the arrival of a group of mummers--that band of masked pantomimists who paraded through the countryside and visited dwellings to play at dice and dance--could break the spell. As the others sat in rapt attention to watch the sword dance, Heather and Richard stood hand in hand, content just to be together.

“Christmas, such a blessed time,” Heather whispered.

Richard’s expression was loving and tender, but as he looked at the pantomimists his expression changed. “BiGod, what is this?”

Instead of the familiar St. George and the Dragon play, which symbolized the death and coming to life of all growing things, it was a more sinister theme. Richard  recognized at once that one of the mummers was depicting the queen kneeling in prayer and giving fond looks to another of the characters. It was obvious to Richard that this person, wearing a tall hat, was supposed to be a Spaniard. The female character stood beside this Spaniard moaning and weeping as a black-robed mummer pretended to strike him with a sword. Clearly the moaning figure was Mary; the Spaniard, Philip of Spain.

“What is the meaning of this?” Richard asked in anger, pushing forward through the crowd. “I will not have you make fun of my queen.”

The mummers all turned to him in surprise. “’Tis all in fun. Only our way of saying that we will have no Spanish king,” said the black-garbed mime.

“King?”

“Aye. Where have you been, sir? It seems that Prince Philip will give his consent to marry our queen. The news from London is that a Spanish emissary has just brought confirmation of acceptance of the marriage contracts,” answered the man dressed in queen’s attire.

Richard was dumfounded. “Acceptance of the marriage contracts?” He did not know that things had gone so far. Surely the council would never approve the match. Under the terms of Henry’s will, Mary was obliged to obtain the council’s consent before she could marry.

Sweeping off his tall hat, the pantomimist who was dressed as Philip bowed low to Richard as if to soothe his anger. “I, sir, like you, am a loyal catholic and long with all my heart to see this land once again brought under the blessed rule of the pope, but as long as I draw the breath of life, I will not see England bow her head to a Spanish yoke.” Throughout the hall Catholic and reformer alike hurrahed the man’s statement.

“No Spanish king!” came the chant, echoing over and over again, drowning out the din of the minstrels. Only after the mummers had been long gone did the hall calm down.

Heather knew exactly what must be done. Richard could no longer hide himself in the country. They must return to London before open rebellion threatened the security and peace of the kingdom.

“Poor Mary. To wait so long for a husband, only to cause such discontent with her people over her choice,” she whispered to Richard. “Can they not see that though she is a queen she is also a woman? She has feelings, a need for love, for arms holding her tight, just like any woman of common blood. I could sense that she was lonely, so lonely.” The memory of what the queen had said to her that day about marriage came to her mind.

“They do not see that, they only fear that by this marriage England will become involved in Spain’s hostilities against France. There has been enough bloodshed.”

Heather took hold of Richard’s hand, placing the palm against her cheek. “On the morrow you will leave me. My heart tells me that it is so.”

“If I cannot persuade her to say no to this alliance at least perhaps I can make her see that she and she alone must have sole royal authority over English affairs.” He looked at her wistfully. “You did not ask to go.”

“I know that in this you must go alone.”

“If only I could take you with me, but I cannot. I will return as soon as I can. I make you my promise on that.” It was a promise that he would be forced to break.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Frost covered the ground like a blanket of white as Richard guided his horse along the slippery road to London. He peered up at the dark clouds overhead with a feeling of frustration. What else could go wrong to hinder his journey? He had sent an urgent letter to Stephen Vickery informing him of a meeting place where they could sup and discuss this matter of the marriage. The Cap and Crown was the appointed place, but if the weather continued at this gale, Richard would be late in arriving.

He was cold and tired and hungry. Pulling his cloak tightly about him, he resigned himself to push on.

“I have grown soft,” he scolded himself beneath his breath. “Good food, leisure, and the arms of the beautiful woman I love have spoiled me.” And indeed it did seem as if he had left the gates of heaven to tread the pathway of a cold and frozen hell.

How long or far he rode, he did not know; he knew only the feeling that the wind was at his back driving him forward as if to hurry him along. But if the wind was his friend, the sleet and snow were his enemy, nearly blinding him as they fell to the earth in a blur of white. At last he could go no farther, and coming to the shelter of a ruined building, an old abandoned abbey, he guided the horse inside. The roof was in serious disrepair but at least it would shelter him until the storm quieted. The storms of December had blown into January full force. It looked to be a long time before the skies would clear. A long while.

“I will have to content myself to wait,” he mused, seeking out the driest spot in the abbey. It was strange to think what a grant structure it had been. Now it was little more than a pile of gray stones, many of which had been pilfered to build some noble’s estate. The threat of a Spanish king was doubly threatening to these lords, for surely Philip would seek to force these nobles to give up their ill-gotten gains from the church.

Closing his eyes, he thought of Heather, as he whispered her name reverently. It was much pleasanter to think of her than of what awaited him. Mary would not be easy to persuade, and her anger at him would complicate matters.

“Heather,” he whispered again. Many times he had dreamed of her these last four nights, aching to hold her in his arms. If only he could have taken her with him, but during the winter months that was impossible. Instead he would hope that he could return to her before the month was through. Drifting off into a deep slumber, he saw the face of his gray-eyed lover and smiled.

The pressure of hands grasping his shoulders awakened Richard from his sleep. A rude awakening. Through the haze of his awareness he watched as a grinning youth reached to take away his sword, plucking it from his belt as easily as Richard had picked the summer roses. In anger  Richard struggled with his captor, only to be set upon by two others, brawny men who pushed him back down upon the ground.

“My, my, our traitorous friend certainly longs for a fight, eh, Julian? Methinks he has no liking to see his bloody head rolling upon the straw.”

“He should have thought of that before he sought to stir up his followers in revolt. It is a good thing that we were warned of his intent. ‘Tis bad enough that Thomas Wyatt has escaped us. At least we come away with one prize.” This man was older than the others, with the appearance of an old weathered soldier, and Richard scanned his face for any sign of recognition. There was none. This man had never seen him before.

“I do not know who you
think
I am,” Richard said indignantly, trying to pull free of his captors, “But I am in fact a loyal follower of the queen. One of her advisers.”

The young man laughed. “You expect us to believe that? The next thing you will be telling us is that you are the bloody King of England.”

“I tell you the truth! I am on the way to London to talk with the queen. There….” A kick in the ribs was his answer.

“Think you that we would let you get within three miles of her royal person? Ha! We have been told to watch for you. Courtenay spilled his guts to us about what is planned, fool that he is.”

“Courtenay? What has he to do with this?” Richard forgot his pain as he heard this bit of information.

The soldier grabbed him by his doublet, pulling him up to a face-to-face position. “As if you didn’t know.” Letting his hold loosen, he thrust Richard to the ground again to sprawl in a heap.