The Rose at Twilight (47 page)

“Oh,” Madeline cried, “of all the—” Swiftly her hand came up and she slapped him, hard.

Gwilym made no attempt to evade the blow, but afterward he said grimly, “Do not ever do that again, mistress, unless you want to be soundly cuffed in return.”

“But you never even asked me!” she cried, arms akimbo.

“I told you, asking is unnecessary. You’ve enjoyed yourself very much, tossing suitors to the right-about like so many discarded gowns. It has become such a habit with you that you do not even pause anymore to look them over beforehand, or to search your own feelings. Thus, I did not ask. And thus, my love, when Hugh Gower arrives, we shall be married, without argument.”

“Never!” she cried, raising her hand again, then swiftly snatching it back and putting it behind her. Leaning forward, she put her flushed face close to his pale one. “I will never marry you or any man. You don’t even care about me!”

“We will discuss that subject in private,” Gwilym said, scooping her up into his arms and bearing her from the room.

Not much to Alys’s surprise, though Madeline kicked, there was less fury than frustration in her ranting; and when they met later, she was subdued and did not want to talk, but she glowed. Her mood changed daily after that, however, and Alys, certain that her friend wanted nothing so much as to marry Gwilym, came to agree with him that she was simply too proud to admit it. As a result, Madeline worked herself into such a state that when Hugh Gower strode unannounced into the great hall the following Wednesday, she fainted dead away at the sight of him.

H
UGH PAID NO HEED
to Madeline, and spared only a single glance for Jonet, who had rushed to her side. He went straight to Nicholas, who, having ridden in late for his midday meal, was ordering food for Gwilym and himself. When Nicholas turned with a smile of welcome, Hugh did not wait for his greeting.

“The rebels have landed,” he said, “in Lancashire, from Ireland. ’Tis said they’re led by the true Earl of Warwick, whom they crowned King of England in Dublin. They mean to take the throne, Nick. They’ve a host of Irish mercenaries, and German too, no doubt, since ’tis said they march to fife and drum, which the Germans always do. They are nearing Yorkshire as we speak.”

“Where is Harry?” Nicholas demanded.

“At Coventry, last I saw, but meaning to ride to meet them. He sent his family back to Greenwich. Harry makes for Nottingham Castle, Nick, certain the villains will come south, and we’re to meet him there at once with as many men as we can muster.”

Gwilym came in just then but paused in obvious dismay at the sight of Jonet kneeling beside Madeline, who was attempting to sit up. Then he saw Hugh and understanding lit his face. He grinned. “Well met, Hugh! Shall I send for the priest?”

“We’ve no time,” Nicholas said grimly. “Lincoln and Lovell apparently have banded together to put their false Warwick on the throne. They landed in Lancashire, and are nearing York.”

“Will they take the city?” Gwilym demanded.

“’Tis possible, I suppose. Many in the North are still loyal to the late king.” He glanced at Alys, but she was too intent upon learning the news to pay heed to any underlying meaning in his words. “No matter to us now if they do take York,” he said. “We ride at once to join the king.”

“No!” Alys cried before she even knew the word was forming itself on her tongue. She ran to Nicholas and grabbed his right arm with both hands. “You cannot go. We need you here!”

“Madam, control yourself,” he said sharply, pushing her hands away. “You know I cannot stay when the king summons me. Now, calm yourself and take Madeline and Jonet up to your solar. I have important matters to discuss with Hugh and Gwilym.”

“I do not care about your important matters,” she snapped. “I make no demands for myself—’twould be pointless—but you’ve a daughter whom it is also your duty to protect, and I will not allow you to ride off with every soldier on this estate to defend Henry Tudor! If the rebels win, as they surely will this time, for even you have said your king is no soldier, you will have lost your daughter’s inheritance, and mine, by defending him.”

Grabbing an arm and hustling her toward the gallery, Nicholas called over his shoulder, “Give me a moment, lads. Hugh, get something to eat, and Gwilym, fetch that list of men-at-arms for me to study after I have attended to my wife.”

Too late did Alys remember that her husband’s temper would not stand for her to call him to account in front of others. She did not resist his grip, but the moment he pushed her into their bedchamber, she whirled to face him, wincing when he slammed the door, then exerting every ounce of strength she had over herself not to put up her hands as if she thought she must fend him off.

“Nicholas,” she said quickly, “I am sorry I spoke hastily below, but I was frightened and … and I just did not think. I fear for you. I do not want you to go.”

“I know,” he said, leaning back against the door and wiping the back of his hand across his sweating brow. “You have a rare talent, lass, for making me lose my temper. Two minutes ago I wanted nothing more than to put you across my knee, but I won’t. I do know you are frightened. I must go, and you know it, though I don’t doubt that you would prefer to hold me here to give your rebel friends a better chance. Do not pretend that your fears are solely for me. I will not believe you.”

“You should believe me,” she retorted, “but you care only for your stupid king and his false claim to England’s throne. If Lovell and the others really do have Neddie with them, even you must admit his claim is greater than Henry Tudor’s.”

“I do not believe it is Neddie we have to fear,” he said. “No one would strive so hard now to put a boy on the throne. If we do not find Lincoln at the head of this army, I shall own myself astonished. It is his claim that Lovell and the others are fighting for, and no one else’s.”

“Lincoln is also a more proper heir,” she said stubbornly.

“This rebellion is doomed to failure, madam,” he retorted. “In the meantime, I warn you, have no traffic with the rebels. I am leaving men to guard you and the babe, and I am leaving Gwilym in command, with orders to lock you in your room if necessary to keep you from doing anything stupid. I know you detest Harry Tudor, but he is your king as well as mine, and your foolish words today are naught but more treason. When will you learn to consider first, before you shout your feelings to the world?”

He left her then, and she made no effort to follow him. Even in her own ears her arguments had sounded weak, and she did not want to fight anymore with him. She knew he had to go. She could not even fault him for leaving the castle unguarded, for clearly he had never had any such intention, and had she given the matter thought, she would have known he would not leave his family unprotected. She had argued impulsively, snatching at straws in the futile attempt to dissuade him from leaving.

She realized then that she would have snatched at any argument that might sway him, that she had spoken the absolute truth when she had said she feared for him. She cared more for Nicholas than she cared about anyone’s politics. Suddenly she began to wonder if she, like Madeline, had held to a conviction out of habit long after events had begun to erode her beliefs.

It was hard to hate the king, having danced with him, having come to see him not as a monster but as only a man, and a quiet, practical man at that, who had no taste for war. He wanted peace and prosperity for England, objectives that no sensible person could despise. Even her feelings for Elizabeth had changed. She was certain that the queen would never become a favorite friend, but she understood her better and no longer hated her.

She watched from a tower window as the men rode out through the tall gates and downhill to the south, until she could see them no more. At the last moment Nicholas turned to smile and wave at her. She knew he did it to reassure her that his temper had cooled, and the gesture brought an ache to her heart, and a sudden longing to hold her daughter. Hurrying to fetch the baby herself, she struggled to contain her emotions. Nicholas was gone. He might be killed. Holding Anne in her arms, her eyes awash with unshed tears, she paced the floor of the nursery until Madeline found her and gave Anne back to the nursemaid who had hovered nearby, waiting, too timid to speak to the pacing Alys.

“They will come home safely,” Madeline said. “Hugh has sworn to Jonet that no harm will come to himself or to Sir Nicholas, and Jonet says Hugh never lies to her.”

Alys collected herself and managed a smile. “Never lies? Does she accept all the things he said about her at Waltham?”

Madeline smiled too. “I was not fool enough to ask her. Are you? She does seem resigned to marrying Hugh, even cheerful about it. I was not certain if she really would; however, it has been an age since I last heard her speak ill of him.”

“Oh, she still does so,” Alys said. “In truth, I think she held men at a distance on purpose—mayhap out of devotion to me; but Hugh persisted despite her sharp tongue, and odd though it might appear to others, she does seem to love him very much.”

“It does not seem odd to me,” Madeline said gruffly, turning away and pretending to be busy stirring the fire with the iron poker. “Some women love the oddest men.”

Alys did not press her to explain herself, but she was not surprised to see Madeline become even more subdued than before. The danger around them put an end to her sporadic protests. She displayed a new sense of purpose, and made it clear that she was as anxious as any of the others were for the men to return.

Alys saw, too, that Gwilym no longer ignored Madeline, nor did he criticize her. There was a gentleness between them now that betokened a truce at least, if not something much deeper.

Gwilym had sent men to watch the boundaries of the estate, and not content to remain inside the castle and wait for reports, he frequently rode out to look things over. Word came that the rebels were moving fast. They had not tried to take York but had passed the city and were following the Great North Road, which meant they headed toward Doncaster. Gwilym tightened the guard.

After that news came with alarming frequency, of clashes with the rebels at Tadcaster and then at Stainforth, which was much too close to Wolveston for comfort. The women gathered in Alys’s solar that evening. They had seen little of Gwilym all day, for he had ridden out early to meet with his watchers.

Madeline said anxiously, “Do you think they will come here, Alys? It is possible that Lord Lovell, at least, still thinks this estate loyal to the Yorkist cause.”

“No,” Alys said flatly, knowing that, like herself, her friend was more worried about what could happen to Gwilym and the men if the rebels came than she was about danger to the women. Alys also had been thinking the rebels might come, not so much because Lovell would expect the estate to be loyal, as because he might decide to use Wolveston as an assembly point. Word was that men loyal to the king were fleeing south of the Trent as fast as they could go, that the rebels controlled Yorkshire and were swiftly moving into Warwickshire and Nottinghamshire. Alys did not fear Lovell or Lincoln—and certainly not any boy they might have with them—but she did not want them at Wolveston. She did not want men and horses trampling the newly seeded fields or slaughtering the spring lambs for their food. Thus, when she entered her bedchamber the following Thursday night to find Davy Hawkins sitting at his leisure before her fire, conversing with his sister, she nearly shouted for a guard.

He leapt to his feet and made his bow, saying, “Forgive me, m’lady. ’Twas not my intention to startle you.”

“Well, you did,” she said tartly. “Where is his lordship, Davy? Have you got him hidden behind the window curtains?”

“Nay, m’lady. He be far from here. Leave us, Jonet,” he said brusquely. The fact that she left without argument told Alys that they had talked for some time before her arrival.

“How did you get past the guards?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “There be many still loyal to the cause, mistress, but I did have to give my oath that no harm would come of it, and none will.”

“You cannot quarter here.”

“We will not. His lordship sent me to calm any fear you might have, and to give you this letter to show to any rebel soldier who might come in error, now or later.” He handed her a folded note, and she recognized Lovell’s writing. Davy said, “Our army lies west of here, close to the London road, so there will be no fighting near here, no danger to you or to yours. ’Tis by his lordship’s and my Lord Lincoln’s absolute command.”

“Then Lincoln
is
at the head of it,” she said, tucking the letter into her bodice. “My husband thought as much.”

Davy shrugged again. “He leads, the lad leads, my lord leads. Who is to say who is at the head, one day to the next?”

Alys stared hard at him, shaken by his words. “What are you saying, Davy? Speak plainly, or by heaven, I
will
call a guard.”

“Nay, mistress, do not. I cannot say more, but my Lord Lovell did give me a token to give into your hands. ’Tis to be kept till all is done. If we win, it matters not, but if the fighting goes amiss, then you must carry the token to the queen.”

“To Elizabeth?”

“Aye. No, no,” he amended quickly, “not the lass—the dowager queen, Elizabeth Woodville. Lord Lovell did not trust her with it before, but she does deserve to have it if the matter falls awry. She will know what to do, and you are to say to her that all is well, even then.”

“If you fail?” Alys shook her head. “I do not understand, Davy. How can I say all is well if the rebellion fails? And how can I get this to the dowager queen? She is at Bermondsey now.”

“Her daughter visits her. There will be no hurry, mistress. You will arrange it an you can. Tell her the date upon which you received the token, and that it were but a week old at the time. She will understand. Things will be in a great stir by then, no doubt, for no matter what transpires, great changes lie ahead.”

“Not if Harry Tudor wins,” she pointed out.

“Harry Tudor will not win, though his armies may,” Davy said grimly. “By this time Saturday, the usurper will be dead, hide where he may. ’Tis the first purpose of this little exercise.” Then, before she could question him further, he held out his hand and said, “Take it, mistress, and guard it well. My Lord Lovell dares not keep it longer, lest it fall into the wrong hands.”