Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (23 page)

Coupled with the relief that he'd survived yet another battle, she
thrilled at once more having her knight to welcome home—just as
she'd always dreamed.
With Henry Tudor on his ship headed back to Brittany and his
mother finally imprisoned in the Tower for treason, peace once
more reigned over the land.
Court was currently residing at Sandal Castle. As always, there
were mummers, jugglers and fools galore to entertain them, food
and drink to consume to the point of sickness.
Upon the army's return, Richard bestowed another fine grant of
lands upon Valentine and other faithful followers. He also
presented Valentine with another gift, his very own fool. Reggie
the fool was an expert juggler, singer and dancer, and joined the
troupe in keeping their problems at bay, for the time being,
anyway, as Richard constantly spoke of the Tudor threat. "But his
mother is in prison. Is she not his main source of revenue?" Denys
asked him one night as they strolled the castle grounds.
"Oh, she can run his life well enough from her Tower cell. She's
married to Thomas Stanley, who wavers between sides like a turtle
on a fence post. Whichever side looks good is the side he follows.
Besides, he's been gathering a following, Dove, a faction of his
own. Mostly Welshmen.
Richard does not act like it bothers him, but deep down I can tell
he is deeply tormented."
"But with loyal followers like you, and the Duke of Buckingham and
the others, Richard knows he has naught to worry about."
"Oh, but people have a way of turning, Dove. Lord Stanley mightn't
be the only one."
"Anyone in particular?"
"I am not worried about anyone right now, but it can happen. No
one is completely trustworthy."
"Not even you?" He looked at her, those deep blue eyes penetrating
deeply.
"You think I would turn against Richard and join Henry Tudor?" he
asked, his voice rising in disbelief.
"Nay, it has naught to do with matters of state. I know you would
never betray Richard; you've proven that time and again."
"So what is your problem then?"
"The problem is not mine. It is Bess' daughter Elizabeth's." His
gaze left her and wandered, as if trying to place her.
"Well, what of her?"
"She is quite enamored of you, Valentine, have you not noticed?" A
satisfied grin broke out over his face and he shrugged it off with
a chuckle. "Oh, so what if she is? She knows I am married to you
and am off limits." He moved to put his arm around her and she
pulled back.
"Don't encourage her any more than you have, Valentine."
"Encourage her? How have I encouraged her? By letting her know she
is worth something, by treating her to a dance or two
occasionally? Come now, Dove, she is much too young, even for me."
He laughed, tossing his head as if recalling a fond memory. "She
sort of reminds me of you when we first met, when you were trying
escape Bess' clutches. Now that Bess is sequestered, Elizabeth is
out of her scrutiny and in Richard's lenient charge, she is
sampling life for the first time."
"And it looks as if you are the first slice of life she fancies
sampling. I have reason to believe she may have been behind the
robbery of my genealogical tables, Valentine."
"Elizabeth? Why on earth would she do that?"
"For Bess, of course. But I would not be surprised if it also had
something to do with her fancy of you, which would logically lead
to her inevitable disdain for me."
"That is preposterous, Dove! I agree she is a troubled girl. She
knows not where her loyalty should lie, with her uncle whom she
feels usurped the throne from her brother, or with the detested
Woodvilles, who have all but crawled back under their rocks, but
they are her family. But a thief? Nay, not her. She is simply
tormented. You at least were able to divorce yourself from the
Woodvilles and ascertain that you were not one of them.
"What good does it do? I still have not found my family! I still
do not know who I am!" As these disturbing thoughts returned,
Denys' suspicion of Elizabeth faded. "What good is not being a
Woodville if I do not know who I am?"
"We shall find them, Dove," he said, and this time she did not
pull away when he held her. "If it is my last earthly act, I shall
help you find them."
"Just do not provoke young Elizabeth. She is out of your element."
"I thought you would be pleased, Dove. ‘Twould serve to alleviate
your jealousy."
"Jealousy! I am not jealous, you pompous ass! Do you enjoy
breaking young girls' hearts? Does it provide you with a fond
flashback to your randy youth?"
"The only reason I happened to break hearts was because they were
allowed to be broken. It was never any of my doing."
"Oh, pish posh! You loved being surrounded by all those fawning
court ladies, and you still do. The reason I look the other way is
because I am secure enough in knowing that they mean nothing to
you. I would never put you through the torment you caused me." He
rose and walked towards her, his pen rolling off the table and
splattering ink on his valuable tapestry rug. She was already
trying to think of ways to get the ink stains out. He hadn't even
noticed.
"Torment I caused you?" They were at arm's length and he moved
even closer. "You loathed me, you despised me, you branded me
guilty for conspiring with Bess Woodville to have you perish in a
fire, even after we were married, you didn't looove me, not until
much later could you give me your looove..." He dragged out the
word in an attempt to mimic her.
"Put yourself in my place, dear wife, try to imagine what it was
like being married to someone whose heart was locked tight. It
hurt, Dove, it hurt like a pike through my heart because I could
not have you. And now your lips have formed the word ‘love' but I
do not feel it is total, complete love."
"Oh, that is ridiculous, I have told you I love you!"
"Ah, yes, you have told me you love me, when in the throes of
passion, when I seduced it out of you with my hands and with my
lips. You haven't truly given me your heart, Dove, you cannot love
anyone in the true sense until you love yourself, and you cannot
love yourself until you find your true name, the parents God gave
you, and who you really are. That is why I am so adamant about
helping you find your true family, Dove, because until you find
out who you are, I shall never truly have you. No one will.
"Until you regard yourself as a complete person, you will never be
able to love me. I love you no matter where you came from, whether
you are a Woodville or not."
Aye, she did have someone who loved her unconditionally, no matter
what her name was—and he was right, so very right! "Valentine, I
can love, just do not leave me, please! Do not leave me now while
I am not a complete person. Please, just let me find my true
beginnings and I shall be the wife you have always wanted me to
be!"
"Dove, I am not going anywhere. I would never turn my back on you.
Even through all my apprehension at the time, I now realize the
happiest day of my life was the day I married you." He gathered
her in his arms.
"Well, if you truly mean that, you will be here by my side when I
am reunited with my family."
"And I shall be. I shall. "
Ti amo, mio tesoro, sei nel mio cuore per
sempre
." She looked at him in surprise. "Where did you
learn that?"
"The intrepid explorer's only passion wasn't the lay of faraway
lands," he replied softly.
"I would feel much better if Richard would marry Elizabeth off."
"Mayhap her problem is similar to the one you had. She is burdened
with her name. Only her problem is much more serious; she is not
merely a niece; she is a Woodville daughter. But I am sure some
kind soul will take her hand someday soon."
"Well, God help the poor sod who winds up with Bess Woodville as a
mother-in-law," Denys said as Valentine wiped away her tears and
cupped her chin in his hand, lifting her head to meet her gaze.
Their matching grins turned into a burst of laughter as he began
chasing her across the garden. She shrieked with delight and
lifted her skirts as she ran from him, enjoying the chase even as
much as the eventual capture. Round the maze they went, careening
around corners, brushing against vines, until she finally came to
a dead end and he enveloped her in his arms, breathing heavily.
"Gotcha!" he whispered, planting kisses all over her face and
neck.
Playfully trying to fight him off, prolonging the agonizing
tension, she could feel the hardness of his muscles through the
layers of his clothing.
He placed his arms around her waist and she buried her face in his
hair, taking in its scent, the faint woodsy pine that was as much
as part of him as his soul.
Their lips met, and his mouth devoured hers. She felt a rush of
desire course through her body as his hands touched the curves of
her shoulders. Her hand landed lightly on his thigh and she
stroked the smooth satin of his hose. Then their arms wound round
each other in a tight, clinging embrace. She'd never wanted to
hold anyone this close, to consume him with all her energy,
passionately drinking him in, quenching her yearning thirst. She
wanted him right there, in the middle of the garden maze, to let
him mold her to the contours of his body and make her his own. She
fought to regain her abandoned senses, which were letting her melt
and yield to his caresses and hungry lips.
She pulled away gently at first, but as he tightened his embrace
and kissed her harder, she forced her body to part from his
warmth, his want for her. Perplexity shadowed his features as his
eyes searched hers.
"Not here, Valentine! Richard comes walking through here all the
time! Let us retire to the bedchamber!" She tried to sound stern,
but her breathlessness still hadn't vanished; his nearness
entranced her so. Her heart was still thumping, and she tingled
from the hot trails his fingertips had left on her face and neck.
"Richard would have the courtesy to make an abrupt about face
burning with scarlet if he heard the sounds of lovemaking within a
mile of his earshot. He is certainly not the voyeur type. I'm sure
he doesn't even fancy listening to himself doing it."
Then his mouth closed on hers, his tongue hungrily seeking,
drinking her in with mounting passion. She responded instantly as
his hands glided over her dress front and his fingers fanned out
around her breasts, causing her to shudder under his fiery touch.
The ecstasy and fervor they'd shared came rushing back to her.
They reclaimed the newly found magic they'd pulled down from the
heavens and called their own. A glow of desire nestled deep within
her and churned a flow of long-forgotten emotions.
She longed for the touch of his hands on her naked skin; she
wanted to bestow every facet of her being upon this man. He
lowered her to the ground, and a moan escaped her lips as he ran
hot kisses over her neck and earlobes. His breath in her ear made
her shiver as she pressed closer, feeling his growing desire
against the garments separating their bodies.
"Oh, Dove, you're so soft, so warm. Let me show you how much I
want you." She yearned for him to take her to the pinnacles of
paradise.
"I can take you to heaven," he breathed, showering her with
kisses, down her neck, between her breasts.
Her rational mind was away at sea. He'd been away so long, now he
was all hers, all hers.
His lips sought hers again. His scent swirled around them in a
racy vortex. She twined her arms about his neck and touched the
golden hairs there. His searing kisses and fluttering caresses
were driving her mad; he had to take her, and she was ready.
"You are beautiful in the moonlight," he whispered, his mouth
buried in her hair. "You are sweeter than every flower in this
entire garden." She opened her eyes slowly and looked at his face.
A hint of stubble on his chin and upper lip had broken out into
tiny beads of sweat.
Before she could respond, he rolled onto his back and lifted her
onto him.
She was so physically agile, she was like a feather in his arms.
"Make love to me tonight," he murmured.
His hands urgently tugged at the chemise until it glided over her
head, and he removed his tunic and shirt, bunching it up to use as
a pillow under his head.
Their lips met again, his tongue dancing a slow measure with hers.
Still clinging to him, Denys parted her thighs and found him,
desperately straining through the smooth satin hose. He pulled
them off and she lifted her skirts as he removed her
undergarments, his hands molding to her buttocks, pushing himself
deeply into her. The earth beneath him was hard and unyielding,
affording her every inch of his desperate desire for her. She
moved slowly at first then he thrust his hips forward and she
joined in his rhythm, his hands leaving her buttocks and caressing
her breasts.
The
mélange
of
sensations sent her mind soaring to the pinnacles of exquisite
sensation. An explosion began erupting deep inside her, then
released itself in wave after wave. Her body convulsed, his every
thrust meeting hers, and she grabbed his head from the ground and
pulled his lips to hers. Now they were one in every way; his
breath was hers, his soul was hers, one with the hard earth below,
one with the sky above.
Then his body went rigid and he cried out in exquisite passion as
her hair brushed over his neck and chest, his hands clasping her
tightly, bringing her to him as he poured his love into her. She
held him close and could feel his warmth seeping into hers, and
when he finally relaxed she smoothed the hair back from his face,
kiss his forehead, nibbled his lips.
It felt good to be outdoors with the stars twinkling above her.
The air was clear and softly scented with the primroses and
blossoms.
He lifted his head off the ground and listened for a moment to the
outside sounds; the faint whistle of the flutes coming from the
castle, the gentle rustling of the wind through the vines that
enclosed them.
"We're finished now, Dickon!" he sang playfully, and she gave him
a light slap across the cheek.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Denys was reading a letter from Cristoforo Colombo, translated
into English, when Valentine entered the solar.
"Look, Valentine, Cristoforo sent me a letter! He just returned
from the Canaries, off the African coast. Oh, ‘tis so interesting
about the people there! He says they are still living in the Stone
Age. They paint their bodies, have no knowledge of shipbuilding,
they are completely backward!"
"What else has he found there?" Valentine asked, and she detected
an eager tone he'd never displayed before when she talked of the
dauntless explorer. But she was familiar with his tone. He sounded
like this when he talked about his official duties, upcoming
battles, or politics. Eager.
Ambitious.
"Nothing you would be quite interested in," she replied evenly.
"He's found plants never before seen in any other part of Europe,
and warm westerly winds that bring the most delightful climate."
"Nay, I mean anything valuable, like gold, perhaps?" She placed
the letter down and looked her husband squarely in the eye.
"Valentine, I am not interested in gold."
"But he is. He is not sojourning into the vast blackness and
risking his life for warm winds and bushels of kumquats."
"His quest is not simply a means to an end, Valentine.
He talks of finding a new world, not just a way to get rich."
"Nay, but investments are made in order to reap dividends and
returns. His quest would cost many thousands of pounds, Dove. No
one wants to lose everything they own simply for a voyage into the
unknown."
"He hasn't asked us to give him anything, Valentine. He appealed
to the crown, and Richard gave his condolences."
"Nevertheless, I feel he will succeed somehow. Men...and
women...cut of that mold simply do not give up. No one knows that
better than I." He beamed at her.
She returned his smile. "Now then, if I can persuade you to see
how valuable a voyage across the Ocean Sea would be to mankind, I
can certainly persuade you to take the rest of the evening off."
"Oh, Dove, I would love to, truly I would, but the council is
holding a special session."
"The council can wait, Valentine. Your wife can't. Now...can the
council do this...or this..." she whispered as she fondled him,
pressing her body to his, feeling his growing desire as she
lowered him to the tapestry rug before the fire.
"Nay, this session looks like it could really hold my interest!"
he gasped in ragged breaths as Denys removed his tunic and hose
and made love to him before the crackling embers.
Cristoforo returned to England and, although fraught with
impending invasions, Richard welcomed him once again into his
preoccupied milieu. The Genoese brought a continental flair and
spark of life that brightened the elegant but subdued court. He
brought Richard, Valentine, and Denys gifts of spices from his
travels to Guinea, wines from Portugal, exquisite Venetian glass
and of course more of the mastic from Scio that Denys loved.
In return, Valentine took a gleaming gold collar from around his
own neck and slipped it over Colombo's head. The explorer thanked
him profusely and even Richard was beginning to look like mastic
agreed with him.
In Colombo's eyes Denys could still see the need to push onward,
to never give up even in the face of harsh adversity.
Valentine and Denys held a banquet at Burleigh House, inviting the
Admiralty Officers and several English sailors.
They exchanged legends with Colombo about the Ocean Sea, the great
Norse explorers, and what lay beyond.
Spreading his world map out on their table once again, he showed
them his proposed voyage, which would commence in the Canaries.
As the guests gathered round three deep at the table, he pointed
out the way whilst Silvio spoke. "At this line of latitude are
trade winds that blow north-east to southwest, and because of the
rotation of the earth, they blow opposite in the southern
hemisphere." He spoke of the area around at the equator called the
doldrums, fascinating everyone with his knowledge of the winds,
currents, and the stars. He admitted he was after gold and spices,
all the delicacies of the east, but the prospect of finding land
was what really drove him.
Early the following morning when Denys was going over the
household accounts and Valentine was tending his duties at court,
her usher announced a visitor.
He was dressed impeccably, a dark brown doublet and hose
accentuating the fading auburn in his hair. Around his neck he
wore the collar Valentine had given him.
"Cristoforo!" He bowed to her and kissed her hand. He was alone.
"Where is Silvio?" she asked, looking over his shoulder, seeing
only his palfrey hitched outside.
"I come alone," he said in halting English. "Perhaps we speak a
little French?"
"
Oui, nous
parlons le Francais
!" she answered. "I thought you didn't
know much French."
"I know very little," he answered in French, indicating with his
thumb and forefinger the gesture for a little bit, "but it is so
like Genoese, between the four languages, I am sure we can
understand each other!"
"Four languages? And what is the fourth?"
"Genoese, English, French, and..." He counted on his fingers.
"Hand language!" he replied, splaying his hands and fluttering his
fingers as they broke out into laughter.
She insisted he stay for an English breakfast, and he asked her to
take him through her orchard once more.
The language barrier did not pose a problem since they seemed to
be able to speak well enough between his halting English and
French. But on this visit they didn't find the need to talk all
that much. Together they strolled quietly in the cool autumn sun
that was giving way to a brilliant day. She gave him a basket and
let him pick his own apples and pears as they walked along.
He spoke in halting French as they discussed music, English and
Italian foods, and they even broached the subject of fashions.
Finally he turned to her, laid the basket on the ground and took
her hands in his. She felt nothing like the shiver of excitement
when Valentine touched her. For all they shared, hers was not a
physical attraction to Colombo and she quickly looked away when
his gaze grew too penetrating.
His eyes echoed the deep blue-green of the sea, telling her what
he couldn't convey in mere words, no matter how mellifluous the
language.
"You are most beautiful, Dove," he said in a lilting but slightly
hesitant English, his long fingers intertwined with hers. "
Che bella
,"
he repeated in Genoese, and this time there was no hesitation. "I
wish that I could take you with me to the Orient. I wish that you
could be with me always."
"I understand and I appreciate it, Cristoforo," she replied in
French. "But I am quite happy here. I have a husband whom I love
very much. Were things different, well...but they are not. I would
go nowhere until I found my family, even were I free." She looked
back into his eyes and he nodded in empathy, giving her hands an
affectionate squeeze.
As he relinquished his grasp, he took a step closer, opening his
arms, taking her in an embrace that she returned warmly. She
breathed in the sweet scent of the fruits around them and closed
her eyes against the brilliant sunshine as their embrace
tightened. "You get it up for me,
Bella
Denys," he whispered.
She jerked her body away, her hands nervously tugging at her
bodice, stammering in embarrassment. "I...I beg your pardon?"
"Get up, go up..." He spread his hands, palms up, gesturing
rapidly.
"How you say...give me a shove...make me rise."
"Oh, I make your spirits rise!" She laughed, letting out a breath
of relief as he nodded, obviously as relieved as she that he'd
finally communicated the right message.
"Our languages can be so misinterpreted, when you say one thing it
can very well mean something so very different!" His brows shot up
and he splayed his hands. "What I said?"
"Never mind.
Niente
."
She patted his arm.
"I know our words have different meanings." He nodded, shrugging.
"But like you say in English...what canna you do?" He smiled and
brushed her cheek with the very tips of his fingers.
He gathered the basket of apples and she linked her arm in his as
they strolled out of the orchard together.
Back inside, she opened the door of her writing table and took out
a velvet pouch tied with a string, which she placed in his hands.
"This is to assist you in your quest," she said.
He thanked her again and again and slipped it under his cloak.
"‘Tis not a fortune, but Valentine and I want you to realize your
dream, and know that we helped make it real."
Then, finally, he lowered his head and kissed her on one cheek,
then the other. "And you will find your family. I only wish it
were I. God bless you, my darling," he said, touching the brim of
his hat.
"God be with you on your journeys, Cristoforo." She blew him a
kiss as he rode away to find his world, and she returned to hers.