Destiny Lies Waiting (2 page)

Standing alone when he'd entered, separate from the laughing and embracing, she'd looked so despondent. Her eyes, downcast and sad, had brightened like jewels when he approached her. He had seen his own heartache reflected in her eyes, and been moved by it.

She was no ordinary wench—she was the one he'd envisioned during those lonely nights in far-off France. She was the one he always knew he'd find one day.

And yet he'd lost her just as quickly.

He shook his head in despair, swearing, his breath hissing back at him under the helmet in mockery.
You lost her, you fool. You can't even do that right.

He couldn't bear another loss. He shook his head, and pressed on towards the stables. Once he was dismounted, and out of his armor and bathed, he could set about trying to find the silver-haired beauty.

But for now, duty called, and now that the Yorkists were on the throne, he was more than eager to obey.

CHAPTER TWO

Denys felt like an abandoned waif once more as she strolled through the thinning crowd hoping for another sign of the spectacular knight who had made her feel so womanly.

Once back in the privacy of her chambers after the victory feast, she sat stroking the fragrant white rose he'd given her. The way she had stood alone, feeling so bereft, with no one to share the celebration with, once again brought her mind back to the question that had haunted her since she had been old enough to understand her situation in the world.

She began to wonder once more who her long-dead parents had been. She was sure she would never feel a true sense of belonging anywhere until she uncovered the truth, and the meeting with the mysterious lone knight convinced her of this even more forcefully than ever before.

Her Aunt Elizabeth had adopted her, then passionately pursued Edward, the future King of England.

Edward had fallen hard, and they'd married. Then the new bride had had no need of a demanding young child, so she'd sent Denys to Yorkshire, far enough out of the way to be well brought up, and an asset she could use one day if she ever needed her, but not under foot.

The childless Duke and Duchess of Scarborough had raised her as the daughter they'd never had, and had been more than kind in a strict, old-fashioned way.

But now the Duchess was dead, and Denys was back at court, alone and unwanted again, except if she should prove a useful pawn to the ambitious Elizabeth Woodville, Bess the widow, who was now Queen of all of England.

Many might have though her fortunate. Alas, even with a king and queen for an uncle and aunt, with every privilege of royalty, Denys felt lost.

Today, just when she had been feeling most unwanted, the knight of her dreams had appeared, only to vanish.

That was her life up until now—a course of fleeting moments, with nothing ever seemingly permanent.

As Denys sat pensively gazing at the rose, her lady-in-waiting entered, curtsied, and held out a folded parchment embossed with the royal seal.

"A royal page just delivered this message from her Highness the Queen, my lady."

She waved the maid away. "It can wait."

She was sure it was just another summons to attend one of the Queen's silly
musicales
, an excuse for the court ladies to gossip under the pretence of making music.

She put the message out of her mind and didn't remember it again until her tiring woman was brushing her hair.

"Jane, please fetch me that royal parchment on the writing table."

Denys broke the seal, unfolded it, and gasped. It was a summons, all right—but not to any giddy
musicale
.

It was a summons to attend a wedding—her own.

Her heart took a sickening leap as the reality of it hit her.

She mouthed the words as she read them, over and over again.

Her intended was Richard Plantagenet, the King's brother. Good Lord!

Queen Elizabeth always married her relatives off to the cream of the nobility, and as Duke of Gloucester, Richard was the highest ranking bachelor in the kingdom.

But he was far from her idea of a husband. A brother, yes. A husband—
never
!

He was a prude. He was maddeningly fastidious. He was also planning to wed Anne Neville, daughter of the powerful Earl of Warwick, known as the Kingmaker. But he was not marrying Anne for political expediency. She the love of his life. Certainly not Denys.

Denys and Richard had played together as children, and renewed their friendship when she had recently returned to court.

She had been his companion, tennis partner, chess opponent, but naught else. Just the thought of kissing him made her wince.

And the Queen wanted them married on Christmas Day!

She strode over to the hearth and tossed the parchment into the flames. They licked and charred it beyond recognition, but the words still burned in her mind as the enormity of it all struck her.

She rejected her supper tray, stomach heaving, and headed for the relative comfort of her bed to have a long, hard think.

There had to be a way out of this, there just had to be…. But how?

CHAPTER THREE

Denys felt as though she were living in a briar bush now that the Queen's plans for her to be married to Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had been revealed.

She had bided her time all day, avoiding any area Elizabeth Woodville might chance to visit, until suppertime had forced her to put her plan into motion.

The meal now over, King Edward stood to bid his queen good eve. She left the dais, and her bevy of maids escorted her from the great hall.

The Queen fixed her eye on her young ward for a brief moment, then jerked it away coolly.

Denys knew her of old. She was so confident of getting her own way in most matters that she had probably taken her silence as meek acceptance of the arranged match. Little did she know…

She made sure the Queen was far out of the chamber before coming up to sweep her uncle a graceful curtsy. "Uncle Ned, I need speak with you."

"Dove, my dear! Come, sit, sit by me!" His large hand wrapped hers in comforting warmth, before indicating the chair his wife had so recently left. "I've hardly seen you, what with all the battles and council meetings and so forth. You must let me get my own back on that chessboard!"

She couldn't help smiling, remembering how she'd captured the King's own king with no more than a rook and a pawn.

"I would much enjoy that, Uncle." She kissed his ruby coronation ring, and sat next to him.

"So—" He motioned for a passing steward to bring Denys a cup of wine. "How's my little Dove, then? Are you happy back here at court? Or would you rather have stayed up Yorkshire way where it's quiet at least?"

"Oh, I was feeling especially misty today. 'Twas the first anniversary of the Duchess of Scarborough's death. She was like a mother to me. I'm missing Castle Howard so much."

And it was no lie she told. Castle Howard was where warmth and love surrounded her, embracing her childhood with gently rocking cradles, a lullaby every night, and the Duchess' soft shoulder to rest her head on.

"I loved it there, Uncle. I had my studies, gave alms to the poor, read to the little urchins. They loved those tales of King Arthur. I looked forward to those visits and reading those tales more than they."

Her tone lightened as she recalled how rewarding it had been to bestow gifts upon the poor, read to the children, and bring some happiness to their lives, however briefly. She longed to do that again.

"I know how much the folk and Duchess adored you, my dear." King Edward's eyes grew soft and thoughtful. He and his siblings had spent much of their childhoods at Castle Howard as well; the Duchess had been like a mother to all of them.

Denys nodded. Her eyes held fast on the blur of lights glinting off her goblet. "She used to spend hours fussing over my hair, especially when the sun bleached it white. 'How pretty you are, like a little dove!' she said to me one day."

She had been Dove from that day on. But now her halcyon childhood was over, and her whole future lay in the balance…

A playful grin frolicked on Edward's lips. "She had nicknames for all of us. Richard was Gumpy. George was Ulchy. I was Knobby, because my knees and elbows were so big. But I seem to have grown into them."

He held out his hands, rough and calloused from years of wielding swords and pikes, the hands of a fearless military leader.

She admired her uncle's robust figure, how strong and powerful he was.
Powerful enough to help her escape from the web his wife was weaving for her?

"I'm lost here, Uncle, with the constant buzz of politics, and the trappings of royalty. I just don't fit in here."

"I understand. It's hard adapting to your new role in the royal household. But given time—"

"If all I've seen since you were blessed enough to be granted the throne, I don't think I want to give it more time."

He stared at her, and nodded wisely.

She was stating no less than the truth, and counted herself blessed that she could talk to her uncle by marriage, the King, in this way, without pretence. His was the most sympathetic ear of all her confidantes. He shared her longing for the Yorkshire countryside: the lush green fields, the gentle dales, the moors purple with heather.

London was a filthy, crowded stink hole and she hated it. Most of all, she despised the Queen's greedy family, and was not going to let it devour her as well.

He sipped his wine thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, "So what would you like to do with yourself then, child?"

"What I really want to do is find my true origins. I'll never believe I'm the Queen's niece. I want to know who my parents are, where I came from."

His brows knit. "I know nothing—"

"I know, else you would have told me. Only the Queen knows the truth, and if she has never seen fit to confide in you, it must be a very dark secret indeed."

"Which is why I feel it is my duty to dissuade you—" But as soon as the words left his lips, he could see they were futile. He tried a different tack.

"Have you appealed to her since you've been back at court? She might be a bit more accommodating now that you're older. That you are more aware of the ways of the world and won't be, er, unduly shocked should your parentage not be all that you might wish."

Denys blushed, but nodded. "I'm prepared for whatever the truth is. And aye, the day I returned to your household from Castle Howard. I asked her then."

"What did she say?" he asked, genuinely curious.

She shrugged one shoulder. "She dismissed me with, 'your father never married my sister, they died of the sweating sickness, so be grateful I adopted a little bastard like you.'"

"Hmm." He didn't look any more convinced than his niece, for all it was a likely enough tale.

"She's hiding something, Uncle, you know she is."

In fact, Denys had known it almost the whole of her life. As soon as she learned to talk, she had begun asking Elizabeth—who were my lord father and ma mere?

Her aunt either slapped or shooed her away, and when the questioning had become too annoying for Queen-to-be Elizabeth, with coronation jewels and feasts on her mind, she had shoved Denys off to faraway Yorkshire.

But Denys had never stopped wondering who her family really was, and why they had ever given her up.

What was Elizabeth trying to hide? Who were my parents?
Who am I?

Edward nodded, a dimple in his cheek punctuating his frown. Oh, he knew his conniving wife, all right. The trouble was, he knew her too well. A secret like this could only portend ill for them all if Denys poked about too much into the affair.

Elizabeth loved power. The power of silence on the matter, but even more worryingly, what she hoped to gain from keeping the secret and holding Denys within her household as her ward, even though the relationship between them had been tense at best.

"I know she is hiding something, but might it not be for your own good, my dear?"

Denys shifted uneasily in her chair and shook her head, setting her pale blue veil aflutter.
Her own good, certes, but not mine…