Destiny Lies Waiting (28 page)

If indeed this was not some plot between them to incriminate her…

"Well, they are dead, and would not want you anyway, you scurvy bastard! Now get ye gone from my sight, you skulking little slattern, before I cut off your arms and beat you with the bloody ends!"

Denys decided the only way to fight her aunt was with the truth. She drew herself up to her full height, and glared. The Queen actually took a small step back.

"Whatever wretch broke into your trunks, it was not I. I have not even been here save for the last time we spoke."

"You are a conniving liar," Elizabeth countered in a faltering voice.

"No, I am not." Without another word, Denys turned her back on the Queen and departed the chamber.

"No respectable man would have you!" Elizabeth shrieked, her venomous tone echoing through the corridor.

There had been a time when the verbal attacks had struck her harder than any blow Elizabeth had ever landed across her face. But now they meant nothing.

Her suspicions turned over and over in her mind as she made her way back to her room. Only one person could have broken into that trunk. If he actually had.

It made her suspect all the more that a big charade was going on. That Valentine Starbury was now in the Woodville camp, deliberately setting the trap she'd fallen into and nearly losing her life in the process. Who was Bess trying to fool?

Valentine and Bess were in on this together, they had to be, and the thought made her ill with fear. The trouble was, that stolen letter seemed to be a whole lot of fuss over nothing.

Which meant that perhaps there was something to it after all…

CHAPTER FORTY

It had been a month since the fire. Denys had finally regained her strength, and she was now able to ride once more.

Nothing remained but the emotional scars, so she prayed several times daily for the souls lost in the fire. She avoided everyone in the palace however, keeping to her rooms, and insisting she wanted to see no one.

Save only for the still irate Queen, no one dared cross her threshold. Though her treacherous heart longed for Valentine, she was sure he had betrayed her.

She ate food only from the hand of her maid, and made sure she was never alone by day or by night. As soon as she was well enough to ride, she started making plans to head north to Richard and Anne. She couldn't write of her suspicions. They were far too dangerous to commit to paper.

But Richard would know what to think, what to do. He might once have believed finding her family was a mere romantic notion. Now it seemed a matter of life and death.

But in the midst of making her plans to escape from the stifling palace and decide what to do next in her search for her real family, she heard some unsettling news.

Richard had bestowed the governorship of Yorkshire upon Valentine Starbury, and the King had agreed to the appointment, allowing his councilor to depart Westminster. Valentine was to leave court and travel north, where he would reside.

Relief mixed with an emotion she couldn't define. Yet at the same time, she felt more trapped than ever. Richard had been her last remaining hope, and now even it was being denied her.

She dared not even pour her heart out into a journal, for who knew what the Queen would do if she ever left her chamber for mass?

She sat silently praying for guidance. What road should she take now that heading north would be impossible?

Although burdened by the heaviness the search for her family wrought upon her, she knew she simply had to find them.

But perhaps she was going about it the wrong way, she decided. Let them think that she had given up, and she might find out more from her unsuspecting family. Let no one think anything was amiss between her and Valentine, that they were just two busy people whose duties kept them apart.

To allay suspicions, she wrote to Richard, as she knew he always loved to hear court news.

With great effort, she kept her letter gay and breezy. She refrained from any outpouring of loneliness over missing their long talks, their intense chess games, their hard rides over the moors.

She knew Richard's schedule was fraught—hence, she omitted the tragedy she'd just lived through. She didn't want Richard to think she was soliciting his pity.

Her pen flew across the parchment, jotting down anecdotes about the goings on at court, especially the most noteworthy event of late—

Last eve an inebriated George met a stunning redheaded wench named Lil at one of the riverfront taverns and sweet-talked her back to Pluckley House, sneaking her past his wife's chambers to his own.
His sobriety finally returned at dawn when he snuggled up to her for a final frolic, and reaching around, clamped onto a flaccid male member, and glimpsed a curly red wig coiled between their bodies. His willing partner of the night had been another man!
George's indignant braying was louder than the shattering of glass as the sylph jammed the wig back on and leapt through the window to his escape.
Who else but the Duke of Clarence, when deep in his cups, could indulge in a carnal caper with a man, thinking it was a wench?

Just as she finished penning this priceless piece, there was a knock at her chamber door. Expecting the courier she'd summoned to deliver the letter to Richard, she gave it to her maid, who opened the door without hesitating.

There, to her dismay, stood Valentine, his blue eyes searching the chamber.

His gaze met hers, imploring her to give him this one last moment.

She stared back at him, transfixed. His hair was windblown, the scent of leather and the outdoors wafting towards her, she could almost feel his arms around her, his vibrant kiss…

The maid unknowingly handed the letter to Valentine and he took it, looking down at it, then back over at her.

She flew to the door, nudged the maid aside and snatched the letter from his hand. "Do not touch that letter!"

Here he was, the man who'd caused the death of several innocent people, and had nearly caused hers. To think she'd been so attracted to him, his rugged handsome maleness, his soft sensuous lips that made hers tingle with delight.

He was nothing more than a two-faced deceiver who would likely commit treason as the final act in the little play he had been constructing ever since he had known her.

"What is this you are dispatching to Richard?" he asked, his brows knitting.

"None of your business. Now get ye gone. You are a miscreant, a villain, and I shall never trust you again!"

She tried to shove the door shut but he caught it, swinging it open again. She had to step back to avoid being hit with it.

"We may never see each other again, so you will listen to me, Dove. I was sick with worry about you when I heard from the servants what had happened. Every night I spent hours in that chapel praying for your swift recovery. Please, I did it for you, Dove," he pleaded.

"Aye, betrayed me for my own good," she sneered.

"Betrayed? What is it you think I've done?"

She turned away, unable to look at him, yet something almost forced her to etch his image into her memory, the blond locks, his expressive eyes, that brilliant smile...

Despite her anger and fear she peeked at the leg muscles evident under the tight hose tucked into leather boots.

"Dove, for pity's sake, at least tell me what you are accusing me of."

She looked at Mary and the girl withdrew, not out of the room as Valentine hoped, but over to the window seat. He stared from one woman to the next, feeling as though Dove was slipping from him even though she was so close he could stretch out one hand to stroke the rare silvery hair he had always loved so well….

"You gave me false information. And I have every reason to believe it was deliberate and instigated by the Queen. I almost died in the fire at the inn, and several innocent folk did die, not to mention lose their property and their livelihood. For that I shall never believe another word you say."

"Nay! It was not false! And as for a fire, I know nothing about any deaths at an inn. Please let me explain!"

She shoved at his chest with his hands, unable to budge him. "Get ye gone and never come near me again!"

"Please, Dove, you must listen. I'm being sent north. Please, we must talk before it's too late—"

But it already was. Her swinging open the door, and his obvious attempt to see her being observed by one of the Queen's spies, sent a multitude of guards clamoring around her.

"As God is my witness, I never—"

Two of the King's men-at-arms seized Valentine and dragged him away, his protests and pleadings echoing through the corridor, but fell on deaf ears.

Denys swung away from the commotion, kicking the door shut behind her, and falling into the arms of the faithful Mary, who held her as she wept, while a shadowy figure sped past Denys' doorway, scrambled down the corridor, and headed for the Queen's apartments.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

The following night, certain there was no danger of seeing Valentine now, Denys attended the evening meal in the great hall for the first time since the fire.

The music was just as bright, the courtiers devouring just as much food and drink.

King Edward's fool stood beside him, displaying his usual knack for sending the King into fits of laughter.

But the atmosphere lacked that spark of vigor it had before. And she knew why.

It was because Valentine Starbury was gone.

Queen Elizabeth rose from her seat at the high table and a hush descended over the great hall. "His Highness the King and I bid you good evening."

King Edward, sitting at her side, nodded, smiled warmly, and began to disinterestedly twirl an apple by its stem.

"I am about to announce the forthcoming nuptials of one of the most...the most outstanding knight in the realm."

Denys sat in confused silence; no one had mentioned a word about a knight's wedding.

"By order of His Highness King Edward the Fourth and Queen Elizabeth, that is myself..." She paused for laughter but none came, so she hurried on, "Sir Valentine Starbury, Duke of Norwich, is to be married in a fortnight."

That was a surprise to Denys, and she felt a pang that had naught to do with the succulent meal she had just eaten.

She tried to tell herself that she felt sorry for the poor wench who would have to put up with his hypocrisy, treachery, his incorrigible ambition, his—

"He will be wed to my dear niece, Denys!"

She'd heard her name, but it hadn't registered in her brain.
Why is Elizabeth saying my name?
she wondered, shaking her head, meeting all the curious and dubiously polite smiles and nods coming her way.

What have I got to do with...

Then it hit her. Like a boulder crashing down on her head, the words came together and Elizabeth was holding up her tankard.

Everyone was rising, the minstrels, the courtiers, even the King himself was on his feet, looking right at her, smiling with that compassionate look of apology in his eyes...

She managed to maintain her dignity and somehow got through all the toasting, the platitudes, the insipid murmurs of acclamation.

Now she was surer than ever that the two of them had conspired against her. What could Elizabeth have offered Valentine to get him to so willingly fall in with her plans?

More to the point, what would she have to offer him to get him to let her go?

For surely to marry a man like that would be like signing her own death warrant…

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Denys entered the Queen's chambers without an appointment the following morning. She had spent the evening packing what remained of her clothes and most prized possessions.

Now she was ready to declare her refusal to marry that varlet Valentine Starbury, and then leave court forever.

She had no idea where she would go or what she would do, but at least if she headed north, she could discuss all that had happened with Richard, and see if he had any ideas. Then there was the Duchess of Scarborough's relations…