Destiny Lies Waiting (3 page)

"Uncle, last eve, her Highness dispatched me a most alarming demand. I must appeal to you about it."

"Oh, no, what the shite did she want this time?" Edward responded wearily, motioning one of the servers to refill his wine goblet. "Shall I fetch a pitcher for this?"

"I would fetch a cask for this," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh?"

"She wants me to marry Richard. On Christmas Day."

"Richard.
Richard?
My brother Richard?" Edward stared at her as though she had sprouted three heads, and then took a hefty swig of wine.

She nodded.

They both knew what the Queen was thinking: "High time we married off the urchin."

But not to Richard!

"Good Lord. You and—"

"I knew it was just a matter of time before she betrothed me. But I cannot not marry Richard, Uncle. 'Twould be a disaster! Besides, he's been planning to wed Anne for years, and the Queen well knows it!"

"Aye, indeed, so do we all."

She took a much-needed gulp of wine. "Elizabeth has pushed me round since infancy, shunting me out of the way when it suited her, now bringing me back because she thinks me useful. But she cannot marry me to Richard on Christmas Day or any other day. Uncle, please, do deny your permission."

"So
that's
what the urgency was about." He chuckled, shaking his head and relaxing in his chair once more.

"Urgency?"

Edward nodded. "Richard already cornered—uh—" He twirled his goblet. "—er, requested that I grant him permission to marry Anne on the morrow. I've seen men anxious to get unmarried, but not the other way round!"

"Oh, thank God." She sighed with relief. "They should be wed. They're ever so fond of each other. So they are to marry on the morrow, then?"

He nodded. "Aye, but not at the crack of dawn as he requested. He was all ready to engage the services of any priest he could drag out of bed, but I thought it wise that he inform the bride first," he said with a smile and a playful wink.

Denys laughed then, allowing herself to relax for the first time since the missive had come from the Queen the evening before.

"I promised him I'd post the banns between council meetings tomorrow, so he can't enter wedded bliss at least until after vespers."

He glanced around distractedly. "Now I've got that dreaded funeral mass to attend, so I must be gone, my child. But we shall have that chess game, I promise that."

"Whose funeral?"

"The Earl of Desmond. He was executed, as were his two small sons."

Denys felt as though her stomach had dropped to her feet.
"Desmond? Executed?
Why, he was a most loyal Yorkist. What was his crime?" Dove shuddered at the thought of another execution. This court was a bloodbath.

"There was no crime. Not on his part, but on the part of my wrathful queen." Edward spoke as if resigned to the steady flow of executions Elizabeth had instigated.

"When Desmond first arrived here from Ireland, he and I went hunting. I lightly solicited his opinion about my marriage to Elizabeth. You know—just making idle chit-chat."

"I see." Denys could feel a heat blush her cheeks. Everyone thought Edward could have done far better for himself than he had….

"Desmond replied in all honesty that I would have done better to marry into a foreign alliance. Respecting his candor, and really thinking no more of it, I made the mistake of casually mentioning the conversation to Elizabeth.

"She flew into a rage, and cajoled the Earl of Worcester into devising a trumped-up charge against poor old Desmond. He was arrested a week ago and brought to the block yester morn."

"But why could you not stop it?" Denys gasped.

"I had intended to grant him a pardon. Whilst in the council chambers, I led a futile search for the royal signet, and discovered Elizabeth had confiscated it in order to seal the death warrant. By the time I found out, it was too late." He let out a tired sigh.

"Jesu, those poor men." She crossed herself.

"Aye, Desmond was ever so faithful. I wish I could say the same for er, others round here." But she knew exactly whom he was referring to.

She frowned in disgust, knowing she didn't have to hide it from her uncle.

"Whenever will your rope snap, Uncle?"

"No need, lass." The King cast his eyes downward, swinging the tankard like a pendulum between his thumb and middle finger.

"The Queen's breeding now, and I'll have her breeding for the rest of her days. She's bound to bring forth a prince fit to be king, or at least as robust as the two wags she whelped by that other canker."

That other canker was her first husband, John Grey.

"We shall hope that's where the similarity ends."

Uncle and niece exchanged amused glances.

"I must take my leave now and change into some black raiment." He leaned forward and hugged her affectionately. She felt so safe encircled in his warmth.

"Thank you, sire."

"Sometimes I wonder why I bother changing out of black. One would think I was a widower or something."

"Be careful what you ask for, Uncle. You may get it."

They shared a more secret exchange of smiles this time.

"It is as God wills, but I do need heirs."

"Amen to that, my lord."

"So, no more worries about that whole Richard matter?"

"Nay, none now. I thank you."

"Very well, my dear, I shall see you anon."

King Edward rose and took his leave, several members of his retinue following him out.

CHAPTER FOUR

Denys watched King Edward's departure from the dining hall with mixed feelings. She loved Uncle Ned with all her heart. He was her sanity—the one she went to with every problem when she was residing with her aunt. He was father, brother, and friend to her. She missed him so when he was away in battle or on progress.

He was the only good thing that had come out of this twist of fate that had led her to become his wife's ward, and now a member of the royal household.

But why had he fallen under Elizabeth's spell? She'd heard so many stories, ranging from the sweetly romantic to the outright bawdy, about the other maidens Uncle Ned had courted. He'd nearly married one of them.

But Elizabeth Woodville had fixed all that. And many thought it was witchcraft.

She'd first met Edward under an oak tree. The night before their wedding, the thirtieth of April, was notorious as one of the sabbaths in the witches' year, and witches always held their sabbaths beneath oak trees.

Elizabeth's neighbor had publicly accused her of witchcraft, producing two small leaden figures representing the king and queen, and Edward had taken the charge so seriously, he had investigated it personally.

But he was hopelessly smitten with
the Grey Mare
, as she was known. He had still married her. Was it because she wouldn't give him what he truly wanted until they were lawfully wed? Denys had always wondered.

But even more pressing was what she was to do now. She had always wondered about her true family, and no matter how terribly shameful the tale of her birth might be, it couldn't be worse than becoming a pawn of the Queen.

She had won this battle and halted the Queen's plan to marry her off to Richard, but she was of marriageable age and close enough to the throne to be worth bargaining for, questionable heritage or not.

Denys might have avoided wedding Richard. She only hoped her ambitious aunt didn't have a worst fate in store for her…

All throughout Mass the following morning, Denys watched Richard in the front pew. It was clear from his actions that his mind was not on worship, either.

He toyed with his rings, smoothed his tabard until she thought he would wear the fabric out, and spent the latter half of the service with his head in his hands.

She couldn't let the Queen do this to them. Poor Richard. The Queen wanted to take away his only chance for true happiness with the girl he loved.

Well, she was not going to get away with it, she swore before God.

We're both clever and crafty and even if we had half the brains of Elizabeth Woodville, we'd be smarter than she!

As the chapel emptied out after Mass, Richard tugged on Denys' sleeve and motioned for her to follow him to the front.

Then suddenly he made an abrupt twirl about and strode back down the aisle.

"No. Let's sit in the back instead." He added, muttering, "The farther from the altar the better."

Denys gathered her skirts and obediently sat in the last pew.

Richard was pacing back and forth so rapidly, he almost walked in circles.

At length she could bear it no more and said, "Richard, please sit down. You're making me dizzy."

"I cannot sit down. I can only think on moving feet, not sitting pat."

"What bothers you? The ringing of wedding bells?"

"Nay, my wedding bells have been de-clappered! The blasted Queen is up to her usual tricks. And this one might even work. Oh, I'd like to de-clapper her!"

"What has she done now?" Her voice rose with alarm. "I thought Uncle Ned gave you permission to wed Anne today."

"He did. So, after securing permission and engaging the services of a priest, all in the space of an hour, I went to fetch my bride, but her sheep-biting father had already sequestered her away."

"Why would he do that?"

"Oh, it wasn't entirely his doing. He had help." He emphasized the last word with a jerk of his head.

Denys groaned. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. Queen Elizabitch is at it again." He threw his hands up. "I've been trying to find Anne. I've sent out a search party, but they've done sod all. I feel like I'm chasing my tail all over England." He pounded his fist on the edge of the pew. "Oh, we should have eloped!"

A heavy pall descended upon her spirit. "Even Uncle Ned said you should have secured your bride in place first."

"Well, isn't it like me to overlook the obvious? Now hell knows where she is and we're back to square one."

She sat up straight and held out a hand to stay his pacing and reassure him. "No, not yet. All's not lost. I've come up with some solutions. I can depart the court disguised as a maid and take up residence in the north, near Castle Howard. I'm familiar with those parts, I know trustworthy folk in the district, and can pursue my quest for my family from there."

He was shaking his head already. "It's too dangerous. I can't have you sneaking away from court, wearing disguises, wandering Britain dressed like a bloody fishwife—"

"Very well, then, ponder my next idea. It hit me like a flash of light in the night."

"Carry on."

"You can marry someone else."

"Who—me? Pray why me?" He leaned forward and his hand went to his hip. "You're the one your aunt wants to marry off. I'm just the hare who got caught in the hound's ugly jaws."

She restrained a smile at the apt if unflattering metaphor. "Well, I shan't marry someone of the Queen's choosing. I have no intention of marrying anyone right now. I want to find my true parentage first. But when I do marry, it will be to a man of my own choosing who's courtly, handsome, and virile. Not that you're not all those things, Richard!" she added hastily.

He nodded, egging her on. "Carry on. Let's see you wriggle your arse out of this one." His grin spread, yet it was wryly aslant. He liked making people squirm.

"Oh, you know what I mean! I want someone like the knight who came prancing up to me after the Battle of Barnet."

"What knight?"

"We didn't exchange but a hello—and a rose. The crowd swept us apart. He was come and gone in a twinkling. But oh, he made me feel so special, so wanted, so—womanly. No man ever looked at me like that before. The courtyard was filled with divers maidens, yet he chose me. And do you know what he said when he handed me the rose?"