Suzanne Robinson (26 page)

“You must have sent for the press the moment you heard mine sank,” Honor said, clutching the ink ball.

Galen took the ink ball and set it aside, then kissed her hand and brought it to his cheek. Honor looked at him, still stunned.

“Now that I have you speechless, you must listen to me. For so long I’ve been afraid that I would make another terrible mistake and cause harm to someone I love. Then I met you, and you wouldn’t go away. You became a part of my soul before I knew it. I tried for so long to deny what was happening. Even when I knew I didn’t want to live without you, I refused to admit it to myself. And then that vision of Aymer’s death came upon me while I was with you, because of you.”

Galen took both her hands in his. “I used that
cursed vision as an excuse to do what I wanted all along, to claim you.”

“You did?”

He nodded urgently. “I realized it too late. I can be most grievously headstrong, you know. And because of my blindness, I hurt you. I beg you to forgive me.” He leaned closer and said, “I love you, Honor Jennings. Please don’t send me away.”

It was as if those frozen ice shards into which her heart had shattered reassembled themselves in an instant. Her whole body warmed, and euphoria spread from her heart to her fingertips and toes. Honor shrieked and threw herself at Galen. At the impact, he fell backward and she landed on top of him. She kissed him hard, and his arms wrapped around her.

Honor submerged into an ocean of glowing happiness, only to lift her lips from Galen’s and say, “I told no one about the visions. Even when I hated you. Did you really buy a whole printer’s press? Where shall we put it? Oh, we must find Sir Renard and go back home.”

“Saints, Brother, does she always babble like that?”

Honor looked up to find Simon de Marlowe riding up, along with Galen’s other siblings.

Galen appeared undisturbed. He lifted Honor off him, stood and helped her up.

“No, Simon.” Galen brushed Honor’s grass-stained gown. “But she’s often a mess.”

Honor caught his hand. “At least I’m no Leekshanks.”

Galen grinned at her even though his brothers began to snigger at him. Honor glanced down at the type case, then up at Galen.

“What would you have done if your gift hadn’t softened my heart?”

He pulled her close and whispered in her ear,
“I
would have spirited you away to Durance Guarde. Then I would have waited for you to trip over a tree root and rescued you. You know what happens when you trip. We end up on the ground—”

“I
forgive you! Just don’t go on.” Honor blushed at the curious looks from Galen’s brothers.

Galen bowed. “As my lady wishes. Shall we go?” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I’m grievously late, my love, but will you come to the betrothal ceremony with me?”

“I will, my lord,” Honor said softly. “With all my heart, I will.”

E
PILOGUE
 

London, Christmas, 1476

I
n the palace of Westminster Honor sat on a bench beside the fireplace in the room assigned to her by the king. Although Jacoba had put fresh logs on the fire, a draft whisked under the door and up her skirt, so Honor curled sideways on the bench and lifted her feet off the floor. She stared into the flames while resting her chin on her knees. She was waiting for Galen.

She had finally persuaded him to warn the king about the danger his vision seemed to predict for little Edward and Richard, the royal princes, but Galen had been gone for a long time. The door swung open, and Jacoba came in with a tray, goblets, and a flagon.

“Hippocras, me lady. It will warm you. And I
brought a bit of that roast swan that was done for the feast last night.”

Honor smiled, but then she shivered. “Close the door. I’m freezing.”

Jacoba set the tray down and went to shut the door, but she almost rammed it into Galen as he tried to cross the threshold. “Oh, dear. Pray forgive me, me lord.” Jacoba opened the door and bobbed a deep curtsey. “Are you all right, me lord?”

Galen eyed Jacoba. “No harm done.”

“Are you certain, me lord? I’m so sorry, me lord.”

“Jacoba, I would much prefer it if you’d return to your old way of treating me. Even if I’ve married your mistress, I don’t think I can endure your kindness much longer.”

Honor hid her smile by ducking her head. Jacoba’s mouth worked, then she sighed.

“Oh, thank you, me lord. All them manners and politeness was about to kill me.”

“You’re most welcome,” Galen said as he poured two goblets of heated wine and brought one to Honor.

Jacoba began to whistle happily and bustled out of the room.

“You’ve made her quite content,” Honor said as she sipped her wine.

Galen sank down on the carpet beneath her, took a long drink of wine and glanced up at her. “Five months of being treated like royalty was almost unendurable.”

“And what of your audience with the king?” Honor asked.

“I told him as much as I could without revealing the vision.” Galen’s head rested against her, and she stroked his gleaming hair. “Unfortunately, Edward is all too familiar with the danger to any claimant to the throne of England. He thanked me and said he could trust his wife’s relatives to protect the boys.”

“She does have five brothers, seven sisters, and two sons by her first husband. That’s a lot of Woodvilles.”

Galen shook his head. “You don’t understand, my little sunset. Neither the Yorkists nor the Lancastrians have much use for the Woodvilles. Edward married a commoner and promoted too many of her family over the heads of the great magnates. He manages to keep a fine balance between all the factions, but someday he may stumble. By God’s mercy, I wish I knew from whom to expect the threat.”

“But you don’t,” Honor replied. “The vision didn’t tell you that. It could come from either of the king’s brothers. After all, the Duke of Clarence sided with Warwick when he rebelled, and the Duke of Gloucester doesn’t trust the Woodvilles. He’s as ruthless a man as I’ve ever met.”

“And there’s always the house of Lancaster,” Galen said.

“Ah, yes, the red rose may destroy the white.”

“Not while their claimant, Henry Tudor, is in
exile.” Galen furrowed his brow. “No, I think the danger lies close. Here in England.” He took another sip of hippocras and set his goblet aside. “I’ve done what I could to see that the boys are protected. I must be content with that, and vigilance. It may be that I’m powerless to prevent their fate, but I hope not. In any case, the vision of the Tower is gone.”

Honor twisted around and slipped to the carpet, where she knelt to face him. “Are you certain it’s gone?”

“Oh, yes. Another has taken its place.”

“God’s mercy,” Honor whispered. She took him by the shoulders and studied his face, but Galen seemed calm. “You’re smiling.”

“Not all my visions consist of images of impending evil.”

“Oh.” Honor sighed her relief.

Galen kissed her, and she forgot about visions.

“Don’t you want to know about the vision?”

“Hmm? Of course.”

Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her nose, then her lips. “I saw it only for an instant. A young woman in a solar with two babes, a boy and a girl.”

Honor sucked in her breath, staring into his dark, shining eyes. Then she scowled and batted him on the arm.

“Galen de Marlowe, you’ve spoiled everything.”

“I thought you’d be pleased,” he said, looking aggrieved.

She jumped up and planted her hands on her
hips. “Is this the way it will be? Can I never surprise you? I wanted to tell you. I wanted to see your face when I told you, and now I discover you even know it will be twins and that they will be a boy and a girl.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you knew yet.”

Honor threw up her hands. “I was waiting to be certain, you foolish man. It’s only been a few weeks.”

Galen knelt at her feet, took her hand and kissed it. Honor frowned at him, but he turned her hand over and kissed the palm. By the time he was kissing her wrist, she’d forgiven him.

“I promise not to spoil your surprises anymore,” he said as he rose to kiss her neck.

“See that you don’t,” Honor said unsteadily. There was a knock at the door, and she freed her mouth long enough to say, “Go away, Jacoba.”

“Yes, me lady.”

Honor grabbed Galen’s hand and pulled him toward the bed. “Come, my lord. By my troth, I’m sure I can find some way to surprise you this evening.”

H
ISTORICAL
N
OTE
 

T
he mid-fifteenth-century battles between rival claimants to the English throne are known as the Wars of the Roses, after the red rose of the house of Lancaster and the white rose of the house of York. This sporadic warfare and political intrigue eventually put Edward, earl of March, on the throne as Edward IV. After a few internal struggles the last decade of Edward’s reign—during which this novel is set—was relatively peaceful.

Edward died early at the age of forty on April 9, 1483. He left two sons, Edward V, who was twelve, and Richard, duke of York, who was nine. Their uncle Richard, duke of Gloucester, had good reason to fear for his life at the hands of the boys’ maternal relatives, and he seized the throne soon
after his brother died. He lodged the princes in the Tower of London. Soon rumors began to spread that the princes had been murdered, and Richard didn’t produce the boys to disprove the tales. Today most historians believe that they were indeed murdered in August 1483.

The murders gained Richard III little, however. His enemies lent their support to the rival Lancastrian claimant to the throne, Henry Tudor. Henry defeated Richard at the Battle of Bosworth Field on August 22, 1485. The new king then married Edward IV’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth, thus joining the red rose with the white, and effectively ending the Wars of the Roses.

Bantam Books by Suzanne Robinson

THE LEGEND

JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT

THE TREASURE

THE RESCUE

HEART OF THE FALCON

THE ENGAGEMENT

LORD OF THE DRAGON

LORD OF ENCHANTMENT

LADY DANGEROUS

LADY VALIANT

LADY DEFIANT

LADY HELLFIRE

LADY GALLANT

and her romantic short story
in the Bantam Anthology

WHEN YOU WISH …

Suzanne Robinson has a doctoral degree in anthropology, with a specialty in ancient Middle Eastern archaeology. She has now turned her attention to the creation of the fascinating fictional characters in her unforgettable historical romances.

Suzanne lives in San Antonio with her husband and her two English springer spaniels. She divides her time between writing historical romances and mysteries under her first name, Lynda.