The Assassin's Wife (20 page)

A first glimpse of the palace interior took my breath away. The magnificent richly painted roof caught my eye at once. Craning my neck towards this lofty ceiling, I discerned carved beams ornately decorated with angels, swans, and recumbent harts beneath twisted trees. All about the chamber hung brilliant-coloured tapestries and sumptuous cloth of gold. Light danced through jewelled glass and gilded every polished surface, creating such a sense of grandeur I believed I’d stepped into a world from an old tale of King Arthur and his Knights.

We joined an assortment of splendidly dressed noblemen and women hoping to present their own petitions to the king. Several of them nodded to our ecclesiastical companion. Others smiled when they saw Dame Eleanor. Something in these sly looks and whispered exchanges made my cheeks burn.
 

Stillington regarded her then with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. “You must forgive me if I leave you now but important matters call upon my time. His Grace will shortly send someone to attend upon you.” Again the gentle bobbing of the head and the quick, predatory glance in my direction before he turned to leave. “I trust your perseverance will be rewarded, madam.” The final remark slid silky as a knife-blade into flesh and Eleanor winced. The colour drained from her cheeks as the prelate swept boldly through the mass of people, no doubt relishing the effect of his words.

In spite of the heat in the hall, I shivered, filled again with a strange sense of foreboding. I
recognised
Stillington. Those hooded yellow eyes haunted me. At last I confronted my pursuer, the voice that whispered when I woke in breathless darkness, the menacing shape that lurked by the cottage doorway on moonlit nights, the demon of the dreams I’d babbled to my anxious father. Destiny had brought me here. I’d meet Stillington again. Momentarily the glamour of the court faded and I wished for the safety of the kitchen with homely Alison and Joan.

A rustle of excitement startled everyone. Trumpets blared. Dismayed, Eleanor pressed a hand to her throat as Edward Plantagenet and his noisy entourage entered the chamber. They swept by so close I could have reached out to touch his silken sleeve. We sank to our knees in homage but he showed not a flicker of recognition, though he must have seen us. Instead, his lips curled into a sneer. “I declare there are more and more of these beggars with their endless petitions today, Malyn.”
 

The stocky gentleman in the crimson doublet held out a scroll but the king flicked a dismissive hand, alarming the brindled hound fawning at his heels. “Get up, get up,” he said impatiently. In a moment, however, he recovered his famous good humour and placed an arm about Malyn’s shoulder. “You read the names, Malyn. Or better still, choose the ones I should hear today.” His hazel eyes flirted over us mischievously. “Choose only the pretty ones, Malyn!”

The courtiers laughed.
 

Leaping to his throne with the skill of an athlete, he draped his arms carelessly allowing the candle-light to dance on his jewelled fingers. He threw back his golden head with the sinuous grace of a stretching cat, and thrust out his long legs, loosely crossing the ankles, permitting us to marvel at his appearance. The velvet doublet with its purple dagged sleeves proclaimed the height of fashion. It was cut daringly short as to expose the lithe, shapely limbs in their fine, emerald hose. The bright gold and enamelled collar of white roses about his shoulders dazzled the eye. By his side crouched his fool, a tiny, wizened rogue with a face like a walnut. This fellow grinned up at him with impudent admiration.
His
eyes, however, lingered on the low-cut gowns and moist parted lips of the beautiful court ladies clustered about him.

“Be comfortable,” he said. He sipped from a silver-chased goblet proffered by a kneeling page, his eyes scanning us in amusement over its rim. Like a cat toying with a mouse, he watched us intently—all feigned pretence—even the long deliberation while he fondled the silky ears of the hound lolling against his thigh.
 

The attendant addressed as Marlyn unfurled his scroll. As he stooped to whisper into the royal ear, the royal eyebrows lifted, the royal lips tilted upward. We held our breath, waiting to be summoned. Though impossible for us to hear, evidently the king’s witty comments and gestures amused his courtiers. Giggles, snorts, and raucous laughter followed each exchange. Had I been a petitioner myself, I’d have fumed at this delay, but the magnificent garments and studied manners of these noble men and women fascinated me. How they aped the king’s mood! Plainly, a clever courtier might earn favours by pleasing his sovereign. I speculated on the tales I’d tell Joan and Alison that night. Never had I seen such costly gowns, or such outrageous designs. Never had I witnessed such play-acting.

“Dame Butler.” A bold-looking fellow bowed before us with elaborate courtesy. “His Grace craves your pardon, but he cannot consider your petition today. Pressing affairs of state command his attention.” He plainly gloated on delivering this message and I longed to strike the smug expression from his sallow visage. Instead, I spoke up. “My lady is troubled by this delay in her affairs.” I hoped the king heard me. Certainly, I caused a screech of consternation from the nearest listeners.

“I can assure you,” the messenger replied, barely able to conceal his fury, “His Grace will give the matter just as much study as it needs.”
 

“Forgive me, I’m unwell.” Dame Eleanor’s trembling voice prevented me from further argument. Alarmed by the tears on her cheeks, I took her arm, whisking her through the press of curious faces toward the chamber doors. Whispers and sniggers pursued us but I held my head high. I wondered if Canon Stillington watched this shameful departure. How could Edward Plantagenet treat Eleanor so cruelly? I all but turned to remind him I’d witnessed his promise to marry her only a few weeks ago. What would those posturing courtiers have said then?

Outside, a swarm of beggars hovered. A ragged old woman accosted us. Seeing Eleanor’s face, however, she fell back.
 

“Lady, have a care,” she croaked, crossing herself. “Those won with fine words fall fast from favour.”
 

I urged Eleanor towards the river while the crone called after us, “Secrets can’t be hidden behind stone walls or in stair wells.”

Those cryptic words plagued me ever after.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Just as we were about to sit down to supper the following evening, someone hammered at the door. Gerta admitted a messenger in fine blue and silver livery and accepted a document bearing the royal seal. Amidst a burst of questions she bore it off to Eleanor, and while Lionel stood chatting to the messenger in the doorway, the rest of us simmered with curiosity.

“Perhaps Dame Eleanor’s summoned back to the palace?” whispered Alison.

“She’ll never—”

Joan didn’t finish, for Dame Eleanor herself burst into the kitchen.

“Convey my heartfelt thanks to the king,” she told the man in livery. She dismissed him with a coin and turned to us with a radiant smile. “My estates have been restored to me. We must depart for Sudeley at once!”

Immediate commotion set us whirling. Lionel almost overturned the trestle as he darted towards her, his face florid with good humour.
 

“Joan and I could go ahead to make the house ready,” he said.
 

“I could begin packing after supper.” Joan laughed, tugging at her frizzled hair.

“Tomorrow—we’ll begin tomorrow.” Dame Eleanor’s eyes sparkled. “But fetch some wine, Joan, and let’s drink now to the king’s health.”

Perhaps this excitement and my visit to Edward’s licentious court with its heady atmosphere of sensuous magnificence kindled the powerful dream that disturbed my sleep that night.

Trembling with anticipation, I waited on the stairs in a great, draughty castle. I wore a fine dress of pale grey worsted cloth, the sheen on it like silk. Wide sleeves edged with coney fur hung down, a girdle of plaited leather encircled my waist and a velvet hood hid my hair. Tremors of excitement and danger shook me. In the sconce on the stone wall a torch cast mysterious, flickering shadows.
 

Footsteps descended from above. Caught in a pair of strong arms, I responded to a sensual embrace, pressing my lips feverishly against those of my lover. Equally ardent, he carried me to a tiny, turret chamber where he covered my face and throat with kisses. Looking into his shockingly blue eyes, desire leapt in me like a flame. We sank together upon the great bed, caressing each other, murmuring endearments. Freed from the confines of its hood, my hair spilled its pins and he buried his face in its tumbling fall. Languorously we shed our garments, stroking and crooning, until our mutual urgency demanded other, fiercer pleasures. When his mouth slid down towards my breast, my limbs melted. A delicious hunger flooded through me. Naked and wanton in his arms, I pressed my body against his taut, eager flesh, thrilled to his hardening need. Savouring the sultry heat emanating from his skin, I teased him towards ecstasy with tiny bites. As my hands caressed the tangle of his black hair, lazily gliding down the muscular arch of his back to grasp the tensed buttocks, I ground my body voluptuously against his. We groaned together luxuriously, until, throwing back my head, I glimpsed the jewelled edge of an ecclesiastical gown in the doorway, and froze—

Heart thudding violently, I shot upright in the first grey haze of morning, my body slick with sweat. Eleanor’s bed-curtains remained drawn although one pale hand drooped toward the floor. I imagined the careless scatter of her soft hair across the bolster, the delicate parted lips—and wondered if she dreamed too. What night-time adventures did she enjoy? Did she meet with the king? Or was she reunited with her late husband at Sudeley?
 

“Oh, Nan, what am I to do?” She sprang from her bed, anxiety distorting her fine features. She snatched up an azure gown and ran to the glass, holding the garment against her body. Something in her demeanour made me shudder. Struggling into my own gown, I remembered she’d worn the dress when the king had first called on her.
 

“Suppose the king forgets me?”

“How could he do that, Madam, after the promise he made?”

“Call Gerta.” Skittish as a colt, she flung open the cedar chest in which she kept her garments. “We must pack my gowns.” A faint aroma of lavender and verbena filled the room. Sun-light streamed now through the mullioned windows, mellow and warm, gilding her pale hair. A hectic flush bloomed in her cheeks as she dragged out skirts and sleeves while the inscrutable Gerta knelt to fold linen kirtles.
 

Perturbed, I watched Eleanor grow playful, casting garments over her shoulders and laughing as they floated down into a tangled pile, some on the bed and some on the floor. “Take these away,” she ordered the Fleming, kicking a pile of discarded gowns. “Nan can help me with the rest.”
 

She pranced before her glass holding up one garment after another, laughing immoderately, and then threw herself among the ravelled sleeves, hose and kirtles on the bed.

“Will Gerta accompany you to Sudeley?” I folded and replaced items into the chest.
 

Absently, Eleanor stroked a silver tissue sleeve. Her eyes grew huge, lit by brilliance—her face dreamy, as if she looked into far distance. “Oh no,” she answered, her expression indifferent. “She was hired here in London and has no desire for country living.” Her head on one side, she held the sleeve out fondly. “Do you remember how much the king admired me in this?”

“I do, indeed.” I took it from her to fold alongside its partner. “And I’ve no doubt it will be admired again at Sudeley.”

Crushing my hand in a fierce grip that made me cry out, she cried passionately, “Come with me!”

“I promised to return to the Mercers.”

“But you said you wanted to see the place.” She fixed me with a wounded look.

“And so I should, but, like Gerta, I belong in the city. It’s a great honour you should ask me, my Lady, but—I’ve matters that detain me in London.” I thought then quite unexpectedly of the stark, white fortress of the Tower and the blue-eyed man who haunted my dreams.

“Is it your priest?” One restless hand twisted the golden chain about her throat, the other plucked at her skirt. Her mounting agitation alarmed me. I’d seen her overwrought before but this nervous state bordered on hysteria.

“I’d like to see Brother Brian again but there are others I wish to contact—” How could I tell her about my visions? What would she say if I told her I sought a black-haired man and two noble boys whose lives were in such danger?

“If you were with me, Nan, I think I could bear this separation from the king more easily,” she said. Her doe-eyes stared, full of pleading. “Promise you’ll stay until he sends for me.”

I wanted to scream. I knew the king meant to wriggle out of the promise he’d made. The restoration of her estates merely provided a means to be rid of her. But what would happen to me?
 

I ran to the stables almost weeping with frustration. “How shall I ever escape?” I leaned against the chestnut mare’s warm flanks for comfort. Gently, she nudged me, her lips nibbling my sleeve, her dark, liquid eyes hopeful. I stroked her glossy neck. “One day, I’ll be free of all this trouble.” I rubbed away angry tears. “I’ll have a home of my own and sit dozing by the fire with my grand-children. All these secrets will be forgotten—and then the king may go hang himself, for all I care!”