The Assassin's Wife (39 page)

“Go on, go on.” She waved a careless hand. “Of course, it was all lies and they knew it. Both of them were greedy. They needed each other to fulfil their desires. He craved to rule England, and she would have sold her soul to see her son crowned.”

“Did you love Prince Edward?”
 

Shocked by my audacity, Lady Anne turned the full, penetrating stare of her green cat eyes on me. “I was barely fourteen, Nan, and had been educated to detest the entire Lancastrian herd. What did I know of love?” She grimaced. “In the country I think girls may wed their sweethearts, but for those of noble blood matches are made for advancement or gain, to mend a quarrel or seal an allegiance. If love should follow, why then so much the better—but if not—” she shrugged. “A man may get children on a woman without love and still be happy to see his son carry on his name. And a woman may become a wealthy chatelaine protected by her husband’s strength without love.”

I thought of Alys and the reeve, but didn’t say how even the poorest of us would sell a maid’s happiness for security. Fat Marion doubtless welcomed the reeve’s generosity in taking her pretty, dowerless daughter to wife. I knew Alys’ tears and Robin’s heartbreak counted for nothing when measured against the promise of a prosperous future.

“You may have found love in Master Forrest,” Lady Anne said, “but others are neither so fortunate nor reckless in their choices.” Her face assumed a sudden grave expression. “A noble wife’s duty is to provide an heir and so far I’ve failed.”
 

She clapped her hands suddenly and Kate looked up from her book. “Enough for now.” Ignoring the groans of protest she executed her sweetest smile. “You read well, Kate. You may continue the tale tomorrow.”

I wondered then if Lady Anne loved her duke. The servants still whispered of his devotion, but I saw no answering sign in her.

Chapter Forty-Eight

In early spring, on the pretext of teaching me to play chess, Lady Anne began to share her most secret ambitions. Though I dreaded the responsibility of these secrets, I knew the real strategy was to get me to read her fortune. Since Barnard, Miles had counselled me to avoid anything that smacked of sorcery. But how could I refuse a duchess?

Picking up a pawn, she snorted with contempt. “When my father quarrelled with King Edward, I was nothing to him—no more than this lowly piece which may be sacrificed to win a game. From being his treasured daughter, I was reduced to a mere bargaining point. If he could marry me to the Lancastrian heir then he might grasp the greatest prize in England.” Smiling bitterly, she replaced the pawn. “Through me he thought to rule. And I hated him then. I vowed when I wed Prince Edward, I’d be ruled by no man—father or husband. I’d follow Marguerite’s example. They married her against her will to that simpleton, Henry, but she exerted her own power—and she never wavered in her purpose. When she bore her son she fought for his inheritance—even to the last.”
 

“But the talk of his parentage—?”

“He talked of nothing but fighting, you know—her brave Prince Edward.” She ignored my interruption. “His mother made a god of him and he thought himself invincible.” She uttered a tiny, melodious laugh as if at the recollection of this folly. “A fine way to begin a marriage—but, young as I was, I’d no reason to expect romance.” She paused as if to remember clearly. “King Edward dragged him from Tewkesbury Abbey where he hid after the battle.” Her smiles grew melancholy. “When he confronted the king he spoke with such arrogance, demanding back his throne, the king struck him on the cheek with his gauntlet. I can well believe it. There’s another story of how the king, himself, put the prince to death—stabbed him with his dagger. Perhaps it’s true—Ned has a fierce temper— but it matters nothing now.”

Her words stirred an old dream and I winced at the bleak remembrance.

“You dared to ask me, Nan, if I loved him—Marguerite’s son. I wept when I heard of his death, but more for myself than his loss. I’d been a wife for five months. All I could think was: Who will want me now?” Her tongue flicked over the tiny pointed cat’s teeth. “And I know you’re thinking— why did I marry my cousin, Richard?”

Several of the ladies
were
listening now. Their muttering petered into silence. Undeterred, Lady Anne continued her revelation. “Richard wanted my fortune. He and brother George worried like terriers over the Neville and Beauchamp inheritance.” Her laughter rattled through the chamber, dry and brittle as bone. Deliberately, she turned to address all the listeners, her eyes hard as shards of green glass. “It’s why dear George hid me in the Dowgate house—you all know the story—so Richard couldn’t have me. And what could I do? Fatherless, widowed, alone? What better offer would I get?” Her face assumed a fierce, hunting aspect. “Besides, I knew Richard from childhood—He was sent to train under my father’s tutelage at Middleham. I saw in him something of myself—the younger, less necessary child—Perhaps that drew us together—” She stopped suddenly. Gazing round at the astonished circle of faces, she tossed her head defiantly. “My, my, how shocked you all look! Yet you know as well as I do that such is the way of marriage among our families. Which one of you would prefer to wed a tradesman and live in a hut with a tribe of unruly brats?”
 

I couldn’t join in the laughter which followed. While she and her ladies gossiped of the various noble matches being made that year, I slipped away to seek Miles.

“To what do I owe this honour?” he asked, when I found him in the mews. The falconer, who gave me a curt nod of acknowledgement, was showing him a fine peregrine.

“The duke will fly this bird soon,” he said. “Young Jonas caught it as a brancher—a young bird just about to leave the nest—aye, it’s the makings of a swift hunter, this un.” Gripping the bird firmly in wiry, scarred fingers, he fanned out the broad wing feathers skilfully with his other hand so we might admire the power in them.

“Jonas said you’ve acquired some eyasses from Sheriff Hutton.”
 

Stroking the peregrine’s barred breast tenderly with his gnarled knuckles, the falconer gave Miles a shrewd glance.

“Aye, I may have done. But they’re not for every knave to gawk at.”
 

He put the peregrine back on its perch.

It watched us fiercely, yellow eyes gleaming in the white face with its distinctive black markings. The sheen on its blue-grey plumage lay like liquid honey-glaze. Tiny bells on its jesses tinkled. I stretched out a finger to touch the sleek black head before the falconer slipped on its hood.

Clearing his throat noisily, the narrow-shouldered fellow turned to address Miles. “If thou wait a piece, I’ll mebbe let thee see ‘em. I can see thi wife has a gentle way with her.”

Proudly he displayed the hatchlings with their scrawny, writhing necks and wide-stretched beaks.
 

“Happen the duke’ll raise some of these for hissen,” he said. “Or mebbe give one or two to his friends. He’s taken thee hawking with him afore, I tek it?” He fixed me then with his agate gaze and gave me another grudging nod. “Some wenches mek a fuss and frighten the birds. I can see thou hast more sense. I like a quiet lass.”

All the way back to our chambers, Miles jested about how I’d stolen the taciturn Yorkshire-man’s heart.

“I like a quiet lass.” Miles mimicked the falconer’s grumbling voice and caught me in his arms. “I’ll warrant the poor fellow will pine away in the mews for love of the little witch who’s charmed him today.”

I hated to be called a witch but didn’t want to dispel Miles’ good humour.

“Has the duke no duties for you?”

“When we left off hawking he dismissed us. He’s had letters from London.” Miles eased off his boots. “He seemed distracted—even out on the moors. Tom Metcalf told me there’s been talk of the king reclaiming lands in France and he’s raising money for some expedition or other.”

“More war!” I grimaced, pouring a mug of ale.

“But why has Lady Anne dismissed you so soon, dear wife?” Miles mocked me as he accepted the proffered drink. “I thought she couldn’t bear to part with you these days.”

“I sneaked away.” I grinned up at him mischievously, settling by the hearth. “She and her ladies are busy arranging matches for every single heiress in the county.”

“Aye, she’s an acquisitive head on her shoulders.” Miles loosened his cornflower-blue doublet, exposing the lawn shirt beneath, and looked thoughtfully into the fire. “She certainly urged Gloucester to bring her mother to Middleham but was it just for the old lady’s protection?”

“What do you mean?” It was the first time I’d heard Miles make a disparaging remark about the duchess.

“The Countess of Warwick possesses a fair fortune. Perhaps Lady Anne feels it safer in her husband’s hands? After all, rich, elderly widows may still find suitors—” He gave me a saucy wink. “Remember John Wydeville and the Duchess of Norfolk?”

In light-hearted manner, I reproved this insinuation as I sipped my ale. The queen’s young brother had married the ancient Norfolk dowager while still a stripling. I leaned against the warm stonework imagining how Maud would have entertained her listeners with some lewd tale of the old woman waiting in her bed while her youthful husband fondled her fortune.
 

“The whole of the country laughed at that match,” I said. “Even Lady Anne giggled at the bawdy jests. But our duchess isn’t above scheming herself. She may not be as avaricious as Elizabeth Wydeville but she’s very ambitious—especially for her husband. Perhaps she wanted to please him by bringing her mother’s fortune to Middleham? Nevertheless without a son she surely has little influence?”

Miles didn’t answer. Our own childlessness was something we didn’t discuss. But I could see he was considering my words very seriously.

Chapter Forty-Nine

“Did you bring the cards?”

Ever since I’d miscarried, Lady Anne plagued me to look into the cards for answers. Both of us grew frantic for a child. Though she quickened twice, I remained barren since returning from Barnard—until now.
 

The fruitless French expedition took both our husbands away. During their absence we spent more time together. I’d not told Miles about my pregnancy, fearing to raise his hopes too soon. Now, flaunting my swelling belly, my heart singing with excitement, I longed for his return.

“It’s so hot—” Lady Anne flapped her wide, jade sleeves. “I’ll be glad when August’s over. Did I tell you the troops are on their way home? You’ll be able to tell your husband the good news—although he may see it for himself now!”

Clumsily, I drew the cards from my bodice. They spilled across the little table, The Lovers falling into Lady Anne’s lap.

“Sit down, Nan.” She giggled. “You’ve grown as fat as a sow and block out the light.” Spite spoiled the jest. Lowering myself to the settle, I sensed the strength of envy that roused such malice and pitied her. Perhaps she felt it too for she threw me a cushion.
 

“Forgive my ill-manners.” She picked up the scattered cards. “I wish I carried such a burden. My Lord grows anxious about my health, but I tell him I’m well and strong.” Her laughter rang false. Turning desperate, tear-filled eyes on me, she shuffled the cards feverishly. “Suppose he puts me aside?”
 

Before I could respond she began to babble. “I married him in defiance of the priests without even waiting for the papal dispensation. I knew him, Nan, I knew how he stood in the shadows like me. No one dreamt of our ambitions but I believed our union would bring us great power—”

Something in this hysteria reminded me fleetingly of Eleanor.
 

“But without a son I’m nothing to him. I must have a son, Nan. I must!” She thrust out her chin defiantly. “And
you
must look into the cards and tell me I
will
bear my Lord an heir—and soon!” Imperiously she thrust them at me. “There!”

I laid them out in the familiar pattern Mara had taught, the heat of Lady Anne’s passion scalding me like steam.
 

“You should beware the woman who holds the greatest power.” The Empress’ grave visage confronted me. “She stands between you and your desire.”

“The Wydeville bitch.” A sneer distorted her lovely mouth. “She has two sons now.”

Flinching, I shut my eyes against her malicious outburst. As I turned the next card, two little boys with bright hair seemed to stare out at me from a barred window.
 

“No!”

Her cry returned me to the present. Beneath my fingers, the Hanged Man dangled from a leafy gibbet.

“Delay.” My voice rang hollow with disappointment. I lifted my head to offer comfort just as a shaft of sunlight pierced the chamber. “Spring time.” This ray of hope uplifted me. “We must wait until next spring.”
 

“So many months—” Her anguish pierced me like a blade. “Why is she so fortunate and I must wait and wait—?” She lowered her voice, fixing her green eyes on me so fiercely I shivered. “They say her mother’s a witch—Can’t you help me, Nan? I know you have the skill—”