Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga)

REVIEWS
"Set against the turmoil of 1471 England, Denys Woodville and
Valentine Starbury's love story is woven through with the
tangled historical threads of the War of the Roses in such a way
that history and fiction merge. "Richard of Gloucester plays
matchmaker to his friends Valentine, a knight, and Denys, King
Edward's niece. The queen wants Richard to wed Denys, but he
marries his beloved Anne, leaving Denys and Val to marry at the
kings command. "Val and Denys are drawn into the conflict that
arises when Edward dies and the Woodville followers face off
with Richard III and his loyal knights, including Val.
"As Richard's allies, their lives become even more complicated,
with Val as Chancellor of England and Denys as confidante to
both Richard and Anne as they follow their destinies toward war.
Anglophiles will enjoy the depth of detail and the large cast of
historical personages Ms. Rubino has included in her debut
novel. We meet kings, queens, nobles and commoners, even
Christopher Columbus, in this colorful tapestry. -Romantic Times

"An
excellent sequel. I couldn't wait to find out Denys's true
identity. Richard and Valentine pitting their wits against the
Dowager Queen Elizabeth had me on the edge of my seat.

"The romance is heady and sensual,
sure to delight readers eager for a wonderful voice in the world
of romance and historical fiction." — Sorcha MacMurrough,
The Hart and the
Harp, The Sea of Love

THY NAME IS
LOVE
Book
2 of The Yorkist Saga
Diana Rubino
HerStory Books

To my
grandmother.

Copyright the
author, First Edition 1999
Second edition with all new material, 2009
Third Edition, 2012

Fourth edition reformatted for new
Kindle format 2013.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information and
storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
copyright owner.
Under the 1988 UK copyright laws, the author asserts the right
to be identified as the creator of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are the product of the author's imagination.
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CHAPTER
ONE
Denys remained in the garden of Middleham Castle until the sun
disappeared over the distant dales, stunned at how the last of
her remaining hopes regarding her future had been so cruelly
dashed. She pushed back one stray silver blond curl, and hugged
her arms tightly around her waist, crumpling the peach satin
without heed.
She needed to be alone, to think, to do just what Richard, Duke
of Gloucester, had said. To catch up with the changing events in
England that were passing her by with dizzying rapidity, leaving
her nothing but a spectator in her own life and the events that
were shaping the nation.
She had longed to escape from her adopted aunt and her clan, the
avaricious Woodvilles, only to find herself more entangled with
their scheming than ever.
The three people she thought she could trust had turned out to
be other than they had seemed, leaving her stunned, and feeling
betrayed and more alone than ever before.
Had she made the biggest mistake of her life coming here,
confiding in Richard?
With a sinking heart Denys realized that now that she had told
him everything, and he was demanding she trust him, she had
nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to…
She clutched the sketch she had produced from memory from her
last clue as to her identity, the rosary she had lost in the
fire at the inn near Leicester which had killed her only
potential relative, and nearly taken her own life.
She squeezed so hard that it crumpled for a moment, before she
noticed what she had done and opened her clenched fist.
She now laid it on the bench to try to smooth it out. A stray
tear fell next to it.
She gazed at the picture through blurred eyes. "Mother,
grandmother, aunt, please, please help me."
Her heart ached as the painful recognition of the reality of her
situation swept aside any hope of a fairy tale ending for her.
Every man I've ever loved seems to have betrayed me. Uncle Ned,
who loves me, but is married to his spider of a queen, and turns
a blind eye to my erstwhile aunt's faults because to do
otherwise would be to admit what a failure his marriage is.
Valentine, glorious, vibrant Valentine, my knight in shining
armor, whom I would have given anything to love, had I not
feared him being so tarnished by greed, ambition, and lust.
She tucked the sketch of her possible female relation back into
the bosom of her gown and held her hand over it and her aching
heart.
And now Richard, whom I thought was true, but seems as capable
of guile as any Woodville, and appears to be siding with
Valentine and using me as a pawn in whatever plot they have
between them.
Please, whoever you are, Mistress, please help me save myself,
and find my way to my true family. To true love.
But when all in the rose garden remained silent, Denys at last
dried her tears and bestirred herself. She was still alive, and
where there was life, there was hope. She wasn't going to let
these unplanned happenings master her destiny.
Events were things; they had no beating heart, no blood, no
life—no mind. And she was damned if she was going to let a
thing—a mere non-entity—master her fate.
She might not know who her family was, but as Valentine had
said, she was who she was, her own person, and that would have
to be enough.
In the end, she would triumph. This was merely the road leading
to that end. But it was going to be fraught with detours, rugged
terrain, and streams swollen with muck. She would simply have to
take the rough with the smooth.
Anyone would have thought she'd conjured Valentine right out of
a storybook. He was so noble, with wonderful worldly prospects.
But part of that fancy had been to fall in love with her dashing
knight—and it simply hadn't happened. She told herself that they
weren't suited to each other in any way. She was too uneasy
about him on every level, as a man, lover, husband, to ever be
happy with him.
Even if Richard was correct and Valentine was not guilty of all
she suspected, Denys felt sure that to try to turn her courtly
lover of the rose garden into a faithful and honest husband
would be to court disaster.
She was certain that even if she allowed her heart to open to
him at last as she longed to, she would always be just another
priority somewhere on his long list in his life. She would never
come first in his heart or head, but instead far below all the
other demands upon him: the King's council, his political duties
here in the north, his friendship with Richard, his need to be
the center of attention amongst the women of the court, and his
aspirations for greatness.
She couldn't bear to be a mere cipher in his life, doing naught
but patiently waiting for him to return from a battle or
important matters of state. He was a dashingly handsome and
debonair lover, but the truth was, he wasn't husband material.
Certainly a statesman. Surely a hero. But not domesticated.
Valentine was the stuff of legend, fairytale. She ached for the
mundane: a family of her own, and a sense of belonging, of being
treasured and valued. She knew she was never going to find that
at court or in the upper echelons of English royalty.
Denys longed for an ordinary, real life, a genuine marriage, not
a politically expedient one. She wanted a man who held her in
his arms every night, and made her feel as though she truly
belonged.
That man was not Valentine, and never could be. Better to admit
it now, than be trapped for the rest of her life in a loveless
union.
For
however long Valentine chose to allow her to remain alive…
A waft of wood smoke coming from one of the castle chimneys was
enough to set a chill up her spine as she recalled the horror of
the inn fire that had so nearly killed her, and taken the life
of the one man who might have been her kinsman and held the key
to her real identity.
She leapt to her feet, bunching her peach-colored skirts high
around her knees as she began to run. Valentine was expected at
any moment. Richard had told her to wait here for him. But how
could she smile in the face of the man who had betrayed her so
foully?
She was hurrying from the garden as if the hounds of hell were
after her when she heard a cry of, "Denys! Dove! Wait!"
Oh Lord, it
was Valentine!
She froze on the spot for a brief moment, staring at him across
the courtyard. Her gaze drank in his brilliant golden hair, his
bright blue eyes, his sumptuous deep blue and silver raiment
making him even more dazzling than she remembered.
Every inch the
successful courtier…
She recalled Richard's command to her that she do nothing, say
nothing, that would make Valentine aware of her suspicions
regarding his being complicit in some nefarious plot of the
Queen's.
But though her head told her to stand her ground, play her part
as Richard had advised, her heart was a different matter.
He had betrayed her. Almost sent her to her death in
Leicestershire. She simply could not look into his eyes, feel
his touch, accept his kiss, pretend to be engaged to him, with
that knowledge cutting through her soul to the very heart of
her.
Her feet began to move of their own accord now, faster than
before.
"Dove, wait! Dove, what is it? What's amiss?" Valentine shouted,
but it was already too late.
He chased after her through the large door leading into the
castle keep, but all he heard was the echoing of desperate
scurrying footsteps along one of the many corridors within. Much
as Valentine ached to be with her at last, after their weeks of
separation, his beloved Dove was already gone.
He stood staring, ground his teeth in frustration, and went to
seek Richard for some sort of explanation as to his betrothed's
headlong flight from him as though she had seen the Devil
himself.