Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (10 page)

"Richard said you were worried about me. Were you, Valentine?"
His dark gaze swept over her face, then focused squarely in her
eyes. "What do you think, Dove? When that storm hit I went out
there myself with every servitor in the house. We saddled every
horse in the stable, and when we ran out of horses, the rest went
on foot. Then I summoned Richard and he saddled every one of his
mounts. They were just starting to come straggling back when I
left to come here."
"What...what happened? Is everyone all right?"
"Everyone returned relatively unharmed except Kevin, the stable
boy. We know not what happened to him and have started a search
for him."
"Oh, dear, the poor lad." She shuddered in shame, thinking of all
the misery she'd caused over this escapade.
"You said you were heading south, but there was no sign of you."
She blushed at the lie.
"So we made a ten-mile circle around the grounds, and it was while
I was searching that Nottingham's messenger intercepted me to tell
me you had been found at last. I sped right over here. Oh, God,
why couldn't I have been the one to save you!"
He looked at her again and she could see his eyes brimming with
tears. How hurt he looked. Although she was the one who was
recuperating, she felt the need to take him in her arms and
comfort him.
"You stubborn, stubborn woman! To go to these lengths, to tempt
the gripping fingers of death itself twice already just to seek
the truth! You are braver than any soldier who has ever fallen on
a battlefield! I am proud of you, and yet would like to shake you
at the same time!"
"‘Tis not bravery, Valentine. ‘Tis blind faith. I know in the end
I shall find them. I have to believe that. ‘Tis what keeps me
going."
"See, I told you we were more alike than you cared to admit."
She thought a moment and smiled. Richard's words echoed in her
mind. As much as she disliked his ambition and relentless
perseverance, there was something about these traits in him that
she shared.
Does he care
that much?
she asked herself once again. The pain in his
eyes said it all. She felt an overwhelming rush of emotion she'd
never experienced before. She'd nearly gone to her death, leaving
him alone, never to know how she really felt about him.
She would wait until they were in the privacy of their own home,
and once again, exchange vows—not just verbally, but with their
hearts and their bodies, truly joining as husband and wife.
"Valentine, hold me," she whispered.
She feebly tried to pull him close to her. He leaned forward and
held her with more care and tenderness than she thought he would
ever show.
"Do not ever do anything like that again or I shall turf you into
the dungeon until you come to your senses!"
"I shan't, Valentine. I shan't ever go anywhere again without you
or without telling you first...in person! And telling you the
truth this time, trusting you. But, my darling, that matters not,
because I think I am near the end of my search!"
"How? What is it you've discovered?" He pulled away and his eyes
twinkled. He was truly interested, and she could tell it was more
than morbid curiosity.
"When one of my escorts was dying, he gasped the name ‘John' with
his last breath. He'd been in King Henry's service at the time
Owen was there, and handed him and infant, saying she might prove
useful some day. It happened in 1457, the year I was born, and it
was a girl child."
"That certainly confirms your theory, but the name John is common
enough."
"I know, Richard said the same, am not going to stop until I find
every John that served King Henry."
"There could be hundreds. Besides, half of them are probably dead
by now, my dear."
"Someone must know. I know I am close, Valentine, I can just feel
it in my bones. Have you ever had such a feeling?"
He nodded and sighed. "Aye, many a time. But I've been let down as
well."
"All I have to do is find this John and I will be on the way to my
family. My real family!"
Valentine clasped her hands, which trembled with excitement. Then
he let go just as quickly. "So, did you and Richard have a nice
visit?"
"Aye, it was very short, but pleasant."
"Did he have any ideas as to the John issue?"
"He said he would help."
"I would think anyone in the palace at that time would know
something of a rare silver-haired little girl turning up at the
palace and being raised in the King's household. All we have to do
is find some of the old servitors—"
"But it was the man John who would know where I came from—"
"Mayhap not. He might have just been given you by some stranger,
and handed you over with the message."
Denys refused to be dejected. "Nay, Owen seemed to feel sure that
Henry knew this John, and that John knew of me."
"Then let us hope this trail does not go cold."
They both grimaced at his unintended pun.
"Rest now, my dear."
"Valentine, please stay?"
He looked surprised, but nodded. "Aye, I will. It's snowing again,
and now that you are safe, I could use some rest myself."
He started to settle into his chair more comfortably, but she
shook her head. "Do you think you could come here and share your
warmth? I feel chilled to the bone, and well, truth to tell, 'tis
my own coldness toward you I regret the most in all this."
"Oh?" he said, watching her warily.
"I'm sorry, Valentine, for all the mistrust and suspicion. And
above all, I'm sorry about me. About you being saddled with a wife
who doesn't know what it means to truly love."
He took her hand to kiss it. "Then that makes two of us. For while
I have certainly lusted after you until I thought I would go mad,
I never knew what real love was until after the fire. And then,
like an addle-pated fool, I allowed worldly concerns and my own
pride to stand between us, rather than make the most of my second
chance.
"Now I nearly lost you again, Dove, and the mere thought of your
light going out of my life chills me to the bone as no blizzard
ever could."
She nodded. "Aye, it was the same for me. I prayed so hard for a
second chance, and now God has granted it to me. I can't promise
you everything you could ever hope for from our marriage, but I do
want to try."
He stroked her cheek and bent to kiss her lightly, testingly.
"It's all I could ever hope for. Thank you. Now, my lass, let's
both try to get some rest."
She patted the bed beside him. After a moment's hesitation, he got
in beside her carefully, held her stiffly for a moment, then
finally relaxed and held her in his cocooning warmth.
Exhausted by their exertions and tumult of emotions, they drifted
off into a dreamless slumber.

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When they arrived home the following evening, he refused to leave
her side. He had their supper sent up to her chamber and they
dined together. He hadn't paid her this much attention since he
had been free spirited and unattached.
She finally got round to showing him the miniature from Foxley
Manor and he showed no recognition.
"But we'll find them, Dove, I promise. Let me take this with me
for a while. I'll show it to the other lords round Yorkshire. You
never know."
She didn't want to let it out of her sight. It was the only
possible link she had with her identity, but he was her husband
and she had to trust him. Besides, she'd shown it to everyone she
could possibly show it to.
So she handed it to him and he promised he'd keep it safe.
I must tell him
how much I love him, I must tell him
...she said to
herself as she drifted off into yet another exhausted sleep.
But she never got the chance, for Richard's call to battle came
the very next day; King Edward was getting ready to invade France.
Richard was raising an army of one hundred and twenty men-at-arms
and one thousand archers. As indentures raised the army, Valentine
was ready with all his tenants and their weapons. Richard's chief
officer of arms arrived at Lilleshal with a stack of banners and
badges displaying Richard's emblem, the white boar, for each
soldier to wear.
"Valentine, must you go so soon?" Denys begged her husband, who
was rounding up his contingent on the grounds amidst a cluster of
shiny armor, plumes, and banners. She still had so much to say...
So much she longed to share with him once she had healed from her
ordeal…
"Aye, I must. I expect King Edward is already in Calais by now,
and we must get across the Channel as soon as possible. Charles
the Rash is counting on us!" A wide grin spread over his face,
bronzed from a lifetime of riding and training in the sun, and she
knew she could hold her knight back no longer. She'd long ago
realized that he would move mountains to rush to the King's colors
any time they were raised, no matter how much he cared about her.
He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply, with pounding hooves,
clanging armor and shouts of eager men all around them. "I shall
be back before you know it. Keep well for me, and if you are to
engage in any more quests for your family, do it by carrier
pigeon!"
"I would have you back safely."
"God willing," Valentine replied. "Some things aren't up to us."
She watched as his squire handed him his helmet. He fitted it over
his head and slammed down the visor, raising his gauntlet in
farewell.
A stab of horror tore through her and she ran after him. She had
to tell him she loved him, she couldn't let him ride off into
battle thinking she didn't care if he returned.
"Valentine!" she shouted after him, but she was still too weak to
continue running. Dropping to her knees, she began sobbing softly.
"Valentine, I love you," she whispered, as his imposing figure
disappeared round the curved path, leading his men to the far
shores of France.
"Why do you want France?" she asked after him, with no one to hear
her now but the cawing crows in their nests among the bare
branches that lined the path. "Is she so beautiful that she is
worth fighting for? Why do you not fight over women with such
exuberance?"
She received one letter from him during that entire month, telling
her he'd arrived in France and was about to set off for Peronne
with the King and his army. The cold clutches of fear grabbed at
her heart as they always did at the thought of battle. Oh, why did
he have to fight every battle? He had nothing to prove!
Then she stopped. There it was again—he had to prove himself as a
great soldier so she would love him. Finally she forced herself to
read on:
I am confident
that the French will not put up much of a fight; the memory of
their disastrous defeat at Agincourt is still fresh in their
minds.
Her eyes skimmed the letter to the very end, where he'd written,
in smaller lettering,
"Please keep well for me. I need you."
He'd signed it,
"Your loving husband, Valentine."
She
held the letter to her heart and prayed that he return to her,
quickly and safely.
In the long days that had passed since he had departed, she'd had
time to think over all that had happened to her, and come to terms
with her dreadful ordeal. Tragedies had taken place on both her
trips. Someone was out to thwart her and she was convinced it was
Elizabeth. But why? There had to be a reason other than her
natural cruelty and spitefulness. Elizabeth Woodville always had a
reason. There had to be something behind it all. The name that
Owen uttered with his last breath held the final clue.
She knew by now that Elizabeth's motive for thwarting Denys' wish
went deeper than the desire to keep Denys miserable.
But what, oh, what
was it?
she asked, slamming a fist on her writing table
in a fit of despair.
The pounding of hooves on the ground under her window one fine
spring day filled her with relief and she flew down the stairs to
greet her husband on his return from France. He was at the
entrance to the stables, handing his mount's reins to a groom, his
back to her. His tight hose outlined the muscular buttocks peeking
out from under the short doublet. She anxiously waited for him to
face her, for the frontal view was twice as tantalizing.
The groom led the mount to a stall. Valentine's triumphant smile
shone more brilliantly than the sun as they embraced tightly. He
held her to his heart and stroked her hair, and she cried with joy
of his having returned safely to her.
"Oh, Valentine, ‘tis so good to see you!" she whispered into the
bulk of his doublet. Her hands were everywhere, in his hair, on
his cheeks, stroking those powerful arms that wielded battle axes
and swords, felled soldiers, and decimated enemy armies. She
nearly melted at his touch, though layers of clothes and furs
separated them.
Now is the
time; I shall make him feel more welcome than he ever did
before,
she thought, having rehearsed word for word her
declaration of love for him, thrilling at the thought of joining
with him, finally, after such a long frustrating time. She'd
missed him terribly and most of all, wondered if he'd missed her
just as much.
The groom led a sleek white palfrey to the stable along with
Valentine's mount. She knew this was the gift Richard had promised
her. "You are so cold, dear. Do go inside and warm up by the fire.
I personally made you lampreys in galytyne, with no one's
assistance! I shall tell the marshal to lay our table with the
best plate and there are some beautiful apples the cooks baked
into luscious pastries! Then I want to hear all about your
triumphant battle!"
"Magic," he said wearily, then turned and walked up to the house.
She gave her orders to the marshal, butler and pantlers about the
evening's meal and went up to his bedchamber. She'd never set foot
in this sumptuously decorated room until now. There were no
servers about, and she stood in the doorway silently. Red silk
coverings adorned the walls, the red ceiling was trimmed with gold
leaf, the bed hangings matched the red velvet curtains shot with
gold threads. The red coverlet shimmered in gold embroidered
swirls. The inside of his gold tub was lined with red cushions.
Even the chamber pot was red and gold. The rug was delicately
woven in such exquisite design, she was afraid to step on it.
He'd shucked off his clothes, tossed them onto the floor and
bathed. He was down to his undergarments, and retrieved a satin
robe from his wardrobe chest, belting it about his waist. The
groom of the chamber had just laid a fire in the hearth and
Valentine sat by it, massaging his temples with his thumbs.
"I can do that for you, Valentine. I am very good at headaches."
She knelt before him, gently moved his hands away and began
massaging his head with a circling motion.
"I think I died and went to heaven!" His weary voice barely
reached her ears. "Are those human fingers or the wings of an
angel?"
She felt the delightful warmth of a grin spreading across her face
as he opened his eyes and the deep blue caught the fire glow like
a pair of sapphires. "It looks like the face of an angel before
me," he whispered, reaching up and encircling her slender wrist in
his warm calloused hand.
"Valentine!" She threw her arms round his neck, pressing her cheek
up against the smoothness of his robe. He'd just fought a battle,
beating back enemy soldiers with swords meant to plunge through
hearts—his blood was boiling, his eyes still glazed with rage and
fatigue, his body weary and aching from sleeping on the hard
earth. But she had to tell him tonight, it could not wait another
day.
She brushed his hair back off his face, in order to study the
strong features, the curve of his nose, the delicate but
determined ridge of his brow, the thin but expressive lips. And
those eyes—although it bothered her to admit it, his eyes were the
most beautiful when he was troubled. They were deeper and silently
implored with their air of helpless innocence—gone were the lines
etched around them from squinting in intense concentration, they
were more liquid and languid, bringing out the womanly urge to
soothe him, an exciting prospect for her.
Slowly she walked him to the bed and laid him down, lying beside
him. She ran her hands over his chest and he sighed with a mixture
of fatigue and contentment.
"Valentine, facing death makes you look at things very
differently."
"You needn't tell me what facing death entails, my dear."
"When I thought I was dying, I prayed for a chance, not for a
second chance at life, by that time I was beyond hope, but just a
chance to tell you..."
She faltered and swept the white lock of his hair back from his
face, smoothing it over the pillow.
"Tell me what?" he asked as she hesitated.
Astounded at the calming affect her soft voice was having on him,
she could actually feel his heart slow to a steady beat. His
muscles began to relax and his eyes softened, their familiar glow
returning. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and began
kissing her lightly.
"Valentine, I was as worried about you at battle as you were about
me freezing in the forest. I know you never doubted my ability to
take care of myself."
"Even the most rugged highwayman would find difficulty surviving
in the ordeal you went through. I went to battle thoroughly
prepared."
She tried to turn sideways, so he could not detect the thudding of
her heart, but he pressed her closer to him.
"So what did you want to tell me?"
"That I no longer felt the sorrow of my own life ending, but that
I was leaving you behind. Without ever having told you..." she
whispered as he planted feathery kisses on her neck, causing her
to shiver with delight. Her husband was touching her for the first
time.
"Tell me what? That you are beginning to appreciate my overbearing
presence?"
"Perhaps."
"You are beginning to tolerate my boorish inclinations?"
"Haven't I been?"
"You are beginning to enjoy my company?"
She turned to face him and his grin gleamed in the moon's pearly
light as she matched it with one of hers.
"I have been known to on occasion."
"Does all this mean you are falling in love with me?"
"Now are you not being a bit presumptuous?" she teased in return.
"Never have I been invited to be bathed by a woman who loathed the
sight of me, so I think not."
She gave him a playful slap and his mouth descended upon hers
lightly, becoming more insistent as she attempted to back away.
"I did loathe the sight of you! You were filthy!" she said when he
broke their kiss and began tracing a finger down her neck and over
each breast through her satin chemise in a slow circular motion.
"I..." she sighed under his touch, the dancing flames beginning to
ignite deep within her.
His eyes glowed with earnestness. "Tell me what is in your heart,
Dove."
She reached inside the unlaced front of his shirt and began
stroking his chest, her lips upon his earlobe, her tongue darting
out and flicking it playfully, her breath matching his with
increasing intensity.
"Valentine, I..." She was aching to tell him, but he had her so
bathed in passion she could not speak.
She lay prostrate as he quickly but patiently slipped her chemise
over her head. Then her legs were bare as he slid her skirts up to
her waist and she wriggled out of her undergarments.
His lips and tongue were nipping at her nipples, erect by now,
engorged with desire as she thrust her hips forward to meet his.
"Tell me what you have been afraid to tell me, and God knows you
must have said it in your head enough times to...oh, just tell me,
Dove!" he commanded between kisses and the hot blasts of his
breath in her ear as his body covered hers and her legs parted,
bending to wrap around his waist as they moved together in an
exquisite tempo. "I know what you want to tell me, so tell me!
Tell me you are in love with me!"
Their mouths locked together, she reached down and touched her
husband for the first time, exploring, stroking, caressing. Her
hips began a primitive circular motion as of their own free will
and she never, in all her wistful fantasies, ever imagined she
could ever move this way. She shifted over to feel his hardness
and she arched her hips to meet his.
He moved to enter her; she thrust forward to meet him, to take him
into the depths of her soul. He pulled back out and she writhed
under him, whimpering in the heat of the intense fire burning
inside her.
"Tell me!" Once again he plunged forth, entering her bit by bit,
easing himself in slowly, and she arched her back, clinging to him
with her thighs, determined not to let him go this time. She was
beyond words, her breath coming in such rapid gasps, she could not
even speak.
He yanked his hips away once again and she moaned in frustration.
"Please, Valentine, please..."
"Not until you tell me." He propped himself up on his arms, his
hair brushing her cheek, their lower parts now barely touching and
she strained to meet him, to join him again, but still he did not
move. "Tell me and I shall finish what I started. But if you do
not love me, I shall get up right now, walk away and leave you
like this until your flames diminish to embers on their own."