Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (4 page)

 

CHAPTER
SIX
As Denys glided down the chapel aisle, she could see, through the
mist of her veil the man who within minutes would become her
husband.
Valentine was a portrait of grandeur in his crimson robe, a
rainbow of jewels sparkling from his fingers and neck.
Forcing herself to walk towards him, some lingering creepings of
doubt almost made her pause, but she strode forward as if an
invisible force were drawing her to him.
The chapel was aglow from candles lining the altar. The sun
streamed through the stained glass, throwing patterns of soft reds
and greens on the flagstones beneath her feet.
Once at the altar, she did not meet his eye, but allowed him to
take her hand numbly. She recited the vows as if by rote, her tone
flat, for she could not feel anything stir within her regarding
their meaning and what they symbolized. This was a political
alliance, not a love match….
Yet oddly, Valentine spoke his vows as if reciting a love poem,
his Latin perfect, his heartfelt gaze boring into her, his voice
somber and deep with meaning and emotion.
She dared to meet his eyes for a moment, then forced herself to
look away, for his gaze was so penetrating, so earnest, it burned
right through to her soul.
Although she still harbored serious doubts about this man, she
regarded the way he spoke to her with his impassioned eyes. It was
as if she was the most important person in his life.
All too soon the ceremony was over. She closed her eyes as
Valentine gently lifted her veil. She could feel the quiver of his
lips as he kissed her. When their eyes met for the first time as
man and wife, she could see him struggling to hold back a grin.
"It was nice of you to come to my wedding," he remarked out of the
side of his mouth.
"You're welcome, my Lord. Thank you for the consideration as
well."
His gaze narrowed slightly, but Richard and Anne were already by
their sides to congratulate them and get the celebrations
underway.
The marshal ushered the bride and groom into Middleham's great
hall to the fanfare of trumpets and clarions hanging with
Valentine's coat of arms. They sat at Richard and Anne's side on
the dais.
The hall filled with nobles from the surrounding shires, Lord
Mayors, Aldermen, judges, bishops, and their respective retinues.
After grace, a procession of servers entered the hall bearing
trays of food, pantlers with bread and butter, and the butlers
with the wines and ales.
Then came another course, and another, roasted swans and peacocks
in full feather, boar's heads, suckling pigs, cranes, larks,
roasted rabbits, venison, all spiced and seasoned with pepper,
cloves, mace and other exotic spices.
There was blandissory, the rich soup full of ground almonds in
beef broth and sweet wine, mixed with capon blended with almond
milk.
Squires served them, assisting in carving their meat, pouring
goblet after goblet of wine, putting out finger bowls of rosewater
between courses.
The bride and groom shared their dish and cup as was the custom,
and tasted the sweet pastries and ‘flowers of violet', pounded to
a pulp and mixed with almond milk and sugar.
Denys forced herself to eat lest she seem ungrateful at all their
friends had arranged for them. There were fruits, cheese and nuts
galore, and after each course, a servitor brought in a fabulous
confection of sugar, eggs and pastry, shaped to depict different
subjects.
One was a replica of Middleham Castle, another was Saint George
Slaying the Dragon, and the
grand finale
: perfect representations
of the bride and groom themselves, shaped to the last intricate
detail, Denys dancing in Valentine's arms, his heraldic device
emblazoned on his tunic.
"Oh, it's lovely," she said, unable to help but admire the
wonderful confection.
"Not as delectable as my bride, I'll warrant, but still, it would
be a shame to mar its perfection by eating it."
Anne nodded. "It should do as a keepsake. The sugar shouldn't
spoil."
Denys merely nodded, trying not to warm to the man by her side who
was playing the attentive bridegroom as though he had been born to
the part. He was nothing if not an adept seducer, but she needed
to keep her wits about her.
So she ignored his pleasantries and banter as far as she could
without appearing rude, and tried to focus her mind on the lavish
wedding feast and the array of jugglers, mummers, fools and
minstrels.
Though the entertainments were certainly lavish, at the back of
her mind she knew her life was not going to be the same. Before
the great hall would even be swept clean of the last remnant of
the day that was supposed to be the most special of every woman's
life, she would be facing who only knew what challenges as
Valentine's wife. It was certainly a sobering thought, one which
all the merriment in the world could do nothing to dispel.
After the celebration, Richard and Anne bid them Godspeed on their
journey to Valentine's manor home of Lilleshal, two miles down the
road.
"Remember what I said," Anne whispered into her ear. "Give him a
chance to show you what kind of man he really is."
She nodded, then turned to Richard, who embraced her quickly and
bade her farewell.
"He will be taking very good care of you. On my orders," he said,
the hint of a smile creasing his cheek.
She tried to smile back, but her heart was heavy. How she wished
they were young and unattached again, breezing over the moors
astride their mounts, their hair blowing freely in the wind. How
suddenly it had all changed. Their youth was truly at an end now,
and duty called.
Nodding to him and to Anne, she mounted her steed, and a short
time later, crossed the drawbridge with her new husband, thinking
of Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon. She was married to
Valentine Starbury. There was truly no going back now.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN
As she and Valentine rode side by side with their entourage, she
hardly more than looked at her new husband, so lost in thought was
she.
Her life now was certainly quite different from the future she had
imagined for herself when she had hoped to find a family of her
own.
For one thing, rather than mother and father, perhaps brothers and
sisters, she now had a husband.
And what a husband. Valentine was far from the fanciful storybook
knights she'd always envisioned, and she had learned the hard way
that that had been nothing more than a silly childhood fantasy.
The tales Duchess of Scarborough had read to her as a little girl
were much more simplified than real life, as flat as the pages
they were written on.
Nay, real people had many features, good and bad. And in real
life, not everyone lived happily ever after.
Valentine was a handsome, charming knight, but also an ambitious
plotter. He was a wealthy aristocrat, but also a hardworking
statesman. He loved life's pleasures, but had also beheld tragedy
in his own past, and been at war more years than he could count.
Storybook knights had no fears, no problems, suffered no grief.
And as much as she hated politics, as she rode along, she was
forced to admit with a small twinge of pride despite herself, that
the man she had married was the third most powerful man in the
realm.
Even more remarkably, he had got there without trying to wrest the
throne from the King, ingratiating himself, committing base acts
like the Woodvilles in order to gain every office they could scoop
up for themselves and their friends, or by spying on his peers.
She had to respect him for that.
The only question was, had he betrayed her to the Queen? If he
had, then how could she ever trust him?
And if he had not, well, it was wonderful to be able to respect
the man you married, but where did love fit in?
Her new home, the estate of Lilleshal, was nestled in a valley
beside a stream full of swans and herons. Farmland and cottages
surrounded the manor home. A network of graveled paths led to its
three front entrances. Lush gardens blanketed the courtyard.
Denys marveled at its grandeur as they rode closer and closer. It
flaunted every facet of Valentine's character, from his imposing
pomp to his love for splendor.
Gleaming in red sandstone, four round towers at each corner rose
in gallant protection against any possible enemy. Diamond-shaped
lead glass panes gleamed from the torches within.
The moat and drawbridge were wider than any other she'd seen.
Battlements ran the length of the thick walls, centered with
arrow-slits. The gatehouse was a fortress in itself; the closed
portcullis enhanced the unbroken line of fortifications.
A retinue of servers bowed and curtsied in greeting as bride and
groom crossed the drawbridge and entered the gatehouse. A watchman
emerged from the guard chamber, raised the portcullis and let them
pass.
The inner ward was quiet; a sole dairymaid scurried by, carrying
pails of milk sloshing over the sides; a stable boy walked a
palfrey to the horse mill in back.
She could see scaffolding up against the north wall, where
Valentine was putting some finishing touches to their new home.
Two grooms rushed up to help Denys dismount as soon as they
stopped in front of the tower door. Valentine waved them away, and
helped her down himself, his hands lingering on her waist in an
unmistakable gesture of possession.
She could feel a blush heat her cheeks, and stepped away from him.
An usher with a fine gold chain around his neck now led them and
their servers up an external staircase to the first floor.
Denys stared at her surroundings as her eyes took in all of the
dazzling appointments. Tapestries and bronze sconces graced the
sumptuous corridors. The floors gleamed, strewn in the center
walkway with fresh rushes. The colorful glass in each arched
window depicted mythical gods and goddesses. The oak-beamed
ceilings soared like the vastness of the sky.
Exquisite as it was, Denys suppressed a shiver. It was a smaller
version of court, just what she'd longed to get away from.
I'll never feel
at home here,
she thought sadly.
But then, Valentine was a powerful lord in the north, and needed
to show everyone in the area just what his status was…including
marrying the Queen's niece.
"You are now the mistress of the manor, Lady Starbury," he said
with a gallant bow, reading her expression correctly, one of awe
mingled with dismay. "These are the most formal reception rooms.
Let me show you to your more private chambers, where you may take
your ease."
She clutched his arm despite herself, once again being swept away
by that lost, lonely feeling as they ascended the staircase.
He opened the door to her new chambers, and she peeked in with
dread. Then, despite herself, she began to smile in delight.
Prettier than anything she'd ever had whilst in Elizabeth
Woodville's charge, it was obvious he'd given orders to decorate
it the way a woman would like it. The bed hangings and curtains
dripped with lace in white and soft pinks, roses, and purples. The
cushions had lacy borders, the skirting round the dressing table
was trimmed in pink lace, and a screen in the corner affording
privacy for her ablutions was also decorated to match.
The sweet scent of violets floated up from the fresh rushes on the
floor. It was very feminine, and while not exactly the colors she
would have chosen, they were pretty enough, and she was touched by
his thoughtfulness.
In the past, her quarters had never been luxurious by royal
standards. Neither had her clothing, but it mattered not. She'd
never cared for the dubious trappings of wealth. She looked around
the room in awe, and now down at the gorgeous creamy confection of
a wedding gown Anne had loaned her. The gown of Anne's own mother,
no less…
But now that Denys was married to the closest advisor of the
second wealthiest nobleman in the realm, she knew she would be
expected to care, to put on a show. The room was lovely, she had
to grant him that. She vowed to try to enjoy it.
Yet impressed as she was by the beautifully appointed chamber, she
had a declaration to make before he began throwing out conjugal
orders.
So she cleared her throat, squared her shoulders, and did not even
stop to thank him for the evident trouble he had taken over her
set of rooms.
"I realize we are now husband and wife, Valentine, but that
changes naught about my feelings for you. By the laws that bind me
to you, you have a right to my bed. But I must tell you now, you
have no right to my heart."
She was sure he would not have been more surprised if she had
slapped him. His eyes threw out blue sparks as he gazed back at
her, as though desperate to believe that he had misheard, but sure
he had not.
She half expected him to swagger up to her with his usual
confident gait, tear her bodice with forceful potency, throw her
on the bed and demand his conjugal rights, as she squirmed under
his might, writhing with indignation.
But he neither made a move toward her, nor did he reveal any hint
of desire, nor of his innermost thoughts.
When he finally spoke, it was in a light, banter tone, which was
at odds with the look on his face. "Were you hoping for a row so
early in our marriage? Well, I hate to disappoint you, dear, but
I'm all in. Furthermore, I pay no heed to ancient pagan rituals. I
have no intention of violating the honor you so valiantly guard. I
have never forced myself upon a woman, nor shall I ever do so.
"You are free to continue the search for your parentage, join me
on my official progresses, or stay here and grow roses and lilies.
‘Tis up to you. So, if all is to your satisfaction, dear lady, I
shall retire to my own chambers."
He was already walking away, so quickly that she didn't realize he
was taking his leave until he was halfway to the door.
"Valentine!" She shouted his name without thinking, more out of
surprise than anything else.
He turned, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.
"Yes?" he said with one quirk of his brow.
"I, er, well...I just want to bid you good eve. ‘Twas a lovely
day, was it not?"
He smiled tightly, but again, his tone was cordial, emotionless.
"Indeed it was. The weather was splendid and the cooks were in top
form. And you looked lovely. Just as a bride should, apart from
the long face most of the time. Ah well, many women are like that
when they are breeding—"
Her cheeks flamed. "Nay! I've never—"
His eyes twinkled with barely suppressed mirth. "So I am sure it
was not paid much heed to. Well, good eve to you."
He lifted his hat at its brim and placed it back down upon his
head. Kicking his leg up behind him deftly, he swung the door
closed with his foot.
She stared wide-eyed at the shut portal. She didn't know whether
to laugh with relief or cry with anger. She felt so many emotions,
no one single feeling stood out above the others.
She still mistrusted him—she feared his governorship of Yorkshire
would lead to a dangerous hunger for more power. He had no use for
anyone who couldn't give him what he craved—attention, prestige,
wealth. She could give him none of those things he most craved.
But his abrupt exit from her chambers perturbed her. He hadn't
even given her a chance to push him away!
He'll be back,
she told herself, wrapping her arms around her waist, and now glad
he had not tried to be forceful with her, for surely it would be a
desecration of the lovely gown Anne had loaned her.
He'll be back,
she
told herself again, but couldn't help wonder if it was something
she was dreading, or actually looking forward to.
She decided to try to keep busy to make the best of her bad lot.
Well, not so bad, she amended as she turned and began to look in
more detail at the chambers that were now hers.
They had some warm and inviting touches, but because she had had
no part in them, they felt as foreign to her as her palace
apartments.
She could do something about the room once her little possessions
were within it, but what of her role her at the castle? She wished
Uncle Ned were here to reassure her about the benefits of being a
married woman.
Yet all the baubles and trinkets in the world, and duties as
chatelaine of a large castle such as this could not make up for
the emptiness of the room.
Alone again.
Well, she had chased away her bridegroom, hadn't she, she reminded
herself with a wry twist of her lips. And she was used to that.
Sometimes she was her own best company. She wasn't going to let
loneliness get the best of her ever again. She was now a married
lady, with status, prestige, this exquisite estate, beautiful
chambers.
She immediately began planning as she moved over to unpack her
small bag in which she had placed her most useful items, her
latest needlework and supplies, her Bible, hair brush and comb,
and a tiny mirror Ned had once given her.
She would make two visits to the poor a week, one visit
specifically to children. Two seamstresses would make clothes for
the peasants, they would find ways to increase the yield of
vegetables in the garden to help feed the poor, a troupe of
musicians would entertain them. She wanted to share whatever she
could with the people of her estate. They were entitled to
happiness, too.
As she looked around and this new vision of her future loomed up
before her, it didn't look so dismal after all.
A tap at the door caused her to start, one hand to her throat.
He was back so
soon!
But it was only a pair of quiet older women who offered her
assistance in unpacking. She thanked them, but refused their
offer, merely accepting help in unlacing her wedding gown at the
back. Then she led them to the outer door to the suite.
Once she was alone, she opened one of the trunks that a server had
left in the antechamber and pulled out her favorite nightwear—a
yellow linen gown, threadbare at the elbows, the flower pattern
faded. It was her last vestige of her Yorkshire years, the only
chapter in her life when she'd felt wanted, had felt as if she
truly belonged.
Gliding off her wedding raiment, and laying it carefully in the
empty coffer under the window until she could return it to Anne,
she slid the nightdress over her head and inhaled deeply of its
old but familiar scent.
Then she climbed into the big empty bed. The feathery mattress
enveloped her, and she realized it was the most comfortable bed
she'd ever known.
She pulled the cover over her head and tried to leave her past
behind. She rolled over with a sigh and closed her eyes. She would
unpack her things later.
For now, she needed to mourn the past, and try to muster
enthusiasm for her new life as Lady Starbury, which would begin at
dawn on the morrow.