Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) (6 page)

"I would think any, er, intercourse between us would be most
irksome and pointless considering all you have accused me of."
"But we were once friends, were we not—"
He sighed deeply. "Friends who wish the other to be happy, indeed.
Which is why things must remain as they are. In any event,
contrary to your belief, I am a gentleman, and shall go to great
lengths to prove so. Therefore, I thank you for your offer of
help, but I shall retire to my chambers alone. I bid you
goodnight."
He gave a slight bow, stepped into the room, and vanished amid the
darkness, leaving his boots behind for a servant to tend to.
The closing of his chamber door was not loud, but it was a clear
gesture that she was unwelcome nonetheless.
Denys stood for a long time in the shadowy chill of the hallway,
seething with fury, bursting with sorrow, until finally she headed
back to her chamber alone, realizing with a heavy heart that
chastity and honor were very cold bedfellows indeed.

 

CHAPTER NINE
Denys saw her husband on the morrow for the length of time it took
him to take a mouthful of new bread and drain a tankard of ale.
Then he was off with his retinue, and vanished for over a week,
until one day he suddenly sent her a note saying he would be back
from the Scots border presently and needed to speak with her.
Denys waited in eager anticipation, even dressing better than her
wont for the occasion. The way they had left things between them
that night in the castle's drafty corridor did not sit well with
her, and she hoped that this might be a real chance to come to a
better understanding with the man she was now married to.
All of her romantic expectations were crushed in an instant. The
first words out of his mouth were like a body blow. Certainly they
were the last ones she ever wanted to hear.
"The news is not good, my lady. Anne was delivered of a stillborn
child," Valentine said without preamble as soon as he entered her
private sitting room.
Denys dropped her needlework and sat in stunned silence while the
servers continued to bring in the evening meal she had hoped they
could share: roast suckling pig, crane and lark.
When she regained her senses at last, she shooed them away, and
stared at the line-etched mask of her husband's face.
"When?"
"Tuesday. Richard got word and rushed back to Middleham. Such a
delicate lass Annie is. I doubted she would be able to bear him
children. She always seemed so frail."
She pictured Anne's slight figure, so much like Richard's, but
without all the conditioning brought about by his years of
training.
Denys looked down at her own sturdy build, the full breasts, the
broad shoulder span, and thanked nature for having granted her
such a robust constitution.
She could support a child effortlessly; her hips would well
accommodate passage in labor; her heart could easily beat for two.
She suffered a pang of hurt for Richard and Anne, and mourned the
innocent child who'd never had a chance to take but one tiny
breath.
"I'm so sorry for them. And I hope to have children of my own some
day," she thought aloud.
"So do I," he echoed.
Across the vast expanse of the solar their eyes met. But then they
both blushed, and he bowed curtly and vanished as quickly as he
had come.
The news of Anne's miscarriage haunted her, but even worse than
her friends' loss, was the sense of her own.
Valentine had had such a devastated expression on his face, his
eyes like those of an abandoned doe. Instead of mourning together,
he had run from her. Instead of building a life together, he
hardly dared come home for fear of more of her accusations and
suspicions.
The lovely meal lay congealing untasted as her stomach turned at
all she had lost. Her friends' grief would be painful to see, so
many hopes dashed, even more than hers had been.
She took up her embroidery with a sigh. Her love affair had also
not been able to ever draw breath. Now she was trapped in a gilded
cage, with a husband who would do anything to keep away from her,
and thought no more of her feelings than he would that of his
valet.
She hung her head and let the tears fall. Only two miles down the
road, and she had not even heard the news. Gone to visit in days.
Was she so absorbed in her own pain that she couldn't even see
past it to that of others?
She rose now, and headed for her room to pack. Anne needed her
now. She would make sure all was organized in the household, and
go help her friend.
Once those offices were done, she was determined to try to truly
keep her promise to Anne that she had given what seemed a lifetime
ago: to give her marriage and Valentine a real chance for all
their sakes.

 

CHAPTER TEN
At the break of dawn the next morning, Denys mounted Chera and
rode the few miles down the road to Middleham to see Anne.
Though she was bedridden and barely able to hold her head up, Anne
was delighted to see Denys. Her frightful paleness brightened to a
dreary pink when Denys entered the bedchamber.
Denys grasped Anne's hands. They were cold and limp. She looked
thinner than last time they had seen each other. Her hair fell in
a tangle around her slumped shoulders. Denys gently arranged the
pillows about her, and reached for her hair brush to tend to the
chore with the utmost gentleness.
"You appear to be faring quite well, Anne, considering your
misfortune. I am terribly sorry, as is Valentine. I stopped in the
chapel and said a prayer for the dear babe's soul."
"Thank you ever so much, Dove. But I shall try again. I am ever so
eager to give Richard a son! Even a lass, he said, would suffice,
as long as we were both healthy."
"That is very kind of him, indeed." She looked away, bursting to
spew forth a stern reprimand, to insist that she never try for any
more children, for it would surely kill her.
"What of you, Dove? Have you any reason to believe you are
breeding as of yet?"
"Nay, not a chance," she said with a shake of her head.
At her friend's startled look, she added hastily, "My monthly has
just come upon me." Anne was her dearest friend in the world, but
she did not care to discuss her unconsummated marriage, especially
not at a time like this.
"Then all the more kind of you to come visit—"
"Think nothing of it," she said, blushing with shame at the lie.
"I pray it will happen soon for you, Dove."
Denys gave a smile almost as wan as her friend's, but found
herself praying for it, too.
They talked for a time about Anne and Richard's lives, as busy as
her own, but with the two working in accord, not always at odds
with each other.
As Anne spoke, Denys felt envious of her friend despite her sad
loss of the babe she had pinned such hopes on. Anne and Richard's
lives were so knit, a babe could only add to their joy.
With Denys and Valentine, they were so far apart, she doubted a
mere infant could ever bond them, even were they ever to manage to
be in the same room long enough to try to create one.
She blushed again at that thought, and changed the subject to that
of her wedding feast, and how grateful she had been for the loan
of the gown.
"I felt like such a princess, had such a lovely surprise when I
got to my new home, just as you said—" Denys found herself
rattling on, trying to make sure her friend did not brood.
"We were delighted to help. I'm only sorry you had no family
willing to do as much for you, dear Dove. But as I said, we are
sisters now."
Anne asked Denys about her family search, and Denys vented her
frustration, thankful for having someone to listen to whom she
could trust. Anne might tell Richard, of course, but she doubted
she would now that she knew she was so suspicious of Valentine. So
she told her of all the different avenues of inquiry she was
exploring, and Anne's dark eyes were bright with interest, even if
her face was pale.
But she did not want to tire out her friend too much, so she
suggested she leave her to rest and come back later.
"Later?"
"Aye, I can stay if you'd like—"
But Anne shook her head. "It's very kind of you, but Valentine
needs his wife at home."
At that, Denys offered to stay for a few days to help her with
whatever she needed as she travelled the long road to recovery,
but Anne shook her head.
"Nay, you are a great lady now, with many duties. I could not be
so selfish as to accept your kind offer."
"It is I who have been selfish, letting so long pass before coming
to visit."
Anne shook her head gently. "You were doing as you promised,
giving Valentine a chance in your marriage."
"Aye, when he's home, which is precious little enough," she
blurted out, still stung at the shame she had endured at his hands
when he had rebuffed her offer of wifely companionship on more
than one occasion.
"Mayhap you should travel with him, then?" Anne suggested mildly.
"Richard's mother was famous for ever being at her husband's side,
until death finally claimed him."
Denys sighed heavily. "I fear I am not the stuff of such legends,
Anne. Valentine certainly is, but I just want, well, a real home,
not courtly splendor and the dazzle of politics."
Anne nodded, but cautioned, "Yet you cannot love your man if you
resent his work. And it is great work they do, rebuilding England
after us all being at war for so long."
Denys bit her lip and sighed. "I know. It's just hard. All my life
I've been asked to make sacrifices. I just wish there was some
reward at the end of it, but there never is for me. Valentine has
all he's ever wished for, while I—"
Anne shot her a sharp look. "All he ever wished for except a
contented, happy wife. He does care for you, you know. Is it so
much to expect you to try to do the same for him in return?"
"I can't see—"
"A man in love will do anything to see his woman safe and well
provided for."
Denys shook her head. "In love, nay, except with the power all his
offices give him."
Anne nodded. "Aye, the power to do good. To help. To heal. Just as
a woman has that power, if she chooses to use it. But as I said,
Dove, it's your choice. No one else can make it for you. No one
else can open your heart. But if you choose not to, well then,
forgive me for saying so, but you are no better than Elizabeth
Woodville, for she does nothing but take all she can, and gives
nothing back but trouble and ingratitude to all who care for her
most."
Denys shuddered at the mention of her coldly calculating aunt, and
sighed. "I know, you're right, of course. I have no reason to be
discontent with my lot, since it was of my own choosing. I just
wish I had had more choices."
Anne looked at her in mild amusement. "What other choice would you
have made than a noble husband, and children and a fine home one
day? You certainly had no vocation. If you had, you'd have fled to
a convent rather than wed."
Denys blushed at that. She was still as virginal as a nun, but
Anne knew her all too well. Devout she might be, but she was too
worldly to ever give up her pleasures and devote herself to
service for others in a nunnery.
And as she admitted that to herself, she began to admire Valentine
all the more for helping everyone he came across, even though he
clearly would have liked nothing better than to have a fine time
in his own beautifully appointed manor.
Too fine a
time?
she found herself wondering.
Nay, she had seen no signs of wenching, gaming, nor any other
objectionable pursuits in himself or his men. Perhaps he was
right, perhaps they were not so different from one another after
all….
"I will think on all you have said, Anne. You're right. What else
could I possibly wish for except a family of my own to love and
cherish."
When, at the end of the visit, Anne bade Denys Godspeed, she gave
her a roll of parchment on which was mapped out her own
genealogical table, quite a thorough one indeed.
"Perhaps you will see something on it. Maybe another name will
spark your memory. Things like that do happen, you know. We
remember names and places from way back in our pasts that just
come out of nowhere, from the dark recesses of our minds. Would it
not be a delight if we were truly related, Dove, you and I!"
She nodded, feigning enthusiasm, for although she appreciated
Anne's help and generosity in giving her such a precious document,
she doubted she could have any connection to the Nevilles, and was
not so sure that would be a blessing anyway given her husband's
already overweening ambition. After all, Anne's father had not
been known as 'the Kingmaker' for nothing.
Richard still hadn't returned, but since she was returning to her
own castle, with a promise to return on the morrow, she did not
trouble to wait for him. She had come to see Anne, after all, and
Valentine's duties brought him into Richard's company so
frequently, she felt as connected with him as always.
So she took her leave with a promise to return soon, and mounted
Chera with a new sense of determination to make her marriage work
at last. If only Valentine were home when she returned…

 

CHAPTER
ELEVEN
As luck would have it, Denys did not have to seek her husband out,
for he came to her.
"So how fares Anne?" Valentine asked as Denys arrived back at
Lilleshal and her lady-in-waiting Mary removed her cloak.
"She looks painfully gaunt, but her spirits are good. If you have
a few moments of leisure, I would love to tell you all about my
visit."
He looked surprised, but nodded.
They headed for the solar, where she rushed up to the blazing
hearth, rubbing her hands, lifting her skirts slightly above her
ankles to let the heat warm her legs.
She handed him the parchment she had been carrying. "She gave me
her family table to trace."
"Impressive."
"She also told me to dig deep in my memory and mayhap some name or
place will surface."
Valentine stared at the unrolled scroll for a moment. "That was
very kind of her."
"Aye, it was." She slipped out of her shoes and sat on the
tapestried rug, stretching her legs straight out to let the fire
warm her feet.
"Did you see Richard?"
She shook her head. "He was not in residence."
"Where was the kingdom's greatest warrior? Engaged in a duel with
God, perhaps?"
His remark took her by surprise, and she turned to look at him,
but his back was to her.
He was staring out the window, leaning on the frame, drumming his
fingers restlessly.
"Valentine, is something amiss between you and Richard?"
He shook his head. "Nay, nothing at all. I have been practicing my
fencing skills, so much so that I can barely move my arm, and my
hand is frozen into position around an imaginary sword."
He turned and approached her, standing between her and the fire.
"I am going to duel with him again, and this time I shall beat
him." His voice took on such a vehemence; her heart took a
cautious leap.
"That is really not necessary, Valentine. He wouldn't have won you
so easily hadn't you already been injured."
"But he bested me nonetheless."
"What of it? He could never win his subjects' hearts here the way
you could. That is your forte, and military skills are his. You
have nothing to prove to him."
"I'm not trying to prove aught to him. I must prove it to you!"
Her eyes flew wide. "Me?"
"Then mayhap you will give me a peek into that little rock of a
heart of a heart of yours. Then perhaps I can convince you at last
that it was not merely due to losing a bet that I pursued you, but
that from the moment we met in the palace rose garden, we were
fated to be together."
Her cheeks heated. "There is no need to prove aught to me either.
Save your arm. You need it to wave to the ladies in the stands at
tournaments."
He cocked a brow. "A smile is quite sufficient for them. But it
takes more than diplomacy and statesmanship to be a man in the
true sense. It takes the courage to put your life on the line."
"You are in every sense a man, Valentine," she said sincerely. "I
never questioned that. And of what life are you speaking? Surely
it is not a matter of life and death."
"It is for me!" he said angrily. "I want a good life for us, not
this coldness that passes for civility."
"Aye, cold indeed, Valentine, for you are all man, as I have said,
enough so to completely block my heat," she complained, shifting
over to the side.
He rose and paced in front of her. "‘Tis not the fact that I lost
a duel that bothers me. ‘Tis the fact that I lost over
you
. So I am
going to take him on again, and I will beat him this time. I will
take on the entire French army single-handedly if I have to."
She shook her head, wondering what demon had possessed her
normally calm and confident spouse. "Valentine, really, there's no
need—"
"I am going to do what it takes to prove myself to you, then you
will beg me to love you!" He knelt before her and grabbed her by
the shoulders, forcing her onto her back.
"Conquering armies, brute force, and worldly power is not what it
takes to get me to love you!" She struggled to prop herself up on
her elbows before he laid her full length on the rug.
"Then what does it take? Am I ever to know that?" His eyes spat
out chips of blue ice and his brows knitted into a rigid line.
She was wedged between him and an oak chair, its ornate carvings
digging into her back.
She shook her head. "Love cannot be forced, Valentine! You cannot
even force your own flesh and blood to love you! No one was able
to make my mother love me enough to keep me! It must come
naturally, not given out like a medal for decimating an army.
Conquering a heart isn't like conquering an enemy. Sometimes it's
harder."
She struggled to break free, but he bent over from the waist and
seized her in hands so strong, she knew he could hurt her
seriously.
"Let me go! I am not your poleaxe!"
He pulled her up to him and she cried out in pain as he wrenched
her arms forward. He lifted her clear off the floor so that she
was suspended in air, her feet dangling.
Their lips were nearly touching and he spoke as if telling a
story, "When the Queen's orders came that I was to marry you, I
danced and tumbled with joy. I thought, ‘A-ha! I shall win her
now!' for that was the one thing I would have that no one else
could."
"Nay sir, I am no
thing
, no possession," she protested
as she kicked and struggled to be free of his grip.
"The King has his court, Richard has his north country, but I was
to have silver-haired Denys Woodville, the only woman I'd ever
wanted. Now you are my wife, and I still cannot have you!"
He paused for breath, relinquished his grip and turned away. She
tumbled to the floor, rubbing her arms where he'd clutched them.
She felt no fear, but a strange urge to comfort him. His fists
were clenched, about to strike the wall, the veins hard and blue
against his neck.
"Valentine, I am not a trophy to parade around. Winning me isn't
like winning a battle."
"‘Tis because of battle I've lost everything." He seemed calmer
now, and he sank into the chair by the fire, and rested his cheek
on the fist of one hand. "Maybe all I am fit for is war. Maybe I
really don't know how to love."
He talked as if to himself, and she couldn't tell if he wanted to
laugh or cry. He was enmeshed in such a tangle of emotions,
voicing her own feelings would just make it worse.
Her heart went out to him in painful empathy. Behind his confident
deportment, he was as lost as she in the maze of courtly intrigues
they had found themselves in, and the day to day challenges of
living as husband and wife.
Now she could see what Richard had been saying that day long ago
when she had confided her fears to him about the man she was
expected to marry. Valentine was hiding behind a curtain of his
own anguished uncertainty. Ever the man of action, he wanted to
fight, but the enemy was himself.
And
her
,
she had to admit. His own wife, the one person he should have been
able to count on.
"Stop thinking in terms of battles," she said gently after a time.
"Not everything worth having has to be gained by force. I am here,
and you won't win me that way."
"I already have you, but I certainly haven't won, have I?" he said
with obvious bitterness.
She blinked and tried again to be reasonable. "You are a titled
and landed nobleman. You have always had that, and family,
parents. I have never had any of those things in my own right. I
have nothing of my own, and no one. I am little better than a
charity case. The only difference is that I was raised in the
palace, instead of an orphanage or gutter.
"You do not feel worthy of me? Think you need to win me? It is
I
who don't
feel worthy of you, no matter what I do."
He looked stunned at her admission. "You are more than worthy—"
She shook her head. "How can I be? I do not even know who I am.
Think about that for a while. You are married to a bastard, raised
by the most hated family in the realm. And how can you say I am
worthy, when you will not even spend more than a moment or two in
the same room with me, will not touch me, be tender with me, even
when I've tried to make the first move to end the coldness between
us."
Her last words were almost choked by a sob.
He rose and in two long strides was standing before her, gazing
down at her, suppressed tears glistening in his eyes, which had
turned smoky with emotion.
"You know who you are. No matter who your parents were, it matters
not, because you are Lady Starbury, the Duchess of Norwich, my
wife! I want to be the very best there is, Dove. I want you to be
proud of me, to look up to me, to respect me. I want a wife who
loves me for
me
.
I don't want an unwilling victim of a contract forced upon her by
a vicious queen!"
"But the fact is we are married, and I am tired of waiting for
some sort of kindness from you, Husband. So I am telling you, I
will be obedient, in order to end this impasse between us."
"Obedient?" he echoed in confusion.
"Do as you will. Strip off my clothes and lie with me until you
roll off me with exhaustion. Once you and I are truly married, we
can have the family I long for. You might sire sons. Daughters,
too."
He looked appalled at the very idea. "Nay, Dove, I will not have
you sacrificing yourself in that way, nor easing your hollow ache
with an even hollower act."
"Act?"
He shook his head sadly. "You do not love me, and I refuse to
delude myself into believing you do until I am worthy of your
love. I reject your wifely obedience, and there are other ways of
finding children who need love and care than to produce one every
nine months from your own body. I pity you that you were adopted,
but it is clear that you have never learned what it is to truly
love. I wish I could teach you, but it appears now that the lesson
would be completely lost upon you. So get ye to your chamber now,
and talk no more to me of wifely obedience."
"But Valentine—"
"Go! Jesu have mercy, just go!" he shouted.
She gathered her skirts, drawing herself up to her full height,
not letting her bare feet detract from her august deportment.
The blaze in her eyes met his. She could sense the tension in the
air binding their souls like a cord, defying either of them to
sever it.
"Aye, I'll go now, because as I've said, I am trying to be
obedient. But Valentine, if you expect me to fall in love with you
before you are willing to perform any marital duties, then you
shall die a childless old man, unless you go elsewhere to sire a
houseful of bastards."
She turned on her heel, snatched up her scroll, and in a rustle of
velvet and satin underskirts, left the room.
He stared after her, forcing himself to stay put. That rhythmic
cadence in the walk, the swing of the hips, the little spring in
each step, were becoming so attuned to his own bodily rhythms, he
could almost feel her as she went.
Yet each passing day caused such increasing vexation, it now
approached physical pain. Even days and weeks of separation had
not eased his ache. And yet he had not thought he could be wounded
more until now. Her last words had cut him to the quick.
She had so little faith in him as a man, them as a husband and
wife, he felt as though his heart would break.
Denys was gone from the chamber, but her scent lingered, and he
breathed deeply of it until it faded into the folds of the
curtains.
Her prized marble chessboard with the delicate glass pieces was
the nearest object within reach. Grasping it with both hands, he
flung it across the solar, oblivious to the crashing noise as
hunks of glass and marble shattered against the wall.
Slowly his vision blurred until the fragments became a converged
mélange with no pattern or logic.
He knew in his heart what was keeping her from loving him. Not
until she found out who she was, could she love anyone. He had to
convince her that he'd never abandon her as her parents had.
"God Jesu!" he wailed, his cries dying beyond the beamed ceiling.
"Give me the chance to save her life. Give me the chance to find
her life. Then she'll be able to love me at last!"