Destiny Lies Waiting (13 page)

"Well, that's not going to happen. Edward never overrules Elizabeth's orders when it comes to Woodville alliances. You've got to make her your own, or we will all be utterly miserable! You have to act now, before they catch wind of our plans and try to stop us again."

Valentine's eyes darted around as his mind spun rapidly. Now that Anne was no longer available to marry Richard, he had to capture Dove's heart. He couldn't waste a moment.

But the precious little time Valentine did have was cut even shorter with the call to battle.

As they hurried back into the palace to muster, and a squire helped him on with his armor, he wondered if he might be able to see her one last time….

But to try to seek out her chamber in the vast palace was to declare interest in her which would not go unnoticed by a Woodville viper.

So in the end he dictated a short note from him to Dove, merely asking that her thoughts and prayers be with him and his best friend Richard, and for the King and kingdom, and better days.

He was hoping his absence could more than make up for the lost time. That she would miss him, forgive him, and see he was in earnest about his contrition, and desire to know her better anon.

Just as soon as they dealt with those sheep-biting Lancastrians again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Richard had been no less than truthful with Valentine about Denys' decent and devout personal habits.

She became even more sober as the most important men in her life, King Edward, Denys did not appear in the great hall at mealtimes. She barely ate her favorite dish of saffron-sprinkled oatmeal, or the bowls of figs, almonds and dates left in her outer chamber. She didn't engage in any embroidery, didn't play her lute, and didn't go riding Chera.

Her only venture outdoors was on her first royal progress, to Saint Giles, one of the poorest parts of London, with a bag of coins and an escort laden with food.

The half-starved rabble stared at her as they would an angel from heaven whilst she dismounted and handed out money.

They were in such awe of her, they didn't even fight, bite, or trample over one another to grab what they could. They simply mumbled thanks and touched the hem of her gown as if she were a saint.

She arrived back at the palace feeling sadder than ever. But it wasn't only because of the poor. She returned to the chapel, where she spent more time praying than she did sleeping.

She prayed for those she cared about in battle: the King, Richard, and though she wasn't quite as worried, Valentine Starbury. She also prayed to the Lord to lead her to her family at last, so that she could know true peace, even amid the chaos of still more civil war.

Sitting in the somber surroundings, the aroma of incense lingering, she let the perfumed air comfort her. Clutching her Book of Hours, she whispered, "God, please let my true family members be alive and safe as well, until You bring me to them."

She opened a page at random and began to read. "…keep me and defend me from all evil and from my evil enemy, and from all danger, present, past, and to come, and deign to console me by Thy descent into hell…" Oh, how appropriate a prayer it was!

She slipped a small sheet of parchment from between the book's pages and unfolded it gently. The soaring and inflated loops of Valentine's confident but elegant penmanship were nearly as beautiful as the message they conveyed.

Though I willingly challenge the ugliness and cruel hostility of battle, I will hear not the scraping of swords, but your sweet voice instead, and see not the ugliness of death, but your delicate face before me.
I would be honored if you would await my arrival in the palace rose garden at the victory parade's end.
Until I return, Valentine.

The message had come the day before, smuggled to her via a young page.

She heaved a sigh as she recalled the first time they had met in that rose garden. It had been so magical…

She wasn't even sure if she liked Valentine Starbury, but if anyone matched the fanciful vision of her storybook knight, he was it.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, imagining it was his scent she was breathing.

Perhaps she would grow to love him—she wondered if it were possible to love someone without liking them.

Strange how emotions conflicted and collided with one another, all weaving and bobbing through the heart like a finely woven tapestry. Did it take the talent of a great artist to manage them, as well?

Back in her chambers a short time later, she opened her jewel box, looking for the possession she cherished the most. It wasn't a piece of jewelry—she didn't have much in the way of jewels.

It was a wilting white rose, its petals just starting to shrivel around the edges. The rose he'd given her. Its fragrance was as sweet as if it'd just been plucked from the vine. It simply refused to die. It was also the only rose she'd ever seen without one single thorn.

All the other roses on the vine were long gone. But "their" rose lived on. And a rose in winter was a miraculous thing.

It had to be a sign, it just had to….

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Yet another victory parade rode into London. This time, Denys watched from the palace gatehouse as the procession entered the courtyard.

Her mood was much different than it had been the last time she had stood amongst the throng. Now she had a soldier to welcome home. She didn't have to stand alone and watch everything happen all around her as a mere spectator, but a true participant.

Soon the returning warriors came into view, and her heart gave a leap as she saw the two men riding in front.

King Edward rode in, with Richard right by his side. The cheering filled her ears as she glimpsed George, smirking in a new air of confidence, doubtless from a latest surge of loyalty.

Marguerite of Anjou sat stonily in a chariot, head erect, with as much regality as she could muster, flicking a handkerchief in the faces of the onlookers who'd pushed forward to get a better glimpse of her.

Denys now eagerly searched for the plumed helm or golden head of Valentine, and suddenly, there he was, his hair bouncing back rays of sunshine as he sat astride his mount, waving to the onlookers, bending over to shake their hands as if he were a king riding to his coronation.

Glancing round, she noticed that almost every female eye had come to rest on the handsome knight.

Smoothing down her skirts, adjusting her bosom up under her bodice, she tore down the winding steps and dashed over to the garden.

Just like that very first time they'd met, he came prancing up to her on his mount. She felt a thrill she'd never experienced before, having a soldier come home to her, even if they weren't going to embrace and mingle tears and kisses like long-time lovers.

He dismounted and held his hands out to her. The Yorkist emblem, the white boar, was emblazoned on his tunic. A jeweled Yorkist collar of suns and roses glowed upon his chest. They did not embrace, but stood looking into each other's eyes for a long moment.

At last she took one of his hands, and her whole body seemed to leap to attention.

He did something to her; he made her heart beat faster, gave her a strangely warm tingling feeling deep inside. His eyes spoke of understanding. Although she knew nothing of his past, she knew he'd lived through tragedy—and had done his best to keep it from destroying him.

"Thank you so much for the notes, my lord," she said as she caught her breath. "They meant a great deal to me."

His eyes lit up in what looked like surprise. "Every soldier needs something to fight for besides the kingdom." His tone was edged with emotion, and she knew there was much more behind those simple words.

She wondered how he managed to annoy her and evoke strange emotions in her at the same time. She wanted them to grow closer. But now was not the time. She kept the discussion centered around politics.

"So what will happen now? Did the Earl of Warwick return home as well?"

"Aye, but alas, he returned in a box. He was slain." A hint of sorrow had crept into Valentine's voice upon mentioning the dead earl. Denys detected that he'd admired Warwick. "However, it was a victory."

Whose victory?
she wondered.
The nation's? The House of York's? Or his own?

As drawn as she was becoming to him, she still had her doubts about where his loyalties really sat.

He glanced in the direction of the palace, but fixed his gaze right back on her. "The King requested my presence at the council meeting prior to this eve's banquet, so I need to bathe, tidy myself up and don ordinary raiment."

"Will you bathe in the Thames again, Sir Starbury?" She smiled, remembering how upset she'd been that first night, snatching away his clothes and throwing them in the water as she had stormed back to the palace. If she had to do it again, she wouldn't have changed a thing. Except perhaps having done it in daylight.

His eyes narrowed and twinkled. "That nocturnal romp was strictly on impulse. 'Tis not something one can plan. Or should."

He took his mount's reins and they began walking toward the stables side by side, curiously quiet amid the throng crowding the palace.

"Do you act on impulse as a practice, my lord?"

"Most of my life has been one unexpected event after another, so I learned to take life as it comes, not always expecting life to go to plan. Life would be terribly boring if it were so, would it not? And I am not so arrogant as to think I can have my own way in everything. It is as God wills."

"Indeed, Amen to that, even if his ways are inscrutable."

"Inscrutable indeed."

He looked down at her and their eyes connected. They slowed to a stop without even realizing it. The horse began grazing lazily.

"Imagine plotting out your entire life, and having every outcome go accordingly. We would die of boredom. Our heartbeats would never quicken, there would be no such thing as a gasp of surprise." He took a step closer.

What had happened to the talk of politics? she wondered, wanting nothing more at this moment than to experience some of this surprise he spoke of. "I love surprises, my lord. I cannot get enough of them."

"Like this?" And without warning or preamble or as much as a come-hither, he brought his mouth down on hers and captured her lips in a sweet, yet hungry search.

She stiffened at first, but soon her lips softened under his patient but demanding kiss. Their breaths mingled, and it ended too quickly as he pulled away and they both took a much-needed gulp of air.

"Forgive me, Dove," he whispered, his lips against her neck, his breath fanning around her ear, making her shiver as a surge of warmth flowed through her. "I just couldn't wait any longer."

"'Tis quite all right," she replied over a heavy sigh. "Neither could I. But I certainly see your point now. 'Tis much easier to understand when it's shown rather than merely told."

"I really must prepare for the council, and I must appear calm, and not—excited." He cleared his throat and straightened his tunic over his armor. "Shall we be on our way?"

Rooted to the spot, she found it hard to take a step. "I'd best go back another way. There is enough of a crowd here, but the Queen's spying eyes may see us together."

He hesitated for a long moment, and she could see him struggling to tear himself away.

She didn't want it to end, either. She began wondering when he would surprise her with another of those kisses.

"Very well, then, good morrow to you, Dove."

"And to you, Valentine." It was the first time she'd ever called him by his name.

And it felt so right and natural—like she'd known him all her life.

They both smiled, a silent promise of more to come soon, and went their separate ways.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

That evening the courtiers enjoyed a sumptuous banquet in the great hall. The dancing and feasting continued long after the King and Queen took their leave.

All throughout the meal and the revelries, Denys wondered where Valentine was. Having looked out for him all evening, she was more than curious about his whereabouts. She felt herself growing more and more agitated as the evening wore on, but was determined not to admit to herself that it was jealousy she was fighting.