Seduced by Grace (5 page)

“You believe he will actually invade?”

“Oh, yes. The Scots made a foray in his support last
year, hoping to catch us off guard. Those behind him will not miss the opportunity to try again this summer.”

“You think to confuse the issue with a second pretender to the throne, another man claiming to be one of the princes who disappeared from the Tower.”

“Just so.” Henry VII’s smile was chilling.

“And I am chosen.”

“No,” Marguerite whispered, though she could not be surprised when neither man spared her a glance.

“You have the correct appearance and bearing. News of your exploits in tournament and battle has been carried far and wide. Few will be surprised if told you have royal blood in your veins. They will see your fame as proof of it.”

David gave a short laugh. “So I am to be made legitimate.”

“Warbeck claims to be Richard, Edward’s second son. Would you do the same? Or would you prefer to take the name of the eldest as your own?”

“No!” Marguerite sprang to her feet. “David, sire…this is madness!”

“Edward would suit me very well,” David said, “that is, if I agree to the scheme.”

“You must not agree,” Marguerite said in an urgent undertone as she turned to him. “Only think what it will mean!”

“I am aware,” he said, though he met her eyes for the briefest of instants.

“Are you? Are you, really? The Yorkists who follow Warbeck will not sit idly by while you destroy their plans. They will remove you from the field if they can, will kill you without a qualm to achieve it. The Lan
castrians loyal to Henry will see you as a threat as well, for it can hardly be made public that you play a part at royal behest. Every hand will be against you! If you are caught, you will be condemned as a traitor. You will be drawn and quartered, and your head put up to feed the ravens.”

“She is right, of course,” Henry said without expression.

“The question then,” David answered, “is why I should undertake such risk.”

“You would be rewarded?” The king’s eyes narrowed to gray slits. “What is it you want? Lady Marguerite and her dowered lands as your prize?”

“Sire!” The suggestion came so near to taking her breath that the protest had the sound of a moan.

David’s lips curved in a wry smile. “What, with so little likelihood of being able to enjoy either? Nay. I require greater favor than that.”

Henry’s features turned chill, though he did not withdraw. “What would you then?”

“I require your pledge that Lady Marguerite will never again be given in betrothal to any man. I’ll have your written word that she may be allowed to live in peace wherever she so desires, to retain the properties that are hers by right of inheritance from her father and stepfather and to enjoy all proceeds from them without let or hindrance.”

“David,” she whispered, staring up at him, her eyes filling as the full meaning of his request came to her. He was bartering for her security and nothing more, nothing for himself in return for the dangers he would have
to face. He meant to see that she was safe from marriage, safe forever.

“I require,” David finished, turning his head to hold her gaze while his own shone darkly blue, “that you extend to her your protection, guarding against all who might seek to trespass, all who might violate her person for the sake of possessing her and her dower lands.”

“And that is all?” Henry asked in blank amazement.

“It is enough.”

“Done,” the king said, and offered David his hand upon it.

“Done,” David agreed as he accepted the king’s pledge.

“Done,” Marguerite echoed in a hollow whisper, and thought the repeated word had the sound of a death knell.

D
avid gave orders for a hearty midmorning meal to be prepared for the king’s men, and called Astrid back into the cottage to do the same for Henry. It had been a wearisome ride for the king’s party to reach the encampment this day, and all would soon take horse, heading back to the castle currently providing shelter for the royal party. He and his cadre of half a hundred would go with them, as would Lady Marguerite and her small serving woman. Meanwhile, Henry had plans to unfold in this matter of a second pretender, or so it seemed. A deliberate man was Henry VII, and much given to detail. Doubtless, it was a large portion of his success.

David had ideas of his own, but was content to see what the king had in mind before he presented them for discussion. Unless an absolute necessity, it was foolish to butt heads with a man who wore a crown.

The main points were laid out while he and Henry strolled the wooded track, well out of earshot of the others. Marguerite watched them walk away, but made no effort to join them. Henry issued no invitation, it was true, but David suspected she would have refused.
She was angry with both of them, he knew, foreseeing nothing but disaster in this venture.

She had always been perceptive, as he remembered. She had not changed in that.

In so much else, she was not the same. She smiled less. She was more forthright in her speech, less malleable in her thoughts and opinions. She had softer and more obvious curves, greater awareness in her eyes. True, she had been little more than a girl, her personality unformed, softer in feature and mien, smaller in stature when he had left her. Not that she was particularly tall now, of course. And she still had a fragile air that made him want to wrap her in his cloak, gathering her close for protection.

He desired a great many things when it came to Lady Marguerite, none of which he was likely to receive. He had given them up long ago, and could not expect them now, would not go back on his vow in order to achieve them. No, he could not do that, no matter the temptation.

Temptation there would be in plenty. Once ensconced at Henry’s present keep, she was to help tutor him. She would guide him in the various graces that would be useful if he was to appear in the guise of Edward, prince of the house of York, once hailed as Edward V. Such closeness could become a sore test of his resolve, heaven help him.

He had almost laid hands upon her the night before. Her hair had been uncovered, as she had removed her veil for sleeping. Its thick braid had gleamed like interwoven strands of silk, the fine tendrils that escaped it shimmering as she breathed. He’d been carried back to
a day in summer when they had run through the thick grass of the meadow below Braesford. She had tripped and fallen and he had plunged to the ground with her, both of them laughing like young fools. Her veil had loosened in the chase, her hair escaping from its confinement. She had sat up, leaning over him where he lay on his back among the clover, the daisies and wildflowers. Her glorious tresses had fallen around him, enclosing him within their silken curtain. The sunlight striking through them made tiny rainbows along the luminous strands, picking out a dozen blazing colors other than mere brown, shades of gold and russet and auburn and the soft coral-brown of beech leaves in autumn. He had been struck breathless by the magic of the moment while somewhere deep inside his very being stilled in awe. He wasn’t sure he had ever quite recovered from that enchantment.

“Are you listening, Sir David?”

“Aye, sire.” It was not exactly a lie.

“Well, then?”

David cleared his throat before answering. “I am to join your supposed hunting party, effectively going into seclusion at the castle that is your base for now. Over the next few weeks, I will be instructed in all the rules of behavior, the manners and forms of address that a future monarch should know from birth. I am to be outfitted for this part, also provided with the nucleus of an armed force.”

“Together with your own men-at-arms, this force will become the vanguard of the army you will gather around you,” Henry said in agreement. “Once trained to your orders, they will make a fine show of strength
when you begin to be seen about the countryside, so it will appear men are flocking to your standard. Speaking of which, I believe a phoenix, symbolizing the rise from the ashes of old rumor about your death, would be appropriate.”

“My apologies, sire, but I have a device.”

“We are aware. A crown of thorns or some other vegetation, we believe. It is hardly suitable for this enterprise.”

“A crown is a crown,” David said at his most stubborn. “This one is of my own choosing and design. It has served me well. I would not depart from it.”

“If you would be accepted as Prince Edward, son of Edward IV, you must display something more martial. Perhaps even the Plantagenet golden lions.”

David stopped and turned to face Henry, placing his hands on his hips. “Why is that, when I have won what recognition I have on a foreign field, am come to this business full grown? Why would I not have chosen something of my own, even if I were Edward?”

Henry eyed him with disfavor for long moments. “It means this much to you?”

“It does,” he said in deep-voiced precision.

The device came from a crown tendered to him on that same hot summer day while he lay with his head in Marguerite’s lap. He had watched while she made that clover crown, her brow furrowed with concentration, her brown eyes holding all the softness in the world and his heart ached with hopeless longing that seemed to have no beginning and no end. She had placed it, more than a little askew, on his head, and he had felt a very king. He still had the crumbling remnants of that woven
circle of clover in his baggage, folded into parchment and silk and tucked into a purse slipped into one of his spare boots for safekeeping.

How long ago it seemed, so very long ago.

The king inclined his head. “You may fight under your device if you must, but will be supplied with another showing the Plantagenet lions. You will display both when you ride out to rally men to your cause.”

“As you command.”

Henry was too wise a man to show his satisfaction. Walking on, he continued with the instructions he thought imperative for the success of their undertaking.

David stopped again. “I would point out, sire, that I have ample excuse for any lapse in manners or memory. If you will have it that Edward has been absent from England these many years for safety’s sake, then clearly there will be much he’s forgotten, including details of the Plantagenet family. Added to that, I’ve met a few princes. Most were less than pattern cards for royal conduct.”

“Nor were they setting themselves up as would-be kings, I’ll warrant,” Henry answered. “You will be judged everywhere you go. It can be no other way. To discover in private the things that may trip you up when you go into the public view will be far better.”

David thought to himself that he had more knowledge of court etiquette than Henry, or Lady Marguerite for that matter, seemed to realize. He had fought at a king’s side and called him friend, had dined with kings and princes, spoken with them in audience, and stood about while they spoke with others.

He let it go. He’d no wish to be found lacking in any
detail. Moreover, long days spent with Lady Marguerite while she aided him with the finer points of royal behavior were not to be scorned.

As for this business of impersonating a prince, he had his doubts. The line he would be treading was fine indeed. Its dangers were easily as apparent to him as they had been to Lady Marguerite. He must avoid being taken by either Yorkist or Lancastrian factions while building his base of support from which to challenge Perkin Warbeck. It would mean hard riding as he showed himself hither and yon, speaking to market crowds and gatherings of nobles, seldom remaining in one place for more than a few hours, staying always ahead of those who would destroy what he sought to build. Yes, and him with it.

He did not shrink from the danger, but neither did he underestimate it.

There was an additional peril that had gone unspoken by Lady Marguerite. Had that been from diplomacy or simple failure to recognize it? Either was possible, though it might also be that she rated his chance of success too low to trigger it.

In simple fact, attracting too great a following could become his greatest threat. What would Henry do if the support rallying to a new Plantagenet standard proved mighty enough to shake his throne?

He had sworn fealty to King Henry VII, but the king had sworn nothing to him.

“A question, sire,” David said in contemplative tones.

“Aye?”

“What of afterward, when this rebellion has been put down and Warbeck captured or killed? Will you make
public the stratagem we have agreed to pursue, or will you denounce my part in it and banish me across the channel?”

A thoughtful frown crossed the king’s face. “We’ve not looked that far ahead. An oversight, it must be admitted.”

“Before it comes to that point, I could possibly discover proof that I’m not legitimate, after all, and fade from contention.” Even as he made the suggestion, David could not forebear wondering if Henry had not failed to consider this eventuality because he had no expectation that his new false pretender would be alive when it arose.

“It’s a possibility,” Henry allowed.

“One that may smack of cowardice if left too late.” David shook his head. “I would prefer the right to fight at your side, should that time come.”

“And I would be honored to have you there once more.” Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder. “An announcement it is, then, when events are in order and the pretended defeated, one telling all of the service you have rendered us.”

David would have liked to ask His Royal Majesty to swear it. He might have, except where would he be if Henry refused?

Within an hour of the king’s arrival, the combined cavalcade of David’s men-at-arms and those of the king left the forest retreat. Whither they were bound, Marguerite had no sure idea. Her palfrey and the pony allotted to Astrid were brought to the cottage door by a dark-haired man who identified himself as David’s
squire, though he was of an age with David himself. He presented his commander’s compliments and request that they mount up. Minutes later, they were a part of the galloping multitude.

Marguerite thought David might drop back to ride beside her in good time, mayhap to tell her what had passed between him and the king in private audience. She was troubled in mind about what had been proposed, had a thousand fears and questions that she would put to David about it. He had his responsibilities, of course, and she would not have him shirk them for her sake, yet surely he could spare a short while to let her know where they were going and what they would do when they got there?

He didn’t appear. Instead, he seemed to have appointed his squire as his substitute.

The man introduced himself as Orlando of Sienna, though called Oliver by the English. He was an engaging rascal, with his black curls flying in wild disarray around his head, dark, shining eyes and the appreciative grin of a satyr. Though stocky of build and none too tall, he carried himself with aplomb. He had ridden with David for the past six years and more, so he said, after being captured in a tournament. Having no money for ransom and no relatives who might redeem him, he had thought to forfeit all he owned, horse and trappings, armor, shield and sword. When offered the post of David’s squire instead, he had folded the banner of his ancient family, doffed his knight’s plumes and accepted with gratitude. David being no stickler for form, the two of them had become companions of the tournament and battlefield. More than that, they were friends.

Astrid didn’t care for the Italian. He was, she said under her breath, too charming by half and without proper respect. She cut her eyes at him and sniffed at the pleasantries he directed her way. She also did her best to keep her pony between his charger and the palfrey her mistress rode, though it was a little like a puppy trying to ward off a mastiff. That her disdain made the thin mustache favored by the squire tilt up at both ends only caused her to fume more.

Marguerite might have discounted her small maid’s attitude but for the knowledge that Astrid had been with David and his men for some weeks now. It was possible she had reason for her dislike of the man.

“Have you any idea of our destination, sir?” If she could not put the question to David, his squire seemed her most promising source of information. She made her voice light and airy, however, as if the answer mattered not a whit.

Oliver of Sienna gave a light shrug. “Talk among the king’s men is all about the hunt. Your Henry is mad for it, so they say. Most see this outing as a search for deer and boar, and happening upon our cadre as an accident. Finding no great supply of game, they are now returning whence they came.”

So that was Henry’s story. Admittedly, it had an authentic ring to it. “Did they mention where that might be?”

“Some castle belonging to a petty noble who is exhausting his stores to feed his guests. It seems to be a chilly stone pile enclosed in a damnably thick forest that’s a hard day’s ride from a town of any size. The cook earns high praise, but the host’s good wife is a
strict chatelaine, and her serving women inclined to scream if cornered.”

“I can imagine,” she said, her voice dry.

“Can you now?” His eyes were bright, as if he would gauge her experience with such matters.

“It requires little effort, given the nature of men-at-arms.” She kept her features bland as she turned her gaze to the column ahead, searching it for a glimpse of David’s broad shoulders. That she had no experience whatever beyond drying the tears of maidservants who’d had indignities forced upon them was none of his affair.

“Pity the poor fools, who are as God made them,” he answered. “Or as He made us, since I don’t hold myself above the average man. No doubt it is His private jest.”

The Italian’s inclusion of himself in that rather disparaging assessment brought her head around. “Or mayhap His test for manly self-control?”