The Rose at Twilight (27 page)

Lady Margaret, however, had not had such an easy time of it, having produced only Henry Tudor. She was resolved that nothing would threaten one whose womb most likely carried the first seed of his dynasty, and in this, Elizabeth Woodville agreed. The queen dowager had not worked to see her daughter on the throne, only to have that position endangered through loss of the babe.

Elizabeth accepted the attention as her due, but Alys spent only a small portion of her days waiting on her, for the king, despite a growing reputation for being close with a shilling, had commanded that she be gowned as befitted his ward and the heiress to Wolveston. Alys had no objection to make to that plan and willingly stood for hours while elegant fabrics were draped about her and suitable colors and styles discussed. Not only did Madeline and Jonet offer advice but also the Lady Margaret, who, once her son had been generous enough to give the command, was determined to see it carried out in style. The result was hours of meetings with seamstresses, cobblers, milliners, and their ilk, hours more of embroidering such items as Lady Margaret deemed it necessary for Alys to do herself, and then yet more hours of fittings. The result was a wardrobe filled with more gowns, capes, surcoats, chemises, smocks, hats, shoes, and other such apparel than Alys had ever owned in her life.

The high-waisted wedding gown was fashioned of pale blue velvet, its low-cut bodice, hemline, and cuff edges trimmed with the expensive gray-and-white fur of tiny Siberian squirrels known as vairs (their fur reserved by sumptuary law to the nobility). It was worn over a white silk, lace-edged smock, the edges and trim of which could be seen both at the neckline and where the overskirt parted in front. Alys thought it truly lovely, but on the morning of her wedding day, as Madeline, Jonet, Elva, Lady Emlyn, and Lady Beatrix fluttered around her, fussing, fixing, and adjusting, she felt numb and distant, as if it were all happening to someone else. The morning swirled by in a daze of color, noise, and ritual, while she moved where others told her to move and performed as others commanded her to perform.

“You look as fine as a princess,” Madeline said when she knelt to fasten Alys’s jeweled girdle around her hips. She touched in turn each of the three pretty objects appended to it—a mirror set in gold, a pair of jeweled scissors, and a jeweled eating knife. “Splendid baubles,” she said. “Was this a gift?”

“From Sir Nicholas,” Alys said, feeling warmth rise to her cheeks as she said his name.

Madeline’s eyebrows rose comically. “Mayhap there is something to be said for marriage, after all. Pray, hand me some of those bride laces, Lady Emlyn,” she added, standing up again. Taking a handful of the colorful ribbons, she proceeded to attach them to various parts of Alys’s gown. They would be pulled off after the ceremony by guests wanting a keepsake of the occasion.

While Madeline and Lady Emlyn attached the laces, and Jonet and Elva smoothed Alys’s long hair and put the finishing touches on the lace-flower wreath that served as her only headdress, Alys took the pair of elegantly embroidered gloves Lady Beatrix held for her, and drew them on. She saw that her hands were shaking.

“Collect yourself, Alys,” Lady Emlyn said sternly, standing back to survey the finished product. “’Tis a measure of Sir Nicholas’s favor with the king that the Archbishop of Canterbury himself is to preside over the ceremony at Westminster Abbey with the full court in attendance. You must not tremble or falter in your responses. You must do him honor.”

Alys nodded, but her hands continued to shake and her knees felt weak. She was grateful that there were others to tell her what to do and show her where to go.

In the procession from the palace to the abbey, led by the groom and his attendants, with the bride and hers following after them, Alys felt as though she were in the sort of dream that would end with a whirling, falling sensation, a dream from which it was beyond her power to awaken. When the procession stopped at the abbey steps, those who had attended them along the way fell silent behind them, and those who had not taken part in the procession could be heard inside, rising to their feet.

Standing beside Sir Nicholas, before the archbishop, at the open doors of the abbey, Alys knew that not even the great pomp and circumstance she had known at Middleham, or at court before this moment, had prepared her for the triumphal blare of trumpets announcing her arrival at the church door or, indeed, any of the magnificence of her wedding day. Even the archbishop’s grave intonations failed to make it real, though the ritual had been carefully explained to her by none other than the Lady Margaret, whose practice it was to leave nothing to chance. And thus, when Sir Nicholas’s deep voice sounded beside her, Alys started and looked at him much as though she were surprised to see him there.

“I, Nicholas ap Dafydd ab Evan of the Welsh house of Merion,” he said in a loud, clear voice, turning to face her and taking her right hand in his, “do take the Lady Alys Anne Wolveston to my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for fair for foul, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, for this time forward till death us depart, if the holy church will it ordain, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

Alys’s small hand felt lost in his, though she was aware of the warmth of him. She stared at his elegant, heavily embroidered doublet and found herself wondering suddenly who had done the flawless work.

He reached for her left hand and slipped a ring on the third finger, saying, “With this ring I thee wed, and this gold and silver I thee give, and with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly chattel I thee honor.”

She looked at the ring, surprised to see that it was a miniature replica of his own, different only in that the golden wyvern was quartered with the arms of Wolveston, emblazoned in their proper colors by enamel applied to the base of the setting, then carved into the white sapphire above. The colors showed through the transparent stone, their effect heightened by its brilliance. Delight surged through her, and she looked up at him, her pleasure in his gift evident to everyone.

The archbishop cleared his throat, and becoming aware of the silence filling the abbey beyond him, Alys realized that he had already prompted her to speak her lines. Dread filled her that she had forgotten them, but the phrases came to her, and she looked directly into Sir Nicholas’s eyes when she spoke them.

“I, Alys Anne Wolveston, do take thee, Sir Nicholas Merion, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for fair for foul, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to be meek and obedient in bed and at board, till death us depart, for this time forward, and if holy church it will ordain, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

The trumpets rang out again, and the whole procession moved inside the abbey, bride and groom to kneel on satin cushions before the archbishop at the altar rail, all others to take their places in the pews behind them for the nuptial mass. When the mass was done, the procession reversed itself to return to the palace for the wedding feast.

The great hall rang with music and the roar of four hundred voices laughing and talking while they found their places at the tables that had been set out below the dais. The scene reminded Alys of the feast that followed the Tudor’s wedding to Elizabeth, but this time she and Sir Nicholas sat at the high table with the royal couple. Not until she was actually sitting beside him did Alys attempt to think calmly about what was happening around her, and to search for familiar faces in the crowd.

She saw Sir Lionel Everingham, who looked disdainful, and Lord Briarly, who looked more as if he were at a funeral than a wedding feast. Hugh Gower towered above the other men, and there was Lincoln, smiling and elegant. She saw Lady Emlyn and one or two others she knew, but not Madeline. She wished Madeline might have sat with them on the dais, but she was somewhere below, no doubt flirting with one gentleman or another, or laughing and chatting with other ladies in waiting.

Alys reached for the gold goblet on the table before her, but Sir Nicholas’s hand caught hers and squeezed it.

“Not yet,
mi geneth
,” he murmured close to her ear. “Wait until the king drinks his toast to us.”

Flushing, she realized she had not thought about what she was doing, that she had nearly committed a grave error. There was a swish of silken skirts behind her, and she turned to see that Elizabeth had risen from her place beside the king and now stood directly behind her. Awkwardly, Alys also rose, well aware that it would not do to push her chair into Elizabeth, and aware too that Elizabeth had meant the situation to be awkward.

“Madam?” she said, curtsying as best she might under the circumstances and rising without awaiting permission to do so. “Did you desire to speak to me?”

“Yes, I did,” Elizabeth said in her soft voice. “I requested permission of his noble grace to sit beside you for a time, whilst we eat, since you will no doubt prefer the company of a woman at such a time as this. ’Tis a pity that your mother and father did not live to enjoy this day with you.”

Sir Nicholas having also risen, overheard, and said with a smile, “Your kindness, madam, is a byword, and I have no doubt that my wife is particularly grateful for it on this occasion. The day has been a full one, and she has had few to support her.”

“But you, sir, also have had to celebrate this day of days unsupported by your family,” Elizabeth said.

“’Tis kind of you to express such sentiment, madam,” Sir Nicholas said, smiling again at her, “but ’twould have taken more than a fortnight at this season for my father and brothers to learn of the occasion and ride to London.”

“Perchance,” Elizabeth said, shooting a glance at Alys, “you will desire to take your bride from us, sir, to introduce her to your family and the wilderness of Wales.”

Unable to remain silent longer, Alys said, “I am told that Wales is not so wild as we have thought, madam. Sir Nicholas has told me that many things there are much the same as in England.”

“Nevertheless,” Elizabeth said, “you must long to see your future home, Alys dear.”

“Wolveston Hazard is my home, madam,” Alys said firmly. “No one will ever—”

“Will you not sit down, madam,” Sir Nicholas cut in swiftly, drawing Alys aside and turning her chair so that Elizabeth might sit. Glancing at the king to see that he was conversing at that moment with a black-robed nobleman who had stepped onto the dais, he went on smoothly, “Alys may have my chair, and I shall sit in his grace’s place for the present. That way I can sit by my bride as I am expected to do, and we may all be comfortable.”

When Elizabeth and Alys had sat down again, he said, “My duties with the king will keep me from presenting Alys to my family for some time yet, madam, but I should be pleased to tell you about Wales if you like. Many of our laws will seem unusual to you. For example, my father’s home will one day come to me as the eldest son, but by our laws, only a third of his land will be mine, for I have two brothers and we must share the wealth.”

Elizabeth, arranging her skirts more to her liking, said to him across Alys, “I have heard about these strange laws, sir. How odd it would be if royal lands were to be thus divided.”

“Odd!” Alys exclaimed. “Why, considering the battles that have been fought these thirty years past, I should say—”

Elizabeth’s arched brows rose; however, it was not that sign of disapproval which silenced Alys but Sir Nicholas’s foot treading hard upon her own. Stifling a squeal of pain and indignation, she said through clenched teeth, “I do apologize, madam. War is not a fit subject for such a day.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, “and we must not speak at all just now, for my husband is about to make his toast.”

The king’s toast was but the first of many, and when those proposed by members of the court had ended, the entertainment began. Minstrels, jugglers, a rope dancer, and a play were all interrupted by more toasts, each of which had to be returned by the bridal couple. By the time the king and Elizabeth retired, and Madeline and several other ladies came to accompany Alys to the bridal chamber, she had drunk much more than her fill. She rose tipsily from her chair, put her hand upon Sir Nicholas’s arm to draw his attention away from the gentleman with whom he was speaking, and attempted to curtsy to him.

He caught her before she fell, and steadied her, saying with a chuckle to Madeline, “Get her ladyship to bed, lass, and do what you may to keep her awake until I get there. I’ve no wish to find my new wife snoring and dead to the world.”

Laughing, Madeline said, “I shall attend to her, sir, never fear. Take my arm, Alys. It will not do for you to appear ape drunk before this company. Not,” she added with a sapient look around the hall, “that any of them are much the better for drink than you are. It is to be hoped they will be satisfied to snatch a few bride laces and leave your virtue intact.”

“How now!” Sir Nicholas said with a frown. “She must not be troubled on her way by any drunken louts. You there!” he called to one of the yeoman servants. “Find several other stout lads, and attend the Lady Merion and her attendants to my chamber. I will give you half an hour, Mistress Fen-lord, to prepare her.”

Finally, accompanied by a chorus of ribald comments from the company, most members of whom would not have dared, even in their besotted condition to shout such things had his noble grace still been present, Alys and her ladies took their leave. Having passed most of the day in a state of confusion and a sense of unreality, Alys felt numb again and was having all she could do to keep from disgracing herself before she escaped.

The bridal chamber, on the other side of the palace, was one of the apartments set aside for those of the king’s favorites who merited rooms in whatever royal residence he chose to occupy. There were two rooms, an anteroom that served as a sitting room or parlor, and the large bedroom behind, where a fire crackled merrily in the hooded fireplace between two tall windows, and where Jonet awaited her charge. Since it was Sir Nicholas’s chamber, Alys had not seen it before, but her belongings had been transferred there during the day, and her brushes and bottles graced the elegant dressing table with its Venetian mirror and velvet-covered stool. Never had she owned such a piece of furniture, and she stared at it now in amazement.