The Rose at Twilight (39 page)

“With Neddie? But what about Richard of York? Oh, sir, do not tell me he has come to harm. I have feared so. You cannot know what a trial it was to me to be so near in Wales, and yet I might as well have been in Scotland for all the good I could do, for I could not get across the Brecon Beacons into Glamorgan.”

Amusement lit his eyes. “What would you have done, lass?”

“Why, I do not know, but something. Even to have discovered for myself that the prince is safe with Sir James Tyrell would have been a good thing. I cannot credit it for truth, sir, for Sir James appears to be at one with the Tudor.”

Lovell’s countenance grew unusually stern. “Do not meddle, Lady Alys, for you may do harm. We trust the prince is safe. In the next few months, the whole truth may well be revealed.”

“How?”

“I am for Flanders, to seek sanctuary with Margaret, the Duchess of Burgundy.”

“Richard’s sister.” Alys nodded. “Aye, she will help.”

“She has done so already. I was with her on your wedding day, lass, on Simnel Sunday.” He grinned, adding with a knowing look, “’Twas but a brief visit to set certain matters in train, to see what manner of real support we can muster here, but her sympathies are certainly with us, and with her nephews.”

“There have been rumors that both princes are dead,” Alys said with a sad sigh, wondering how he could be so cheerful.

“Rumors set about by Harry himself, I do not doubt. He cannot shout them from the rooftops, for he does not know the truth and cannot chance a reappearance of either lad to make him a liar. He put off marrying Elizabeth, after all, whilst his men searched high and low for them, for he could scarcely declare her legitimate, or declare that his marriage would bind him to the throne, if they lived. Had he discovered them then, they would have disappeared forever, or he would have imprisoned them and abandoned the marriage. Neither course suited us then.”

“And now?”

“Now Harry hopes, with these vague rumors, to flush the boys from cover. But we’ve learned to ignore rumors. I once heard the Duke of Clarence had searched for a babe to exchange for his newborn son, so that he might send Neddie to Ireland, to protect him. Then it was rumored that Dickon had murdered his nephews, a rumor set about by men who, had they found them, would have used them to draw others to rebel against Dickon. But such ruses did not succeed when Dickon was alive, and they will not now. Not till we want Harry to know that a Plantagenet prince lives will we tell him so. Perhaps, however, we can have a game with him in the meantime to learn more about how the Tudor mind does work.”

Alys glanced nervously toward the window, her curiosity about what he meant to do warring with her rising trepidation. “Sir, you must go, but I do not know how you can get away now.”

“We go nowhere, lass. I confess, I’d like to look into a certain grave to see what its resident wears around his neck—Do not swoon! I know I cannot. Not only Mother Church but the sweat that killed him does forbid it. We’ll be safe until our way is clear, for I know places in this castle that I am certain your husband does not. We cannot leave with his men outside the gates, and no doubt Sir Nicholas knows the secret of the bolt.”

“Aye, perhaps,” she said with a sigh, knowing Ian might have told him, “but will those men below not tell him you are here?”

“They have no cause to know me, and my lads will not speak my name. Moreover, we will make them believe we have gone away. Or, we could kill them,” he added a little absently.

Alys did not care about Sir Lionel’s men. Her concern, with Nicholas so near, was the corpse of Sir Lionel on the floor, for how she would explain its presence in her bedchamber she did not know. A sound from the courtyard sent every other thought from her head. “They are inside! Quick, sir, take the privy stair at the other end, for he will come up the tower steps.”

“I know. You will not tell him I have been here.”

“No, of course I will not. I am loyal to York, sir.”

“Aye, but husbands demand loyalty, too, lassie.”

“Of a different sort, sir. This is politics!”

He chuckled and turned to leave, then looked again at the corpse. “How will you explain that?”

She thought swiftly. “Give me your sword, and I will tell him I killed the knave myself, and that servants, or mayhap tenants, overcame the men below.”

“Never my sword, lass, but take my dagger and welcome, and may the falsehoods rise easily to your tongue. Oh, and, lassie,” he added with a delighted grin, “I recommend you put on something more becoming than that quilt to greet your lord and master.”

Not even waiting for the door to shut, she flew to search her coffers for something to wear, and without bothering with smock or petticoats, dragged on a wool skirt and bodice, lacing the latter with trembling fingers while she strained her ears for sounds from the gallery. Remembering the dagger, she snatched it up and knelt by the body to smear blood on the blade.

They came silently, and when the door crashed back on its hinges, she looked up with a start to see her husband, his sword drawn, his face rigid with fear at what he might find, and Hugh close behind him on the threshold. All other matters vanished from her mind. Casting the dagger aside, she leapt up and ran to Nicholas, crying out his name. She saw his face relax, and when he put his free arm around her, she could feel his relief. Not till that moment did she realize how desperately she had yearned for his coming.

His soldier’s instincts swiftly reasserted themselves, and his gaze swiftly scanned the room. Hugging her close, he said crisply, “Hugh, search about. I cannot believe the whole place is empty. Alys, where is Gwilym? Where are the soldiers Ian warned us of? And who the devil killed that bastard Everingham?”

“Please, sir, one question at a time,” she begged, trying to gather her wits. Snuggling closer to him, taking comfort from the warmth of his body, she said, “I do not know what happened to his men.” That was the truth. She had thought they were trussed up in the hall. “There were servants. They might have overcome his men while he was here with me. As for him, why, he … Oh, Nicholas, he killed Roger, and he was going to kill you! And he … he tried to force me … to … to ravish me!”

“Ah, sweetheart, no!” He looked grimly at the corpse, and she knew from his grim expression that if Sir Lionel were somehow to rise from the dead he would be struck down again and right swiftly. Then she saw Hugh’s face.

“Mistress Hawkins,” he said with dangerous calm. “Where is she, my lady? Did that villain dare to harm a hair of her head? Or any of the others?” he added as an obvious afterthought.

“I do not know, sir, but I think not. He ordered them all taken below and locked in with Gwilym and the other men when he discovered that I had dared to send Ian for help.”

Nicholas released her and went to the corpse, examining it perfunctorily before stooping to pick up the dagger. Alys held her breath and watched him closely when he examined it.

“This is no lady’s weapon,” he said, looking over its twenty-four-inch length. “How came you by this,
mi calon
?”

“It … it was his,” she said hastily, without thinking, gesturing toward the corpse. Then, wildly, she looked at Sir Lionel, unable to recall if he carried a dagger of his own. His right side was uppermost. There was no sheath. She sighed with relief and shifted her gaze more confidently to Nicholas.

He was frowning, looking at the dagger’s gilded hilt, then back at the dead man. “Odd,” he said. “I thought Everingham’s device was a bear. This engraving looks more like a wolf.”

Alys stiffened. Lovell’s device was a dog. How like the viscount, she thought, to have the stupid thing engraved on his weapons. Giving thanks that he had not decided to have his arms engraved there as well, she kept silent, unable to trust her tongue, and was glad when Hugh’s voice broke the silence.

“I will go below,” he said, “and see to freeing the others.”

“Take men with you,” Nicholas said, “and send a pair to get that corpse out of here. He did not lay siege to this place alone, Hugh. Where the devil are his men?”

Hugh shrugged and left, but Alys realized with shock that Lovell’s men must have taken their trussed Shrove Tuesday birds to their secret refuge. She prayed that if they had done so the action would not prove their own undoing. Nicholas, in searching for the men, might well flush out Lovell.

Fighting to keep silent, not wanting to lie to him again, or stir suspicions that might otherwise lie dormant, knowing there was no way she could keep him from searching the castle if he chose to do so, she still prayed he would not. Her relationship with him had grown stronger, but she knew the discovery of Lovell at Wolveston could only weaken the fragile bond between them.

He was thinking, turning the dagger over idly in his hands. She hoped he would not cut himself, and the thought reminded her that she had not been the only one recently in danger.

“I am glad you came home safely,” she said. “Must you return soon to the king, or can you linger here for a time?” Her emotions in the brief moment before he replied were in a tangle. She wanted him there, beside her, sleeping in her bed. But the danger to Lovell with Nicholas at Wolveston was unbearable to contemplate. For the viscount to get away would be nearly impossible while Nicholas and his men remained.

Nicholas said, “The king enters York in two days’ time, and we have had word of trouble rising in Birmingham—the Staffords, just as the rumors we heard suggested. When I leave here, my men and I will join the royal forces there. The king will remain in York through St. George’s Day. He is skeptical of the city’s loyalty but means to accord its citizens all honor. I’d like to be there, but I doubt I can return soon enough. Harry remains in York only a few days, then retraces his path southward. I am promised to meet him at Nottingham Castle the end of the month.”

“But you will return here first!” she exclaimed. “In faith, sir, you cannot mean to abandon us here.”

His look was direct. “I do not know what I intend, madam. Originally, I had meant to take you back to London, but now I am not so sure. There is unrest throughout the kingdom, and I do not know that I can be at hand in the capital to keep my eye on you. God knows, you show a distressing talent for landing in the briars when left to your own devices. You have given me no cause to believe I can safely leave you with the court.”

“But I—”

“We won’t discuss it now,” he said, looking toward the door.

Footsteps could be heard from the gallery, and a moment later, two of his men entered and began to attend to Sir Lionel’s corpse. Alys was glad to see it removed.

“We will have a proper service for him,” she said grimly, “though I doubt if his soul has sped its way to heaven.”

Nicholas’s expression was rueful. “It must have been a terrible experience,
mi calon
, to have been assaulted by him as you were. How did you manage to lay hands on his dagger?”

The question was put casually, and she had opened her mouth to tell him she had taken it during the struggle when she remembered that Sir Lionel had not worn a sheath. Having said the dagger was his and then not seen another on his person had seemed providential. Now that same lack of a sheath took on new, and ominous meaning. She could think of nothing to say.

“He was not carrying it unless, perchance, he had it in hand and was threatening you with it,” Nicholas mused, shooting a quizzical look at her from beneath his brows.

She shook her head, knowing that to accept that suggestion would only take her into more perilous territory. He waited with patience, but she could offer him no acceptable alternative.

“You did not find the dagger here in your bedchamber.”

“N-no, sir.” She licked lips gone suddenly dry.

“And servants never routed his armed soldiers, did they?” he asked in a gentle tone that did not comfort her in the least.

“I do not know what happened to them,” she said, annoyed that her voice sounded weak, telling herself firmly that the words were true—for the most part.

“There have been other soldiers in the area today,” he said as if he were thinking aloud.

“H-Have there, sir?”

“I think you know there have been, madam. Mayhap you will cease this charade now and tell me what really took place here. I weary of your game. In faith, I am weary to the bone.”

“Of course you are,” she exclaimed, seizing on the diversion. “Poor Nicholas. You have been in the saddle for days and must want nothing so much as to rest now.”

“Aye,” he replied, looking at her narrowly, “it has been a tiresome business, looking after our Harry, but ’tis no more than my duty, when all is said and done.”

“But you saved him! You are a hero, sir. Why, he must have been terrified to see them riding straight at him like—” Breaking off, realizing she had let her tongue rattle too long, she said swiftly, “The king must know you would give your life for his, sir. He will no doubt be most grateful to you.”

“Will he?”

“Aye.” She took a step back, suddenly anxious to be farther away from him, and once again, just as she had earlier, she kicked against the mattress on the floor. Looking down briefly, she snapped her head up again to find him distressingly nearer.

He said, “I meant to ask you how that mattress got there.”

That was safe. “They tore it off the bed, looking for Ian.”

The answer made him smile. “They thought to find him in your bed? Everingham must have been insane.”

“He was, sir,” she said, paling again at the memory of the man’s fury, and at the horror that rose anew when she thought of what he had wanted to do to her. “He was so angry.”

“I do not doubt that,” he said gruffly. “You have a knack for angering men.” He held out his hand. “Come here.”

“What are you going to do?”

He sighed. “I suppose the very question means you deserve to feel my hand on your backside, if not more, but I have no such intention,
mi calon.
All I want now is to hold you and to hear no more of your falsehoods. You are not skilled enough at devising them to fool a babe in arms.”

He beckoned with the index finger of the hand he held out to her, and she went to him. “I did not want to he,” she said when his arms held her tight, “but I cannot tell you all the truth.”