A Rose for Lancaster (The Tudor Rose Novella series) (6 page)

A blush rose on her cheeks. “Anne asked Robert where you hid the ring and the fur cloak. She gave them to me the day they took me from Somerset. You should have heard her yelling at the king’s men.”

“I imagine she put the fear of God into them.”

“She insisted Robert and Gerda accompany me on the journey to London.”

“My sister is troublesome but fiercely loyal.”

Blanche held out her slim hand for me to inspect the ring as it glinted in the firelight. “I like it very much, and the fur. Thank you.”

“You will have many such fine jewels and furs once Pole is dealt with.”

“Be careful, Giles. Promise me you will not be in harm’s way.”

I held her until daybreak, knowing we may never meet again and I prayed for the king’s success, for if he fell from power we were all doomed to death.

****

For many days I rode with Murdo disguised as a novitiate and he an elder cleric. No one questioned us, although we gained a few stares from curious villagers from time to time. We carried a little money but lived and ate frugally to keep up appearances. We complained bitterly of our lot on the boat ride to Ireland as the sea tossed us on wave after sickening wave. On land we fared better but on a few nights we lit a fire and slept outside when accommodation proved difficult to find. Sitting by the light of one such fire, I glanced at Murdo thoughtfully.

“Go ahead, Sir Giles, ask me,” he ventured.

We both knew the question. “The men, the peacocks at the king’s residence the night we told our story… you know them?”

“Yes, I know them.”

I pressed him further. “How? When?”

“My wife is cousin to one of them.”

“Nan? But those men are lords. Your wife is…”

Murdo chuckled at my lack of diplomacy. “My wife is a simple woman but she is the daughter of a nobleman, albeit the eighth child born into a family of nine.”

“And you are in the service of her cousin.”

He reached for a stick and poked the fire. “I am in the service of the crown and in the service of your family.”

“And what of your lineage, Murdo?” My suspicions rose with his calm manner.

“My parents were minor nobles. My father fought with old king Henry’s men.”

“What circumstances brought you to my side.” Murdo had trained me in the art of fighting as a young boy. I hardly recalled a time without him by my side, a steady guiding presence.

“Nan’s cousin arranged it. We dropped out of favor during Edward’s reign. I’d been in hiding but now as Henry Tudor sits upon the throne my fortunes improve.”

“But why live at Somerset? My father was a drinker and a womanizer. Surely this noble cousin placed you in a poor situation.”

“He had his reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“You.”

“Who am I to such a man?” My head ached after a long day of travel but I itched to know the answer.

“You were my concern. That’s all I know.”

“Your concern?”

“My wife’s cousin required we oversee your education. I found the proper tutors and mentors over the years to teach you the skills of a young lord.”

“On the order of a man unknown to me? Did my father know of this?”

“Your father cared for nothing but wine and wenches.”

He spoke true. I could not fault Murdo on that point. “That does not explain a stranger’s interest in my education.”

Murdo shrugged. “It is not for me to speculate. Nan and I looked after you well and the task is complete, now you are a man and married to the York woman.”

“Why then do you stay?” All my life I trusted in Murdo and held no quarrel with him now. He smiled fondly.

“I have not yet been told to leave. And Nan thinks of you as a son.”

“And you?”

“We share a bond, even if ‘tis not blood.”

“This noble lord…his name?”

Murdo hesitated. “Viscount Welles.”

“Welles? For the sake of God, why is he interested in me?”

“I am not privy to his reasons, Sir Giles. I merely do his bidding, but the task has been enjoyable over the years.”

“Mayhap, my father and he were friends,” I speculated.

“Perhaps.” Murdo said little more on the subject while I dwelled on the strange circumstances of my upbringing. As one of the Somerset bastards I’d led a privileged life but somehow I was different than the others. The exact nature of that difference remained unknown but the treatment I regarded as my due changed in light of this revelation. The exact details of my birth and infant years were a mystery. Why was the king’s uncle interested in my person? And more importantly, who truly was Sir Giles Beaufort, Baron of Somerset?

****

After a few months of spying in Ireland we returned to court with grim words. Pole claimed to the Irish nobles to have a nephew of King Edward in his care, with the intention of claiming the English throne on the boy’s behalf. Five men and one woman listened to my report.

Henry sat stone-faced considering his options, as his mother, the countess of Richmond and Derby, fumed.

“The Yorkist faction insist the boy with Pole is the true heir,” I ventured.

“It’s a lie. The boy is in the tower under guard, living comfortably. They serve Pole and wish to elevate the house of York,” she grumbled.

I flinched. Blanche remained in the tower and I itched to free my wife. The king’s mother eyed me without sympathy.

“The Irish do me no favors,” Henry coldly stated. “Their eagerness to assist Pole shows they use any foolish reason to go against me.”

“They intend to crown the boy and bring him to England.” I risked my life voicing such treason but Welles had politely warned me to hold back no information, no matter how damning.

“We can easily disprove the claim. I’ll have the real boy paraded in the street to quell the rumors.” The countess shrugged off the matter.

Henry nodded but looked to me. “When do they come?”

“Sire, we have a few months at most.”

His eyes narrowed but he remained impassive. “I welcome the challenge to sweep away the doubts. Pole has signed his death warrant.”

I envisioned the king’s mother swinging an axe, relieving John Pole’s head from his body.

“Beaufort,” the king shifted in his seat. “Join with Oxford and his men. From now until we crush Pole the men must be ready to act on a moment’s notice.”

Secretly I had hoped my part in this ended after my time in Ireland.

The door opened and a young woman entered. A tiny, delicate woman dressed in an exquisite kirtle glided across the expanse of the room. The king got to his feet and smiled at her. For the first time I saw Henry in a different light as he took the woman’s hand and kissed it with tender devotion.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured near to her ear. Every man in the room watched, on their knees, entranced by the queen’s presence. The pair whispered for a moment, the closeness of their bodies reminding me of my wife and the few happy moments shared at Somerset Castle. I recognized a man and a woman in love, interested in each other’s needs. The countess of Richmond coughed, a gentle reminder to the couple not to break the propriety expected of royalty.

The queen scanned the room, her regard rested upon me. I
tried not to stare but before I lowered my gaze she offered me a wondrous smile.

“I invite all of you, my husband’s loyal supporters, to dine with us.”

“Yes,” Henry echoed. “Everyone will dine in the great hall tonight.”

It pained me to know Blanche missed the opportunity to meet her kinswoman and queen. I compared Elizabeth’s fair, dainty looks to Blanche’s golden hues and curvaceous figure. York women possessed unmatchable qualities and I understood Henry’s fascination with his wife.

John de Vere, the earl of Oxford, slapped me on the shoulder. “Tomorrow we make plans, but tonight we eat and drink.” A man in his forties and no stranger to fighting, he reminded me of Murdo. To ride with a man of experience eased my foreboding of the coming conflict.

**
**

A pageboy carrying a plate filled with prime cuts of meat set it upon the table for my benefit. “From the high table, milord.”

The high table held fifteen members of royalty and not one of them looked in my direction. A few minor nobles nearby eyed the food enviously but said little. Favors from the king’s circle placed me above them, for now. The king and queen sat side-by-side, smiling at each other. The king’s mother ate sparingly while her husband, Lord Stanley, took his fill. The man that interested me the most, Viscount John Welles, sat with Princess Cecily, his betrothed, offering her his undivided attention. My gaze—drawn to the queen far too often—found Margaret Beaufort’s keen eyes watching the room, noting the men in attendance and commenting to the king. Henry listened and nodded to his mother, but queen Elizabeth captivated him and every man in the room.

The chamber designated for me and my liegeman proved better than expected. I climbed in favor at the royal court. Murdo excused himself with intent to ingratiate himself to earl Oxford, leaving me to enjoy a night of peace as a page arrived with
a message. I read it in disbelief. The queen summoned me to her apartments. A cold fear crept over me. Surely she did not… could not…

I followed the page until we reached an ornate door whereupon he knocked, pushed me inside and walked away. Voices echoed in the apartments and slowly I made my way through an archway leading into a large reception room, I saw the king and queen standing together, holding hands, heads close in conversation. Cecily of York sat on a richly upholstered chair, staring into a blazing fireplace. Three ladies-in-waiting stood together, confused hens in a barnyard.

“Oh, he is here,” the queen uttered.

Henry looked me up and down, with a hint of curiosity as I paid deference, and in walked John Welles, the peacock with a questionable interest in my person.

“The queen wishes to speak with you, Somerset.” Henry’s voice held a slight edge of disapproval. He and Welles walked across the vast room to a small door and left me alone with five women and two guards.

“Come, Somerset.” The queen offered me a seat across from her sister. She sat with Princess Cecily and regarded me with mild interest.

“You must wonder why I have asked you here?”

“Your Grace, if I have offended you in any way...”

Cecily giggled, Elizabeth gave her a quick look.

“You have not offended us. I called you here because of your father.”

“My father? Baron Somerset?”

She stood up, agitated. “This is difficult. I do this out of respect for a great but troubled man. Somerset was not your true father but merely a convenience. My husband promised silence on the matter but I did not. And I believe you must be told the truth.”

Cecily handed Elizabeth a small cup of wine. It shook in her dainty hand.

“When I was a little girl my father brightened my world like the stars in a dark sky, beautiful but unreachable. The king, my husband, is like the sun, he warms me in a cold, unforgiving world.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “You must know of your father, Giles Beaufort, before it is too late.”

Never before did I feel completely unsure of my life than at that moment. A memory, dormant for years, surfaced in my mind. A fleeting image and a deep voice bridged the distance of time.
Giles, my boy, you are clever and strong for a lad of your age.
We once laughed together, my father and me.

“You know him, milady?”

“He died many years ago. I met him once or twice as a young child but did not recall the exact manner of him until I saw you, today.” Elizabeth sipped her wine and I marveled at her queenly composure. Without asking for it she gained my complete and utter devotion as a subject of her realm.

“Your father, in his way, changed the face of England, and it is fitting that you be told of him. But first you must swear an oath of secrecy.”

Hesitation lingered between us. “Mayhap, he wishes not to know.” Princess Cecily jumped up from her seat.

“
I
wish it.” Elizabeth waved her sister away. “You do
want
to know?”

“Yes, your Grace. I do.” Blood pounded through my ears, my breath deepened. This moment with queen Elizabeth defined my person and my place in the world. It mattered very much who sired me and why they could not keep and raise me as their child.

****

Stoke proved a cold, bloody battle on a June day that I shan’t soon forget. Oxford pushed his men hard and fast, and expected obedience. We followed orders, meeting the men John Pole cobbled together, but between his Irish supporters and the men supplied by his aunt, Margaret of Burgundy, he managed a good turnout, even in their roughened state.

King Henry grumbled but did not avoid the coming fight. He despised equally the loss of men and money, and worked toward a speedy end to the threats shadowing his rule. The odds favored the king, according to the report from our scouts.