Queen by Right (73 page)

“Will you forgive me for my unkindnesses to you, Cecily?” she had whispered, tears close. “I have to confess I have always been jealous of you, and I am sorry for it. You have been a rock for me these past weeks, and I find myself grateful for your kindness. Say you will forgive me.” She wiped her nose on her silk kerchief, her eyes brimming.

Once again Cecily softly chided her elder sister: “No tears, remember? And aye, I forgive you.” She patted Anne’s hand. “Let us pray that the next time we meet ’twill be in happier circumstances. But now, look to your grandson, Nan. He needs your love before he becomes someone else’s ward and has to leave you. Enjoy him while you can.”

The road from Maxstoke took Cecily through Coventry, St. Albans, and Barnet. On the third day, the swelling numbers of wagons, riders, and people on foot signaled proximity to London. The mighty spire of St. Paul’s soared into view and the cacophony of the capital reached Cecily’s ears. The unpleasant city odors caused her to raise a sweet-smelling tussie-mussie to her nose, and Edward’s greyhound’s bad breath did not help. A dog lover himself, Buckingham had relented and taken Ambergris in with Cecily and her children, and Meg was hoping Ned would be pleased that his little sister had taken such good care of the animal.

Southwark teemed with frequenters of the many taverns and stews, and Meg stared, fascinated, at the streetwalkers, loitering half naked against the sides of houses and ogling potential customers. Cecily was glad when they turned off the High Street and found Falstoff’s Place, a comfortable two-story mansion with a walled courtyard and secluded garden.

Standing on the steps, waiting to greet their mother and grinning from ear to ear, were Edward, George, and Dickon. Edward went forward to help Cecily from her carriage, and before he could put out his hand to take hers, Ambergris bounded out, almost knocking him over. Meg scrambled out next, laughing, and ran up the steps to embrace George and then Dickon. Cecily found herself lifted from the vehicle by her giant of a son, and she wrapped
her arms around his neck and breathed in the manly scent of leather, horses, and Edward’s favorite oil of orris root.

“Put me down, Ned. I may be a year older than when last you saw me, but my legs still work quite well,” she said, chuckling.

“God’s greeting to you, my lady mother,” Edward murmured, setting her down and kissing her hand. “We are all delighted to see you.”

George and Dickon eschewed all convention and threw themselves into her arms as she knelt on the step to hug them. “My boys, my dearest boys,” she whispered, fighting back tears of real joy. “Meg and I have missed you so.”

“Us too,” George cried. “But Ned has come to see us every single day, has he not, Dickon?” Dickon nodded vigorously, looking up in awe at his eldest brother.

“Just making certain you stay out of trouble, ’tis all,” Edward said with a laugh. “Now, Mother, I hope you will be satisfied with your lodging.”

Taking Edward’s arm and holding Dickon with her other hand, Cecily went into yet another new home followed by Meg and George cosily arm in arm.

A
FEW DAYS
later, Cecily was in her privy chamber writing to her daughter Anne when a servant announced a messenger, whose livery of white and blue embroidered with fetterlocks was thoroughly mudspattered.

“I have a message from his grace, the duke of York, my lady,” he began, down on one knee.

With a gasp of excitement Cecily rose abruptly. “From my husband? Are you come from Ireland, sir?”

The man grinned. “Nay, your grace. My lord of York landed at Chester more than a week ago,” he said, pulling a letter from his tunic. “He commanded me to give you this.”

My best beloved Cecily, I am come home and I greet you well. I have tarried at Chester for a few days but will travel to Ludlow soon on my way to London. It would please me if you would meet me at Hereford, for I would see you as soon as you are able. Can you do that, my love? Ask Edward to fit you out with a suitable vehicle, for I know he is in London with you. Until very soon then. In the meantime, I remain your humble servant and devoted husband, R. York.

Within a day Cecily was back on the road in a magnificent carriage with four pairs of black coursers to pull her swiftly west. While Edward had carried out his father’s wish to find the conveyance for her, Cecily prepared herself to see her husband for the first time in a year by bathing in rosewater, lightening her hair with chamomile and lemon juice, and rubbing her body with musk oil. Gresilde accompanied her mistress, and Edward had hired an escort of a dozen armed men to protect his mother. He had told her that Parliament had been summoned to sit and the king was being brought to Westminster for the opening on the seventh day of October. He expected his father would want to be there.

“And what of the queen?” Cecily had asked, always wary of the whereabouts of Richard’s nemesis.

“She fled into Wales after Northampton. Our informants have no more news,” Edward had told her, playing with a large ruby ring on his forefinger. Every time she saw him Cecily found herself wondering how she and Richard could have borne such a handsome mountain of a man. Even his hands, she noted then, were twice the size of hers.

“I confess, I can hardly wait to see Edmund,” he said now, as he handed Cecily into the carriage. “How good it will be to have the whole family together again.”

“Aye, it will indeed, my son. But until then, I shall trust you to look after the others like a good boy,” she said, and chuckled at his indignation at being called a boy. “Ned, I know you have been in battle, been in exile, and seen much at eighteen, but to me you are still my boy. Now kiss me and be gone. I am in no mind to keep your father waiting.”

W
HEN CECILY ARRIVED
in Hereford, curious bystanders watched the impressive carriage rumble over the stone bridge spanning the Wye, past the square-towered cathedral, and across the drawbridge to the castle.

Cecily could hardly contain her excitement. She hated to have to wait for the captain of her guard to help her out of the vehicle. But as she always did when in the public eye, she walked slowly and confidently on his arm with a pleasant but detached expression on her face as she mounted the steps to the door of the great hall. She had been told that Richard’s pet name for her had been taken up by her countrymen. Proud Cis had come to enjoy living up to it.

Broad-shouldered Roger Ree, beaming a smile of welcome, was waiting for her.

“God’s good day to you, your grace,” he said, bowing low as he kissed her hand and took over escort duties from the captain.

“Good day to you too, Master Ree,” Cecily said. “’Tis glad I am to see you again.”

“I trust you had an uneventful journey. I am a sorry substitute for your husband, in truth, but he is in conference with some of his Welsh captains and hoped you would forgive him for sending me.”

How could she tell this loyal, jovial gentleman that she was disappointed that Richard had not been the first to greet her? She smiled then and assured him she quite understood her husband’s responsibilities.

“I am to take you directly to your apartment, duchess. I trust you will find it to your liking.”

When the door clicked shut, she gasped as she recognized her husband a split second before his hungry arms pulled her to him, his mouth on hers, and his familiar scent intoxicating her. She melted into his embrace, moaning with pleasure. Every nerve in her body tingled at his touch, and every emotion she had experienced over the year of anxious separation threatened to overwhelm her. She believed she was going to swoon.

“Ah, my precious Cis, how I have ached for you,” he murmured, sweeping her off her feet. He carried her to the bed, laid her down as though she were made of the most fragile silk, and carefully removed her elaborate chaperon to free her glorious hair.

Cecily could not speak she was so happy, but she could not take her hands or her eyes off him, caressing his hair now gray at the temples, stroking his face now devoid of beard, and allowing him to remove her shoes and stockings and run his hands up her legs and between her thighs.

“I cannot wait for you, my love,” he murmured, and fumbling with his codpiece, he cursed the points that fought his fingers until she gently undid them for him. In his turn Richard was less gentle as he pushed her skirts aside, and like any virginal boy of sixteen, he unleashed twelve months of pent-up desire into her willing body. They both gasped at the intensity of the rush that engulfed them a few moments later, and then, like embarrassed young lovers, giggled over the speed with which they had accomplished their pleasure.

“Richard, my Richard.” Cecily whispered his name over and over as though
it were a prayer. “I thought never to see you again.” It was the truth she had never dared voice during their enforced separation and his exile, and the relief of feeling him next to her now brought that terrible fear out into the open.

“O thou of little faith,” Richard chided her, propping his head on his elbow and toying with her hair. “It was knowing you were waiting for me that spurred me on. I cursed myself for not taking you with me that night at Ludlow, my love. But my flight was not comfortable and, in truth, you and the children would have endangered us all.”

Cecily nodded. “You were right to go alone, Richard,” she said with a sigh. “We have much to talk of, but we have many years ahead of us to tell each other our adventures and misadventures, and no doubt they will keep us amused on long winter evenings when we are in our dotage.” She might even tell him of her anger after Ludlow one day, she thought, but not now.

Richard chuckled, kissed her, and then got up to straighten his clothes.

“Must you return to the Welshmen?” Cecily asked.

He feigned surprise. “Welshmen? What Welshmen?”

She laughed. “Certes! It was a ruse that you and Master Ree concocted, I’ll be bound. And there was I, cross that you were not waiting on the steps to greet me.” She rolled over and pinched his buttock as he bent to pull on his boot. “This was a far nicer greeting, in truth, but I wonder what Gresilde must think.”

And then the sound she had missed the most truly told her that Richard had returned. He threw back his head and laughed.

As he was leaving the room, he said, “And when you are properly clothed, my dear, I know there is a certain young man who cannot wait to wrap his arms around his mother.”

“Edmund!” Cecily cried, feeling guilty because she had not thought of him once in the past half hour. “My dearest, first find Gresilde for me, and then I will send for him.”

“M
Y PLAN IS
to take my time going to London,” Richard told her as they lay in bed the next morning. “Warwick and I have met, and he has returned to Westminster with a request that the new council issue me a commission to investigate disturbances of the peace in several cities along our way. It will give me a chance to be seen by the populace as a man bent on reform, and if I recruit new followers, I shall not be unhappy.”

He was lying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring at the dingy canopy over the bed.

“Let us not talk of politics, my love,” Cecily said, running her finger along his chest and around his nipples. She was dismayed to find that it failed to arouse him this time. She stared at his hardened profile. Something had changed, she sensed, and yet he had been overjoyed to greet her yesterday.

“Did I disappoint you last night, my lord?” she asked. “Am I grown old and haggard in a year?”

Richard grinned then. “Far from it, my lusty wife. And you tempt me now, but . . .”

“But what, Richard? There is something you are not telling me, I am certain of it. What is it, my love? We have always been honest with each other, have we not? Or have you been so used to keeping your own confidences while we have been apart that you are out of the habit of sharing?”

Richard responded by getting out of bed, pulling his chemise over his head, and going to the fireplace. Cecily sat up, clasped her knees, and waited anxiously.

“I decided in Ireland that if I returned home I would assert my claim to the throne,” Richard muttered. Cecily gasped. “Warwick urged me to do it.”

Cecily was out of bed in a flash. Throwing her bedrobe about her, she went down on her knees to him. “I beg of you, do not do this, Richard. For the sake of us all.”

Richard’s tone softened. “I am sorry, Cis, but it is time. The king has no power over many of his councillors—and they are our enemies. With staunch supporters beside me such as Warwick, Salisbury, and Norfolk, the bishops of Canterbury and London, not to mention Edward, who is distinguishing himself daily, it is time to act. It is time the kingdom had a leader—a real king.”

“Sweet Jesu,” Cecily whispered. “Do you believe Margaret will sit back and allow her son’s right to the throne to be usurped? There will be a bloodbath!”

“Usurped!” Richard cried, angrily. “And what about my right, Cecily? You have always upheld my right. What has changed?”

Cecily rose unsteadily and clutched his arm. “Nothing has changed but you, Richard, and the change frightens me. I have prayed daily for your return, and I had dreams of you standing at the king’s right hand again. But I did not dream of being queen.”

Richard gave a short bark of laughter. “Oh yes you did, Cis. Many years ago, I’ll grant you, but surely you knew after St. Albans that it would come to this?”

Sweet Mother of God, Cecily asked herself guiltily, is this all my fault? Have I created a monster that now threatens to destroy us? Her mind was
reeling, but she knew she must keep her head. Perhaps by the time Richard got to London and she had been able to talk to him further, he would see reason.

B
Y THE TIME
they reached Barnet, Richard had close to eight hundred men with him. He had been so busy along the route that Cecily had hardly seen him, let alone conversed with him. As she sat in her carriage at the rear of the cavalcade, ready for the last leg of the journey, she froze when, amid loud fanfares, she saw the new banner carried high over Richard’s head. Gone was the falcon and fetterlock, and gone was the white rose of York. This standard bore the arms of Lionel of Clarence, signifying Richard’s royal claim as descendant from the second son of a king. It was a direct challenge to the house of Lancaster, descendants of the third son of the same King Edward.