The Exiled (24 page)

Then he turned her face to his as she sobbed and he kissed the tears, kissed her soft mouth; kissed and kissed her. Deeply and sweetly and more deeply still. And the tears stopped, although Anne was profoundly shaken to feel the depth of the fear and sadness she had suppressed for so long.

‘We have time. We have time. And we must never be parted again. You, and my son — we are all connected now, by blood.’

He murmured the words, breathing them into her. Willingly, she tasted his mouth on hers, her breath quickening, closing her eyes, losing thought, losing sense.

He kissed her ears, the column of her throat, the division between her breasts as he detached the pins from her henin.

‘Your hair, unpin your hair.’

It was so easy to do and soon her hair was a warm, bright cloak, falling to her waist. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, Edward undid each of the pearl buttons on her sleeves and a moment later the topaz dress slithered to the floor. Anne stood naked in the king’s arms.

Edward’s body was against hers, his hard torso, his belly pressed with hers, skin to skin.

‘Will you stay with me, Anne? Let this be our wedding night too.’ He whispered it, his voice shaking slightly. She sighed tremulously and opened her eyes.

‘Sire, there can never be marriage between us.’

She spoke without thinking and in no sense was she bitter: it was the honest statement of a fact.

Mutely he pulled her to him. ‘Perhaps fate has meant to torment us in this way. I do not know why. I only know I love you and I cannot bear to have you leave me again.’

Now it was Anne who rocked the king, gently, to and fro, holding him for comfort — hers and his.

‘I have told them all that he is Aveline’s son. My sister’s son. I’m called his aunt.’

She found it difficult to tell the king — as if the deception had betrayed both of them.

Edward stepped back from her, holding her from him at arm’s length as he looked into her eyes.

He smiled as one fingertip gently traced its way down the planes of her face to find her mouth.

‘We do what we must to survive. And you’ve survived right well, it seems to me. You are very rare. A prize of great worth, not merely a prince of the blood.’

He tried not to drop his gaze, but he lost that battle. His voice grew husky as his eyes roamed over her body though his hands stayed still on her shoulders.

‘Stay with me, Anne. I’ve dreamed of you.’

Perhaps a sensible woman would have had the strength to walk away, but Anne was fiercely hungry and she wanted this man with the same passion he wanted her.

Thus, for answer she kissed him lingeringly on the mouth, as she began, slowly and deliberately, to unlace the king’s close-fitting hose which was all that separated her naked body from his.

It took all the physical discipline he had to stand there, shivering voluptuously, as with tantalising delicacy she slid her hands down his body, easing the hose down over his buttocks, down his thighs and yet further down so that he could step out of them.

For one incandescent moment they stood apart, completely naked, before Edward pulled her, unresisting, into his arms and down onto the couch.

At first she found that she was lying on his chest, conscious that her legs had parted. Then, suddenly and deftly, he had her underneath him, sliding deep inside her body in the same moment. They both gasped as, mouth to mouth, he began to move so gently, so sinuously that she began to moan, she could not help herself, wanting him deeper, ever deeper.

His hand was between them and he was stroking her as he moved a little faster, a good deal harder.

‘Ah, Jesu ... you’re so wet,’ he was panting, trying to control the pleasure as she writhed beneath him, eyes wide, mouth open and hungry for his.

‘Let me kiss you.’ She could barely speak as he took her buttocks in each of his hands so that he could pull her closer, more closely onto his body as he moved more and more powerfully in and out of hers. He plunged his mouth down as the heat built in his belly and he felt himself grind against her hips as she moved beneath him, opening herself, allowing him higher and higher.

The rhythm between them was so perfect that as he thrust she rose to meet him. They were helpless in the moment as he drove into her again and again, and she began to moan louder and louder, almost singing as the sense of their separate beings was dissolved and they were connected in a brilliant, fierce, incandescent wave that built and built between them until it crashed and took them both down, down so deeply, into resonant peace. They lay together, silent now, slick with sweat as sweetness flooded their bodies and the sounds of the night gradually returned.

It would have been easy to glide into sleep, and blessed also, but Edward lay with his eyes open, one hand gently caressing Anne’s rounded hip, as the candles guttered in their sconces.

She too was silent, content and determined to hold thought at bay for a brief period more as she savoured his smell and her heart ceased hammering in her chest.

‘I am here for ten days. Then we return to England. I want you to come back with me.’

Anne sat up and looked down on her lover. It was a reflex action to cover herself with the green coverlet. She smiled a little sadly.

‘Edward, you exiled me.’

‘That can be revoked! If I choose.’

‘But listen to me, my love. You know nothing of my life. I have commercial interests here, a business.’

‘And you have our son.’ He said it gently but with purpose. ‘He must meet his father. And if I have no other son ...’

There, it was said. An acknowledgment that their child figured in the succession of England; if he had no other son. Yet Anne knew the queen was pregnant; it had been freely gossiped about as the wedding barges made their way up the canal. Had that only been this morning?

‘Let me see you. We have nothing to hide from one another now, and you are very beautiful.’ Was it strange that she felt no shame? Perhaps she was a child of the devil after all — the priests would certainly tell her so. Anne shrugged to herself; she did not care for priests’ opinions now. Did she?

The king smiled tenderly at her, unaware her thoughts were so far away, but then he frowned as he traced the white line of scar beside her breast which was all that remained of the attack.

‘What is this?’

‘I was attacked. A crossbow. Someone paid to have me killed, and they nearly got their money’s worth.’

There was a moment’s shocked silence and then Edward was furious. It was terrifying. Anne, for the first time, was frightened of what Edward might truly do, might truly be capable of. God, never let them be enemies!

‘Who? Who has done this thing?’

Anne said nothing. There was so much to absorb now, so much to take in and consider; it was not the time for impetuous unburdening.

‘I have made enemies, commercial enemies.’ She was reluctant to say even this; touched his arm to calm him.

‘Anne, do you know who tried to murder you?’

A sudden, discreet knock at the door shocked them both. Edward shouted out, very annoyed, ‘Go away! I am not to be disturbed.’

A timorous voice answered.

‘Sire, a thousand apologies, but it is reported ships have been sighted off Sluis, bearing the queen, your wife’s standard. The Duchess Cicely instructed you should be told.’

Edward’s face hardened as he absorbed this news. He pulled Anne protectively closer, slipping an arm around her waist as he shouted.

‘Does the Duke know?’ There was a momentary silence during which whispers and shuffling could be heard on the other side of the door.

‘We sought to tell Your Majesty first.’ The inference was plain. No one was brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to disturb the duke on his wedding night.

Edward cursed roundly under his breath. ‘God’s very bones ...’ then shouted out, ‘I shall let you know my pleasure shortly. Go away!’

Anne couldn’t help it; at this moment of greatest tension she giggled — and the almost tangible cloud of black fury around Edward began to dissipate. ‘Your pleasure, Lord King? I doubt that’s for discussion or publication.’

Edward smiled down at her, kissed her softly, then sighing, held her unspeaking. Elisabeth Wydeville was close and it was a shattering blow to them both. Anne took the initiative.

‘I will leave, Edward. But you know where I — where we live.’

Edward was angry now, with a deep, controlled sense of purpose. The queen never did anything without a plan and following him to Burgundy, after he had left her as regent, was not only strange, it was dangerous. He would look a fool in the eyes of the European leaders assembled for this wedding. If the King of England could not rely on his wife to support him in his decisions, what could he expect from his subjects?

Anne put one finger to Edward’s lips. ‘No doubt there is a most important reason she is here. We have ten days ...’

‘We have a lifetime, Anne. Yours and mine.’

She said nothing. He had married the queen in haste, that was fate. But Edward and Elisabeth
were
married; they would stay married — a king did not put aside his queen for love.

And Anne would never become his leman, his official mistress — she was too proud for that.

Nothing had changed.

E
lisabeth Wydeville had surprised them all. For a woman halfway through her latest pregnancy, she had proved a good sailor, and even though the crossing from England had been unseasonably wild, others of her court had been gutted by seasickness, but she had not.

Much more importantly, she’d got her way and, as she waited in the cathedral at Damme the day after the wedding to receive her husband, her mother-in-law and the Duke and Duchess of Burgundy, she had reasons to feel well pleased with herself.

She was nervous about meeting Edward, of course, but that was only to be expected. Soon he would understand, and praise her for the action she had taken. Yes, Elisabeth was sure he would be pleased by her presence, when he came to understand.

Why then, if she was so certain of her actions, did she change her dress three times ahead of the audience with Edward; rising from her unfamiliar quarters in the bishop’s best bedroom well before dawn, to drive her servants and her ladies to near insanity with her constantly changing demands?

Simplicity had seemed best to her, in the end, since she was to play the part of penitent but frightened wife and queen, rushing to her husband’s side with news no one else knew or could be burdened with.

Dressed in white almost as plainly as a nun, she was on her knees before the rood screen in front of the high altar of the cathedral, still decked with the flowers and banners of yesterday’s wedding, when Edward was announced to her.

Only iron control continued to keep the smile on her face when she turned towards him as he stalked up the aisle, face clenched and fierce.

Impulsively Elisabeth, Queen of England, bowed her head and knelt most humbly as he approached.

‘Dearest husband — Lord and King — I have dreadful information. Information that only you can hear, and that only I can give.’

She’d voiced the words in a low but urgent whisper and with eyes still respectfully cast to the floor, hurried on.

‘I would never have dared to disobey your order and desert my post as regent — you know that — but the safety of your kingdom is at risk. And the alliance with Burgundy — there is more, much more than you know at stake here.’ That brought the king up short. Burgundy? ‘I’ve been so frightened since I heard, Edward, you must believe me!’

That gave Edward pause. Especially as the queen looked up at him, beautiful eyes filled with frightened tears.

Unwillingly he asked the question. ‘Therefore, tell me what you fear.’

Elisabeth looked around as if expecting assailants to jump out of the shadows of the side chapels. Edward ground his teeth — if he had not known her well, this was a dazzling display of sincere terror. But he did know her, intimately.

‘Well?’ The tone was freezing.

Elisabeth Wydeville straightened her back and raised her head proudly. If he was a king, well, she was a queen.

‘Your brother, sire. And Duke Charles. Treachery.’

A slow prickle made its way down Edward’s back.

‘George?’

The queen nodded her head and whispered.

‘Yes. He has brazenly joined with Warwick and this time there is no hiding the fact. And there is a plot against you here, in this dukedom. Duke Charles is not your friend.’

It was a blow to the heart, but the king was conscious of passing time. Outside, in the Cathedral Square, the duke and his new duchess were waiting to welcome Elisabeth to Burgundy. Edward’s mother, Duchess Cicely, had remained at the Prinsenhof, pleading gut-sickness after the feast of the night before. Perhaps it was an insult to the queen, perhaps not.

Automatically the king bowed to his wife and bent down to raise her up, noting in a detached way that she had chosen a dress that hid her pregnancy. He could not deny she looked very beautiful, almost ethereal, washed by a great shaft of rosy light from a window of the cathedral.

‘Come, Duke Charles waits with my sister the duchess. He is delighted you have joined the wedding party, of course. We will speak of this later ...’

Elisabeth suppressed a smile. How like the king it was to buy time to think. But she had unsettled him, she could tell.

Charles, however, was wary rather than delighted, though he was intrigued to know why the Queen of England had suddenly elected to join her husband in celebration of his marriage. If this woman truly was a witch, would she have the power to see he knew her secret, knew about Lady Anne?

His new duchess was hard-pressed to look welcoming also; and for a moment Charles was alarmed by the mulish frown which transformed that flowerlike face so briefly. There was a sudden glimpse of a formidable woman beneath the skin of the girl-bride. But then he shook the concern away in welcoming his sister-in-law. He had wanted a wife of spirit; all would be well if she consented to learn from his teaching.

And as he bowed to Elisabeth Wydeville, he could not avoid the thought: what a very handsome family they were — and this queen particularly so. If he had not been so well pleased with Margaret, and so suspicious of Elisabeth’s motives, Edward’s wife might have proved an interesting target for pursuit; but then he patted Margaret’s hand fondly. It was far too early in this marriage to be thinking of another woman, a friend’s wife too, when she was the partner of his partner in a most important alliance.