Virginia Henley (20 page)

Her thoughts drifted to his second wife. How curious that he would not speak of her! She wondered idly where she could glean some information. She was willing to bet Mr. Burke had been Ravenspur’s household chamberlain for more than eight years. She fell asleep determined to learn all she could on the morrow and in the days to come.

* * *

Dressed in a pretty wool riding dress, Roseanna ran lightly along the corridor to Rebecca’s chamber. “It’s a glorious morning, Rebecca. I’m going for a ride to familiarize myself with the countryside. Would you care to join me?”

Rebecca, roused from sleep, sat up in bed and blinked. “What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

Roseanna drew back the heavy curtains to let in the autumn sunshine. “It isn’t the middle of the night. It’s past eight in the morning. See, your husband’s already up and about.”

Rebecca made a face. “Tris doesn’t bother to come to my bed most nights.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Rebecca,” she said shyly. “I thought you were in love.”

“I am—that’s the trouble. But he doesn’t care a fig for me.”

“But he must have loved you, or why would he have chosen you for his wife?” pointed out Roseanna.

Rebecca looked woebegone. She whispered, “I was foolish enough to let him seduce me. He got me with child. Ravenspur was the one who insisted he marry me.”

“You have a child?” asked Roseanna in amazement.

“A little girl. She’s back at Ravenspur with her nurse.”

“Don’t you miss her?” asked Roseanna, trying to understand the girl’s apathy.

She shrugged. “I’m usually not feeling well enough to look after the child. Her nurse does a much better job than I ever could.”

“Oh, Rebecca, all your ideas are exactly the opposite of mine! I want to take hold of you and shake you! You say you are in love with Tristan, yet you’re not willing to
make any effort to secure his interest. You purge yourself of food so you won’t become fat, but you don’t realize that it makes you listless, apathetic—almost an invalid!”

“It’s easy for you to talk,” said Rebecca, showing a little spirit at last. “You’re beautiful, slim, full of vitality, and your husband is besotted with you.”

Roseanna ignored the last of her words and replied to the first. “You think I’m slim, yet my breasts are twice as full as yours.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m fat and lumpy.”

“My God, you exasperate me. I could rattle your teeth! You have a totally warped picture of yourself. You are emaciated, Rebecca! What can I do to drive home the fact that you are killing yourself?” Roseanna was suddenly struck with an idea and acted on impulse immediately. She took off her dress and her chemise, peeled off her stockings, and dragged Rebecca from her bed. Both naked, they stood in front of the mirror together. Rebecca was so white and thin, she looked no more than twelve years old. Her ribs were completely visible, her stomach was concave, and her breasts were little empty sacks. In contrast, Roseanna’s flesh glowed with health. Her hips curved saucily, and her breasts thrust up firmly. Rebecca burst into tears.

Instantly filled with compassion, Roseanna said, “Oh, love, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I only meant to show you that you are hurting yourself.”

“How can I look like you?” whispered Rebecca.

Roseanna began to dress. “You must eat—and exercise a little. I don’t mean go crazy all at once, but you must try to eat three small meals every day and be determined never, ever to make yourself vomit again.”

“I’ll try,” promised Rebecca tearfully.

“Good! You will sit next to me in the hall, and we will be company for each other. After a few days when you get some strength back, we’ll begin walking and riding. You’ll see—energy begets energy! Once we restore your beauty, we’ll begin working on Tristan. You have handed him over to other women on a silver platter. We will turn all that around and break
his
heart for a change.”

“Do you mean I should try to make him jealous by flirting with other men?” asked Rebecca.

“If you want to flirt with someone, flirt with Tristan. He’ll respond instantly. You’ve neglected him far too long. I’m off on my ride now, but I’ll come for you tonight, and we’ll go to the hall together. Wear something very pretty.”

The King’s youngest brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, had arrived at the first light of dawn. He had ridden all night, since he did everything with great intensity. Roger took him up to the barbican tower, where they could consult maps and see if Richard was being followed, as he half suspected he was.

“Roger, I know in my heart that our brother George is plotting treason, but Ned just won’t listen to me. He won’t face facts. I’ve been patrolling the Scottish borders. Warwick is inciting the rebels in the North, led by Robin Mendell. My spies saw a meeting between them. Warwick would not try to bring down the King unless he had someone to replace him, someone standing by ready, willing, and eager to assume the kingship as his divine right. George has secretly married Warwick’s daughter! I’d have to be a blind man not to see that they have formed an unholy alliance—the kingmaker and the King’s brother. Why can Ned not see it?”

Roger shook his head. “In his heart he does not want to believe such evil of the brother he grew up with. I
doubt if he will take precautions, because that would show he suspects them.”

“Christ Almighty. Will they have to take arms against him before he’ll do something?” demanded Richard.

Roger nodded slowly, “I think so, Richard. I’ve warned him; we all have. That’s why I’m up garrisoning my northern castles. I know they’re plotting. All I can do is try to find out when and where, then frustrate their plans.”

“I suspect Warwick of plotting with the Scots. I think he’s hand in glove with them. If he gave the nod, we’d have an invasion by the Scots. And on the pretext of safeguarding the nation, God alone knows what measures Warwick would take.”

“Well, we both did our service with Warwick. I’d never make the mistake of underestimating him,” said Roger.

“I also know what Warwick’s capable of. When I was his squire, he knocked my tooth out for allowing a drop of wine to run down to the foot of his silver goblet! The only thing I don’t understand is how a man with such rigid, high standards has thrown in his lot with a weakling like George.”

“You have put your finger on it. He’s not using him because he admires him; he’s using him because he is weak and stupid and vain enough to be manipulated.”

Richard’s eyes scanned the purple hills in the distance. “George was a hateful youth. He was jealous because Ned had a fondness for me. I was much younger and smaller than the rest of them. Well, you know I was the runt of the litter. If I took pleasure in a toy or an animal, he wasn’t satisfied until he’d destroyed it,” said Richard bitterly.

“He was a disagreeable young man,” Roger agreed.

“He hid his savagery from you and Ned because you were older. I recall the time after our father and our brother Edmund were killed. One day he was gloating over some prophecy about ‘the first shall be last and the last shall be first.’ I was only eight at the time, and I asked him to explain the words of the prophecy. He said it was his destiny to become King, and the proof of it was that one of the brothers who stood before him in line to the throne had already been removed. Like a schoolboy, I pointed out to him that if ‘the last were to become first’ then it was I, Richard, who would someday be King of England. He kicked me in the face and broke my nose. Though I was only eight, I learned my lesson with George.”

“Ned offered Warwick the supreme insult when he offered one of the Queen’s brothers for Warwick’s daughter,” said Roger.

“That’s another blind spot Ned has. He will not see how venomously the Woodvilles are hated and detested. Westminster is home to all the worst whores, pimps, and thieves in London. If I were in Ned’s shoes, I’d have George and Warwick in the Tower!”

“And half the Woodvilles, too, by the sound of it?” suggested Roger.

Richard laughingly agreed. Suddenly he stiffened. He gazed down into the courtyard. “By God, Roger, you’ve a spy in your midst! There—that fellow is one of George’s men.”

Roger looked down and saw Sir Bryan pass a note to Roseanna and move quickly away. “I have him under constant surveillance until I discern his mission here.” Roger smiled.

“Who was that lovely creature with him?” asked Richard, his jaw hanging openmouthed.

“That was my wife,” Roger said coldly.

    Roseanna, her heart hammering, hid the note inside her glove and walked briskly to the stables. Old Dobbin saddled up Zeus for her. “Lady Roseanna, I’m in sort of a cleft stick.” He looked at her helplessly, which appealed to her instantly. “I’ve orders not to let you go without a good groom. Usually that puts you in a tizzy, but to tell you the truth, I think it’s a sound idea. Better to be safe than sorry, and this far north, you could run into some uncivilized barbarians.”

She smiled at him. “What would you say if I told you my hoyden days are behind me? That now I’m a respectable married woman who acts with discretion on all occasions?”

“I’d say horseshit!” he said bluntly.

“And you’d be exactly right.” She laughed. “Go on, I’ll take a groom. I don’t doubt you’ve already got one picked out.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be right back.” He returned with a squarely built young man who was already booted and spurred. “This is Kenneth. He’s a strong set of lighting muscles, and he’s armed.”

“Good morning, Kenneth.” The young man eyed her warily and answered, “Morning, ma’am.”

“Look, I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other, so let’s make the best of it. Give me a leg up.” Kenneth cupped his hands to boost her into the saddle. She placed her hand on his shoulder to hoist herself up and grinned. “God, you’re as square and solid as a mason’s block!” He grinned up at her, his wariness gone.

In minutes they were out on the dales and fells. The green ferns were turning to bracken. This was the time of year when everything turned from lush green to russet and dun. The heather still bloomed, giving the distant fells a purple hue, but the heather’s stems and leaves were turning to rough brown bracken, too. The fells were dotted with sheep and stone walls, and above them were scudding gray clouds and cries of the lapwing.

They galloped at a pace so fast, they surprised an occasional rabbit or moorhen. To the west in the distance rose the great Penine chain of mountains, linking the moors and the valleys like the backbone of some huge prehistoric monster, Roseanna curved in a wide circle and began to ride in the opposite direction. When at last she brought Zeus to a walk and let him nibble the turf, Kenneth said, “That’s a fine horse. In our stable only Ravenspur’s can compare with it.”

“I bred him myself,” she said proudly.

“So, the tales old Dobbin tells of ye are true then, my lady?”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, I think it’s safe to say he probably didn’t exaggerate. I want to breed some fine horses and build up Ravenspur’s stable.”

“That’s a beautiful white horse ye brought with ye,” he said.

“That’s an Arabian. I’m going to breed him right away, if I can.”

“We don’t have any mares fine enough for him to cover, ma’am. One or two of the knights have some Thoroughbred stallions, but most of the fighting men ride big geldings. We only have one or two mares.”

“I’ll have a look at them, Kenneth. If we don’t have any, we’ll have to buy some. Breeding your own is a long
process. A mare takes a year to gestate, and I suppose most stables find it simpler to buy what they need. But my father taught me how, with selective crossbreeding, you can acquire the very best horseflesh for the very least expense. You’ll see—in a few years Ravenspur’s stables will be the envy of every landowner in the country.” She heard her own words, heard the pride in her voice when she said the name
Ravenspur.
She was speaking of a long time into the future, but she wasn’t even sure of tonight’s events. She shook her head in perplexity.

The note inside her glove pricked her skin as well as her conscience. She dared not open it until she was alone in her chamber. After she returned to the castle, she passed through the main living quarters on the second floor and saw that her husband and Tristan were entertaining a guest.

“Roseanna, come and meet Richard, Duke of Gloucester,” said Roger.

She moved forward with anticipation, her curiosity almost making her forget to curtsey. Then belatedly she sank down before him. “Sire,” she breathed.

The boy before her blushed. “Nay—no formality, I beg you, Lady Roseanna. I am most sorry I was not able to be present at your wedding.”

She couldn’t believe her eyes. He was only about seventeen, slightly built, with dark auburn Plantagenet hair and the most serious air about him that she had ever encountered in a young man. “Welcome to our castle, Prince Richard, I know Ravenspur will show you every hospitality.”

“Yes, he is a loyal friend to Ned and myself. I prize loyalty above all other qualities.” His eyes bored into hers as if he were pressing home a point, and suddenly
the note inside her glove began to burn a hole in her palm.