The Assassin's Wife (40 page)

Thrusting the cards into my bosom, I sketched a curtsey. “Such skill is death, Your Grace.” My hand before my mouth I ran clumsily from the chamber, retching with horror.

* * * * *

I bore Dickon on a dark November night just before my own birthday. Watching streaks of lightning sear the black skies—for I demanded the shutters be opened—I held him fiercely. Gloating, I recalled Mara’s words as I realised this child would walk under the sign of the powerful Scorpion and secretly promised I should cast his fortune to see what lay in store for him. Beside me, Jane Collins crowed with admiration and Miles wept for joy.
 

Nothing can ever destroy this happiness
, I vowed.
Like a vixen with her cub I’ll guard this child with my life.
 

* * * * *

The sound of his mother’s weeping followed him from the abbey. He drew himself upright, smoothing his velvet doublet, anxious to appear adult in front of his escort, shamed by the display of female emotion they’d witnessed. His sisters clung to his clothes and hands, his mother clasped him in her arms
—
a thing most unusual
—
and all the time he could think only of escape. The gloom and confinement depressed him.

Outside, the air smelled fresh. Lifting his face to the sun, he revelled in his new freedom. But where were the adoring crowds to greet him? Instead of riding in splendour to the palace, someone bundled him in a sable cloak, the stifling hood drawn over his face, and carried him through winding alley-ways. Were they afraid someone might recognise him?

Somewhere along the way the elderly prelate into whose care his mother entrusted him, disappeared, and a new guardian was appointed—a stripling with a sly face who sported a white boar badge.
 

The lofty palace walls filled him with alarm. No guards and no courtiers? Surely this dark, spiralling staircase couldn’t lead to the royal apartments?

Thrust into a fire-lit chamber where a bishop in splendid robes stretched out a welcoming hand, he stood on his own feet at last. Kissing the ruby ring in homage, he looked up into a hawk face whose yellow eyes gleamed fierce and predatory.
 

“Your brother will be glad to see you.” Something so sinister in the silky voice frightened him. He turned to run but the door slammed with a resolute thud. “Now both of you will be safe together
—
”

I woke in darkness sweating with fear. Beside me, Miles lay far away in dreaming of his own, his mouth curved in a smile, one hand thrown careless on the pillow. Heart still racing, I slipped from the bed.

“Mistress Forrest—”
 

The little wench appointed to wait on me rose from her pallet by the cradle, like a ghost. I gasped, snatching at the bed-post for support.

“The babe?”

“Sleeping, Mistress.” The girl held my arm while I stooped to peer at the swaddled bundle. “You should rest, too. You’re still weak. Will I pour you some wine?”

“I had a bad dream. I was frightened. I wanted to save the boy—”

“He’s quite safe, Mistress.” She helped me back into bed and held a goblet of wine to my lips. “New mothers often have nightmares. It’s normal to be anxious. Try to sleep while you can.” She waited as I swallowed a mouthful and leaned back with exhaustion. “The babe will wake you soon enough.”

She proved right. Startled by fretful wails, I sat up. For an instant, I looked round bewildered. Then the girl laid the babe into my arms. My heart melted at the sight of the soft mouth, the down of black hair, the huge unfocussed eyes, but even as I gazed in adoration the dream persisted, prickling my nerves.

The boy I’d seen before. A merry little knave, Miles would have called him. He’d the kind of face adults call pleasing. The sparkling eyes and red-gold hair would conquer hearts. His dress and manners suggested wealth and breeding. He and the older boy looked so alike— surely brothers? Miles laughed when I suggested they might be the Wydeville princes but somehow this made sense. The white boar badge intrigued, for it was Gloucester’s personal device. Those spiralling stairs seemed familiar too. Surely the palace must be the Tower? But what was happening and why all the secrecy? And what was Stillington’s purpose? The eager look in his eyes taunted me with its duplicity. He meant to harm those boys.

Filled with terror, I looked down at my own babe nestled close in my arms and remembered the pledge I’d made to guard him with my life. But didn’t those other boys need my protection too? If I couldn’t persuade Miles to help me find them, I must devise another way. Too long I’d revelled in my own preoccupations. “Perhaps the time hasn’t yet come.” Brother Brian’s voice reminded me of the purpose that had set my childhood dreams in motion. “Perhaps the time is now,” I whispered to the child in my arms.

Chapter Fifty

In late March, Lady Anne summoned me back to her bower-chamber.

“I’ve missed you, Nan.”

Sunlight bathed the blue and gold floor tiles, gilded the oaken panels. From the casement where her sewing women bent over their embroidery came the gentle cooing of doves. But the little duchess paced restlessly before the hearth, her book and chess pieces discarded, needlework crumpled like rag.
 

“I’m afraid.”
 

Her slanting green eyes fixed upon me. Tension gripped the slender body. “My husband needs this son. I can’t fail him again—”

“You’re young, my lady.” My eyes travelled over the almost flat belly. I attempted levity. “No need to fear. Why, even Queen Elizabeth had three daughters before she bore the king a son.”

Her pretty features twisted. “Aye, but all the wenches lived. The Wydeville women have no trouble bearing children.”

“All women fear childbirth.” I placed my hand over hers in an impulsive gesture of affection. “Why, when Dickon was born you were with the Duke in London so you didn’t see how frightened I was.”
 

“You never seem afraid. Dickon’s such a lusty little boy.”
 

The envy in her tone, the involuntary tremble of her lips, made me ache with pity.
 

“Such fear is natural among women of every class, believe me. But afterwards it’s all worthwhile.” With pride, I recalled the healthy, squirming body I held in my arms each day. I hated leaving him in the nursery. “You’ll see—This time it’ll be different.”
 

“Will it?” She bruised me with a searching stare, gripping my hand. How strong her grasp seemed for one so seemingly frail. “Will you look into the cards to see if this time I’ll bear a healthy, living son?”

I pulled my hand away, glancing at the other end of the chamber where the sewing women chattered and the doves’ croon continued undisturbed.

“Your Grace, I told you last time to be patient until spring. And now spring’s upon us.” I indicated the huddled women. “My husband’s warned me not to indulge in fortune telling. It’s not safe—”

“
My
lord goes hawking in the afternoon,” she said. Lightly she disregarded my excuses. “We’ll not be disturbed by men-folk then. Come to my private chamber so we may speak freely.” She smiled like a conspirator. “A secret,” she whispered. The green eyes danced. Why did Lady Anne keep secrets from her lord?
 

I sought solace in the nursery.
 

“What’s put the storm-clouds in your face?” Jane Collins gave me one of her sharp looks.

I shook my head.

“Tha’ll not stop him drinking in the tavern.” She assumed Miles and I had quarrelled and I didn’t disabuse her. “And tha’ll not stop him chasing after lasses.” She folded blankets with a practised hand. “A full belly and a willing wench is all men want out of life. Oh, and a fight now and then to give them summat to shout about. I remember the Cade Riots and all the men swearing they’d follow him to the death. A lot of foolish bluster—”

“Cade?”

“Aye, Jack Cade—a rogue who thought he could put the world to rights. Raised up poor folk to disobey their masters and brought nowt but trouble. My husband and his cronies made a deal of noise but when Cade came to a bad end they shut their gobs and ran home with their tails between their legs—”

I laughed along with her. I’d no illusions about Miles’ violent temper. Too much ale made him argumentative and turned him into a braggart. But it didn’t stop me loving him. He handled a sick horse and delivered a foal with such tenderness I wept. At such times my misgivings evaporated. In the privacy of our chambers I saw a softness, an affection he kept from others. I didn’t doubt the nature of his love.

“The Duchess will soon have her own babe to put in the nursery.”

Jane Collins shook her head, plain face sombre, mouth down-turned. “It’s still a way till June. Let’s hope she’ll carry this one to full term.” She crossed herself.

“Do you believe in prayer?”
 

“I don’t know, lass.” Weary resignation marred her face. “I’ve said enough in my time, but few were answered.”

I leaned over the cradle where Dickon slept, chubby arms outstretched. I couldn’t resist touching the soft dark hair upon his brow. How beautiful he was! I longed to scoop him up into my arms and hug him to my breast. No love, not even my powerful feelings for Miles, burned as strong as this fierce maternal affection.
 

“Don’t wake him, lass.” An indulgent smile softened Jane Collins’s coarse features. “Emma’s had a troublesome time with yonder rogue.”

“I think he’s a tooth coming,” the nursery-maid said. “He’s such a lovely babe. I hope the duchess will have one just like him!”
 

“I wonder why some women bear as easily as farm-cats and others struggle,” I said. Lady Anne’s panicked eyes still seared my mind.

“These gently born ladies are too delicate. They’ve no strength or stamina. Look at Lady Anne’s sister, poor Isabelle—one miscarriage after another and dead before Christmas.”

“But the queen’s borne many children.”
 

Mistress Collins shuffled uncomfortably, her eyes shifting away from mine. Her hesitancy made me bold. “I’ve heard say she uses sorcery to ensure their well-being. Her mother’s supposed to be a powerful witch.”
 

Pursing her lips, Jane Collins looked at Emma tending one of the stirring Metcalf babes. “I’ve heard that too. I know nowt about witchcraft, lass, but if I did I’d be the first to use it for our little Duchess, and that’s the truth. For all his so-called devotion, the Duke grows impatient. No man’ll keep a barren wife. She needs all the help she can get.”

And I needed no other answer.

I hid the cards in my bodice when I went to seek Lady Anne that afternoon.

* * * * *

“What is it? What do you see?”

She leaned so close over the little table her breath fanned my cheeks. Her eyes darted back and forth, restless, famished.
 

“A successful enterprise.” I touched the painted images with the tips of my fingers. “The Sun signifies happiness, and the Chariot overcomes all obstacles, brings the realisation of your hopes—”

Two hectic spots bloomed in her cheeks like rosebuds, her breathing grew rapid, her eyes glittered with excitement.
 

“You must be careful of your health.” I picked up the Six of Swords, overwhelmed by her trust in me. Suppose I’d been mistaken? Meeting her gaze, I marked the dark hollows beneath her eyes, the pallor of her lips. She looked too sickly for childbirth.

“Though you’ve powerful friends, you must be wary. Many seek their own preferment.” I explained each card in turn. “There’s danger round you—”

“But I’ll have my son!” She whirled about the chamber, hugging her arms about herself, heedless of all else, while I cringed from a shower of blood and watched a wasted hand reach for a fallen crown beneath the twisted spikes of a hawthorn bush.
 

Chapter Fifty-One

“It’s too soon.” Jane Collins wrung her hands. “A seven month child won’t live.”

I tore my hair in a frenzy of urgency, finally dragging her from the safety of the nursery.

“We must save him!” Desperation made me savage. “Lady Anne’s in great distress. She’s set such store by this child, I can’t see her disappointed.”
 

I forced Mistress Collins down the steps, cursing the cruel April morning, the bane of women, the injustice of life—anything I thought might rouse her from despair. “You can’t just give up! She needs us!”

In the lying-in chamber an ivory-faced wench, wincing under the whip of Lady Anne’s screams, made hurried preparations.

“I sent the others away.” I glanced at the midwife, emptying out the herbs I’d collected. “They were more trouble than help. This one at least has some sense.”