Virgin Widow (41 page)

‘There’s something you should know,’ I warned him tentatively, pulling on Richard’s shoulder.

‘It can wait,’ he murmured against the soft angle where neck meets shoulder, applying himself, quite expertly, to ribbons and laces. ‘Everything can wait.’

‘It can’t!’

He would discover anyway, but I would rather he knew before the event. So I told him, fighting to ward off that illogical sense of shame. Sitting on my bed, I told him the how and where and why of it, forcing myself to watch the reaction on his face. Did
I tell him of the terrifying closeness between Margaret and her son that curdled my stomach? No, I did not. Some things were beyond me to talk about. I kept them locked tight in my heart, like a damaged jewel at the bottom of a casket. I did not tell Richard that, but as I told him the rest the tears that had never fallen then dripped silently down my cheeks into the lace of my collar. The first and only tears I had shed over the Prince since that dreadful night. Then I found that I could no longer speak, for on a shattering sob I could not stop the tears, as if I wept at last for myself, for my father’s death, for the loss of my mother and my sister. Even more ashamed, I covered my face with my hands and turned away. But Richard would not allow me to grieve alone. He held me silently within the shelter of his arms until I could cry no more.

The storm passed. Richard mopped prosaically at my wet cheeks. ‘I must look terrible,’ I sniffed, horrified with the prospect of red and swollen eyelids.

‘Never to me,’ he stated bluntly, making me look up at him, at the raw pain in his face. ‘I didn’t know, Anne.’

‘The whole Angevin Court did.’ The old mortification swept over me. ‘I felt dishonoured beyond bearing.’

‘He never touched you.’

‘Not without six layers of clothing between us.’ My voice caught on the wretched attempt at humour.

There was no answering gleam in Richard. Rather his eyes had a flat and hard glitter, as did his reply. ‘I
despise him for it. I would kill him again, today, tomorrow, and thank God as I spilled his blood, for inflicting that on you.’ The low pronouncement was far deadlier than any blaze of fury.

‘It was not entirely his own doing,’ I felt driven to excuse.

‘Ha! God’s Blood!’ His hands tightened about mine. ‘Would I degrade you publicly at the insistence of my mother?’

No, he would not. I knew beyond doubt that Richard would never put me through such degradation. ‘I just thought I should tell you.’

‘Well, now you have. So there’s an end to it.’ Such a casual dismissal, I might be piqued by it, except that I knew his motive. There was nothing casual about Richard of Gloucester. He would draw my thoughts away from the horrors of the past, any inclination I might have to dwell on them. I could feel by the tension in his shoulders that his own anger had not dissipated to any degree.

‘Thank you.’ I kissed him. ‘An end to it. A beginning for us.’ And saw at last the hot temper begin to loose its grip as his mouth curved into the hint of a smile.

‘Your courage astounds me,’ he said. ‘And now I’ll do all in my power to make you forget. It has no part in our life together.’ His smile widened. ‘I find that I am not sorry that you are a virgin widow, after all. My kisses were an assault, did you say?’

‘I did.’

‘Let me make amends.’

As the bars of sun spread across the quilt, making of it a strangely gilded prison, Richard proceeded to teach me, his virgin widow, step by amazing step, all the things the Prince had callously retreated from. I gloried in it, Neville pride subsumed beneath Plantagenet possession. Who possessed whom? I swear Richard’s control was not what he thought it to be when he showed me how passion can make a woman forget the worst of experiences, whilst I was astonished at what I did not know, eager to learn, delighted with my new knowledge. He made love to me as I would have expected, with a thorough intensity, a consideration, as if I were the centre of his world.

He was, for sure, the centre of mine. And if an assault was what it was, I welcomed it. Glowed in response to the onslaught of mouth and hands. Curled my fingers into his dark hair as he wound mine into a living shackle around his wrist. Shivered beneath the power of a fluidly muscled body.

I cried out when Richard made me his. A glorious victory.

At last I lay beside him as my breathing settled, as did his, as sleep stole up on us. Richard was rarely at rest, I mused, as I simply lay and watched him, the lines about his mouth relaxed, the firmly determined mouth a little soft. There was the hint of vulnerability
again, when he was unguarded. So much energy to stir and drive him. Where would it take him, and where would it take me as his wife?

I too fell asleep.

‘What happens to me now?’ I asked, allowing the nails of my right hand to track across the hollow of his back, splaying my fingers against the sleek muscles of his hip. Richard shivered. One of my new skills, happily practised, to undermine his control.

Richard grunted in pleasure, words muffled with his face buried in the pillow. ‘You must stay here.’

‘Indefinitely?’

At last he turned his head. ‘Impatient as ever!’ But with his hand on my cheek, the lips that followed were infinitely loving.

‘I am. Can I talk to you about my mother?’ And silently cursed myself as immediately I saw the warmth and openness of the past hours drain away. We might pretend that all was put to rights between us, but there were still shadows that disturbed him and left me uncomfortably aware of the dark corners of my ignorance.

‘I know it brings you grief, Anne, but not now. Not yet. I’ve not forgotten her and I know you want a settlement for her.’

‘And her release,’ I persisted. ‘I won’t have her kept in Beaulieu for the rest of her life.’

‘There are difficulties there…’

‘I don’t understand why…’

‘Later. I will do what I can, I promise it. When the time is right. Does that satisfy you?’

‘No!’

‘Why did I think it would?’ A wry twist of his lips. ‘But I swear on my honour that I will not forget. Allow me a little space in which to manoeuvre.’

‘And exactly how would you plan to manoeuvre now…?’ My fingers stroked, lured.

‘I’ll show you…’

And he did.

I had to be content. I had so much else to be happy with. It shames me, but my own joy filled my heart to the exclusion of all else.

Edward was back, leaving the nobility of the Welsh Marches simmering in discontented peace. Richard was summoned to report. Now perhaps my own future would be settled.

‘What does the King say about me?’ I asked Richard as soon as he crossed the threshold. The peace, the seclusion of my sanctuary, was beginning to pall.

‘Nothing that pleases me.’

I had wanted plain speaking, had I not? I got it and didn’t like what I heard. ‘He won’t support us against Clarence?’ My brows rose at the perfidy of it. ‘He was
fulsome enough in his praise for me as a prospective wife when you first asked his permission.’

‘Nothing quite so definite. But you know how Edward is. He dislikes to commit himself to anything without some escape route if he becomes hard pressed.’ Richard bared his teeth at the memory of some edgy conversation with his brother. ‘The King’s moved to play fast and loose with any promises he’s made in the past. With the Welsh threat on his mind he wants Clarence with him, not against him. We knew that was so, but I’d hoped he would not be so easily swayed. And Clarence—God damn him!—is breathing fire and damnation over this whole business.’

‘So does the King want us to marry or not?’

‘He’s considering it again.’

‘Do we have a dispensation?’ I demanded, annoyance building.

‘No.’

‘Would the King actually work against it? Advise the Pope against it?’

Stretched out in the one chair the room boasted, Richard studied his feet, crossed at the ankle, as if he had never seen the soft boots before, whilst he thought. I could see it was a matter that had worried his mind. ‘I don’t know. He might. I know why he’s doing it and can’t damn him for it. He’ll protect England from further bloodshed, as I would if I were
King, by any means he can, and if that means keeping Clarence at least marginally satisfied…’

‘So it’s hopeless.’ I stared accusingly. ‘Do I stay here, unwed, until I die?’

‘Well…’ Ignoring my crossness, suddenly Richard lifted his gaze from his footwear and smiled fully at me with a quizzical gleam. He pushed to his feet, took my hand and drew me with him to the window to look out over the street, his fingers tapping restlessly on the ledge. ‘There’s one remedy to all of this,’ he announced, turning his head to look at me.

‘What?’

‘I’ve an idea. But you must trust me. Do you trust me, after all that has happened?’ He studied my face as if trying to read my thoughts, with just a hint of mischief as if he might dare me to take a risk. Like leaping the stones across the river at Middleham without falling in. Then—at eight years old—I had risen to the challenge—and got my feet and skirts wet and the sharp edge of Margery’s tongue. But now…After recent experiences, it struck me that I might be wise not to trust any man.

‘Is there danger?’

‘Danger? No.’ Hs lips curved. ‘I didn’t take you for a coward, Anne Neville!’

‘I’m not! But…’

‘Do you trust me?’

I frowned at him. ‘Yes…’ Because Richard, I decided, was not just any man.

‘Prove it!’ His hands, smoothing slowly, shiveringly, down along the length of my back to force me close against him, left me with no real choice.

Richard’s scheme, whatever it might be and for which he demanded my trust, had perforce to be shelved since the recalcitrant Welsh, launching another uprising, demanded Richard’s renewed absence. His leavetaking was brief, his squire waiting below with horse and weapons, a tidy force already on the march to the west.

‘I’ll be back when I can.’ A fast kiss, a pressure on my hands within his, palm to palm.

‘I shall miss you.’

He cast an eye around the empty room. ‘Shall I buy you some creature to keep you company?’

‘Not finches!’ I announced, more than abruptly, before I could think.

‘I was thinking of a lap dog to sit at your feet and yap to give warning of visitors!’ he remarked drily, startled. ‘I won’t force one on you!’ He must have seen the distress in my face. His brows arrowed together. ‘Why not birds? My mother has a popinjay I wouldn’t wish on the Devil, but singing birds in a cage…Surely…?’

‘No!’ I shook my head furiously.

‘Ah!’ He rubbed his thumb contemplatively along
the line of my jaw. ‘Perhaps you’ll tell me some time.’ And he let me be.

‘Yes. Keep safe, Richard.’

So he was gone. And I could not admit to being too disappointed in his absence, for of those weeks of lonely vigil I seemed to spend much of the morning hours vomiting painfully. It was a situation guaranteed to engage my mind from missing him.

‘Death could be easier,’ I gasped as nausea shook me once again when Margery placed a bowl of some noxious substance before me—hot milk laced with mint, I thought with a grimace—with instructions to drink.

Margery surveyed me, hands on hips, uncertain whether to frown at me in holy disapproval or rejoice. ‘You should have felt more sympathy for Lady Isabel. You’ll soon come around, when the first weeks have passed.’ Then rejoicing won. ‘I warrant his Grace will be pleased. Who’d have thought you’d have been caught so fast?’

‘I wish I hadn’t!’

Unlike my mother’s early difficulties, I had fallen for a child almost immediately. Despite my denials, I did not know what I felt about this unlooked-for complication, even when the sickness stopped abruptly, leaving me full of energy and rude good health. I could not imagine Richard being delighted at the prospect, whilst I was battered by a crowd of
difficulties. Unwed. No prospect of marriage within the near future. No dispensation on the horizon. No one to give me advice or word of comfort, certainly not Isabel, and I firmly slammed the door against any thought of the Countess, whom I found I needed more than ever.
Trust me.
I doubted Richard had this in mind when he had assured me of his competence to manage all things.

‘Let’s hope my lord of Gloucester is still of a mind to wed you!’ Margery returned to her mode of righteous censure. I could almost see fornication written in her mind. Richard might do no wrong. It was I who had been at fault.

‘Let’s hope indeed.’

I would not choose to have my child born out of wedlock with the condemnation of the Church and the tongues of the gossips lashing against me. Women were expected to be chaste; the tolerance offered to men would not be extended to me. And who had lured whom? I remembered my own wilfulness with contrition and in a lowering of spirits wished it all undone…

Except that this complication that was not complicated at all, this promised child brought Richard close. At night I folded my hands over my belly and dreamed of an unattainable future where there was nothing to disturb me beyond the wealth of the next harvest or the state of the honeycombs in the beehives at Middleham. I would relinquish everything for that.

‘Come home, Richard,’ I whispered into the soft down of the pillow. What would he say when I told him? I would have to trust him, even as I awaited his return with less than unalloyed pleasure.

They weren’t quite the first words I uttered on our reunion, but not far off. I knew he was back in London, knew I must wait on the convenience of the King, who had demanded a thorough dissection of the Welsh situation. Knowing I would never be first in Richard’s priorities, I had come to accept it. Even so I paced impatiently, to peer through the window every time the clip of hooves signalled an approach.

And then he was with me. I thought he looked tired, as if he had ridden long and hard. Nor had he stayed to change his garments, one of those little details that lit a flame beneath my heart. At least only the King took precedence. Without words he held me tight in a cloud of dust and horse and sweat. I revelled in it, in the scrape of his jaw, rough with dark stubble, against my cheek as his hands fisted in my unbound hair, for I kept no state.