Page 25 of The Rose at Twilight
T HE LONG-AWAITED CEREMONY was over, and the bride and groom, having walked the short distance from Westminster Abbey, entered Westminster Hall to a blare of trumpets and a thunder of cheering and applause from the multitude gathered to greet them.
The palace of Westminster, built by Edward the Confessor and thus even older than the Tower of London, had been used by William the Conqueror as a place where he might be seen in his glory with all the trappings of state about him, to remind potential troublemakers of the king’s power; and the grandeur of Henry Tudor’s wedding procession made it clear that he intended to make similar use of it.
The high gold crown he wore, his rich clothes, and the colorful, enthusiastic crowd of supporters surrounding him and his bride were intended, unquestionably, to create a sense of awe in the minds of all beholders.
The hall was the largest in England, perhaps in all Europe.
Its soaring hammerbeam ceiling, adorned with carved and gilded angels and boasting open arches seventy feet across, was a marvel of engineering, and provided a magnificent canopy for the grand assemblage below.
Around the perimeter, trestle tables had been set up for the feasting, and the royal table, draped with white linen and bowed beneath the weight of the gleaming silver plates and vessels, stood on a dais at the far north end.
Not until the king and his bride stepped onto the dais could Alys or Madeline, standing on tiptoe together near the center of the crowd, see either of them clearly.
The king wore a long purple gown over a doublet of vermilion silk shot with gold thread.
He continued to bear the heavy state crown of Edward the Confessor on his head.
No one looked long at him, however, for at his side, Elizabeth of York stood proud, serene, and beautiful in a close-fitting kirtle of pale blue damask that matched her eyes.
It was worn beneath an open white cloth-of-gold gown, trimmed with ermine and nipped in above her hips with a loose belt of gold plates set with sapphires, rubies, and diamonds.
Her flaxen hair, beneath a jeweled golden caul and coronet, flowed straight and shining down her back to her knees.
Though it hung loose as befitted a virgin bride, she had followed the newest fashion by having it combed tightly back from her forehead but with a little left showing at the front edge of her caul.
Neither her forehead nor her eyebrows had been plucked bare, as had been the custom for so many years.
Alys, sighing, said, “She is lovely.”
Madeline chuckled and said in an undertone that just reached Alys’s ears, “All brides are lovely, but I do not think that fact alone a sufficient reason to emulate them. No husband can be counted upon to treat me as kindly as Father does.”
“You wait,” Alys retorted. “You will have no more choice than anyone else. All women marry unless they take an oath of chastity or become nuns, and I have known you long enough now to be certain you will do neither. Therefore, you will marry.”
Madeline shrugged. “Mayhap you have the right of it, but I have been of age for seven years now and still am unwed, though I know of at least one heiress who was married for the third time when she was only eleven, a full year before she came of age.”
Alys shook her head in amused exasperation.
“Yes, and Anne Mowbray was married to Prince Richard of York when she was six and he only two. But fortunately, neither of us is so great an heiress as that. Indeed, my wardship would be a good deal less bearable if I were, because the Tudor would use it to his own benefit by awarding it to one of his supporters, who would use my fortune as if it were his own until duty commanded him to see me properly provided with a husband.”
Madeline grimaced. “If my father ever threatened to sell my wardship to anyone, I would enter a convent, for I have heard awful tales of such things. When a girl is sold like that by her parents she has no recourse until she reaches her majority. Then she might be permitted to sue her guardian for disparagement if he has forced her to wed below her degree. However, she can say nothing even then about what he might have done with her fortune in the meantime. I think it is disgraceful that wardships can be bought, sold, and fought over like precious jewels while the poor ward is passed from nobleman to nobleman with no more say in the matter than a bolt of cloth. Father would never use me so.”
Before Alys could point out that any female who attempted to foretell what a male might do was asking for trouble, a familiar, albeit quite unexpected, masculine voice sounded behind her.
“Lady Alys?”
She turned sharply, and found herself face to face with Sir Nicholas Merion.
His eyes widened at the sight of her, and when his gaze swept her like a caress, she called down blessings upon Lady Margaret’s seamstresses.
Her gown of sable-trimmed, emerald-green velvet over an underdress of gaily embroidered white satin, fit her slender body like a second skin from her shoulders to her hips, where it flared gently to soft folds around her feet.
Green-satin slippers peeped out when she lifted her skirt to walk, and her hair was concealed beneath a simple matching veil.
She knew the costume became her, but she had not known it would please her so to see appreciation in his eyes.
She had not thought of him for nearly a day, nor had she expected to see him, for when Ian had last mentioned him, only days before, it was to say that he was in Shropshire and that Ian did not know when to expect his return.
He was dressed as magnificently as any man present, in tawny velvet and blue brocaded satin.
The hard muscles in his thighs flexed beneath his tight tan hose when he shifted his position, and feeling telltale warmth leap to her cheeks at the pleasure of seeing him, Alys hastily found her voice and introduced Madeline, whose gown of violet-colored damask Sir Nicholas did not appear to notice.
When he bowed over Madeline’s hand, Alys bent closer to him so that he would hear her over the noise of the crowd and said, “She has been my fellow prisoner, sir. I must tell you we were released from the Tower only today, for these festivities. ’Twas said the order to free us came from the Tudor, but ’tis my belief ’twas the command of the Lady Margaret, for she commands the very air we breathe here, does she not? ”
Sir Nicholas straightened and glanced hastily around, muttering sternly, “Will you never learn to keep your tongue behind your teeth, you foolish wench? Should such words as those be repeated in the wrong quarter, you would find yourself right speedily back whence you came.” His deep voice carried easily to her ears, though she doubted anyone else could hear him.
Nothing daunted—in fact, rather pleased to have aroused him again—she replied sweetly, “I have no objection to returning to Wolveston, sir. Perhaps I shall even be so fortunate as to be accorded your escort for the journey.”
“Believe me, mistress, I did not mean Wolveston,” he retorted. “Nor would such a journey be pleasant, for I have no wish to spend more time as a lady’s maid or guardian.”
“Why, how unfair, sir, when ’twas not you but your squire and one of your Scottish mercenaries who did attend me.”
He fixed her with a basilisk eye and said with calm intent, “I approached you just now, mistress, because you appeared to be without escort, and now that the marshals have begun to seat everyone, I had thought to offer to accompany you to table. However, if you would prefer to look after yourself—”
“On no account would we prefer such a fate, Sir Nicholas,” Madeline interjected, laughing and sweeping her train up over her arm in a broad gesture that threatened to flatten a gentleman moving past her.
Unaware of his peril, she added merrily, “Before Alys can be so absurd as to send you away, pray allow me to inform you that we were hustled from the Tower before we had dined and have not been offered a single bite since our arrival at Westminster. Therefore, since I at least am in danger of perishing from starvation, you may certainly take us to table.”
Sir Nicholas had not taken his eyes from Alys, and he continued to hold her gaze with his when he said gently, “Does my suggestion meet with your approval as well, my lady?”
Something in his expression stirred the imp that lurked beneath the surface of her well-practiced ladylike demeanor, and she said saucily, “A man who truly desired to escort us would have been more chivalrous in his approach. Such a man would have paid us compliments before he begged the honor of our company.”
“I’ll warrant he would,” he replied calmly, still looking directly into her eyes.
Her bosom swelled with indignation. “If you do not wish to escort us, Sir Nicholas—”
“I did not say so. On the contrary, I said—”
“Have mercy on a starving woman, the pair of you,” Madeline exclaimed. “I shall swoon from hunger right here on the spot if I am not instantly granted sustenance.”
With a glint of amusement lighting his eyes, Nicholas turned to her at last and said, “Forgive me, mistress. Will you take my arm?” Holding out his right forearm, he glanced at Alys again when Madeline had placed her hand upon it, and said dulcetly, “Do not get lost in the crowd, my lady. If you stay close behind us, ’tis possible you may yet get your supper. ”
Rendered speechless, and sorely tempted to stay where she was just to teach him a lesson, Alys nevertheless had no desire to be left on her own in the increasingly boisterous throng.
Snatching up her skirts, she hurried after them, repressing a compelling urge to grab hold of Madeline’s skirt.
She did not want to lose them in the crowd before a marshal could find places for them at one of the long trestle tables.