Page 37 of The Rose at Twilight

T HE EVENING THAT FOLLOWED Alys’s betrothal to Sir Nicholas passed swiftly amid a din of comments and plaudits from people she knew and others she did not know.

Her senses were reeling one moment, numb the next.

She was so dazed by it all that had she been asked when she left the table what she had eaten, she would have been unable to reply with certainty.

It all had happened too swiftly. If she spoke to Sir Nicholas, she did not recall it later; and their parting came, as everything else that night had come, with bewildering abruptness.

Sir Nicholas simply announced that it was time she was in bed, and signed to a servant to see her to her room.

Briefly she considered sending the man to find Madeline, but even as the thought entered her mind, she knew she did not want to talk to anyone until she had sorted out her feelings.

Jonet was waiting for her, and after one look at her, began preparing her for bed, chattering the whole while in a manner that showed she had no expectation of a reply, speaking thoughts aloud as they came to her.

Alys made only token replies, letting the words flow past her, taking comfort from Jonet’s presence, but grateful nonetheless when she went away to her own pallet at last. Alone in her bed with the protective darkness close about her, Alys tried to remember precisely what Sir Nicholas had said or done that night to indicate how he felt about their betrothal, but the only comment she could actually recall his having made to her was his remark about Lovell.

That in itself was frightening. If their betrothal was all that had kept Sir Nicholas from betraying his suspicions of her, she had grievously misread him.

There had been a single moment, the first moment that she had recognized the Tudor intent, when her heart had sung with joy.

The sensation had been unlike any other in her memory.

She tried to tell herself that it had been no more than a surge of relief at realizing that she would not have to marry Briarly, but overriding that thought came the memory of Sir Nicholas’s lute, and his deep melodic voice when he had sung to her.

She remembered that he had paid Ian to look after her in the Tower, but there were less pleasant memories, too.

He had been quick to anger, and quick to scold.

He had flogged Ian and made her watch. He had forced her to eat when she hadn’t wanted to eat, but he had brushed her hair for her when she had been too weak to do it herself.

There was much in the man that stirred her to rebellion, but there was something else that stirred other, stranger reactions deep within her.

One moment she wanted to trust him, the next to slap him.

Until she knew him better, she did not dare to do either.

She was hot under the coverlet and pushed it off her, wondering where Sir Nicholas was at that moment, and if he was thinking of her.

What did he think? More than once she had thought he cared about her.

That first moment in Doncaster, before she saw anger, she had seen relief and knew he had been worried about her.

But tonight there had been no sign of pleasure in him, only half-grateful acceptance of his reward.

She remembered his remark about her meeting with Lovell.

Since she had never admitted that Lovell was the man in the Hawkinses’ parlor, she wondered what had made him so certain, but it was not until two days later, when the entire court went hunting with the king, that she found an opportunity to ask him.

Henry Tudor liked to hunt, and when he did, his male courtiers all accompanied him.

They were frequently accompanied, partway at least, by the more adventurous ladies; however, since the elaborate costumes suitable for court required them to ride aside rather than astride, on velvet-covered saddles wholly unsuited to the chase, the ladies were generally left behind once the quarry was sighted.

That particular morning, when they rode out early to the forest south of Greenwich Palace, a number of women rode with them, including Alys and Madeline.

Alys wore a skirt and bodice of tawny wool beneath a dark green jerkin, with a straw hat pinned on over her veil.

She rode between Madeline and Sir Nicholas, just behind the king and the Earl of Lincoln.

The latter had greeted Alys with a kindly, indulgent manner, as though he had never been displeased with her.

He did not even mention Sheriff Hutton, which did not surprise her, for she knew him to be a man who avoided offending, preferring harmony at almost any cost.

Elizabeth, due to her supposed delicate condition, did not ride with them, and Alys felt carefree, and was able to delight even more than usual in the herbal scents of the royal forest and the crisp, cold air of the sunny morning.

The king hunted with hounds, spaniels, mastiffs, and greyhounds, and since it was the fashion to hunt nearly anything that moved, it was not long before the first quarry, a young roe deer, was sighted.

Henry, his bow held high, gave spur to his mount, and the other men followed at a gallop.

Alys, finding the excitement of the chase rising swiftly within her, urged her palfrey to a more rapid pace, hoping they would not be left too far behind.

But even as the thought flitted through her mind, a gloved hand shot out and grabbed her bridle, and her palfrey was drawn away from the others, into a small leafy glen.

Nearly as indignant with Madeline and the other women for riding merrily on without her as she was with Sir Nicholas for interfering with her, she glared at him and demanded angrily, “By what right do you dare to stop me like this, sir?”

He said quietly, “I have every right, mi geneth, by royal command, and I want to speak with you.”

She bit her lip, remembering that the betrothal ceremony bound her to him almost as solidly as marriage itself, for even if the marriage did not take place, she was now ineligible to wed anyone else without the consent of the Church to set aside the betrothal.

If she did, her children would be bastards like those of Edward the Fourth, unable to inherit her husband’s goods and titles, or her own.

Her property—in law, a mere extension of herself—was already Sir Nicholas’s to control.

Finding this knowledge rather disheartening, she resorted to another argument.

“We are being left behind, sir. We shall find ourselves subject to criticism, if not to censure, for such behavior.”

Sir Nicholas cocked his head to listen, then said, “I hear their shouts, so they have brought down the deer, or some animal. We’ll hope for their sake ’tis not a polecat or a stoat.

” When she continued to glare, he added, “There is too little privacy at the palace. One can never be sure of having more than a moment or two alone, and I did not know when another opportunity might present itself to say what I wish to say to you.”

Warned by the gravity of his tone, she braced herself. “What is it?”

“Only that I hope you are not too displeased by the king’s decision to betroth us. I know you dislike me—”

“No! That is …” She searched for words to explain her feelings without betraying how vulnerable she felt.

“I do not dislike you, sir. ’Tis only that at present I am bewildered by the very notion of marriage.

My world has so recently come down around my ears that I scarcely know if I am on my head or on my feet.

Nor do I know you, after all, except as one of the enemy. ”

“I am not your enemy, mi geneth. ”

“Mayhap.” She looked into his eyes, wishing she could believe that the gentleness in his tone meant she might confide openly in him.

“Why did you not …That is, last evening, before the ceremony, you told me … You … you said …” Giving up, she fell silent, unable to find words to challenge him without confirming what she hoped were no more than suspicions of his regarding Lovell.

Apparently finding nothing odd in her faltering speech, and reading her thoughts as he so often seemed to do, he nodded and said, “I ought to report your meeting with Lovell, but I will not do so. I did not do it before because I was not yet certain. Now that I am certain, you are to be my wife, and thus am I bound to protect you. But hear me, mi geneth ,” he added in a much sterner voice.

“There must be no more such meetings. You will obey me in this, or I will make you very sorry afterward.”

Discounting the threat, she said curiously, “Why are you so certain now that I met with him? You cannot know it.”

“You told me.”

“I did not!”

“Aye, you did. In Doncaster, when I mentioned his name, your expression revealed the likelihood, but I was not certain until yestereve. ’Twas but a gambit when I said I had not spoken of it to Harry, but your look of guilt then was as good as a confession.

Nay, do not look daggers at me. You did wrong, and ’tis my duty to forbid you to behave so in future.

Henry Tudor is king now, and to consort with his enemies, utter foolishness. ”

Alys stiffened angrily. “So now I am a fool, am I?”

“Aye,” he said, smiling, “but no more than most females.”

“Oh!” Forgetting that he still held her bridle, she lifted her reins and kicked her horse, intending to ride off and leave him where he was. The palfrey stirred helplessly, held firmly in place by a tightened fist. “Let me go!”

“Presently. I mean to be certain you understand me, my lady.” There was an unmistakably possessive note in his voice now. “You are to have nothing further to do with any Yorkist sympathizer unless you want to incur my gravest displeasure.”

Alys glared into space, refusing to respond, waiting with increasing apprehension to see what he would do next.