Page 64 of The Rose at Twilight
Sitting up, facing him, she said, “I did think some such thing then, Nicholas, but I realized when I saw how treacherous your Welsh mountains were that there was no way I could go.”
“’Tis fortunate that you could not,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at her in such a way that she shivered, “for if I had caught you trying to do such a perilous thing …” He did not finish, nor did he have to.
She swallowed. “I know, Nicholas. I saw at once that it was impossible, and in faith, I know not what I would have done if I had found him. I could scarce ask him if he had Richard of York hidden away in his castle.”
“He cannot have him,” Nicholas said firmly. “He swore allegiance to Henry. If he had control of a Yorkist prince, he would never have done so, not without telling Henry he had him.”
“But he might well have had him and told the Tudor so. They still could not announce it to the world without putting Henry’s position on the throne in jeopardy.
And Henry could not kill the prince, for if it ever became known that he had, he would have had more trouble than he had already.
And if he simply locked him in the Tower with Neddie and me and the others, a host of conspiracies would have erupted to get him out again. ”
“If Richard of York is still alive, then why has no one come forward to say so?” Nicholas asked.
“If he lives, ’tis because his keepers still do not know the fate of Edward Plantagenet,” she said, “and even if Henry and Tyrell have dared to kill him, they cannot speak lest the news cause Edward to step forward with an army at his back to claim the throne. But there have been rumors that Richard murdered his nephews, Nicholas. You mentioned them yourself. Henry can have no proof that they both are dead, or he would have told whatever tale he liked to explain their deaths, but I think that when the rumors failed to bring Prince Edward out of hiding to challenge him, he decided it was safe to kill Prince Richard. When he gave the order, Sir James insisted upon the first pardon as an act of good faith, then sued for the second when the deed was done.”
Nicholas was silent, and Alys was grateful.
She recalled Lovell’s insistence that Sir James Tyrell had been as loyal to King Richard as Lovell himself was, that he would never have harmed either prince, and it suddenly occurred to her that there might be another reason for Tyrell’s second pardon.
What, she wondered, if Sir James had taken the same expedient step that her brother, Sir Lionel, Lincoln, and so many others had taken, of submitting to the Tudor in order to protect his lands and titles?
What if he had sued for general pardon, as so many others had done and then, afterward, had arranged for Richard of York to get safely out of England to Flanders?
Had he hoped a second pardon would protect him from the Tudor’s wrath?
Was it possible that the crazy rumors of Neddie’s escape were meant to cover the movements of another, and far more important, Yorkist prince?
She was glad that Nicholas appeared to be deep in his own thoughts, for she knew that if he had been watching her, he would suspect she knew still more than she had told him.
She would have liked to share her ideas with him, but the old fears returned to haunt her.
She knew he would protect her as well as he could, but if she confided her new suspicions, she was certain that his duty would be even clearer to him than it was to her.
“You may have the right of it,” he said at last, and for a wild moment she thought he meant she was right in what she had been thinking, and she had to struggle to remember what she had actually said to him.
Before she could comment, he went on, “It does not matter, however, because from this moment you are out of it. No, do not argue with me,” he added, reaching out to place a finger on her lips.
“I will, if necessary, exert every right my position as your husband grants me to see to your safety. I ought to have Gwilym take you straight back to Wolveston—”
“No! Oh, Nicholas, I promise—”
“Make yourself easy,” he said, straightening and pulling her close again, drawing the bedclothes up over her.
“I am not such a fool as to insist that you travel such a distance in this uncertain weather, let alone in your present condition. You will, however, leave the court and move to Queenshithe, where my mother can see that you take proper care of yourself. It cannot be good for you to continue in attendance upon the queen now, particularly in view of your precarious relationship with her.”
“We get on well enough now,” she said, holding her resentment in check, knowing that to lose her temper now would do her no good. “Since Elizabeth has presented the Tudor with his heir, she is well satisfied with herself and gracious to all of us in attendance on her.”
“No matter, you will be better off in Queenshithe. Once this weather settles, I must be about my duties again, and will feel the better for knowing you are safe with my parents. And do not think you will be able to work your wiles on them to let you have your own way, sweetheart,” he added, “for I will make my wishes clear to them, and they know that I have not only the right to command you, but the will to enforce my commands.”
She did not doubt him, and she was too glad to have got through the past hour without having been banished to Wolveston again to resist him further. She murmured that she would do her best to behave, but her sigh of resignation made him laugh.
“You had better see that your best is enough,” he said, “or be prepared to face my wrath.” Then, sobering, he said, “Don’t think that because I do not scold you, I am not displeased by all this, madam.
You tread too lightly upon the threshold of treason to suit me, and if either Elizabeth or Henry should catch you at your tricks, I doubt I could protect you.
Now that you carry my son, it is more important than ever that you behave. ”
“Your son, is it? It might as easily be my daughter, sir.”
“Aye, and a right little baggage she would be. In either case, madam, you will take care.”
“I will,” she said. “Kiss me, Nicholas, so that I know you truly are not angry with me anymore.”
“You would bewitch me,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her thoroughly. His hands began to move over her body, and his breathing deepened and quickened, and soon she knew he would speak no more that night of her misdeeds.
That she could stir him so easily was an increasing delight to her.
She gloried in the pleasure that he gave to her body and in what she could do to him with no more than a touch, a kiss, or a caress.
She exerted herself to please him, reveling in each lusty groan and gasp of pleasure, tantalizing and teasing him until he could stand no more, and took command of the proceedings in such a way as to leave her breathless.
Stirred to heights she had never explored before, Alys abandoned modesty to follow her instincts, murmuring endearments, responding to his every touch and stimulus with new ones all her own, and crying aloud her pleasure at the end.
By the time the two of them fell back to their pillows, exhausted, there were only ashes left of the fire on the hearth.
But in Alys’s heart the glow of love for Nicholas burned warmly, making her wish that she had the power to keep him near her always, safe, to love her and to be loved in return.
But the next morning Nicholas took her to stay with his parents in the house at Queenshithe.
He was kind and loving, and he stayed there with her for the first two nights, but on the third morning he left the city at the head of a troop of his men, bound for Somerset, to look into incidents of mischief-making.
Sadly, Alys watched him go, feeling her child stir, and wondering if these new incidents had aught to do with the mischiefs Lovell had promised to stir up to annoy the king.