Page 72 of The Rose at Twilight

“I have it now. You did not trust me to look after myself, let alone to look after the king.”

“No, no, it was not that!” she said hastily, fearing she had offended him again.

He chuckled, hugging her, and said, “Oh, sweetheart, how quickly you rise to the bait. I understand how it feels to believe that no one can do a job as well as one can do it oneself, but one does not expect a woman to put her life in jeopardy because she does not trust men to do a thing properly.”

“Well, I do not see what being a woman has to do with it,” she said indignantly.

“Very likely not,” he said, hugging her again, “but you will promise me something now, or by heaven, I will bind and gag you when I leave you with our Harry.”

She did not believe the threat for an instant and grinned at the thought of what the king would think of such treatment, but she affected a deep sigh and said in a long-suffering tone, “Very well, sir, I will promise whatever you want. What is it?”

“That no matter what you hear or see, you will stay with him until I come for you, or until he bids you otherwise,” he said.

The thought of why the king might bid her to do otherwise was too dreadful to contemplate, so she said hastily, “I will stay with him, Nicholas, I promise—if you will be careful.”

“I will,” he said, “and, sweetheart, about what you said before—you didn’t let our son die. I have never blamed you.”

“I know you said you did not, but—”

“I said what I meant,” he interjected fiercely. “It was God’s will. I understand your feelings now, but you need never have believed you must aid my king because our son was lost.”

“That was not my only reason,” she said. “I just wanted to explain it all to you. You were so angry before, and—”

“I was not angry. I told you that seeing you in that clearing with those savages frightened me witless, and that was true, but afterward, I said the things I did because …”

“Because you were furious with me, Nicholas. Even your men thought you were too harsh.”

“Aye, they did,” he said, chuckling.

She leaned up on her elbow and peered into his face. “You are pleased with yourself. You wanted them to speak up for me!”

“They would not have liked having a wench in their midst on such a day,” he said.

“Some think it bad luck even to have one near a battle. I thought there would be less resentment if they felt a little sorry for you, and I did not think it would hurt you to hear what I had to say. I could not cosset you, my love.”

“Oh, Nicholas, say those words again. I am never certain whether you mean them or if they just spill out unnoticed.”

“I mean them,” he said quietly, pulling her down and folding his arms tightly around her. “Kiss me, wife.”

She chuckled, happier than she could remember ever being before, and said, “Surely you do not mean to ravish me here in the midst of all your men, sir. What would they think?”

She saw his delighted grin. “They would think me a fool for draining energy I will soon need on the battlefield. But I mean only to hold my wife and cuddle her a bit, and maybe there will be a few kisses, and maybe”—his right hand slid down to stroke her backside—“maybe a bit more than that.”

Alys did not reply. He had pressed his lips to hers, and his tongue was seeking entrance to her mouth.

She welcomed it with her own, and she welcomed his hands on her body, and his kisses as well, and later, when he slept, she snuggled close to him, though her body was heated enough by then to sustain them both, even had it been a cold winter night and not summer.

They were up again and mounted before the first light of dawn, and less than a quarter hour afterward entered the silent streets of Newark.

Normally a bustling place, even at such an early hour, the town appeared to be deserted that morning, its citizens no doubt cowering behind bolted doors and shuttered windows, hiding their valuables, saying their prayers, in fear that the coming battle would take place on their doorstep.

There was light enough to see more easily when they passed through the market square, past well-appointed inns, to the high-towered church. Calling a halt, Nicholas ordered Hugh to find a way up the tower. “See what you can see from up there,” he said.

Hugh returned a short time later. “You might like to look for yourself, Nick. ’Tis an awesome sight.”

“We have no time. Could you spy the royal banners?”

“Nay, but I saw what must be Lincoln Cathedral to the east and Nottingham Castle on the western horizon. The forest and long stretches of the Great North Road are teeming with movement, Nick. When the sun rises, it will see thousands of steel helms and pike-heads winking back at it. The king’s main army is moving up from the southwest, and the rebels look to be heading for Fiskerton, that place we crossed the first time we took Lady Alys to London.

From here, the crossing looks narrower and more shallow than it was then—fifty feet across, maybe two deep, for it’s down a foot, maybe two, from when we last crossed there. ”

“Have they begun the crossing?”

“Not yet,” Hugh said.

“Then we ride. We must be past that point on the road—Stoke, is it not?—before they arrive, or we will have to veer west, and we will lose time if we do. Kick that palfrey of yours to a lope, Alys. We have no time to lose.”

Alys was not sure her palfrey knew how to lope, but with the example set by so many other horses, it managed such speed that she was hard-pressed to stay in her saddle, and finally resorted to clinging to the palfrey’s mane.

The wild ride was a short one, for they began to meet horses and men coming toward them, and heralds, weaving their mounts through the others, seeking news of the rebel positions to carry back to their leaders.

It was from them that Nicholas learned the king’s whereabouts, but in the midst of what had begun to look—to Alys, at least—more and more like a sea of riders, it was nearly nine o’clock before they found him in a churchyard, nearby in the village of Elston.

Nicholas dismounted quickly and went to kneel before him, speaking as he went. Alys saw Henry frown when Nicholas gestured toward her, but when Hugh lifted her down and the two of them took a few steps forward, then hesitated, Henry beckoned them on.

Making a deep curtsy, Alys looked up to see the king’s eyes twinkling. He said, “I am told that you exerted yourself greatly on my behalf, Lady Merion. I am out of stirring speeches, for I have just delivered one to an immense gathering of men-at-arms, so I hope you will accept a simple thank you.”

Nicholas cut in, saying, “With respect, your grace, we would ask you to go above, into the tower, where you can be better protected. I will remain here, with my men—”

“No, Nicholas,” the king said. “I am sending you forward with the majority of your men to warn Oxford and the vanguard that there are rebels about whose only purpose is to slay me. You may leave ten men to augment my yeoman guard, but only because I know you will not trust the thing to be done properly if some of your own are not here.”

Nicholas nodded and turned. “Hugh?”

“I will stay,” Hugh Gower told him.

Alys reached out her hand to her husband but said nothing.

Squeezing her hand, Nicholas gave her a teasing look, as if he knew the effort it cost her to hold her tongue, not to say she did not want him in the vanguard, which would bear the brunt of the fighting.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and turned toward his horse.

When he mounted, she saw that the dagger he carried was not his own.

On the hilt, shining clearly in the sunlight, was the engraving of the head of a dog.

She closed her eyes in sorrow, and said a prayer.

Moments after he had ridden away, she found herself high up in the church bell tower with the man she had once thought her worst enemy.

Henry moved to the far side, to the open parapet, and without a thought for his rank or her own, Alys moved quickly to stand beside him.

“Goodness, we can see for miles,” she said.

The two armies looked almost toylike below.

The massive royal force was drawn up in battle order, its banners resplendent and its armor shimmering in the sunlight.

The vanguard alone looked formidable, and behind them waited the rest, at least twice as many men as the rebels, who could be seen taking their stand on a hill above the river, near the village of Stoke.

Over the steady din of hoofbeats, upraised voices, horses’ cries, and clanking metal, Alys suddenly heard the sprightly, unnerving sound of the rebels’ fife and drum.

The royal advance was slow, deliberate. It seemed forever to her before arrows and crossbow bolts began to fly.

In all the din and flurry of motion that followed, she could scarcely tell what was happening, but before long, even she could see that the rebels had little chance.

Their casualties were dreadful. Their forces were boxed in, sitting targets.

Once Henry had pointed them out to her, she could tell the Germans from the Irish, for the former moved with steely discipline, the latter with a shrieking frenzy.

The Irish, without any armor at all, were falling everywhere that she could see them.

For a short time she tried to pick out banners, looking for the golden wyvern, but it was too horrible.

She turned away, unable to watch anymore.

At a burst of sound from the churchyard below, she hurried to the other side of the tower to look down, but the angle was wrong, and she could see nothing.

Exchanging a wary look with the armed yeoman who stood below her on the stairs, she listened anxiously for footsteps coming up the steps, but when they came, they were those of a single man.

The yeoman lowered his pike and stood aside to let Hugh pass. The king turned then and spoke quickly. “Rebels?”