Cicely's Lord Lincoln Read online

  She smiled ruefully. ‘Well, you do now. And a teacher like Richard Plantagenet could only make me even more abandoned and needful. I was a greedily eager pupil, and could have made love with him from sunrise to sunset, and then into the night. There was never any lessening of the reward, never any dimming of our kisses. Jack, I would not have shrunk from anything with him. If it was possible, then we did it. No limits, no boundaries, no rules that could not be broken. I loved him so much. So very much.’ Her voice caught.

  Jack shifted his position. ‘How in God’s own name do priests stay celibate when they hear such confessions?’ he muttered.

  ‘Do you wish me to stop?’

  ‘No, sweetheart, because I think you need to say it all, and if I am the one who is here to hear you, then I will hear everything. You know that. You would do the same for me, I think.’

  ‘Yes, I will always be here for you, Jack.’

  ‘I know it.’ Jack smiled, but his eyes were darker than before.

  ‘Richard and I were put on earth to be together. Do you understand?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘I begin to, sweetheart.’

  ‘I know I was young—I still am, and many would say I cannot possibly know what I am talking about—but I have always seemed older than I am, always forthright and curious, and men find me interesting because of it. Richard always had time for me, always talked to me, answered my questions and laughed with me, never at me. He teased, yes, but it was always gentle and never unkind. He was such a man. Such a man. I had no intention of letting that unimaginable joy slip through my fingers, and so I seized it. And he was mine for those short weeks, Jack. He belonged to me.’ Tears stung and her voice was uneven. ‘A niece cannot love her uncle that way and retain innocence. I do not know if you have ever loved to distraction, but that is how it was with Richard and me. It was so beautiful, so perfect and untarnished that it was neither sinful nor shameful.’

  ‘It is clear you would not have changed anything.’

  ‘I would have refused to leave him at Nottingham, before Bosworth, when he sent us—all his heirs—to Sheriff Hutton for safety. I should have stayed, outfaced all the scandalized whispers and been openly at his side. For him I would have done all the things I will not do for Henry Tudor. The last bones of my reputation would have been gladly consigned to the scandalmongers, but Richard would not let me. And now I feel that I deserted him when he needed me most. If I had stayed, we would have been together that last night before battle. He would not have been alone, and I would have seen to it that he slept in my arms and awakened invincible. Henry would have been vanquished and we would still have the rightful king on the throne of England. Richard would have been a great monarch, Jack, truly great, but two short years were not enough.’

  Jack put his hand to her cheek. ‘I am envious, sweetheart. Not because Richard had you, but because I have never known a love like that. I certainly do not find it within my marriage, nor does my wife. I think it is fair to say that never were two people less compatible, except perhaps Henry and your sister Bess. My wife feels it no less than me. We are happily estranged. As for finding true love . . . I have bedded by far too many women, but have yet to find what you shared with Richard.’

  ‘You will find her, Jack. You are so very desirable, in every way, that I know there is someone worthy of you waiting to be found. I certainly find you very attractive indeed, and being with you is always a pleasure.’ Such a pleasure, she thought a little guiltily, because Jack de la Pole had always stirred her blood. Not that she would let him know, of course.

  ‘But not attractive and pleasurable enough.’

  She met his eyes. ‘That is as may be, Cousin, but as I was saying before I indulged in the whys and wherefores of my love for Richard, I was not sharing a polite peck on the cheek with Henry at Winchester. It was not a kiss I sought, but . . .’ She hesitated to admit the truth. ‘But he can be astonishingly seductive. I can see by your face that you find that difficult to believe, but it is true. He has an uncanny charm. I know how dangerous he is, but he knows how to be gentle and amusing, and how to make love, so in his case, appearances are very deceptive. That is why I understand well why Jon has gone away as he has. I should have told him why I went to Henry, because now I have lost him. And I do so want him back.’

  ‘Your heart has room for him?’

  She smiled. ‘Oh, yes. That is something else Richard told me, the need to keep Jon separate, in a special place in my heart.’

  It was an important slip. Jack looked at her. ‘That, sweetheart, is pure crud. How could Richard say anything to you about Sir Jon Welles, mm? If I am not mistaken, Richard died before Jon entered your life. And do not repeat that you lay with Jon at Nottingham in June 1485, because I know damned well it is a fabrication, in which Sir Jon connives, to legitimize your child by Richard.’

  Chapter Two

  For a moment Cicely’s tongue was tied in dismay. ‘Maybe Richard said it of someone else and I just guessed what he would say of Jon.’

  ‘Now you give me a discourteously lame explanation.’ Jack continued to look at her and then took her cup and set it aside with his. ‘Crud is crud. So there is something you are not admitting.’

  ‘Please, Jack . . .’

  ‘I know the power of grief. Strange things happen because of it, do they not?’

  She gazed at him.

  ‘We share blood, Cicely, and maybe we do not only share wantonness. You do not know this, but I had a daughter, Jillian, not by my wife. I was fifteen and so was her mother, who died in childbed. Jillian lived to be five, when she died after being bitten by a rabid dog. She had come to live with me, because it was what I wished, and I loved her. After her death . . .’ He paused to put a hand to Cicely’s cheek. ‘After her death, I sometimes thought I was with her again. It seemed so very real, and yet I knew it was not.’ He tilted her face. ‘Am I right in thinking this is happening to you?’

  Tears wended down her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I know Richard is not real, I know it, Jack. But I cannot help calling him to me when the pain becomes too much. For a little while I have him again.’

  Her matchless, beautiful Richard, irreplaceable, unforgettable, exquisite. She shared his hair, long, heavy, and the same deep shade of chestnut that glinted with copper in the sun. His eyes were a clear, dark-rimmed grey, wide, arresting, quick, warm . . . He was a god to her. He always would be.

  Richard III had been the slight, dark Plantagenet of his generation, as she was of hers. Despite being a little below medium height, slender and almost fragile, with a barely discernible sideways curve to his back, he was actually formidably strong. Certainly he had been a skilled fighter and shrewd military leader, and but for betrayal would almost certainly have killed Henry single-handedly at Bosworth. But away from the battlefield, Richard’s manner had always been informal and yet regal, and he had such presence and charm, such effortless grace and authority, that he outshone all around him. Justice and loyalty had been his creed, fairness and honesty the principles he valued. He had been the perfect man, king and lover.

  Cicely knew he had gone, but could not accept it, and so he lived on in her thoughts and dreams. Her imagination made him breathe again, so she could touch him, kiss him, talk to him, laugh with him and love him. Common sense told her he was not real, merely a phantasm created by her intolerable grief, but she did have a truly tangible memory of him, a son, hidden safely away from Henry.

  It was a very dangerous secret because, illegitimate or not, Leo was a Yorkist boy with Richard III as his father, Edward IV as his grandfather and Cicely Plantagenet for his mother, and as he grew older he would draw dissatisfied Yorkists—of whom there were many under Henry VII. If that eventually happened, Henry could soon find his realm in a state of full rebellion.

  Jack claimed her attention again. ‘It can be a comfort to conjure these imaginings of Richard, sweetheart, but not if you let them take over. Richard would not want that, and nor do I. If
I remind you of him, then listen to me as if I am him. Do not feed on the past. He has gone and cannot return. I do know how you feel, truly, so take notice, I implore you.’

  He went to the window to look down into St Sithe’s Lane. ‘Do you want Jon to return?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’ She was taken unawares by the question.

  ‘Because, after hearing what you have said about Richard tonight means that when I look at you now I know you are able to teach Old Nick new delights of the flesh. Henry clearly knows it as well, and wants more and more of you, so make use of your power in order to get what you want out of him—his summons to Sir Jon to return. Imply a reward of immeasurable carnal bliss, enough to exhaust the royal cock.’ He glanced around, smiling. ‘I know you are quite capable.’

  ‘I am to be dandelion leaves to a starving royal rabbit?’

  He laughed. ‘You would get whatever you wanted out of this bunnykin, and that is a fact. Henry will not hold out for long if you show him your great big eyes, floppy ears and pretty little fluffy tail. In a manner of speaking, of course.’

  She smiled, but was then serious again. ‘Do you think Henry would let me see John of Gloucester if I pleaded in the same way? So far he refuses to countenance it.’

  Jack turned. ‘He is right. His torture destroyed John’s mind.’

  ‘I have to see John. We were so very close, and might well have married. I feel I have failed him. I deserted Richard, and now I desert his son.’

  ‘John will not even recognize you. Please leave this. He would not wish you to flay yourself on his account. You know it. Henry’s guilt will not allow it anyway. John is Richard’s son, and your love for your uncle is the whole crux of it with Henry. He is jealous to the point of madness because he does not know the truth of it, but he strongly suspects you and Richard were incestuous lovers. He cannot bear the thought of it, and yet it excites him as well. Henry Tudor does not like his own reactions, sweetheart.’

  ‘I know it.’

  Jack paused. ‘You have not told your husband how Tudor blackmails you, but you did not hesitate to tell me. Why?’

  ‘Because Jon might do something rash. His own nephew puts horns on him. And I told you because . . . I can say things to you that I could not possibly say to anyone else. I feel close to you in a way that is entirely different.’

  ‘Please do not tell me I am like a brother to you.’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’ But the knowledge confronted her. She felt physical desire when she looked at Jack de la Pole so it was most certainly not as a brother she saw him. How could any warm-blooded woman not feel desire for him?

  ‘I am relieved to hear it.’ He smiled as their eyes met, but then he spoke of Henry again. ‘I should stick a dagger in this usurper for what he does to you; instead I stand by my word and cravenly let you give yourself to him for my sake.’

  She felt guilty, and forgot her desires as she went to take his hand. ‘I give you no choice, for I have made you promise. You are vital to the House of York, Jack, its leader because Richard chose you to succeed him. Who else can there be for York? Your next brother, Edmund? Saints preserve us, for he is not only too young at sixteen, but obnoxious and loutish as well, from all accounts. So let me help by doing what I do best—lie on a bed and make love. I would do anything to protect you. Do you not see?’

  ‘Oh, Cicely . . .’ His voice was tight with emotion.

  ‘You will not change my mind on this, Jack. Truly.’ Too conscious of him, she went to pour a little more wine into their cups.

  ‘Cicely, I came here today to discuss something with you.’

  She anticipated him. ‘About this Lambert Simnel plot in Burgundy?’

  ‘You sense my thoughts almost before I know them myself.’ He smiled again. ‘The plot may be in Burgundy, but Simnel is now in Dublin, which is knowledge for you alone, sweetheart.’

  ‘He is claiming to be my brother Dickon, and seems set to challenge Henry for the throne, but is he genuine? Henry clearly fears he may be. Tell me, Jack, is this Simnel my brother, or is he an imposter?’

  Her brothers—Edward, now almost sixteen, so briefly King Edward V, and the little Duke of York, thirteen, whom they all called Dickon—had been placed in the royal apartments at the Tower for safety after her father’s unexpectedly early death in 1483. Then undeniable proof had suddenly been put before Richard—Lord Protector at the time—that her parents had never been lawfully married, and thus all the children of their union were illegitimate. This meant that Richard himself became the next legitimate heir to the crown. His sense of duty and justice obliged him to be king. He could not have done anything else.

  Now Henry had reversed everything, and made Edward IV’s children legitimate again. He had to, because the only reason he had gained such support at Bosworth had been his promise to unite York and Lancaster by marrying Edward IV’s eldest daughter. But by legitimizing Bess, he also legitimized her brothers, both of whom had a far superior claim to the crown than his own. But the boys had disappeared, and there were wild stories that Richard had done away with them. He had not harmed them, but had sent them to safety with his sister, the Duchess of Burgundy. Henry knew that much, but not if they still lived. If they did, they were a grave danger to his throne.

  Jack’s voice interrupted her train of thought. ‘You say I comfort you, Cicely, but you have no idea how I value your loyalty. It is to seek your unswerving support that I have sought you today. You are the one I can always rely upon, but if I tell you about Lambert Simnel, I will involve you in high treason. Knowing that, do you still wish me to answer your question?’ A beam of weak sunlight struck his dark curls as he pushed them back from his forehead.

  She nodded. ‘But know that I may see it as a hopeless cause, and try to dissuade you,’ she warned. ‘And I will if I think you are about to risk your life needlessly. So, what is so important about this Simnel? Is he one of my brothers?’

  ‘I have no idea where your brothers are or if they still live. This boy is the Earl of Warwick, son and heir of our other uncle, George, the late Duke of Clarence.’

  ‘Warwick?’ She was thunderstruck. Clarence had been the middle brother, between her father and Richard, and always dissatisfied and less loyal. He had eventually gone too far with his treason, and had paid the ultimate price at her father’s bare hands. ‘But that cannot possibly be so, Jack. Warwick was with us at Sheriff Hutton, and is now in the Tower after being captured by Henry. You know it, because you and John of Gloucester were sent to the Tower with him. You are the only one to be freed again. And anyway, Warwick is barred from the throne by his father’s attainder.’

  ‘Make no mistake of it, this boy is Warwick. Attainders can be reversed, so if Henry parades the boy from the Tower as proof of Simnel’s imposture, he, Henry, will be the one guilty of falsehood. The boy sent with us to Sheriff Hutton, and who now languishes in the Tower, is not Clarence’s son, nor as it happens any blood relation of ours. The name Lambert Simnel is a conceit. The real Warwick is in Dublin, helping to raise Irish support. Before that he was in Burgundy, under the protection of our aunt—his aunt—the duchess. He knows nothing of your brothers, and if the duchess had them, she no longer does. She takes the precaution of refusing to say what happened to them, so their whereabouts remains a mystery.’

  He held her astonished gaze. ‘Sweetheart, Clarence had learned of your father’s previous marriage contract long before it became public and Richard was forced to act upon it. Clarence even knew that your father’s first wife had been Lady Eleanor Boteler, born Talbot, daughter of the first Earl of Shrewsbury. She died four years after your father bigamously married your mother. So Clarence realized that you, your brothers and sisters were illegitimate. This meant that if your father died, Clarence and his son, being next in line, before Richard, were the rightful heirs to the throne. Your father had to be rid of him to ensure that your brother Edward inherited the crown.’

  Jack drew an expressive fi
nger across his throat at the word ‘rid’. ‘Little Warwick was sent to Burgundy late in 1477, when he was two, and his place taken by another boy, whose parents were paid very well for giving him up. Clarence, who feared your father’s intentions, was executed secretly weeks later, so his action had been timely. Your father did not find out about the changeling, nor did Richard, who was an innocent party anyway. It can all be confirmed, because the duchess has documents bearing Clarence’s signature and seal, describing a small birthmark on his son’s left ankle and requesting her to protect him. The boy in the Tower has no such mark, but I am informed that Lambert Simnel most certainly does. Cicely, Clarence felt his son was as much at risk from your father as you now believe yours is from Henry.’

  She did fear what Henry would do if he discovered her son’s existence. They had pretended that her son – supposedly Jon’s – had died after birth. But he had lived, and was now Master Leo Kymbe, cared for at Friskney in Lincolnshire, close to Jon’s lands. He was protected by the Kymbe family, and in particular by Tom Kymbe, who was not only the brother of Cicely’s devoted maid, Mary, but one of Jon’s most loyal supporters. Friskney was Jack’s manor, but not even he knew Leo’s whereabouts, only that he lived.

  Speaking of her uncle Clarence’s death brought a more recent, very unpleasant memory. ‘Jack, Henry made me go to the room in the Tower where Clarence died. He said my father killed him in person, and a witness left a record that was found when Henry had the Tower searched for evidence of my brothers after Bosworth.’ She drew a heavy breath. ‘Richard told me my father had made a fool of him about the first marriage, and he was tricked about Clarence’s death as well. Richard did not know of it until afterward, when the deed had been done.’

  ‘Richard’s support was always invaluable, Cicely. He had no secret ambition of his own, but merely saw his role as the loyal brother. And that was exactly what he was. Latterly, your father could not have done without him. Richard was an exceptional man, and I was proud to not only be his nephew, but be considered his heir when his legitimate son died so tragically. But now he has another son. Where is Leo, Cicely?’ The question was asked quietly.