The Jewels of Warwick Page 3

  "Oh, Mother, King Henry is so good, so kind! How could we ever repay him, how could we ever—"

  "How, indeed? What do we have, save a few nights of rest at Warwick Castle, that King Henry could ever want?" her mother said with a sigh.

  "Oh, I know not, Mother! I'll think of something!" She paused for a moment, then suggested, "I would send him one of my songs!"

  Her mother smiled kindly at the generous if naïve impulses of her middle daughter. "Aye, he should like that."

  "I would give him something of myself... A part of me, with my song!" She danced around the room, fed by a rush of joy.

  "Hah!" Topaz lingered in the doorway and Amethyst, overhearing her sister's grunt of disgust, shook her head in perplexity. How could Topaz be so ungrateful to the man who'd saved her family from the doom of poverty?

  Topaz turned her back and scowled. "That hypocrite!" she spat. "That artless clotpole! I would take his annuities and his castles and his reversed attainders and tell him to shove them all up his—"

  "Topaz!" both women protested.

  She tossed her auburn hair contemptuously. "Why mince words? He isn't doing this out of kindness. 'Tis clear he wants something from us. Time will soon tell. But I'll be damned if he'll take any more from this family than he already has."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Warwickshire, September, 1510

  On this sparkling autumn morning, the clouds were beginning to disperse and the sun was struggling to share its comforting warmth.

  Two wagons pulled through sticky muck, as the last days' rain had left the road to Warwick splotched with pools of mud. The thin wheel ruts were streaming with liquefied earth.

  The carriage followed the wagons, carrying Sabine, Emerald and Amethyst. Topaz had refused to partake in the family's sudden recovery of their ancestral home. She had chosen to stay behind and tend her animals. Amethyst so much wanted her sister at her side on that day, to share in this joyous occasion, for they were finally being granted a home that was rightly theirs. But it was not to be.

  They approached Warwick through Westgate, one of three ancient city gates. The imposing stone structure was topped with a crenelated tower and huge clock. As they passed through the arched tunnel, engulfed in darkness, the horses' hoof beats and squeak of the wagon and coach wheels echoed off the inner walls.

  They emerged on the High Street, in the midst of the bustling town. To the left was a huge timber-framed house leaning into the street, a wooden sign reading "Leycester's Hospital" swinging from a chain, clanging against its post with each gust of wind. More timber-framed houses were huddled against the hospital, their peaked roofs pointing towards the clearing sky.

  They passed through the market square, where merchants displayed their wares on shelves under rolled-up awnings. Villagers bustled about, grabbing and squeezing fruits and vegetables, loading their goods into wagons. The doughy aroma of meat pies encircled them, and Amethyst breathed deeply of the rain-washed air mingled with the scents of fruits and spices.

  Colorful bolts of satin and sarcenet hung from a shop entrance. Ribbons fluttered through the fingers of a discerning lady. A pig scurried across the road, followed by a parade of clucking chickens, wings flapping and feathers splaying as their carriage trundled by.

  They left the bustle of the marketplace and approached Church Street. Saint Mary's Church was on the left, a profusion of stone archways and graceful pinnacles. Finally they were on Castle Street, and at the end of the curved road, she saw the top of a round tower rising over the trees.

  As they followed the curve of Castle Street, Amethyst halted the party and jumped out of the carriage, wanting to finish the journey on foot, alone. She rushed ahead and broke into a run. At that moment the sun burst through the last veil of clouds.

  And there it was.

  It lined the riverbank, rising from its ancient mound, the stonework blending, echoing the sun in an earthy yellow mingled with a rosy glow. A myriad of round towers were connected by curtain walls, inlaid with arched windows, majestically topped with crenellations. The imposing fortress extended farther than she could see, and as she approached, it loomed bigger still. She could discern even more towers, walls, and barricades—when did it ever end?

  She scrambled up the hill, tripping over her skirts, laughing and whooping in a frenzy of emotion, threw her head back and gazed up at the massive structure towering into the heavens, so imposing, so impenetrable.

  She found herself at a gatehouse built into the side of the hill, an arched entryway flanked by two octagonal towers. The iron portcullis had been raised, and she stepped inside. Standing upon the dirt floor in the dark, she inhaled the dankness in the whistling wind that softly sang of centuries past. Her tears fell and seeped into the ground.

  She stepped back outside, taking another sweeping look. Opening her arms, she embraced the curved surface of the tower, letting the cold stones absorb her body's welcoming warmth.

  "My home, my home," she whispered, becoming one with her history. Finally, she knew where she'd come from. Now she knew where she belonged.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Marchington Manor, December, 1511

  Topaz and Lady Margaret received Christmas invitations to neighboring Kenilworth Castle from its lord, Matthew Gilford. Feeling the need for a diversion, Topaz decided to go, while Margaret declined, as she'd already been invited to court for the sumptuous festivities there.

  Topaz had never made Sir Gilford's acquaintance before, but imagined him as a stilted nobleman bedecked in stuffy raiment echoing a graying pate. However, she mused, landed nobles sired sons, virile knights hardened and brawny from military training; educated and eloquent, capable of engaging her in lively debate on art and astronomy far beyond the scope of any common Warwickshire yeoman.

  Her recently restored title and status might serve to find her a worthy counterpart. She knew she'd been languishing too long, obscuring her title when she could actually be using it to her advantage.

  She began folding lacy cloths and placing them in a travelling trunk. Perhaps a younger Gilford would pluck one of these up 'twixt his teeth in the triumph of a won tournament, she thought with a smile, enjoying the image of her bestowing her favor upon a worthy knight.

  After two days' journey, Topaz and her small retinue of servers cantered down the final rutted road leading to Kenilworth. It was a charming castle with a sandstone glow and sprawling gardens, a striking ornament set amid the velvety pastures and sparkling lake that lapped up against its walls.

  A groom helped her dismount in the courtyard and a maid escorted her to a set of comfortable apartments, where she unpacked and settled in.

  She dressed conservatively for that evening's meal in the great hall. Her gown was a subdued blue devoid of ribbons or lace, and with a higher neckline than the fashion dictated. Actually, it was one of her mother's older gowns. She didn't want to outshine Lady Gilford or any other ladies of the family—at least not on the very first evening.

  As she descended the staircase, her eyes swept the entry hall for familiar faces, trying to match one to her image of Lord Gilford. But the guests milling about and entering the castle through the huge oaken doors were of her own age group.

  She halted halfway down the steps when her eye caught the back of the tallest head in the crowd, a crop of dark blond hair catching the light like a cluster of glowing embers. The tall man's laughter, resonant and confident, prevailed over the tittering and chuckling. A growing circle enclosed him. People clamored for his attention, the ladies especially. They threw their heads back in gaiety, head-dresses bumping, as they gently nudged each other out of the way in an attempt to get close to him. A bejeweled hand stroked his sleeve and lingered at the hem of his doublet.

  One of the more aggressive ladies clutched at his arm and turned him to face her. Topaz saw that he was all in blue, from his hat of turquoise to the moderate tones of his doublet and hose tucked into indigo shoes. A satin undertunic peeked out, trimmed in gol
d. Sapphire rings glittered on his fingers. Swirls of aquamarines studded his doublet, glittering royally in the sunshine streaming into the castle.

  As he turned away from the bold woman trying to capture his attention so forcefully, his gaze swept across the entry hall and over to the staircase. His eyes met Topaz's. He looked away, but she kept a steady gaze on him. A moment later he glanced her way again.

  This time their gazes locked. Smile met smile. He excused himself and his tall yet graceful figure glided through the growing press of bodies, where he met her on the staircase, high above the milling crowd.

  The voices of their companions seemed to recede into the distance as they stood together. She had the impression they had become detached from the rest of humanity as if they'd been swept away on a cloud.

  "'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my fine lady. Allow me to introduce myself. I am your host, Matthew Gilford."

  Her hand was in his immediately, being raised to his lips, before she spoke even a word. The image of the wheezing old man withered and died. "And I am Lady Topaz Plantagenet, of Warwick Castle."

  A pair of sparkling emeralds looked into her eyes, and she couldn't remember another word either of them said...except his very last question before he excused himself.

  "Would you be so kind as to honor me with your presence for a stroll over the grounds after we sup, my lady?"

  And she heard her voice answer yes.

  While the music played and the mummers jangled and danced, Topaz couldn't even think of eating. In fact, the sight of all the roasted fowl, meats and steaming dishes made her stomach churn. She barely said a word to those seated around her at the long table. She didn't give a fig about crops, weather, or even the explorations in the New World—not now. All she could think of, all she could stare at—were that dark blond head, that warm smile, and that exquisite body so magnificently dressed.

  She was perched nervously on a seat in the winter parlour for quite a while before he finally arrived. He apologized for his lateness and she forgave him readily. Drowning in those green eyes, she heard his calm, elegant voice speak of... she wasn't quite listening. His voice was as smooth as the velvet of his doublet and breeches, and he could have spoken his words backwards for all she cared. She'd already decided that she was the future Lady Gilford.

  Topaz found out all about him in the next few days, over the tournaments, card and dice games, and dancing, asking casually of the other guests. He was of good stock. His father, Sir John, had died fighting at Bosworth, the battle that had brought Henry the Seventh to the throne. He was well-landed and educated, as she saw from a peek into his reading room. Throughout the entire twelve-day celebration he was flattered and fawned over by every female in the shire, and took it all in good humor, without taking advantage.

  Topaz, never the one to compete on a level footing with others, decided on a more subtle and clever approach. Instead of joining his throng of admirers, she acted aloof and disinterested; the exact opposite of all the other twittering wenches.

  It worked, much to her delight. She clearly piqued his interest, for he asked to meet her again...and again.

  He invited her back to Kenilworth, and she returned a second and then third time. Now she was sure she would be Lady Gilford, and if she had it her way, she would be so by the end of Lent.

  "Tell me more about Topaz of Warwick. Who is she and where did she come from?" he asked one night as they sat before the fire in his solar.

  She'd just finished asking him more about the chapters of his life, learning of his love for hunting, ancient Rome, and his assortment of allergies.

  Do I tell him the truth now or let him keep wondering? she asked herself. No, better tell the truth. Spin a yarn and it'll backfire somehow, with these talebearers lapping up the juices of gossip like thirsty hounds. Besides that, she needed someone to talk to, to share her pain. Who better than her future husband?

  "I know the Earls of Warwick go back several centuries."

  "To 1088, to be exact," she replied proudly. "The Earldom was created by King William the Second. My father Edward was the son of the Duke of Clarence. My grandfather's brother, King Edward, had my grandfather executed on trumped up charges and drowned in a cask of wine when he was twenty-nine years old and my father was but three."

  "Why—what did your grandfather do that his own brother would have him executed?"

  "He tried to take the throne a few times."

  Matthew said dryly, "Ah. Well, that explains it."

  "My father never got to know his father. He was almost the same age I was when Taffy Harry killed my father."

  Her voice dripped bitterness and resentment, and Matthew refilled her wine goblet in order to ease the pain these memories were evoking.

  "My father, the last of the Plantagenet line, was born in Warwick Castle. King Richard knighted him along with his own son Edward. When Edward died, he named my father heir. When Harry Tudor killed King Richard at Bosworth and seized the crown, my father was named dejure King of England, as he was the nearest in succession. So he was a threat to Tudor, being the rightful heir—by bloodline and all else."

  "So that is why Tudor imprisoned your father for the rest of his life?" Matthew guessed.

  She nodded slowly. "When my father was eight years old, Taffy Harry clapped him in Sheriff Hutton Castle, then had him brought to the Tower. He met my mother in the Tower when she went there to visit her father, the Earl of Ashford, who was awaiting execution."

  "For what?"

  She shrugged one shoulder. "He had fought on King Richard's side at Bosworth."

  "So what happened to your mother?"

  "When Ashford had his land stripped from him, my mother was shipped off to live with an aunt. She had nothing. My father had Warwick Castle taken away and it reverted back to the crown. He and my mother fell in love and got permission to marry. She took up residence with him there in the Bell Tower and became a court musician and singing minstrel."

  "So you were born and bred in the Tower?" he asked in surprise, shuddering at the horror of it all.

  "Aye. A virtual prisoner. My only happy childhood memory was of the splendid Royal Menagerie they had there in the Lion Tower. They had monkeys, and elephants, and zebras, and giraffes, and huge tortoises, colorful birds, and all kinds of exotic animals from Africa. The guards would let me go there almost every day, and I would stand and stare at the animals, fascinated with their behavior, their ways of communicating with one another, their rituals. I named some of them and the guards let me feed them.

  "When Matilda the elephant had a baby, I named him Perkin, and he became my playmate. I fed him peanuts and washed him down with the giant brush they had to clean them with. I would grab his trunk and he would curl it round my hand like a real friend would.

  "Then one day, returning from the menagerie, my mother and I climbed the stairs to the Bell Tower and I saw... They were dragging him away..."

  Matthew knew she was not referring to the elephant.

  She stopped abruptly, not wanting to relive this particular scene. "Taffy Harry had my father executed when my mother was breeding with Emerald. Just because he was a threat to the crown. It shows how preposterous it all was! My father, imprisoned since age eight, who they said was so simple-minded he couldn't tell a hen from a goose, trying to depose the King!

  "He was executed on Tower Hill. Didn't even have the honor of the green, where the nobles get their heads lopped off. We were all sent to live with my father's sister Margaret and her husband Richard Pole, and their brats.

  "I began collecting animals, healthy ones as well as sick ones. I gave them names, I cared for them all, and learnt how to heal the sick ones in very much the same way our family physician cared for us. I made medicines for them and birthed them and set the birds' delicate broken wings. That was my only escape, the menagerie they let me have. Animals were my only friends. It was my whole world."

  "Until now?"

  She nodded. "Until n
ow."

  She sounded to Matthew like the pain was permanently embedded within her soul and fought to get the best of her at times.

  But he understood and he held her and let her cry, and when she calmed down, he found himself asking her to marry him and praying that he could help ease her pain at last.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Warwick Castle, October, 1512

  Topaz strolled across the footbridge crossing the River Avon and headed for the Peacock Gardens, where she was meeting her betrothed. Kenilworth Castle wasn't as grand as Warwick, but it was close enough to her rightfully inherited home that she could visit her family whenever she pleased and set up another animal hospital there.

  She was now living at Warwick, since Lady Margaret had moved to court at King Henry's invitation to serve as Princess Mary's governess, and had taken all her servers with her.