Violent Delights (Violent Delights Book 1)

Chapter 15: "Fortune knows, we scorn her most when she offers blows"

After Dover, we are summoned to Wigmore for tournaments and the like, all arranged and for Roger Mortimer, who as usual is celebrating himself, or something of that kind. If it sounds like I really don't like Mortimer at all that's because I don't.
We travel briefly to London, where Edward appoints Bury, his old schoolmaster, as keeper of his privy seal. This means that all royal communication hence forth goes through Bury and therefore Edward. Bury is incredibly trustworthy, he was keeper of Edward's wardrobe, which is to say he's the person who has more than once been contracted to fake kidnap members of the royal family and related shenanigans. He also was the person tasked with teaching Edward to read, which according to Edward qualifies him for sainthood. Despite the above he does love Edward and is quite loyal to him. And now he holds the privy seal. A move which we don't publicize.
"My mother will find out and be cross eventually, and when she does she can come and complain, and then I'll know she was trying to use it," Edward says, cheerfully.
We can't argue with that.
We're entering endgame now. And it's a dangerous game.
Lancaster could return at any moment.
Mortimer is slowly being threatened by Edward's sovereignty.
Kent is an unknown and could threaten any of us.
None of us strictly has an army. That won't stop any of us from trying.
It's a delicate dance, all of niceties of course. We're up but we're not in the clear. Edward will be seventeen in the fall. I'm sixteen. We're no longer children anymore, well, Edward has four years before he's considered ruling in his own right. But he's throwing his weight around.
And tournaments prove nothing if not Edward's readiness for battle. He may not be battle tested. But each lance broken shows he's not afraid of combat. He's bold enough to tilt against knights twice his age.
The pressure is mounting as the summer heat grows.
Tournaments at Wigmore provide a perfect arena for what is becoming less like a chess match and much closer to gladiatorial combat. The men are tiring of the the moves in the shadows and would like to come to blows.
Before we get to Wigmore, we go down we visit Monty and his wife, they have two little ones, a boy and a girl. The boy is nearly a year old and trying stubbornly to walk. The little girl's about three and she is quite shy, glaring at us from her nurse's arms.
Edward is fond of the children, he's met them before. I haven't. The little ones are too small to travel much. Monty is of course perpetually with Edward, but he's fond of his family. I think his wife, Catherine, is well enough with him off jousting.
"You're missing a tournament? Are you ill?" Catherine asks, when we tell her that he's not accompanying us to Wigmore.
"I've a message for the pope I only trust in his hands, he'll forgive me eventually," Edward explains, leaning back in his chair.
"Unfortunately our very real game takes precedent," Monty says, "However I'm not entirely comfortable with the two of you in one of Mortimer's strongholds. Without me. Egotistical I know."
"We'll manage, Monty," Edward says, fondly, tangling his fingers in mine, "I'd sooner have your company as well, but it can't be helped. I need the pope to receive the communication you have and more than that I need you to receive any word he may have."
We have reason given what Edward found out this spring, to believe that his father is in the company of monks, which means he'll likely seek refuge with the pope. That needs to be done privately. If he lives, rebels could take arms in his name. Which we cannot have. We need to know once and for all his intentions. Monty is the only messenger we trust to actually get such precious intelligence. On top of which, Edward's father would trust Monty as well knowing he's an honorable man and not an assassin and not at all likely to have been gotten to by Mortimer and Isabela.
"Quite intriguing, do all of you expect to survive?" Catherine asks, coolly.
"Oh yes," Edward grins, "We're going to win after all."
"But for now you're going into the viper's nest as it were," Monty says.
"We're not alone, I have Eland and the others. And I'm there with my wife, in good faith. Any kidnapping attempts they'd have to drag me from my wife's bed," Edward says.
That's entirely accurate. He's in my bed more than his own, and usually remains the night long as we fall asleep talking, or him just cradling me in his arms. I would have thought I'd mind it. But I do not and am becoming seriously fond of falling asleep with my head on his chest.  Despite the summer heat, we're both happy with the other, sweaty as we are, watching the sun set against the tapestries. And I lay my head against his chest, him smelling of sweat, and wondering if I can always be this happy. I don't know but I'm planning to savor it.
We leave Elenor behind, she doesn't want to go and see her mother, which is understandable we don't want to see her mother. Aimee stays with her. Monty goes off on his errand, which leaves us and John as the main members of our little party. Of course, Edward has his usual set of knights who have varying loyalties to him, and the rest of my people who are steadfast. But that's about all. Despite inviting us, Mortimer and Isabela aren't strictly happy to see us.
"You brought the lion?"
"You brought the lion?"
We brought the lion.
Isabela and Mortimer look as though they're deciding who is more objectionable. Me or the lion.
"Yes, we're merrymaking are we not? I enjoy the animal's presence," Edward says, cheerfully. Edward enjoys putting the lion someplace in the hall outside my bedroom so that his necessary love-making is not disturbed. Edward thinks it's funny that the lion might eat someone's face again and thinks that a just punishment for disturbing him when he's busy making love to me. I don't necessarily share these views but I find them attractive, which is different, however it doesn't mean I do anything to stop it. I get as much pleasure from his presence in my bed as he does. He makes sure of that.
Now at Wigmore I expect this tradition to possibly wane, but it does not. Edward shows up with cheerful regularity to my room, goblet of wine in hand. After the festivities we're both bored and lightheaded from wine and more than happy to kiss one another till we fall asleep. Wine on his lips, sweat slick on his back, he's never been so attractive to me. I know deep in my heart we'll only have this once, so I have to make it enough to last my lifetime.  This joy that burns in me, I want to savor it, and lock it away in my heart forever for the cold winter days when I'll be without his touch.
That is the only real joy in our stay. The festivities are entirely dull. It's as though Mortimer holds his own court. In pageants he dresses himself as King Arthur.
Edward says nothing, smiling thinly, hand on my thigh beneath the table. We both know the curtain will fall soon. Edward has control of his privy seal. And if Monty is successful, he'll have control of his father's whereabouts, and therefore Kent on his side. Lancaster is already out, situated perfectly to come our side to oust Mortimer. We just need Mortimer to make the wrong move. And to push him to do it.
But all that takes time. Monty isn't back yet. We're playing it subtle. And pretending to be on their side. Being here lulls them into a sense of security, which is important if we want Mortimer to make a single misstep. All we need is him to move a piece, and we can charge him with treason. He's backed into a corner he has no good move.
All of which is to say we're polite but it's deadly dull. Edward jousts, and I attend and make polite small talk with Mortimer's daughters. They hate him, incidentally. I give nothing away but they're not really all that loyal mostly sad, so that's sort of sad.
And when Edward has nothing to joust or point a sword at he gravitates back to my side. By the second week we are more and more simply cutting out of events to go kiss in private someplace. Sometimes more than kiss. I feel incredibly stupid, which isn't typical for me. However, I'm learning to enjoy it. We're married twice over, he's the king of England, I'm his wife, but we delight in sneaking about like star crossed lovers, kissing in stairwells, hiding in the woods like Lancelot and Guinevere. And yet there's nothing to stop our love. We hold all the keys to a happy ending. Which is so very hard to believe. I don't know why I can believe in happy endings in story books, and not in real life. Perhaps because in real life it's me. I can't believe that something this good would happen to me.
We're at our tricks one afternoon when Isabela finds us. Personally. We'd slipped off to the woods to ostensibly kiss but in reality that meant love making, in the rain, giggling and soaking wet, hidden among the trees. We're walking back, Edward with his arms about me as is his custom, when his mother and her party find us. Maggie and my William knew where we were and that we were not to be disturbed, but they would absolutely give misinformation so I'm just surprised we were found.
"Bury? Really?" Isabela asks. So she found out he holds the Privy seal. And he denied her something. I wonder what it was?
"Hm? Yes?" Edward asks, arms still about me, "Yes, lady mother? Did you have a comment to make?"
"Do you think, do you really think that all I've worked for. All I've done. Can be overcome by a couple of knights, serving girls, and two randy children who can't keep their hands off of each other? You're greatly mistaken. You are as powerless as your father was. Going quietly, will be so much less painful for you, both of you," she says, then she walks away.
I don't say anything because I was letting Edward say something but he's just standing there.
"Did—my whore mother—just call ME a whore?" Edward asks, delicately, just so offended, "She who is living in sin with a married man? Committing adultery? And she called me a whore?"
"Edward, your hand is currently on my breast," I say. His arm wraps all the around me and his hand tends to migrate to its favorite place. I don't actually mind, but I usually move it in public.
"I know, I like it there," he says, not moving it at all, "Oh—got it. Even so."
"Yes, even so she did," I say.
"I need to tell several people—and the pope—,"
"Edward, it doesn't matter. That was the result we wanted— she's angry. Because she knows she just lost a piece, you are in control of communications now," I say, "And with Monty at the pope she has no papal power either. We're winning."
"Well, Mortimer hasn't died by my blade yet," he mutters, squeezing me a bit, "D'you know why I truly hate him?"
I shake my head no.
"Because if it weren't for him, my father wouldn't have been cross with me. He made me look like a poor son, to my father. All I wanted was my father's love. And he's the one who took that from me in a heartbeat. And I'll never believe my father loves me again," he says, quietly, "That's awful isn't it? I care about the crown, I do. But your father and mother are the first people who are supposed to love you. And he took them both from me."
"I know I'm a bit late. But, I love you. And it doesn't look like I'm going to stop. Ever," I say, tugging on his tunic a little.
"You'd better not," he says, crushing me in his arms, kissing the top of my head, "Come, let's go inside. You're freezing."
"I'm well," I say, leaning against his warm chest.
Two days later, we return to Windsor.