Heloise was awakened next day by Ned prancing barefoot, shrieking, ‘It’s May Day!’ All Hallows’ Church across the market square was pealing six o’clock but already Heloise could hear the squeals; young men with hunting horns were hallooing the girls of Northampton to fetch in the birch and hawthorn boughs with them.

The town celebrated selfconsciously, unused to a young, leggy king in their midst. Today’s archery contests and dancing were definitely a relief after the sword and buckler rattling of yesterday, although when the exuberantly merry Men of the Green Wood had finished trying to lift the women’s skirts with their quarterstaves, and Maid Marion’s bosoms had ended round her shoulder blades, Northampton went home red-faced to dinner.

Bidden to take Ned across to dine with the great lords, Heloise shook a scatter of almond petals from her veil onto the cobbles outside Gloucester’s inn and looked up to find Rushden and de la Bere grinning at her. Rushden adroitly delegated de la Bere to take charge of Ned and, in the confusion of the entourages sorting out where they were to eat, it was easy for him to discreetly detain her.

‘Well, changeling, has the royal temper improved?’

‘Barely. The Northampton maidens insisted on garlanding him with daisychains, much to his disgust. Evidently, all my gender are to be avoided as if we carry the pestilence. Were you like that?’

‘Of course,’ he laughed. ‘I made up for it later. He will too, given his family tree, so—’ A horseman riding past the inn momentarily distracted him, but relieved that the fellow was merely on local business, Rushden looked down at her wickedly. ‘“Northampton, full of love, beneath the girdel but not above”,’ he quoted. ‘So were your skirts teased by Little John’s weapon?’

Heloise was determined not to blush. ‘With half a dozen Welsh pikemen for protection! Sadly, no, but does being severely ogled by Maid Marion count?’

‘Ah, it is the pikes you have to watch.’ With a grin, he rubbed a hand across his chin. It reminded her.

‘Sir, Prince Edward is still complaining that his jaw aches.’

‘Then it will be wonderful if the toothache carries him off. Once the crown comes down on that scowling brow, I will be saying prayers.’

She hid a smile. ‘Oh hush, that is treason. You must not speak so.’

‘Be grateful I trust you.’ Astonishment shone in his silver gaze as if he had surprised himself, and then the portcullis of controlled cheeriness slammed down again. But the untethered remark gave her hope. He was growing used to her, like a comfortable shoe. The confidences, the deliberate seeking of her company, were becoming regular and welcome. Besides, she could return his trust in equal measure:

‘Sir.’ She waited for the hawk gaze to fix again upon her. ‘I … I fear there is something more to the prince’s pain than just toothache.’

‘Heloise!’ This time he gripped her by the elbow and propelled her with unmannerly haste into the shadow of the laneway that flanked the inn. ‘You had better elaborate.’

‘I do not mean poison.’ She watched his face lose its rigidity.

‘Is this one of your premonitions?’

‘No,’ she patted the air as if she were trying to keep matters lidded. ‘Sometimes I can sense when a body is aching.’ A teasing expression lit Rushden’s eyes. ‘I will clout you, sir, if you look at me like that. I thought you were the one being serious. No, it is just that I can feel a kind of echo of someone’s illness, sometimes before they are even aware of it themselves. I could sense the torment of that churchman in Bishop Alcock’s entourage, for instance.’

‘Stillington?’

‘Yes, him. It was as though his mind was longing to wrench free of the lassitude of his body.’ Rushden did not seem appalled that she could perceive such things. ‘I am glad you do not cross yourself, sir,’ she said, much relieved, ‘for it is not witchcraft, but a gift I cannot help.’

‘I am learning not to belittle your instincts, believe me. So, is there some infusion you can give the prince to mend him?’

‘I spoke with his physician, Dr Argentine, who seems quite sensible. He has advised the prince to rinse his mouth with sage-water and given him powdered cloves seethed in rose-water to rub on his gums.’

‘Then the brat’s breath will be sweeter than his temper.’ Rushden pulled a face at her reproving look.

‘And the apothecary here has made up some henbane ointment for his highness to rub on the outside of his jaw.’

‘Pah, I reckon you could concoct something better.’

‘Oh no, I want no part of this, sir,’ she answered the suggestion gravely. ‘If we are still in some danger from the queen, as you seem to think, then it would be easy for her to accuse us of sorcery, and with my strange hair and being a woman, I should be the first to be accused and very likely be the scapegoat for the rest of you.’

Rushden frowned and made no answer, narrowing his gaze down the high street, as if he were willing a messenger to arrive.

‘What will happen if the queen does hold London and sends an army against us, sir? You have only a few hundred men here.’

‘Do not worry! We hold the prince. If an army does head our way, we will straightway dispatch you and Ned to safety. We shall know the worst soon anyway when Lord Hastings sends us word.’ But she saw the pearls of moisture on his forehead and knew it was not the sun that was the cause.

By three o’clock that afternoon, the awaited messenger had arrived. No covert necromancer but a fox-eyed lawyer, Sir William Catesby, suave though dusty, bearing Lord Hastings’s assurance that London was rolled out like a welcoming cloth for my Lord Protector’s foot. Such cheerful news had Miles humming contentedly as he walked back with de la Bere from Mayor Lynde’s house at the top of Horse Market. They had been part of the delegation reassuring his worship that no blood was to puddle Northampton streets.

He slackened his stride, frowning, as he recognised Heloise and Ned outside the gate of the Grey Friars, deep in conversation with Gloucester’s brother-in-law, while Benet and several pikemen fidgeted at a polite distance. Sir Richard Huddleston, seeing Miles bearing down, took his leave.

‘We have just been for a walk to the castle.’ Heloise, trying to keep her tisshew veil well behaved in the breeze, noticed Rushden’s sour expression. ‘You are looking vexed, sir. I understood the news was good.’

Miles made no reply. A dusty street with an audience of Welsh soldiers was not the time to demand why Huddleston was showing such interest in her.

It was de la Bere who answered: ‘London has shown no support for the queen.’ He stooped to Ned’s level. ‘Want to come and fight a duel with me, lordling?’

‘Yes, yes,’ shrilled Ned, drawing a wooden sword from his belt.

‘Take the escort then,’ muttered Miles. ‘I shall see Lady Haute back.’

Heloise was delighted to find herself left alone with Rushden. ‘Are you sure there will be no battle?’ she asked, anxious for the truth.

‘Of course, be easy. All the queen’s men are scattered leaderless ’twixt here and London, and half the treasury is at sea with her brother, Sir Edward Woodville. The foolish woman has no retainers left to hand, nor ready money to raise a new army, so she has taken refuge in Westminster sanctuary with her children.’

Hardly foolish if all the royal mint was in Woodville hands, thought Heloise. Sir Richard Huddleston had just been telling her that while the queen had cunningly distracted Lord Hastings in argument, her kinsmen had been tearing down a wall at the sanctuary and stuffing in as much gold plate as they could. It sounded as though Lord Hastings could not control a coney warren, let alone London, and Gloucester would be short of funds to run the realm as Lord Protector.

‘Surely the queen will try to seize back power once her son is crowned?’

‘We shall cross that bridge in time.’ Rushden’s tone was chilling and a hard smile serifed his mouth.

‘You are revelling in all this,’ she protested, glimpsing the darker side in him.

‘Oh yes. I intend to make Harry so powerful that lands and offices will come my way with a grateful handshake. I have been waiting a long while.’

‘I wish this were all over.’

‘Which family war are we talking about?’ he teased, offering her his arm. ‘The feud over England, or the one over Bramley?’

‘Both,’ she blurted out, resting her gloved hand upon his wrist. He drew her around a puddle, sidestepping the verbal issue too by keeping to the drier ground of politics.

‘Do not be anxious. Gloucester is going to keep Rivers and Grey as hostages to ensure the queen makes no more mischief. Haute, too. Sending them all north.’

‘Haute, hmm.’ Heloise’s thoughts were busy with the future. ‘If I come to London, there will be other people who will know I am not Lady Haute.’

‘Shall I keep you then?’ Rushden’s thumb tickled her palm. ‘Mayhap I should turn heathen and house a whole pantry of wives and concubines. Wednesday and Saturday nights for you, Tuesdays and Thursdays for Myfannwy and—’

‘Oh yes, and Hell will freeze over.’ She tugged her hand free and waited for a cart to rumble past before they crossed the street. ‘I am weary of the lies, sir. I wish our annulment would arrive.’

Miles studied her profile speculatively. ‘When your father broke the tidings that he had taken me captive to wed you, how did you truly feel?’

‘Now, you ask! Backed into a corner with a sheer ten-foot wall behind and a couple of bulls hoofing the ground at me.’

‘And I was one of them?’

‘I mean it metaphorically,’ she added with a sideways glint of apology to mollify him.

‘Thank you,’ Miles answered dryly.

‘Admit it, you were threatening. Especially as you promised to take your belt to me at Potters Field.’

‘Dear me, did I make such a threat. And if I were hoofing the ground at you now?’ He paused as they reached the other side, turning her down the cross street in the direction of the Drapery.

‘Are you?’ The query was lightly tossed at him like a ball. Miles chose to let it fall and watched her playfulness waver and rally.

‘Try to answer the question.’ He reached down and plucked away a clinging stem of goosegrass that Ned must have hurled at her skirts in mischief.

‘You mean, if I knew you as well as I know you now, but back at Bramley.’

‘You voice it so clearly.’ He fingered the sticky fronds – sweet hearts, some called it – and tossed it aside.

‘Yes, I would feel threatened.’

‘You still find me threatening?’ It seemed to him that God should have made woman from man’s brains instead of his ribs, and then he blanched at the thought. ‘Do you?’

She turned, pausing by a churchyard wall. ‘Oh yes,’ she purred with sufficient enthusiasm to goad him. Any maid looking less threatened was hard to imagine. For a long moment, he studied her with the growing suspicion that he had lost the reins of the conversation. ‘Given the hypothesis, would you consent?’

Because she did not reply straightaway, he was unsure if confusion clouded her understanding, but she drew a long breath finally, picking a yellow-tongued heartsease sprig from its stony crevice. ‘I seem to remember I did consent.’

Languidly watching the progress of his bootcap as it investigated a patch of weeds, he asked, ‘Supposing the annulment is not forthcoming?’

The lady’s fur was ruffled now. ‘But how can it not be forthcoming, we have not …’ she swallowed.

He smiled quizzically, but inside he was inexplicably pleased that she had not lost her ability to blush.

‘… been intimate,’ she finished, biting her lower lip and glancing away as if to veil her thoughts, and then her eyes went round as cartwheels and she turned about in panic as if she were seeking a lane or doorway to swallow her. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered. ‘There is my father! Ohh!’

She staunched a squeak as Rushden’s strong arms lifted and tossed her over the churchyard wall. Then he vaulted it effortlessly and landed beside her, grinning with merriment like a mischievous page hiding from a steward.

‘That was a close shave. Bruised, changeling?’ he asked the tangle of gown and veil.

‘No, only my dignity,’ she gasped, her cone headdress askew and her skirts indecorously at mid-calf. ‘Oh, Miles.’ She clapped her fingers to her lips to stifle her laughter as the hoofs of her father’s party clip-clopped past within a few paces of them.

Rushden looked astounded, as though daylight had exposed some hidden truth. Heloise had not meant to say his baptismal name, never allowed herself to think of him that way but … His laughter had died and he was looking at her as though she had suddenly slid a dagger beneath his ribs.

Miles forgot Heloise could use magic; he was just staring at a young woman who was lying on the long grass in disarray and laughing with all the abandon of a miller’s daughter. Did she know how adorable she was? He should have helped her to her feet and straightened the squat velvet steeple over her glistening braids. Instead he wanted to halt time itself. All the loveliness of her belonged to him. She was at his fingertips, a breath away, not to be given to another man’s keeping. His fingers reached out and touched her slender wrist, tracing the pulse beneath the silken skin before he pushed her gently back against the grass.

Heloise held her breath as he leaned upon his elbow, his face above her. This was a Miles Rushden with armour abandoned. The desire in his darkened eyes roused her and the lawful mastery he held over her alchemised Heloise’s whole being to molten fire. His mouth came down on her lips questioning and yet unable to take denial.

Soft and trusting, the girl raised her arms up shyly to scarf his neck, curving her body against him. Miles knew he wanted her now beyond all reason. His right hand rose to fondle her firm little breast and encountered the sheath of velvet. Ruthlessly his hand slid up beneath the shoulder of her gown and down beneath her collar to fondle and coax forth that delicious –

‘Ahem! I said ahem!’

The earth stabilised itself again. Two sandalled feet in darned stockings, lapped by the dusty hem of a black houppelande, were waiting for him to abandon the chase of love.

‘Who in Hell are you?’ Miles growled, not bothering to turn his head.

The shadow on the wall before him fidgeted. ‘Oh, no one in particular, merely the priest of the parish. I have an aversion to people fornicating between the graves.’

With a stifled oath, Miles rolled off Heloise and glared up at the man who had both spoilt his pleasure and restored him to his senses.

‘We were not fornicating. We are married,’ he drawled.

‘A likely story, young man! You should be ashamed of yourself. We do not want your lewd court habits here. Northampton is a respectable town.’ Hands tapping on forearms, he clucked in disgust. ‘Befouling St Catherine’s! In broad daylight too! Be off with you!’

Colour high, but vastly amused, Miles climbed to his feet and helped Heloise up. Godsakes she was shaking with laughter.

‘Good sir, I assure you we are married.’ Desperately trying not to splutter, Heloise staunched her bittersweet hilarity – Rushden finally admitting the truth! He was squeezing her hand, drawing her close behind him so she might hide her face. They had offended the fellow enough already.

‘Married! Aye, no doubt,’ retorted the priest. ‘To others. I pity them. Get you gone!’

He dogged their heels as they zigzagged between the graves to the pathway and latched the graveyard gate noisily behind them, leaning upon it lest they should have second thoughts.

They walked with dignity round the closest corner to reel against the daubed wall of a merchant’s house, surrendering to an emotion less perilous than lust.

‘Court habits,’ giggled Heloise, mopping the corners of her eyes, and patted his chest playfully. ‘I wish I might take y Cysgod to task so thoroughly. Is the priest still there?’ She dared a glance around the corner. ‘Lord, yes. Like a mastiff.’

Miles hauled her back to safety. ‘Behave!’ he admonished affectionately. ‘Shame on you, Heloise, that contraption looks as though it has been struck by lightning. Come, let me help you.’

Fearful as ever of her silver hair being seen, his erring wife glanced about her before she let him remove it and re-pin the strap that went beneath her chin to hold the cone firm. To his amusement, she stood still like a small girl until he was done. ‘The veil will need stiffening again.’ He gave up trying to discipline the abused gauze and untangled a snagged clover burr instead. ‘I am afraid you look as though you have been tumbled, changeling.’

‘I believe I nearly was,’ she said huskily and flirtatiously peeped up to see if her remark had found a vein.

‘I am afraid so.’ He tugged emphatically at the front and back edges of his doublet and risked a wicked smile. ‘I beg your pardon.’

These last few weeks she had taken every care not to encourage him lest he think himself seduced. Now she was left with little choice but to be gracious still, as if he had been the only one out of control.

‘If word of this should spread …’ Yea, like ripples until it splashed her father.

His smile was rueful yet wondrously shameful. ‘I know, we are undone. Cheer up! I will wager that the cleric will not gossip. We shall merely be part of next week’s sermon against worldliness and sinful lust.’

‘It was lust, wasn’t it?’ It was more a statement, but it should have been a greater question, and Heloise, confused by herself and him, was not sure what answer she wanted.

‘Yes, but technically not sinful.’

Her glance rose, embarrassed, to discover the man she was handbound to studying her face, and still in surprisingly good humour, but it was necessary to be pragmatic. She had imagined her father still at Bramley, but he must be back at their Northamptonshire home.

‘My father—’

‘—will expect a reckoning. A sale or the merchandise returned unopened.’ His gaze fell admiringly upon her neckline but she was determined on being serious.

‘Returned? God forbid! Oh, Heavens, what if he is here to make mischief for you!’ She stared up unhappily at the jut of oaken joist above their heads. ‘H-he will order me to … to be examined.’

Miles cursed. Her delicate body probed by a midwife’s grimy fingers behind a curtain while some lewd cleric eavesdropped to see if he, Miles Rushden, had used her and, yes, he almost had – until God intervened.

Anguished eyes beseeched him; fingers twisted, tormented, against her embossed leather belt. ‘I vowed I would never let him bully and beat me ever again.’ Irresistible tears sparkled on iridescent lashes. ‘Could you speak to Buckingham for me, tell him the truth and ask if he will permit me to remain as Ned’s governess? Please.’

‘You dream, changeling.’ Miles tucked a wild wisp of hair behind her ear and wondered how long they dared delay. Two housewives passed, twitching their frieze-skirts and glaring as though he and Heloise were ribalds. Was there nowhere they could speak without the world’s condemnation? ‘And I doubt that Harry would give your father audience. He knows about the feud over Bramley.’

‘Father may speak to Gloucester though, and my lord duke has already offered to find me another husband,’ she muttered. ‘Sir Richard Huddleston told me so just now.’

‘Huddleston! Christ, Heloise, did you confide in him?’ His fingers bit into her shoulders. ‘And, Godsakes, what plaguey concern is it to Gloucester?’

‘Because I was in his household, you see.’

Miles let her go and furiously slapped the wall. ‘Christ Almighty, woman, why on earth did you not tell me this before?’

She hung her head. ‘It was not your business.’ The euphoria of the churchyard had evaporated. Y Cysgod was back in command of himself.

‘Everything about you has become my business. There is only one thing for it,’ he muttered, straightening his hat, his expression resolute. ‘I need to see Gloucester, God willing, before your father does.’

‘What will you say?’ She hurried after him, setting an anxious hand upon his sleeve, but he would not tarry.

‘I do not know. I am hoping for divine inspiration. Go back to your inn, and bar yourself in your bedchamber lest your father come for you. Plead indisposition or whatever womanly excuse you can until you hear from me.’

‘But I should come with you, sir,’ she gasped.

‘No. This is better dealt with without any women’s interference.’

‘Oh, come, how dare you say so! It is my life and liberty.’

‘And mine!’ he muttered. ‘Go to your inn!’

Heloise, almost tripping, swore. Men were a curse. Damnation to the lot of them! ‘I hope the Devil reserves a row of toasting forks especially for you.’

‘I have felt the prongs already, Heloise,’ he tossed back grimly. ‘Trust me.’

‘Sir Miles!’ He was almost within a stone’s throw of Gloucester’s inn when Ralph Bannastre, sweaty with exertion, halted him, gasping. ‘Oh, sir, his grace of Buckingham is asking for you.’

‘I cannot come now.’ Miles scowled, anxiously scanning the throng of petitioners outside Gloucester’s lodging to see if Sir Dudley was among them. ‘Make some excuse, man, tell him you could not find me. Ralph,’ he set the servant aside, ‘get out of my way!’

‘But, sir,’ Ralph hurried after him, ‘he’s in a right pother.’

‘So am I! What is so poxy important?’

‘Something to do with the prisoner Haute, sir.’

‘Oh Christ!’ That brought him up short. Which damned duke should he deal with first? And now, that cursed meddler, Huddleston, was striding purposefully his way with two pikemen in White Boar surcoats at his heels. A pox on it! The last thing he needed was to be rounded up like a missing bull and led into the sale yard.

‘Get out of here, Ralph! You could not find me!’ He crossed the street towards the hunting party.

‘Sir Miles.’ Gloucester’s velvet-voiced trouble-solver blocked his way.

‘Sir Richard,’ he echoed the dry courtesy.

‘What a much-sought man you are.’ An embroidered unicorn stitched in silver thread glinted upon Huddleston’s glove as he gestured to the guards to fall in behind Miles. ‘You can guess what this is about.’

‘Kissing among the graves?’ Miles retorted flippantly, striding alongside Huddleston. Some score of faces were already gawking. He was not going to march in behind like a traitor brought for questioning. ‘Can we dispense with the pikemen?’

‘But they like to feel useful.’ The crowd parted. ‘I heard it was fornication on a grave.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Miles grabbed his pouched shoulder before they reached the doorway. ‘Are you telling me this is about this afternoon?’

His escort’s smile was cryptic as he languidly pushed aside Miles’s hand. ‘I think it is about a lifetime.’ Letting that sink in, he cleared the way through the cordon of Gloucester’s bodyguards. ‘I would be circumspect, if I were you. Your lady does not lack for friends.’

Circumspect! Miles could do with two curtain walls and a twelve-foot moat to protect him, for Sir Dudley Ballaster was sitting at the trestle on Gloucester’s right hand, with a tankard at his elbow and a smirk a mile wide.

‘Be thankful they are both sitting down.’ Huddleston murmured cryptically and with a soft laugh turned to latch the door.

‘Rushden.’ Gloucester leaned back, rubbing jewelled fingers across his chin, his expression sea calm.

‘My lord.’ Miles removed his hat, wondering if a two-knee genuflection might be interpreted as guilt. He was beginning to sweat beneath his leather doublet.

‘Is this the man, Father?’ Sir John Dokett, the duke’s chaplain, led forward the priest of St Catherine’s.

‘Indeed, it is. See, his hose is grass-stained.’ They all stared pointedly at Miles’s calves and Gloucester, sucking in his cheeks, gestured for the witness to be removed.

‘You have been busy, Rushden.’ The duke’s fingers found a quill to play with. At his side, Ballaster set a hand upon his belt and leaned back like a man who already owned half England. It was not a pleasing sight; neither was the church-court smile glued to the chaplain’s visage.

Miles waited. He knew the timings and the twists of interrogations, the deliberate control, the sudden smash of anger.

‘I am hearing complaints about you from all sides,’ Gloucester declared. ‘They boil away to one matter. Whether you are betrothed to a Welsh heiress or married to an English one. What do you say?’

Fixing his attention on Gloucester like a mariner on the Pole star, Miles shook his head. ‘Your grace, until I hear from his Holiness in Rome my hands are tied.’

The Ballaster fist unwound at the edge of Miles’s vision and its owner perused his fingernails. ‘But other parts of you are not, man.’ Sir Dudley’s crudity was calculated. ‘Same old story, eh, boy?’

‘I find myself between Scylla and Charybdis, your grace. My lord of Buckingham—’

‘Scylla? Charybdis?’ Ballaster sneered. ‘Forget the learning. Which of ’em do you want?’

‘My lord of Buckingham,’ repeated Miles doggedly, ‘has been at pains to negotiate an alliance with Rhys ap Thomas over the last year.’ Good, the brief flicker of Gloucester’s eyelids implied interest, and my Lord Protector needed Harry’s good will at the moment. Harry still had the numbers in Northampton; if he suddenly changed allegiance and let loose the Woodvilles on his terms, Gloucester would be on his knees.

‘Upping the stakes, are we?’ Ballaster missed little.

Gloucester cleared his throat and tossed aside the quill. ‘It is important that we reach a satisfactory solution for all parties, especially Mistress Ballaster. If an annulment is granted, I will undertake to find her a husband who will cherish her particular virtues.’ He knew. Gloucester plaguey well knew about her premonitions.

‘May I speak, your grace?’ asked the chaplain. ‘In my humble judgment, this is hardly a civil dispute. Seeing as the alleged marriage took place within the diocese of Bath and Wells, it is a matter for Bishop Stillington and it would be good to have his counsel, but unfortunately his lordship, God keep him, is not in his right mind, so—’

‘No, he’s not and I’m not waiting for the slimy Italians to interfere either,’ ground out Ballaster.

‘—perhaps we should send to Lampeter for Bishop Langton,’ persisted Dokett, adding swiftly, ‘There is also the question of heresy.’

‘Heresy!’ Both of Ballaster’s fists hit the table.

‘Or something more sinister,’ the churchman added. ‘I am trying to keep a lid upon this pot.’

‘Confound you, Dokett, whose side are you on?’ Aggrieved, Ballaster looked to the duke.

The churchman had his teeth into the bone: ‘Let me finish, Sir Dudley. Both your daughters are immodest mischief-makers and your eldest—’

‘May I say something, your grace,’ demanded Miles, ‘before this digresses into utter ridicule?’ He had a sense that Gloucester was listening with godlike amusement. ‘Yes, sir priest, Heloise is different, but there is much virtue in her. God’s truth, your grace, if I had not been forced at sword point to marry her, I would—’ Words failed him. ‘It is just that …’ he faltered, ‘that there is no enmity between us. We just wish to be severed, that is all. And Heloise is as I first found her, Sir Dudley – unviolated.’

‘Ha!’

‘Your grace, this matter is but little compared to the troubles confronting the realm. I pray you, adjourn this matter until we hear from Rome.’ Why did Gloucester not answer?

It was Ballaster who dealt the coup de grâce: ‘I am willing to loan my Lord Protector here a considerable sum if you take my Heloise.’

You cunning whoreson! So that was it! Coercion of a subtler kind. Because the Woodvilles had stolen the treasury, Gloucester would need coin in hand to keep London licking his toecaps like a friendly cur. No wonder the duke was silent.

Miles leaned forward, grasping the board. ‘Ballaster, you can offer me Jerusalem and all of Christendom, but I will not be bought.’ Nor his allegiance either! ‘My family have been barons since the time of Edward Longshanks and the blood of de Burgh and de Clare flows in our veins.’

But Heloise’s father had brought thumbscrews too: ‘I think you are missing the point. Aren’t you a bloody Lancastrian, Rushden? This could be misconstrued.’

Miles could have hit him. ‘My loyalty is to Buckingham and his to you, your grace,’ he exclaimed to Gloucester but the duke’s head was bowed.

‘And do you imagine Buckingham will thank you, Rushden?’ Saliva flew from Ballaster’s lips. ‘My God, he can have a loan as well! God’s Truth, man, do you people want England or don’t you?’

‘I …’ Miles took a step back, glancing towards the chaplain for support.

‘And another thing,’ Ballaster left the bench and advanced towards him. ‘You want some other man to tup Heloise, eh? Like her, don’t you?’

‘I am … betrothed to Myfannwy.’ The humiliation endured at Bramley came flooding back.

‘But is it what you really want?’ Loathsome red-veined eyes bored into him.

‘I … I am marrying Myfannwy and …’ Miles retreated. Oh God, he did not want to lose Heloise, but he could not stomach her bully of a father. ‘I will not be bought!’ he shouted and shoving Huddleston aside, he wrenched the door open and stormed out to find himself face-to-face with Rhys ap Thomas.

‘You bloody liar!’ roared the Welshman. A mighty fist drove at him. Miles ducked and heard the thwack of bone on bone and a sickening echo. Sweet Jesu!

Turning, he found Duke Richard’s horror reflected his. Between them, slowly sliding down the blooded doorjamb, was Dudley Ballaster.