Brecknock was humming like a summer hive but like Dafydd, whose mice quota was efficiently down, Heloise was not part of the bustling. Nor was she part of the loving, save between the bedcurtains, and even then Miles’s furrowed brow and taciturnity clouded the pleasure.

Something was wrong; the castle officers were tense, whispering in corners, breaking off conversations. Was it they thought her a witch? Had Buckingham buried rumours like caltraps to wound her? Imagination is a powerful enemy. Even when Sir William Knyvett returned from his new post as Constable at Castle Rising, bringing with him from Norfolk an excessive number of mounted men-at-arms, Heloise did not suspect the truth. It was finally a conversation, private – and obscure in places until she dissected it afterwards – between Sir William and her husband, that drove a crossbolt through the glass panes of her world. She had not meant to eavesdrop but the two men, stopping on the allure outside the bedchamber she shared with Miles, must have thought themselves out of earshot.

‘—on paper, yes. Thomas Stanley’s heir, Lord Strange, has promised ten thousand men from Cheshire.’

‘Ten thousand!’ Awe laced her husband’s astonished voice. ‘That is more than we can ever muster!’

‘Aye, lad, but hold rein! Stanley is attendant on the king’s person at present, you see, so we cannot be sure of his son’s commitment, can we? It is right hazardous, Miles. Talk of the rising may have leaked out … I had word before I came away that my lord of Norfolk has a standing army of retainers outside London and for what purpose, I can only guess. Kentishmen have long tongues when they have been at the ale, and if King Richard has sent for Harry …’

‘The trouble is,’ replied Miles, ‘that with so many involved and all so far flung, the chance of surprise is about as likely as Harry becoming Pope.’ The slap of fist must have been his for he exclaimed vehemently, ‘I make no secret of my misgivings. God rot Morton! This is all his doing. And poor, silly Cat is taken in by the pair of them. Have you noted that? Upon my soul, I wish I had not tarried in Dorset. Godsakes, I could have talked some sense into Harry.’

‘I doubt it. He thinks he is Sixtus IV – infallible! You should have heard him at Oxford.’

‘What do you mean – at Oxford? What did he do at Oxford?’

‘Only wanted to betroth his eldest daughter to King Richard’s son. The king said no and I cannot blame him. Any fool could see that a foreign princess would be best, but of course Harry is out for a dynasty. And I thought: Dickon lad, you have just made an almighty blunder. If you had only said “maybe” or “I shall think upon it” …’

‘… we might not be sharpening our swords.’

Both men were silent, then Sir William asked, ‘Have you told Lady Rushden, by the way? Or must I button my lip in her hearing?’

‘Best you do. She does not know and neither do most of the household. With Harry’s increased business as Justiciar, we have managed not to arouse suspicion.’

‘Aye, happen you are right. Still might have some of Gloucester’s agents in our midst, eh? Always reckoned old Brian might have been one of ’em, and what about that other Ballaster wench, eh? Has Harry said aught more about her?’

‘Oh, he believes that Nandik was telling the truth, but he swears the quarrel was because she was with child by a northern lord. That was why he was sending her to Bletchingley – to have the babe and avoid the scandal.’

‘Putain! And he fancied himself in love with the greedy whore. No wonder it smote him sorely. You had the better bargain, lad. All going well, is it?’

The unexpected silence chilled Heloise further, and unhorsed Sir William too, for with embarrassment timbring his tone, the older knight added, ‘Well, best not keep Harry waiting further. He will be off the bench now.’

Heloise sank against the wall, her clasped fists pressed against her lips. The castle was not concerned with her – it was planning a rebellion. Like the blind beggar healed by Christ, she saw now – Buckingham was a Judas in ermine. This whetting of steel was for battle with King Richard. God rot Morton! Miles had lost the whiphand. It was Morton’s evil tongue licking around the duke’s envy that must be driving this folly. And her sister, why had Miles not told her what he had learned?

Jesu mercy, since cursed duplicity was a spreading puddle in Wales, she would wade in too; she pinned on her unicorn brooch, offered secretarial services to the duchess and asked how matters were going.

The letter writing was over, Catherine Woodville explained, but the postscript on her thanks was perturbingly naive: ‘I am so relieved now that Harry realises how much he has maligned the queen. I am sure it is due to Bishop Morton’s counsel – and your husband’s too – that has made him see sense, and Lady Margaret Beaufort has graciously interceded with her on Harry’s behalf. My sister is still rather wary – would you not be, in her circumstances? – but Dr Lewis, Margaret’s physician, has been visiting regularly at Westminster sanctuary and kindly carrying messages.’

Poor silly Cat is taken in by the pair of them! Dear God, Buckingham had as much intention of restoring the Woodville queen to glory as galloping his horse up the spire of St Paul’s.

‘So do you suppose his grace will manage to free your sister, my lady?’ Heloise asked, feeling her way. Even if the duchess’s depths were easy to fathom, one could not always see where the potholes were.

‘So he promises, once my nephews are rescued from the Tower.’

Promises! Heloise thought later. Promises! From the fox who had sworn fealty to Prince Edward’s kneecaps and then kissed his successor’s cheek in coronation homage? King Richard was likely to be one of the worthiest kings that England had ever had – Heloise could testify to the respect in which the north of England held the man – and yet these greedy fools were out to topple him. When was this rising? No one had remarked at her brooch so what should she do? Find some means to warn the king, or were his agents already aware of the conspiracy? And if they were …

Oh God, Miles! She could not betray the man she loved to a hideous, public death. She must force the truth from him, make him see sense, even if it broke the fragile ice of their marriage, but privacy was no easy matter in this crammed castle. Even in their shared bedchamber, the servants slept within snoring distance.

Next morning, however, entering the great chamber on an errand for the duchess, Heloise discovered him unlocking a carved chest.

He straightened up. His smile, a rarity now, almost melted her. ‘What are you doing here, changeling?’

‘I came for this.’ She lifted Christian de Pisan’s The Treasure of the City of Ladies from the wooden lectern on the small table.

Miles took it from her and opened it at random. ‘“How a princess keeps her ladies in order.” What is this? “They must not go about with their heads raised like wild deer.” Upon my soul, Heloise, should I be inspecting your forehead for velvety bumps?’

‘That seems to be the only part of me you do not inspect, sir.’ The book, returned, was clasped to her ribs like a stomacher. ‘But so long as I meet your nightly needs.’

The roguish smile, on leave for days, quirked his mouth. ‘Oh, prickly, are we? What is the matter, my love?’

It was important to sternly observe the swan tiles beneath her leather slippers. ‘I am sure you had rather not make a diagnosis.’

A compelling hand tilted her chin. ‘Playing fast and loose? You have been casting daggers at me for days. You are not with child, are you?’

Heat rose unbidden into her cheeks. ‘No, thank—’

‘Thank – what, God?’ His silvery gaze hardened to sullen metal. ‘Have the duchess’s women been frightening you with tales of childbirth? Do not heed them. You are too shrewd for that. I long to see you with child, cariad.’

‘And I should like to see more of you, sir, if you can ever spare the time to beget a child on me. Or am I to be hustled off to Bletchingley and murdered.’ Blurted out, the truth lay in the air between them like some noxious vapour.

‘God’s mercy, Heloise!’

‘Another matter you have not confided when you can spare the time. Was my sister’s murder a hiccough that you took care of, like Hastings’s execution?’

He kept his gaze on her. ‘I did not see that you needed to think further ill of your sister. As for the rest, it cannot be otherwise and it will be worse.’ He strode back to the chest and lifted the great lid so that it was leaning against the wall. ‘I owe you an apology, Heloise. I was going to tell you tonight, but now will suffice.’ A defensive hauteur underscored his voice. ‘The king has summoned Harry to wait upon him at Nottingham so I shall be leaving in a few days’ time. I regret I cannot take you on this occasion. The duchess expects you to remain in attendance upon her.’ So brisk, so cold. A clever half-truth.

‘Do you suppose you shall be coming back?’

As if she had flicked a whip across his back, he tensed and stilled. ‘That is an extremely odd question,’ he answered without looking round.

‘We live in extremely odd times,’ declared Heloise, drawing closer. ‘Three kings in one year and fools hoping for a fourth, I gather.’

The intelligent gaze lifted from the assortment of coffered armour and he turned carefully, observing the adamance of her folded arms. ‘So the bucket has hit the water, lady mine.’

‘You must be happy it was such a deep well. Dolt that I am not to have realised sooner. Are you going to butter me with reasons or is it not worth the bother? I daresay you did not want to make me anxious?’ Do not lie to me, her eyes told him, and when he did not answer, she added, ‘Or am I supposed to be the king’s spy like my sister was?’

‘Are you?’ That hurt.

‘I am tempted, believe me, but there are too many trees in the valley for a hanging and I should not want the duke to lay the blame on you.’

His smile reached only his lips. ‘No, there is that, I suppose.’

‘Miles, please.’ Her heart was breaking as he turned back to his task. She loved him so much. Could beating her fists against his chest pump some common sense up to his brain? Would scathing anger serve? ‘Have you nine lives, sir, that you will waste this one? You cannot support the duke in such … such folly! Why not knock at the water gate of the Tower of London and ask for free accommodation straightway? I expect they will hang, draw and quarter you if you grow persuasive?’

‘Buckingham is in charge of the Tower of London,’ Miles parried pedantically, sorting through the metal pieces – fluted, embossed and plain – dedicated to defending valuable aspects of the male anatomy. ‘I would swear that beggar, de la Bere, borrowed my cuisses last time we had a skirmish with the Vaughans.’

Heloise did not care what protected his thighs. She was tempted to set her sole to his unprotected rear, tip him headfirst into the oaken chest and hurl the key into the Usk. How could this intelligent husband of hers be so plaguey insane? ‘Sweet Christ, give me patience, sir! King Richard has made your friend mightier even than Warwick the Kingmaker. Yet he is still unsatisfied.’

Delightfully hoity as an outraged she-gull, his darling faced him. Miles fought down his usual reflex of kissing her to a standstill. Stubborn defensiveness did not serve either. ‘Cease raging, changeling! Yes, I expect he wants the crown. You said so weeks ago.’

‘Do not patronise me!’ she snarled. ‘And supposing he does bring King Richard tumbling down? Who is next? Will he unthrone God?’

The bitter truth almost unmanned him. He wavered, sure of the honesty in her, wishing he might hush her in his arms, wanting to fist asunder the wall that was rising between them. Torn between love for her and his commitment to Harry, he could only stare hollowly, unable to offer answers, desperate for her to trust his judgment.

‘Miles!’ His glorious, defeated Heloise hurled all in one last, desperate plea.

He flinched. She had not heard it, but the trained hunter in him had – the unmistakable hiss of expensive fabric and he knew who was listening. With a stride, he reached Heloise. One forefinger pressed upon her protesting lips; the other, gold ringed, jabbed the air, for the iron handle on the narrow, studded door that clogged the stairs had not yet shifted.

‘But this is no rebellion to rescue the little princes,’ she whispered, angrily ignoring his warning. Still in full sail with grappling hooks in mid hurl, she knocked his wrist aside. ‘Margaret Beaufort wants to bring Henry Tudor across from Brittany.’

‘She wants the House of York vanquished,’ he replied hoarsely, his anger tortured into a cunning answer as he watched the iron circle tilt: ‘After that, we shall see.’

The lady understood at last but she was come closer to achieving a hit than ever she would again. ‘And you and his grace purpose to go riding off into England, trusting to people that were enemies two months since.’ The sneer finally lifted the stopper off her fury and she was spent, her gaze too sped towards the handle.

He swiftly urged her away from that deadly inner door, ‘My love, if you cease to trust me, we shall be destroyed,’ he whispered, and scoffed loudly, ‘You forget, madam, that my family have served the House of Lancaster since before Agincourt. We do not sell crossbows to both sides at once. React, changeling! We are in danger else.’

‘OHHH!’ Heloise clutched the book with one hand, snatched up her skirts with the other and stormed out into the great hall.

‘Well done,’ applauded Harry, emerging like a wasp looking for treats. ‘Was that performance for my benefit?’

Miles gave him a tight smile. ‘Of course, if you insist on skulking perfidiously in the woodwork like a deathwatch beetle.’

‘Leave that.’ The duke waved dismissively at the tangled metal. ‘I have a spare pair of cuisses in my chest in the armoury that will fit you. Come!’

Miles would have rather pursued his confused wife but he followed the duke out to the bailey.

‘Cat is easily hoodwinked,’ observed Harry as they headed towards the guardroom, ‘but Heloise Ballaster is another matter. A pity you have not got her with child yet. It might give her something else to think about.’ Was that an oblique taunt?

‘It has not been for want of trying.’

His lord halted, the back of his hand against Miles’s breast, and came to the point. ‘If she betrays us …’

‘She will be betraying me.’ The ducal hand was coldly pushed aside. ‘I think you need have no fears on that.’

‘Wait, man!’

Chin raised rebelliously, Miles halted like one of his Welsh recruits with blatant reluctance. Harry gripped his shoulder, moving close behind him like a second Satan.

‘Miles, be more cheerful. The crown is there for the taking. The Londoners believe the princes slain and Richard their murderer. This rebellion will be like taking a sweetmeat from a babe.’

Not for the first time, Miles drove the force of well-used arguments against such rock-hard density. ‘A babe! Jesu, King Richard has never lost a battle and you, your grace, have never fought one. If you lose …’ He jerked his head round to find Harry unabashed. Did nothing weather that shiny resilience? ‘It is not too late to go to the king and tell him the rumours about you are all lies.’

‘No!’ Harry spun him round completely so that their faces were level. ‘How many more times must I drum it into that stubborn skull of yours? Win all or lose all! I am the last lawful heir of Lancaster. The Yorkists are usurpers. They stole the crown from Henry VI’s anointed head and murdered him in the Tower.’ Dear God, it was so pat now, as if Harry had learnt it by rote at Morton’s knee. ‘God damn you, Miles, will you cry craven at this late hour with but a week to the rebellion?’

Avoiding an answer, Miles glared down at the flecks of saliva budding his cote’s velvet nap. Harry mistook his silence for humility and let go, calmer now. ‘God is on our side, Miles. He must be or we could not have come this far. It is justice that I should take the throne at last and set matters right.’ The thin lips were a slash of defiance. ‘I will not change my mind!’

And if I change mine, thought Miles, what price friendship? ‘As you will, my lord,’ he answered with dignity, disliking Harry’s smug triumph.

‘We are like this, you and I.’ Brandishing crossed fingers, Harry blocked Miles’s path. ‘Is it your soothsayer wife who is making you doubt me?’

Studying the wall above the duke’s head, Miles answered haughtily: ‘The matter of her sister still is a running sore between us, but, of course,’ his gaze slid down to examine Harry’s face, ‘if it would please your grace to set her mind at rest?’

‘Oh, but surely she trusts your judgment in the matter.’ The duke’s knuckles playfully buffeted the looped knops of Miles’s doublet. ‘Friend, if you cannot keep this new bride in rein, you will never have a quiet house. I hear you share her favours.’

Miles had wrestled Harry, but never in anger. Cold as an alabaster monument, he let his breath slowly out. ‘Your meaning, my lord?’

‘Oh, I jest. I hear she keeps a familiar.’ The claws within the silky banter drew blood this time. It was so undeserved, so insane to threaten a loyal friend’s innocent wife! Godsakes, Harry had better not aim any other shafts at Heloise’s feyness!

With a control of temper that would have frightened servants, he managed an answer. ‘While we have mice disturbing our sleep, I think her wise. Is there some meaning I am missing?’

‘No, I think you miss nothing and that is why I value you.’ Harry took a pace on and then swung back to face him. ‘Let her question Nandik.’

‘Nandik? I do not want that lecher anywhere near my wife.’ No, nor his table of planets and celestial concurrences!

The duke lifted up the simple gold cross he had taken to wearing of late, clouded the gold with his breath and polished it against his stomacher. ‘Ah, but it was Nandik who provided the testimony that the whore I loved was spying on me, and it was Nandik I ordered to make the arrangements for her escort to Bletchingley.’

‘Why him?’ Miles blurted out. ‘I could have handled matters for you.’

‘With a broken leg and married to the girl’s sister! You think I ordered her death? Yes, I probably did kill her, for I gave Nandik a letter for the escort to give to her when she was too far from London to return easily. I cannot remember what I wrote, but it is a wonder the words did not blister the parchment. I loved her, Miles. Perhaps my bitterness drove her to take her own life.’

The entire truth? ‘And where is the letter now?’

‘Ho, so the lawyer in you wants evidence? Burned, I am afraid. It was returned to me and I held it to the nearest candle. She had torn a scrap off the end to write her message.’ The red-lashed eyes watched him with feline inscrutability. ‘Now you may answer me. How did you know where to find her body? What, has the cat got your tongue?’ His grace’s tone had grown wondrous smooth: ‘God’s Rood, Miles, do not tell me you already knew of Dionysia’s treachery and that it was you who arranged matters!’

Miles had only one answer. ‘I would have done it properly.’ A careful bow and he walked away.

‘Not speaking to me?’ Miles asked, shaking the full sleeves of his shirt into compliance so he might lean upon his elbow. His servant had removed his master’s boots and outer garments and, drawing the bedcurtains discreetly about his knight and lady, retired to his creaking trundle bed. Miles was not ready to enter the sheets nor blow out the candle in the horn-paned lamp that hung above them. Within the honey-coloured fabric cage that concealed them from their servants, Heloise, slender limbs folded beneath her, sat atop the sprawl of coverlet, protected in chemise and Holland petticoats.

‘Is there anything worth saying?’ she whispered. ‘Marrying a turnip would have made more sense. To think I actually wanted you to acknowledge me.’

‘Not now.’ His voice was heavy with warning and she complied sadly, watching him waiflike with an appetite that matched his hunger to seduce her. Protagonists in different corners, they fought a war with glances. He knew the lady slid her gaze across the loose laces of his shirt and coyly down, down to estimate his passion for her. And he wanted her, burned for her. Unclothing her with his eyes, he willed her across the samite fantasy of leaves and flowers, and when she leaned back in enticing resistance, he reached across, revelling in his masculine strength that might tow her into the harbour of his arms.

It was needful to smooth back the tumbled elfin hair, plunder the sweet, surrendering mouth and melt her to forgetfulness of all save him. His caresses, his kisses, were now her kingdom. With a quiver and sigh, his beautiful Heloise succumbed to the passion he could summon forth in her at will. Her fingers tangled in his hair and slid down to conquer, wantonly coaxing him to a transcendent slavery in which he strove to drive her to unsurpassed pleasure. He became fire, aching to steep himself in her delicious softness so that he might forget the terror that racked him, that pulled reason from action by each slow grinding hour. In love he took possession of her, each stroking thrust carrying them beyond the gates of Heaven itself until male and female, they both lay sated and defeated in each other’s arms.

And when he lay asleep, his arms a protective fortress about her, Heloise’s tears silently trickled into the feather pillow. Trusting his judgment exacted a heavy price. Unless she could change his mind, he was going to ride with Buckingham to rebellion and a terrible death.