Free Queen by Right by Anne Easter Smith

his eyes. “Cecily, my child, I am weary. Pray leave your mother and me for now. Be a good girl and summon my valet in my office. You will find something there for you I carried with me from London.”
    Cecily jumped up and clapped her hands, earning a disapproving frown from her mother. She hurriedly curtseyed to them both. “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, scurrying away before she could receive another rebuke.
    “She is impossible,” she heard Joan say wearily.
    “She will keep us young, Joanie,” Ralph replied. “Cecily is a clever girl, and your fine example will hold her steady throughout her life, I have no doubt.”
    Elated, Cecily ran along the dark passageway to her father’s office. Knocking, she pushed open the door and then stopped short on the threshold. Seated at the tapestry-covered table, his head bent over a quill and parchment, was Richard.
    “Dickon!” she cried. As soon as he saw her at the door, Richard pushed himself back from the table and hurried forward, his hands outstretched, and Cecily suddenly felt shy. He had grown an inch or so in the nine months he had been gone, and his fashionable blue-pleated tunic and hat with its upturned brim all served to give him a maturity she was not prepared for.
    “My dear Cecily,” he said, looking her up and down and grinning. “I do believe you are prettier than ever.”
    Much to her annoyance, she blushed. She had always sworn she would never be like Anne, who had reddened every time Richard had glancedher way. And now she could feel her skin on fire as he held her hands. She dropped a little curtsey, hoping to recover her composure in that simple, reassuring act, but she did not have the chance, for he picked her up and swung her around before planting a kiss on her open mouth.
    “Aye, very pretty indeed,” he reiterated sincerely. “Those simpering ladies in London will be put to shame when the Rose of Raby is finally presented there. What? Has the cat pounced on your tongue? Or were you expecting me to talk only about the weather?”
    Cecily finally closed her mouth and fixed her eyes upon her betrothed. “But Father never said you were with him. He told me to come and find the gift he had brought me from London. I never thought ’twould be you, Dickon. ’Tis the best present I have ever had. Welcome home, my lord,” she said grandly and swept him a deep reverence. “It seems the saints do listen to my prayers,” she added, with a smug smile. “Only last night I asked St. Jude for news of you.”
    Richard was amused. “Ah, you believe I am a lost cause?”
    “Aye,” Cecily retorted. “Two letters in nine months. And those were about the weather and your new horse. ’Twas unkind, my lord.”
    Richard was contrite at once, stammering an excuse about not knowing what to tell her and that London had really been quite dull.
    “Pah!” Cecily muttered. “You just forgot us here in the wilderness—forgot me. ”
    Richard turned away and went to the window. Had word reached Raby about his flirtation with the Lady Agnes, one of Queen Catherine’s ladies? A few years older than he, she had given him his first taste of the delights of the bedchamber, but he had admitted his lust in the confessional after each encounter, and eventually the young lady had tired of his clumsy attempts at wooing and reminded him of his betrothed far away in the north. Now Richard felt an uncomfortable prickling around the neck of his chemise and attempted to loosen it with nervous fingers.
    “How could I forget you, Cecily? You wrote to me every week,” he told her, hoping his guilty conscience was not obvious. “I confess your letters kept me laughing. You write well, sweet lady.” He turned when he felt her close behind him and gently took her in his arms. “Truly, I missed you. I promise I shall be better when we return to court, ma mie. ” She is only ten years old, he told himself again, and yet it is as though my body knows hers