Free Queen by Right by Anne Easter Smith Page B

more suitable bride, and I shall be proud to have her to wife.”
    “Swear to me you will never betray her trust in you,” Ralph commanded. “She is a loyal, good girl.”
    Dickon squeezed Cecily’s hand, his gaze never wavering from Ralph’s face. “I owe you all duty for your kindness to me these past two years, my lord, and I swear to you on my mother’s grave I shall not betray your daughter—or your trust in me,” he said. “You need not fear. I shall care for her all the days of our lives together and”—he paused and smiled over Cecily’s head at his father-in-law—“if I can curb her importunity, then our union may well be close to perfect.” He was rewarded by a laugh, albeit feeble, from the earl.
    Cecily’s eyes widened, and she tilted her head to look up at Dickon. “What is importunity, Dickon?”
    “It means you do not always behave the way your mother has taught you,” Ralph answered before Dickon could find a simpler word. “I fear I have overindulged you, and now that you are ten, you must change your childish ways and behave as befits the consort of a duke.” His voice was tiring, and he stopped to catch his breath.
    “Mind your mother, Cecily,” he admonished her when he continued. “Sheis a great lady, and one day you will have to teach your own children what she is teaching you now.” He fixed his eyes on Dickon. “Be not hasty to have the child to wife, your grace.” He paused, watching closely for a reaction. When he saw genuine concern and agreement, he continued, “Countess Joan will have need of Cecily after I am gone, and I pray you allow Cecily to remain close to her mother until such time as you are both ready to take on the responsibilities of your office—and of a family.”
    Dickon gave Ralph a brief nod of acknowledgment. “Aye, my lord.”
    Seeing the earl close his eyes, Dickon drew Cecily toward the door.
    Ralph suddenly said, “Before you go, I must confess something to you, Daughter.” Cecily ran back to her father’s side. “Your mother was right to chastise me for allowing you to ride in boys’ breeches. I pray my hardheadedness has not imperiled your immortal soul.” Cecily gulped and involuntarily crossed herself as Ralph continued, “Swear to me you will never again wear them, as it offends the Lord our God.”
    “Imperil my soul?” Cecily whispered, her eyes darting around looking for the Devil himself. “By wearing braies?”
    Richard stepped in. “Aye, Cecily. Remember that when we first met, I told you then I believed ’twas so.”
    Cecily knelt by her father’s head, her eyes brimming.
    “Swear to me, Daughter,” Ralph commanded. “I have confessed my sin, as must you.”
    Cecily whispered, “I swear, my lord.” Then she laid her head on his chest, her tears spilling onto his nightshirt.
    Ralph closed his eyes and stroked her hair. “I thought because you were a child . . .”
    “Oh, Father, dearest Father, do not fret,” Cecily implored, lifting her head and gazing at his dear, familiar face and seeing his tears on it for the first time in her life. “God will forgive us, I know He will.”
    “Come, Cecily,” Richard coaxed and gentled her to her feet. “Your lord father needs to rest.”
    Obediently Cecily allowed herself to be led to the door.
    “By all that is holy,” Ralph muttered as he watched them go, “no man has ever been so fortunate in a child.”
    O N THE TWENTY-FIRST day of October, Dickon’s fourteenth birthday and four days before the tenth anniversary of Agincourt, Ralph Neville, earl ofWestmorland, lay dying in his imposing canopied bed. As many Nevilles as could fit crowded into his chamber, the attending physicians and clerics swelling their ranks. Ralph’s heir and two of his Stafford daughters and their husbands had arrived the night before from Brancepeth. Joan had sent for all her children in time for them to pay their respects to their father. Only his daughter Sister Joan had been unable to