"He was dressed as a monk and walked a great deal of the way."

I am crushed that my heroine should have to put up with someone like that. He sounds worse than Richard. "They seem rather ill-sorted," I say. Cath bursts out laughing.

"That marriage didn't last long," she remarks. "Once Alainor got her divorce from Louis, she married Henry of Anjou, who was thirteen years younger-"

"Thirteen years younger?" I gape at her. "A younger husband? I didn't think that was allowed."

"Cath!" says Mary. "That's enough. You shouldn't fill Cis's head with such ideas." She turns to me. "Pick up your embroidery, child; you have much to do so it is suitable for Richard to wear."

I absently finger the tunic before me. A much younger husband would not even be born yet, for I am only nine- "Mary," says Mama. "Cecylee knows her duty."

"Not as well as Anne," says Mary, her lips thinning.

This is true. Anne sits there, quietly sewing. I don't know how she does it. How can you concentrate on something as dull as embroidery, when all these tales are inviting you to imagine all sorts of things? I eye Richard's tunic and turn to Mama. "Is it true that a woman may marry only once?"

"That depends on canon law," replies Mama.

"Bishops and the church determine that?" asks Anne.

"Men! Men always do!" I exclaim.

Mama takes some time to explain what canon law is. I pick up Richard's tunic. Perhaps it would be well to finish it soon, so I can make something pretty for myself.

"It's ridiculous, all this talk about canon law," says Audrey under her breath. She sits down beside me and threads her needle with silver thread. "I ask you, most women are lucky if they manage to survive one husband, with all those pregnancies, let alone several. Men always want the same thing." She bites off the silver thread with the one tooth that is left in the side of her mouth. "They don't always stop to think if their favorite sport is good for their young brides. Look at Lady Anne. She was only twelve when she married the Duke of Buckingham last year, and now she's expecting her first child at thirteen."

I look up to see Mama's reaction. But she talks as if nothing has happened: "Most people don't worry about remarrying nowadays. You can marry as often as you please-provided that your husbands are dead first." She smiles at me, then turns to Anne. "Which women have power?"

"Abbesses," says Anne. "They may ride out of their convents and conduct business with important men."

"Widows with rank and money," I put in quickly. "Once your husband is dead, you may do as you please. You can manage your land, plead lawsuits, spend your own money." I throw back my head and peal with laughter, contemplating the luxury of so much freedom.

"Makes you wonder why more husbands are not b.u.mped off," says Audrey, "when wealthy widows have much more power than rich wives."

A hush descends. Anne and Jenet stare, their needles suspended in mid air. Mama bites her lip. Catrine looks amused. Mary stands. "My lady mother, how can you countenance this? If you do not curb her, Cecylee will imagine she can do as she pleases."

"You're too hard on her, Mary," says Catrine.

"Life is going to be hard on Cecylee," replies Mary. "You know she has no choice in the matter of her husband."

"I am well aware of that," says Mama, flushing. "But I see no reason why Cecylee may not enjoy the girlhood that is left to her."

"My lady mother, your judgment is usually faultless, but you are blind about Cecylee," continues Mary.

Mama rises. "You know the sacrifices I have been forced to make."

"How can you expect her to be a dutiful wife?"

"I never see Bess, my eldest, because she lives on the other side of the mountains."

"Filling her head with the Wife of Bath only makes things worse."

"I never see Jehane, because she is a nun."

"You never say no to her."

"Alainor is lost to me because she is married to the heir of our worst enemy, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland."

"Cecylee is acquiring a temper to go along with her haughty ways."

"Anne and Catrine must live with their husbands and can make only rare visits."

"And you do not see this, because she winds you around her finger as if she were reeling in a day's catch."

"And the only reason why I see you, Mary, is because you are married to a Neville and live at Castle Raby."

"You're so jealous-" says Catrine, and then stops.

The unmistakable sound of mail-shod feet climbs the spiral staircase. It sends p.r.i.c.kles up the spine. Quick as a flash of steel, Cath bundles Master Chaucer's ma.n.u.scripts into a chest and shuts the lid.

"Mama-" says Anne. But Mama takes my hand and says, "If it's the last thing I do, I'll not be parted from my Cecylee."

Papa enters the solar.

Mama grips my hand tight.

Papa narrows his eyes. "Well, my lady?"

Mama draws herself up. "You agreed that Cecylee could visit me in Bulmer's Tower-"

"What's this I hear about never being parted from Cecylee?"

I flick my gaze from Papa to Mama. "Mama means that she would like me to visit more often."

Papa fingers his beard as he glances at me. He gives a harsh bark of laughter. "So be it!" he exclaims. "Provided you include young Richard in your visits." He strides to the door and turns. "It would do the lad good to spend more time with the ladies, do you not agree, madam?" And laughing, he pounds down the stairs, his mailed foot striking each stone step.

Mama's fingers clutch mine as we both sweep him a low curtsey.

Chapter 3.

Feast of Saint Luke October 18, 1424 My eyes snap open.

The day of my betrothal; my stomach spasms into knots.

Why be betrothed now? At nine I'm expected to enter a woman's estate, with a woman's cares and responsibilities. Where is my girlhood? I don't want it to end. I'm comfortable with Mama and enjoy my studies. I don't see why all of this can't continue.

Maybe I can delay things.

The door opens. Jenet pours warmed water into a bowl and hands over a linen napkin to dry my hands and face. She stokes the fire into a blaze before helping me into a fur-lined robe. I put my feet into fur-lined slippers, Jenet wraps her red woolen mantle tight, and then we file onto the wooden walkway for our cold and invigorating walk around the kitchen tower to the chapel.

A crisp cold morning, the sunlight cuts through the golden leaves of the trees. Smoke curls lazily from the castle kitchens where servants labor to prepare the betrothal feast. As we emerge from the staircase into the chapel, the deep bell tolls, calling people to early morning Ma.s.s.

Today, a large crowd gathers, my kinfolk having ridden into Castle Raby to take part in the celebrations. As I enter the chapel, I catch a glimpse of my eldest brother Richard Neville, Baron Montacute, who has twenty-four years. He stands at the front of the chapel with Alice Montacute, his sixteen-year-old wife. They've spent the last month traveling 300 miles from their estates in the south of England, bringing with them their baby Cecily, named in honor of me.

I look around. My two half-sisters, four sisters, and several brothers are all in attendance. My betrothal to Richard is part of a double ceremony, for my seven-year-old baby brother Edward will marry a wealthy heiress and bear the t.i.tle Lord Bergavenny in right of his wife. His wife-to-be, Lady Lisbet de Beauchamp, stands next to him. She has a pale face, pale pink lips, pale hair, and pale blue eyes. She stands very still. You would not think to look at her that she is my age. Edward is two years younger, so she is lucky enough to get a young husband she can boss around.

After Ma.s.s, I go back to my apartment in the keep, accompanied by Jenet, who has to wash and dress me and do my hair. I am so busy concocting my plan I don't notice the ladies gathering to greet me. A well-known voice makes me jump.

"Cecylee, sweeting, guess what I have for you."

"Cath." I exclaim. "I'm busy-"

"Listen to her Impatience, the next d.u.c.h.ess of York."

I blush.

"Don't you want to know?" she cajoles, hiding something behind her back.

I sigh and resist stamping my foot. Bother Cath for getting in the way.

"What is it?"

"You have to guess."

I close my eyes as I rack my brains. Why does Cath have to be so irritating? "A mirror," say I, guessing wildly.

"My baby sister is as cunning as a fox!" exclaims Cath as she brandishes the object in front of me. I focus my eyes on something very bright that reflects the light. It is a mirror, a beautiful silver mirror with a matching silver comb. Both have sinuous decorations on the handles and edges, my name carved discreetly within. I am struck dumb.

"Really, Catrine!" exclaims Mama, a twinkle in her eye. "You encourage Cecylee to be vain."

I look up. My sisters, half-sisters, sisters-by-marriage, their maids and other female relatives fill the apartments. As the laughter dies away the sound of a soft footfall comes, and Anne appears with Humphrey, her new baby boy, the future Earl of Stafford. Even though it's now three weeks since the birth of her son, Anne looks pale and has violet shadows under her eyes.

"I'm fine, Mother, truly," she says in response to Mama's unspoken question. "I just tire easily."

"Sit by me and rest." says Mama. She takes the baby from Anne while Cath goes to the kitchens to oversee the refreshments.

Anne sits down, and from her sleeve she produces a small package wrapped up in linen. She smiles at me.

Another present! I unwrap it to find a purse made out of sky blue silk and lined with dark blue damask. My name is embroidered in seed pearls on the front.

"Did you make this?"

Anne nods.

I hold it up. The embroidery is finely wrought with small neat st.i.tches and no knots or threads hanging loose-so different from my own travails, so perfect.

I give it to Mama; she examines it with gentle fingers.

"You can take that to the fair," says Anne, "with money in it from Richard to buy yourself some luxuries."

My cheeks warm. Even my quiet sister Anne has noticed Richard's attentions, how he always presents me with tokens of his affection like sewing scissors, thimbles, and needles-things I need for the everlasting embroidery I am supposed to do. When the fair comes, he buys me headbands, snoods, veils, hair-pins, earrings, and necklaces. I delight in these presents, but should I really accept them?

"It is beautiful," says Mama, kissing Anne's cheek. "How you found the time to do it when you had to ready yourself for your first child I do not know. Cecylee, my love, thank your sister."

I hug my sister tight as Mama wipes tears away with her fingers.

More company arrives in the shape of Richard's fifteen-year-old sister Isabel, married to Sir Thomas Grey. Mama greets her, trying to prompt a smile from her sad face, and settles down to gossip with the ladies who now preen themselves in front of their mirrors.

I tiptoe away.

When I reappear some time later, I am just in time to see the women from the kitchen struggling up the stairs with buckets of warm water. Jenet tests the temperature of the water with her elbow, then helps me out of my clothing, and I step into the tub. She washes my hair in rosemary soap, then tenderly smoothes an oily paste made of finely ground almonds onto my skin to cleanse it, washing it off with angelica water. After that, she helps me out of the tub and dries me off.

With her help, I put on silk stockings and tie the garters just above the knee. When I stand, I hold my arms so that Jenet can pull the ivory silk chemise over my head. Then Jenet can braid my hair into plaits. She coils the plaits around my head, pins them, and then carefully covers her handiwork with a hair net.

As I relax under Jenet's gentle ministrations, the door bangs and Audrey appears.

"My lady," she says to Mama, "I cannot find Lady Cecylee's gown. I swear I had it with me this last hour and now it's disappeared." She turns to Thomasina, Cath's maid, and Gunilda, Anne's maid. "Don't just stand there. Help me find it. Search your ladies' things."

A hubbub ensues. I smile as I calculate how long this will keep everyone busy. I find a quiet corner, fold my hands, and keep my eyes downcast. I count things; trees, sheep, ospreys. I am just getting started on castles, when I sense someone standing in front of me. I glance up and see Anne.

"Cis," she whispers, "where is it?"

"Where is what?" I ask.

"You know what I mean," whispers Anne. "Where have you hidden your gown?"

"I haven't," I say.

Anne opens her mouth to say something when the door opens. Cath reappears, followed by servants bearing food on trays and cups of wine. There are pies made out of game, several different kinds of cheese, round flat rolls of manchet bread, mead and hippocras, a spicy wine.

The servants put the food down and withdraw while Cath takes in the crowd of women surrounding Mama, gesticulating and wailing over the disappearance of my gown. Her eyes flick over to me. She beckons.

I make my way slowly over, clenching my hands as she fixes me with a firm look. "Stop playing games," she hisses. "You cannot hurt Mama in this way-"

"In what way?" I say.

"I know you've hidden it, you little prankster," Cath continues, her voice rising. "Where is it?"

She says it in such a loud voice, it reaches to the ends of the earth. Everyone has heard everything and the room grows quiet. The weight of many eyes fall on me, their expressions a mixture of exasperation, pity, amus.e.m.e.nt, and disappointment. I flush to the roots of my hair.

The silence holds. Then the door opens and Mary appears.

"I found this in my bedchamber, concealed in my garderobe," she says, shaking out the bundle in her arms to reveal the missing gown. She glares at me. "Someone must have put it there by mistake."