Kiss of the Rose

KISS OF THE ROSE

  PROLOGUE
Llanllawer Church, Pembrokeshire, Wales, 1485
He needed a miracle.
Here he was, on the brink of a battle for the crown of England, and it was increasingly obvious that God wasn’t listening to his desperate prayers. Henry Tudor rose from his knees, made the sign of the cross, and backed away from the altar. A single tallow candle illuminated a handful of dilapidated pews and a ragged altar cloth, tattered and chewed by vermin.
There was only one thing left to do, and it would be the biggest gamble of his life. He’d left the Earl of Oxford in charge of his pitifully few troops, and brought his Welsh companion, Sir John Llewellyn, as his guide. They were the only two men who knew he had left his sleeping army and gone out into the countryside, ostensibly to pray at the church, but in reality to do so much more.
“Are you ready, my lord?”
Henry relaxed as John’s familiar dark-featured face emerged from the gloom. John’s knowledge of the Welsh countryside had proved invaluable. He’d found Henry the perfect place for his needs, a place where the old religion of the Druids lodged uneasily alongside the new.
“Is it true there was a battle fought here, John?” Henry asked as his friend led him away from the church and down into the all-encompassing darkness beyond.
“Aye, my lord. Parc-y-Meirw means Field of the Dead. A fitting omen for your upcoming victory over King Richard.”
“Indeed.” Or a reminder of just how quickly an overambitious man could fail . . .
John stepped aside to reveal a low huddle of stones. “This is the Holy Well I spoke of. It is said the spring leads directly to the old gods, who will listen favorably to the prayers of anyone who offers them a tribute.”
Henry strained his eyes to make out the dimensions of the less than impressive stone arch that covered the entrance to the spring. The sound of water trickled and echoed deep in the ground below his feet. He crouched down and shuddered when his fingertips slicked over decaying plants and dipped into ice-cold water.
“I shall make an offering, then.” He found a coin and threw it into the small gaping mouth of the well. Was he throwing away his immortal soul as well? Richard Plantagenet was a formidable opponent on and off the battlefield.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Go back to the church and wait for me there. I will do what I must do alone.”
“Nay, sir. I promised Lord de Vere I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
“Even if what you see will imperil your soul, your chance of paradise, and the glorious resurrection?”
To Henry’s surprise, John smiled. “Sir, I am prepared to walk through hell itself to protect you.”
Henry let out his breath. “All right, then, best get on with it. Do you have the vessel?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Fill it with water and give it to me.”

Excerpted from KISS OF THE ROSE by Kate Pierce. Copyright © 2010 Catherine Duggan.