The Rose of York: Love & War

by Sandra Worth

  “I saw the barge from the window,” she said in a breathless whisper. “I heard them call your name…”

  He pressed her to him and laid his cheek against her silken hair. “Anne, Anne… How I love thee, Anne.” Her name felt like a caress on his tongue and he couldn’t keep from repeating it. “Anne… beloved Anne, how I missed thee… Marry me, Anne.”

  Anne looked up at him, eyes wide with joy. Then her expression clouded. “But the King…”

  “My beloved lady, the King is grateful and has already granted permission!”

  For Anne it seemed the ground on which she stood floated away, that the garden walls melted and a wind picked up the stars and twirled them about her. Then she remembered all that she had forgotten in her happiness. She jerked back from his arms. “But how can we marry? I have nothing to bring you.”

  Richard cupped his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “You say you bring me nothing… Aye, ’tis so, if love be nothing.”

  She gazed at him, seeing dawn-grey eyes in a sun-bronzed face, and thick dark hair gleaming in the moonlight. He looked glowing and young, though the angles of his face were more sharply defined, the square jaw more firmly set than she remembered. The lines around his eyes and mouth were still there, but now they muted his youth with strength and didn’t wrench her heart as they once had, for the fear was gone. He had changed. He was different from the young Richard she had known at Middleham. This Richard was a man, one who had proven himself with courage and will. But some things had not changed. He was still her rescuer, as he had been in their childish play on the green slopes behind the castle walls, and he still wished to wed her.

  “Can this be?” she murmured, tears wetting her cheek. “Can such happiness truly be?”

  “It can,” he said, pushing stray tendrils of hair back from her brow. “It is, Flower-eyes.” She was stealing a look at him in the way he loved: shyly, from below. He bent his lips to her mouth.

  She lifted her arms to clasp his neck and Richard felt the cold jab of metal in his flesh. He drew away, seized her hand, looked down. “You still wear my ring.”

  “It never left my finger,” she whispered as he covered her hands with kisses. “Not even when—not even, even…” She shut her eyes on a breath, and shivered.

  Realising what she was trying to say, Richard winced. He gathered his cloak around her, pressed her to him and held her tight in his embrace. “Hush, my love, hush.”

  His arms warmed the chill in her heart. Her shivering ceased; the memories of Marguerite and Edouard fled. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Never leave me, Richard—the world is too harsh a place without you. Promise you’ll never leave me.”

  “I swear it on my father’s soul, beloved Anne.”

  She turned in his arms and they faced the river together. The wind had stilled. Fireflies glinted around them and the Thames flowed smoothly past, shimmering in the moonlight. A nightingale sang in the garden, matin bells chimed in the distance, and water lapped gently, bathing the night with calm and a beauty so profound that it caught at their throats. Neither spoke for fear of breaking the magical spell that bound them.

  After a while, in a tone of wonder, Anne said, “What more could there be?”

  Richard looked down with a soft expression, his grey eyes sparkling, his smile luminous. “But more there is, dearest Anne.” He turned her to face him and took her hands into his own. “I’ve traded my lands and commands in Wales for the North. Edward’s concerned about Percy. He doesn’t trust him and has given me authority over him… He’s also given me your father’s estates of Sherriff Hutton, Penrith and…” He broke off, waited a moment, “Middleham.” He heard her indrawn breath. “My love, we’re going back to Middleham!”

  A cry of joy escaped her lips. She flung herself against him and her heart streamed into his. He laid his cheek against hers and he felt her fragrant breath against his face. For one blessed, glowing moment, they stood locked together in each other’s arms, and so piercing sweet was their joy that it seemed that Heaven itself reached out to caress them.

  An ugly laugh shattered their enchantment.

  “A pretty picture, indeed.” George’s voice.

  The lovers separated, whirled around. George stood at the top of the staircase, his face shadowed by the torchlight flaring behind him, his fair curls shining brightly. As he strode down the steps, they saw that his features were twisted with fury. Anne instinctively clung to Richard.

  “A fine sight and a fine thing when one’s brother sneaks in by night to steal!”

  Richard stared at him. “Sneak…? Steal…? What are you talking about, George?”

  “You wish to marry Anne.”

  “Aye. And I will. What does that have to do with sneaking and stealing?”

  “I’ve not given my permission.”

  “Your permission? All I need is Edward’s permission and that he gave me in Coventry.”

  “She’s not for you and you’ll never marry her,” George sputtered. “The affairs of the Nevilles are in my hands. I’m her guardian and I will never grant my permission!”

  “We’ll see about that!” Richard shouted. After all he had been through, to be treated thus by his own brother, a brother still fresh from his treasons both to his King and his father-inlaw— it was too much to be borne. “You’ve gone mad, George. I shall marry Anne and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ll appeal to Edward and we’ll see which of us he favours.”

  “Aye, let’s see which of us wins this contest.” George spat the words.

  Something in his manner struck a chill into Anne. George did not make idle threats. Aboard ship, he had sworn to make Edward pay. And he had. Greed and jealousy were poisons in his blood, driving him ever closer to the dark edges of madness. No sane mind could anticipate his next move. She tightened her hold of Richard’s arm.

  “My dearest love,” Richard said gently, “I fear you must obey for now, but know that I shall be back for you.”

  Sudden dread kept her frozen at Richard’s side. When she made no move to follow, George grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her up the steps.

  “Richard…” she cried, casting a long look back.

  “I’ll be back, Anne! Never fear, dear heart…”

  The door slammed shut behind her. Its angry echo shattered the stillness of the night. Richard kicked the ground, and cursed.

  ~ * * * ~

  Chapter 38

  “O brother… woe is me!

  My madness all thy life has been… thy curse.”

  Through the halls and passageways of Westminster Palace crowded with boisterous, boasting Woodvilles, past the glittering, silently watchful Queen playing cards with her ladies, Richard made his way to the King’s bedchamber the next morning. Magnificent in a green velvet doublet slashed and reversed with purple satin, his splendid legs encased in high black boots of fine Milan leather, Edward stood with a flask of wine in one hand, the other reaching for the skirts of a laughing chambermaid as she bent to smooth the bed. All the while the Keeper of the Wardrobe and his meinie struggled to measure the stately frame and to hold up bolts of gold and silver tissue, rich crimsons, and colourful silks and velvets for his inspection.

  Edward said, “George was just here. He says you fought.”

  He took a gulp of wine.

  “It seems we always do these days!” Richard exclaimed, betraying his frustration.

  “What about this time?”

  “I must speak with you in private, my lord,” Richard replied in a formal manner. He had sensed the sudden interest of the servants in the room and already regretted his display of emotion.

  Edward waved a hand and the room cleared instantly, with the exception of two men-at-arms by the door and the minstrel, whom Edward ordered back to his stool. The man began a lilting melody on his flute, but neither his cheery tune nor the fire crackling in the hearth, nor the opulence of the room with its bright tapestries and coloured tile floor, cou
ld brighten the dismal day. The chamber felt damp and cold, reflecting the gloom of the leaden skies and the rain-swept Thames.

  Edward sank into a velvet chair, flask in hand, while Richard moved to the hearth and related his tale of the events of the previous night.

  “George and his insatiable greed. I’m beginning to think he’s a viper,” sighed Edward. “He wants the Countess’s lands and he fears that if you marry Anne, he’ll have to share them with you.”

  “But the Countess’s lands can’t be confiscated—she had no part in Warwick’s treason.”

  “I know, I know, but I fear I must give him what he wants, or he’ll give me no peace.”

  It was an old tale. George had long ago figured out how to manage Edward and the years had taught him to hone the practice. Richard remembered one incident in particular and thought it strange that something so insignificant should linger in his mind after all the years.

  They had just returned from exile in Burgundy after Edward had won the throne, and George was showing off his new clothes. “Purple and gold suit me best, don’t you think, Dickon?”

  he’d demanded. Richard had stepped into his grey gown without a reply, thinking that every day it was the same question, only a different colour. “You have but two gowns,” continued George, “while I have twenty. Does that not bother you?”

  Knowing George would persist until he received an answer, Richard said, “I don’t wish to trouble Edward about such things when he has important matters on his mind.”

  George had regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Dickon. You have to keep reminding Edward of what you want until you get it. He forgets, you see.”

  Nothing had changed, Richard thought now. The grown man was little different from the boy. He watched as Edward drained his flask and called for another. A server hurried over. Edward drank greedily.

  “Clarence always wants something more than what he has,” Edward said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “To prove he’s a better man than he is, I suppose. I know him, but I know not how to appease him. Once he has the Countess’s lands, he’ll turn his eyes back on the crown.”

  Richard noted Edward’s new habit of referring to George by his title, as if to distance himself from their brother. Whether this was deliberate, he didn’t know, but clearly, his affection for George had cooled and only on account of the blood bond did he tolerate him at all. But then, George had a way of wearing one down.

  Edward pressed a hand to his brow. “George is in a foul and dangerous mood, Dickon. I must find a way to appease him. For the peace of the realm.”

  “Edward—you will not require me to give up Anne?”

  Surprised by his tone, Edward regarded him a long moment. “George means to have her inheritance at any cost, Dickon, for the honours I have given you fester in his mind and he has a spiteful, jealous nature.” He paused thoughtfully before he resumed. “As you know, I’m not one to seek a fight… But neither do I shrink from one when my honour is at stake. Nay, Dickon, I won’t ask such sacrifice of you a second time. I shall send to George not to interfere with your suit. You may have the girl, and I wish you both joy.”

  Richard’s tense shoulders relaxed. He gave a deep bow. “With your permission, Edward…”

  Edward nodded.

  ~*~

  Armed with Edward’s order, and with his retinue at his side, Richard galloped to George’s house. Bidding them wait in the courtyard, he pushed George’s servants aside when they tried to tell him Anne wasn’t there and took the steps two by two to her chamber on the upper floor.

  The room was empty.

  His stomach clenched. The bed was made and the hearth swept. The stone-and-wood room had the cold air of a place untouched by human habitation. From the window he could see the bare branches of the trees stripped of their foliage, the thin lawn, and the muddy river flowing past, dark and threatening in the stinging rain. The startling difference from the night before filled him with dread. He turned quickly from the window.

  George stood at the door, a thin smile on his lips. He wore a velvet doublet of purple and gold trimmed with miniver and he was studded with jewels from his fair curls to the points of his red shoes. “So, Dickon, you’re back, I see.”

  Without a word Richard closed the distance between them and held out Edward’s missive. George leaned against the stone embrasure of the doorway and broke open the royal seals.

  “Where is she?” demanded Richard, when George had finished reading.

  George let the royal letter flutter to the floor and folded his arms. “Since I hold no right of wardship over Anne, I’m not responsible for her whereabouts. Therefore, I neither know nor care.”

  For a moment Richard stared, dumbfounded. He realised suddenly that for him, as for Edward, the bond of brotherhood that had bound him tightly to George all his life had been so battered by years of wounding hurts and cruel demands that it had frayed into fine threads which would not hold much longer. He grabbed George by his fancy doublet and shoved him backwards into the room. “What have you done with her?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

  George was seized with a moment’s fear. He had never seen Richard this way, but he recovered quickly and shoved back. “She left of her own accord. I don’t know where she went.”

  They circled one another warily like panthers. “There are ways to find out,” Richard hissed. “Edward supports me in this. You’d best not push him too far, George.” He landed a punch to George’s left ear and his brother yelped. They hadn’t fought since they were boys and it felt strange to Richard, brought back memories.

  “He’s always supported you!” cried George. “Always favoured you! I’m sick of it, I tell you! He’s going to pay!” He let go with his fist, and missed Richard’s jaw.

  “You’re mad!”

  “You’re going to pay, Dickon!”

  “No, George. Get one thing very clear. You’ll pay. If anything happens to Anne, I’ll kill you.”

  George lunged at him then, a bold strike that came as unexpectedly as lightning out of a blue sky. The punch landed hard in his gut. Pain exploded in his side and flashed to his right shoulder, which had never mended properly after Barnet and sometimes ached, especially in damp weather. The breath went out of him. He doubled over, clutched his stomach, bit down hard on the bile that flooded his mouth and stumbled to the bed. He grabbed the bedpost to keep from falling. George’s voice came in his ear. “Are you all right, Dickon?—Sit, Dickon, sit…” George eased him down on the bed.

  Slowly the room stopped spinning and air returned to Richard’s lungs. He looked up at George.

  “I didn’t mean to…” George swallowed, his misery in his eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Dickon.”

  Though breathing bruised his ribs, Richard gave him a wan smile. “You always… did win… our fights.” With George’s help, he struggled to his feet. After a moment’s unsteadiness he found he could stand. Focusing his gaze on a rose carved into the stone above the doorway, he placed one foot in front of the other and forced his way forward. His stomach throbbed with burning pain, but he managed to reach the door. He inhaled deeply, turned around. “But this time, George, you won’t win. I’ll find her. And I’ll marry her.”

  Standing as erect as he could, he exited the chamber. When he reached the staircase, he let out his breath and leaned his weight against the stone wall as he descended the steps. To his left three high arches opened into the great hall, where varlets scurried around with napkins, silver salt-cellars and trenchers, setting the tables for the noon meal. On the distant dais, ladies were rolling with laughter at the antics of a dwarf. A movement caught his eye deep in a corner by one of the arches. He halted.

  Dressed in sombre black, her sparse hair hidden by a grey velvet hennig, Bella was barely visible in the shadows. She must have been waiting for him, for now she inched carefully out of her corner. He hadn’t seen her since before she married George and he was shocked by th
e change in her. She had aged ten years in the short span of two, and she was paler, thinner, sadder than he remembered. He caught the surprise on her face and realised that she’d had the same thought about him.

  Aye, she had buried a child, and he’d seen men die in battle. Life had marked them both.

  She came out of the shadows. Their eyes met. Hers were red with weeping. He stood quietly, appealing to her with his. For a long moment their gaze held each other. Then her mouth quivered, and she gave a nod. She would help him find Anne.

  He acknowledged her consent with a barely perceptible nod and continued out the door silently so that no one would know they had met.

  ~*~

  Christmas arrived. Windsor Castle filled with music, boughs of greenery, and much feasting, but little merriment. In the months since Anne’s disappearance in September, George’s bitter arguments with Richard had broken the peace and poisoned joy. George refused to tell where he had hidden Anne, and Bella, unable to discover her whereabouts, had sent no word. In the meantime, Richard’s newly won offices and grants of Warwick’s northern lands infuriated George, who wanted them all—every title, every scrap of land, every groat of income. “You can have Anne,” George had shouted at Richard, “but you shall take her without a pence!”

  Richard couldn’t accept that. Middleham and Barnard meant as much to him as they did to Anne. He had promised to take her North to live and was determined to do so. To these demands, George, already the richest in the land beside the King himself, had added one other. He demanded to be given the Countess’s lands, as if she were already dead. And the Countess had appealed to Richard for help. So the bickering continued, weighing down Richard’s spirits and turning the season sour. The realm watched uneasily, mindful that disputes between royals often ended in bloodshed. Even Edward was despondent.

  Returning to the great hall five days before Christmas with a letter he had received from the Countess, Richard halted at the entry, gripped with anxiety. What ill tidings have come now? he wondered, for silence hung over the crowded chamber like a shroud. So heavy was the mood that even the minstrels had laid down their instruments for fear of offending. Richard looked around for Edward. He stood alone by the window, deep in thought, clutching a book. He was surrounded by his lords, yet no one spoke to him. As Richard watched, Edward’s oldest daughter, Elizabeth, approached her father. She was a beautiful child with hair of darkest gold, and Edward doted on her. Now he swung her up and sat her on a window ledge. Richard went over to join them but found himself reluctant to interrupt. He halted nearby, close enough to hear them speak.