by Kari August
“Oh, I see.” Ned frowned slightly. “Yeah, that could be a problem. I don’t know all that much about that stuff either. But I’m curious. Why did you decide to form a warrior club when you could have chosen so many other topics?”
Dickie didn’t reply, appearing uncomfortable.
“I mean you could have begun a club about Kings, or since your motto is ‘Loyalty Binds Me,’ you could have had a philosophical club about the importance of being faithful or how about a Law Club since you had done so much to reform the judicial system in England to help the common folk—”
“Ned! The important point is that now I have a warrior club, and I want to learn more about weapons.”
“I guess you could spend your time reading about weaponries. . . .”
Dickie groaned. “I was desiring more practical experience. Nothing like actually seeing or better yet, using the weapons to know what they are about.”
“Geez, Dickie, I’m not sure how you could . . . I mean you can’t just buy a bunch of weapons to try and . . . and . . . unless you were to go on one of those military reality television shows that seem to be popping up . . . but that’s totally not likely to happen. . . . Wait, I got an idea.” Ned smiled. “How about if we visit museums. There’s one in Cheyenne we could see this afternoon that has armaments of some kind. I’ve never been there myself but at least it’s a start.”
“Lead on, Ned. Lead on.”
On the flight to Florida to find Mags, Dickie thought about the weapons he had seen with Ned yesterday. He realized viewing exhibits just wasn’t going to do it—everything was behind glass for starters. He pondered how he could get the experience he wanted—or if not that, at least talk with warriors who were familiar with using the firepower. But his deliberations ended as soon as they reached their destination, and Ned began conversing with Cousin Clarence, who they didn’t find at his palace of a home.
Ned was pacing. “You’re where? Oh, hell, Clarence, why would you take her to a WWW show of all places?”
Dickie frowned.
“What do you mean it wasn’t your decision? Never mind. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“Now what has he done, Ned?”
He turned disgustedly to Dickie and Lindsey. “Clarence has taken Mags to see some fight.”
Dickie shook his head. “Ladies should not be viewing something like that, Ned.”
“I realize that. Let’s get over there and pull her away.”
Lindsey huffed, “Well, I’ll stay here. Watching a brawl is not my idea of a good time.”
Dickie walked into the crowded, noisy arena and strode down the aisle toward the front where Clarence had said he could be found. He glanced into the ring and saw . . . OH, LORD . . . his sister praying while sprawled out on the floor, looking most undignified, while some man—no woman—yelled at the ceiling like some crazed barbarian.
He reached the ring. “Mags! Get up from there. Just what are you doing?”
She looked over, through the ropes. “Dickie! Why are you here?”
“We’ll talk about that later. Now compose yourself properly and walk out of there.”
“Well, I was just thinking about leaving myself.” Mags stood and waved regretfully to the audience. The booing taking place got louder.
Manwoman glared at Dickie. “Who do you think you are? You can’t tell her what to do.”
“Oh, yes I can. I’ll have you know, I’m her brother and furthermore, the King of England!”
The crowd started roaring with laughter as Dickie heard Clarence exclaim behind him, “Ned, we got the looniest English cousins, don’t we? My God, they’re a hoot.”
“Clarence, I don’t think that’s helping any.”
“Hey, if we can’t make fun of family, who else is there?”
But any further conversation as Mags stepped out of the ring was now getting swamped by the chanting of the crowd. “We want more. We want more. We want more.”
Mags started bowing as if she were some kind of actress, then did a deep curtsey. “Do you hear that, Dickie? They adore me. And just so you know, I’m now officially a warrior who’s had battle experience. Think about that next time you prevent my friends and me from participating in your club.”
Dickie smirked as they headed towards the door. “And just what kind of warrior are you, Mags?”
“A handsomely paid one, so that makes me one of those ferocious mercenaries,” she practically growled.
Dickie inwardly groaned. He was sure this adventure of trying to get Mags to return to heaven was going to be his most challenging yet.
Chapter Eight
As soon as they reached Clarence’s house, Dickie pulled Mags off to a side room to speak to her alone. “God is expecting you back. He sent me to come get you.”
Mags frowned, horrified to have her suspicions confirmed. She had been afraid that was why Dickie was here. His presence now made anything she was going to achieve more crucial to get done as quickly as possible. But, so far, she had accomplished none of her aims of building her reputation or finding passionate love. Oh, sure. If she went back to heaven, she could try tracking down Archie Leach and perhaps convince him to go on a boat ride with her, but she really did not want to just quit on men from this century. Not yet. And she owed—yes, owed it—to womenkind to reveal her spectacular triumphs. This was a disaster.
She blew out a long breath. She had to remain calm. She had to talk her way out of this. “But I don’t want to return to heaven—at least not yet.”
“Shusssh. What if he’s listening now to us speak?”
Mags waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, he wouldn’t do that. And besides, it’s not that I don’t miss heaven. It’s just that I haven’t had nearly enough time to accomplish what I want to do here.”
“You mean make a name for yourself in this century.”
“Yes. That is important.”
Dickie scoffed, “You’re just a woman. Nobody truly wants to learn anything about a woman unless it’s some salacious gossip. Men are the only ones who make real history.”
Mags snapped, “Well, perhaps if you, as my brother, had a better reputation yourself, I might not be in this fix. People might already know more about me, or at least want to learn more. I mean, looking at it like that, my lack of a reputation is not really my fault! You’re partly to blame. So, you should give me as much time as I require to repair my legacy.”
Dickie glowered. “You just proved my point! Men are the only ones who make real history.”
Mags shook her head. “Dickie, you are so medieval in your thinking. Haven’t you modernized at all?”
“Believe me. Modern men think the same way.”
“They do not! That’s absurd.”
“Anyways, God desires you back. And he expects you to return because you want to do so. He told me so himself. Quite honestly, I suspect he has developed romantic feelings for you as crazy as that sounds.”
“No, we’re just good friends. He has a thing for Waleena Earnesteena, even if he won’t admit it.”
“Has a thing? Will you stop using that kind of language? I can’t stand it.”
“That’s only because you didn’t learn any modern jargon, like me.”
“Now that’s not true. Just ask Ned how proficient I became in modern talk. I just prefer to use more refined language.”
“Well, I preferred to speak English, but learned French as a child and then Dutch when I became the Duchess of Burgundy. I must say, the people loved me for it.”
“Yes, yes. But the point is, once again, you’re coming back with me. God said so.”
“No, I listened closely just now. You said that God expected me to return because I desired to come back. Well, I don’t want to come back. Not yet. By the way, that’s another reason I was such a popular Duchess. I always listened attentively to precisely what everyone said.”
Dickie groaned and looked at the ceiling, then back at her. “I just knew you were not going to make this
easy. So, when exactly are you going to want to go back?”
“It’s a little difficult to say at the moment. I am just now formulating my plans. Certainly not for a few more weeks.”
“Fine. I’ll give you that. But Mags, if you don’t come around, I will demand you listen to me. As your brother, as your superior.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Medieval, Dickie. Just medieval.”
Mags went straight from her discussion with Dickie to finding Clarence. She was tired of events happening to her without fully being prepared or even knowing what was going to happen. Like today with the warrior club.
She found Clarence watching television in a big room with lots of soft appearing chairs. He turned down the noise. “Oh, hey Mags. I was just going to find you. Gonzo just called me. Kinda bad news. He is threatening not to pay your full wages because he says you did not really fight. I think that’s booolsheeet, if you’ll excuse the French. I told him, you’ll soon be in contact with him. I would give it to him, Mags.”
She puckered her brow. “Oh, Gonzo will pay in full. I can assure you of that.” Who did he think he was? Mags had run all her estates, especially as the dowager after Charles had passed away, with the utmost efficiency and profit, keeping close tabs on her money at all times. This kind of defiance and trickery was never tolerated. Why, she hadn’t been the richest widow in Europe at the time without good reason.
Clarence started chanting in a singsong fashion, moving his head rhythmically, “Go, Mags. You can do it. Go, Mags. You can do it.”
She looked at him curiously a moment before stating her business. “Clarence, I was wondering if you could tell me how to do the Internet.”
He stopped chanting, then chuckled. “How to do the Internet?”
“Yes, you look at a device and then can read about all these things. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Geez, Mags. You sound like you come from another planet.”
She wondered if she had said something wrong. No, she was sure that was what Herman had told her the Internet could do.
Ned walked in then. Clarence raised his brows at him. “Hey, Ned. One of them is doing it again.”
Ned frowned slightly. “Doing what again?”
“The crazy English cousin thing.”
Ned seemed to force a laugh and looked over at her. “He’s just kidding, Mags. Was there something I could help you with?”
“I want to read the Internet on one of those machines.”
Clarence snorted. “Told ya.”
“Oh, no problem. I was just going to run an errand. I can pick something up for you and show you how to use it.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Ned.”
She was becoming quite fond of both of her American cousins. Oh, Ned was . . . a real worrier . . . but always in a sweet way. And Clarence was a bit . . . well, rude . . . but somehow, she found him entertaining.
They did quite well as York men. Yes, they did. The thought pleased her.
But a few hours later, Mags wondered how it was possible to feel so pleased with her newfound modern contraption and yet so absolutely horrified at the same time.
Mags took to the Internet like a fish to water. Once Ned had returned with the device she was to use, she had gone to her bedroom to further explore its wonders. She could not believe that Dickie had not raved about this new invention more. But then, she had always been the most bookish person in her family.
She had loved reading even as a child. She had cherished beautiful illuminated books and manuscripts and as an adult had avidly collected both. Upon marriage, she had reveled in the extensive Burgundian library. It had even impressed her brother Edward IV, who had fled to the Low Countries once during his reign, before a rebellion by their brother George and Cousin Warwick could be crushed. Upon returning to England, he had then begun the first royal library of England. Eddie, however, did not have the same discriminating taste as herself. He had been more interested in quantity than quality it seemed.
But Mags had even been the sponsor of the first book to be printed in English! William Caxton, her financial advisor in Burgundy, had also been a businessman who was interested in printing books. She had eagerly encouraged him to finish the translation he had begun from French into English of The Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye by LeFevre—or A Collection of the Histories of Troy. She had even corrected some of his translation herself. The book was a French courtly romance written by the chaplain of her father-in-law, loosely based on the tales of the Trojan Wars. Once the translation had been completed, she had then supplied the funds for him to get it printed in Bruges.
Then she had helped Caxton move to England by supplying an introduction to her brother George—he had printed another book in English while in the Low Countries, The Play of Chess, which was dedicated to her brother. But her brother was soon arrested for treason and in the Tower. Caxton had eventually found other patrons for support.
But her past bibliophile history aside, the Internet was amazing. There were so many interesting topics to read about she could not at first decide where to start. But being as pious as she was, she thought she should begin by getting some answers as to why her faith had changed so much. However, after perusing just a couple articles, she realized how complicated the issue was and decided to leave the subject for later.
Her next topic, after giggling a little, was looking up ARCHIE LEACH. Oh, my heavens. How could a man be so elegant and handsome?
But then, just by glancing further down the page, she no longer had to think of topics because so many interesting articles, that she would never even think on her own to find out about, appeared.
Finally, after another hour, she started yawning—it was getting quite late—and as one final lark, she looked up MARGARET DUCHESS OF BURGUNDY.
And her mood plummeted.
What a disaster! First off, the Internet did not seem to comprehend exactly who she was. Articles about Margaret of Austria—her step-granddaughter—were more prominent on the page than ones actually about herself. And yes, her step-granddaughter was named after Mags, and Mags had helped raise her after her stepdaughter Marie had passed, falling from her horse, and yes, she had learned all about efficient governing from Mags, and yes, she had inherited most of her books, jewels, and expensive tapestries, and . . .oh, Mags hadn’t realized this . . . Margaret had had a hand in teaching all sorts of aristocratic ladies and royal princesses so actually Mags had indirectly also . . . but still, this was not an article about herself.
But not only was she confused with her step-granddaughter, but . . .Oh, Good Lord! . . . another Margaret of Burgundy who had lived centuries before Mags was being muddled with her and had been imprisoned for having an affair with her lover.
This was beyond annoying. Mags then tried looking up MARGARET OF YORK—though she had always preferred the title Margaret of Burgundy instead—and got essentially the same results.
So, what was there actually about Mags? She looked more closely.
Just as Ned had said, her crown that she had donated to a cathedral was written about because of some special exhibition.
Mags then turned the Internet page hoping for more about her and things only got worse. Oh, she found a book about herself, but what was it titled? The Conniving Duchess.
How absolutely horrible. How could she be labeled as such on a book cover?! Once she got back to heaven she was going to give it to Louis XI once and for all! She was sure that French arse of a King was responsible for this historical slur that now was displayed on the book.
He had been a thorn in her side not only while she was betrothed because he hadn’t wanted to see an alliance between Burgundy and England—and had claimed Mags had had a love child and all that other rot he had done—but also while she was the duchess and dowager, he had continued spreading lies about her. Stupid things such as Mags was going to kidnap her stepdaughter Marie and make her marry her brother George, the Duke of Clarence, which would have upset her Low Country subjects at the t
ime.
It had been bad enough when Charles, her husband, had passed away, but what had Louis done then? He had invaded Burgundy, taken away some of her dower lands, and tried to prevent her stepdaughter from marrying Maximilian, the Hapsburg heir of the Holy Roman Empire.
But Mags had triumphed over Louis time and time again. She had regained her dower lands, she had seen her beloved stepdaughter married to Maximilian, and then she had been an administrator, close advisor, and supporter not only for Maximilian when her stepdaughter had passed away, but then his heir, her step-grandson, Philip the Fair.
Dear Lord. Her unfortunate step-grandchildren had just been toddlers when they had lost their mother. Mags had been their substitute mother and had loved them as if they were her own. But even that, Louis could not leave alone. He had conspired with rebel leaders in the Low Countries, forced a betrothal between his son and Margaret so Margaret had been taken from Mags to live in France when she was just a few years old. That marriage had never gone through, but Margaret had not been returned to Mags until a decade later.
No, Louis had always resented her powerful position in the Burgundian government, was aware of her influence involving diplomatic issues, hated that she was a source of alliance with England, loathed her intelligence, her popularity, her stature, and did everything he could to thwart her. She was sure he had called her conniving and evil to others, and if he actually wasn’t the direct source of that slur, he was behind it nevertheless.
So not only had he done everything to ruin her when she was living, he was now managing to give her a bad name in this century just by a title of a book. Mags tried to calm down. Perhaps The Conniving Duchess actually spoke the truth about her and all her accomplishments. Perhaps the author had just been trying for a clever title. Oh, bah.