Jean Plaidy Read Online Free

forces of Margaret. Henry did not count; he was a poor, half-mad puppet. Margaret was the enemy. It was a pity Henry had married such a forceful woman.
    The great news was that the king would be coming to Middleham to join my father for the march to Bamborough.
    I had never seen Richard so excited.
    I said to him, “I am longing to see the king. I want to see for myself that he is all you say he is.”
    â€œHe is all of that—and more. Whatever I said of him could not be praise enough. He will be going into battle. How I wish I could go with him.”
    â€œOne day you will,” I replied, and he nodded happily.
    My father wanted the most lavish feast prepared—something to outshine even Warwick’s standards. The king would be at the castle only one night, for the next day at dawn he and my father, with their armies, would be marching to Bamborough.
    Servants dashed hither and thither; my mother gave orders in the kitchens; and Isabel and I were instructed how to behave. We must be a credit to our father.
    â€œI long to see the king,” said Isabel. “They say he is the most handsome man in the kingdom.”
    We heard his approach when he must have been some distance away, and Isabel and I were in the turret with some of the ladies waiting. And then we saw the cavalcade and the king was riding at the head of it.
    Reports of him had not been exaggerated. He was magnificent. Our mother, who joined us, said, “We must go down there to greet the king,” and with her we went down to the courtyard. Our father was at the gate of the castle and we joined him there.
    The king had leaped from his horse and advanced toward us. I had never seen such a good-looking man. He was very tall and there was an immense vitality about him; his features were clear cut and perfectly formed; but his greatest charm was that air of affability, his warm, friendly smile—and I discovered that was for everyone, even the humblest; he looked on all men as though they were his friends and all women as though he longed to be their lover. It was what is called charm, and it would always bring people to his side.
    â€œAh, friend Warwick!” He beamed on my father and I glowed with pride. That look conveyed love and reliance; and I could see that my father was greatly gratified. Later I realized that he regarded the king as his creature, the puppet to do his will; handsome, gracious, made to be loved by the people; the façade behind which lurked the true ruler of the country, for the king, given what he wanted—a life of luxury, easy living, and above all women—would be content for the Earl of Warwick to rule England. That was what my father thought at the time.
    â€œMy gracious lord,” he said, “may I present my lady wife.”
    â€œCountess,” murmured the king.
    My mother was about to kneel but he had caught her and, putting his hands on her shoulders, kissed her on the lips.
    â€œYour pardon, Warwick,” went on the king. “Temptation was too great.”
    And there was my mother blushing, smiling, a victim of his enchantment.
    â€œMy daughters, Isabel and Anne, my lord.”
    â€œCharming, charming.” And before Isabel could kneel, he had taken her hand and was kissing it. Then he turned and did the same to me.
    He said something about my father’s being the most fortunate of men and from that moment we were all caught up in his spell. I understood how he had enslaved Richard.
    There was feasting in the great hall, but my father was grave, no doubt thinking of Queen Margaret and wondering how many men had landed with her and whether they should leave immediately for Bamborough. The king showed little concern and none would have believed from his demeanor that he might be on the point of losing his kingdom.
    When the meal was over my father conducted the king to the bedchamber that had been prepared for him. They would be leaving at dawn for Bamborough.
    I