The Rose of York: Crown of Destiny Read Online Free

her as she came back to the present. She looked up at her anxious mother. “I’m fine, Mother. Truly. Whatever it was is gone now.”
    “Why do you drive yourself so, my child?” pleaded the Countess, concern evident in her eyes.
    “Because I’m happy, Mother, and in my happiness I wish everyone happy.”
    “Your privy purse is drained making everyone else happy,” she scolded, “while you scrimp.”
    “Yet there’s nothing I’d do differently.” Still a trifle dizzy, she went to the window seat and pushed the window open for air. The night was refreshingly cool, and a full moon shone in the dark sky. How she missed Richard! Edward had saddled him with such responsibility that they scarcely found leisure to admire the twilight or stroll in the moonlight together, as they had done when they were first wed. But despite his burdens, Richard was happy, too. She knew, because he called her “Flower-eyes” with ever-increasing frequency. Indeed, the castle glowed with joy and laughter, and like sunlight striking a mirror, the radiance reflected back on her. Now when she reviewed the past, she always paused at the wisdom of her decision in the abbey of St. Martin Le Grand—to elope with Richard and not wait for a papal dispensation.
    Aye, love is all that matters. Love is everything. God understands, and will forgive . She had no doubts about that. Only one cloud marred her near-perfect horizon: little Ned was sickly. “Fret not, Flower-eyes,” Richard constantly reassured her. “Remember that when I was small, I was always so near death that the steward in writing to my Lord father would add a postscript: ‘Richard liveth yet.’” Then they’d laugh and turn their smiles on their child.
    But the King’s business took Richard away from Middleham far too often these days, and on those occasions when he was home, he was often preoccupied. For on his shoulders rested the weighty affairs of war and peace.
    In the year since Ned’s birth, Richard had accomplished wonders in York. His Council of the North, which he had set up to dispense justice to the poor, had grown into a body well-regarded by both rich and poor, righting many wrongs in the vast region under his control. And the border with Scotland, which was always troubled, had grown quieter. Thanks to his tireless efforts, England had secured a treaty and sealed it with the betrothal of James of Scotland’s heir to Edward’s five-year-old daughter, Princess Cecily. Even the seizure of English merchant ships on the high seas had eased. Other accords were also made, netting England peace with all her neighbours. All except France. With France, Edward had decided on war.
    Anne remembered how Edward had laughed when he’d learned the French king’s response to his proposed invasion: “I declare,” Edward had said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eyes, “Louis’s discomfort is such consolation, I am ready give up my bed for a soldier’s pallet!”
    No, Edward didn’t care for war. The “Battle of the Boudoir” remained his passion of choice. His lance always stands firm there , she thought with a rare tightening of the mouth. Meanwhile, Richard toiled. It irked her that he didn’t seem to mind Edward’s failings. She still remembered how he had chuckled at Edward’s missive. To raise money for the war, Edward had written that he’d been obliged to travel the realm and cajole his subjects for contributions. “What’s so funny, my Lord?” she’d asked Richard as she’d made a game of dangling coloured baubles in front of Ned and snatching them away before he could grab them. She loved the sound of his giggles.
    “A London dame offered Edward twenty pounds, and Edward thanked her with a kiss, whereupon she doubled her gift,” Richard chuckled.
    “Before, or after, the boudoir?” she had asked.
    Engrossed in the letter, Richard had failed to rise to her bait. His brothers were the only subject they fought about and usually she tried to