The Rose of York: Crown of Destiny Read Online Free Page A

avoid giving offence, but sometimes things slipped out. She hated his adulation of Edward, whom she deemed unworthy of admiration.
    “…All who went into their audience with frowns came out with smiles, wishing they could have given more to their king,” Richard had continued, reading from the letter. “I vow Edward can pluck the feathers of his magpies without making them cry out. He jests with the people, embraces them, treats them as equals no matter how low-born, and wins their hearts. The soul is not born who can resist his charm! Edward expects to have the money by Easter.”
    “I shall take Ned for a stroll in the garden,” Anne had said, rising abruptly, angry Richard could be so happy about the prospect of war. Did he care so little that she would be left behind to wait and worry? He gave no thought to her, only to Edward!
    She bundled Ned tightly in his velvet blanket and gathered him up from the cot. Richard didn’t notice her departure. At the door, she had paused, looked back. Damn Edward .
    “Anne…”
    Her mother’s voice pierced her reverie. She blinked, startled.
    “My dear, why so cross? What were you thinking about? Come away from the window; you’ll catch cold. Let us go to the solar and read the missive Richard has sent. Nurse Idley will bring Ned.”
    In the solar, warmed by the flicker of numerous candles, wine, and the music of minstrels, Anne took a window seat with her mother while Percival stretched out to sleep on the Saracen carpet. Richard’s news was not as good as she’d hoped. England’s allies, who had promised Edward help against Louis XI, had so far failed to join them. Even Charles the Rash of Burgundy, who was wed to Richard’s sister, Meg, had not come as he’d promised. They were still waiting for him, and increasingly fearful that they would have to fight the French alone.
    She remembered the high promise of that day in May when Richard’s battle cry had sounded across the dales of the North…
     
    Horses neighed restlessly, plumes fluttered in the wind, and armour shone in the sun as Anne offered her husband the stirrup cup by the drawbridge of Middleham Castle. Clad in the white Milan armour he had worn into battle at Barnet, his dark hair stirring in the wind, Richard sat astride the magnificent white Syrian that Anne had chosen with King Arthur’s white horse in mind to mark Richard’s twenty-second birthday. He looks his best on horseback , Anne thought; a princely figure on a princely horse, though it required a firm hand to curb the restive stallion that whinnied with excitement, anxious to be off. Richard had become so devoted to the charger, White Surrey, that he rarely rode another. The spirited beast reciprocated the affection that had been won with gentle handling and many an apple and slice of marchpane.
    Anne’s proud gaze swept Richard’s army. Men had answered his call to arms so willingly that he had found himself with three hundred more than he had promised Edward, and now the entire hillside blazed with silk-fringed banners of the White Boar.
    “My Lord, I am not the only one who loves you. It seems all Yorkshire holds you in its heart,” she said as he drank. Percival, standing by her sable-trimmed skirt, barked as if he, too, heartily supported the statement. Richard’s gaze had followed hers to the ranks of plumes and bows waiting below the drawbridge.
    “And that heart which was once Lancastrian is now Yorkist,” he had smiled. Then, with a jerk of the bridle, he had turned his stallion and clattered over the drawbridge. Gloucester Herald had blown on his clarion, and the jewel-coloured cavalcade of plumes and banners had fallen in behind him and wound down the hill.
     
    Anne rested the letter in her hand and made a fuss of Percival to hide the tears that suddenly blurred her vision. The thought that had filled her mind then was the same one that tormented her now: the last time she had sent a husband to war, he had not returned.
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