This close to the Christ-mass, the Prinsenhof in Brugge blazed with reckless brilliance. Branches of candles stood on every surface, ornate candelabra hung in the rafters, flambeaux and great fires were everywhere, as the court of Burgundy prepared to celebrate the season of the Savior’s birth. Beyond the city walls was darkness, metaphorical as well as physical; but the court and the town ignored the fear that darkness brought. Best to enjoy all the fun that could be had, and think about the rest tomorrow.
The duke, determined to show the world and his followers a confident face, had planned a Christ-mass feast. No part of his winter-starved lands would be spared an additional tithe to feed the court and its seasonal guests. If his people must suffer to confuse his enemy, so be it.
Charles sighed, rubbing his temples.
“You are distracted, my dear.” The duchess put down her embroidery frame and reached across, catching up one of the duke’s hands. The duke and the duchess were experiencing a rare moment to themselves—if one did not count the cluster of waiting women grouped together in a window embrasure playing at knucklebones.
“Tell me, Charles. The trouble may lessen if you speak of it.”
The duke smiled at his wife, though she could sense his tension still. “There are some things that are proper for me to carry alone, dearest girl. That is my duty.”
Margaret patted her husband on the knee, laughing brightly, though her eyes were anxious.
“Now, Charles, we are married. I am here to share your burdens. I promised to, in the cathedral at Damme. This is my duty also.”
Now it was his turn to pick up her hands and look into her eyes. He kissed each of her fingers, one by one, so it was several moments before he spoke. Then: “Louis has declared war on us. He has rejected the Treaty of Peronne.”
Margaret said nothing for a moment as she gazed at her husband; there was no point expostulating. She kissed Charles gently on his slightly whiskery cheek. “Well then, this is what we have been expecting. And now it has arrived.” Margaret sat back calmly and picked up her work. “Charles?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Did your man not shave you this morning?”
The duke laughed out loud. How typical it was of his wife to be practical, even when she was frightened. He prized her for that quality. She was the sane center of a spinning, dizzy world. “Perhaps not. I do not remember.”
Of course he didn’t remember—he’d been wakened in the hour before dawn and had hurried, half dressed, to receive the dispatches from the hand of his emissary to the French, Philippe de Commynes. Since then, he’d been issuing a stream of orders—to his troops in the field and for the raising of more levies—and had barely had time to eat, let alone restore his appearance to something his wife might approve.
“What will you do?”
Charles shrugged. “Well, much has been done already. The call has gone out for the levies to join the men we already have in the field. If Louis insists, well then, we will fight him.”
Margaret said nothing, but he knew her well. He chuckled to lighten the atmosphere. “We shall still make our feast, lady. I will not allow Louis to think his foolishness has interrupted our wassail.”
Margaret’s industrious fingers flew as the needle pierced the backcloth of the embroidery again and again. “Where will Louis strike, do you think? And when?”
Watching Charles of Burgundy at this moment, a stranger might have thought he did not care, was not treating this threat to his dukedom with any seriousness. But that was his way—it was a grace he had and he knew it inspired confidence. A priceless attribute. “Picardy. He’s massing against us there, on the border. He’s called in the English also. Warwick will send men.”
“And what will you do, Charles?” Margaret spoke sharply and her needle stopped, poised over the cloth.
The duke rose, restless, and paced over to a window. He stood there, his back to the room. Then he swung around to look at his wife. “Louis has shown his hand. By God’s bones, so will I.”
The knock was thunderous in the sleeping house. Anne woke instantly from a deep dream, a happy dream of homecoming and laughter. Now, as the wisps of fantasy were blown away like mist, she sat up in a huddle of bedclothes, reaching for Edward.
The imprint where his body had lain, beside hers, was still warm, but he was gone. Then, distantly, she heard men talking.
Naked, Anne threw the bedclothes back and ran shivering to the pegs on the wall where, every night, her clothes were hung. It was dark, so she had to feel along the surface until she found them, first a linen shift and then the house kirtle she’d worn yesterday. Fumbling, unaccustomed after all this time to dressing herself, she dropped each garment over her head and pushed her feet into the felt house shoes neatly placed on the floor beneath them.
Her hands flew to her hair. It had been braided the night before, ready for bed, but when Edward had crept into her room after the household had gone to sleep, it had become disarranged. She would not think of that now.
She could no longer hear men’s voices—they must have gone somewhere. The kitchen?
There. She was ready now to face whatever was needed, having bundled her hair up into a kerchief and tied it severely tight. Groping her way across the room, she found the door and lifted the latch. Little Edward had slept through the noise and so, it seemed, had Deborah—though Anne did not believe that.
She stepped down the treads of the spiral stone stair in the corner of her house, placing her feet gently to make as little noise as possible. For some reason, each of her senses said “caution.”
“…you are certain of this?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The duke asked me to ride to you immediately.” One lone candle had been lit in Anne’s brick-floored kitchen, the wavering light making odd shadows on the men’s faces. Richard was there, William Hastings, and Lord Rivers. And so was Edward. Somehow he’d found enough of his clothes from where he’d dropped them on the floor of her room to look entirely respectable. Anne marveled at that fact. Battle readiness, was that it? She turned to see a messenger, too, wearing the duke of Burgundy’s livery.
“Gentlemen, is anything wrong?”
Each of the men bowed to her, Edward most deeply of all.
“Lady Anne, the duke has finally decided. He will help the cause of the king.”
Richard of Gloucester suddenly looked fully as young as he was, a boy not even twenty years old. Anne was surprised. He’d been a responsible lieutenant for so long in his brother’s service that she’d come to think of him as mature. But now the lilt in his voice, the way he jigged from foot to foot, betrayed the youth he still was.
“Money?” Anne found she was sitting on the settle by the banked embers of the kitchen fire.
“Better than that. Ships and men, as well. There’s to be a meeting, an official one this time, after the Christ-mass feast, and then we shall see.” Edward spoke carefully, his tone composed, but Anne knew him, body and bone. She saw the light in his eyes. He was looking at her so eagerly, so happily, and she knew that if the others had not been there, he would have scooped her up in his arms, wanting her to be a part of it, a part of the future that was being born.
A slow shiver made its way up her spine until it reached her scalp. This, then, was the tipping point, the time when all would change. When her life, too, would change—again. For this man. Did she want that?
“Lady Anne, you should go back to bed. We are sorry to have wakened you.” William Hastings spoke from the shadows. It was a courteous dismissal from Edward’s chamberlain: this is the world of men, lady, he seemed to say, you have no part to play here.
Anne lifted her chin and her eyes sought William’s. “I am grateful for your care of me, sir, but I’m awake now and eager to hear more. This is a lucky day for all of us.”
Be careful, chamberlain, was Anne’s response to Hastings. The king needs me, I am important to him; you should understand that. Anne rose and curtsied to the man who had only so lately been in her bed. “I am so happy for you, Your Majesty. The wait is over. At last.”
Edward bowed in response and waved Anne back to her seat, an honor, since the men crowded into her small kitchen were standing. “There is still a way to travel, Lady Anne, but this is the end of the beginning, I am certain of that.”
“Do you have a plan, sire, as yet?”
There was an embarrassed silence. Anne looked from face to face. None would meet her eyes. And, suddenly, she understood. They would not speak in front of her nor share anything they’d been discussing, not even Edward. Anne was more than shocked. She was hurt, and beginning to be angry. Did he not trust her? Was that possible?
“Lady Anne, we have much to ponder on and it is very late—or, rather, very early. We are so grateful for all that you have given us, the valuable and tireless assistance you have rendered to our house.” Anne sat mute, staring up into the bright eyes of the king. He was using the royal plural, speaking at her, not with her. “The courage you have shown will ever be dear to us. And it will be rewarded.”
Anne would not let herself cry. Good enough to be his lover, but not good enough to be his trusted friend?
“Reward?” Anne stood and faced Edward, not even an arm’s length from where he stood. She spoke over the king, interrupting him, her anger just greater than her hurt. He was silent from surprise. “I want nothing from you, sire. Your greatest gift to me is your presence in my house. I need, or desire, nothing more.”
Head high, Anne turned to Hastings. “You were right, Lord Hastings. It seems I am more tired than I knew.” Anne managed it well, even smiled, but the chamberlain would not meet her glance.
Turning back to the king, she bent her head and curtsied, low. “Your Majesty.” Edward was pale, staring at her. “I should be grateful for permission to withdraw.” Anne kept her tone neutral, light, and steadfastly gazed at the second pearl button on the king’s jerkin. Above it his throat worked.
“Certainly, Lady Anne. We are sorry your rest was disturbed.” It was hard to swallow what she burned to say, and Anne took a deep breath before the words could escape her mouth. But one glance from her and the king knew.
It was never rest I wanted from you. I thought I had your love and trust. He heard her in his heart, and knew Anne knew it as she walked from her kitchen, leaving it silent behind her.
Great damage had been done and he, Edward Plantagenet, had done it. But he had a kingdom to think of, not his own personal happiness. He was right to confine the discussion to his men, and his men alone. Yet what had he lost in that one moment?
He would not think about that now. It frightened him.