Margaret’s cream satin dress hung in heavy folds to her small feet. Rich pearls added a warmth and lustre to the cloth that was duplicated in the fine white veil on her hair.
At her side stood Edmund, Earl of Richmond, a man full grown with twenty-five years resting lightly on his broad shoulders. His burnished hair setting him apart from other men.
The Bishop lifted his hand in blessing and Margaret realised that the ceremony was over. She was Edmund’s bride and nothing could part them, except death itself.
Elizabeth was the first to step forward and kiss her cheek, and there were tears in her eyes.
“How lovely you look,” she said with emotion. “And so young and slender – just thirteen years old. Why, it seems only the other day that I brought you from Bletsoe to be at the Court.”
No one spoke of Suffolk who had dominated her life and held a hasty ceremony of marriage between Margaret and John de la Pole. Margaret shuddered. That was all in the past! Suffolk was dead and Edmund, her dear husband, held her well-being in his capable hands.
The King came forward and took her hand. He was so much better, that Margaret smiled happily at him, forgetting for the moment that he was monarch and thinking only of him as kin to her dear husband.
But life at Court had not been without its anxious moments. For a time, Richard of York had been protector to the Prince of Wales; and Somerset, Margaret’s uncle, had been thrown into prison. She had feared for his life then, but all thanks to the saints, the King had recovered and the old order of things had been restored.
“May you have a long life together and many sons!” The King put an affectionate arm around his brother’s shoulder. He loved Edmund well and had heaped honours upon him so that now he was premier earl in all the kingdom.
“The bedding ceremony!” a voice cried. “Let it begin.”
There was a murmur from the ladies present and the hot colour rose to Margaret’s cheeks. She stood hesitating for a moment, looking toward her new husband, as if for guidance. He smiled his encouragement, and she suffered her ladies to lead her away.
In the flower-decked chamber, Elizabeth was already busy sprinkling herbs over the bedcovers.
“This will ensure fertility, Margaret,” she smiled mischievously. “Though I doubt you will need it with a man like Edmund Tudor for a husband!”
She kissed Margaret’s cheek soundly. “The Earl is a real man, one whom any woman would be proud to bed with. Just leave yourself in his hands. He will care for you with kindness and love.”
She untied the ribbons on Margaret’s gown and it fell in heavy folds to lie like snow against the floor. Her hair was undone, and it hung in soft curls to her waist.
“You are lovely and innocent as a child,” Edmund said, his eyes alight with love. “And more beautiful than even I expected.”
Margaret stared at him shyly. He looked unfamiliar in a loose robe of emerald green. She clung to his hand, afraid that in her inexperience she would fail him. He must have read a little of her thoughts in her eyes.
“Don’t be afraid, Margaret; you will be happy with me, I promise you.”
At last the moment came for the giggling ladies to leave the chamber. Edmund secured the door and then slowly came towards her. Margaret began to tremble. She wanted to be in his arms, to become truly his wife, and yet something within her was shrinking from the new experience that would change her from a virgin girl into a woman.
Edmund swept her up and laid her gently on the bed, his hands warm, gently caressing her. She felt his mouth possessing hers and love blossomed within her like an opening flower. She clung to him, delighting in his passion for her, determined to be a good and faithful wife for as long as they both should live.
“Marriage agrees with you, my lady.” Elizabeth carried the tapestries out into the green garden, handing Margaret several brightly coloured strands of silk.
“I know it does.” Margaret laughed out loud, happiness soaring through her like a bird flying up to the endless sky. “I am more than fortunate to have found such a wonderful love so early in life, and I thank Saint Nicholas every day for guiding me to Edmund.”
She used her needle delicately, fashioning a rose of pale beauty into the design of the carpet.
Elizabeth sighed. “I wish I had your hand with a needle. My roses all look like drooping butterflies.”
Margaret laughed once more; joy came easy to her these days. She rested her tapestry against her skirt.
“Oh, if only Edmund could remain at my side all day as well as all night, how wonderful it would be.”
Elizabeth nodded wisely. “There would be no tapestry work done then, and you would be exhausted with enjoyment of your husband!”
The ready colour suffused Margaret’s cheeks. “Shame on you, Elizabeth, that you, an unmarried lady, should talk so!”
“I am twice your age, my dear Margaret, and not come to that without tasting of forbidden fruits.” She laughed. “And there is no need for you to look so shocked. You wouldn’t have me a dried-up, loveless maid now, would you?”
Margaret suppressed a giggle and bent once more over her needlework.
“I shall have many fine sons for Edmund’s sake. His own mother bore four boys and two girls, so I have something to live up to.”
Elizabeth frowned. “You would not like six children, Margaret? Queen Catherine did not live to enjoy her brood, remember?”
“Well, the Queen was too old for childbearing. I shall have my sons while I am young and strong, you’ll see.”
Margaret lifted her face to the sun, happiness flowing from her like a perfume.
Surreptitiously, Elizabeth made the sign of the cross. It did not do to call the attention of the saints to oneself the way Margaret was doing. But then she was young and the young always imagine that their life will always be a bed of roses.
The sound of horses in the courtyard brought Margaret to her feet.
“Edmund is home!” she cried, and lifting her skirts like a child, ran across the green to meet him.
Laughing, he lifted her high into the air and she hung like a tiny doll waiting for him to set her down. “Look who has come to see you. Some fine visitors. Are you not going to speak words of welcome, my lady?”
Margaret was aware of Edmund’s teasing, and blushed crimson, conscious of her crumpled blue dress and of the tendrils of hair escaping around her neck.
One man stepped forward to bend over her hand with an amused smile, and she almost revealed her surprise to see that it was the Duke of York.
“I am truly honoured, dear Margaret. I had not realised what a beauty you had become.”
Margaret dipped before him politely, feeling tongue-tied and uncertain before this man who was reputed to be an enemy of the King.
Edmund saw her confusion, and ushering the guests towards their chambers, he turned for a moment to whisper to her.
“This is a business meeting, my love, it will soon be over.”
“They are all kinsmen to us and to each other!” Margaret studied the guests as they sat themselves comfortably around the large room.
Edmund smiled and nodded. “That is just the point, Margaret. This business concerns all of us.”
Lord Powys bent his tall figure down to kiss Margaret’s hand and smiled a little at her shyness. His large friendly eyes lit up to see the colour rise to her cheeks.
Edmund raised his cup and made a toast – “Kirkstall Abbey!” He held out his hand to Margaret and she sat at his side more than a little relieved to be out of the limelight.
“I think we are all agreed on this issue,” Edmund said clearly, “as joint heirs to the Earl of Kent, we are each entitled to £90 out of the property of Kirkstall Abbey.” He drank from his cup before continuing. “The manor has greatly decreased in value, and so to make it easier for Abbot William, we propose to petition the King to lower our dues to £75, I think that should help.”
Richard of York rose to his feet, his eyes bright with good humour. “Are we all agreed on it, gentlemen?” he said, and amongst a murmur of assent, he turned to Margaret holding out his cup.
Quickly she gave him more of the ruby wine, shaking a little in her nervousness of him. He smiled and took her hand in his.
“Please, my lady, I am not a dragon. Such a pretty young lady should be afraid of no man.”
She backed away from him, feeling foolish as the rest of the gathering burst into laughter. Edmund took her hand firmly in his and she clung to him, grateful for his nearness.
“The Lady Margaret may be the youngest one among us,” he said mildly, “but she has just as big a share in the manor of Kirkstall Abbey, and she is generous to a fault. I know she would take nothing from Abbot William if she thought she could help him even further.”
Richard of York bowed and his eyes were mocking. “How wonderful to see a love-match in these days of convenient marriages. I am quite envious, Edmund.”
Margaret stole a look at him from under her lashes and saw that he did indeed look sincere in his protestations. She felt just a little sorry for him, though even now he was attempting to become protector to the little Prince Edward.
At last, the guests took their leave, and Margaret sank down against the cushions, her head aching.
Edmund came to her and took her in his arms very gently, his eyes dark and mysterious with the passion that was always very near the surface.
“Do not send for your ladies,” he whispered. “Let me serve you instead. We shall have an interesting time while I try to take off these many skirts of yours. I’m sure they were fashioned to deter all but the strongest of men from sleeping with their wives!”
She stood obediently still until at last she was left with only her long hair to cover her nakedness. Edmund’s hands were warm and gentle as they caressed her slowly and deliberately.
“White and beautiful. Such skin I’ve never seen before. It is like silk.” He drew her towards the bed. “Come, I will give you the son we both desire, and the making of the child will be a great joy.”
His lips were eager and she responded to the warmth in him. Love flowed through her as it always did when he caressed her and she clung to him, her head pressed against his swiftly beating heart.
He held her in an almost suffocating embrace and Margaret felt a fierce pain that brought joy in its wake, and she cried tears of happiness because she was Edmund’s wife and he found her desirable.
The crisp spring air slanted in through the windows and already the trees were covered in buds with the warm promise of summer mellowing the sun.
Edmund leaned his bright head against the tapestries that hung on the wall, playing sweet music to Margaret and singing to her in his native Welsh that she found so beautiful.
As the sounds of music fell away, Margaret took her husband’s hand.
“That was lovely, my lord, but so sad. See, you have brought tears to my eyes.”
He moved away from her and went to the window and a sudden fear caught at her heart. She followed him and leaned against his broad back, her head against the softness of his doublet.
“Edmund, you frighten me with your silence. Please tell me what is wrong.”
He turned and took her in his arms. “Silly wife, nothing is wrong; but though it may be fine to sit here like a little lapdog and be waited on hand and foot, I must think some time of my duties to the King.”
She drew herself from his arms and stood upright, her head high. “Edmund, don’t humour me, I wish to know what is really going through your mind.”
He smiled warmly. “You are quite right, my perceptive little wife. You have a right to know what is happening.” He took both her hands in his. “Richard of York, together with Salisbury and Warwick, is planning to march on London. Somerset is to be sent out to apprehend the rebel faction.”
Margaret shook her head. “Why does Richard act so? He was such a gentleman the night he visited us.”
“He feels his cause is just!” Edmund said simply. “He may be mistaken, but he is quite sincere, and to his mind the Yorkists are the most fit to rule England.” He kissed the upturned palms of her hand. “Come, my lady, enough of such talk. We have more important things to concern ourselves with. Isn’t it time we went to our beds?”
Margaret’s cheeks were rosy as she glanced up at him from under her lashes and then out of the window.
“But, my lord, it is afternoon, and the sun still shines. See how high it is over the gardens!”
Giggling, she turned and ran from him, closing the door of the bedchamber with a resounding bang. For a moment she thought he had taken her words seriously, then there was a gentle knock on the door.
“Edmund of Richmond wishes to enter his bedchamber only to find his wife has locked it against him,” he said loudly.
Margaret gave a little scream of embarrassment and opened the door quickly.
“How could you, Edmund,” she said softly, “what will everyone think?”
She caught his sleeve and pulled him inside the chamber. He laughed and caught her up in his arms, kissing her lips warmly.
“Oh, dearest husband.” Margaret nibbled his ear gently running her hands through the thick vibrant hair that hung down to his collar. “Will we always be in love like this, do you think?” She wriggled free so that she could stare into his eyes.
Fiercely he pressed her close to him, his eyes closed as if in pain. He carried her to the bed and took her quickly, as if afraid there would be no tomorrow for them to enjoy each other.
Margaret sensed his mood and she clung to him tightly, her thin arms holding him so close as if never to let him go. Finally, they lay exhausted, side by side, hands entwined in an unbreakable bond.
“Margaret,” Edmund said with quiet fervour, “I will love you with all my heart and so long as there is breath left in my body. When I no longer love you, I will be dead.”