"Milord?" I curtsied deep to my young duke. I had been led to where he sat at a table bright with candles, cluttered with empty wine bottles and the bony ruin of an excellent dinner. Old friends were there, friends who had also trained in arms at Middleham.
Here sat Francis, Lord Lovell, broad shouldered, ruddy cheeked and brown skinned. The others were the Lords Dacre, Greystoke and Fitzhugh. In the background stood Richard’s guards. A pair of heavy-headed mastiffs, big as ponies, sprawled in the reeds, having taken up stations where scraps were most likely to land. A Welsh harper with frizzy gray curls had been supplying an appropriately martial ballad. His was the strong tenor I had heard during my journey along the corridor.
I’d arrived in a knot of anxiety. For several weeks after the lute incident, I had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Today, I could not imagine why I had been conveyed to Crosby's Place in order to speak to him. I knew he enjoyed the simplicity and peace of St. Martin le Grand, but here I was, far off my ground, summoned to the great room of his townhouse. No, I did not like the lie of this land one bit!
"Very prompt, Mistress Rose." He indicated I should rise from my curtsy. "'Tis unfortunate you missed Master Griffyd's song, for it was a brave story."
The harper bowed and the duke's friends added their agreement. Richard's secretary, John Kendall, at the lowest end of the table, stood to hand the harper a purse. The Welshman bowed again, face shining in the reflected glow of Richard's good will. It was clear the duke had pleased the harper at least as much as the other way round.
"Come again to me, Master Griffyd, for tomorrow's supper," Richard said. "Now, gentlemen and cousins, I thank you for your company, but I must have a talk with Rose."
As the lords withdrew, there were friendly nods in my direction, for they remembered me much as I remembered them. Acknowledgement was well salted with curiosity, for I was not so plain as I insisted upon imagining.
Secretary Kendall stayed put, so those who knew anything about anything understood this was business, not pleasure. That made me even more anxious than I'd been before.
Francis Lovell, who'd apparently drunk himself to right good cheer, strolled close and chucked me familiarly under the chin.
"Um glad to see tha’ art safe, after great trow-ble, Roe-an Roose." His joking made me smile because his attempt at Yorkshire dialect was, as always, horrid.
"I am glad that you, too, are well, My Lord Lovell, and have likewise weathered the storm."
He studied me with merry black eyes. He and Richard—one so tall, the other so short—what a precious pair! Always together as boys, always talking about their horses, their hawks, side by side, day in and day out….
"I hear," Francis remarked in a stage whisper, "you get your way in everything."
"What? You jest, Milord."
"Oh, don't try to pull the wool over my eyes, Rose! I reminded the Duke of Gloucester that you were born under the Scorpion and will either have your way or have vengeance. So now I entreat you, play the docile maid. I heartily pray, bewilder and vex His Grace no further."
Another thing about this boyhood pair, it had always been Francis who loved to hear himself talk, the one who caught girls with lines woven of felicitous nonsense. Tall, lanky and gregarious, Francis had teased everyone, including his best friend. Richard, who said little and pondered much, was his exact opposite.
Bewilder? Vex? I gave Francis Lovell a look that said I had no idea what he was on about.
"It's good news." This added to my confusion. Then, after dropping a boyish buss upon my hand—as in the old days—Lord Lovell sauntered away. While this went on, My Lord the Duke was growing impatient and appeared to be within a hair of saying so.
At this juncture, I suddenly took it into my head that Richard had received permission from the king to marry Anne. Oh, to escape the confines St. Martin's and return to Middleham and our wide Yorkshire sky! Thrilled by the idea, I colored.
Richard noticed my blush. "Do you anticipate me, Rose?" A servant had appeared carrying a silver basin. He began to wash his hands in the scented water.
"I do not know, my Lord of Gloucester, but I do pray we shall soon make return to Middleham."
He dried his hands upon a towel presented by another servant and then motioned them both away. "Do you speak of my marriage to your lady?"
"I pray that is the matter, Milord."
"I pray that it were. However, it is of your marriage I wish to speak."
You could have knocked me over with a feather. My jaw sagged.
"My-my—marriage?"
"Yes. When the Countess of Warwick long ago took you to service, she promised your mother that in time she would provide you with a dower and a worthy husband. She is not able to complete her promise and this disturbs her. Among other things, she writes to me of this." A jeweled hand waved for confirmation to Kendall, who gravely nodded.
"This is of no consequence to me, My Lord. As long as I serve my dear lady, I am content."
"The Countess of Warwick, however, is not." Richard leaned back in his chair, trying on amusement. "Do you hear this, Kendall? Here stands a young woman who does not wish to be well married."
"Perhaps we should call the harper back?" Kendall obliged with a smile. "There's certainly a song in this, Your Grace."
"I know a stout fellow who wishes to marry with you, Mistress Rose, who petitions me for your hand."
Richard smiled. It was a lord's smile, reassurance and guidance aimed at me, his rudderless dependent.
"He is a man of appropriate substance, a soldier of confirmed bravery who had done me excellent service. Moreover, you owe him your life."
"Master Fletcher dares to speak of this to you, My Lord?" At last, I'd found my tongue.
Richard nodded. The smile stayed firmly in place, but I noticed that he’d begun to twist one of his rings.
"Daily he pleads his case." Kendall spoke for his master.
"But—but, Sir! I—I—have refused Master Hugh."
"Come, come, Rose," said Richard. "To marry is an act of prudence. Better to marry than to burn."
The sharp scorpion of whom Lovell had spoken wondered if my lord was talking about himself? Shadows stole in and out behind his banter.
Daily I felt the tug of desire for him. By this, I knew it was not simply my foolishness, my weakness. Richard felt it, too, and he'd decided that by marrying me off, he would end it. It made my heart ache, particularly since it was a very good plan.
Who knew better that he belonged to Anne and she belonged to him? Anything else would be mere lust, a sin on both sides. Our night of pleasure had been a double betrayal of a long held friendship.
Now, my good lord played his part, ostensibly looking after the welfare of a servant. The Countess of Warwick had promised and great lady that she was, in the face of all sorrows, a promise made was a promise which must be kept. Noblesse Oblige!
"Rose?" Richard raised one dark brow.
"Milord?" Whatever he'd been saying, I hadn't heard a single word.
"I should like to see at least one marriage during this blessed season. If it cannot be my own, yours must suffice."
"I cannot leave My Lady Anne, sir." I drew myself up as tall as possible in a last, futile attempt to save myself. "I wonder, Your Grace, that you can ask it."
"I have not asked you to leave Lady Anne." His rejoinder came equally sharp.
Candor seemed my last chance. "If I am to sleep with a husband—" I swallowed hard, "I shall not be able to care for the Lady at night as she requires."
"This presents no difficulty." Richard regarded me steadily. "There are Sisters of gentle breeding at St. Martin who will assume those duties and keep your lady well. And, you must not forget the ladies Grace and Margaret, from our days at Middleham."
Ah, yes, those pasty docile faces—those—interlopers!
"These ladies are with the Countess at Beaulieu, but Lady Anne certainly should be attended by those who have been trained in caring for her. Equally certain, Mistress Rose, is that you are too wise to waste your days simply dressing and undressing my dear cousin. You must get back to your garden, to your work."
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, so I closed it again. That was when Richard delivered the coup de grace.
"Lady Anne and I have discussed it. She concurs."
Out-flanked, and deprived of them both at one stroke, I couldn't help myself. I sank to my knees and began to cry—and not with any kind of quiet dignity, either.
"Leave us, Kendall."
The secretary, sincerely discomfited, was up and gone in a flash. Heaven knows what he thought. No doubt that something was between us, which was, after all, the wretched truth.
Richard came around the table. A moment later, he had hold of my hand. I didn't dare look at him.
"Rose," he said, pressing my fingers gently between his. "What is this?"
"I have refused Master Fletcher, my Lord."
"Why? Fletcher is a good man. He promises to make you a worthy husband. He is brave, and forthright and he loves you. What more could you desire?"
His closeness was wrenching. What he said stabbed me to the heart—stabbed all women! Men know better than this and they demonstrate it whenever they marry for status and property, and then take a mistress to slake their passion. Why do they imagine us so unlike?
"Love, My Lord." At last I dared to meet his eyes, "Love."
He released my hand and gazed down with all the regal authority of which he was capable. When he fixed you with those bright falcon's eyes, you no longer saw him as spare and barely twenty.
"Love—" the Prince of York began, pausing as if to ponder a word in a foreign language, "will come. You have this man's respect, which is more."
"You love the Lady Anne, and she loves you." I don't really know how I dared to say it.
My speech was followed by a deathly pause. Then he said, "You, best of all, should know whereof and for how long."
I found my handkerchief and attempted delicacy while blowing my nose. Doubtless, I failed. The Duke stepped back, rested his hand upon the corner of the table.
"For his good service, good character, and his preservation of your person, I have promised Hugh Fletcher your hand at Twelfth Night. So it shall be."
Unable to speak, choking on a mixture of rage and tears, I bowed my head.
"This is a good match. With it, the promise made by the Countess of Warwick to your mother is honored."
Perhaps there was more to this speech, but I, without leave, without the proper thank-you, leapt to my feet and took flight. Along the way, men at arms and servants stared after a weeping, freckled lady's maid on the run.
The driver who had come to fetch me, the one who would now drive me back, wore Blanc Sanglier. I had said only a few words to him on our way, but not a single word was passed between us during our return.
* * *
"Why, Rose! Whatever…?"
I arrived in a rage, slamming through the door. I was seldom angry with her, but this was different.
"You knew of this, Milady! And sent me off like a lamb to the slaughter!"
Anne regarded me, calm as a Madonna.
"You could have done me the courtesy to tell me of your decision, Milady. I am the one who will be yoked to that great brute for eternity, after all."
Anne lifted her chin regally. "You were, very recently, honest enough to point out the obvious to me in the matter of husbands. Now, I do the same for you." She was only a degree less chilly than Richard had been.
"This is different." Purposefully, I left off "Milady."
"Is it?" Anne refused the bait. "We, each one of us, owe these gentlemen our lives."
"I have no past with Hugh Fletcher.”
"Next year, you will," Anne replied, as if this made sense.
"No! No! By the Holy Well!" I stamped my foot in purest rage. "How can you talk to me—like—like—a man?"
We both knew what man. A long pause followed in which we measured each other. A log in the hearth broke in two, a fiery crash in the midst of our silence.
"Rosie." She patted the seat beside her. "Come here to me."
"No!" I stamped again, quite beside myself. "No! How can you do this to me? Send me to the knackers like an old horse? You know that I have loved you—always! How can you treat me so?"
"Rosie," Anne insisted. "Hush and sit with me." There was knowledge in her eyes which doused my fire. All of a sudden, I was afraid.
She had made friends with the cats about St. Martin's. Two striped grays, affectionate sisters, snuggled in a basket by her feet. Slowly, I approached and took a seat beside her on the high-backed bench. Anne faced me, back perfectly straight. Her blue eyes seemed to look right through me. I knew with absolute clarity what she was about to say.
"Rosie," she said when I had settled my gray skirt beside her. "I know."
"Milady?"
"About—about Dickon.” She was not accusatory, neither angry nor jealous, just Yorkshire matter-of-fact. "He confessed to me, and he is very, very guilty—as he most certainly ought to be."
Senses reeling, I began to get down on my knees before her, but she held my hands and prevented it. This talk we would have side by side.
"Have we not been closer than I am to my sister? Now, dear Rose, tell me about this Fletcher, about why you are so against him. Talk to me about my Cousin Dickon, if you need to. Talk about—about—any of it." It was shocking to meet such authority in her familiar eyes. In spite of all she had so recently suffered, in spite of my four more years, at this moment, I felt a child.
"Oh, I did not mean to! I never wanted to hurt you! I love you! You must believe!" I hid a burning face in my hands. "Only—only—I—I love him, too."
"Yes, Rose. Yes. I know. I love you, too, as much, I think, as I love him, only—only—it cannot be. My mother said she saw it coming years ago. Remember when she sent you away to Mother Ash and brought Grace and Margaret to me?"
How could I forget that anguish, that first time away from my Anne?
"It is not fair to you, Rose, to pull you apart between us. It is best you be in your place, and I be in mine. There is no other way for people to live. In time, the king will certainly let Richard marry me, but you were twenty at All Hallows. Long ago you should have been rewarded for your faithful service and true affection. You should be well married and settled."
I began to weep. I was trapped, no way out. No way, it seemed, exactly as it had been for all the women in the world since….
"Master Fletcher is to be the Duke of Gloucester's man. You will live at Middleham Village near Mother Ash, who, I am informed, is not fit anymore. Soon, you shall succeed to her duties. Forever you shall have my heart and my gratitude."
I had never thought much about the future, but here it was. What she said made perfect sense. There were barbs, yes, but taken in all it was a generous solution.
"And you and your lord shall ride among your castles, and I shall stay at Middleham and watch you come and go." This ended, as you might imagine, with a terrible sob. My dear lady—my sweet friend—put her arms around me and held me close while I cried my heart out.
"Do you forgive me?" Between us, this was the chief matter.
"No." Anne pushed my veil away so she could stroke my braid, "I don't think I do, but I can understand how it happened. At any rate, I've been horribly jealous."
"I was horribly jealous of the prince. He was so very handsome."
"So he was."
Was that a catch in her voice?
Anne and I hugged each other. Beneath her rounding bosom I could feel her heart beat, steadily, soundly. My doing, I thought. I have made her strong, made her well.
"Oh, Rose," she said. "I do forgive you. Was I not a wife? I know men do not play fair. They love as if it is a game they mean to win, while we—we—are different. We must believe in our love."
* * *
There is a point at which we must simply save face. Nothing could be done. Nothing! I must simply do as I was told. The fact that I was to be forced into this marriage roused a fury which nothing could still. That Hugh was neither ugly nor repellant, that he seemed to want me very much, made it even more infuriating.
Anne and Richard in complicity! I was at everyone's disposal, to be put out of the way as soon as it suited. Darkly, I wondered if Hugh intended to abuse me after I was within his power.
Of course, Richard, both as good lord and as guilty man, would supply my dower. Another reason for Hugh, known as one to whom money stuck, would continue to pursue me. None of this may have been fair to think about, but even a cup of stinking strong valerian tea could not stem the tide of my black thoughts.
Grace Poleyn and Margaret Neville arrived a few days later, older as were all of us, giddy at their escape from the harsh conditions under which the Countess was kept at Beaulieu. Margaret was the same, cool and wary. Grace reminded me of a puppy with those big teary eyes, and the way she practically wet the floor in her joy.
"Merry meet!" She threw herself to the ground before My Lady. Anne raised her up, all welcoming smiles.
I was supposed to be mending, but my hands lay idle. A servant brought wine and cake, while Anne talked with Grace and Margaret as if they were her equals, on and on about her mother, about the war.
The ladies have arrived. Good dog Rose is sent to kennel….
They’d brought a letter from the Countess. After devouring it, Anne said, "And here, at the end, dear Rose, my Lady Mother greets you by name and congratulates you upon your marriage!"
The Countess had changed my life, all those years ago; she had been good to me. I certainly pitied her present hard circumstances. Richard had been negotiating with King Edward to obtain her release into his custody. In Middleham village they'd later quip that it was a fair Christian indeed who would desire his mother-in-law to live with him, even before he'd bedded the bride.
* * *
"So you will take used goods, sir?" I confronted Hugh while he stood at attention, guarding the black oak door of Crosby's Place. I will not detail the intelligence gathering, the scheming, or the effort it had taken me to get here. Francis Lovell had been right. The scorpion was roused, and I would have trekked through hell to lay a few stings upon my husband-to-be.
"A man may overlook a hump for a good dower." He grinned down at me, all red cheeked good humor. It was a clear, frosty December day, a thin scud of ice across the puddles, the ruts frozen in place. Hugh was hale and hearty, looking better than ever in shining helm and mail, a sword at his side and an axe in hand.
"You are sorely mistaken about that.”
"A certain well-disposed Lord says I shall soon have it in hand, Mistress Rose, so I have decided to stay the course and make an honest woman of thee."
"So! It is for your own gain!"
"Not at all, Rosalba Whitby! You refused courting, which leaves a man with no other choice but to speak to her master. Besides, you went back on your promise."
"Promise?"
"Your promise by the river. How easily you set aside my true devotion!" He was now half way to joking, baring his teeth in an infuriating grin.
"Made under duress, you great, stupid ox!"
"Did you truly believe that after going to all the trouble of slitting a man's throat and saving your life, I was going to knock you on the head and throw you in the river if you refused?"
"I hardly know who or what to believe—then—or now."
"Well, here's a lesson for you. Put not your trust in princes." Hugh winked a frosty gray eye, older and wiser, from beneath the silver helm. "I assume you have had time to meditate upon your errors."
This was not going as I had planned. Now, he'd made me blush and this made me even angrier. How dare he rub my nose in that?
"Folly brings no reward."
"From this time forth, Mistress Rose, you must put your trust in me. I shall never fail you."
"A mighty promise, Master Fletcher, but I doubt time will prove you up to it."
"You don't know what's good for you, lass." He scowled, injured at last. "You will learn that if this great ox wills his head under the yoke beside yours, so it shall be."
"You shall live to rue the day!" With what I hoped was the last word, I stormed away.
I hadn't got very far when I heard someone else shouting. Looking back, I had the small satisfaction of seeing Hugh’s captain on the steps beside him, bawling, "Mouth shut and eyes sharp, you great northern bullock! You're not here to chat up serving girls."
* * *
Upon the twelfth day of Christmas, we were married at the porch steps of St. Martin's. Lady Anne stood in the open door as witness, while Grace and Margaret huddled behind her, half hidden in the dark doorway. Under her stern eye, I went through my part obediently.
As we kissed good-bye, however, there were tears. It had been arranged that Hugh and I would go north with some others in my Lord of Gloucester's service. We would not see each other again for a very long time. My new husband stood by patiently while my sweet Lady and I hugged good-bye.
At Crosby's Place a supper was provided in the kitchen, attended by servants of the duke’s household. Richard had been right about a Twelfth Night marriage. It was just the thing to cheer everyone, a last feast before the gloomy, frigid winter. There was merry talk, a piper, laughter, and a good roast piglet. Everyone had a wonderful time. I was the exception, spending the evening holding my tongue while attempting to maintain my dignity. Hugh and I had been granted a bed in a cupboard within a locked storeroom. It was a luxury for folks in service to have this much privacy, even on a wedding night.
* * *
Don't think, I exhorted myself, clenching my jaw and resigning myself to what was about to happen. He'll be quick and then snoring.
"Think you are going to get away with that?"
I opened my eyes. There he was, braced over me on his forearms, all barrel belly and those muscular shoulders.
"I should check for knives. With you damned dales women, a man can't be too careful." This had to be a joke. He was as much of the dales as I.
"All who live by Scotland carry a weapon, as you well know, Master Fletcher."
"Therefore, again I ask: Have you set your weapon aside, Mistress?"
"Yes, but I wish I had not."
He chuckled, taking this in the spirit offered. "Come now," he said, rolling onto his side. "Talk to me."
I looked him up and down in the flickering light of our candle, which he would not—of course—blow out. There he was, the balding bear with bushy blond eyebrows to whom I'd been eternally chained. We were under the covers, naked, and skin to skin. I was monstrously embarrassed. I had sworn, however, to wear bravery through this ordeal—if nothing else.
"Talk? About what?"
"About your heart."
"What do you care about my heart?" This conversation was proving to be as unnerving as anything I'd imagined.
"I had hoped, when the duke dropped you, your heart might turn." He assumed a lovelorn expression.
"It is not simply a case of one man or another.”
"You are a woman, aren't you? With that vacancy within which yearns to be filled?"
Such—I guess—delicacy! Still, his joking angered me.
"You obviously know very little about women."
"I have had a few women in my time, lass, and I have made it my business to learn about you. For instance, I know you work hard, take yourself seriously and are clever as well as a nice armful. All that I like, for such a wife keeps a fellow on his toes."
"Stop trying to make an even bigger fool of me than you already have. What you mean is that a full purse makes up for my being used goods."
"To marry a woman with a full purse is plain horse sense. As to being used, that was simply a small slice of what appears to be an ample pie. Our generous lord doesn't seem at all inclined to another piece."
"Damn you to hell and the Duke of Gloucester along with you!" I swung at him, but Hugh intercepted. I was engulfed in big arms, crushed against his body, where an inch of fat covered layer upon layer of hardest muscle. There was no escape.
"Hush, Rosie. We've an audience."
From outside I heard smothered laughter.
"He's roused her," someone whispered.
"Nayh!" Hugh threw open the cupboard door and shouted, slurring as if he were blind drunk. "Never hinder me, woman! I'll end this riot." He’d leapt out of our bed, which responded with a great creak as his bulk lifted. Outside, there was shushing and hasty scuffling. Throwing down the bar of the storeroom with a great clatter, he banged the door open with a roar, massive arms raised over his head.
Even from the backside, it was something to see. There were shrieks, whoops, and a stampede down the stairs. A few minutes later I heard Secretary Kendall shouting, "Decorum! Wretched Churls! Is this how you reward our lord's generosity? Shall I set the guard upon you?"
Hugh closed the outer door and barred it. Grinning triumphantly, naked and still mostly erect, he returned to our bed and pulled the cupboard entry shut.
"That should be the end of that, Mistress Fletcher."
We actually shared a smile. When one of his big hands came about my neck and drew me close for a kiss, I did not resist. There were things about this man I had to own I liked.
"It's much the same with any fellow who's healthy and has his heart set on pleasing his woman," Hugh whispered as he drew me down.
"No!" I panicked at the sight of him looming over me.
"I won't crush you. He pushed up again on his big arms to demonstrate how he would keep from cracking my ribs. "Easy, lassie—I know what I'm about."
He was surprisingly gentle. His natural sensuality proved exciting; his large body was fit and wholesome. After a time, he murmured, "Lets me into the city, she does, but hides the treasure."
"What?" Although I knew exactly what he meant.
"Come on, Rosie." He bent to graze my neck encouragingly with his lips. "Don't tell me that skinny little sprig o' the broom is a better man than this big, strong soldier?"
"I can't." I had begun to tremble. It was not supposed to be like this—not with him!
He responded by rolling onto his back. He never let go of me, though, and this brought us contrariwise, me on top. Huddling against his broad fuzzy chest, I prayed to the Blessed Mother that novelty would make him spend and then leave me in peace.
"I'll be the horse." His big hands swept warmly down the length of my back to fasten upon my hips. "Stay up, sweetheart, and I'll give you a ride."
My Dickon had been a hawk—ravenous, magical, all fire and air. Hugh was all earth, frankly offering me his marriage vow: ‘With my body, I thee shall worship’. That night I learned every manner of man may prove a lover.
* * *
It was different from my first experience, but, after all is said and done, much the same. Afterward, I went to sleep in his arms, not in tears, not humiliated, but released from my cares by this most humble, fleshy delight.
In the morning, however, I washed long, remembering the thorough manner in which Anne had performed the same task after her nights with the Prince. It was a strange and uneasy feeling, to recall what Hugh and I had taken and given, that wildness shared with our cousins, the beasts. I was relieved there would be some time before I would share a bed with my husband again.
* * *
"I see you know how to bend the knee." We were withdrawing from the hall at Crosby's Place. Hugh had been humble in Secretary Kendall's presence.
Yesterday had been Saint Brigit's day, the first cross-quarter day, in which new contracts between servant and master were drawn. Richard had delegated our business, as I had expected, and we had stood in a line. Some were supplicants receiving largess, others looked for justice, while the remainder settled rents.
"And why should I not?" He jingled the purse as we marched arm in arm out into the thin winter sunshine.
"Are you not angry?" Personally, I had suffered, feeling as if everyone in the room knew exactly what I'd done to make the Duke of Gloucester so obliging.
"No," Hugh said. "This not only makes reparation, but is a sweet apology into the bargain. How often does a wronged man receive anything like justice from a lord?"
"You are not angry with me anymore?" I had been surprised to discover I actually liked Hugh well enough to care.
He did not answer right away. When we were well out of anyone's earshot, he halted.
"I will always be angry about what you gave away." Sunlight gleamed on his white brows. The eyes beneath were as chill and bleached as winter sky. "Now, don't look so put upon."
I suppose my face—and the inner groan—was all he needed to reckon my state of mind.
"Everyone is allowed a few mistakes. Now that we are married, however, don't ever make that mistake again."
"Or?" Never one to shun battle, I rose, fish to his fly.
"I will kill you, Rose." He spoke the words calmly. "From now on, you are mine."
With this speech, we were again a hundred miles apart. Looking up at him, I saw myself cast into the very pit he'd lifted me from but a few weeks ago. I felt small and bullied, terrified of him—and, of our future.
"You think threats will make me love you?”
"No threat. It is simply what will happen. Best you know it."
In the yard, he lifted me easily into a waiting cart. We would leave now, traveling with a contingent of the duke's men, sent north to help defend the Warwick inheritance. February blew around us, stinging and cold.
It would be a bitter trip, so far to the north. I settled my cloak around me and huddled down between the trunks, out of the wind. I felt little but fear. It was disturbingly like my long ago journey to Middleham.
* * *
Nothing was settled between the two dukes. The King equivocated. George and Richard played dogs; my Lady Anne was the bone. Temporarily, however, Richard had been put in charge of the maintenance and protection of the northern part of the Warwick spoil. Our journey would take us by way of Warwick Castle, Pontefract, Nottingham, and finally, to Middleham. At each post, a part of the company with whom we marched would remain.
Anne stayed in sanctuary. She was well-tended, wrapped again in a cocoon of privilege, with her own cooks and servants, presiding over a demi-household, all maintained, sub rosa, by the Duke of Gloucester.