B008257PJY EBOK by Sandra Worth Read Free Book Online Page B

her. His shadow fell on her face, blotting out the sun and bringing back the comforting dark so that she smiled in drowsy contentment. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. “My love, the night’s candles are all burned out. ’Tis indeed the lark. Come, rise and listen with me…”
    She opened unfocused eyes. “If it’s the lark,” she grumbled, “then he sings out of tune.”
    Richard laughed. Anne raised a limp hand and caught at his shirt. “It can’t be morning yet, Richard… If it’s morning, we must part today.”
    “Aye, my little bird, I fear our time in York has run out. You must go to Middleham with Ned, and I must return to London.”
    She struggled up in bed. “Can you not stay for your birthday? It’s only two weeks away.”
    “No, dear Anne,” Richard sighed. “I’m needed in London. There’s unrest in the land and much business awaits. I’ll send for you as soon as I can, dear heart.”
     
    ~*~
     
    The autumn evening had turned chill and a great fire roared in the hall of the fine manor house in Gainsborough where Richard and his friends enjoyed wine with their host, Sir Thomas de Burgh. Reluctant to leave after supper, they lounged while the servants dismantled the trestle tables around them. A messenger interrupted the mood. Richard took the letter, read briefly, and passed it to Francis.
    “It’s Brittany’s reply regarding Edward Woodville and Henry Tudor,” Richard said, his tone resigned.
    “Will we get Tudor?” inquired Rob.
    As Richard offered no reply, Francis answered. “Duke Francis of Brittany says Woodville is inconsequential, but if Richard wants Tudor, he’ll have to send Brittany help against France. A war is brewing and he needs at least a thousand archers.”
    Rob whistled.
    Will Conyers, a Neville kinsman of Anne’s who had journeyed with Richard from York, left the fire where he had been warming his hands and came to Richard’s side. Richard was fond of his elder statesman. Though Conyer’s kinship to the Nevilles was by marriage and not blood, he was as tall and broad-shouldered as John and Warwick had been, a handsome man with a high forehead and an eagle nose. His dark hair was silvering now, for he was at least fifteen years older, this kin of John’s who had been Robin of Redesdale when the rest of them had been whelps.
    “You should get that Tudor, Richard,” he said quietly. “At all cost.”
    “There’s nothing I’d like better, Will,” Richard said, kicking out a chair for him. “But I’m in no position to offend France or provide an army for Brittany. We haven’t the money. Edward Woodville stole the treasury, remember?”
    “But if France gets hold of him—” Conyers broke off, unable to finish the thought.
    “My lord king is right. Tudor’s an expensive trinket. Much as we want him, we can’t afford him,” offered Richard’s secretary, John Kendall.
    “Not a trinket,” corrected Will Conyers. “More like one of those new-fangled guns that shoots mischief from a distance.”
    “It doesn’t change anything. There’s still no money,” replied Kendall.
    Richard rose wearily. The hall was hot and stuffy from heat and smoke. He went to a window, flung it open. The blast of cold air was refreshing. He leaned against the stone embrasure and listened to the loud rustling of the wind sweeping autumn leaves across the grounds. A line from Malory came to him: “And when King Arthur made His Table Round, and all men’s hearts became Clean for a season, surely he had thought That now the Holy Grail would come. But sin broke out.”
    He looked up at the sky. There were fewer stars than he expected for such an apparently clear night. He didn’t know why, but he had felt despondent all evening despite the warm camaraderie of his friends. Brittany’s letter had not helped his mood. So this was what it meant to be king, this state business that wore on at a petty pace, rarely to resolve with a satisfactory conclusion;