The Forgotten Queen by D. L. Bogdan Read Free Book Online Page B

plush cushions, all embroidered with my badges of Tudor roses and coats of arms. The pretty white palfrey from Father was dressed in her best and was led behind me as I was shown into York with great fanfare, my ears ringing with the cheers of the masses.
    The first horrid thing I had to do was hear a Mass, and I tried to refrain from wiggling about in restlessness as I listened to the bishop ramble on in Latin. I was not the scholar both Henry and Arthur were and had very little patience or affinity for languages, so the Mass to me was just one endless stream of gibberish. But I remained composed and serene as I imagined a queen should look and complimented the bishop after. His cheeks glowed when I stretched out my hand for him to take and he almost toppled over as he bowed. I stifled a giggle, but my merriment shone through as I lifted him up by the elbow.
    Lord and Lady Northumberland were generous in their admiration of me, giving me such feasting and entertainments that I was overwhelmed with exhaustion. Always there was dancing and eating and then more dancing! As much as I loved it, I found myself longing for a nice sleep in a peaceful place. I longed, too, for my mother and the Princesses Mary and Catherine of Aragon.
    I longed for home.
    I did not have much time to think on it, however, for we quit bustling York on 17 July and I rode my palfrey through the rugged hills of the north. Newcastle greeted me with more choirs of children and I clapped my hands in delight as I listened to the pure, clear voices lifting themselves in my honor.
    “I shall give them all presents!” I cried, and passed them rings and precious stones that I was certain they would sell for food, but I cared not. I was making them happy; they smiled at me as if I were the prettiest, grandest lady in the world and that was all that mattered.
    “You must not give away your plate, Your Grace!” Lady Guildford admonished gently.
    “It is mine to give, is it not?” I returned in haughty tones. “Besides, they love me for it.”
    “You do not have to reduce yourself to such things to make people love you,” she said quietly.
    I turned toward the brown-haired, plain lady and grimaced in disgust. “I know I do not have to buy anyone’s love, if that is what you are so grossly implying. I’ll not hear another word about it.”
    “Yes, Your Grace,” she said, but I liked not the concern in her eyes as she regarded me.
    At Newcastle our party was met by Lord Thomas Dacre, deputy to the Warden of the Marches. From first sight I discerned that he would be a friend to me. He was a broad-shouldered man with a gentle face, if a little weak in the chin. But I liked his eyes, soft hazel eyes that seemed as though they would never dream of imparting unkindness upon another living being.
    “I am to escort you to Berwick Castle, Your Grace,” he told me. “And there we will have a hunt if it pleases Your Grace.”
    “A hunt?” I cried in delight. “Oh, it seems like forever since I have enjoyed a good hunt!”
    “We will have a bearbaiting for the pleasure of Your Grace as well,” he added, hazel eyes sparkling as though his first and last wish was to delight me.
    I clapped my hands. “Are they big bears?”
    He chuckled. “The biggest we could find.”
    My heart skipped at the thought of the beasts wrangling with their canine counterparts. Though I feigned excitement at the prospect, in truth bearbaitings frightened me. There was so much blood and death. I hated death....
    But I would not offend Lord Dacre, so I exclaimed and carried on as though it were the most anticipated event of my life.
    When it came time to witness the event, however, I could not refrain from gasping and averting my head as the bear struck the dog with one large paw, tearing into its flesh with its sharp claws.
    “You are not happy with this display, Your Grace,” Lord Dacre observed, and at once I realized it was not a question.
    I turned toward him, offering an