The Rose of York: Crown of Destiny by Sandra Worth Read Free Book Online

John?” Anne asked her mother, who knew much of death. The Countess shook her head. “Such dying visions, though not uncommon, are merely imaginings brought on by fever.” Anne found herself disappointed. She wanted to believe that John had truly returned for his precious Isobel.
    More ill tidings followed on the heels of Isobel’s death, unleashing a load of sorrows almost too great to bear. On Christmas day, in the midst of revelry, soon after John’s young son, eleven-year-old George Neville, came to live with them, a black-clad messenger arrived from Warwick Castle, where Anne’s sister, Bella, lived with her husband, Richard’s brother, George. The minstrels hushed their song. The Countess rose to her feet unsteadily, ashen pale, trembling. Anne reached for her mother’s hand.
    He bowed stiffly. “Your Grace… my Lady… I am the bearer of grievous tidings. Her Grace, Isabelle, Duchess of Clarence, died three days ago giving birth to a son.”
    The Countess swooned. She was carried out of the hall, followed by a sobbing Anne and a sombre Richard. That very day a black pennant went up over the castle and the greenery that decorated the windows was covered with mourning cloth. As church bells tolled ceaselessly telling of death, Richard and his little family kept prayerful vigil at the chapel.
    Soon another missive arrived. The babe, too, had died, passing from this world on Christmas day. Grief ushered in the New Year of 1477.
     
    At Warwick Castle, fury exploded in George, Duke of Clarence, with the thunderous violence of a tempest at sea. His entire body trembling, he poured himself another goblet of malmsey and slammed down the emptied flask. Damn you, Edward. The Fiend take your foul soul! He downed a gulp of the strong, sweet wine and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. All his life his elder brother Edward had lorded it over him, telling him what to do, where to go, what to think! All his life his vile brother had pushed him around, laughed at him, and belittled his accomplishments. He wouldn’t take it anymore!
    He grabbed the empty flask and flung it against the wall. His accursed, stinking brother had forgotten that he owed his throne to him! But for his defection from Warwick at Barnet, Edward would never have won the battle. Now, to return the favour, to secure him a crown, all the ungrateful knave had to do to was grant him permission to ask for Mary of Burgundy’s hand. And that he had refused.
    Refused!
    Reaching for a full flask, George knocked his goblet down, splashing red wine over the table. He put the flask to his mouth and gulped, spilling more than he swallowed. How dare Edward deny him —a prince of the blood royal—and put forward Anthony, that low-born churl, brother to the Woodville whore whom Edward called his Queen! He hurled the empty flask at a man-servant quivering in the corner of the chamber. “Wine!” he roared, rage boiling his blood. “Can’t you see it’s empty, you stupid bastard?” Bastard . That’s what Edward was! He called himself King but the truth remained: Edward was a bastard, the son of an archer. He had no damn right to the throne. He, George, was rightful King of England.
    The man-servant scrambled back with the pain-killing Spanish wine George loved. He upended the new flask and drank greedily. That was why Edward hated him, why he had humiliated him before all the world, why he kept trying to poison him! The only reason he was still alive was because he was too clever for Edward. When he went to court, he took his own cook and brought his own food.
    He slammed the flask on the table and dropped his head into his hands. Poor Bella . She hadn’t fared as well. If only she had listened to him! Instead, she’d trusted that midwife sent by the Woodville witch while he was away, a mistake that cost her life. A searing anguish tore his gut and he laid his face flat on the table in the cold wine. Sobs swelled in his throat and convulsed his body. Bella had