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

died, and soon afterward, his infant son had joined her. Murdered by Edward and his sorceress Queen!
    He sat up abruptly, eyes blazing. God’s Blood, they weren’t going to get away with it . He’d make them pay—the midwife who’d tended Bella and the doctor who’d poisoned his newborn son! He pushed himself to his feet. Swaying unsteadily, he crashed a fist down on the table. “Summon my captains!” he roared. “We’re going to hang those murderers Twynho and Thuresby! By God and all His saints in Heaven, those whoresons are going to pay!”
    Once he’d dealt with them, he’d take care of Edward, the accursed lying bastard who called himself their father’s son.
     
    About to enter the great hall at Barnard’s Castle, Richard stood unnoticed for a moment, watching Anne rock Ned in her arms as she sat framed by the oriel window that had been his wedding gift to her. Four deaths, all in the span of six short months. Archbishop Neville, George’s newborn babe, and the two Isobels—both dead within two months of one another. He had brought his little family here for the spring, hoping the change would do them good, and later, had taken them to York for the festival of Corpus Christ in June. At his suggestion, he and Anne became members of the Guild to honour Archbishop Neville’s memory. It had been a glorious summer’s day. The city of York had sparkled, for the streets had been hung with arras and the doorways strewn with rushes and flowers. In a dazzle of torches, tapers, crosses, and banners, they had walked in the procession from Holy Trinity Priory to Yorkminster, surrounded by smiling guild members, clerics, and officials of York who bore the gem-studded shrine of silver gilt that contained the sacred elements.
    For a short while it had helped to be among laughter, but they had returned yesterday, and already Anne was listless, the Countess was weeping in her room, and young George Neville, so recently orphaned, was left alone without comfort to mourn his own loss. If only George had not cut Bella off from her mother and Anne… If only George had permitted Bella to visit them, it might have gone easier on them all , Richard thought. The Countess had not seen her daughter since their days of exile in France before the Battle of Barnet, and she’d never met Bella’s two children, one-year-old Edward and three-year-old Margaret. Her grief was wretched. All because of George.
    God, how hateful George had been!
    Richard braced himself and crossed the chamber. Anne was still unaware of him as she cooed to Ned, explaining the lay of the land. Aye, even in the rain, the view was splendid. Mist bathed the treetops and the river glistened like crushed crystals. The sound of gushing water was so comforting he could almost forget what he had to tell Anne. He stood mutely a moment, seeking words for the news he bore.
    Heaving a heavy sigh, he looked down at her. “Dearest, I must go to London on a matter of great urgency.”
    Anne turned abruptly from the window. Her eyes flew to him in alarm and, though her lips parted to speak, no words came.
    Richard bit his lip. They had everything now. Peace. Love. Ned . Yet fear had come to join them, a shadowy, unmistakable presence hovering beneath the surface. He had prayed fervently for an end to the ill tidings, but the new year had arrived on a note of death and gloom, which it seemed would continue. In January, Meg’s husband, Charles, that half-mad duke of Burgundy, was killed besieging another inconsequential town. He left no male heir, only a daughter, Mary, so King Louis declared that Burgundy had reverted to the crown of France. Meg appealed to Edward for help, and Edward vacillated. Though England’s trade was at risk, he had no desire to lose the fifty-thousand crowns Louis paid him yearly. And his Queen, ambitious Bess Woodville, desperate that Edward not jeopardise the marriage which would one day make her mother of the Queen of France, also agitated