The Rose of York: Love & War by Sandra Worth Read Free Book Online

drunkard?” he muttered finally.
    John glanced around, relieved to see no servants. He closed the distance between them and grabbed his brother’s sleeve. “Dick, be careful, I pray you. Remember, Edward is king now.”
    Warwick snatched his arm away. “And I am Kingmaker.” He gave John his back and picked up a document from the desk.
    John burned to swing him around and shake sense into him. God’s Blood , he wanted to cry, your damned rivalry with Edward to prove yourself the better man will be the ruin of us all! Edward’s not just a lad with an eye for women, as you think he is. His victories in battle are not just due to luck, as you say they are. He’s a man who’s done the impossible, and he’s not to be taken lightly—or provoked.
    But he said nothing. His brother hated to have his judgement questioned, and any effort to reason with him always ended in a shouting match. And why should Dick respect his opinion when he always came hat in hand, begging for loans he had trouble repaying? The truth was, he could ill afford a fight right now. He desperately needed the money.
    Cursing his brother’s pride and his own helplessness, John swung on his heel and crossed the hall, followed by his faithful wolf-hound. He took the privy stairs down to the courtyard and left by the postern gate. The cold wind blew in his face and the river thundered in his ears as he circled the castle walls to the ledge where Richard sat staring miserably at the River Tees rushing below.
    “May I?” John inquired, feeling almost as despondent.
    Richard shrugged without looking up.
    John sat down and clasped his knees like Richard, while Rufus stretched out to watch them. “’Tis a fierce wind that blows, isn’t it?” A damn fierce wind , he thought.
    No response. The silence lengthened. “We younger sons have much in common,” said John. “’Tis not easy being a younger son.” Indeed, it wasn’t.
    Richard lifted his head.
    John threw a pebble into the angry river below. “Younger sons have nothing given to them. They must earn by care and pains what comes to first-borns without effort.” Richard’s dark grey eyes were fixed on him. Such intelligent eyes—so wise, so old , John thought. The boy might be only nine, but he knew much of life, and he was gifted beyond his years. “Younger sons must be inured to self-denial and dependence, for they shall not inherit. They can’t have their will in weighty matters…” John broke off. Damn Dick’s pride! Why was he always so certain he was right?
    “They can’t have their will,” prompted Richard.
    “In matters such as marriage,” John resumed, dragging his thoughts back to Richard. The boy’s obvious affection for Anne had led Warwick to hope for a royal marriage alliance but Warwick had been unable to get Edward to discuss the matter. Poor child. Much heartache lay in store for him. How well he remembered his own misery! The girl who’d won his heart had been the orphaned daughter of a Lancastrian knight, a ward of the Bitch of Anjou, and the Bitch had demanded almost a queen’s ransom to give her hand in marriage to the son of a Yorkist lord. Never had a year seemed so long, or life so pointless and irrelevant. Then his father met the Bitch’s price, though he was a younger son and not entitled to the consideration. No such impediment faced Dickon, but his case did not look hopeful. It was becoming apparent that Edward might not care for his brother’s happiness in the way John’s own father had cared for his.
    He realised the boy was staring at him, waiting for him to continue.
    “Younger sons tread a harder path in life and so they become reflective. ’Tis the younger sons who dream of righting the world, of riding the path of great knights of yore, of making their mark by deeds of chivalry… The world denies us much, but not the chance to do good with our lives. To win honour.”
    “Like Sir Galahad, who went in search of the Holy Grail?” Richard