The Sunne in Splendour: A Novel of Richard III by Sharon Kay Penman Read Free Book Online

about pride or honor or anything but the pain in her child's eyes, pain that should have been forever alien to childhood.
It was then that Edmund Beaufort performed the act of kindness she would never forget, would not have dared expect. As she gazed up at him, framing an appeal she thought to be futile, he said before she could speak, "I'll send some of my men into the churchyard to see to the girl. I'll have her taken to you at
Leominster. Unless she . . ."He hesitated, looking down at the little boy she was cradling, and concluded neutrally, "Whatever must be done will be, Madame. Now, I would suggest that we not tarry here any longer."
She nodded numbly. He was holding out his hand; she reached up, let him raise her to her feet. He was, she now saw, very young, no more than four or five years older than her own Edmund. Very young and none too happy by what he'd found in Ludlow and perceptive enough to realize that she did not want
Richard to be present when Joan was found.
    The Duke of York's second son was sitting cross-legged in the oriel window seat of the West Tower, watching with disbelief as his cousin, Thomas Neville, devoured a heaping plateful of cold roast capon and pompron buried in butter. As Thomas signaled to a page for a third refill of his ale tankard, Edmund could restrain himself no longer.
I shall not forget your kindness, my lord," she said softly, and with far more warmth than she would ever have expected to feel for a member of the Beaufort family.
"In war, Madame, there are always . . . excesses," he said, very low, and then the strange flicker of empathy that had passed between them was gone. He stepped back, issued a few terse commands. Men moved across the square, toward the churchyard. Others waited to escort the Duchess of York and her sons to the royal camp at Leominster. Edmund Beaufort nodded, gave the order to move out. Cecily reined her mount in before him.
"Thank you, my lord."
His eyes were guarded, shadowed by the uneasy suspicions of a man who'd surprised himself by his own candor and now wondered if he'd compromised himself by that candor.
"Do not mistake me, Madame. I have full faith in my brother's judgment. He did what he had to do. It was necessary that a lesson be learned here this day, one not to be soon forgotten."
Cecily stared down at him. "You needn't fear, my lord," she said bitterly. "Ludlow will not be forgotten."
SANDAL CASTLE YORKSHIRE
    "Don't stint yourself, Cousin. After all, it's been two full hours since our noonday dinner . . . with four hours yet to go till supper."
Thomas glanced up with a grin, proving himself once again to be totally impervious to sarcasm, and speared a large piece of capon meat. Edmund suppressed a sigh, yearning for the cut-and-thrust parries that had spiced his conversations with Edward. The problem, as he saw it, was that Thomas was too good-hearted to dislike, yet after ten days with him in the solitude of Sandal Castle, his unfailing cheer and relentless optimism were rubbing raw against Edmund's nerves.
Watching Thomas eat and acknowledging glumly that his boredom would drag him down to new depths if he could think of no better way to pass the time, Edmund found himself marveling anew how four brothers could be as unlike as his four Neville cousins.
His cousin Warwick was assured, arrogant, audacious, and yet with an undeniable charm about him, withal. Edmund was nowhere near as taken with Warwick as Edward was, but even he was not immune to the force of his flamboyant cousin's personality. He had a deeper fondness, however, for Warwick's younger brother Johnny, reserved and gravely deliberate, possessed of a wry Yorkshire wit and a sense of duty that was as unwavering as it was instinctive. He had no liking at all, though, for the third Neville brother, named George like Edmund's own eleven-year- old brother. George Neville was a priest, but only because it was traditional for one son of a great family to enter the Church; he was the