The young king shook his head. “Nay,” he muttered. “Do you really plan to lay siege to Wigmore?”
“I plan to get my wife back.”
The lad was silent a moment. “But what if Mortimer wants to deal? What… what if he wants me in exchange for Toby?”
Tate eyed him. “Where did you hear something like that?”
Edward shrugged, looking at his gloved hands. “Everyone is saying it. Everyone says that Mortimer will want to exchange Toby for me.”
Tate’s gaze lingered on him. “He cannot have either of you.”
“But if you had to make a choice, what would you do?”
Tate had been wrestling with that thought for several weeks. There were two choices; the logical choice and the emotional choice. As much as it tore at him, he knew that only one choice was possible. He sighed heavily, looking away from the young king as he prepared his answer.
“Mortimer will not harm my wife, of that I am sure,” he said quietly, with gritty resolve. “But he would kill you. I have spent fourteen years of your life protecting you as one would protect his own child. In protecting you, I am protecting England and protecting the future for my own children. It would therefore stand to reason that if given the choice, I would have to choose you. But I would find some way to free Toby, have no doubt. I would never give up. Even to the death.”
Edward looked at him, surprise and sadness on his young face. “But…Toby…?”
“She would understand,” Tate cut him off; it was too painful for him to think on it. “She would support my reasons. But she also knows I would stop at nothing to get her back.”
Edward fell silent again as they rode along, the distant mountains of Wales beginning to come visible on the western horizon. They looked like great white mounds of flour. The more he thought about Tate’s dilemma, the sadder he became.
“I remember when your wife died,” he said softly, wondering if he should even say such a thing. “I remember seeing you cry. You didn’t know I saw you, but I did. It was right aftershe perished and you were sitting alone, holding your dead daughter. I was supposed to be in the great hall but I had gone upstairs because… because I guess I was curious. I saw you sitting with the baby, weeping over her.” His head suddenly came up and he focused on his uncle. “I will not see you cry again, Tate. I will not let you go through this again, not when you have found someone to love again.”
It was a passionate speech from the young man. Somewhere over the past few weeks, Edward had begun to grow up and sense that his responsibilities were not only to his country, but also to his family and friends in spite of the example his mother had set. Tate looked at the young man, his stormy eyes glittering.
“I appreciate your concern,” he reached out and gently cuffed the lad on the side of the head. “I do not believe it will come to that. But you are correct about one thing; I do love her. Very much.”
Edward smiled weakly, feeling somewhat embarrassed by his outburst. He didn’t know what else to say and nervously fiddled with the reins. Tate snickered softly at his sudden case of nerves.
“Have no fear,” he said. “I will do what needs to be done which means that, at this moment, I must speak with your mother.”
Edward watched Tate rein his charger about and move back through the column. He lost sight of him as he reached the queen’s escort, swallowed up by the banners and well-dressed soldiers. The young king focused his attention ahead, thinking on the battle that surely lay ahead. He knew he would fight it this time, not like at Harbottle when Tate had locked him away. And this time, Edward was sure, he had an arrow with Mortimer’s name on it.
Meanwhile, Tate had reached Isabella’s fine carriage. It was a smaller cab purely for the warmth it would provide and several ladies, including the queen, were stuffed into it. They were alsocovered by mounds of furs, doing theirpetit poito pass the hours of travel. One of them was reciting her own poetry from memory. When Tate pulled up to the carriage, however, all movement stopped.
Isabella was wedged in between two of her women to keep warm, supported by layers of heavy furs. She smiled at Tate when he opened his visor to look at her.
“A que dois-je le plaisir de votre visite?” she asked sweetly.
He eyed the whores surrounding her and dismounted his charger. “Partir vos femmes et marcher avec moi,” he replied.
Leave those women and walk with me. It was rare when he spoke French but he wanted the ladies to understand that he wished to speak with the queen alone. They did not need followers. Isabella climbed out of the cab, no easy feat with the amount of furs and cloaks they had covering them, and took Tate’s offered hand as her small feet hit the slushy road. When he realized that it would be difficult for her to maneuver the muddy road bed in her fine slippers, he lifted her up to sit upon his horse. Leading the animal, he walked several feet away from the army, paralleling the column as it proceeded.
“What did you wish to speak of?” she asked him.
“We are nearing Wigmore,” he replied. “We should be upon it by this eve.”
Isabella’s smile faded. “I see,” she said quietly, eyeing him a moment before speaking again. “And you are wondering how I will convince him to release your wife.”
“It has crossed my mind.”
Her smile returned, knowingly this time. “I have been thinking very heavily on this, Tate. I have thought of little else. It is my belief that you should let me go alone to speak with Mortimer.”
He turned to look at her. “Alone?”
She nodded. “He should not know that an army is waiting to attack him if he does not turn your wife over; at least, not yet. It will be easier to deal with him if it is simply me. I am not a threat, you see; I have given him something he very much wants. I have given him power. I can take it away as well. I believe that will be a stronger influence over him than your army.”
