“Dickon, you are so kind. You have always been kind to me. I remember when we were children and Anne’s elder sister, Isabel, was always so cruel to me, except that you would not allow it when you saw it. You have always cared for those weaker than you. England is fortunate to have you as its king, but one favor I beg of you.”
“Whatever you desire, Row.”
Rowena Neville Grey was forced to smile. “You speak too quickly, and are too generous as always, Dickon, but I shall not take advantage of you, my lord. My request is simple. Though I loved my Henry, I was too young for marriage when my Lord of Warwick sent me off to Greyfaire. I lost two sons before Arabella was born, and miscarried of another daughter afterward. Make the match that Greyfaire may have a master again, but let there be no formal ceremony until my daughter is old enough to be a wife in the fullest sense.”
Richard looked to his wife, and the queen nodded her agreement with her cousin. “Pick the man,” she told him, “but there should be no formal betrothal or marriage until little Arabella is older. Greyfaire will have its protector, its king’s man, but should my little cousin grow up to love another as I have always loved you, my lord, at least she will not be forced to the altar with other than her true love. If we formally betroth her, she will be formally bound. Should the day come that she desires a husband other than the one you have chosen, Greyfaire’s protector can be offered a suitable compensation for his loss, can he not?”
“You have a tender heart, my love,” the king replied, “but it will be even as you have suggested. Will that suit you as well, Row?”
“Aye, Dickon, it will!” Lady Grey said, smiling. She was very relieved that the king had taken a hand in this matter. It was unlikely that Arabella would marry any other but he whom the king chose, and there would once again be a master at Greyfaire. It had been so frightening these last months since her husband’s death. He had died in the late summer a year ago, and she truly believed that it was only through the personal intervention of the blessed Mother herself that the Scots had not raided in the vicinity since Sir Henry’s demise, but how much longer could she count upon divine protection? Greyfaire needed a new lord.
She had not been entirely helpless, however. There was her husband’s faithful captain, FitzWalter, and he had remained in his position after Henry’s death, but FitzWalter was not Greyfaire’s lord. He had appeared at Greyfaire in Henry’s youth, offering his fealty and service. No one knew from whence he had come, and FitzWalter never bothered to divulge that information to any, even the wife he took after several years in residence. He had begun as a simple man-at-arms upon the walls, working his way through the ranks until one day he became Greyfaire’s captain. His wife served as the keep’s laundress, even as she produced a bevy of healthy daughters and one fine son for her husband. The boy, Rowan FitzWalter, was a year older than Arabella, and along with a younger sister, Lona, was the little heiress’s closest companion. FitzWalter would be as relieved as she was, Rowena thought, to have a master once more. He had done his duty, but she knew that the full responsibility had fretted him. He was not a man to overstep his position. The king had given her his word, and she would not discuss it with him again unless Dickon broached the subject first.
Prince Edward and Arabella, their game of chess completed, wandered over to their parents. The boy’s color was high with his excitement, and the queen reached out to feel his forehead. Edward pulled away irritably, but Queen Anne drew him back into her embrace, saying, “Your father has promised to find a fine husband for your cousin Arabella, Neddie. Is that not nice?”
“I wish to marry my cousin,” the boy said imperiously. “I like her. She makes me work to win at chess.”
“You cannot marry me, Neddie,” Arabella said. “It would not be right.”
“Why not?” the lad demanded.
“Because, silly, you are a prince. Princes marry princesses. One day you will be king,” Arabella said, sounding just a trifle annoyed that he should not have known this himself.
“If I am to be king,” the boy replied with perfect logic, “then why can I not make you a princess so that we may marry? Kings are allowed to do anything they want.”
“Not always,” said his father, and though his tone was serious, his eyes bespoke his amusement. “What your cousin Arabella means is that boys who are to be kings must make very advantageous marriages in order to help their countries. Your bride will come from a country that can be of help to England against her enemies. Perhaps she will even be the daughter of an enemy, and your marriage will end a dispute. She will have a good dowry, not just gold, but lands as well.”
“Arabella has Greyfaire,” the prince said.
“Greyfaire,” Arabella told him, “is a little keep, Neddie. Your castle of Middleham is five times as big. Besides, my husband must come and live with me, for Greyfaire helps to protect the Middle Marches from the Scots. A king must travel all about his kingdom. I cannot be your wife, but can we not remain friends?”
“I suppose so,” the prince said, sounding somewhat disappointed, and then he brightened. “Would you like to see the new puppies that my father’s best bitch has just whelped? She’s in the kennels here. They are mine to do with as I please, my father says. Would you like one, cousin Arabella?”
“Ohh, Neddie, yes!” the little girl replied excitedly, and then looked to her mother. “May I, Mama? May I?”
Rowena laughed. “I suppose that Greyfaire can house another hound, Arabella. Aye, if Neddie wishes to give you a puppy, and it is all right with the long, aye, you may have one.”
The two children scampered out of the family solar as their fond mothers looked after them.
The king chuckled. “She has a good head on her, Row, your wee lass. Her father’s daughter, I must assume.”
The queen and Lady Grey laughed, for Rowena Neville had never been a scholar in their shared school days. She could barely read, and wrote her name but legibly, and her sums had always been more wrong than right. In the wifely arts, however, she had excelled. There was not a recipe, household or medicinal, that she could not concoct to perfection. Her soaps were like bathing with pure silk, her conserves and sugared comfits without equal, her embroidery an art form. Her home in the foothills of the Cheviot range had the most exquisite flower garden for miles, but she had no true intellect, and she admitted to it with a cheerful honesty.
“Aye, she is Henry’s child in every respect, Dickon. She reads for pleasure,” Lady Grey said wonderingly, “and when our bailiff took ill and could not keep the accounts, she kept them for her father, even discovering where poor old Rad had made several errors. She speaks French and Latin, for Henry enjoyed teaching her, and she was always quick to learn. If she has any fault, Dickon, it is that she is too outspoken for a girl. You saw how she was with Neddie. She seems to have no fear at all.”
“She will be an interesting woman one day, Row,” the king said, and smiled comfortingly at his wife’s cousin. Sweet Row, but how Henry Grey had stood being wed to her he never knew. You certainly could not speak with her for very long without being bored to death, but his dearest Anne loved her even as he had loved Anne since their childhood.
“Dickon will find Arabella just the right husband, Rowena,” the queen said, and then the two women began to gossip quietly about a mutual acquaintance, leaving the king to his solitary thoughts.
Soon, the king considered, he would have to leave Middleham and attend to the business of his kingdom, which was not a stable kingdom at this moment in time. He had not sought to be king, whatever others might think, and the clergy’s disclosure of his brother’s previous contract of marriage with Lady Eleanor Butler had been as much a surprise to him as to anyone else. He had always intended supporting his nephew named Edward, even as his own son. His late brother had made him the children’s protector in order that he defend the kingdom against Elizabeth Woodville Grey’s greedy and overly ambitious relations, who had, upon his brother’s demise, rushed to take custody of the boy king.
Lord Hastings had gotten word to him, and Richard had intercepted the queen’s party and their royal prize upon the road to London, taking charge of the boy before any harm might be done. The queen’s party, of course, wished to crown young Edward immediately, doing away with the protectorate and appointing themselves regents of the young king. Although he was willing to see his nephew crowned as soon as possible, Richard knew that he must be England’s regent if he was to protect the boy, the nation, and his brother’s dreams.
In the beginning the queen’s party had lost ground because of the very nature of Elizabeth herself. Then came the disclosure regarding Lady Eleanor Butler, and though none could be found to refute the charges, despite the lady in question being deceased now, Richard still did not seek the throne. The throne was offered to him in order that there be no doubt cast upon England’s rulers. He had demurred at first, disliking the position in which he found himself, knowing that there were those who would protest this removal of his beautiful golden brother’s eldest son. In the end he had accepted, for there was no other choice. He had stamped out the protest by immediately executing those who could continue the strife, thereby weakening England, making her vulnerable to France, to Spain, to Scotland. Lord Hastings, who had earlier supported him, was one of his victims, and Richard wept at this ruthless necessity.
Now he was an anointed and crowned king, and his beloved Anne had been crowned queen. Little Neddie was invested as the new Prince of Wales, and Elizabeth Woodville Grey was stirring up trouble in the south from the safety of her sanctuary. His nephews were hidden safely, though not in the Tower, as many supposed. They were far too vulnerable in the Tower. He had arranged that their warders be given drugged wine, and then he personally escorted young Edward and Richard, the younger lad who was his namesake, from their quarters in the Tower and sent them here to Middleham. They were bright children, and they had understood the need for secrecy. They were safe within their own wing of the castle, and carefully shepherded over the next few years until his kingdom was secure, they would be kept hidden from everyone, even his own son, their cousin, who made his residence here.
Another day.He promised himself one more green and gold September day here at Middleham before he would take up his king’s mantle again. And he must settle the matter of little Arabella Grey, for he had promised Row that he would.Who? Who among his people was highborn enough, but not a great name, for Arabella did not merit a great name. Who was without wife? Who was a widower? Who could he trust with Greyfaire Keep? Trust to warn the Middle Marches of the coming Scots. Who would keep faith with him and not pledge his loyalty elsewhere?
