Then they removed the boys’ bodies from their chamber.”
“Why did they not see you, and kill you as well so there were no witnesses?” Adair asked him.
“The princes were afraid to sleep alone, but they were also too proud to admit to it. King Richard knew this, and so it was arranged that I sleep within their room in a far dark corner each night. Few knew, and the light from the antechamber did not penetrate to that corner.
But when I was certain these assassins had gone I crept from the princes’ quarters, went to the stables, saddled my horse, and fled Middleham through a postern gate. I do not know if these murderers remained at the castle, but I could not take the chance that someone who knew where I slept each night would speak of it.
“I remembered that you lived several days’ ride from Middleham, and that you were the king’s niece. I thought you would want to know what had happened, and that perhaps you could make a place for me in your household, my lady. I am an orphan, and have nowhere else to go.”
Adair nodded. “You may stay,” she said. “Albert, take Anthony to the kitchens and see he is well fed. From the look of him he hasn’t eaten in several days.”
The young boy jumped from his seat, almost spilling the wine remaining in his cup. He caught up her hand with his free one and kissed it fervently. “Thank you, my lady! Thank you!”
Adair smiled briefly, then said to Albert, “Come back when you have settled him.”
“Aye, my lady,” Albert replied.
She was a widow once again. Uncle Dickon was
dead and buried. But most horrifying of all, the Lancastrians had murdered her two young half brothers.
And Adair knew why. Both Edward and Richard were a threat to Henry Tudor’s ambitions. Their claim to the throne was far stronger than his. His claim could be traced only through his mother, a descendant of John of Gaunt, King Edward III’s son. True, Henry’s paternal grandmother, Catherine of Valois, had been the widow of King Henry V, but when she had remarried it had been for love, and she had chosen a Welsh knight,Owen Tudor, who had no royal connections at all. The Yorkist claim to England’s throne was far stronger, and so the two princes who had been kept in safety at Middleham had to be removed. Adair wondered bitterly if Bess knew. And if she knew, would she still be content to marry Henry Tudor? Then she laughed harshly at herself for being a fool. Of course Bess would marry Henry, and she would do it with a dutiful murmur, for there was no other choice. She would be queen of England.
And then suddenly the sadness and grief Adair had been struggling to contain burst forth, and she began to weep. Andrew was dead. And probably all of the Stanton men with him. She wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Robert Lynbridge and his grandfather. She had not seen either of them in months, but she would send them a message tomorrow out of courtesy. Her shoulders shook with her sorrow. Andrew was dead.
Uncle Dickon was dead, and the hated Lancastrians would soon be enthroned. It was not to be borne! She had no husband. She had no child. She was alone. She sobbed harder and harder.
Elsbeth came and, drawing a chair next to Adair’s, took her hand and began to stroke it. “There, there, lambkin. We have suffered worse, and prospered in spite of it all. We will overcome this too, my chick.”
“He would not make love to me before he left me,”
Adair sobbed. “He said we would make a fine son when he returned. Now there will be no son for Stanton.”
“Nonsense!” Elsbeth said. “When your mourning is over you will seek another husband, and marry again.”
“I have not even his body to bury,” Adair wept.
“We’ll put a marker on the hill with your parents’ and young FitzTudor’s to commemorate him,” Elsbeth suggested. “Many a lord has died in battle and been buried where they fell. There is nothing unusual about it. It is difficult, surely, for the widow, but there it is, my chick.
There is naught to be done about it.”
“I cannot start again,” Adair whimpered. “I am so tired, Nursie. I can bear no more tragedy in my life.”
“Come,” Elsbeth said, standing and raising her mistress up. “I will put you to bed, and in the morning everything will look different.” She led Adair from the hall.
“Nothing will ever be the same again,” Adair said.
“Nothing!I will waken in the morning and Andrew will still be gone, and I will still have no child to mother for Stanton. I tell you I can bear no more!”
Chapter 8
Stanton was again without a master. None of those who had fought with Andrew at MarketBosworth returned home, and were assumed dead.
Adair was not the only one to mourn, but she could not give way to her despair publicly. If they were to survive the winter there were things that still needed tending.
The cattle were brought in from the high meadows by the cowherds and their dogs. Repairs were made to any buildings needing them. The grain had been harvested, threshed, and stored in Stanton’s stone granaries. Adair gave permission for the Stanton folk to glean what they could from the fields. Her small orchard had yielded a bumper crop of apples. On Martinmas she divided the fruits among her villagers, keeping a few for herself.
There would be no visitors at Stanton once the winter set in. No need for hospitality.
