Virgin Widow (11 page)

I had come to the decision as he had assured me of his
great pleasure.
That was not enough. I wanted his heart as well as his hand. It was not enough that he should wed me because his brother ordered him to do so. If I loved him, I would have his reciprocation. I set out to woo Richard Plantagenet, whether he liked it or not.

I applied myself to a campaign of
pursue and retreat
in those weeks at Court with commendable vigour. I knew I must be patient—difficult, but necessary—to
attract, catch his wayward regard, and then withdraw into a chilly distance. Entice him from his chivalric manners and see if I could entrap him. I determined to coax or shock or lure him, whichever would best work, from this newly acquired and impeccably polished self-possession.

Surely it could not be so difficult?

But perhaps it could. Perhaps I had a battle on my hands. I understood his conflicting emotions, and was not without compassion, but I had not liked what I had heard. A seed of dismay had effectively been sown when I heard the stark condemnation fall from Richard’s lips.

‘Do you not, then, wish to wed me?’ I had asked, eyes decorously downcast. How weary I was of being decorous.

‘I must, lady, if it is the King’s wish.’ He wasn’t
unfriendly,
I decided, so much as
disciplined.

‘I thought you wanted our union. Before.’ I resisted glaring at him. Instead I allowed myself to glance at his face through my lashes. Unfortunately there was no relenting in his stern mouth.

‘That was before I realised I was part of Warwick’s plot to overthrow my brother. Marriage to you would secure my loyalties to the Nevilles.
Then
I was too young to realise it. Now I do.’ The dark eyes settled on mine, bright with indignation. ‘I do not like to be used.’

‘Who does? It’s no better for me.’ Soft voiced, a hint of gentle suffering.

‘I disagree. It would always have been your fate to marry where the Earl decided.’

No good would come of arguing that point. ‘Well—if you choose to keep me at arm’s length, Richard, and not to make the best of a marriage between us…’ Crossly, I resorted to character.

‘Have I said that I will not?’ Good, a hint of temper there. ‘All I said was that I dislike being manipulated.’

‘I know what you said! I find you most
ungracious
—and will seek better company.’

And I did.

But now Richard’s sense of ill usage must not be allowed to stand in my way. I would overcome it. And if I failed…but I would not. I was a Neville. So I flirted when I could, with Francis who saw my intent and complied with a boisterous good will that I fear fooled no one. Otherwise I kept Isabel company, to the detriment of our tempers and sisterly relationship. Never had a chaperoned lady stuck more closely to her chaperon when the object of her desire came close. Never had a chaperoned lady been so bored…

But Richard appeared to be weakening.

‘Will you join me in the hunt, Lady Anne?’

‘I am gratified.’ I curtsied. ‘But I will ride slowly with Isabel. In her condition she needs my company.’ It almost killed me to refuse, committing myself to a sedate perambulation at the rear of the field, when I could have galloped at his side.

Did I see Richard laugh as he rode off to join the King?

We worked through the whole gamut of Twelfth Night celebrations, manoeuvring aside and around each other as if we were engaged in the steps of a rounddance. Were we an object of amusement for those who watched? Unaware of anyone else, I neither knew nor cared. Richard remained as perfectly well mannered as any lady could desire, but so impregnably distant that it infuriated me. As I walked along the ill-lit corridor between Isabel’s and the Earl’s accommodations, Isabel having kept me at her wretched side to bemoan her increasing girth, I was finally forced to accept the inevitability of a cold political match between us.

‘Well, lady. You took your time. I’ve been here a good hour. And damned cold it is too.’

I lurched to a halt, heart leaping. A figure stepped out. ‘Who is it?’

‘Who do you think would be waiting to waylay you?’

I smiled in the shadows, my wits returning, my declining spirits stirred into life. Two could play at that game! ‘Francis! Is it really you?’

‘Vixen! Francis has no intention of meeting with you in dark corners!’

I heard the laughter in his voice and I smiled in the shadows. So caught up was I in my plan that I had not realised. I was not the hunter, never had been, but the hunted. Richard had more patience than I. More skills.
But what now? Allow him his victory? To give in gracefully or retreat behind a fortified pride and disdain…

‘What do you want?’ I managed a fair imitation of a frown.

‘You’ve been trying hard to avoid me of late. And successfully.’

‘I have not.’

‘Then you’ll not resist my capturing you.’

‘I shall.’ I would not give in to such cunning wiles, but my response made no impression. The Constable of England, I realised, had a campaign from which he would not be distracted.

‘You are my betrothed, Lady Anne.’ His teeth glinted in the flicker of light from a distant cresset. ‘I have every right to speak with you.’

‘Not without a chaperon, you don’t! Margery should be with us.’

‘But as she isn’t…’ His hands clasped lightly on my shoulders to draw me close. The kiss, which startled me, was a soft experiment of lips against lips.

‘That was a kiss a brother might bestow on his sister!’ I gasped.

‘You don’t have a brother.’

‘So?’

His retaliation was to be expected, I suppose, with a heat, an urgency that flashed along my skin. Mouth crushed beneath his, I had no breath to attack with a smart response.

‘You’ll be my wife, Anne Neville, because it is Edward’s wish,’ Richard breathed in my ear. ‘But will you be my love, because
I
would have it so.’

‘I might.’ I hid my face against his shoulder, holding fast to my delight. ‘But only if you would be mine.’

‘A bargain, is it? Yet how can I love someone who plots and torments?’

I did not listen to his words, only felt the strength of his arms, the warmth of his breath against my cheek. My heart, already shivering on the edge, fell at his feet.

‘You can love me because it was always intended to be so,’ I offered, speaking the truth as I saw it. ‘Because you have known me for ever, good and bad. Because you own my heart.’

‘Then I must take a care of it, mustn’t I.’

‘Will you?

‘Always.’

‘In spite of everything? The treachery and secrecy? I am still Warwick’s daughter.’

‘In spite of everything, daughter of Warwick, I love you. I think I always have. Ever since you informed me how relieved you were I hadn’t died at birth.’

My laughter echoed his softly in the draughty corridor. Typical of Richard to say so little and mean so much, leaving me truly ensnared. I allowed him to kiss me again. There again, perhaps I didn’t
allow
it, but he kissed me anyway. My lips smiled beneath the pressure as desire skipped shiveringly over my skin. All
my secret plotting had been hopelessly futile and unnecessary. Richard had wanted me, I had possession of his heart all the time.

It was a magical time, when I was scarce able to catch my breath from one day’s end to the next, my blood running hot with excitement, a naï;ve passion that robbed me of sleep and appetite. I could scarce wait to rise from my bed at the beginning of each day to meet with him again. What did it matter that Margery shadowed me? The stolen kisses were sweeter for their snatched infrequency. If those around me smiled with condescension on my blissful state, I was unaware. Richard filled my heart, all my vision.

It had to end, with responsibilities on all sides to direct us into our disparate lives. From my earliest years I had learned that a man of authority had demands on his time so that I could not expect to remain close at Richard’s side for ever. So I returned to Warwick with my mother and Isabel. The Earl remained at Court with Edward. Clarence journeyed between London and Richmond in the north whilst Isabel grew big and indolent. Richard was in Wales to oversee the rebel castles he had occupied, to take soundings of any further rebellion.

‘I don’t want this,’ I had declared as we parted in London, clutching at the breast of his velvet tunic with both hands regardless of the crushed fabric. ‘How
shall I live for a whole day without you, much less weeks—even months?’ I widened my eyes in parody of distress, luring him to say what I wanted to hear. ‘How do I know you’ll regret my absence? I swear you’ll enjoy the campaign and have no thought for me.’ I was learning the trick of pushing my sometimes-taciturn lover into statements of a non-political nature, although not always with much finesse.

The corners of Richard’s mouth twitched as if he read my intent. ‘I will think of you at least once a day.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Is that not enough?’ He gave in. ‘You have all my devotion. Feel my heart beat for you.’ And he flattened my palms beneath his, against his chest, so that I could feel the steady throb. ‘When I return we will marry.’

In a final gesture Richard stroked his knuckles down over my cheek. ‘Gentle Anne! Still I love you!’ His soft mockery touched my heart. I caught his wrist, turning my face to press my lips there. When I smiled into his eyes, all I could see was his love for me imprinted there.

‘And you have all my love. God keep you safe.’

I was content. It was as if the last year with its upheavals and deceits had never happened. We basked in the full light of royal forgiveness and generosity.

Richard was mine.

I
WAS
given no presentiment of looming disaster. The storm came without warning to break over our heads.

‘What’s amiss?’ I asked the Countess as I joined her at the head of the outer staircase from the old keep at Warwick. ‘What’s happened? Surely we’re not at war again?’ We looked down on the suddenly chaotic scene below to where the Earl’s Master at Arms had just ridden through the gates with a force of armed retainers, outfitted to my eye for battle. Neville pennons flew from the tips of a half-dozen lances.

‘I don’t know.’ She ran down the steps with me hard on her heels.

As soon as she opened the letter delivered to her hand by the Earl’s courier, I saw the recoil. Her eyes held the glassy blindness of panic as she lifted them from the words to survey the soldiers that filled our courtyard. The news was surely bad. In my innocence
I thought it could only mean one thing and a cold hand tightened around my throat.

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Not that!’

‘What?’ Face so pale, eyes wide, even her lips white, the Countess had difficulty in answering me. It must be the Earl! Only so critical a disaster could rob her of her self-possession.

‘Is he hurt?’ I moved to stand closer at her side, fearful that she would sink to the floor, but although she looked through me as if I did not exist, her hand closed vice-like around my wrist.

‘What?’ She gasped as she took my meaning. ‘No…no. Your father is well. But…I knew he was disturbed, angry…I knew the bitterness that drove him, that he feared Edward’s soft words as a mere sop to cover his true motive. But I had no idea that Warwick would consider this! That he would refuse to let matters lie quiet and wounds to heal. By the Virgin! Why has he done this?’

‘But
what?’

Her fingers tightened further, unaware, until I winced with pain.

‘Rebellion against Edward. Again.’ She forced the words through stiff lips. ‘He’s instigated an uprising in Lincolnshire, to draw Edward north into a trap where the Earl can defeat him in battle. Our Master at Arms is here to muster troops for my lord’s use.’

‘Will he take Edward prisoner again?’ I found it difficult
to follow the reasoning. The King’s imprisonment had failed last time with humiliating results. Why risk another appalling failure? Why risk Edward’s good will a second time?

‘No.’ The Countess crushed the document in her fist as we watched the deployment of the men-at-arms. ‘Clarence is with Warwick. The plan is to depose Edward and make Clarence king. Clarence…! And Isabel then will be Queen. Ha! As if I care about that! All very well if my lord can carry it off. But if he cannot…If we fail, Edward will not forgive us this time. There’ll be no mercy for us at his hands.’

But I could not think of that. In a moment of pure selfishness all I could see was that we had been cast in the role of traitor again. Rebels. Enemies of the King, destroyers of the peace of the realm. Objects of Edward’s hatred and vengeance. For the first time I think I questioned the wisdom of the Earl’s actions. Yet surely I could rest on the Earl’s just decisions. I could not start apportioning blame.

Truth struck like a viper.

Oh, Richard. My dearest love. Where does that leave us now?

‘What do we do?’ I asked helplessly, the answer to my question stark and brutal in my mind.

‘We wait. What other can we do?’

One decision was made for us. At Clarence’s insistence, delivered shortly and verbally by the courier,
we packed Isabel into a travelling litter and sent her with a strong escort out of harm’s way. She would travel slowly to Exeter where she would lodge in the sanctuary of the Bishop’s palace, under God’s protection and far from the dangers of warfare. Far from Edward, who might take it into his mind to take her and hold her and her unborn child as security for Clarence’s good behaviour. Margery travelled with her for her comfort. My mother was reluctant, but saw the sense of it. We watched her entourage disappear into the winter landscape.

‘I should not allow her to travel without me at this time,’ the Countess murmured, her anxieties showing in her hands clutching white-fingered on the coping stones. ‘She’s not strong. It would be better for her to remain here. If anything amiss occurs on the road…’

I shuffled wordlessly at her side. Clarence’s high-handed orders had not endeared him to me. Far better for Isabel to remain safely behind the walls of Warwick Castle. Then the Countess braced her shoulders and regarded me with a steady stare.

‘So! Do we lay up for a siege, daughter—or do we gather our possessions for instant flight?’

‘It’s Richard! Richard’s here.’

I raced from the battlement walk with no consideration for anything except that against all the odds he had come. ‘Richard has come. And Francis with
him.’ I slid to a halt, ridiculously wishing I wore my new damask in rich cerulean with gold-embroidered bodice rather than my present hard-wearing woollen gown. Delight that I would see him again flooded through me. But I saw my mother’s fixed expression and the heat chilled, the fire died. How would either Richard or I face this redeployment of loyalties? Richard and I were on opposite sides, delineated by spilt blood and black treason. And as I had feared, Francis might be Warwick’s foster son, but was now riding in Richard of Gloucester’s train. I could not imagine how we should receive them. Nor what Richard could possibly say to me to give me hope, no matter how becoming my dress.

‘It had to happen,’ the Countess’s only observation. ‘Youth cleaves to youth. They were always good friends.’

We welcomed them—in a fashion—in the open spaces of the courtyard, but the greeting was edged with frost.

‘I cannot stay, my lady.’ Richard dismounted, flung his reins to his squire and approached, a chillingly formal bow, addressing the Countess, but with his eyes sliding to me. ‘It’s not fitting that I should be here with rebellion afoot and the Earl’s allegiance a matter of censure. I regret this. The rift is not of my making.’ There was a brittleness about his movements, as if he wished himself anywhere but within the walls of one of Warwick’s castles.

Francis too was ill at ease as he saluted my mother’s fingers. There was no warm embrace between them on this occasion. ‘I had to follow the dictates of honour, Lady.’

‘I understand.’ The Countess managed a thin smile. ‘If I have instilled honour into you, Francis, I must be satisfied, must I not? We must deal with circumstances as we find them.’

‘I am here to have conversation with Anne,’ Richard intervened with less than patience. ‘If you will permit it…?’

‘It is not seemly,’ my mother replied coldly, to my dismay. Would she indeed refuse? Deliberately, she would not meet my ferocious stare.

‘Anne was my betrothed,’ Richard said. I noted the tense with a sickening lurch of my belly. ‘It is
seemly
that I take my leave of her. I would ask your indulgence, Lady. Just this once. Is it too much to ask that I make my final farewells in person?’

Just this once.
How empty a phrase it seemed.
Final farewells?
How cruel, how devastating. How could I survive if he were forced to simply mount up and ride away? Silently I prayed that the Countess would reconsider whilst, dark eyes intense and unyielding, every inch the Duke of Gloucester, Richard would not retreat, but challenged my mother to refuse outright, which would have burdened her with unheard-of discourtesy. The hesitation lengthened as
she considered. She was going to refuse, I knew it, I could sense it as her lips parted…

‘If it please you, madam.’ I would beg for this as I had never begged before. ‘As Richard says, it will be for the last time. I doubt we shall see each other again. I need…I need to…’ My voice almost broke on the words. I had no argument to lay before her.

But the Countess, undoubtedly knowing the pain of separation for herself, nodded once as if the concession was dragged from her. ‘Very well. Go to the chapel, Gloucester, and take your farewell. God will watch over you and judge the sincerity in your heart. Anne, remember that you are my daughter and conduct yourself accordingly. You will remain there no longer than a half-hour.’ She turned on her heel.

It was a cold and austere place, built into the oldest part of the castle, with heavy pillars creating deep dank shadows even in the height of summer. There was no sun on that winter day to warm the coloured glass to give it a welcoming beauty. As cold and as heavy as my heart, it was a fitting reflection of our emotions. Francis remained outside, seated with his back against the wall to allow us a brief privacy. Door closed against the world, I watched as Richard tossed cloak, hat and gloves on to a wooden bench, but kept his sword buckled firm. This would not take long. He had come out of courtesy, out of love, but his allegiance to the King would determine all his future
actions. Nor could I blame him. Did I not love him for his loyalty, his rigid sense of honour? I could hardly now condemn him for it, simply because it undermined my own happiness.

We had so little time, so few minutes. Already they were ticking away. I vowed to remain calm, with some at least of the Countess’s dignity.

Richard remained rigidly at arm’s length as if distance would make the parting easier. ‘I had to come. I couldn’t leave you without explaining—without telling you that I’m summoned to raise a force and join with the King, without…’ His words dried. He lifted one shoulder awkwardly and I saw the habitual little pull of the muscle beside his mouth when his emotions were compromised.

‘Without making your farewell,’ I added for him. ‘I understand. There’s no future for us, is there?’ I laughed—or was it a sob?—an unnatural, harsh sound in the still air. ‘Of course there is not. There can never be a future for us.’ An assertion now, not a question.

‘No. Warwick and Clarence have again chosen to put themselves outside the law. Edward has withdrawn his consent for our marriage. There can be no easy coming to terms between Warwick and the King this time.’

‘Is it very bad?’

‘As bad as it gets.’ His eyes flat, his face bleak and strained, pale in the winter gloom. ‘Warwick’s promised
to bring troops to meet with Edward at Leicester, to help him crush the rebels. Edward suspects a trap, that Warwick is in truth bringing up reinforcements
for
the rebels. So Warwick plans to catch my brother unawares, Warwick on one hand, the rebels on the other, crushing Edward between them.’ Richard raised his fist, fingers clenched tight. ‘As neat as cracking a hazelnut.’

I frowned at the picture he painted. ‘Will it happen? We don’t know who will win, do we?’

‘There’ll be a battle before the week’s out. Edward will push for it, to bring the affair to its head. Hence my haste.’ Richard paused as if unsure whether to continue, hands now curled hard around sword-belt, studying the altar with its dull gleam of candles and silver crucifix. Deciding at last to speak his thoughts, however unpalatable to me. And I valued his honesty. ‘I think Edward will not lose this battle. He’s a gifted tactician and has the measure of your father. If Warwick and Clarence stand against him and Edward wins, he’ll take brutal measures against them both.’

I breathed slowly, painfully, against the truths I had known since the courier’s visit. ‘And we will once again be foresworn traitors with a price on our heads.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you could not wed a traitor,’ I ventured, knowing the answer.

Richard did not reply.

‘Oh, Richard!’ I whispered, a lump like a rock in my throat.

Richard abandoned his carefully preserved stance. He strode forwards and I found my hands grasped to pull me close, face buried against the metalled strips of his brigandine. I breathed in the familiar scent and heat of him, but as his breath stirred my hair his voice was terrifyingly severe. ‘It hurts now, I know. But you are young, Anne. It will fade as time passes. You’ll find another husband. As Warwick’s daughter, you’ll always have a value.’ An icy finger inched its way down my spine, a ghostly foretaste of what would come, but Richard continued, his fingers painful around mine. ‘I swear you’ll marry and raise a handful of argumentative children. You will be content.’

I looked up at him in horror, or was it anger, that he should so precipitately arrange another marriage for me. I was incapable of seeing my future other than as a black void.

‘I will not,’ I hissed. ‘I do not seek
contentment.
Can you cast me off, in so cursory a manner, as if it means nothing to you?’ So much for my vow of dignity. My fear of losing him was so sharp and real it drove me to extremes. ‘So I will find another husband. Of course I will. Am I not a Neville? But will I find another love? You say that the pain will fade. I don’t believe you. Are you saying that it will fade for you?’

‘No.’ He sighed on an exhalation.

‘Then why should it for me? Tell me this, Richard. Did you ever love me? Do you love me still?’

‘How can you doubt me?’ His eyes, stark with dismay, glinted in the dim light, but he would not turn away from the accusation in my face. ‘Anne…what choice have we with my brother and your father facing each other across a battlefield?’

‘I know!’ My anger segued into despair, my biting words of blame into a stifled sob. ‘And my father planning to lift the crown from Edward’s head. The worst of treachery.’

‘God damn Warwick to the fires of hell!’

‘But he’s my father. He demands my duty and my affection.’

‘So he might, but he has effectively destroyed any happiness we might have had together.’ My hands flat against his chest felt the anger, so far held in check, build to fill his whole frame, until the thunderous beat of his heart matched mine. ‘Never doubt my love, Anne,’ he murmured. ‘It is yours and will be for all time. This wounds me as much as it hurts you. And it destroys me that I can do nothing to comfort you.’

‘Richard! It’s time…’

He raised his head at Francis’s voice beyond the door. We could not linger. I could sense the urgency in him, even as his hands gentled to tender. Was there nothing more I could do or say?

‘Will you take this?’ I tugged off a little ring, a plain
gold circle set with a ruby, even though it was far too small for a man’s hand. I pushed it, not without some difficulty as it caught on his knuckle, on to his little finger. ‘Will you wear it?’