Page 42 of The Forgotten Boy

The saving grace of all these long, uncertain weeks was that the family was together. Ismay had never spent so much time with Edmund. Even with all the tension, there were plenty of stolen moments together, making everything bearable.

Everything except goodbye.

The royal army had been sent against them. The Earl of Salisbury and his men had been ambushed at Blore Heath but managed to fight their way free to Ludlow. Salisbury, his son Warwick, and the Duke of York had been named traitors. And tomorrow, outside the walls of the town, it would all be decided by men wielding swords.

Men including Edmund and Edward.

The afternoon was passing quickly. Ismay’s hands trembled as she searched the castle forecourt crowded with men and horses. Servants preparing to join the Yorkist army dug in against the town walls. How many of these men would be alive this time tomorrow?

Keep him safe, keep him safe, keep him safe.

She spotted Edward, always the easiest to see as, even at seventeen, he towered over every man Ismay had ever known. He was in a corner between the stable and the outer wall, talking to a pretty girl. Edward would be talking to a pretty girl on his death bed. But he saw Ismay and tipped his head in the direction of the chapel.

The shadows inside the round chapel dedicated to St. Mary Magdalene made it hard to distinguish anything except the fair head where Edmund knelt before the altar. She drew closer, moving softly so as not to disturb his prayers.

“I’m not praying,” Edmund said without turning his head. “Or at least, not in the way the priests would have me pray.”

“What are you doing?” Ismay knelt beside him.

He angled his head sideways and gave her a look so filled with longing it warmed the very air between them. “I cannot offer petitions tonight. I can only make demands. That we win. That we lose none we cannot bear to. That the town is safe. That the castle is not breached.”

Ismay nodded.

Edmund drew in a long breath and let it out shakily. “May I give you something, Ismay?”

“A question?” she teased. “I thought you could only make demands tonight.”

“Of God. I would never make demands of you.”

“Of course you can give me something.”

He pulled an object from his pocket, small enough to enclose in his fist. He took her right hand, palm up, and released it.

A ring. Of dark, heavy gold with a square gem set in it. There was not enough light to make out anything more.

“A garnet,” Edmund said. “And it’s inscribed.”

“What does it say?”

“My loyalty is fixed. Which it is, forever.” He bit his lip, a gesture that always made her want to kiss him. “Will you marry me, Ismay?”

“Edmund,” she said, her throat too tight for her to speak.

“I’d do it tonight if we could. I’m not afraid to die, Ismay. I am afraid of not having loved you long enough. Of never getting to …” He sat back on his heels and ran his hands through his hair. She’d never seen him look so frustrated.

He dropped his hands. “Sometimes I think Edward’s right. I think too much and let it get in the way of what I want. Not that I would ever take advantage of you—oh God, I don’t know what I’m saying. Except this: I will come back to you. It’s just a battle, Ismay. My father, Salisbury, and Warwick are the best soldiers in England. We’ll come through it, I promise. And when we do, I’ll tell father everything and we’ll get married. He can’t object on account of our age—mother was only fourteen when they were married. That is, of course, if you want to marry me?”

She took his face in her hands. “Yes,” she said, and kissed him, forgetting that they were in a chapel, forgetting everything except her fear and love, and her desire to violate every rule of decency and modesty. She wanted to have this memory to keep with her always.

Ironically, the only person at Ludlow who would have cheered them on was the one to stop it.

“Sorry,” Edward said, silhouetted in the chapel doorway, “but Mama is looking for Ismay, and Father is ready to join the men in camp.”

Ismay took care to conceal the ring in the pocket tied beneath her skirts before joining the family in the forecourt. The family leave-taking was brisk and professional—no doubt anyone with more personal things to say had found a private place to say them. Like her and Edmund. She fingered his ring while she watched them ride out of the large castle gate and down the hill to where their army was encamped by the River Teme.

She spent the next several hours helping with George and Richard (which mostly meant keeping them from escaping their bedroom in order to spy out what was happening), and only when the younger boys had fallen deep asleep was Ismay released to her little room nearby in Pendower Tower. With all of the Duke’s daughters elsewhere she had it to herself, and Ismay spent a long time crouched over a candle flame trying to stamp the poesy ring on her memory. She could not wear it, not yet, so she threaded it through the rosary chain she wore around her neck and tucked it beneath her shift.

She did not expect to sleep, but she must have because she woke later to the sound of many raised voices. She listened for a minute, wondering if this was a natural occurrence the night before a battle. But she could feel the wrongness in the air. Something had happened.

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