Page 49 of The Forgotten Boy

On their side. Edward liked Ismay, but he loved his brother Edmund almost as if they were twins. Though incredibly different in temperament, they were as devoted to one another as any brothers could be. It was a relationship that sometimes made Ismay wistful for what she had missed not having siblings. Elizabeth and Margaret of York were her friends, but it was not the same.

She could guess, because she knew them both so well, how the conversation between the brothers had gone about this plan.

Edmund: I will have no one but Ismay. No matter what Father says.

Edward: So have her.

Edmund: In marriage, brother.

Edward: Fine. A priest it is. Unless you want to make di praesenti vows? It’s quicker. And still ends in bed.

Edmund: Ismay’s priest at Havencross has served her family since before her birth. We can marry there. But I will need your help to get away from Father for the necessary time.

Edward: It would be so much easier if you had just come with me to Calais and enjoyed all the pretty girls there. But if Ismay is the one you want, then I’ll do all in my power to help you secure her.

The Duke of York would be angry. But not, perhaps, as angry as he could be. With all the distractions of royal displeasure and battles, the duke had greater things on his mind than his ward’s marriage. And though his three daughters were either married or officially betrothed, his older sons remained available. Ismay may not be his first choice for Edmund, but it could be much worse. Presented with a fait accompli, she thought the duke would accept the marriage. If anyone protested, it would be Duchess Cecily.

But Ismay refused to be afraid. She had wanted Edmund since the moment she’d met him at Ludlow as a miserable orphan. So she simply smiled at Father Pierce and said, “I expect the Earl of March and the Earl of Rutland to arrive tonight. The marriage will take place first thing tomorrow.”

In the end, Ismay was fairly certain she prevailed not because of the authority she’d learned from Cecily Neville, but because she’d gleaned when to smile and nod so she could then go ahead and do exactly what she wanted, just like Edward.

Ismay haunted the third-floor solar for hours, afraid to miss even a moment’s sight of Edmund arriving. She spotted the brothers just before sunset, riding without banners and with only two men-at-arms accompanying them. She flew down the spiral stairs so quickly that she was outdoors as they were just riding through the open gate. It seemed to take an age for Edmund to dismount, but it was probably only seconds before she was in his arms.

They wed the next morning before the door of the priory’s old stone chapel. Father Pierce had made no protests to the brothers, and Ismay knew why—both Edward and Edmund had grown sharper and warier this last year and carried with them an air that she recognized from the Duke of York: We know who we are, and you cross us at your risk.

She had returned the ring to Edmund for the ritual of the ceremony, and when they had made their promises to each other and to God, Edmund held the garnet and gold ring and took her left hand in his.

“With this ring I thee wed,” Edmund said clearly. “This gold and silver I give thee. And with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Edmund touched the ring to her thumb: “In the name of the Father.” To her index finger: “And the Son.” To her middle finger: “And the Holy Ghost.”

He slid the ring onto her fourth finger and squeezed her hand. “Amen.”

It was a very moderate celebration afterward, for Ismay had sent most of the servants away. Ismay’s steward and his wife and Father Pierce entertained Edward at the table, or the other way around—he had some very inappropriate stories from Calais—while Edmund and Ismay had eyes only for each other.

She didn’t even realize the others had left the room until Edward announced, “Off to bed, you two.”

“It’s hours until nightfall.” Ismay thought she should at least pretend to be scandalized.

“It doesn’t have to be done in the dark, you know, or in a bed for that matter.” Edward would always say the things no one else would. “We leave at first light tomorrow, my sweet sister. If you wait, you’re severely limiting your opportunities. Don’t worry, I’ll keep myself busy.”

“Edward, don’t you dare go trawling for girls around here,” Edmund said sharply.

“Me? I’ve promised to play chess with the good priest. Go on then, my lord and lady of Rutland, take to bed. And I’ll wager five groats that neither of you will want to leave it in the morning.”

He would have won that bet. Ismay was shy at first, but Edmund, though not practiced like his brother, was possessed of an innate generosity. Both young and eager, they knew they must make the most of their time together. Also, Edward had probably enjoyed instructing his brother.

As the sky began to lighten to dawn, Ismay, wrapped in a heavy bedrobe with her hair loose around her, watched Edmund dress.

“Where will you go from here?” she asked.

“London. We’ll likely send your men on to Sandal for now, until we know where to best position them. But Warwick’s in London. And the king.”

“What is your father going to do?”

His fingers, doing up the laces of his doublet, hesitated. “I don’t know. But this conflict must be stopped.”

“With war.”

---