Page 80 of The Forsaken
FORTY-SEVEN
JULY 1463
Norham Castle, Northumberland
A few months after presenting himself at Middleham Castle, Guy found himself back in Northumberland, just a few miles from home. Norham Castle, one of the border strongholds of the Yorkists since 1462, had been besieged by the Lancastrian army under the leadership of Ralph Percy. With support from the regent queen of Scotland, Mary of Gueldres, and troops newly arrived from France, Margaret of Anjou had been on the move, ready to lay claim to the north. The siege had been in its eighteenth day by the time the Earl of Warwick and his brother, Lord Montagu, arrived with reinforcements. The fighting had been fierce, and this time, no quarter was given, as it had been after the sieges of 1462 when the leaders were pardoned by His Majesty and allowed to keep their lands and titles. The Lancastrians had been defeated, and justice was swift.
Guy stood at the back of the crowd assembled in the bailey, waiting for the prisoners to be brought forth. A platform had been erected, elevated high enough so everyone could see clearly. They were meant to see, and to reflect on the fate of those who had chosen the wrong side. Today, they would pay for their deeds, and their loyalty to a sovereign they’d sworn their allegiance to long before Edward IV took the throne. Guy still bristled when he thought of his final encounter with Hugh, but he had to give his brother credit. Hugh had been right to trust his instincts and change sides after the Battle of Towton. Had they not, it could have easily been one of them up on that platform, or both, with Adam dispossessed and stripped of his title by association. The king was weary of fighting, and Warwick was growing tired of putting down uprisings in the north, a simmering cauldron of dissent always ready to boil over in rebellion.
A hush fell over the crowd as Warwick’s men brought out the leaders of the rebellion. They were dressed in breeches and shirts, their feet bare, and their faces gray in the golden sunshine warming their shoulders for the last time. They were no longer wealthy, powerful men, but defeated soldiers, frightened but defiant to the last.
Guy hadn’t witnessed many executions, but he was keenly aware of the difference between the executions of felons and soldiers. When a felon was executed, the crowd jeered and often threw rotting fruits and vegetables at the condemned. They viewed the execution as a spectacle, something to break the monotony of their lives and discuss for several days afterward, especially if the death proved to be a particularly gruesome one. When the executions of soldiers were witnessed by other soldiers, the atmosphere was solemn. The men stood around silently, wary and watchful. They understood all too well that these were men of honor who had fought for their king and risked their lives for their beliefs despite the danger to themselves and their loved ones. All too easily, the positions could be reversed, and any man in the crowd could be facing the axman, his death watched over by his sworn enemies and regarded as a casualty of war. Many of these men, particularly those of high rank, would not receive a Christian burial, at least not right away. Their heads would be mounted on spikes as a lesson to those who chose to take up arms and challenge the unstoppable force that was Warwick’s army.
Guy stood shoulder to shoulder with several other knights, their eyes fixed on the platform. He winced as thethwackof an ax was followed by a thud as the first head hit the basket set beneath the condemned. The executioner held up the head for all to see, the lower half of his masked face the only part visible, set in grim lines.
No one enjoyed this, least of all the victorious Warwick, who’d been denied the opportunity to bury his own father and brother after their executions several years back. Warwick had traveled the length and breadth of the country, putting down rebellions, relieving sieges, forging alliances, and seeking truces.He rarely saw his countess or his daughters, who were nearly of marriageable age, something Warwick must have been keenly aware of as he toiled tirelessly on behalf of the king.
Guy had heard the talk at Middleham Castle while he was there. Warwick meant to marry his daughters to the highest-ranking nobles in the land, the Duke of Clarence and the Duke of Gloucester, brothers to the king. Should Edward die without leaving a son, one of Warwick’s daughters would become the Queen of England, most likely Isabel since it was rumored that she was meant for George, Edward’s middle brother. Warwick fought like a lion, because in the end, he’d be the power behind the throne regardless of whether Edward had a son.
Guy waited until the executions were over, then joined a few other men for a game of hazard in the great hall. The wine flowed freely, provided by Warwick himself to help the men forget what they’d just witnessed. Except for the squires, they were all seasoned soldiers and had seen death in all its forms, but one didn’t easily forget half a dozen beheadings. Guy accepted more wine from a serving wench and tossed it back as if it were water. A part of him wished he could visit Castle de Rosel and see the family before heading north tomorrow. Warwick meant to pursue the fleeing Scottish army to teach them a lesson, and the Yorkist forces would set off first thing in the morning, marching for southern Scotland.
Guy set down his cup and stepped out into the corridor. The earl would give him permission to leave for a few hours if he asked it, but he wasn’t at all sure he wished to go. He knew he had to make peace with Hugh. They were brothers, and the rift between them had not been caused by anything more serious than wounded pride. Hugh would welcome Guy back, as Kate had said in her letters.
It was Kate that Guy was afraid to see. Rose had been the first in a string of casual dalliances, but Kate’s face was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep at night, and her name the first word that came to his lips when he woke. He missed her sweet smile and her serious eyes, and he envied his brother bitterly. Hughdidn’t appreciate the rare woman he had. Had Guy been the one to marry Kate, he wouldn’t care if she gave him sons—although imagining his babe at her breast made him sick with longing. He would value her and love her for all his days, and be happy to remain at home, just to be close to her.
Guy sighed and returned to the hall, having changed his mind about seeking out Warwick. He had no wish to go home, not until he was ready. Hugh, damn his eyes, was right. It was time he thought of marrying. He needed to assure his own future and stop mooning over his brother’s wife, who’d be forever out of his reach. Guy staggered away from the gaming table and found a quiet place to bed down. He needed sleep, but when he closed his eyes, all his saw was Kate’s beautiful face and a basketful of severed heads.
FORTY-EIGHT
SEPTEMBER 1464
Berwick-Upon-Tweed, Northumberland
Kate stepped outside and turned her face up to the sun. It wasn’t becoming for a woman to have a sun-tinted face, but she allowed herself a few moments on sunny days, just to enjoy the warmth on her skin. She tried to take a walk every day after breakfast, even on stormy days, desperate to get away from the keep, and from Hugh. She no longer walked toward the castle, and hadn’t done so in years since the castle warden held it in the name of Lancaster and she suffered harassment when encountering the inhabitants. The north was still largely Lancastrian, except for pockets of Yorkist support, so Kate had to be mindful of where she went. Normally, she headed toward the woods, which were safe enough if one didn’t encounter any poachers. She only wished to be alone so she could drop the façade of contentment and allow her true emotions to surface.
She was glad Guy was gone. She missed him sorely, and longed to hear his voice and confide in him, but the situation with Hugh would cause friction between the brothers, and she never wanted to come between them. Hugh had grown more abusive since the day he’d slapped her in their bed. Gone were the tender words and courtly manners. Something had snapped inside him when he learned of Gerard Dancy’s marriage, and his fury was directed at Kate.
Some men didn’t deal well with disappointed hopes, and Hugh was one to dwell on his failings. He’d given his forty days per year service to Lord Chadwick, but had chosen not to fight a single day more. Instead, he spent his time on the estate, trying valiantly to increase output and raise rents to generate more income. The Earl of Stanwyck had granted Hugh a tract of land for his service, a gesture which Hugh deserved, and greatly valued. The land hadbeen mostly forest, but Hugh had commandeered men from the estate to clear the trees once the harvest was in and they could be spared for several hours a day. Now the land was being farmed, and there were several new tenants, which had lifted Hugh’s spirits—until his gaze fell on his wife, who had yet to conceive.
Kate’s heart nearly broke when she saw Hugh with Adam, who was nearly eight. Adam was a fine boy and resembled his uncles in coloring despite his mother’s fairness. Hugh poured all his affection into the boy, spending hours teaching him how to handle his sword and playing chess in the evenings. Adam needed a father figure, and Hugh desperately wanted a son. Hugh was always solicitous and courteous to Eleanor, who had recovered from her grief and regained her beauty. Eleanor was only twenty-five and still marriageable, but Kate could see that Hugh dreaded the idea of Eleanor remarrying because he feared losing his home and the income from the estate. He’d held on to the monies he’d received for Kate’s dowry, fearful of spending the lot should he find himself dispossessed.
Kate could understand his fear and his resentment, which made her respect him all the more for the affection and attention he showed the boy who would one day leave him with nothing, and to the boy’s mother. It wasn’t until a few months ago that Kate had begun to suspect that Hugh might harbor more than brotherly love for Eleanor, but she tried to suppress the gnawing unease in her gut and told herself he was just being kind to his brother’s widow. But Eleanor was beautiful, and Hugh was displeased with his wife, more so every day, so it stood to reason that his attention would turn to the only other woman who was there, pouting and acting as coy as a young bride in his presence.
Kate sat down on a tree stump to rest and sighed with irritation. Eleanor had never become the friend and confidante Kate had hoped for, but would Eleanor really try to come between Kate and Hugh in her desperation? She was lonely, she’d admitted that, but would she take Hugh as a lover if the opportunity presented itself? Kate suddenly realized that the possibility didn’t distress her as much as she’d thought it might. At least if Eleanortook Hugh to her bed, he might leave Kate alone, a prospect that wasn’t at all displeasing given his treatment of her of late.
Kate got to her feet and began to walk back toward the keep. The bright sunshine of earlier had dissipated and storm clouds were rolling in, signaling another dark and cold day within the walls of the keep. Kate hurried her steps as the first drops of rain plopped on her nose and cheeks and began to spot the fabric of her gown.
She saw Hugh hurrying inside just as she came through the gate. His hand was on the small of Eleanor’s back, and the two of them were laughing and carrying on like they didn’t have a care in the world. For a brief moment, Kate thought they looked right together.
FORTY-NINE
AUGUST 2014
London, England
Gabe splashed whisky into his glass and sat down on the sofa. The television was on mute, the constant stream of colorful images going unnoticed as he stared into space. Quinn and Emma were already asleep, but although he was physically tired, his mind was going a mile a minute, too restless to settle on any one problem. He needed to talk to someone, and normally, he’d talk to Quinn, but she was already tense and upset and he didn’t want to add to her mounting stress. He knew he was driving her mad with his overprotectiveness, but he couldn’t help himself. He was scared. He had to physically restrain himself from dashing to the bathroom for the heart-pressure monitor every time she looked flushed or appeared to be agitated, and now her ankles were swelling and she was often short of breath.
Gabe had also noticed Quinn peering at things as if she couldn’t see clearly, and extracted a promise that she would inform Dr. Malik of this new development at the next antenatal checkup. He wasn’t someone who prayed routinely, but since finding Quinn unconscious in that vault in New Orleans, he’d prayed for her and their baby’s well-being almost daily. Liver and renal failure weren’t common, but they did happen in mothers with severe preeclampsia, and although most symptoms disappeared after the delivery, in some cases, they continued after the pregnancy and required continued treatment.
