Page 83 of The Forsaken
“She bewitched him,” the bishop replied in a calmer tone. “There’s talk about her, and her mother too. Powerful witches, both of them.”
“I’ve heard the gossip, George, but nothing that can be proven,” Warwick replied with disgust. “There’s no evidence of witchcraft. I’ve searched.”
“Edward married her. Isn’t that proof enough of her sorcery?”
“Not the sort that can stand up before a court,” Warwick snapped. “Even the emasculated relics who make up the ecclesiastical court know the difference between sorcery and lust. I’ve no doubt they felt the stirring of it once or twice.”
“Come now, Dick. Sometimes an accusation is enough, you know that as well as I do,” his brother replied. “Once an idea is planted, it takes root.”
“Edward won’t listen. He’s besotted. He’s always liked a pretty face, but this is the most irresponsible thing he’s ever done. To marry for love!” Warwick raged. “Men like us don’t marry where our hearts take us. We do our duty, we advance the interests of our family, we think with our heads and not our cocks. If every nobleman in England married for love, where would we be?”
Happy? Guy thought sourly. He had no business passing judgment on his sovereign, but he envied the man. Edward was clearly in love with his queen, and she returned his affections. The two of them glowed in each other’s presence, like twin flames reflected in a dark pool. Where there was love like that, children followed. That was the consequence of desire, genuine desire, the kind that quickened the heart and stirred the blood. Elizabeth Woodville didn’t just do her duty by her lord, she relished it; it was obvious. Guy had never seen a married woman who looked so sensual, so eager. It was all right there in her eyes, in the way her lips parted when she gazed upon her lord, and the way she arched her back, making her breasts appear bigger and rounder. She made no attempt to hide her desire, and Edward preened and strutted when she was around, glorying in her love and stoking her passion.
What would it feel like to be that happy, to be loved and to be able to return that love openly and honestly? Even Warwick, who raged against Edward’s choice of bride, knew love. His countess adored him and waited for his return like a blushing new bride. Her gaze followed her husband about the room, and if he happened to glance her way or bestow her with an absentminded smile, she glowed like the moon, her joy at his attention obvious. Warwick had not married for love, but he did care for his wife. He had a devoted woman to come home to, a woman who cloaked him in her love and saw to his every need, and he was shrewd enough to appreciate that.
Warwick’s voice rose again, his anger not yet waning. “George, if I don’t find a way to end this marriage soon, it’ll be too late. Once she gets with child, he’ll never let her go. And if she has a boy…”
“She might be with child already. She’s proven herself to be fertile.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The bishop sighed with impatience. “If she has a son, the succession is assured, and if she bears a daughter, Edward might still be persuaded to put her aside and marry elsewhere. Bide your time, brother. Edward needs you. He needs your support. You are the ‘Kingmaker’. He might have strayed, but he’ll always remember what you’ve done for him. Accept this situation and find a way to turn it to your advantage.”
Warwick’s reply was softer, more reasonable. “I plan to. I made him a king, and I can just as easily unmake him if he humiliates me like that again.”
“Careful there, Dick. Careful,” the bishop advised him in a soothing tone. “You were always quick to anger, but we can still benefit from this. You can benefit from this.”
“Well, you know what the price of my allegiance is, George, and it had best get paid in full.”
Guy and Anthony stood to attention as Warwick strode past them with a brief nod of acknowledgment. The bishop followed, his robes billowing behind him in the draft from the nearest window.
“Let’s go find some wine,” Sir Anthony suggested. “We’re no longer needed here.”
Guy followed Anthony, who had a nose for food and drink and always managed to get them fed and watered.
“I do hope we remain at Westminster for a while,” Sir Anthony said as he settled himself before a fire in one of the salons and called for refreshments. “I like it here.”
“Why?” Guy asked.
“Because it beats traipsing through mud and eating gruel in the barren fields of Godforsaken Scotland, or putting down rebellions and starving the enemy, and ourselves, in the equally inhospitable north. Here, there is ample food, lovely women, and endless intrigue. I’m in heaven.” He sighed theatrically.
“I’m from the north,” Guy retorted, offended.
“I know, Guy, but you’re slightly less savage than some other Northumbrians I know. You’re almost good company.” Anthony chuckled and slapped Guy on the back. “I’d like to skulk here long enough to discover what our diabolical earl has in store for the comely Elizabeth Woodville.”
Guy accepted a cup of wine from a serving wench and stared into the leaping flames. He stretched his feet out toward the hearth and took a long pull of wine while Anthony flirted with the girl, plying her with compliments and making her blush prettily. Anthony was bent on seduction, and Guy wasn’t about to interrupt, given that the girl seemed to enjoy Anthony’s attentions. Instead, Guy pondered what Anthony had said.
Diabolical.Surely Anthony was judging the earl too harshly. Guy liked and respected the man, and had seen for himself how much Warwick had sacrificed to keep Edward firmly on the throne. He’d worked tirelessly for the king, only to find himself deceived and humiliated by the very man he’d trusted. Edward had wed Elizabeth Woodville at the beginning of May but had kept the marriage a secret for nearly six months, allowing his cousin to negotiate on his behalf and make promises that could no longer be honored. Warwick felt a fool, and he wasn’t a man who’d tolerate being made a laughingstock. The palace was rife with tension, the halls devoid of laughter and gossip, at least when Warwick was around.
Anthony might enjoy the politicking, but Guy wanted no part of the scheming that went on every day, behind nearly every door. He suddenly missed home with an ache that pierced his heart. He missed the cold, inhospitable north, and he missed hisfamily, even Hugh. His year in Warwick’s service was almost up. Perhaps it was time to return home.
FIFTY-ONE
AUGUST 2014
London, England
Sun streamed through the window, falling on Emma’s princess bed linens and caressing Mr. Rabbit’s face. He looked forlorn sitting there on the bed, waiting for Emma to return from school.
