By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (15 page)

Richard pulled off his gloves and cupped Anne’s face in the palms of his cold hands as he leant to kiss her gently on the mouth. Then his gaze fell as he caressed a hand over her belly. She smiled as she felt the baby kick at his touch.

“He grows strong and well. And you?” he asked as he looked up again at her face. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I am well,” she assured him, her fingers brushing the light dusting of snow from his shoulders. “Come to the fire and warm yourself. Shall I call the servants to bring mulled wine?”

“Indeed,” he replied as he unfastened his cloak. “The journey was long and cold, but I am pleased to be here with you.” He tossed the cloak aside and, pulling her close to him, he kissed her again – a longer, more leisurely kiss whilst their child was held tight between their bodies. “I have missed you,” he said, then turned with a smile to her uncle who was standing with Isabella clinging to his arm.

“Uncle Robert,” said Anne with a slight curtsey, remembering her manners. He bowed his head towards her.

“Bring the packages, Robert!” called Richard. “I have brought you gifts, my lady, and I see no reason you shouldn’t have at least one now – though I shall make you wait until the Twelfth Night to open the others,” he teased. He took the saddle bag that her uncle had carried in and unbuckled it. “This, you may have now!” he said, handing her a small package. “And also I carry a letter from your sister Elizabeth.”

“Thank you.” She looked down at the small parcel, wrapped in a cream coloured silk cloth. It felt hard and weighed heavy in her hand. She glanced up at his smiling face as she unfastened the knot that held it and spread the cloth aside to reveal a lozenge shaped brooch of gold, set with a large, oblong emerald and hanging from it three small pearls.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, wondering at the costliness of such a gift. She had never owned anything so lovely.

“It is to thank you for the gift you have given me – the gift of a child, and to keep you safe in childbirth. I did intend to keep it until later. But you looked so exquisite as you came down the steps to greet me that I had to give it to you now.” Anne looked up from the jewel in her hand and smiled at him again. He seemed as delighted to present the gift as she was to receive it. “Let me pin it to your gown,” he said. He took the brooch from her hand and she felt a spasm of desire for him as his hands brushed her breast as he fastened the ornament to her collar. “Now thank me again,” he commanded as his arm stretched around her thickened waist and he pressed his lips more urgently to hers. She raised her hands to the hard muscles of his upper arms, her fingers stretching out and exploring his neck and the feel of his hair as he continued to kiss her hungrily, despite the lack of privacy. After a moment Anne pulled away from him.

“Later, my lord,” she promised him and he laughed.

“Later indeed,” he replied and took some wine from a waiting servant.

In her bedchamber, after she had told Isabella she had no need of her and her friend had gone eagerly to find Robert, Anne picked up the letter that Richard had brought from her sister. She had not seen Izzie since the spring in London and as it was not yet time for supper she broke the seal and sat down at her small desk to read what news her sister sent:

To Anne Stanley, at Pontefract:

Well-beloved sister, I greet you well and recommend myself to you. I pray this finds you well.

I am in good health and the preparations for my wedding to John Stanley on St Stephen’s Day progress well. I’m sure you will be glad to know that we love one another and that I am looking forward with much delight to our union. I hope you will be also pleased to know, if you have not already heard, that our mother was safely delivered of a baby girl to be named Dorothy.

Sadder news is that Lady Stanley died at Stanley House not two weeks past and was buried in the chancel at the church of St James and St John at Garlickhythe. Lord Stanley grieves for her and everyone in the house here is much saddened at her loss. Her health had failed and I think she also still grieved for the loss of her brother.

I’m sure that you have been craving news from me for some time and I pray that you do not think I am remiss or neglectful in not writing to you oftener. The truth is that you have much displeased Lord Stanley and he has forbidden that I correspond with you, so this letter has been sent discreetly through the kindness of Sir William whom you must acknowledge still cares for you, although he has been wed to Elizabeth Hopton in Shropshire.

Sister, I must be the bearer of grave news. I know of your delicate condition and would not have you disturbed except that there is something you must know which concerns the father of your child, the Duke of Gloucester.

You already know my thoughts on him, but do not judge me harshly for what I must say. The duke is to be betrothed to Anne Neville, despite the opposition of both the king and his brother George, Duke of Clarence. Clarence contrived to hide the girl from the duke, but so determined was he that he scoured the city without rest and discovered her disguised as a kitchen maid in the household of one of Clarence’s friends. He has taken her to the sanctuary of St Martin’s le Grand in London and has compelled her to promise to marry him so that he can protect his claim on the Warwick lands...

The letter blurred and Anne could read no more of it. She pushed it aside and with her face in her hands she sobbed huge shuddering tears that shook her body as she tried to convince herself that such a thing could not be true. Yet she recalled Isabella’s reluctance to speak about Middleham and other idle words of gossip she had overheard and she had to acknowledge that her sister probably wrote the truth.

She did not know how long she had been sitting there when Isabella came to seek her.

“Everyone is waiting for you. Are you unwell?” she asked coming across to Anne and touching her shoulder gently.

“Yes, I am unwell,” she replied, without looking up as she pushed the letter under her Book of Hours that lay open on the desk. “Please beg forgiveness from the duke. I cannot come down to supper.”

“Do you need a physician? Shall I help you to bed?”

“Just go! Leave me alone!” shouted Anne, and after a moment she heard Isabella leave the room, shutting the door gently behind her.

Anne shook with the effort of containing her sobbing and her anger. Her tears had long since ceased and yet she was still wracked with shuddering convulsions that she could not control. How dared he come and take her in his arms and kiss her as if he loved her and keep from her this news that he had chosen to marry Anne Neville.

She heard her door open again and looked up to tell the servant to go away, but it was Richard himself who came in without knocking and closed the door behind him. She turned her head away as she heard him cross the chamber and stand beside her.

“Anne?” he said, and she felt his hand rest lightly on her arm as he crouched beside her. She shrugged off his touch. “Are you ill?” he asked. His voice was filled with concern, but when she tried to stand up to move away from him she felt his grip tighten and he pulled her around so that she was facing him. “Tell me what is wrong,” he said. She shook her head, unable to speak or meet his eyes. He pressed his palm to her forehead and even though she tried to hate him she found comfort in his touch. “You seem feverish,” he said. “I will send for the physician.”

“No!”

“But you are unwell.”

“I am not ill,” she replied, hearing her voice tremble.

“Anne, you need not be afraid of the physician...”

“I am not afraid! Let me go! Don’t touch me!”

He stood. Glancing up, she saw his puzzled expression. Then she turned and groped for the letter and threw it down on the floor at his feet.

“Did you think I would not know? Or did you think I would not care?” she shouted as he bent to retrieve the parchment. “And you can take this back!” She unpinned the brooch with trembling fingers and as he scanned Izzie’s words she flung the gift at him, catching him across the forehead with a sharp corner so that when he raised his fingers to the wound he stared in surprise at the blood on them. His face darkened with anger and for a moment she thought that he might strike her.

“I will send for the physician,” he said shortly as he placed the letter back on her desk. “We will speak about this later, when you are calm.”

When he had gone Anne went to the bed; the bed where she had expected to have him hold her and love her. She was too tired to cry any more and her grief was making the child leap in distress. She lay down in the darkness without lighting a candle and waited until Isabella and the women came and undressed her and put her between the linen sheets. Then someone came with a foul, sour brew and held her head until she drank. She wished it was Richard, but he did not come back to her that night.

It was already light when she awoke and even the faint winter sunshine which crept through a gap in the bedcurtains made her head hurt.

“Do you feel any better this morning?” asked Isabella, looking down at her with a worried face. “The physician was concerned about you last night. He will come back later to see if you are recovered, but in the meantime said you must eat a little oatmeal.”

Anne rubbed her sore eyes and saw the servant hovering with a tray of food behind her friend. “I don’t want anything,” she said.

Isabella waved at the girl to put the breakfast down on the coffer. “Bring some warm water. I will help the lady wash,” she said.

“I will wash myself,” murmured Anne. “I want to be left alone.” But Isabella helped her bathe her face and braid her hair and even though Anne insisted she wanted to get up, her legs felt so weak when she walked to the latrine that she was thankful to get back into her bed.

Isabella was still fussing around her when there was a short knock on the door.

“Tell the physician I need no more of his stinking medicines,” complained Anne as she still tasted the sleeping draft on her tongue. “I will soon be well if you will all leave me alone.”

Isabella went to the door, but Anne saw that she quickly opened it wide and gave a curtsey that could not be for a mere physician.

“Leave us,” said the Duke of Gloucester and, despite Anne’s attempt at protest, her companion and the other women went obediently from the room closing the door behind them.

Richard came over to the bed. Anne stared at the tapestry of a hunting scene that hung on the far wall. She felt the bed move as he sat down and took one of her hands in both of his. His thumb gently caressed her palm as he waited for her to look at him and eventually she turned and found him watching her solemnly. There was a small scab on his forehead where the brooch had struck him and Anne looked away again. She tried to pull her hand from his but the grip tightened.

“I hope I find you calmer this morning,” he said. “If I had known what news your sister’s letter contained I would have kept it until I had spoken to you myself.” Anne remained silent. She wanted to ask him if he really had intended to tell her about his marriage plans, but all she could do was sob at the thought of it. “Hush!” he said as he released her hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Do not distress yourself in this way, Anne. It does not mean I love you less.”

“What does it mean then?” she managed to ask, leaning her face to his palm despite herself.

“It is a marriage that will ensure my share of the Warwick lands. That is all.”

“But I thought that the king had granted you a share of the Warwick lands?”

“Grants can be revoked. Clitheroe and Halton were taken back from me because of Stanley. But if I receive dispensation to marry Anne Neville I can create a contract that will mean I do not run the risk of losing Middleham.”

“Middleham,” repeated Anne, with a sudden burst of anger. “Is it all about Middleham? I was going to ask you if you loved her more than me. But the real question is do you love Middleham more than me. And the answer is yes,” she told him without waiting for his reply. “You men are all the same with your greed for land and for castles.” She pushed his hand from her face. “You are as predatory as the Stanleys,” she accused him.

“Anne,” he reasoned, “I am a youngest son. I have no lands that are mine by inheritance. Everything I own has been granted to me by favour - and can be taken away again on a whim. Would you have me penniless?”

“I would love you if you were a peasant!”

“No you wouldn’t,” he said. “If I were a peasant with filthy clothes and greasy hair you would turn away from me in disgust.” She glanced at him and saw that he was gently teasing her. Then she averted her eyes again, unwilling to forgive him so easily. “But you turn from me in disgust even so,” he said, standing up, “and I don’t know what to say to make you dislike me less.”

He bent to retrieve the brooch from where it had landed the previous night and, crossing to her desk, he straightened the letter lying there and placed the gift on top of it. “I came with the intention of telling you about my intended marriage,” he said. “I hoped you would understand that it is something I must do.” Anne watched him as he stood with his back to her. “If I were a peasant I might marry for love,” he continued, “but younger sons like me must gain their own fortune and must make marriages that are advantageous.” He turned and met her eyes. “I must marry someone. I must have land. I must have a legitimate heir. As the widow of a defeated prince, Anne Neville could spend the rest of her life in a nunnery - but then all the Warwick land would be claimed by my brother, who has shown no true loyalty to the king. I will not allow him to take Middleham from me.”

Anne pulled up her knees and rested her forehead on them, holding the baby tightly. “What will become of me?” she whispered.

He came back to the bed and sat down again beside her and cradled her in his arms, pulling her close. She buried her face against him, breathing in his warmth and scent. He kissed the nape of her neck and rocked her gently as if she were a small child.