A Rose for Lancaster (The Tudor Rose Novella series) (7 page)

Oxford placed his own soldiers ahead of the king’s men as the last line of defense if Pole’s side should break through. It rippled among the men -
no quarter given to either side
. This fight ended in death for either Henry or Pole. Though I harbored the notion that the king had no intention of meeting the earl of Lincoln if he lost the advantage.

Rain pelted metal armor and weaponry in a continuous clatter. Soaked to the skin, poised on horseback we waited for the moment to strike the enemy. The forward troops engaged the undisciplined rabble who eagerly surrendered the high ground in an effort to begin the attack. Oxford pounced on the mercenaries led by their commanders and cut a swath through their ranks.

Murdo and I waited and watched, ever ready to engage but Oxford slyly kept us back, keeping us fresh for the later assault. After a few hours as the sun broke through a small gap in the clouds and glinted off our metal reflecting into the faces of the oncoming men, the time came to fight. The final push had begun and we met our enemy but without adequate protection they fell to our blades like wheat under the scythe. Earl Lincoln came riding through the skirmish with Fitzgerald and Broughton, clad in shining armor, and as they avoided our persistent and harried attempts a man broke away heading for his target—the king!

I rushed after Pole, yelling obscenities but he rode onward caring for naught but Henry. A group of men circled their royal charge, the danger to his person small, but I recalled Elizabeth’s devotion to her husband and could not render my duty into the hands of Henry’s noblemen. With my sword ready, the horse responded to my command almost before I urged it into action. We cut across Pole’s mount, felling horse and rider in one quick motion. Compelled into irrational action, I jumped from my horse and strode to meet Pole in hand-to-hand combat. Henry’s men cheered.
Beaufort!

Their consent to my actions on the king’s behalf drove my need for justice. Pole had planned my sovereign’s demise and the dissolution of my marriage to Blanche but I could not strike him dead without a fair fight. Men of Lancaster surrounded us and I heard them calling Pole a traitor. Sweat ran down my face blurring my vision inside my helmet. I threw
it aside to see better as Pole took the first swing. He missed by a hand-span and I managed to step to his sword side and jab under his breastplate.

“Filthy bastard,” Pole spat at me.

“Yes, I’m a bastard and proud of it.” I wasted no time. Pole fought well and my skill fared average against the earl. To anger him and force a mistake may be my only hope. “And the fair lady of Langley minds not my humble birth or my humble bed.”

“You Lancaster bastards steal our women and expect us to grovel for favors from the court while you do it. Enough of this, Henry is a fraud and you, the bastard of Somerset, have no right to a highborn lady.”

Pole grunted, his breath coming faster as he labored with the sword. The tip of his blade lopped off a lock of my hair. I mocked his poor aim as I flicked his sword away with mine. As I took a step back my opponent raised his arm to strike me. An axe flew from behind my right side and struck Pole in the chest, cleaving his armor and his body in two as his sword point found an opening near my shoulder. Pain shot through my arm dropping me to my knees.

“Nice shot, Jasper,” Henry yelled victoriously, as the Duke of Bedford dismounted and came to my aid, a huge grin on his grizzled face.

“This one fought well for you,” he called to the king, but before I could speak the world blackened and the sound of battle faded to a whisper.

Chapter Seven

~ Blanche ~ July 1487

A royal barge skimmed the Thames River at a leisurely pace. Guards surrounded the edge of the craft and my hope to see who passed my prison faded as it neared the tower. I lost sight of the boat from the window and looked in the opposite direction to watch it reappear. It did not. A long time passed and the traffic on the river dwindled but the boat remained elusive. The room darkened and after lighting a few candles the glow cheered me.

The sound of metal scraped against the wooden door and my maid jumped from the corner of the fireplace to stand by my side. Mayhap this day brought word of my fate or, better yet, word of my husband.

Three burly guardsmen filled the doorway, familiar from the barge. I had a royal visitor but surely not the king of England or his queen? The men entered the room, looked under the bed and behind the dressing screen; they even peered into my privy chamber. They backed out the door and one of them muttered to someone standing out of sight. A tall, thin woman entered, dominating the room with an air of superiority. Dressed in dark velvet and rich brocade with tasteful jewelry upon her neck, hands and ears, she cast a practiced eye around the room, landing on me. She took in my measure with a swift glance, her gaze briefly resting on my belly.

“Lady Langley,” she stated without a hint of warmth.

I dropped to the floor in a deep curtsey, though it cost me in my condition and I flinched in discomfort.

“Get up, girl,” she chided me. With the snap of a finger she commanded my maid out of the room and the door closed, leaving the two of us alone.

“Must every York woman be blessed with great beauty?” I thought it best to ignore the jibe and remain
ed silent until I knew her purpose. “’Tis unfortunate to sacrifice a good mind at the expense of pretty looks.” She lifted the gold chain around her neck to show me the emblem of her office.

“My Lady the King’s Mother,” I gasped in surprise. The mother of Henry the seventh stood in my rooms. The most ambitious woman in England and now the highest in the land, above even the queen it was said. I curtseyed again but less flamboyantly than before—my baby did not appreciate sudden movement. Gaping
at her like a fish out of water did me no favors.

“Pole is dead,” she announced bluntly. I cared little about the earl’s fate.

“My husband, Giles Beaufort, baron of Somerset, how did he fare at Stoke?”

“Wounded on the battlefield.” My hand flew to my mouth in shock. “You are a York. Why are you upset?” The coldness in her voice chilled my bones. I held onto a nearby chair for support. In my mind Giles escaped the battle unharmed and rode to save me, but my illusion fled in the presence of this woman.

A thousand questions begged for answers but they crowded my head as I managed a few feeble inquiries. “Is he badly wounded? Where is he? Will he live?”

“Beaufort blocked an attempt on the king. He fares better than most and will recover fully.”

“Thanks be to God! Giles is alive. I have prayed for him to see his child.” I dropped to my knees and clasped my hands together.

Her gaze returned to my belly. “His one request as a reward for his loyalty is to have his wife safely returned. The king graciously granted the favor but before you see your husband I must impress upon you the seriousness of communicating with the likes of Pole. Whispers of treasonous acts are dealt with swiftly and permanently.” Her steely eyes sliced through me. “You carry a Lancaster child who must grow in obedience to his king and the new prince. Beaufort cannot save you a second time,
and not even I can intervene if you are implicated.”

I raised my eyes to her. “You intervened on my behalf?”

“I acted for Beaufort, not you. He saved the king’s life, and earned our favor.”

“I am most grateful to you, My Lady the King’s Mother.” I used her preferred form of address even though I loathed it.

“You and Beaufort,” she pressed, “do you have a good marriage? Do you love him?” I blushed at her interest in my husband. The sudden thought they were lovers entered my head. My husband and the matriarch of the king’s family seemed an unlikely pairing but not impossible, as such matters happened between powerful women and handsome, young men eager to improve upon their fortune.

The woman read my thoughts and eyed me with amusement. “It is not what you think.” Her skirts swished past me as she took a seat and bade me to sit in the opposite chair.

“Most of the court knows me as a devout woman, one who prays often, one who shuns personal joy in pursuit of a higher calling. That is true. I’ve paid the price for my son’s elevation to kingship. I brought Henry into this world when I was a girl of thirteen. Can you imagine such a thing? You a woman of twenty-five, having her first child this late in life?” She stared at the fire and shook her head. “Edmund Tudor, my first husband, died not long after our marriage. I gave him a son, but Henry was not my only child. Nine years later I birthed a second son, born in wedlock but not the issue of my husband. I waivered from my marriage vow briefly and paid a high price for that sin. I could not acknowledge the child. My husband sent the babe to be raised by distant relatives and my life progressed as before. No record of my son’s birth to me exists, as though it never happened.”

“Giles Beaufort,” I whispered.

She gave the tiniest nod. “His father is not Somerset. His true father is not a man to be revealed. Born into one of the highest families in the land, he is long dead and his memory must not be soured by my sin. Discontent reigned in the royal court twenty years ago, and many a man or woman’s fortune depended upon their proximity to the ruling house. Dazzled by this man, a confidante to my husband, I came under his guidance as a young woman.” She clicked her rosary beads in one hand and held her insignia in the other, talismans of her faith and position. “He taught me the art of making a man into a king and I never forgot his lessons.”

Kingmaker!
The only man with such a title had been Richard Neville, earl of Warwick. I dared not interrupt her speech. My husband carried Neville and Beaufort blood in his veins, born out of a York and Lancaster union, twice descended from Edward the third. Neville changed sides, disaffected by Edward’s politics and an unpopular marriage to Elizabeth Woodville. Had Neville truly fuelled and inspired Margaret Beaufort’s ambitions for her eldest son, Henry? If so, revenge ran deep among nobles.

“Giles has been well cared for. Educated in the same manner as children from the highest families in England, he will be accepted as a peer, albeit with my approval, and his fortunes advance at my pleasure.” Her lips curved into an odd smile. “I proposed his hasty marriage to you, a York heiress. It served me twice. Henry benefits if you are tied to a Lancaster man and Giles enjoys two titles. His sons will inherit Somerset and Langley. I pray you deliver many healthy boys for him.” She indicated the wine and I poured a glass for both the king’s mother and myself.

Henry the seventh’s mother is my mother-in-law,
I marveled.

“You have not answered my questions.”

My baby stirred. “Questions?” Stunned by her revelation I could not recall them.

“Do you have a good marriage? Do you love him?” My heart soared at the mention of Giles and our marriage.

“Yes, he’s everything I ever want. I believe he is pleased with me.” She nodded sagely but her fingers tapped the chair.

“He insists you are trustworthy, loyal and faithful. If he is proven wrong I can do nothing further. I will not try. You understand there is no place for traitors among the Beaufort family.” She sipped the wine.

Giles saved not only his king but also his wife. The Tudors would have me executed without thought, after my child arrived. Margaret Beaufort worked for her sons, not herself, and Henry, the only known and legitimate son, must be placed far above lesser mortals.

“I will give neither you nor the king any cause for concern. Family comes first, milady.”

She stood up. “Live by that motto, Blanche Langley. Family comes first. You will be free of the tower tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.
I almost fainted.

She called out to the guard and the door opened. Giles stood in the doorway with a grin on his face and swept a courtly bow to his mother. She extended her hand and he knelt before her accepting her gracious attention.

“This must go no further, Lord and Lady Somerset,” she commanded, “I demand complete discretion.”

“You have it, madam.” Giles kissed the ring on her royal finger and she held his hand for a moment. A look passed between them. If I hadn’t known him to be her son a pang of jealousy may have shot through me but my heart glowed for him and his connection to his mother.

As Margaret Beaufort made her exit, my hand curved around my belly and Giles gathered me into his arms.

“I have been mad with worry over you,” Giles whispered into my hair, his hands sliding to my enlarged waist. “You look beautiful, as always.”

“My lord, I’ve missed you and prayed for you everyday since you left.”

“I am grateful, but no danger threatened me.”

“You saved the king.”

“I saved you, that’s all I care about.”

“But Henry, he’s your...”

“Yes, but you’re my wife.”

His hands pressed over my roundness and the baby moved. Giles smiled in delight. “This is the happiest moment.”

We embraced tenderly, then eagerly with great care we undressed and slid into bed.

Giles held me all night, my last night in the tower of London. We talked and kissed, and drank wine until the black sky brightened with a large moon. Hidden by the covers, I found a way to relieve his pressing need and after he stroked and petted me until I shuddered in his arms we drifted into a wonderful sleep.

We lay together in the quiet stillness before the dawn, holding hands, our foreheads touching. “I thought I had lost you, Giles. When you left so quickly after the discovery of Pole’s plan, I imagined you considered me a faithless wife or an enemy. I prayed for your safety and nothing else.”

His lips pressed mine.

“Is your true father…?”

“Yes, but we cannot discuss it, ever.”

I nodded. “You are the York man I’ve waited for all my life and yet you came disguised as a Lancaster.” I settled into his arms, sinking deep into the warmth he offered.

“My rose,” he whispered, “my most perfect rose.

****

Henry and Elizabeth had a son and heir but needed more offspring to secure the throne. I worried over the child in my womb. If this were a boy it secured my position, but a girl may spell disaster. The Tudors wanted male heirs to build the family lineage. With Giles so closely connected to the throne I knew they waited to hear the happy news of a Beaufort boy to serve the crown in the future.

Giles stayed with me until the time for the birth neared. I offered to sleep in a different bed but he refused to allow me out his sight. I proved cumbersome in the final days and barely left my chambers, choosing to doze for most of the day. The amusement in my husband’s eyes irritated me but I said nothing, preferring to ignore it.

“You are beautiful,” he chuckled in my ear one morning.

“Beautifully fat,” I grumbled.

“’Tis natural and lovely.” He curved his hand around my tender breast.

“Help me up, please. I will sit by the window today and sew more of the baby’s layette.”

Tomorrow I must begin confinement in earnest until the babe arrived. Only women may be allowed in my presence, but Giles insisted he must see me daily until the birth.

“I must go to an outlying town this morning and deal with the local officials. The king has asked me to report to him.”

“You mean the king’s mother wants a report.”

“Yes, she demands to know the mood of the town.”

He kissed me slowly, savoring the moment alone, eyeing me with desire.

“I’m sorry, Giles, we can’t…”

“As long as we are together I can wait.”

I cupped his cheek with my hand, never more in love with him than that moment.

Dark clouds roiled across the early morning sky. I gave up sewing in the poor light and fretted over what to do. A pain shot across my middle as I stood up,
and I called out in fright. Gerda dropped her needlework, rushed to my side and a servant woman hurried into the room. The pain subsided but a deeper ache gripped my belly and squeezed the breath from my body.

“What is happening? Gerda…” I gasped, unprepared.

“The baby comes, my lady. Quick,” she snapped to the woman, “fetch the midwyfe.”

The pain brought me to my knees. “Gerda, I can hardly take a breath, it hurts so much.”

Why had no woman told me of the hellish pains of labor? I leaned against the chair and caught my breath as the next sweep of pain swept over me. I heard an anguished scream and wondered why a poor soul called out only to realize it came from me. My mouth opened again and a wail burst forth as my body ripped asunder and a warm gush flowed around my legs.