The year is 1464.
The War of the Roses rages on; a great showdown between Lancaster and York.
Yet, asleep in her bed, fiery-haired Melissa Woodville dreams of splintered shields, broken swords, and the resounding screams of wounded men in the Battle...
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IT WAS EASY work, riding out of Norwich. Melissa, Anne, and a whole host of guards Anthony had insisted on accompanying them left midmorning, and by nightfall, having ridden like the Devil himself was on their tail, they were over half of the way there.
When the sun had finally set, the group found a respectable enough inn, paid for food and board, and settled themselves for the night. The innkeeper did not know who his patrons were, but judging by their fine dresses and armaments, he assumed they were important, and so left them well enough alone.
That suited Melissa just fine, who was tense and worried for her father's wellbeing. She was sharing a room with Anne, and given that the girl was essentially about to be traded away in exchange for Baron Rivers, whom Lord Warwick was holding captive, conversation was tight and fraught.
"Your Grace?" Her voice was mousy, quiet.
"Yes, Anne?" Melissa sighed.
"Have I ... done something? To offend you?"
She had not been told what was going on. In fact, Anne had barely managed to collect her cloak and a change of clothes before Melissa had swept her off, and had her mount a horse.
"No, you have not. I am afraid, Anne, that you have been caught in a situation not of your own making. And I apologize that you have been reduced to a mere piece of exchange, as a result of it."
"Exchange?" she inquired innocently.
"I assume you have not heard." Melissa stretched her arms out. "Your father is holding mine captive. You are to be handed over in exchange for his release."
"What?" Anne breathed. "But ... but I--"
"As I said," Melissa interrupted. "'Tis not your fault. You have been good to me, Anne, but we must part ways now. 'Tis only right. We are no longer on the same side."
