The Boar (Violent Delights Book 16)

Chapter 7 - "1473-1474"

Anne Neville (eventual Queen of England)

I wake in bed, crisp cool white sheets, and warm furs. The smell of a still burning fire. I open my eyes and reach out a hand. My daughter is asleep next to me. Lying on her belly, arms and legs twisted into some ostensibly completely uncomfortable position. Hauntingly like her dead father would. But a secret only I know, that and the close set blue eyes that flash with mirth then anger at the span of a moment. My precious child nothing more. Her father's ghost is even forgotten, two years on. Those who know of her existence, the rare few, think she is my husband's child not mine. And so we're safe.
I keep her in bed with me still, she likes me better than the nurses and even two years on I want my baby close to me. In with me in means in with us of course.
Richard is curled up on my other side, arm around me gently, face in my neck, looking far too pretty in the morning, as usual.  For reasons best known to him he generally winds up in my bedchamber, usually carrying his current book that he wants to read aloud to me and a cup of wine. I don't mind. His cheerful smile and sweet voice keep the ghosts away. I'll cuddle or nurse the baby to sleep and we'll talk. Then if he can't sleep I will take over reading to him. A fine enough arrangement for me, and us. Neither of us are very good alone.
I sit up a little, moving Richard's book so it lays flat on the bed and he doesn't roll over onto it. A chronicle, it usually is. For whatever masculine reason to do with France and everything that's ever happened to Catholics and something to do with King Arthur, Richard completely loves King Henry the Fifth and worships him. Which is odd to me because I was previously married to the man's grandson, and he did not talk about his grandfather, half as much as Richard does. In order to find out if Richard loves King Henry the Fifth more than me, I brought up that I knew Prince Edward carried his grandfather's dagger, and at the prospect of having been threatened by his idol's dagger, Richard physically shook with joy and started talking for six hours. Well. I fell asleep after six hours it was probably longer than that. After six hours I figured that my rival for my husband's affection had been dead for about a hundred years so I didn't need to worry that much and went to sleep.
We're good. We really are, even if we are bad influences on each other.
"Let's not go to Windsor for Christmas," is how Richard wakes up, crawling closer to me despite already being partly ontop of me, "Let's just stay here with all the dogs."
"You said that if you tried to suggest we don't I have to be the strong one this time and say 'yes we must go see your brother and my sister and not George'," I say, laughing a little.
"The baby won't like it."
"You'll be fine."
He laughs, face still in my back, "Don't you dare make me merry."
"I thought it was my job," I say, amused.
"No. Your job is looking far too pretty in the mornings. And keeping me sane," he says, kissing my cheek and sitting up, "Oh let's just stay here? I don't really fancy it."
"I want to see Isabel. She's with child now, I want to make sure she's okay," I say.
"Yes, all right," he sighs.
"It would do you good to talk to Edward as well, I don't like you rowing."
"We're not rowing. Not properly rowing. I just think he's behaved without honor and he's disappointed me as a person, and he has no idea I'm upset or that we're even rowing, it's really very simple it's honestly how having an older brother works I should think," he says.
"I know but you care about each other," I say.
"Of course I do. I just—I'm disappointed in him. The way he handled Henry of Lancaster and his son was entirely without honor. We are to treat our enemies with grace and mercy—as you express they treated you in your time with them," Richard says.
"Yes," I say, "They did." I curl my hand over my daughter's chubby arm gently.
"We won, fine, that's what I do but I don't blindly execute those who oppose me that is not justice," Richard says.
"Not everyone is at your standards, all right? We can't all be you, they can't. So treat your brother with grace as well?" I offer, putting a hand through his curls.
He takes my hand and kisses it, "All right. But we take turns getting headaches and having to go and tend to the other and when we're not doing that we hold hands under the table."
"And we never let the other be in a conversation for more than five minutes—"
In unison: "Two if it's your mother."
"Never leave a man behind," Richard says, "Standard rules of engagement."
"And if either of us is speaking to George we go to any lengths to stop the interaction including bodily injury of one another or a member of the Royal family," I nod, "Definitely."
"You're so good for me," he says, kissing my cheek, and nestling his nose against my cheekbone.
"This is just survival. I wrote to Isabel. She's hoping George will let our mother come," I sigh.
"I should work on that as well," Richard sighs, "I'll ask Edward again. He usually says yes if I ask him things while he's drunk."
"You're really all right with my mother coming to live with us?" I ask, rubbing his arm. I know he values his solitude.
"Well it's a big enough house. And she's your mother. And anyway I'm not in favor of anyone being locked up," he says, folding his hand with mine.
"No, it's no good is it?" I ask, leaning against him.
Kitty stirs next to me, rolling over mumbling, fat little hand on her face.
"You've got a few years yet before I start using you to avoid our relatives," Richard says, reaching over to tickle her tummy. She grins, swatting at his hand. "Yeah, you sweet girl."
Kitty smiles, chubby cheeks with a couple of dimples in each. She likes Richard, since she was an infant she's been calmed by his voice. Lets him hold her, smiles when he comes into the nursery to check on her, and has not once pouted to find him in my bed. I was afraid, apparently naively, that somehow she'd have some inborn dislike or knowledge that her true father is dead. But on the contrary she seems almost eerily unaware of her sire's fate or existence, happily accepting Richard as her father.
"Hello love," I say, picking her up. She's a chubby thing, and growing more everyday. She looks a bit like me, more like her paternal grandmother, Queen Margret, with a round face and dimpled cheeks. But that's only my observation. With pretty blue eyes she's been universally acknowledged as Richard's little girl. And to his credit he's not once behaved as though she is anything but thoroughly his own. Nor has he asked me a thing about her real father. We let that truth die before she was born. And now life is how we dreamed of it when we were children. A big quiet house, plenty of books and dogs. No one's allowed to be sad.
Kitty smiles, "Mama, go play."
"Yeah you'll go play with your nurses," I say, kissing her soft little face. I glance over to see Richard smiling at us, his head resting on my shoulder.
"You know we could just stay here," he says, slyly.
"No," I say.
"No," Kitty echoes.
"Oh I'm out voted," Richard sighs, mock annoyed, "Fine. Christmas at Windsor it is."