The Boar (Violent Delights Book 16)

Chapter 8 - "1475"

Anne Neville (eventual Queen of England)

Summer is upon us at Middleham. I spent a long morning answering correspondence and reading. My mother is finally free of her captivity and now lives with us. Richard is happy in effect King of the North, he and I reign over most of northern England, we've grown fairly popular in York.  There's been some skirmishes on the border, which keep Richard's warlike heart happy.
Margret Beaufort and her husband Stanley are up to help him with that, well, Stanley's helping I'm not even sure if he wanted to. Margret is fine company so she's staying with me while we wait for the men to get back. I've got good news from London, King Edward is mustering finally for their voyage to France. Far be it from me to deprive my husband of his lifelong dream of dying in a ditch someplace retaking France. This is definitely his heart's desire, something to do with King Henry the Fifth and everything wrong with French people and Salic law and Jerusalem I don't know but it makes him happy so I'm pleased to deliver him the news he'll finally get to do it.
And I'm happy here. I have my houses, and my life. I'm safe from harm I'm married to the fiercest man in England, who I accidentally have fallen quite in love with.
And my daughter is happy and healthy. A sturdy, cheerful baby, who's grown to be an energetic toddler. She has her nurses and tumbles about playing with the dogs. We keep to Middleham, and keep her here, it's far safer for a child and we hardly like going to London that much ourselves. Kitty has her lessons now not many but she's learning her prayers and to read a bit. She's far fonder of playing chase with the staff children usually armed with a wooden sword Richard definitely provided her with.  He completely spoils her.
I walk out to find her. The usual place is among the dogs or possibly she's made her way down to the forge to play with the blacksmith's girl who is about her age. Here at Middleham I'm not generally concerned the nurses mind her and she can be free to play as she likes. Richard and I agreed we don't want our children to grow up as we did, herded into line like so many soldiers, in trouble for talking too loudly, sent away to relatives houses to be forgotten. Kitty's illegitimacy gives her even more freedom, nobody minds what she's doing and she can grow up and be happy and marry one of the handsome squires or join the church if she wants. Our future is secure.
Sure enough I find a pack of dogs out playing in the yard, which usually means my daughter is about.
"John, is Kitty about?" I ask the squire. He's our nephew but Richard muttered something complicated then expounded upon King Edward's sins and I think we're also acting like this one is ours or at least his? Richards' maybe fourteen years older than this boy so I don't know how it's working but I don't actually care I don't talk to enough people.
"Yes m'lady, I'll shout for her," he says.
"Thank you," I nod, remaining on the terrace. The boy hurries off to go find my daughter.
Sure enough, followed by a pack of hounds, wooden sword in hand. The little girl is barefoot and grubby, her hair coming out of its braids. She sees me and promptly runs up, a grin on her chubby face.
"What have you been up to?" I ask, kneeling down as she launches herself into my arms.
"Do you want to hear a joke?" Kitty giggles, "What do you call a dog with no head?"
"What?" I ask, my blood running cold.
"Go on, what do you call it?" She laughs. Blue eyes shining with light.
"What?" I say, again, slowly, "Kitty what did you just say?" The very joke her father promised to tell me when we parted? The stupid one, he never got to finish? It's made up he'd make those up with his cousin it's not something others would repeat. And from her lips no less? My skin crawls. Suddenly the memory of her father's touch is all to vivid, memories I'd been happy to push away.
"Dead. D'you get it? Because it has no head," Kitty giggles, at the not at all funny joke. "The answer is 'dead'."
"Who told you to say that? Who told you that?" I ask, my heart race.
"The man over there. He works for father, with the hounds," she points back out at the empty field, "He's not there anymore. He lets the hounds out to play with us."
"What's his name?" I ask.
"I don't know. He works here," she says, no longer smiling, "What's wrong, mummy?"
"Nothing," I say, hugging her tightly. Her father's spirit come to take her away? To the land of the dead with him? No, she's my baby not his. He doesn't get to haunt us. We're supposed to be happy. He does not get to steal that now, like bearing his baby stole my childhood. I had to run, live in near poverty and seclusion for over a year, because of him and what he did. I know he didn't mean it. But it's what happened. Richard took care of me, he saved me.
"I was only playing, mum," Kitty says, as I hug her.
"What does this man look like?"
"He's taller than papa," she says, clearly bored, "I don't know. He works here. For papa."
"Okay," I say, kissing her cheeks, "Come, go with your nurses now."
I'm tense the rest of the day. Stanley and Richard return before nightfall. Margret and I go to receive them.
"So you didn't die," Margret and her husband have a unique relationship.
"My love," Richard leaps from his horse and takes me in his arms, kissing my lips and spinning me around. We also have a unique relationship.
I am much happier to be back in his arms, and him home. Like his presence will chase away the ghost of my first husband. I lean into Richard's embrace, resting my head on his shoulder.
"Are you all right?" He asks, stroking my hair gently.
"Yes, we'll talk later," I nod, smiling for him. He kisses me again.
"Were you ever like this—?" Margret Beaufort asks Stanley.
"I was never like this," Stanley says immediately, arms folded. He had a first wife and many children. Apparently he was not romantic about it.
"Gloucester how have you no sons yet?" Stanley asks, because Richard is still kissing me and it has been a moment.
Richard ignores him completely, cradling my face in his hands, "Are you sure you're well?"
"I am now," I laugh. We've been parted a week. Margret Beaufort absents herself from dinner citing the need to pray, and Stanley mostly makes pleasant conversation, while Richard tries to be productive about their campaign. I'm distracted, but all that I get from it is that they took a town in Scotland and Richard being Richard left it better than he found it and Stanley is still processing that he is always like this.
Richard hurries dinner as much as possible and I'm happy to go along with it. We both go up to bed. I check on Kitty one more time. She's sound asleep in her room, a nurse watching. 
"Let no one in but myself or my husband," I say.
"I never do my lady—?"
"I know, just, tell me if someone comes," I say.
I'm paranoid and I know it. And it doesn't even make sense once explained I know. It was just a stupid joke. But it was his stupid joke. And more than that, the one he never got through telling me? On his daughter's lips?  No, I have reason to fear.
Richard comes to my room, as is his usual custom, just as my ladies are finishing. He holds the door for them, cup of wine in one hand, thanking them by name and smiling his sweet Richard smile.
"I have missed you we can just talk I do have some amusing anecdotes from campaign and I'm eager to hear of your time but I also was going to suggest I kiss you for upwards of an hour—are you all right?" He asks, realizing I'm just standing there.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" I ask, hugging myself.
"No," he says, frowning, "I believe in heaven and hell—why?"
I sigh.
"What is it?" He asks, setting down his wine and stepping over to gently take me in his arms.
I sigh, "Someone—described seeing a man who—looks like my first husband, Prince Edward. But no one who looks like him works here—,"
"Who?" He frowns.
"One of the staff, said that a man—looking like him was in the kennels but no one was there," I lie. It's close enough to the truth.
"Prince Edward died an honorable death. If ghosts do exist then it's because the soul lingers having, unfinished business somehow, or perhaps is called upon," Richard says, gently, "He died a warrior's death and certainly has no reason to wish us ill—? I was ready to duel him as he asked, and you yourself said there was no ill will between you was there?"
"No, no reason to linger," his daughter that I've passed off as yours? But he didn't know. Nobody knows. Nobody knows for a fact but me. Queen Margret like me suspected and obviously knew her son could be the father but she hardly knows even that I bore that child. No, nobody knows it's my secret and it doesn't even matter as he's dead. And Kitty is content she isn't searching for him.
"Surely it was a coincidence?" Richard asks, gently, "I can see how something like that would be disturbing especially after how he passed. I'm sorry that was probably very unnerving for you."
"It was," I say, quietly.
"You did part with him on good terms did you not? He wasn't cruel to you or something of that kind?" He asks, gently.
"No. He was perfectly kind, a noble man as you yourself saw, we didn't know each other that well he was polite," I say, hanging my head a bit.
"Which makes it more upsetting in that you had no wish for him to be dead? But now we are happy, which would not have happened if he lived?" Richard offers, "The description that made you recall him perhaps made you feel conflicted?"
"Yes," I say, finally feeling better. He's right. I only feel fear because of misplaced guilt that I somehow stole Edward's daughter. Except it's not my fault he's dead I didn't wish him dead, and his daughter is perfectly happy and safe which is what he would logically want. He told me to lie to stay safe, of course he'd want the same for our child. "I do love you, but I hardly wanted him dead."
"Of course not, I didn't want him dead either—,"
"I know you wanted to fight him—,"
"That is why, yes, however he was a warrior, on an opposing side, we could have dueled honorably as we both wished I'll live with that eventually," he's clearly still upset about not getting to fight his idol's grandson to the death. "But the point is we did not choose this fate. I am so glad though for it brought you to me."
"I am too. Glad I'm here that is. You're right. That's why I was shaken I—love my life," I say, leaning against him.
"Good," he kisses my hair, "No more talk ghosts now. Or talk of it if you wish—,"
"No, no more darkness. I don't think he'd want to haunt me like that anyway he should be at rest now," I say.
"Exactly, I myself saw him buried he is in heaven, and so I am with this color in your cheeks," Richard says, kissing my cheek, "The fire too warm?"
"No," I laugh, kissing him back, "I'm well now. Come to bed."
"Cup of wine and stories that will put you to sleep come to bed?" He mumbles, still kissing me.
"I have missed you, come to bed, you're still thinking of war, you would give me a son now," I say, rubbing his shoulders.
"You can ignore them. I don't need a son. I need you in my heart, life, house, and bed," he says, pressing his face to mine.
"I am meant to be your wife," I say.
"You had better be," he smiles, "I do not need you to bear a child to prove to them that I am a man. I prove myself on the battlefield not your childbed."
"Are you sure?" I ask, stroking his hair.
"Completely, incandescently so," he says, gently sliding a hand up my thigh to move my night dress, "That does not mean I do not plan on worshiping you. Get on that bed."
I laugh, kissing him back. He never had me a virgin in fact he had me first not long after childbirth when I'd never felt less beautiful. He has not once said a word about the lines on my thighs or belly, betraying me nothing like a maid. Instead he kisses them in turn, following through with his promise to worship every inch of me.
I slide my hands down his bare back. The knot on his spine I think gets worse each passing year. When we were first wed it was only just visible now it's clearly bulging past his skin. He claims it causes him no pain, but his left shoulder slumps worse and worse. There are rough red marks from where his armor digs into his skin, there's only so much the armors can do when his body gets more and more uneven. George mocks him for it and his mother claims it's because he slumped as a boy. It can't be. Given who he is I genuinely assume he hurt himself jousting not that he jousts much anymore, or something of that kind? He must have done and now it's just misaligned.
"That's for tonight, that's for the nights in France," I say, cradling his face to kiss it. He's smooth shaven skin still soft with youth, blue eyes glowing nearly in the firelight.
"I will think of you each one," he says, kissing my neck. I shift more into his arms, wrapping my leg around his. He grins, enveloping me fully into his arms, "Your idea."
"I noticed, I want you," I say, kissing him again. I do want him tonight. I want nothing in my mind but memories of him. Especially while he's gone from me in France. More than that I want to dispel any thoughts of that long dead ghost.