The King's Daughter (Rose of York) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  CHAPTER I - Daughter of the King, 1470

  CHAPTER 2 - King Edward’s Court, 1471

  CHAPTER 3 - Sister of the King, 1483

  CHAPTER 4 - Sanctuary, 1483

  CHAPTER 5 - Niece of the King, 1483

  CHAPTER 6 - Of Kings and Princes, 1484

  CHAPTER 7 - King Richard’s Court, 1484

  CHAPTER 8 - Good Queen Anne, 1484

  CHAPTER 9 - Eclipse of the Sun, 1485

  CHAPTER 10 - The Parting, 1485

  CHAPTER 11 - The Victor, 1485

  CHAPTER 12 - Consort of the King, 1486

  CHAPTER 13 - A Rose Both Red and White, 1486

  CHAPTER 14 - Of Roses and Thorns, 1486

  CHAPTER 15 - Trumpets of War, 1487

  CHAPTER 16 - Queen of England, 1487

  CHAPTER 17 - Henry Tudor’s Court, 1488

  CHAPTER 18 - The Ostrich Feather, 1489

  CHAPTER 19 - Fortune’s Wheel, 1492

  CHAPTER 20 - False for True, 1493

  CHAPTER 21 - A Divine Prince, 1495

  CHAPTER 22 - Rebellion, 1497

  CHAPTER 23 - Fortune’s Smile, 1497

  CHAPTER 24 - The White Rose, 1498

  CHAPTER 25 - Blood of Roses, 1499

  CHAPTER 26 - Lost Princess, 1500

  CHAPTER 27 - A Twilight Path, 1500

  CHAPTER 28 - Bright Star of Spain, 1501

  CHAPTER 29 - Elizabeth the Beloved, 1502

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

  HISTORICAL FIGURES

  PRAISE FOR THE ROSE OF YORK NOVELS

  “A deftly written, reader-engaging, thoroughly entertaining and enthusiastically recommended historical novel that documents its author as a gifted literary talent.” —Midwest Book Review

  “This admirable historical novel belongs on the shelf of all true Ricardians next to Daughter of Time.”—Historical Society Review

  “A perfect ten!”—Romance Reviews Today

  “[E]xtraordinary . . . will breathe glorious life into an era of history that’s dark [and] tumultuous.”—Heartstrings Reviews

  “Not to be missed.”—Romantic Times

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2008 by Sandra Worth

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without

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  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  eISBN : 978-1-440-65456-5

  1. Elizabeth, Queen, consort of Henry VII, King of England, 1465-1503—Fiction. 2. Queens—Great

  Britain—Fiction. 3. Great Britain—History—Wars of the Roses, 1455-1485—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.O775K56 2008

  813’.6—dc22 2008033889

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  This book is dedicated to my daughter Emily

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I owe a debt of gratitude to Jean Truax, Ph.D. in medieval history, who assisted me with my research over a period of many months, and who read the final manuscript. Her insightful comments have been incorporated into this book.

  “Four things come not back:

  The spoken word,

  The sped arrow,

  The neglected opportunity,

  The past.”

  —OLD SAYING, CIRCA 75 0 A . D.

  CHAPTER I

  Daughter of the King, 1470

  HOODMAN’S BLUFF WAS SO MUCH FUN WITH MY FATHER! I hid behind a pillar and peeked out. He was heading toward me, fumbling like a blind man. “Elizabeth, Elizabeth!” he called. “Where are you? I can’t see you.” I laughed. Of course, he couldn’t see me! He was blindfolded with the black silk scarf I had tied tightly around his eyes. I ran through the chamber, shrieking with delight as I evaded his outstretched hands.

  As he headed in my direction, I abandoned the pillar and fled around the big table in the center of the room, across to the window seat. I waited there and tried to be silent, but I burst into a fit of giggling when he bumped into a wall and knocked over a candelabra. There was no one else I’d rather play with, not even my sisters Mary and Cecily, who were younger than I, for they cried too much. But my father was always laughing. He was nearly as big as the dragon he had told me about in one of his tales, yet he was beautiful, not scary. He looked nothing like a dragon with his blond hair tumbling around his blindfold. Though I couldn’t see the twinkling blue light in his eyes behind his scarf, his love enfolded me as warmly as my favorite blanket as he chased me about the room.

  Papa was close now, as if he knew I stood on the window seat. I looked around the room to see where I should go next. In the corner, behind the coat of armor! I scrambled down from the window seat and ran there, shrieking. Smiling servants stepped aside to make way for me. The nobles who had been gathering for the past hour gave me smiles, too.

  My father turned around as if he could see from the back of his head, and made for my direction again. I squealed with fear and ran toward the silver cabinet against the opposite wall. I crouched beside the chest, not making a sound, not even daring to breathe. The man-at-arms by the door turned to give me an encouraging look.

  More nobles entered the hall. This was a bad sign. My father would soon have to stop our game and meet with them around a table behind closed doors. But for now they dropped their gloomy looks to give me kindly smiles as I ran past them into my father’s privy chamber. In spite of his blindfold, my father seemed to know exactly where I was, for he moved to follow. He nearly caught me several times as I fled, but I ducked, and he grabbed the arm of a chair instead and bumped the corner of a table. I was glad to be alone with him. Away from his lords, Papa might forget about them and we could play a while longer.

  There was nothing in the bedchamber but a four-poster bed, a tall ches
t, and some large chairs and cushions by the hearth. Papa would never catch me on the bed, for it was huge and I could easily elude him there. I caught at one of the bedposts and hopped up.

  “Edward!”

  My mother’s sharp voice stopped me in my tracks. I ceased my giggling and stood very still on the bed, trying to keep my balance on the soft feather mattress that was covered with a shiny silk bedspread of golden suns and white roses, my father’s emblem. I didn’t smile anymore, and neither did my father. He took off his blindfold and looked at my mother. She stood in the doorway, her face stern, her gold hair like a halo under her cone-shaped velvet headdress and gauzy veil. But then, unlike my father, my mother seldom smiled. When she entered the chamber, I knew she was angry about something.

  “Edward, sometimes I do wonder about you! Playing Hood-man’s Bluff with Elizabeth as if you had no care in the world. When your council awaits to discuss urgent matters with you.”

  “My dear Bess, what cares do I have? What urgent matters await?” Papa laughed. “Is there not peace in my kingdom? Do my nobles not love me, every last one?” He went to my mother and bent down to kiss her cheek, for though she was tall, he was taller than any man I had ever seen.

  “Edward, you do try my patience, you know,” she sighed.

  He knelt at her feet and took her hand as if he were Sir Lancelot before Queen Guinevere. “Dear love, tell me how I can get you to smile?”

  Her lips curled up a little. “There is a way, Edward.”

  “I knew there would be, Bess,” he said, rising to his feet. “There always is.”

  The joy had gone out of him, and he was different. I couldn’t tell why, but I knew something was wrong.

  “Leave us, Elizabeth,” said my mother.

  I jumped down from the bed. My mother and father watched me leave the room. I shut the chamber door. The happiness had gone out of me, too.

  Outside, the nobles around the table watched me, and they no longer smiled either.

  MY FATHER CAME TO ME LATER THAT NIGHT. I WAS in my shift and Nurse was brushing my hair and getting me ready for bed. “Papa!” I cried, running to him in my happiness. He swept me up in his strong arms. I always felt safe there. He gave me a kiss. His breath smelled of wine. Then he looked over at Nurse and threw her a nod of dismissal. She curtsied and shut the door quietly as she left.

  “My sweetheart, we had fun today, didn’t we?”

  I nodded happily. “Wagons and wagons of fun, Papa!” I gave him a tight embrace and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Sometimes we amuse ourselves, and sometimes we must tend to weighty matters.”

  He sat down with me in a chair by my bed. I snuggled in his lap, my arm around his neck. I waited for him to speak again, for he had fallen silent.

  “Your mother wished me not to inform you,” he said at last. “But I have decided you should know.”

  “Know what, Papa?”

  “I have betrothed you to George Neville, nephew to the Earl of Warwick.”

  “Warwick the Kingmaker?”

  “Warwick,” my father corrected. “ ’Tis a mistake to call him Kingmaker. I owe my crown to no man.”

  Papa must have known how bad I felt, for he kissed my brow, and said in a different voice,“George is a nice boy about your age. I feel sure you will like him, and if you don’t, you will forgive me, Elizabeth? I had to do it.”

  “Why, Papa?”

  “ ’Tis hard to explain, but let me try. The Earl of Warwick has a brother who is a great general. He is loyal to me, though Warwick leads the rebellion against me.”

  “His brother, the Earl of N-North-amber-land?” I got a bit tongue-tied on the long word, and Papa laughed.

  “Northumberland. You are bright for your age, Elizabeth. Your mother said you wouldn’t understand, but you do understand, don’t you?”

  I nodded vigorously. My mother didn’t like me because I was a girl, not a boy, and thought me stupid. I wasn’t stupid. I just didn’t say much because I liked to listen. I reached out and drew my favorite blanket to me from the bed. It was wine and blue velvet, and stroking it between my fingers always helped soothe me.

  “Warwick has broken faith with me,” my father said and fell silent again.

  Because of Mama, I thought. But I didn’t say it.

  My father spoke. “And his brother, Northumberland, leads my forces. He will have to fight for me against his own kin. I cannot trust him to do that, so I have taken his earldom away from him. In return I have betrothed his son to you, so he can feel he received something precious in return for the loss of his power.”

  I drew my blanket closer to me as I considered this. I am ashamed to admit I still cuddle my blanket when I sleep, for a maiden of nearly five years should have no need of it. But one thing I surely know. Though I shall give up my blanket one day, I shall have need of my father always. Happiness is being in his presence; happiness is sitting on his knee for a story and balancing on his shoulders as he carries me around the castle halls. Even when I think I’m going to slip off, I’m not frightened, for I know he would not let me fall. How could I ever live without him?

  “Will I have to leave you, Papa?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer.

  “Not for a long time, my sweet.”

  The warmth returned to me. “That’s good. I don’t want to leave you, Papa. I want us to be together forever, and ever.”

  My father laughed. Then he gazed at me solemnly. “I love you, my beautiful Elizabeth. May God in His mercy grant thee happiness all the years of thy life, my sweet little girl.”

  It was a blessing, but the way he said it made me feel very sad.

  ALL AT ONCE, LIFE CHANGED. MY FATHER LEFT TO fight a battle, and in his absence my mother wept and cried,“Woe, woe!” Grandmother Jacquetta kept telling her, “All will be well, my child. I know it will—” but Mother didn’t seem to hear, for she would wail even louder. All around me, panicked servants rushed hither and thither as if the devil were chasing them, and crossed themselves in fear and cried to the Holy Virgin to save them. But no one would tell me what was wrong. “When is my father coming back?” I’d ask them. They’d burst into tears again, cover their faces and run away. These same people had laughed and made merry for my birthday in February, and I didn’t understand how everything could be so different now. I felt very lonely and afraid.

  One day my mother burst into the chamber where I was taking a music lesson and told me to hurry, we had to flee.

  “Where are we going, Mama?” I called out as I ran after her, clutching my lute. But “Hurry, hurry!” was all she would say. We rushed along the castle halls with my half-brothers Tom and Dick Grey leading the way and servants carrying my sisters Mary and Cecily, and fled down the tower stairs, across the windy garth and into the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. A gathering of monks met us and threw open the door of the chapter house and we hurried inside.

  “You shall be safe here in sanctuary,” they said,“no matter what happens,” and lit some tapers, for dusk was falling.

  The octagonal room was large, cold, and empty. My mother sank down into the straw on the floor, and sobbed. Grandmother Jacquetta knelt beside her. “Have faith, Bess. Be strong. Remember the babe you carry in your belly. Edward will return. You shall deliver him a son, God willing.”

  “Mama, I’m hungry,” I said.

  “O woe, woe!” my mother cried.

  “We have nothing to eat, Elizabeth,” Grandmother Jacquetta explained. “Maybe, if you’re good, the monks will bring us some bread in the morning. Now go to sleep.”

  I did as she bid and curled up on the straw. I dreamt of my father that night, and for many nights afterwards.

  As the weeks passed, my brothers,Tom and Dick Grey, who had always resented me because my father was a king and theirs had been merely a knight, grew meaner in their teasing. They were born of my mother’s first marriage to Sir John Grey, killed in battle before Mother married Papa. From their behavior it was hard to
guess Tom was nearly a man at thirteen, and Dick only two years younger, for they were more like rowdy boys than well-mannered courtly youths.

  “This is all your father’s fault!” they cried. “He has lost his throne and run away!”

  “He has not, he has not!” I cried back, bursting into tears. But I learned that they were right. The Kingmaker’s brother, whose son, George Neville, was my betrothed, had turned against Papa and forced him to flee England. Now Papa was in Burgundy, trying to gather an army so he could fight for his throne.

  The days bore down heavily on us. We were always cold and hungry, and we had few visitors. One who came was a butcher named John Gould. He wore a bloody apron but the meat he brought us of his own charity gladdened my heart and much eased the growl in my belly. In gratitude, I included his name in my daily prayers. Another frequent visitor was Friar Bungey, whom I didn’t like as well, for there was something odd about him. My mother and grandmother scarcely felt the same way, though, and they welcomed him heartily, for he brought them news. In a corner of the chamber, they would huddle together, whispering and sharing secrets.

  On All Hallows Eve, when my mother was close to giving birth, my brothers invited me to play with them. Then they locked me in the wine cellar. It was dark and damp, and I was frightened alone. I banged on the door and screamed for help as long as I could, but it did no good, and no one came. I finally grew tired and fell asleep on the stone floor among the kegs of wine.

  Strange sounds woke me, and I sat up, rubbing my eyes.

  It was a chant, and it came from behind the wine casks near the far wall. Torchlight threw shadows all around, but I made out three dark, hooded figures.

  Anu, Enlik, Enk . . . Anu, Enlik, Enk—