Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2) Read online

  If Henry noticed her discomfort, he made no sign of it. He was lost in his own grief and did not appear in good health. His face was flushed with heat though he pulled his cloak tightly around him to ward off chills. A frequent cough racked his body with pain.

  “You should be resting,” Margaret said as she stood to her full height.

  Henry was staring again at Elizabeth’s body, as though he hoped there had been some mistake and she might suddenly open her eyes. “What? Oh, yes. The strain of . . .” He held his arms out to indicate his surroundings, and Margaret wondered if he meant Elizabeth’s death or the challenge that had been his reign. “I will be retiring to Richmond with my lady mother to restore my health and spend time in prayer.”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  Margaret curtseyed again. She did not know what to say or if the king desired her to say anything, so she silently watched him lightly run his fingers along the coffin. He hesitated as they reached the edge, before striding quickly from the room without addressing anyone else who promptly knelt before him as he passed.

  ~~~~

  Nobody would believe the rumors of Henry VII’s penny-pinching ways if the funeral of his widely mourned queen was their only evidence. Right of conquest or not, Elizabeth had been the reason that many consented to Henry’s rule, and the people grieved for her and their own future.

  A carriage swathed in black velvet carried the queen’s remains from the chapel to Westminster Abbey, where Elizabeth would spend her eternal rest. The procession following the beloved queen stretched as far as Margaret could see from her place next to Richard. They were largely unnoticed amid the other esteemed families who shared a blood relationship with Elizabeth of York. She tried to ignore the crowd surrounding her by bringing up lines of verse that she had read earlier. Many poems of lamentation had been written since the Queen’s death, but this one, by a lawyer named Thomas More, had captivated her with its eloquence.

  Riches, honor, wealth, and ancestry

  Hath me forsaken, and lo, now here I lie.

  It could be the motto of the Plantagenet dynasty, Margaret thought woefully. So few of us are left.

  The effigy of her cousin had disturbed her, though she was accustomed to the sight from so many other noble funerals. The artistically rendered form of Elizabeth captured her wide-eyed beauty and small, prim mouth, but the face was so cold and void of soul that it gave Margaret shivers to look upon it. Henry had spared no expense on the craftsman, who had found copper hair of just the right color and carved the wood until it was almost Elizabeth’s mirror reflection, but it held no more vibrancy than the queen’s cold body.

  The chilly starkness of the February day suited Margaret’s mood and the state of her heart. It felt fitting to be suffering, as if it made mourning more effective. God would look down and realize the pain he had caused in taking this particular woman from Earth too soon.

  The procession made its slow way toward Westminster and Margaret almost stumbled as she remembered the last time she had followed this route. Richard kept a strong hold of her arm and leaned to her ear.

  “Are you alright, my love?”

  “It was her coronation,” Margaret said barely loud enough for him to hear with his ear turned toward her. He shifted to search her eyes.

  “Elizabeth’s?”

  Margaret realized that she was making no sense. “The last time I walked this course, it was in the procession for her coronation.”

  Richard said nothing but held her more firmly, his lips pressed together in frustration. How he wished that he could take some of Margaret’s pain into himself and spare her. They made their way as Londoners solemnly watched the procession through tears, unguarded fear for the future etched into many faces.

  April 1503

  By spring, Margaret was settled at Stourton Castle with the children while Richard attended duties in Wales. It was his service in the wild lands in the west that had earned him the undying gratitude of the Tudor king, and had won him the hand of a noblewoman many would have considered too far above him.

  Margaret did not mind if others saw her marriage that way, for she had found peace with Richard in the midst of the tumultuous times that she had lived through. She would have loved him had he been a stable boy.

  Warmth and new life was in the air as she led the children into the gardens to enjoy some exercise and the fresh scents of spring. With her little ones surrounding her, it was easier to push aside the thoughts of the loved ones who would not be experiencing this change of seasons with her.

  Henry dashed away though, proving that he was too old for the immature play that his younger siblings were capable of. Margaret’s smile that had come with the flood of warm sunshine faded as she watched her firstborn son sprint across the lawn. He should be at court, as was his blood right. He may be a young boy, but he was right in one thing: he was too old for the company of his mother and young siblings.

  Margaret mentally chided herself for finding things to worry about. She made a note to speak to Richard about the boy’s education and placement in a suitable home while taking a deep breath of fragrant air to center herself.

  Arthur was not far behind Henry in needing his future considered. At eight years old, he too could be placed in the household of one prepared to teach him the skills of a gentleman. He giggled with his sister as unruly dark locks of hair fell across his forehead, and Margaret smiled. She would hold him a while longer. No need to rush things.

  Ursula’s auburn locks flew in a tangled mess, causing Margaret to call her over to her side. The young girl skipped joyfully to her mother and sang a quiet tune as Margaret pulled grass from her hair and tamed it into a simple braid.

  “There you are, you imp,” Margaret said, giving her a playful push toward the waiting Arthur. The two were as inseparable as a brother and sister could be expected to be. Just like Edward and I, Margaret thought with a sharp pain stabbing at her heart.

  “Thank you, mama!” Ursula shouted in an unladylike fashion while running to take her place in some secret game.

  Reginald’s nurse sat with him beneath an apple tree that was budding and showing promise of a bountiful harvest come the autumn. Having just turned three, he was anxious to leave her and join his older siblings as they tumbled and laughed.

  “Oh, set him free for a bit,” Margaret said to the nurse’s relief. “I do not believe he can outrun us yet.”

  “Many thanks, my lady,” the shy nurse mumbled with her eyes downcast. She was outgoing with the children but clearly intimidated by their mother. Margaret was unsure what she had done to make this so and made every effort to be kind to the tender hearted young woman.

  “Visitors!” Henry shouted from his vantage point halfway up an ancient oak tree. He scampered down before Margaret could shout a warning to take caution. He seemed to hit the ground running toward the courtyard gate.

  By the time Margaret caught up with the younger children in tow, Henry had already tossed himself into the waiting arms of his father.

  “Richard! I was not expecting you for days,” Margaret exclaimed, rushing toward him with unbridled enthusiasm.

  “Papa!” shouted Ursula and Arthur in unison.

  “Such a greeting!” Richard laughed, hugging them each in turn. “One would think that I had been gone a year rather than a fortnight.”

  “A single night is too long sometimes,” Margaret said low enough for his ears only to catch.

  He was surprised but pleased by her uncharacteristic display of public affection. “You need not worry,” he whispered in her ear with his beard scratching at her neck. “You will have no way to be rid of me this night.”

  Margaret pulled away with a blush racing across her cheeks, and the children quickly took her place in Richard’s arms. They squealed as he lifted them into the air, and he favored his wife with a quick wink before giving them his full attention.

  ~~~~

  Later that night, long after the children were tucked into t
heir own little beds, Richard and Margaret lay together with the bed’s curtains pulled tightly closed. Margaret basked in the sensations coursing through her, knowing that Richard would soon have to leave her again on the king’s business. She felt his muscles, firm from hours of riding and sword drills. The scent of him was musky with slight traces of horses and wine. Resting her hand lightly upon his chest, she closed her eyes and counted his heartbeats, not wanting to consider that they may be finite in their number.

  “I hate to leave you again, my love,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “His grace has need of those he can trust during this difficult time.”

  “Henry will always have need of you. There will always be difficulties.”

  “Do not begrudge him,” Richard said, pulling her firmly to his side. “It was he who gave you to me, after all. Who else would have treated a poor knight with a Plantagenet princess?” He playfully pinched at her side when said it, holding her tight so that she could not wiggle from his grasp.

  She shrieked and slapped at his chest to no avail. “I will have to speak to the king about assigning high born ladies to such curs!” she gasped through her struggles.

  Richard claimed her mouth with his own to stop her protests, and his hands became gentle yet needy rather than playful. Margaret happily submitted to his caresses.

  Within too few days, she was forced to watch him and his men as they rode from the courtyard to attend to the king’s business.

  September 1504

  It seemed that he was always leaving. As the autumn leaves gilded their green with rich golds, Margaret was once again asking, “Richard, must you leave again so soon?”

  “You know that I have no choice, my sweet Meg. I would do nothing but spend my days in bed with you if it were up to me.”

  Margaret swatted at Richard’s chest, but his reflexes were quick and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.

  “You are scandalous, my lord,” she protested with a giggle. “You know that it is impermissible for us to indulge in my condition.”

  He released her to place his hands on her rounded stomach. Though they had four surviving children, Richard appeared to be in awe of the changes that her body was going through as if it were the first time. Margaret knew that many other wives did not appear without clothing in front of their husbands during this time, but she adored watching him and feeling his hands upon the little life within her womb.

  “There’s my boy!” he said as his touches were rewarded with a firm kick.

  The adoration on his face brought a smile to Margaret’s.

  “What makes you so sure that it is a boy? Ursula is counting on a playmate, which she feels she deserves after enduring three brothers already.”

  Richard chuckled without removing his eyes from the rolling motion of Margaret’s womb. “Surely, our Ursula is correct, and may our Lord reward her with a golden haired sister.”

  They each chose not to make mention of the tiny sister that had been born, taking only a few breaths before joining Margaret’s great extended family in the heavenly realm. This was too happy of a time for bringing up heartache. Margaret was too filled with thankfulness for her husband and their healthy surviving children to dwell upon the loss.

  ~~~~

  Too soon, Richard was in the saddle preparing to ride out with his men once again. The horses snorted and pawed the ground, the only ones eager to be on their way. The crisp autumn air was perfect for traveling, and Margaret thanked God for that. She hated it when Richard was gone during inclement weather and she had no way of knowing if he had caught a chill.

  She struggled to keep her emotions at bay, but her natural aversion to him leaving combined with the moodiness of her heavy pregnancy was causing tears to shine in her eyes. Blinking quickly, she ignored the urge to wipe her hands across her eyes. Richard’s last view of her would be a happy one to help him endure their separation over the next several weeks. Her lashes feeling heavy with moisture, she gazed at him with a gleaming smile.

  “Woman, you are no better liar than you are a cook.”

  “Richard!” His comment was successful in bringing a sincere upturn to one corner of her mouth. “It is a good thing that we have Nan then.”

  “Otherwise we would all starve,” he agreed with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Richard Pole! You would disrespect your wife in front of your men?”

  “Would you like me to share with them some of the tasks you are particularly good at?”

  His wink was quick but she did not miss it. Nor did he miss the blush that it brought to her face. He leaned down from his perch upon his favorite horse, bringing his face as close to hers as possible.

  “Fifteen years and our sixth babe, I suspect they already know.”

  “You are a cur,” she whispered as she stood on tiptoe in order to give him a lingering kiss.

  They separated reluctantly, and Richard turned his horse, leading his small party away from the manor and the woman that he loved.

  “God go with you,” Margaret said, though she knew that he would not hear her over the thunder of hooves and laughter of men. To the rest of them, this was a welcome adventure away from the boring monotony of country life. Did Richard secretly feel that way as well?

  At that moment, he paused and turned his horse just enough to lock eyes with her. The longing she saw there reassured her that he most certainly did not want to go but would do so because it was his king’s bidding. She held up her hand in silent farewell. He nodded and turned away one final time.

  October 1504

  “Push, my lady!”

  Margaret screamed in pain and with the effort of giving life to her sixth child. Visions of her last child, small and blue, kept flitting around the edges of her mind with the threat that the same thing could happen this time

  “No.”

  “Yes, my lady. You must,” the confused midwife insisted.

  Margaret fixed her eyes upon a knothole in the wall across the room. Ignoring all but that imperfection in the wood, she pushed with all of her might until she felt the burden of the child leave her body. Her ears waited anxiously for the sound of the babe’s first cry. Only once she heard it, could she relax and know that she had been successful.

  “God be blessed,” she whispered as she closed her eyes in exhaustion.

  “A robust little boy!” announced the midwife as the baby’s wails increased in volume.

  A weary smile crossed Margaret’s face, but it was interrupted by the sound of commotion on the other side of her door. The door was swung open, and Richard’s squire entered, suddenly looking as shocked as the women at his actions.

  “You will remove yourself from this room!” the midwife ordered with authority of her many years of experience.

  “But . . . I” he seemed unsure of what to do now that he had forced his way in. He glanced at Margaret and a blush raced up his neck to cover his face.

  Margaret’s midwife looked as though she were preparing to physically remove him as the baby screamed its displeasure in the arms of one of Margaret’s women.

  “This is not an appropriate time for whatever message you are bringing,” she said, giving the boy a rough shove toward the door.

  “It is Sir Richard,” he stuttered uncertainly. Maybe the midwife was right. He had ridden all night to arrive as soon as possible, but now it seemed that his news could have easily been postponed by a great deal.

  Margaret’s eyes flashed open at her husband’s name. “Wait!” she called just as the midwife prepared to shut the door in his face.

  “My lady, it is most improper,” she mumbled, but acquiesced.

  “I am sorry, my lady,” Richard’s page said, his eyes downcast and his hands crumpling his cap. “I can wait in the hall until . . .”

  “Nonsense,” Margaret insisted. “What about Richard?”

  “He” the squire looked toward the midwife for support, but he searched an unsympathetic countenance. “I wish our Lord had not left
this news to me to bring.”

  Margaret’s insides clenched with a kind of pain completely different than that which had recently brought her child into the world. “Where is he?”

  “I believe at the abbey at Chester, but, my lady I do not think you understand,” his nervous worrying of his cap had left it nearly unrecognizable, but Margaret was out of patience. She had just given birth and had no energy remaining for tongue-tied squires.

  “You’re right, I do not. That is because you have not told me.” She tried to calculate how soon she could convince her women to allow her to go to Richard. She should stay in her rooms until her churching, but she would not stay abed if Richard had need of her.

  “I’m sorry, my lady.” Tears filled his eyes, reminding the women in the room just how young he was, and the pain in Margaret’s gut reached into her chest. “He was ill, Lady Pole.” He fell to his knees, as if to beg her forgiveness. “It was so quick, my lady.”

  “No,” Margaret whispered. She wished she had allowed the midwife to send him away.

  Sensing that Margaret could take no more, the midwife moved once more to shove him through the door.

  “Is he?” Margaret could say no more as she felt her world crumble and she wished to be swallowed up into the depths of the earth.

  “I beg your forgiveness, my lady. He was taken up by our Lord two days hence.”

  With that, the midwife did shut the door in his face before she rushed to Margaret, who was already sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Not my Richard,” she moaned, punching at the bedding with knuckles that were still swollen from pregnancy.

  “Wine,” Margaret’s midwife said to the closest lady, who stood, like the others in astonished stillness.

  “Of course,” she said, and rushed from the room glad to have a task to attend to.

  “Please, stay away,” Margaret said, holding up a hand to ward off anyone who would go to her side.