The Uncrowned Queen by Posie Graeme-evans Page A

thought the mistress of Riverstead Farm—the very English name given to this most Flemish of places.
    She pulled aside the heavy cloth covering the doorway into her hall and greeted the stranger seated by the hearth. “You are welcome to my home.”
    The lady was cloaked and hooded, so her face was in shadow, but as Anne spoke she jumped and the hood fell back.
    â€œYour Grace!”
    Margaret, duchess of Burgundy, rose and hurried forward. “No! Do not call me that, Anne. No one knows I’ve come. Not even Charles. He thinks I’m on retreat praying for a son.” The duchess smiled, strained and pale. “I’ve come to ask a favor. A very great favor. One only you can grant.”
    Anne was bemused. “I had made up my mind today to ask one from you. And here you are.”
    The women sat together and spoke in urgent whispers.
    â€œYour Grace, I must sell my farm to raise money and I need your help to find a buyer. Perhaps one of the duke’s followers?” Anne clasped Margaret’s hands.
    â€œFor my brother?” the duchess asked.
    â€œYes. He will need every groat and every penny he can find.” Margaret nodded. She understood that this woman loved Edward Plantagenet too. “Of course, but this farm is nothing near the answer to his needs. And he would not want you to lose your home. He cares about you, and the boy. If you will help me, however, perhaps we can bring him a much greater sum than the price of this place. And men besides. That is his real need if he’s to beat Warwick. And… George.” It was hard to say the name of her brother, the duke of Clarence. The traitor. “Charles has forbidden me to help Edward. Or even to go to him. But you could, Anne, if you chose to.”
    The duchess held up a bulging leather bag. “I have this for him—money, and a letter from me. He needs to know what he’s facing. Charles will not help.”
    The duchess was very pale. She had sworn in the cathedral at Damme that she would obey her husband, but now she was betraying that oath made before God. She had also sold some of the York jewels, including the crown she’d worn on her wedding day—a double betrayal since they were part of the dowry she’d brought to Burgundy. It was a bitter choice—loyalty to blood rather than to the man she loved—but in the end she had made it.
    â€œMy husband means to trap Edward at s’Gravenhague. He will hold him there until he makes up his mind about what should be done. Perhaps, in the end, the duke will hand my brother to the French.”
    â€œNo! He would not do that.”
    Margaret gripped her friend’s hand passionately. “Listen to me, Anne. With this money the king can buy a proper escort: arms and men and horses. My husband will try to avoid meeting Edward. He says he must be seen as uncommitted to either side—the French or the English. But England cannot face another civil war, which will happen if Margaret of Anjou takes back the English throne. Charles is the key. He must meet with Edward and support him, if only to spare the English people. For that, the king must come south. Once he is here, I am certain I can make a meeting happen. But I cannot leave Brugge. You can, however.”
    Margaret knew what she was asking. If Charles found out, Anne would suffer for her disobedience of his implied command. And it was a long and dangerous journey on the edge of winter across provinces ravaged by the constant fighting between Burgundy and France. “There is no one else I can trust. Or whom Edward will trust. You will never betray him. He knows that and I know that.”
    There was a fluttering in Anne’s belly as she nodded, not because she had agreed to go, but because the duchess was right. She was the logical messenger.
    A hand touched hers in the dark, and a man laughed. Him. Hewas laughing. She turned her head and saw him; he looked down at her so