The meadows around Middleham were peppered with sheep, the frisky lambs gamboling near their dams. The faces of bright buttercups turned up to the sun as Richard sauntered through them. Traveller loped beside him, as happy to be outside the confines of the castle as Richard was. Richard breathed in the fresh air, expelling the stench of sweaty squires, horse manure, and effluence from the latrine chute nearby in the tiltyard, where the knight trainees spent their mornings.

From the top of the sole remaining but ruined tower, built in the time of the Conqueror, Richard could see the vast, forested, rolling dales beyond the Cover River valley, stretching forever to the south. Seated in a niche vacated by one huge stone that must have tumbled from the wall a century or so ago, he basked in the sun, idly swinging one leg to and fro. After a while, he drew a letter from his jacket.

How now, little brother, Meg began, her elegant script impressing Richard, I trust I find you well. Perhaps you have not heard up there in the wilds that Ned may finally have succeeded in foisting a husband upon me. Richard sighed. Poor Meg, Edward had offered her at least four other bridegrooms, but then, for one reason or another, the arrangements had come to naught. She was twenty-one, past the usual marrying age, and had decided, when last Richard had seen her, that she was destined for spinsterhood. He wondered who the lucky man was this time and read on. It seems Ned has come to terms with Burgundy, much to French Louis’s disgust, and I am offered to the widowed Charles, Duke Philip’s heir.

“Christ’s nails!” Richard exclaimed to Traveller, sacked out precariously on the ledge beneath him. “My lord of Warwick must not be pleased.” The dog did not raise his head or open his eyes but thumped his tail on hearing his master’s voice. Richard knew the earl was at court at that very moment to advocate for an alliance with France. Warwick had seemed confident Edward would listen to his mentor this time and had ridden off with high hopes for a reconciliation. Burgundy was no friend to France, however, and Edward’s design for Meg would thwart Warwick’s plans once again. Richard frowned. He loved and admired both men and wished they could see eye to eye. The earl was older and more experienced, but Edward was the king and his own man. “And my brother,” Richard said to himself, sighing. “Ned must always come first.” But Ned did not make it easy.