Chapters (49)
- THIS SON OF YORK
- About the Author
- Books by Anne Easter Smith
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Genealogy Chart
- Dramatis Personae
- Prologue
- PART ONE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- PART TWO
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- PART THREE
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- PART FOUR
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- PART FIVE
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- PART SIX
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Partial Bibliography
“You must have evil thoughts to be thus inflicted by demons in your sleep,” George grumbled. “You know what they say: no peace for the wicked.”
“Go to the Devil yourself, George,” Richard snapped, wondering himself why his sleep was so disturbed, “and stop your snoring! ’Tis your conspiring with my lord of Warwick that gives me bad dreams.”
“Pah!” George rolled over and muttered grumpily, “Next time I shall simply let you thrash around in your sleep and hope whoever is chasing you, catches and silences you for good.”
Richard ignored him. George had said worse to him over the years, and he realized his brother was half asleep. Besides, he knew that nothing had been chasing him in the dream: it was some terrifying monster inside him who was trying to push his ribs through his back. In the dream his right side was growing more and more misshapen as the demon used Richard’s spine as a brace for its feet so it could thrust the ribs farther and farther out from under his shoulders. Richard shuddered and, as he had been doing for the past few weeks now, allowed his trembling fingers to feel his backbone; it was definitely crooked. Right in the middle of his back, he could feel where it turned sideways.
“Richard,” Rob had said to him one day in summer when all the squires had stripped naked and were refreshing themselves in Aysgarth Falls. “Is there anything wrong with your back?”
Richard had frowned. “Only a few twinges now and again after a long ride,” he admitted. “Why?”
Rob had thrown him his shirt. “Perhaps I am become too familiar, but your back looks askew. Perhaps you should find a mirror.”
Later, Richard had slipped into Anne and Isabel’s chamber where he knew there was a polished brass mirror and, locking the door behind him, had lifted his shirt and tried to see his reflection. Rob was right, it was hardly noticeable, but there was a slight list to his body. After that, he had tried hanging by his arms from a tree branch, had favored his left arm during wrestling, and focused on building up the muscles of his left side by doubling the weights he lifted.