Ratcliffe whistled through his teeth. “‘God’s bones’ indeed, my lord. Warwick’s brother has remained the one loyal Neville until now…” he did not dare voice what the other two were thinking.

Richard nodded. “Just so, Sir Richard.” He snatched up his bonnet, stuffed the letter into his doublet and went to the door. “Come, friends, I believe I need to muster the troops. For all he is doing the chasing, I fear the king will be needing our help.”

Poor Anne, Richard thought, riding hard for Southampton, his soldiers now mingling with Edward’s. The king’s army had discovered the rebels’ destination upon arriving at Warwick Castle, where the earl had gathered up family once again and continued south.

Anne must be fourteen now, Richard mused, remembering fondly shared times with her at Middleham. She was a kind-hearted girl and did not deserve the turmoil in her young life that her father had thrust upon her. He supposed the same could be said for his own father’s actions back in 1460, but he had an inkling it might be harder on a girl. She should be betrothed by now, he thought, but who would choose the daughter of a traitor—albeit a rich one? And perhaps she had no wish to give up her allegiance to Edward and have to follow her father. Poor Anne indeed.

Her sister Isabel had married for love, but that love was a millstone as well. The king had been told at Warwick Castle that her grace, the duchess of Clarence, was heavy with child. What an abominable journey for George to inflict on his wife, Richard fumed, but at least they would be together. Part of him prayed that George would come to his senses, forsake Warwick, and return to the family fold—but perhaps he did not deserve to, Richard’s less charitable side decided. Aye, George is just as traitorous.

Richard’s back was hurting him, and the road seemed interminable, despite the blossoming countryside along the way. The blooming of wild daffodils, cowslips, oxlips, dandelions, primroses, not to mention the plantagenista or broom, for which his royal house was named, had all caused Duchess Cecily to dub April her “golden month.” It was not long before thoughts of Kate filled Richard’s head and took his mind off his discomfort. As itinerant as he had been in the past weeks, he knew news from Tendring might be greatly delayed. Their child should have come by now, he calculated, and although he prayed nightly for mother and babe, he surmised it would be many more weeks until he would see them. Although he rejoiced in being a father, it saddened him he could not share in the children’s daily lives. One day, he promised himself, he would see to their well-being.