Before the final feast, as many sought their beds for an afternoon nap or took a walk along the river, Richard, Rob and Francis went riding. It was not for mere sport, however, as Richard had the assignation in Stamford with Kate. He would gain custody of his son that day, and the anticipation of seeing the boy again after all this time made him anxious. Would the lad accept him? How would Kate handle the parting? She had written to tell him that she had seen Katherine safely into the duchess of Suffolk’s hands, as he had requested, and that Katherine had already settled into life with her cousins. Richard was certain John would come to like his new home, too. He worried how Kate would fare alone, but he was convinced he was doing the right thing by his children.

Even with all his mental preparation, he was unprepared for the heartbreaking parting between mother and son on the road outside the town, where he caught up with them. It took all his resolve not to gather Kate to him and comfort her. His time with little Ned had taught him much about fathering, and so he was able to kindly but firmly reassure the sturdy, dark-haired John that not only would he live like a prince, have a new brother to play with, but he would be free to see his mother as often as possible.

“I will look after him, Kate, I promise,” Richard swore to her as John said his farewells to Kate’s servant, Molly. “And I will make him write to you.” He stepped aside as John ran headlong into his mother’s arms again, and she clutched her son hungrily. But a prolonged parting was only more painful, Richard guessed, and so he gentled John away from Kate’s embrace.

“Forgive me,” he mouthed to the anguished Kate and, swiftly carrying John to his horse, Richard settled the boy on the saddle in front of him and cantered off from those heartbreaking sobs, without a backward glance.

“This is your son?” Edward was amused and curious. “Aye, he has your serious expression and your coloring, but he is of sturdier breeding, I reckon. Kate’s father was a farmer, I remember.” He turned back to the little boy, still on his knees but gaping in awe at the magnificent giant of a king, and said: “I am your Uncle Edward.” Then he bent and whispered, “but when we are not alone, you should call me ‘Your Grace.’”