Then it was Richard’s turn to depart, and Cecily took out her miniature version of the white rose banner and waved it in farewell as he preceded Salisbury and Edmund on their magnificent coursers through the archway beneath her. Richard lifted his sword to her and kissed its hilt, and Cecily stifled a sob. Saying goodbye to her husband had not eased one jot over the years.

“Farewell, Edmund,” Meg called, and the boyish, fair-haired earl of Rutland looked up and waved at his sister. Dickon noticed his brother looked sad when his eye fell on his beloved mother. Edmund’s hand over his heart seemed to have touching effect on Cecily, who placed her hand on her breast in answer. The gesture was all Edmund needed to know: Aye, son, you do have my blessing, and he smiled.

“Will Father have to fight?” Dickon asked as those siblings left behind clustered around their mother. “And Ned?”

“We must pray hard that the queen is sensible and does not provoke a fight, my son,” Cecily replied. “Your father hopes that just by showing her his army, she will give up and go back to Scotland. Then your father and Edmund can come home safely again, God willing.”

All four family members crossed themselves as they watched the last of the soldiers march from view.

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Winter 1460–61

It was yuletide, and even with his father and brothers away, Dickon was caught up in holiday preparations, including watching the huge yule log towed behind a horse across the snowy courtyard from the forests beyond London’s eastern gate. Cecily had promised herself that those left at Baynard’s would make as merry as they could during this festive season. She was as good as her word, and even Elizabeth, duchess of Suffolk, had traveled from Framlingham to join in the festivities.

A kind-hearted young woman, Lizzie’s presence greatly cheered Margaret, and the two sisters were often seen arm-in-arm and tête-à-tête about the castle. She had hardly recognized the boys as it had been several years since she had seen them, and Dickon had no memory of her at all. He enjoyed her extraordinary yet infectious neighing laugh—the female mirror of their father’s, and Lizzie’s sunny nature was such that she often laughed, creating an atmosphere of jollity in the duchess’s solar.