Queen of the North: sumptuous and evocative historical fiction from the Sunday Times bestselling author

‘That’s not the talk of the March, as I hear it,’ Westmorland suggested.

‘Never believe the talk of the March.’ Harry’s shoulders, neatly encased in a new brigandine for the occasion, complete with gold stitching, lifted in a shrug of sorts. I could not see his expression for the fall of his hair beneath his brimmed beaver hat.

‘What do you say, my lady?’ Westmorland leaned forward to catch my eye.

If I was flattered to be asked, I showed none of my pleasure. ‘I’d say that Harry has still not learned to keep his mouth shut when pricked by outrageous irritation.’

‘Well, it was outrageous,’ Harry responded. ‘And I spoke as I thought.’

‘There you are. Guilty as charged.’

A guffaw from Westmorland indicated that he knew full well the source of this irritant that had caused Harry’s challenge to royal power. No one with ears in the locality could have missed it when Richard had begun to draw power more securely into his own fist, starting with the demand for vast payments of money from nobles who caught our suspicious King’s attention.

Most noble families kept their dissent between themselves and paid up. Harry, of course, had to be the one to voice his disfavour, which some mischief-maker was quick to report to our King in all its unsavoury language.

Richard had subsequently muttered about banishment from England, a favourite ploy to rid himself of those who stepped on the toes of his elegant shoes. There were also threats of forfeiture and death, before Richard postponed all his punishing of recalcitrant magnates until his return from his campaign in Ireland.

‘No,’ Harry was in the process of agreeing, ‘it was not wise, but temper, and a cup and more of inferior wine with a pompously wordy royal courier, got the better of me. Now we await Richard’s return to see whether he smiles on us or wields his power to batter us into submission. I don’t fear banishment. We are too useful to him, and Richard will have had time to reconsider.’ His smile was cynical. ‘Our King was as hasty as I.’

‘He might not be in the most friendly of moods,’ Westmorland warned. ‘The Irish expedition has gone badly.’

‘We’ll meet that when Richard comes home.’

Which left me wondering if Harry was as phlegmatic as he appeared. He might have need to be afraid of Richard who used banishment with high-handed authority. I had a sudden vision of packing my clothes to accompany Harry on a long sojourn in France.

‘Another question for you,’ Westmorland offered.

Harry raised his brows.

‘If your uncle of Worcester were in England, would he be here with us today?’

I sensed Harry stiffen, infinitesimally, at my side, his horse shaking its head as the reins tightened.

‘Why would he not?’

‘Loyalty is bred into your uncle of Worcester as savagery is into a wild boar.’

‘True.’

I glanced again at Harry.

‘He is, at the present moment,’ Westmorland continued, ‘most loyally disposed at Richard’s service with men at arms and a hundred archers, in Ireland. Is he as prone to rebellion as you?’

Again the breath of a shrug. ‘Get one Percy in your camp, and you get the rest.’ And then: ‘Who’s calling this a rebellion?’

‘If Richard gets wind of this venture,’ Westmorland’s hand closed hard on his sword hilt, ‘the penalty of failure could be death for all of us.’

‘So we are merely riding to ensure the peace of the March. We will return home after a few weeks, as good loyal subjects.’

Harry was deliberately avoiding my eye.

‘I don’t see it.’ Nor was Westmorland persuaded. ‘And what is your opinion, Madam Elizabeth?’

I smiled my thanks for his generosity, but was careful in my reply, for this was a more serious question than Harry delving into my thoughts on my sisters’ possible treason. I leaned towards extreme circumspection.

‘The Earl my father by law considers opinions to be above the minds of females in his household. Thus I have no opinion.’

‘And if you believe that,’ Harry added since Westmorland could find no immediate response, ‘you will believe that Richard will welcome Henry of Lancaster home with forgiveness and celebration and the handing back of his traditional acres!’

We rode on, Harry eventually abandoning me to a companionable conversation with Westmorland about his numerous offspring. The breeze dropped, the sun was warm against my face and shoulders so that I shrugged off the cloak. The land was at peace as we passed, signs of harvest and plenty on all sides in the fields and on the fruit trees. No signs or portents of dangerous prediction. No storm crows to call their warning.

The hard knot of concern in my breast almost melted away. We were not traitors, merely families of some power, concerned for the rightness of things.

Chapter Three (#ulink_81f7874b-ba61-5a4e-ab2f-85fa9775e8d6)

We rode through the array of tents on the banks of the River Don where it wound round the small town of Doncaster. The temporary encampment stretched around us as far as the eye could see, groups of emblazoned retainers sitting at their ease, their weapons stacked to hand, their horses being groomed and readied for action when the call was given.

‘I thought the Earl said he had returned with only a smattering of followers.’ I was both impressed and disturbed by what I saw.

‘So he did. Our cousin of Lancaster has been energetic,’ Harry replied softly in my ear.

However small the group that had accompanied him, returning from his exile, Lancaster’s followers now numbered into the hundreds. The heraldic achievements of noble families I knew well were adorning pennons, jackets and tents on all sides; the flower of the Yorkshire magnates and gentry, keen to be seen in support of their returned lord. Lancaster was not without friends it seemed.

Lancaster was waiting for us outside his tent, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. It was to me that he looked. Whereas he might have addressed the Earls first, it was to me that he strode, catching my mount’s bridle and offering a hand to help me dismount. It pleased me. Blood mattered after all.

‘Elizabeth.’ Effortlessly he lifted me and placed me on my feet. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’ There was a smile in his eyes although his mouth remained stern enough, as if unused to smiling of late. ‘Did you have to fight to achieve it?’

‘Certainly not. I have come to greet you on your return, as any cousin should.’

‘It’s good to see family who are not breathing fire and destruction in my direction.’

Which raised a smile from both of us. I knew his reference. Richard had left the power to repel Henry’s invasion in the incapable hands of Edmund of Langley, the Duke of York, his ineffectual uncle.

‘And where is our uncle of York?’ I asked.

He was not a figure to instil fear into any man.

‘Still in London I hope, sending out orders to garrison the northern castles against me.’ Lancaster was drawing me out of the throng of horses and busy pages. ‘Or even, if luck is on my side, heading west rather than north. At least he is not here.’ He nodded over to where the distant walls of Conisbrough could be seen, a castle much loved by York. ‘I expect he is changing his mind as oft as he changes his hose. He never could make up his mind, even to take cover in a thunderstorm. But I don’t expect to be staying long in the north,’ he added with grim decision as I was enveloped into an embrace, my cheeks kissed.

Set aside as he addressed himself to greeting the Percys and Nevilles, I was left to accept a cup of wine from an attendant page and watch the proceedings, and particularly to take stock of Henry of Lancaster as he embraced Harry, renewing an old friendship. Our future might hang with the success or failure of this man who was exchanging some military reminiscence with Harry, which reduced both of them to laughter. There was a closeness here that I had not expected, but perhaps I should have. Shared experiences on the tournament field created strong bonds between men of valour.

A new thought crept from nowhere into my mind.

Your happiness might hang in the balance too.

I resented its intrusion. By what reasoning was my peace of mind threatened? Harry and I were at one. Nothing would destroy that.

I turned my attention back to my cousin, the new Duke of Lancaster since stepping into his father’s shoes. He had been in exile for a year but seemed to have changed very little unless it was to be seen in the fine web of lines that marked his brow. He had had much to trouble him but he was still a well-set, agile figure, a man who excelled on the jousting field as well as in battle, a man to take the eye from his close-cropped hair to his capable hands with their fine array of jewels despite the overwhelmingly military climate of his camp. And there was the Lancaster arrogance in the tilt of his chin, the direct stare. It was a tilt that I recognised, for Harry possessed it in full measure.