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me you were wounded at Towton field, sir. I see it pains you still.”
    “’Tis nothing, in truth. A flesh wound to the leg, and it heals gradually.” He grinned. “I am unused to sitting on the ground, ’tis all. You thought I was looking for sympathy from a lady, perhaps? I am a poet, ’tis true, but I have not tried my hand at mummery yet!”
    Margaret laughed up at him. “Good day, my lord. I should like to read some of your verses.” She added shyly, “Certes, if you share them.”
    “I would have to know you a good deal better before inflicting them on you, Lady Margaret,” he murmured, bowing over her outstretched hand. “Good day to you.”
    Margaret was unprepared for the fire that ran up her arm to her heart as he kissed her fingers. She drew in a sharp breath but covered it with a cough. Anthony turned and walked away, his short cote swinging rhythmically around his knees and his head held high.
    “L EAVE US!” E DWARD’S shouted command was heard clearly in Margaret’s chamber three doors away. It was not the first time she and her ladies had heard angry outbursts from the new king. Cecily informed her that the king of France had made good on a promise to aid Queen Margaret and had laid siege to one of the Channel Islands, and the news had reached Edward not long after his arrival at Shene. It was feared that an invasion of England would be France’s next move. A few Lancastrian lords were thought to be inciting the West Country to insurrection against Edward, so Edward had sent troops to the area to resist the French—who never came.
    Today, the messengers had brought news of an even more alarming nature. Queen Margaret and her son, Edouard, had led an army of Scots over the border to Carlisle, and after laying waste to the land, they threatened the city. Powerful Lancastrians in the north had rallied to her banner and were preparing to march south and reclaim the throne for Henry, left out of harm’s way over the border in Scotland.
    “Christ’s nails! When will I be rid of that she-wolf,” Edward growled later, when the family ate supper in the royal apartments. The atmosphere was tense, and Edward’s attendants kept a respectful distance, talking with Cecily’s ladies. “Where is Warwick when I need him?”
    “Hush, my son,” Cecily soothed. “My lord of Warwick gives you good service. You would not be where you are now without him. You know he is loyally serving you from Middleham. I warrant he is on the march now to rout the queen.”
    Edward grunted. “ Oui, ma mère , you are probably right. But I cannot sit idly by while the bitch is snapping at our heels. I have given orders for my coronation to be brought forward, and we will postpone the parliament until November so I may join Warwick in the north.”
    Cecily raised an almost invisible eyebrow. “How soon do you proposeto be crowned, Edward? I thought the Relic Sunday date was set. You will stretch the poor lord marshal to his breaking point, if you do not give him sufficient time to crown you with all due ceremony!”
    “May he rot in hell!” Edward swore, and then apologized to his horrified mother. “Mowbray is a stalwart; he will be ready on the twenty-eighth.”
    “The twenty-eighth? Have you taken leave of your senses? That is no more than a sennight hence. How can we be ready so soon?”
    “When have you cared how you look, mother?” Edward grinned at her. “You are the most beautiful woman at court, and you do not know it.”
    “Pah! Flatterer,” Cecily retorted and then caught George twisting Richard’s arm painfully over a sweetmeat. Richard’s face was grim as he silently bore the torture, not wanting Edward to see him weak.
    “Let Dickon be, George!” Cecily cried. “You deserve a whipping for that!”
    “Nay, mother,” piped up Richard, rubbing his arm. “It did not hurt, I promise you. And I will pay him back one, you see if I don’t.” He stuck his tongue out at George, snatched the