Read Online The Dragon and the Rose by Roberta Gellis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roberta Gellis
Tags: Fantasy
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not why she had chosen them. Green and white were the Tudor colors. A necklet of emeralds and diamonds, rings on her fingers; Margaret rose at last and looked into her mirror. Yes, she was grand enough. Her appearance would undoubtedly turn the knife in the wounded pride of Elizabeth Woodville, dowager queen of England and now no better than a prisoner in sanctuary at Westminster.
Shown into Elizabeth's presence, Margaret curtsied deeply but did not kneel, for in these circumstances that gesture could be considered mocking.
"Why have you come here?"
The question did not surprise Margaret. She had been the queen's lady for many years, but they had never been friends. Even aside from political differences, their natures and interests were totally opposed. Over the years, Margaret had found the queen to be vain, shallow, sensual, and pleasure-loving, unstable in her loyalties, selfish to a degree that excluded even her children. Although Queen Elizabeth was shrewd enough to see and grasp for what she thought was her good, she often spoiled everything by being unable to wait or plan for the future.
"Because we both desire the same thing and together, albeit we are only two women, we can achieve that thing."
"What can I achieve—a prisoner in danger of my very life? I am helpless, succorless. I have lost my hope and my joy. My sons, my brothers, all are lost—lost."
"I cannot give you back your sons or your brothers"—Margaret's voice trembled with deep and genuine sympathy. She might dislike and distrust this woman, but she could feel for her grief—"but all else I can make sure you have again. And I can give you your revenge on him who has bereft you. More than that, you and I may bind and heal the wounds that have torn this land for thirty years. You have a daughter—I have a son. My son is heir to Lancaster; your daughter is heir to York. Let them join hands and there will be no stronger right than theirs in this land."
Elizabeth was silent and tears trickled down her face. She was almost sure her sons were dead, and this visit of Margaret's made her more sure. Her tears, however, were less of grief than of fear. If her sons were dead, her own life was that much more in danger.
"What good are your promises? Will they bind your son? What force has he to achieve this thing?"
"If he does not achieve it, you will have lost nothing. Richard can hate you no more relentlessly even if he should hear that you have promised your daughter Elizabeth to Henry. And my promise that Henry will treat you with all honor—although you may have it in any way you desire including my oath upon the crucifix—will matter little. Your daughter will be Henry's wife. Elizabeth is as beautiful as you are, madam. What man will deny her anything she asks? Did you not mold Edward to your will in far greater things than respect to a mother-in-law?"
That made sense to the dowager queen. A faint flush of color came into her cheeks and her eyes brightened. Elizabeth was a good daughter. She would deny her mother nothing. Through her, power would be restored to her mother's hands.
"I desire nothing except to live in peace and to be revenged on that murderer," Elizabeth lied. "For that and for the good of the land which groans beneath a tyrant—I agree."
"And your daughter, will she agree?"
"She will do as I say. Now, what would you have, a letter?"
"That would be best, for I must prove that this is not a dream of my own devising. I would like to speak to Elizabeth. If I could have some token of willingness from her to send to my son, it would be very helpful. He is gentle." Margaret actually knew nothing about Henry's attitude toward women, but she wanted to be sure that the queen would tell Princess Elizabeth of the proposed betrothal. The girl should have time to accustom herself to the idea. "Henry would not be willing to force your daughter against her will."
"There is no need for you to speak to my daughter," the dowager said sharply.
Shown into Elizabeth's presence, Margaret curtsied deeply but did not kneel, for in these circumstances that gesture could be considered mocking.
"Why have you come here?"
The question did not surprise Margaret. She had been the queen's lady for many years, but they had never been friends. Even aside from political differences, their natures and interests were totally opposed. Over the years, Margaret had found the queen to be vain, shallow, sensual, and pleasure-loving, unstable in her loyalties, selfish to a degree that excluded even her children. Although Queen Elizabeth was shrewd enough to see and grasp for what she thought was her good, she often spoiled everything by being unable to wait or plan for the future.
"Because we both desire the same thing and together, albeit we are only two women, we can achieve that thing."
"What can I achieve—a prisoner in danger of my very life? I am helpless, succorless. I have lost my hope and my joy. My sons, my brothers, all are lost—lost."
"I cannot give you back your sons or your brothers"—Margaret's voice trembled with deep and genuine sympathy. She might dislike and distrust this woman, but she could feel for her grief—"but all else I can make sure you have again. And I can give you your revenge on him who has bereft you. More than that, you and I may bind and heal the wounds that have torn this land for thirty years. You have a daughter—I have a son. My son is heir to Lancaster; your daughter is heir to York. Let them join hands and there will be no stronger right than theirs in this land."
Elizabeth was silent and tears trickled down her face. She was almost sure her sons were dead, and this visit of Margaret's made her more sure. Her tears, however, were less of grief than of fear. If her sons were dead, her own life was that much more in danger.
"What good are your promises? Will they bind your son? What force has he to achieve this thing?"
"If he does not achieve it, you will have lost nothing. Richard can hate you no more relentlessly even if he should hear that you have promised your daughter Elizabeth to Henry. And my promise that Henry will treat you with all honor—although you may have it in any way you desire including my oath upon the crucifix—will matter little. Your daughter will be Henry's wife. Elizabeth is as beautiful as you are, madam. What man will deny her anything she asks? Did you not mold Edward to your will in far greater things than respect to a mother-in-law?"
That made sense to the dowager queen. A faint flush of color came into her cheeks and her eyes brightened. Elizabeth was a good daughter. She would deny her mother nothing. Through her, power would be restored to her mother's hands.
"I desire nothing except to live in peace and to be revenged on that murderer," Elizabeth lied. "For that and for the good of the land which groans beneath a tyrant—I agree."
"And your daughter, will she agree?"
"She will do as I say. Now, what would you have, a letter?"
"That would be best, for I must prove that this is not a dream of my own devising. I would like to speak to Elizabeth. If I could have some token of willingness from her to send to my son, it would be very helpful. He is gentle." Margaret actually knew nothing about Henry's attitude toward women, but she wanted to be sure that the queen would tell Princess Elizabeth of the proposed betrothal. The girl should have time to accustom herself to the idea. "Henry would not be willing to force your daughter against her will."
"There is no need for you to speak to my daughter," the dowager said sharply.
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