~The First York Babe~

October 1460, Baynard's Castle....

Anne de Beauchamp appeared a most intimidating figure when Constance first saw her after meeting her two daughters; long and delicate hands clasped in front of her. Eyes of deep brown swept coldly over all before her and her lips were set in a thin line almost making her look as if she were permanently displeased by what her noble gaze saw.

Her dark eyebrows were plucked fashionably thin into fine crescents and her black hair pulled back under a tall steeple hennin, erasing any softness in her face. While she was rather short, she was lithe and her slim figure was highlighted by her gown which sported a tightly buckled belt at the waist, adorned with jewels as were her neck and fingers.

When she went into her confinement two months  later - Constance was certainly glad the Countess of Warwick did not accompany her.

As Summer went and Winter came, the chilling winds chased away any remanence of warmth. Days were spent in solars or bedchambers gathered around a roaring fire, shawls draped over shoulders, blankets over laps. Constance was not used to such cold and resented it bitterly, silently cursing the weather each time her chamber windows were covered with frost or the water in the basin by her bed turned to ice!

There was no beauty in an English winter from what she'd seen, it was not filled with the sparkling crystal wonders God crafted across the waters, it was cold and wet and she hated it!

In her confinement chambers, the icy fingers of Winter rarely touched her. Her bedchamber was transformed from a room of bright comfort to a warm cave of safety. Animal pelts covered the floor, a soft blanket barring the stone beneath from touching her feet, heavy curtains lay draped over the shuttered windows, keeping out the cold and the light.

A fire always blazed in the hearth, setting the chamber aglow with dancing amber flames, each conjuring warmth. But it was not a summer warmth, it was a stifling warmth, a warmth pricked with shards of ice that made her shiver now and then.

Whenever she did, a flock of ladies swarmed around her, a tutting herd swaddling her in blankets like a babe to ensure she didn't shiver again. Every sneeze, every cough, every unordered breath was jumped on like the plague, resulting in the sent of burning incense constantly wafting about the chamber.

The ten or so ladies were always there, putting shawls around her shoulders, making her drink every drop of the odd concoctions they brought from the kitchens. Her every need was attended and anticipated, her every move watched. Constance was grateful for their care, knowing it kept her baby safe but when tiredness overcame her and they kept buzzing in her ear with their worrying, she wished them gone.

That was why she came to treasure nights.

To ensure undisturbed rest, only one stayed, either Cecily or Margaret, sleeping by her on a comfortable pallet bed. She loved their company equally.

When she wished for nothing more than sleep, the Duchess soothed her to slumber, combing a hand through her hair, mumbling prayers, but while Cecily was the fountain of knowledge, Margaret was the fountain of youth. Bright and determined, she was the one Constance loved to keep close when sleep evaded her.

By candlelight, Margaret would make paper puppets dance along the walls, acting out battles and conquests; fine knights rescuing fair maidens! Often she would slip in beside her sister, snuggling beneath the covers and the two would read, Constance's head on Margaret's shoulder, or talk.

Made of everything and nothing, their words carried them to dawn, no conversation pleasing them more than what the babe would be called! Margaret immediately declared there could only be two choices for a boy: Edward or Richard, for her Father, but for a girl, a little daughter, there were many!

Margaret favoured her own name, perhaps Elizabeth or Grace, while Constance favoured Mary or maybe Isabella for her sister!

That was what she pondered over of one night as she lay in her bed, tucked snugly beneath the covers with only her thoughts for company. Staring up at the canopy draped above, her fingers smoothing over the swell of her belly, now fully grown and seeming impossibly large on her small frame.

The babe had grown heavier in the last month of pregnancy, making her belly dip downwards somewhat; skin stretched tightly. The child inside moved less but she supposed there was not much room inside for them to do so and every hour, she longed to meet them more!

She feared the pain of childbirth, how could she not? The though of pushing a baby from her body made her tremble if she wasn't careful, the fear of childbed fever taking her afterwards all the worse. Cecily would be by her side, Margaret too but they would not be the ones to bring a child into the world; they would not bear blood dripping down their legs, minds addled with agony.

The tales she'd heard of women ripping from within, of physicians cutting into their wombs if the babe wouldn't come terrified her at night.

Edward would never allow that to happen, she told herself whenever the fear dared prey upon her, nor God, she was sure of it. He would help her do her duty and see her safe....

"Connie? Connie are you there?"

Her ears pricked up at the whisper from the bolted door, so soft, she almost believed the blessed voice of her husband a figment of her imagination! That didn't stop her hands from grasping at the covers, shoving them hastily away and clambering out of her bed.

The weight of her belly made her grimace when she stood but she stumbled to the door all the same, supporting it as best she could with her hands.
"Ned?" She whispered back eagerly, pressing her ear to the wood "Ned is that you? Is that really you?" A moment passed, her heart skipped a beat, threatening to sink and then:

"Yes, sweetheart! I'm here!"

The same wave of relief she'd felt when she first heard of his victory flooded her body, forcing a shaky breath from her throat. 'Thank God' Her mind cried 'He's safe, he's with me' His voice was sweeter than honey, his presence more soothing than sleep.

"I heard what happened, Ned!" She exclaimed, leaning her forehead against the door "I heard what you did, that you won! That you captured King Henry!" A smile flitted across her lips at his muffled chuckle, a sound she'd dearly missed.

"And I came back to you! How are you, Connie? Tell me, how are you and the baby?" Truth be told, while his care for her made her heart sing, she'd rather have asked after him and force every detail of his months away from her to the surface. She wanted to know every injury, to know if it had healed and kiss it better just as she'd done on their wedding night.

But he was at her side again (in a sense) and at that moment, his voice was all she needed.

"We are well but he grows heavier by the day!" She admitted "I cannot stand for long"
"Then sit!" He instantly urged, the boyish note to his voice seeping through "Sit on your side and I shall sit on mine! We will be together that way!" Even though he couldn't see, she nodded, tiptoeing over to the hearth and looking down at the dying embers.

Grasping the metal poker resting against the wall, she thrust it into the heated ash, pushing back and forth until flames sprung to life again, licking eagerly up the remaining wood. That was enough, she thought and retreated back to the door, relived when she sat down; resting back against it. She loved her babe but by God they'd become a task to carry!

"Are you still there, Ned?"
His voice echoed immediately from the other side.
"Yes"
"How are you?"
"Is it for me to ask after you, sweetheart"

"You have!" She laughed "Now I wish to know how my husband fares, after all...." She paused, voice softening with hesitation to speak a truth "I missed you" Even through the thick wood, she could swear to hearing his breath catch in his throat.
"You did?"

Again, she nodded.
"More than you know, my Lord, I feared for you every day and every night I prayed for your safety. I often tried to picture where you were, weather you were warm in a castle or cold on a battlefield....I couldn't bear the thought of you being harmed...."
"You don't have to bear it!" He soothed "I'm here, aren't I?"

"But you may go again!" She complained in return and a laugh rumbled from his throat, deep with indulgence "I know you shall, it is the duty of men to fight just as it is mine to give you sons!" His sigh finally halted her and she leant her head back, willing her heart to slow its erratic beat.

"I confess, I've missed you too" There was no chance of that once those heavenly words were spoken "I've missed your sweet chatter" He confessed "and spent many nights repeating your words to soothe my mind to rest....." This time it was his turn to pause, flipping his words around on the tip of his tongue, debating weather to grant them freedom. His heart wouldn't keep them imprisoned "I've missed the feel of your arms around me"

On the other side of the door, a smile of simple bliss lay on Constance's lips. This was more than she had ever hoped for in marriage, more than she had prayed for.

"And yours around me" She admitted, sliding a hand over her rounded belly. Her smile faltered a little "the bed is cold when I wake and cold it shall remain until the babe is born"
"It doesn't have to"

The words made her eyes widen, the implication of them clear - to carry out the very wish her heart had made since she first heard him - to let him in.
"Edward...." Even she was surprised at the lack of conviction in her chiding "I am not permitted to see you until then! Your Mother and God forbids it!"

Her husband only laughed at that.
"Even the eyes of God cannot see if he looks the other way!" He teased before his voice deepened, growing serious "Open the door, sweetheart"

Her mind told her not to, to obey as she'd always done, but it was her heart who held sway that night, who pushed her to stand before she knew she was moving and reach for the heavy bolt across the door. It was true, she thought, resting her fingers on the cold metal, the icy surface pricking at her skin, no one was there to see. While his Mother would've been with her, she'd decided to spend the night in the chapel deep in prayer for the health of Constance's baby.

It was perhaps wicked to repay such devotion with deceit but even as she slid the bolt free, she felt no guilt; no regret, only sweet relief when she opened the door and her gaze fell on Edward. Lord, she'd forgotten how tall he was, how he towered over her. In a way, it made her feel safe.

Dressed simply in his shirt and breeches, a small smirk curved his lips and he held out a hand. Constance's eyes widened, her mouth watering at the sweet ball sitting plump in the rough palm of his hand, the one thing her body craved over all else.

"An orange!" Her hands snatched the bright fruit, fingers itching to tear back the leathery peel. Ever since she'd set foot in England, she'd longed for oranges! She would've scaled walls into orchards to claim just one but in the cold and wet country there were none to be found!

Edward would've had to work miracles to find one for her and tears pricked her eyes, glistening in the dim light as she peered up at her husband.

"Sweetheart!" Edward chuckled, moving into the room in two swift strides. She leant into him when he slid her arms around her waist, the orange nestled between them with her belly "You're crying!"
"Only because I'm so happy!"

Tilting her head up, she smiled, nuzzling into Edward's palm as he cupped her cheek "You brought me an orange!" She giggled softly "How can I ever repay you my Lord?" Without answering, he bent down and hooked an am under her legs, lifting her into her arms.

"You have nothing to repay!" He replied, walking over to the bed and depositing her on the cooling covers before climbing in beside her "All I wish is to hold you and our child" Constance blushed, placing the precious orange on the pillow beside her.

"After all you have been through that is all you wish?" She asked as he draped the covers over them, nodding sweetly.

"Yes" He replied, pulling her against him to bestow a tender kiss to her lips. It was soft, slow, sweet and everything she'd wanted since he'd last kissed her months before "that is all I wish"

༻᯽༺

6th of October 1460....

Constance's fingers clawed into the bedsheets as she threw back her head and screamed again; throat raw. Sweat covered her from head to toe, sticking her hair to her head, her chemise to her body like a ghostly second skin. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, lungs grasping for air amidst the utter agony that had claimed her body.

For almost a day she'd been in labour, laid flat on the bed, legs splayed, covered in her own warm blood, shift rucked up to her thighs. Her screams mingled with her sobs, her mind oblivious to almost all around as it had been for at least three hours by then.

The cold cloths pressed to her forehead brought no relief, serving to do nothing but make her violently nauseous. Any water forced past her lips was wretched into a bucket just moments later and the encouraging voices of the midwives and York women into one constant buzz; no words discernible.

All she knew was pain, excruciating, agonizing, ripping her from within; an unbearable cycle she was forced to endure to bring her babe into the world.

But it didn't arrive.

Again and again she pushed, the beads of her emerald rosary biting into her hand from how harshly she clasped it - still no babe came.
"I want my Mother" She wept through a broken cry, tears streaming down her face, not knowing why she cried out for the woman across the water "I want her now!"

"She is not here" Cecily said gently, kneeling by the bed as Margaret did on the other side "But I am, child, I am here and I shall not abandon you"

"Nor I" Her daughter agreed, pushing back the veil of her hennin, the end flecked with blood.
"You must push again, my lady!" One of the midwives urged but Constance only sobbed, twisting on the sheets as another wave of pain stabbed mercilessly at her belly.

"I...I can't...." She panted, her trembling legs trying to close themselves together "I...can't do it...."

"You can!" Cecily urged, wiping a cool cloth across her burning face "You must, Constance. You must bring this baby into the world! You are sixteen, you are strong, you are a woman of the House of York and you must do this, not just for yourself but for us all, for Edward!"

A small sob slipped from Constance's lips and she forced her eyes open. She wanted Edward, she wanted him with her, holding her as he'd done the night he'd returned from battle. Perhaps he would take the terrible pain away?

"I can't do it...."

"You can! And you must! It is your duty!" Cornflower blue eyes met tired green and Cecily grasped on of her trembling hands, kissing it firmly "let us sit you up, Meg, help me" Margaret immediately obeyed, grasping Constance's other arm and pulling her up against the pillows while the midwives gathered at the end of the bed, moving her legs apart again.

"You must push, my Lady" One midwife urged again "If the babe does not come then we shall have to toss you in a blanket"
"No!" The Duchess commanded swiftly, glaring at the wimpled woman "No, you will not do that! Come, Constance, my sweet daughter, you must push. Please, push"

Clutching, at her kinswomen's hands, Constance tried to steel herself but nothing could prevent the warbled scream that tore from her throat when she pushed. It ripped the strength from her young body, making her fall back against the pillows.

"Again" Cecily pleaded "Again, Constance!"
She obeyed, squeezing her eyes tight shut as she forced herself to push, her back arching, trying to push itself away from the bed, away from the pain. Another gut wrenching scream filled the chamber.

"I can see him, I can see the head!"
"See!" The Duchess enthused, wiping Constance's face again "He is here! Your baby is here!"

At the words, she raised her head, trying to keep it from lolling to the side as she looked down the bed, her mind expecting to see her baby.
"Not yet" Margaret soothed, helping her back again "Just once more, Connie, you must push once more"

'Just once more' She thought through the blinding haze of agony 'Just once more'

Fisting her hands in the covers, rosary bound tight around her fingers she pushed herself up, forcing her legs to cease their trembling.

"Père aide-moi" 'Father help me' She mumbled and then, she pushed, clenching her eyes tight shut as pain tore through her belly, sending sparks of agony along her back, along her legs. Gritting her teeth, a cry tore from her as she pushed, forcing all of her strength into her efforts and then.....

A child's cry.

Soft and mewling, it was almost drowned out by the cries of relief and joy that filled the room but to Constance, it was the only thing that was clear.

"My baby" She gasped, eyes flying open to search for the cry's small source "Where is my baby?"

"Oh, Connie!" Cecily exclaimed, now at the end of the bed with a tiny bundle in her arms and a dazzling smile on her face "You have a son! A little baby boy!"

"A boy?" She repeated, looking to Margaret who nodded "I have a boy?" She drew in sharp breaths, shock making her mind reel as she began to laugh; began to smile. She had a son, a little boy, she'd given Edward a baby boy "Where is he? Bring him to me!"

"Margaret, fetch your brother!" Cecily laughed, gliding around the bed with the little wailing boy in her arms, his tiny hands stretching above the blankets "Here, your beautiful son" Leaning down, she nestled the boy into her daughter's arms, tucking his blankets securely around him.

Looking down, Constance's heart instantly filled with love.

He was perfect, her little boy was perfect. In her arms, his quiet mewls softened to silence, his tiny eyes opened to reveal iris' of light blue, just like Edward's. His skin was softer than silk, his cheeks chubby and pink. Beneath the blankets she could feel his tiny legs, squirming, stretching, moving for the very first time!

How could she have created a human, a little life all her own?

"Oh, mon amour" She breathed, gazing down at him in a trance of pure adoration before bending down and brushing a soft kiss to his forehead. She no longer cared for the pain or sickness, she no longer cared for the hell she'd been dragged through - she knew she'd do it all again to have the baby in her arms.

"You did so well, Constance" Cecily praised, eyes on the baby as she knelt by the bed, smiling "And you have given Edward an heir!"

As if on cue, her husband's heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor, his deep voice echoing in retaliation to something Margaret had said.

"Where is my son?" He demanded "You cannot keep him from me" A moment later, he burst into the room, prompting curtsies from the midwives but he ignored all of them, only bearing eyes for the bed and the two in it. Dressed in his shirt and breeches, he looked like he'd been tearing his hair out with worry, and, in truth, he had. He'd resided just a few chambers away, listening to ever scream, waiting every slow hour, pacing up and down the room until Margaret fetched him.

"Connie...."
"Ned" She greeted, gently rocking the bundle in her arms back and forth. Though her hair was tangled and her face red, cheeks stained with dry tears, Edward thought she'd never looked so beautiful "Look!" She urged as he edged closer "He's a boy!"

"A boy....There is no mistake?"
His Mother shook her head and rose to her feet, kissing her son on the cheek.
"Congratulations, Edward" She whispered and ushered the other women from the chamber, closing the door behind her.

He stared at the baby in complete wonder, struck dumb by the mere sight of him! He had a son, a true heir....he almost didn't believe it. Slowly, so he didn't jostle Constance, he sat on the bed, never tearing his eyes from their son as he reached out, gently lifting him into his arms.

"Take the head" She told him softly and he did, breaths shaking with the fear he would drop their precious little boy. But he didn't. A tiny face peeked up at him from the blankets, eyes identical to his own staring curiously. Plump lips puckered and a little mewl escaped them, prompting Constance to shuffle to his side.

"There, there" She soothed and Edward watched as tiny fingers, each perfect, curled around the one she offered. Their son quietened again "I think he only wanted to greet you" She laughed softly "But he doesn't know how yet"

"He will learn" Edward murmured, gazing at the little boy as if he was the missing piece that finally completed the puzzle of his world. A piece he'd never known was missing "He will learn many things and I will teach him them, I will teach our boy....and he will be great, I know it"

"It's hard to believe something so perfect could exist in such an imperfect world"

Edward smiled at that, because it was true. Their world was so bloody, so harsh that it was difficult to think something to perfect and pure could exist within it. And yet, he thought as he looked up at his wife, Constance existed, beautiful, sweet, loyal Constance.

"He's perfect because he came from you"
The redness of her cheeks darkened with a blush, making him chuckle as she leant against him, a shy smile on her lips.
"I'm far from perfect"
"Not to me"

Her blush only deepened, heart pounding at his warm words, deep with sincerity and she forced her gaze back to their baby.

"What shall we name him, my Lord?"
"Why not James?" He suggested, making her head snap up in surprise "For your brother?" A small chuckle left his lips "You never know, perhaps it will make him like me?"

"James Plantagenet" Constance breathed, dangling the crucifix of her rosary above his head for him to gaze at "My own dear boy"