~The House of the Rising Sun~

Barnet Heath....

The sound of marching men, their boots against the earth and armour clanking filled Catherine's ears as she rode with her husband toward the York encampment. Wrapped in a thick woollen cloak, adorned with a ruby clasp, and a velvet gown beneath, the chill of the air did not reach her and she knew at the sight of the soldiers no coldness could.

They were here to secure England once more and warmth flooded her body because of it.

Though she had been adamant that she was perfectly capable of riding by herself, Richard had insisted she sit behind him, her arms firmly wrapped around his middle and so that was where she was, peering over his shoulder. She supposed it was a small price to pay, after all, he had allowed her to accompany him, to show him that she was safe seemed fair.

Tents of white linen sprung from the earth like a hundred giant blossoms, each bearing banners of murrey and blue, banners she felt her heart warm at the sight of. By God she had missed them for they were a sign of her husband's safety, of her son's safety. Trestle tables on rickety legs lay hastily strewn about the camp and were packed with soldiers, polishing armour, sharpening swords, true sights of war.

Feeling a shiver run through her, Richard glanced over his shoulder.
"Are you well, sweetheart?"
She nodded, sitting up slightly to place a gentle kiss of reassurance to the nape of his neck, making him smile.

He rode confidently through the York camp, head held high and eager to show his wife what strength they had. They were outnumbered by Warwick's men but he would not be the one to tell her that! He wanted to show her that he was more than capable of protecting her, of protecting their son and when he looked over his shoulder a second time, he was pleased to see she held a look of silent awe on her face. She was proud of him.

On either sides of his stallion, men bowed, respectful murmurs of 'your graces' upon their lips which served to make her smile. It had been so long since she'd been addressed as a Princess, as the Royal Duchess that she was and to be so once more restored her heart some more to happiness.

"You never lost your title" Richard remarked, aptly reading her mind "The attainder was unlawful. There has not been one moment where you were not the Duchess of Gloucester nor a Princess of England!"

"Dickon! At last! I was beginning to think you were still abed with your wife!"
His voice was just as rich, just as powerful as Catherine remembered, and a sweet relief flooded through her.

"Truth be told, Ned, I thought the same of you!" Richard replied teasingly when Edward strode from his tent to greet them, locks of golden hair glinting in the morning sun.

Dressed in a doublet of deep blue velvet with a chain of office resting on his shoulders, it was clear that he had taken back his crown in full force and now intended to keep it. Even on a battlefield he was determined to appear a King and Catherine found a smile appear on her face when her eyes met his.

Lips splitting into a warm grin, he quickened his pace as Richard pulled his steed to a halt and held his arms up to her, chuckling at her surprised squeal when he swept her from the saddle. Wrapping his arms about her, he held her tight and grinned when her slender arms made their tentative way about his neck before clasping firm.

"Christ, it's good to see you, Cat!"
"Me?" She queried, her voice muffled against his doublet before she peered up with an undoubtedly confused expression on her lovely face. Nodding, he linked their arms, escorting her quickly out of the April chill and to his tent while Richard went to oversee the men.

It was warm inside, the hard ground covered with soft furs as was the large bed that lay in the centre, it's covers in disarray. The spring wind still blew, stirring the pale linen around them but the cold was kept at bay which they was something to be thankful for! A long table lay to one side, a bench next to it, and it was there Edward sat and bade Catherine join him, offering her a goblet of wine.

"You have helped our cause more than most!" He said, toasting her with his own and she frowned slightly, wondering what on earth he could mean.

"I have been in the Tower for nigh on six months, Edward!" She replied, slightly startled by the warm firmness in his grip when he clasped her hand in his own, squeezing. His eyes shone, a seemingly brighter hue than their usual piercing blue if that were possible and Catherine's frown only deepened when she recognised what glimmered in their depths.

Gratitude.

But what had she done for him to be thankful for?

"Ah, but what you did before you went there made all the difference, little sister!" He told her, suave voice honeyed with affection before his expression turned to one of amusement when he took in her oblivious expression "By Christ dont tell me you didn't know?"
He chuckled, shaking his head when she arched a curious eyebrow "Not only did your words of loyalty to Dickon and York spread across the channel to our own perky ears but they did across the country! Many nobles have stayed faithful to my cause throughout my treasonous exile because they felt there was still one York figure they could cling to....you!"

Overtaken with a wave of thankfulness, long sought to be bestowed on the young woman before him, it was mere moments before he'd gathered her into his arms, brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead "You are one of us now" He murmured and Catherine felt a loving warmth blossom in her chest "Truly. You are a York and your loyalty to me shall be rewarded"

Releasing her with a merry grin, Edward strode over to the front of the tent, yanking back the material and calling out into the fields for his youngest brother. Within moments Richard came running like a puppy, eager to please and trotting at the King's heels in a way that had Catherine smile as she watched them enter together.

"Sit, Dickon" Edward instructed and Richard perched on the edge of his regal bed, flexing his fingers against the feather mattress beneath them "I have a title to bestow and one I think you shall want to hear!" The younger man nodded, ears pricked to listen to every syllable uttered from his brother's lips. Turning to Catherine, Edward motioned for her to come forward and she smoothed out her skirts before rising; moving quickly to her husband's side.

He could not help but grin at the sight the young couple presented, pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, their fingers intertwining as soon as Catherine sat down in a way that appeared as natural as breathing. They did not even need to look down to find where the other's hand lay.

'A sight of pure love' He mused, tempted to laugh at the thought before he coaxed his ever-wandering mind to return to the task at hand.

"I bestow upon your son, Henry Plantagenet, the Earldom of Rutland"

Both the young Duke and Duchess gasped, their eyes widening at the announcement, unable to waver from Edward who simply grinned down at them, an almost boyish glint to his expression. Their son? An Earl at only two? It was amongst the greatest honours and truly proved how high they were in Royal favour!

"He is young but he deserves to be honoured as his parents shall be and...." The glint faded, the spark of youth ebbing as Edward sighed, almost sadly "besides, Edmund would be pleased, I know he would...." A dwindling moment passed and expression brightened again, light pouring over his face like sun on the land at a new dawn "God I was right to marry you two, was I not?"

"The Earldom of Rutland?" Richard repeated, leaping to his feet and all but dragging Edward into an embrace; ready to explode with pride "By God, Ned, do you mean it? Do you really mean it?"

"Of course he does"

In an instant, Catherine moved from the comfort of the bed, her exuberant smile faltering, fading at the sight of the second son of York stood arrogantly at the entrance to the King's tent. Whatever fire warmed the blood in her veins was extinguished in a moment, cooling her body, her heart, to ice with the arrival of the traitor who'd taken her to Westminster all those months ago.

He was thinner than she knew him to be, his strong cheekbones now prominent through the pale skin stretched over them, tinted with purple crescents under tired eyes. But she felt no sympathy for his weakened state, the way his shoulders wearily slumped as if they carried a ton of stones. Perhaps it was his conscious that weighed him down, she wondered, that was if it had one and if he in fact did she was surprised it did not crush him.

Both her heart and mind hoped that it did, that it would. At least then the world would be a little safer for her, for her boy, now the Earl of Rutland, she thought proudly but even that was not enough to coax the warmth she'd felt back into her heart. Nothing could with the traitor before her.

Had he been dead he couldn't have been more lost to her affections.

Every day she had been in the tower, she had raged against him, swearing to herself that one day, one day, George would pay for his crimes. The anger she'd held against him had been prime to explode at any moment but now, when she finally faced him, it dissipated, freezing to an icy indifference that had her tilting up her chin.

He was not worth her anger.
He was not worth a rise of anger in her voice.

"Richard?" She asked cooly "Might we retire to our tent? I find I'm tired after our journey"

Richard nodded wordlessly, sweeping a small bow to Edward as she bobbed a curtsy before kissing her hand and beginning to lead her from the tent. Catherine did not look at George, she kept her head high, her eyes fixed on the man she loved, intending to glide by like a ghost.

"Catherine...."
Her resolve snapped like a twig in a gale at the sound of her name on his lips.

"I will not listen to your quivering attempts to justify your treason" She hissed, halting in her tracks to look at him with a seething hatred and saw the way his face fell. So he still hoped for her friendship? The thought almost made her laugh. A fool he was "and while Edward may forgive you, I promise, I never will"

George opened his mouth again but no words emerged, not one sound and Catherine felt herself emboldened, a sense of final satisfaction flitting through her body.

Perhaps she'd not realised how long she'd truly waited to speak the words that came to her lips "You are less a man than I" She told him, her voice dangerously even "and that must tell you something, my lord, for I am all woman and proud to be"

꧁꧂

In the warm privacy of their tent, Richard lay atop the covers of the bed, his back exposed to the air as Catherine's hands worked over his spine and shoulders. God he had missed her touch and the almost ethereal relief it brought to him, a relief he'd been deprived of for half a year and felt brought to heaven's gates at its blessed return.

Throughout his exile he'd led many sleepless nights tossing and turning in rumpled sheets while his back ached, sending sharp bolts of pain through his spine. It had driven him near mad at times and the Yorkists return to England only made it worsen with days where he was on horseback from dawn till dusk and then lying on hard ground during the night.

That particular evening he'd spent at least four hours gathered around the large table in the King's tent, head bent over a quickly crafted map of the fields upon which they were to fight. The crumpled parchment served to stir a pot of nerves deep within Richard's stomach, one that intensified with each unwilling glance he gave the enemy banners of Warwick and Montague.

The Neville brothers.

On the morrow he would face his very first battle and it made him nauseous to think that the very men who had trained him for such a momentous day would be the men whom he fought against. The men whom he was supposed to kill.

But would he truly be able to put either man to the sword if they crossed blades? Would they be able to slay him? If there was any weakness left to him, he knew that was where it lay, deep within his heart.

As plans were laid and positions of authority handed out to Edward's most trusted men, the King revealed that his youngest brother was to lead the vanguard, an announcement that had all eyes upon him in a second. Some were amused, others shocked and a few almost irritated, exchanging glances of doubt that Richard instinctively bristled under.

The vanguard led the first frontal of attack against the enemy and its commander was crucial, a position mostly reserved for seasoned men of war, men who had seen, fought and survived. Richard had done all of those things but not on a battlefield and while he felt honoured by his older brother's trust he could not help but fear he would fail him.

And failing Ned truly would be his undoing.

George had practically glowered at the news, folding his arms and looking for all the world like a rumbling volcano on the brink of eruption. His face reddened and his lips thinned, catching the eye of his older brother who simply waved a hand, telling him not to be such a sourpuss and that he was to fight by the King's side, a great honour!

It was no secret to those there, including George, that this so-called honour was merely so that Edward could keep a close eye upon his wayward brother and he watched with eyes narrowed like arrow slits as the traitor stormed away.

By the time Richard entered his tent, nodding to the guards that stood vigil outside, he was exhausted, fighting sleep with every step he took while his back burned with pain. Despite the ungodly hour Catherine had waited for him, as he suspected she would, dressed in a simple nightgown with her hair tumbling over her shoulders and face buried in a candlelit book.

She looked undeniably young in that moment, the soft light returning her to her girlish days of youth when they had been only twelve and he would enter their chambers at Middleham at night. Books were her escape, he'd soon come to realise, her distraction from worry, from fear, until he arrived to play that particular part and it was a habit that followed her into adulthood.

The familiar sight made him smile all the same and he was once again reminded that he was truly home, for she was his home.

And she knew him well.

He did not need to speak one word of his discomfort and when she saw him she lay her book aside. Rising from the covers she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, one of warm reassurance before she slowly undressed him and coaxed him onto the bed. Richard did not think he had ever been more relived when he felt her hands on his shoulders.

"You should sit down more often, my love" She chided softly as her fingers made their way down his back, easing the pain that resided there and placing a kiss to his neck.

"I will not appear weaker than any of the others" He protested with a yawn, the stubborn excuse an old one she'd heard many a time over many years "I will prove to them that I am worthy of respect"
"Sitting will not make them think you unworthy, Dickon"

"It shall in my mind" He retorted, listening to her sigh before she kissed his neck again. He'd much rather she kissed his lips "And besides, the men should see their leader of the Vanguard as strong!"
"Leader of the vanguard?" Catherine exclaimed and he grinned, nodding as he rolled over to see the surprise written plain across her face "You have been given a command?"

"A high one!" He stated proudly and with a nod "the Vanguard is the first form of attack against the enemy. In essence, I shall begin the battle"
"You shall be in the thick of it...." She said, her voice dropping to a whisper and her face paling slightly.

Danger. That was all she saw. Not the honour Richard was dazzled by in such a high position. Simply danger, danger her dear Dickon was to walk willing into "And Edward gave this to you?"

Another nod answered her.
"George was seething when he heard...." His voice hesitated slightly as he noticed her expression change "I-I thought you would be pleased...." 

"Oh Christ, Dickon, how could you think that?" She exclaimed, unable to refrain from throwing herself into his arms any longer. She needed to feel the warmth of his body against hers, the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand. Immediately, his arms wrapped around her and he held her close, kissing the top of her head as she clung to him "I am proud" She murmured against his neck and, truly, she was "To know that Edward trusts you to give you such a high command makes me proud, Richard, but you must see I cannot rejoice in your going into danger?"

Raising a hand to cradle her cheek he nodded, brushing their lips together to try and reassure her.
"I will come back...."
"You said that last time" She murmured, making the corner of his mouth kick up slightly.

"And?" He replied "I'm here now am I not?"
Now it was Catherine's turn to nod, albeit rather hesitantly.

"You are, my love....but you were gone for six months" Two pairs of worried eyes met across the short space that separated them "I fear that the next time I lose you, it will be forever....." Her words were halted in their tracks when Richard kissed her again, though this time his lips were more insistent, more passionate, as if trying to convince her that he was there, and he would stay.

"You will never lose me again" He told her fiercely and she could only nod again, winding her arms around him "Never"

꧁꧂

She had woken with him, bathed him in warm water scented with rose petals and helped him to dress. It was only when dear Francis came to assist with his armour that Catherine refrained from keeping her hands upon her husband at all times. She did not want to let him go, not for one moment.

As she washed him, she had taken extra care, committing every inch of skin, every lock of hair to memory as if saying goodbye though she tried to deny it to herself. This was not goodbye, this could not be goodbye. She would not allow it to be and she knew exactly how she would achieve that.

Only, she was not entirely sure it would work.
She could only hope, hope and force every ounce of strength she held into the hours to come.

Richard knew that she had a plan in mind, she could tell by the way he watched her, dark blue eyes following her at every moment as if waiting for her to run from the tent, over to the Lancastrian camp and drive a knife through Warwick's heart. She was not so foolish as to attempt that but the more the hours past, the longer she watched Richard be strapped into his armour, the more certain she became that she needed to see the Devil dead.

And the only way to do it with any firm surety was to have him killed at her hand, not simply act as a spectator from the sidelines and hope the wheel of fortune turned in her favour.

"What are you thinking, ma belle?"

His voice was soft but it startled her all the same and Catherine glanced up from where she was perched on the edge of their bed to see Richard had dismissed Francis and was watching her closely. Just as he'd done all morning.

Shaking her head, she patted the covers beside her, almost shuddering at the clank of metal that resonated around the tent with every step he took until he was by her side. It was the toll of death to her ears, a warning of the bloodshed that was to come, of the sharpened blades that would try to pierce her husband's armour and claim his life.

He laced their fingers together but even that affectionate gesture was made cold by the gauntlets he wore and Catherine found tears prick her eyes when she looked up at him. Her husband, the Father of her son, the commander of her heart and now the commander of men. There was a thirst to prove himself in his deep gaze, mingling with youthful nerves that made her throw herself into his arms, pressing her body against his to try and warm the icy metal trapping his body.

"Come back" She whispered desperately "Win, I beg of you, Dickon, don't leave me....don't leave me alone" Richard's hands slid over the small of her back, holding her close and he nodded into her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the crook of her neck.

"I will" He told her "Do not doubt me"
"I never doubt you" She replied, almost fiercely and clutching him even tighter "Never....but promise me. Promise me Dickon that when the sun sets you shall be with me and when the sun rises you shall be in my arms"

"I promise, my love"

The rustle of the tent flaps made them look up to see Georgie step inside, dressed in full armour with his sword at his side. Another sight that made Catherine's heart ache.

"And you had best come back too" She told him pointedly, striding over to where he stood and pulling him into her arms "I will not see you harmed" A familiar chuckle (though it was far from its usual merry tone) served as her answer and Georgie nodded, gently kissing the top of her head before releasing her.

"It's time, cousin" He murmured grimly and Richard gave him a firm nod, rising from the bed with a deep breath; one hand clasped around the hilt of his sword.

"I will return to you" He whispered when he saw the panic-stricken expression that ghosted over his wife's face and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear "Stay here" He instructed, only assured by her slow nod "Pray for me and for Edward. I will see you soon" Leaning forward, he pressed one last lingering kiss to her lips, one that was gentle, slow and both yearned to be everlasting.

But it could not be and it was with a final, adoring gaze, Richard left the tent with Georgie, leaving Catherine alone with her hands fisted in her skirts.

Now the real battle began.