~The Aftermath of Victory~

The enemy was routed after their leader's death, their ranks breaking, scattering like dropped marbles. They were chased and slaughtered in the surrounding fields, their dark crimson blood watering the earth, staining every blade of grass. All fighting men were killed and their commander's captured to be hauled before the victor; their fates placed in his young and vengeful hands.

It wasn't long until the Yorkist forces stormed the enemy camp and the scent of blood in the air mingled with that of smoke.

"Edward?" Constance cried, rushing like a madwoman through the swathes of men staggering back up the bank, smiling but injured all the same - tired beyond belief. They laughed while carrying bleeding friends, sang their victory as they dragged themselves away from the field.

She couldn't see Edward.

She'd watched the battle begin, felt the earth shake when the vanguard's stormed upon one another but was soon taken away by her ladies who feared she was on the brink of throwing herself from the cliff to get to her son or they would to find their own. They kept her in her tent for four agonising hours until cries of victory went up and a panting soldier burst through the entrance, falling before her and proclaiming her son's triumph.

"The King? Where is the King?"

No one could give her a consistent answer.

"Routing the enemy!" Shouted some.
"With his grace of Gloucester!" Called others. So Richard lived! Relief swelled her heart for a brief moment.
"Riding back to Helmsley!"
"Retired to his tent!"

The last was the only one she could check in person - though she was more than willing to wade through the blood of the dead - and rushed to his tent, bursting through the entrance red faced and anxious.

No Edward.

She ran to Richard's, her head pounding, heart crying for a moments rest.

No Edward.

She would not give it.

"Neddy? Where are you?"

She then went to George Neville's, he was her son's favourite friend at present and it would not be unusual for the two to be resting together after battle! It was both their first fight, it would be normal for them to seek the other's company! Hoping, praying, she would find her son but her heart dropped low into her stomach as soon as she entered.

No duke.
No Edward.

Barely able to breathe, she ran across the camp to her tent, intending to secure her ladies' help (if they were not searching for their own kin) and rushed through the leather flaps only to stop dead in her tracks.

While she had been trying to find him, he had come to find her!

At the end of the table in the centre of the tent sat her son. His legs were outstretched before him, his hands laid upon the carved arms, head tilted down and eyes wide but unseeing, glazed with a horror that tore at her soul.

It appeared he'd tried to pour himself some wine but the goblet was tipped on its side, the red liquid once filling it covering the table like a blanket of blood, dripping from the edge onto the ground - like the blood covering him. Oh God.

"Edward!" She cried, stumbling towards him and almost collapsing at his side "Are you hurt? Edward, are you hurt?" Wild eyes roamed over his bloody and dirtied form. Outside, a chant of 'King Edward!' had gone up, growing louder and louder by the second. He didn't look at her, nor did he speak, his lips slightly parted in a silent speech of shock "Ned! Look at me!"

"So much blood...." He whispered.
"Neddy, you've won!" She took his face in her hands, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his lips, uncaring of the mud and blood caking his skin "You've won, my love! The bastard is dead!" He shuddered.
"So much...." His eyes founds hers, now brimming with tears "I killed so many....so many men."

Oh, her boy, her sweet, young boy!
"And I am proud of you for it!" She told him firmly, kissing him again. She had to snap him from this death-like daze, she could not let him wander between the veils of death and life! "Listen to the roar of your men! Listen to how they cheer for you, call you their captain!" Scrambling to her feet she grabbed the wine pitcher and overturned goblet, the spilt liquid slipping down her fingers as she refilled it "Here, drink!"

"I can't...."
"Drink, Edward!" Kneeling again, she put it to his lips and he opened them a little more, letting her tilt the goblet and the wine flow across his tongue "There you go, my son." She whispered, stroking the back of his head. His hair was matted with blood and felt like straw against her fingers. She didn't like it "My sweet, brave boy. You have made me proud beyond words and I know your father will feel the same - as will God!" The last of the wine was finally drained and the goblet set aside.

"Rob is dead."
"What?"
His eyes founds hers again, lower lip quivering.
"Rob is dead....he was shot...."
Oh, no. Not Rob! She'd known there would be casualties on their side, but Rob? How could Rob be dead when he was so full of life? Despite the pain in her heart she couldn't allow herself, or Edward to dwell on it.

"Come!" She said "You must show yourself to the men, celebrate with them!" She took his left hand and her heart stopped at the screeched cry he let out, eyes screwing shut, dragging his hand out of her grasp as if she'd burned him. He was hurt! Her boy was hurt! "Oh my god!" She fell to her knees again "You are injured, my love! Tell me! Tell me what's wrong!" The tears in his eyes broke free and he cradled his hand. Her breaths came in sharp bursts, her skin prickled and she shook her head "Where is your uncle? Where is Dickon?"

He didn't reply and she was on her feet again, running from the tent. Richard would know what to do! Richard would know what happened! She let out a gasp of relief when she saw him only a few meters away, surrounded by his men and grinning - albeit tiredly. Did he know Rob was dead?

"Richard!" She rushed up to him, grasping at his arm and he turned to her in surprise but she gave him no time to speak, putting her lips to his ears and uttering a frantic whisper "Edward! He's hurt! My boy is hurt, Richard!" His smile dropped like a stone to the bottom of a river. Instantly his hand found hers and they were rushing back into her tent.

"Fetch a physician!" He yelled over his shoulder.

Pulling his gauntlets off and throwing them carelessly onto the nearest surface when they entered, he knelt at Edward's side just as she'd done.
"Tell me, Neddy!" He said, a hand on his knee "Tell me where it hurts!"
"It's his hand!" Constance cried, pointing "His left one!" He tried to touch it but Edward pulled away, face full of panic.
"Don't!" He pleaded "Don't!"

It was only minutes before the physician arrived, practically dragged there by anxious men, and soon he was knelt at the king's side in place of his uncle who was stood on his right while his mother stood at his left. The middle aged man in brown robes bent his balding head and with care and tact, removed Edward's gauntlet, revealing the carnage beneath, muttering apologies for the pain.

The top of his little finger had indeed been crushed and was only a memory of the digit it'd been that morning, all blood and torn tissue, the nail completely gone. Constance stared in horror at the remnants of mangled flesh, shaking her head in disbelief. Not her son, not her boy!

"Put two knives in the fire." The physician commanded calmly to the boy he'd brought with him who stood a few paces behind and immediately attended to the order, fetching two blades from his master's bag. Edward watched him with wary eyes "I will remove just above the knuckle, your grace." Her hand crept to her mouth to conceal the sob wishing to escape. No, no, no!

"All is well, Connie." Richard told her gently and laid a hand upon her shoulder "Most fighting men carry such scars. They are painful but heal quickly and are a sign of strength and courage." Edward looked up at him, a mix of fear and adrenaline in his young eyes as the physician poured vinegar over the wound.
"Really?" He whispered, grimacing, and Richard nodded.

"Really, Ned. You are a great warrior now!" He fetched the pitcher and for the second time that day wine was being thrust at Edward by an anxious relative "Drink. Don't bother with a cup just drink." He snatched the silver jug and drank with great gusto, forcing down every drop he could before he began to splutter and Richard whisked it away, patting him firmly on the back "Connie, you may want to leave."

He'd seen enough wounds and amputations in his time as a solider to know this would be no pretty thing, nor a painless one, a distressing thing to any viewer but particularly the mother of the injured party. Instinct would tell her to protect her boy, to push the physician away, hell, it told him to as he watched the knives begin to glow in depths of the caged brazier.

"I'm not going anywhere."
But that was the exact reply he'd expected. Edward looked up at her.
"Are you sure, ma Mére?"
Constance smiled at him and bent down, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I have given birth eleven times and carried fourteen babes" She told him "I will not shy away when one of them needs me." Edward nodded and looked forward again.

"Fetch the knives." The physician ordered and she put her hand on his arm, his good one coming to cover it, squeezing "This will hurt, your grace." The man said as he took the first of the hot blades in hand, lining it up above the finger. Edward's breath quickened, he nodded.

"Just do it, sir. And do it well."
The knife went down and a stifled cry erupted from his throat, head thrown back as the digit was removed and the second knife quickly pressed to the remaining flesh, making sure it was cauterised. It was over in a matter of seconds but Edward was left panting, trembling groans escaping his throat.

"Good boy." His mother murmured "Well done, my love."
Richard nodded in agreement.
"Very brave, lad, very brave."
Edward gazed around him, grimacing as what was left of his little finger was wrapped in bandages, bile rising in his throat but he swallowed it down, shrugging his mother and uncle's hands away.

"I want to go to my men!" He suddenly declared and rose with even more adrenaline coursing through his veins than before, almost knocking the physician onto his back! He felt drunk, his head heavy and blood hot, spurring him on.

"You should rest, my love!" Constance protested but he waved her away, walking (albeit a little shakily) towards the tent's entrance.
"They should see I am well! And I want to celebrate!"

And he burst into the sunlight to roars of acclaim, cheers of his name on every tongue. He threw up his arms with a grin and the cheers grew even louder. 'King Edward! King Edward!' Filled the air and he laughed as merrily as any man could.

༻᯽༺

She dismissed the guards and stepped into the small tent where a dead demon lay, stripped naked and thrown unceremoniously on a wooden table, his wounds laid bare for all to see - his defeat. Drawing in a long breath, Constance approached with caution, step by careful step as if he would spring up, sword in hand, curls shining and leap forth.

But he would never rise again, he was dead, his sword lost on the field or taken from him, his golden curls rough and clumped together in a mess of blood and dirt. Tall and strong, limbs wrapped with muscle yet he'd been cut down like a tree and his body hacked away at, carved up like a pig after slaughter.

His abdomen was a more blood than skin, over and over blades bad been driven into it, every man wanting a strike at the fallen traitor. His intestines poked forth from his stomach and his sword hand was almost hacked clean off, left knee shattered and ground into a pulp.

Standing at the edge of the table, she looked down into the pale, battered face that had haunted her dreams for all of his nineteen years, hatred boiling within her but also an unexpected feeling - pity.

He was so young, the same age Edward had been when he won Towton and she couldn't help but remember the years, the days and nights where she'd wished that he was hers, that she was the one that cradled him at night, that fed him from her breast and watched him grow strong; stroked his golden curls as he slept. For years he'd been the boy she'd hated but wanted more than anything and now she had three of her own and he was dead.

How much like his father he looked, the Ned she'd married.

Reaching out with a trembling hand, she stroked back the dirty hair covering his face and was surprised to find tears stinging her eyes, pooling hot, ready to stream down her face. He was so cold.

Like Ned was.
Like James was.
Like Will was.
Like Rob was growing.

"Your Father loved you so very much and I hated you." She whispered, stroking his golden head "I hate you still, far more than I did before, so why now do I feel sadness when I look upon your corpse? I should feel naught but joy. Perhaps it is because of your Father's love, how he would weep for shame if he were here and seen what you have done, what you have become." She shook her head and her face crumpled. Her hand stilled "I can almost hear his cries from heaven, you lovely, stupid boy"

Snatching her hand back, she stepped away and turned from the body, striding out of the tent with a renewed determination.

He would never again feel the sun's warmth and soon his mother would be as cold as he.

༻᯽༺

They rode back to Helmsley in a procession of tired triumph, the King at the head, somewhat cleaned from the battle, his mother and uncle either side and commanders behind. The petals of white roses rained down upon them like sweet smelling snowflakes, thrown from windows and intact blossoms thrown before their horses or at them to catch.

They victors waved and smiled, Edward flashing a grin at every man, woman and child that gathered to greet him despite the lightness in his head. He didn't know whether it was from the pain, the shock or the copious amount of wine he'd gulped down in minutes!

Constance kept a close eye on him, glancing at his sturdy form between waves and nods of her own. By god he had strength, strength and adrenaline enough to power his entire army! She would make him rest for the remainder of the day she decided, then he could regain some energy and enjoy the celebrations that were sure to occur that night!

She could already hear bawdy songs ringing in her ears and the tales of her son's greatness growing taller than he! She certainly wouldn't mind the latter and neither the former that day, her joy was rising by the second and she knew by sunset almost anything would be permissible to her!

Behind the Yorkist commanders marched their prisoners, stripped to their shirts and braise, hands bound with rough ropes and dragged like cattle through the streets, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in their wake. Onlookers hurled rotten fruit and stones at them, making them bow their heads no matter how hard they tried to raised them high and bear the humiliation of defeat. The people wouldn't allow it! When they reached the castle they would be clad in chairs and thrown summarily in the dungeons.

The only traitor not amongst their number was Elizabeth.

She'd been captured trying to flee the camp as it burned and dragged from her horse. When she would not cease her screaming she was bound, gagged and thrown into a covered litter where she now sat. Doing what Constance didn't know and nor did she care, she thought it better she was in that litter for no one amongst their company had a desire to see her, even in defeat.

She could well imagine her face, red from crying and raging (which she would hate because it marred her porcelain complexion), blue eyes narrowed, lips pulled down in a petulant frown. It summoned a smirk to her lips. Elizabeth would be locked in the dungeons too and then transported to London with them when it was time. Then she would join her sons in death.

That reminded her, as soon as they reached Helmsley she would write to Marie, despite a messenger already having been sent on to London almost the moment the battle was won. Soon the whole country would know of their victory!

Turning to the call of her name, she was just in time to catch a third white rose and smiled gratefully at the giver, a young girl with flaxen hair in which she had woven the same beautiful blossoms. Lifting the flower to her nose, she inhaled its sweet scent. It smelt like home, like Ned, like love and war. She glanced up at the sky, imagining Edward on his throne, his merry smile beaming down at her. He beckoned her for a kiss.

"One day." She whispered "One day I will hold you in my arms again." But now she had their son to attend to and returned her gaze to him. He was laughing loudly, oh lord, he was drunk on shock and the wine! It was a blessing they were nearing the castle or they may have had a runaway king on their hands, frolicking with the masses, lighting bonfires by hand with wild eyes and a crazed grin.

Yes, she'd definitely make him sleep!

The castle towers loomed large ahead of them, a welcome sight, the promise of rest and good food, the first place she could step foot with the new lightness she felt. She could hold her girls and kiss their heads, tell them all was well, that she'd kept her promise and when they rode through the gates her daughters were already upon the castle steps, hand in hand, watching eagerly with great smiles.

"Mama!" Aliénor squealed, waving and a laugh bubbled from Constance's throat. She waved back, her heart swelled with love and quickly brought her horse to a halt, sliding from the saddle. Opening her arms, she ran to her girls and they did the same, meeting on the cobbles where their mother fell to her knees and they fell into her embrace and a thousand kisses on each of their faces.

"Oh, my loves! My sweet girls! Have you heard? Have you heard!"
"Neddy has won!" Cecily crowed happily, peering over her shoulder to grin widely at her brother who winked at her, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers in a wave that made her giggle.

"Thank god." Isabella whispered into her neck "You came back! You all came back!" She was the only one of the sisters crying, her sobs becoming heavier by the second as she realised it truly was her mother holding her in the aftermath of victory, that her brother was dismounting, ready to catch his sisters in his arms and swing them around until she screamed with delight and her uncle was well, returned to them alive! The enemy was vanquished!

"My beautiful girl." Constance murmured against her cheek, stroking her dark curls "No more worries now. No more pain."
"Ma Mére." Isabella croaked.
"I know, my love, I know."

"Neddy!" Cecily broke free from her mother's hold and almost instantly was at her brother's side, clinging to his legs like a monkey without a care for the dirt rubbing off on her gown.
"Up! We want to come up, brother!" Aliénor demanded, joining her sister and grabbing onto the other.

"Ah!" Edward laughed, patting their heads and squatted down "I would whirl you around until you grew dizzy, my dears but see." He held up his injured and the girls frowned at the bandage on his little finger, the sudden shortness of it "It's only a little scratch but I cannot pick you up right now! I can, however, hug the very breath from your bodies!" And with a teasing growl he pulled them into his arms, pressing them against him and kissing their hair while they squealed with laughter "I told you I'd come back!"

"I knew you would!" Cecily said "You'd never leave us!"
"You're stronger than any man!" Aliénor added "No one can beat you!"
"Now," He chuckled, pulling away "How would you like to dance tonight?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" They chorused and he grinned, standing and letting him grab onto his arms.
"Then dance you shall!" He declared, strolling over to where their mother was still knelt with Isabella in her arms.

Shaking Cecily from him for a moment (only to have her cling to his waist) he reached out and tugged on his sister's hair, making her head jerk up "Good morrow, sis" He said and she let out a cry of joy, letting go of their mother to fling her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek over and over.

"You won!" She laughed through tears "You came back to us and you won!"
"Of course I did!" He replied, kissing her forehead in return "I'm our father's son!" And she held him tighter as their mother enveloped them in her arms.

༻᯽༺

"He's managed to find her again then!" Richard said loudly over the music and cheers that filled the great hall. Constance sipped slowly on the glass of wine in her hand and nodded, watching her son dance with his Joan girl - or Jane as Richard told her she was called.

When the feasting ended and the revelry began, he'd been paraded around upon the shoulders of his men, laughing and declaring his great victory over and over but soon after had been at her side again, leading her in a saltarello.

"Of course he has!" She replied "And she didn't take much finding! She has as much cause to celebrate as we do! Her father is returned from a battle won." It seemed the joy of victory had made her even more beautiful as she gracefully danced about in her saffron gown with its white cuffs and black belt with a silver buckle, the white veil of her hennin cascading down her back, covering her loose hair. Her cheeks were rosy and eyes bright, moves elegant and delicate yet filled with a delight that drew many an eye to her.

It was Edward's fourth dance with her that night but he was far past his fourth goblet of wine, they all were! They castle's inhabitants were merry, if a little riotous and Constance would not be the one to wag a finger and chide them, in doing so she would need to chide herself!

The only one of them a little depleted in spirits were Richard and Francis, but who could blame them? Rob's death hung over them like a dark cloud but even so they drunk and they laughed, aiming to forget as well as celebrate. It was what he would've wanted she heard Richard say. He was right.

"A dance?" He asked her, holding out a hand which she playfully batted away, a girlish giggle leaving her lips. She felt wonderfully lightheaded!
"No! If we are brought close now there's no telling what either of us will do!" He grinned and lowered his voice, leaning forward.

"Then will you come to me tonight? When all others are dragged into a drunken sleep?"
"As if we will not be too!" Despite her merriness, she shook her head and sighed "I cannot, Dickon. It is too dangerous and we have much to attend to now. Much work to do."

A flicker of disappointment flitted across his features before he sat back in his chair with a nod. They both had an inkling her refusal was not only for that night but for the nights to follow. It was perhaps a little cruel to refuse him after he'd risked his life a thousand times over that day, to leave him with a cold bed. It hurt her heart to injure him, to see him in even an ounce of pain, he had cared for her so gently, so diligently, but it had to be done and if the words hadn't spoken then, when would they be?

She was right, he knew she was, she could see it in his face, for that disappointment was not only one borne from rejection but the harsh pull of reality on his heart. Now almost all was well in the world there were a thousand tasks to tend to, a kingdom to rule and a dead husband and brother to mourn, a beloved lover she finally could grieve and would no doubt fill her with grief in the coming months and years.

Even then when there was naught but joy he was already beginning to, she could feel it, the loss of her Edward cleaving a great void within her. She swallowed, laid a hand on Richard's arm "Please don't be angry with me. That I could not bear." His face softened and he leant forward again, lips curving into a brighter smile.

"And that I could never do!" He told her "You know I couldn't! I have hopes but no demands of you, Connie, no expectations. We have been plain with one another and comforted each other in the darkest of times. All I ask is you don't grow to resent me."
"Never!" She swore "We are bound together you and I, and we will see our boy become great! We need one another to steer a clear course. You will always be in my heart" There was not one breath of a lie in her words.

"I'm so often worried he would be angry with me, Ned I mean. That he would resent me."
"I don't think he has the right to judge!" She laughed, squeezing his arm "He's done far worse for far less. You are no Elizabeth! I have borne no bastards! And if we enter paradise and he does have words to say I shall slap them right back down again!"
"Or he'll slap me down to hell."
"I won't let him!"

"Lady Mother! My Lord Uncle!" She looked up at the sound of her son's voice to see him stepping up the dais with a great smile on his face and the young beauty on his arm who suddenly appeared as shy as a little lamb, shrinking into her saffron gown. Turning towards them, Constance took her hand from Richard's arm and smiled.

"My son! It gladdens my heart to see you enjoying the night! There is much merriment to be had!"
"Mother, Uncle,I have someone I should like you present to you!" Edward said eagerly "This," He brought the girl forward "is Mistress Jane, daughter of Sir John Ashdown."

"Your graces" Jane sunk into a deep curtsy, bowing her pretty head and averting her great doe eyes to the rushes beneath "it is an honour to be presented to you and may I offer my congratulations on the great victory won by the King and your house today."

"And your own lord father." Constance said, motioning for Jane to rise and trying not to chuckle at the rapid rise and fall of her chest "He fought bravely, as did all of King Edward's men. He is to be commended." Jane beamed, clasping her hands together in front of her yellow skirts, the silk shoulders wrinkling.

"Thank you, madam! To hear such words shall bring him the greatest of joys!"
"I hope he was not injured?"
"Only a few scrapes, your grace, certainly nothing to what the King so bravely endured!" She cast a glance at his bandaged finger - or what was left of it. Not with disgust Constance noted, but care and admiration. At the end of their second dance she'd seen her bring his injured hand to her pink lips and kiss it.

There was nothing haughty in her looks or manner, the graceful way in which she moved holding no arrogance, and while she drew attention it did not appear she vainly sought it, not even Edward's. Perhaps that was why he seemed to like her so "I will pray his grace heals quickly."

"And we thank you for your prayers, they will do much good." Edward said and took her arm again as the minstrels struck up another tune "Come, Jane, let us dance again!" Her cheeks flushed at such favour.
"Yes, your grace!"
And he escorted her back to the floor.

"Well," Richard drawled, refilling their goblets "He's certainly taken with her!"
"Yes," Constance murmured, taking the pitcher from his grasp and setting it firmly back down on the table "but he is not foolish, not even in his cups and still high on the waves of victory! Emotions run high at such an age but he will not forget himself. We both know that. However much he is tempted the ghosts that have plagued us will haunt him over his shoulder and he will remember."

"She seemed sweet."
"She did. And without the falseness affecting so many. I like that. He's a good judge of character."
"He's a good judge of which girls are pretty." Said John, sauntering unsteadily over to them.
"Oh, you don't believe that!" Constance exclaimed, swatting at his arm "Not that he cannot tell when a girl is pretty but that all other judgement should fly away with it!"
"Well-"

"Right!" She laughed "You" She gave Richard a playful push "go and dance with Isabella! And you" Standing, she stared up at John, one eyebrow raised "I would tell you to dance with me but I think you would tumble to the floor and take me with you after the first step so sit!"

"And you?" He asked, almost collapsing into the nearest chair as Richard fetched Isabella from hers. She'd had her eyes on John's son all evening again!
"I am going to get a breath of air! I feel a little dizzy, it will help clear my mind!" Air always did her good when she'd had a little too much to drink, it sobered her mind somewhat.

Winding her way through the crowds of people, she slipped through a side door and sighed into the quiet of the corridor she stepped into, listening to the tap of her shoes on the stone floor as she walked along. Putting a hand to her heart she felt its steady beat beneath her fingertips, a reminder that she lived, that Edward lived too and he was safe, that they had won.

She wagered it would take a week or so until she believed it, many months until her fears died down and her mind was a little quieter at night. Well, perhaps not the latter but instead of nightmares it would be filled with affairs of state which were much more palatable!

Yes, she would carry out her Ned's wishes and their boy would fully grow into a man. With the regency in her hands she hoped to give him a respite from the hell he'd faced, a chance not only to learn the skills of kingship but enjoy the bounty of youth.

A light laugh like the melodic song of wind chimes caught her attention as she passed a window and she took a step back, peering through the glass where she could make out the castle garden, lit here and there with braziers, just enough for her to make out the figure of her son and who else but Jane.

Laughing, they wove between the neatly planted beds of herbs, she evading him then he evading her, hands brushing, then intertwined. He brought hers to his lips; kissed it, watching her with gentle eyes. He drew her closer, lifted their hands and she twirled then pulled away again with a giggle, pulling him along with her.

Together they wandered through the garden, their lips moving in the gentle dance of courtly love that caused their young cheeks to flush. When his left hand found the curve of her waist she fell silent, lips still parted, innocent eyes wide.

Breathing heavily, he backed her against the garden wall and pressed her soft body against the stone, making her sigh as it collided with his. She pulled her hand from his hold to run it up his arm; rest on his shoulder. Like newly hatched chicks they watched one another curiously, knowing what they wanted yet unsure of what to do for a moment.

It looked like he murmured her name as his fingers lightly brushed her cheek. She nuzzled into them and his palm cupped the rosy skin before sliding down and curving, hooking under her chin. Tilting it up he waited a moment, gazing at her beautiful face, then finally bent his golden head and kissed her.

Constance turned away, she would intrude no longer on her son's moment of carefree pleasure and hope he had sense enough to limit himself to a kiss or two and a few fumbling touches. Taking a breath or two, she felt the thump of her heart beneath her chest and nodded to herself.

She would dance with her girls now, although it was far past each of their bed times! Isabella was drunk, Cecily slightly so (she blamed John for that) and Aliénor gazing around with the happiest grin on her face! Perhaps she would take her two youngest to their beds herself, ready them with her own hands and tuck them beneath the covers, read a story of their choosing?

Yes, she thought, it would be nice, and returned to the hall to do just that.