~Across the Narrow Sea~

Two weeks later....

Constance was tucked sweetly against Edward's side when their son's quiet cries roused her from the chamber next door. It was only early in the morning, she estimated groggily, forcing her eyes open to see the bedchamber filled with an amber glow instead of the blazing glare of daylight. Strange, she thought, Edward usually slept as soundly as his Father!

His cries stirred the exiled King and tilting her head up, Constance kissed his cheek.
"I will go" She whispered. He groaned his assent, throwing an arm over his eyes to protect them from the dawn and she chuckled, pulling herself away from the warmth of his body to stand.

Reaching for the grey silk robe Margaret had gifted her, she draped it over her nightgown, glancing back at her husband's dozing form before she left. Edward's mewling cries echoed through the walls and her heart ached as she crept into the nursery to see her boy sitting up in his crib - face screwed up, reddened, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks, tiny legs kicking unhappily.

"Oh my darling" She was by his side in seconds, lifting him into her arms with a coo and a kiss, the warm weight of his body making her heart light up despite his whimpers "Là, mon amour, qu'est-ce que c'est?" 'There, my love, what is it?'

The young boy babbled, soothed with the familiar bounce of her arms and rubbed his damp face against her shoulder. One little hand found her hair, curling decidedly around the soft strands and Constance knew she would not be going back to bed that morn.

Sighing, her fingers trailed over his head, brushing back the golden strands from his eyes. Her sweet boy. Her perfect boy. Perhaps they could sit in their courtyard awhile? They'd spent many hours sat beneath the little apple tree, he on her lap, smiling, reaching to the blooming leaves above!

"Gostaria de ver os birdies da manhã?" 'Would you like to see the morning birdies?' She asked, already walking from the room and Edward grizzled a reply into her neck, sniffing sweetly "Yes, my love, I know" Descending the stairs into the hall, she found the large space unusually silent but not eerily so.

Most of the time at least two would occupy the long table, playing chess or counting how many coins they had but in the early morning, it was deserted.

It was peaceful - almost homely.
Almost.

Now calm, Edward looked around curiously, turning his little head from side to side to seek out the people he lived with. When none were to be found, a frown tugged at his plump lips and he looked up at his Mother; questioning.

"They're sleeping" She explained, walking towards the courtyard door "As you should be, my love but no matter, I will stay with you" Pushing on the hard wood, it swung open with an ageing creak revealing the courtyard and its delightful apple tree.

Only it was not deserted.

Back to her, dressed in his shirt, boots and breeches was Dickon, swinging his sword through the air as powerfully as if he truly were in the heat of battle! It was no secret amongst the group of the exiles that he was the early riser, often being found beside the hall fire with a book by seven but this display was entirely new!

Each trust of his sword was fierce, his breaths laboured, heavy and when he turned, strands of black hair stuck to his damp forehead, glistening with sweat. Good God, how long had he been at it? He didn't notice her at first, too focused on winning the war in his mind and when he finally turned, he all but jumped out of his skin!

His eyes went wide, almost wild with a pang of something Constance recognised as fear. She frowned.

"Dickon?" The tip of his tongue flicked his lower lip and he clutched his sword to his chest, clearly unsure of what to do with himself. He was like a child, a child who'd been caught doing something wrong. But there was no wrong in training, she thought, it was needed for the battles to come!

Tilting her head, she advanced into the courtyard with Edward who was now eagerly reaching for his Uncle, clapping his little hands "Not now, my love" She said, settling on the stone bench, not once letting her gaze fall from the young man's "Come, brother, sit with me"

He eyed the space next to her as one would a seat next to the enemy - with evident suspicion - but after a moment, obeyed, shuffling over to perch precariously on the bench. His chest rose and fell beneath his shirt with every breath, still heavy though Constance could no longer tell if his breathlessness was from training or nerves.

Searching his face, she gave him a gentle smile "What is wrong? You fight well but it is not like you to be spooked nor to train in solitude!" He shrugged slightly, beginning to wring his hands in his lap.

"I thought you would all still be abed at this hour"
"And so we should be! So should you! I've known you since you were a boy, Dickon, I know when something is wrong. What is it? You can trust me, you know you can"

At the mention of trust, his eyes flicked up to hers again, still holding the same fear as before, though she could see he was no longer startled by her presence. No, something entirely different was ailing him....

Parting his lips, he swallowed. It was not normal for a man to divulge his feelings.

"I'm afraid.....I'm afraid that when it comes to battle, I will not be able to fight as I should" The words were whispered, barely even there, as if to speak them was to confirm the fears they carried and Constance felt a sympathetic smile grace her lips. Of course, Dickon was nervous for his first battle! He was only eighteen and their circumstances weren't the most advantageous!

Why, if he harboured no doubts she would've called him a fool!

"My dear brother, anyone who has seen you fight could never doubt your skill in combat! You are quick, you are strong, you are...."

"No" Her smile faltered somewhat "No" He repeated, a little quieter this time and his gaze fell to his hands again "It's not...." He shook his head "It's not that...."
"Then will you tell me what it is?"

The sharp breath he drew in said what a thousand words could not, telling tales on a secret long kept within an aching heart "Oh, Dickon...." She'd never seen him like this before, so openly aggrieved, he was always such a quiet, serious little thing, and it pained her to think he was unhappy!

Suddenly, his dark blue eyes peered around at the windows overlooking the courtyard, darting over each one in search of a face before he took her hand and she was raised to her feet with him "Dickon, what is...." He began to pull her (and his little nephew) towards the stables, hurrying along the cobbles in seconds into the cool, empty block.

Releasing her, he shut the door, barring it securely, and little Edward's head perked up, eyes curious, only to find his Mother placing him on top of a little bundle of hay! His back to her, she heard Richard sigh, seemingly considering his actions for a moment before he turned to her, expression drawn - sad.

"Do....do you promise not to hate me, Connie?"

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning, sending pain throughout her body that struck at her heart as surely as a knife would do. Her feet pushed her forward, arms intent on bringing him into her embrace but Richard stepped away, shaking his head again.

"Do you promise?" He repeated and all Constance could do was nod, the thought that she could ever hate her brother, that he could even think she would hate him, scalding her to the bone.
"I promise" She voiced when he seemed slightly unconvinced and her hand was taken again, drawing her to another pile of hay next to little Edward's.

"Truly?" He asked as they sat.
"Truly, brother"
Richard paused for a moment, avoiding her eyes before he slowly turned his back on her and the rustle of linen sounded as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Constance's eyes widened. While Richard appeared perfectly normal to the eye when dressed, it was all too plain to see the truth was he was not so. The skin of his back was smooth, only bearing a few marks from boyhood training but in the middle lay a serpentine curve in his spine, twisting his torso a little and forcing his right shoulder slightly higher than the left.

Her initial silence must've wounded him for he grimaced as if he'd been struck and began to pull his shirt back on only for Constance's hand to appear on his back.

"Did you truly think I could hate you because of something you have no power over?" Blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears glanced over his shoulder and Constance sighed "Oh, Dickon...." Now, she did not hesitate to pull him into her arms and he did not resist; burying his face into her neck.

Sliding a hand into his thick hair, she held him as tenderly as she would've held her children, combing her fingers through the dark strands until he saw fit to pull away from her. Fisting his shirt in his hands, he avoided her eyes again, a red flush of shame working its way up his pale neck.

"It began when I was thirteen" He mumbled at last "When I was at Middleham....it wasn't much a first just aches here and there....I thought I was perhaps training too hard but then I saw my back in a mirror one day and...." His voice faltered a little and he forced himself to blink back the tears threatening to wage war on his cheeks.

"I was so scared I went to George...." It was Constance turn to grimace. God only knew what George had said to his little brother.

"I thought perhaps he would help but he only....he only said that I had been marked by the devil, that I would never be a true knight or a true man" Now she did too and heaven's above did her blood boil! George had always borne a wicked streak to his nature but to say something so calloused, so cruel to one of his own blood in a time when they'd needed him most....well, perhaps his betrayals were a long time coming.

Richard shook his head, the pain of memories etched into his soul weighing heavy on his heart "He never told anyone but that didn't stop him from driving in another dagger whenever I displeased him, why, when I said I wished to wed a girl he asked who would ever want to bed one of God's twisted blunders?"

"He is cruel...." Constance whispered and Richard's eyes met hers again "But God above knows the truth, brother!" She said, seizing his hands "He knows you to be more of a man than George could ever be!"

"But what if he's always been right!" Richard returned fretfully "What if I can't fight because of my back! What if I tire and lose Edward the battle he needs to win to claim his crown! And what if I cannot strengthen our line because no woman will wed me because I'm a...."

"No!" Constance suddenly ordered, startling him into silence for a moment "No, I will not hear one word from your lips that casts you down! These lies George has put into your head, these cruel taunts, they are not true, Dickon! Touched by the Devil? How could a man as loyal as you be so? No true knight? No soul who's seen you fight nor witnessed your valour could doubt your knighthood! You will never wed? Folly! This world is cruel to difference, I know that to be true" Smiling gently at him, she reached out, cradling the side of his face in her palm.

"There was a tree at my childhood home, one whose truck was twisted and curved. Some said that it should be torn down because it was not the same as the other trees but I loved it and thought it beautiful and so petitioned my Father to keep it safe from harm....I know that it is not the same but rest assured that someone shall find you perfect and will love you till the end of your days. When you love someone you love all of them. Your difference does not define you, Richard, your courage, your intelligence, your loyalty defines you and there are many who love you for those things; many more who will love you for those things. This does not matter and will not matter to people who are truly worth your time and loyalty for they will recognise it is only a part of you it is not all of you"

Her smile grew a little at the way Richard's eyes softened at her words; the way the hurt etched deep in their depths ebbed a little "Who was this girl? The one you said to George you'd marry?" His flush of shame quickly turned to a blush of boyish embarrassment and Constance couldn't refrain from a chuckle when he told her the answer she'd anticipated.

"Anne....Anne Neville"
"Well, God's bones, that should not be hard for you to dream into reality! She's been making cow's eyes at you for years! Across the great hall at Westminster, during tourneys and feasts - don't tell me you haven't seen it, Dickon!" He shrugged, pulling his shirt back over his head.

"She's married to Lancaster now"
Constance raised her eyebrows, lifting her son (who'd seen fit to go to sleep on his bed of hay) back into her arms.

"Once Edward reclaims his crown she shan't be married for long" She asserted "You and she have both suffered enough of this world, if you both wish to be united under God then I will do all I can to see it done!"

"Truly?"
She smiled at the quiet question.
"Truly, Dickon"

༻᯽༺

As the sun dipped below the horizon, turning the sky from blue to a myriad of ethereal purples and pinks, the picture inside the timbered ambassador's house was one of comfortable domesticity.

While the approach of spring had swept some of winter's icy grip on the air away, when darkness fell, so did the temperature, leading all the exiles to gather together in the one place they could gain warmth: the hall. The long table held the evidence of their supper, a simple stew from trenchers of bread long ago eaten, plates shoved aside with only crumbs on them.

Now Anthony and Will sat engaged in a game of chess at one end, the latter stroking his beard in calculating thought, while George dozed in a chair at the other. Francis and Rob sat on the coffer by the courtyard door, the younger whittling a new toy for the Prince while the elder watched and Dickon, John and Edward occupied the table's middle, pouring over maps.

The women were gathered by the roaring fire, Marie sat at her Mother's skirts, attending to her embroidery while Constance watched, showing her how to craft new stitches. Or, at least, that was what she was meant to be doing. What she found herself doing instead was staring across at Héléne, a look of envy in her eyes, while the woman fed her infant son.

How she wished to feed little Edward herself again!
But it was not to be.

"Ma Mère?" Her eyes descended as Marie called up to her, holding up her evening work to the light of the fire. A white rose was embroidered on blue silk (one of the many lengths Margaret sent to occupy the women) bearing a golden crown at it's yellow centre.

The stitches were tiny, perfect in length and skill, the work of true talent, making Constance smile. Her daughter was a wonder at everything she put her hand to weather that be languages or sewing, riding or dancing - why she wagered if Marie was permitted to learn sword craft she would prove as good as her Father!

While she adored her little girl just as she was, she often wondered (for Marie's own sake) if God had been cruel in not making her a boy.

"Très beau, peu d'amour" 'very beautiful, little love' She praised, carding a hand through her daughter's soft waves "Peut-être pourrions-nous l'ajouter au manteau de votre Père avant qu'il ne parte au combat?" 'Perhaps we could add it to your Father's cloak before he goes to battle?' A pair of light blue eyes stared up at her.

"Really?"
She smiled again, nodding.

"I don't see why not! Tis fine work, wouldn't you say, Héléne?" The blonde woman across the fire looked up with an agreeing grin, halfway through manoeuvring the sleeve of her linen gown back onto her shoulder. In the crook of her right elbow the young Prince slept, content from his feed.

"Très bien, votre grâce" She replied in her usual merry manner "je dirais que le roi serait fier de porter un si beau jeton de sa Princesse" 'Very fine, your grace, I would say the King would be proud to carry such a beautiful token from his Princess' Marie flushed a pleased scarlet and glanced toward's where her Father stood strong, tall, by the table.

"Perhaps I should turn the centre into a sun?" She mused "To represent my little brother? Then we shall both be with Father in battle?" While the words were simply a thought spoken aloud to her, they made her Mother's heart burst with love, sending sparks of adoration through her veins.

"I think that would be lovely" She murmured, reaching out to Héléne who placed the Prince into the safety of her arms, his tiny face sweeter than sugar in sleep. The warm weight of his body was ever a great relief to her, a reminder of her duty, of his safety; the safety of his sister "the hour grows late" She observed quietly "you should be sailing to the land of dreams, Marie"

The little Princess glanced up, carrying a certain disappointment in her eyes that always appeared when she was told to go to bed! Sometimes when she was sat at her Mother's skirts she would stay as still as possible, silent as a mouse so she wouldn't be noticed and be able to stay up until the adult hours! It was a trick that often worked, causing the others much amusement when they watched her.

Still, she obediently handed her embroidery to Héléne, giving her a pretty smile before standing; wandering over to her Father. Edward didn't need a word to notice her, instantly bringing himself away from his maps to acknowledge her pretty curtsy.

"Goodnight, Father" She chirped as he swept her up into his arms for a moment, bestowing a kiss to her forehead. There were few places she'd rather be.
"Goodnight, poppet"

Marie grinned when she was lowered to her feet and made her way around the room, giving a customary kiss on the cheek to each of her fellow exiles. Well, except sleeping George whom she skipped past straight to Richard!

"Come, Marie!" Her Mother called from the stairs, once more leaving Prince Edward with his wet nurse and Marie skipped happily over to her, holding her hand as they ascended the stairs.

A year ago, if she had been told her own Mother would see her to bed instead of her gaggle of nurses she would've laughed, the idea alien, but now nothing seemed more normal than following her through the gloomy corridor of the upper floor to her small room next to the nursery.

Marie liked it, the quiet intimacy of it all, void of rigid ceremony and filled with her Mother's full adoration instead. Once she was settled, undressed, hair braided, Constance perched on the edge of the covers and took her small hand in her own.

It had become tradition for her to sing Marie to sleep - or at least to comfort - in French, soft lullabies she remembered her Father singing to her during rare occasions in childhood.

Smiling down at the little girl, her perfect, sweet girl, she ran her thumb across her smooth palm about to begin when suddenly the muffled sound of trumpets blared through the walls from outside - setting her heart racing.

Jumping from the bed, she rushed to Marie's small window, looking down onto the street only to see around thirty armoured men or more surrounding a large carriage. Her head whipped over her shoulder when the hall doors opened below and marching footsteps followed, metal clangs each a needle to her heart, rousing her fear.

Surely Duke Charles hadn't sold them to Lancaster! Surely her loved ones weren't being rounded up downstairs for the enemy....

Her son was downstairs.

"Reste ici" 'Stay here' She ordered hastily, fleeing from the room to the top of the stairs where the scene below made her stop, her stomach slamming hard against the bannister. She grimaced but the pain did nothing to erase her shock.

In the hall, her fellow exiles were not being herded up by soldiers like sheep to the slighter, her son was not wailing, being torn from Héléne! In fact, most of them were gathered at the table and baby Edward was in his Father's arms, grinning his toothless grin at a stranger.

Only Constance immediately knew the robed figure standing before Edward to be the man they'd sought to meet with all along - Duke Charles.

Garbed in heavy crimson velvet, trimmed with ermine, and a matching hat hiding cropped brown curls, wisps of which rested on his forehead, he was a regal sight to behold but a short one too! Even at a distance, it was clear to see he was shorter than his wife, making Edward tower over him as the White Cliffs of Dover did the sea.

For all the English King had said against his brother in law, claiming their alliance to be little more than smoke, the two men now smiled at one another in amicability. Charles reached up to stroke the little Prince's cheek and baby Edward caught his finger with a fist, trying to drag the sapphire ring adorning it to his eager mouth!

"He's a fine lad!" She heard the Duke say and the sound of his heavily accented voice finally made her move, prompting the stairs to a well-timed creak that made the men look up. The Duke's face was angular, possessing a determined chin and a thin nose that made his brown eyes appear calculating, overhung by dark eyebrows.

When they set on Constance, they lit with a certain excitement and he opened his arms, revealing a sage doublet and a pair of thin legs, clad in matching breeches, beneath his fine robe.
"Ah! And this must be your lovely Queen, am I right, brother?"

'Brother?' Constance repeated in her head as she descended, eager to get her hands on her son, Charles certainly hadn't been acting brotherly of late - except if he'd been taking his lessons in family relations from George! Still, better late than never, she supposed and forced a smile onto her lips, extending her hand for the Duke as she approached.

"You're as beautiful as my dear departed wife, Isabella, said, sister!" He praised, bestowing a warm kiss to her knuckles "And I dare say look even more beautiful when seated on your throne!" Behind, she could almost feel Richard roll his eyes.

"I'll dare say you're right!" She replied, laughing a light laugh that turned into a loving coo as she took little Edward into her arms "I see you have met my son, the Prince of Wales?"

"The true heir to the English throne" Edward added, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close. He spoke easily enough but it was clear to all in his expecting stare it was something he wished the Duke to admit aloud before his men.

"Of course!" Charles said and Edward gave him a nod "My little nephew shall follow you one day, brother, but first we must secure your place from pretenders!"

Gesturing to the table, the three sat with the others, all eyes trained on the Burgundian leader "As my wife said, notre mariage nous lie et nous devons nous soutenir les uns les autres dans les moments difficiles" 'our marriage binds us and we must stand by one another in times of hardship'

"As well as an overture of promises on trade?" Constance quipped in tones as sweet as honey and beside her, the corners of Edward's lips twitched upwards.

"Ah, you are as clever as you are beautiful, ma chérie!" Charles laughed "You of all people must know alliances cannot be made simply on words"
"Or the family ties you speak of, it seems"

Some would've perhaps taken affront to Constance's direct words but Charles was a man of business - used to both the harsh lashes of insult and the flowery fripperies of flattery! Better to have an intelligent Queen at the helm of England than a silent mouse as some women were, he supposed. She could help secure Burgundy further!

"I like her, brother" He said, glancing up at Edward with amusement playing about in his eyes "You are lucky to have her by your side" The King tilted his chin up, taking Constance's hand in his.

"That I am. She is all a Queen should be and more" Her cheeks flushed crimson at the warm praise and she dipped her head, a small smile adorning her lips "Now, I think it is clear you intend to aid us against Lancaster"

"Eight hundred men and six hundred pounds" Charles declared, immediately noticing the looks of doubt that passed between the royal couple opposite him. Only eight hundred, Constance's eyes cried as they met her husbands, why it was not nearly enough to make an army!

The rest knew that too, passing uneasy looks between them "I know it is not much" The Duke admitted, holding up his ringed hands "but it is all the men I can give. With France constantly on our borders and restricted trade from England for giving you shelter here. I feel the money will do more good"

Edward gritted his teeth.
"It is not...."

"We are grateful, brother" Constance quickly cut in, feeling her husband's grip on her hand tighten, a clear sign his of his chagrin. She would be damned if she let Plantagenet temper wither negotiations, not when they finally had a chance "the blessed aid you provide shall not be forgotten by my husband, myself or my son as he grows and, while I acknowledge your reservations, I cannot help but ask if you could find it within yourself to give more?"

One dark eyebrow arched at her, the chin beneath raised with interest. Charles knew when a proposal of business was to be spoken and the word of the English Queen had captured his attention.

"Oh?" He asked "And what would you suggest, ma chérie, that would coax me to reach deeper into my pockets at my Duchy's risk?"
"Extended trade with England"
He tilted his head.

"Margaret has already offered that"

"I seek to deepen the offer" Constance returned swiftly, never once letting the firm gaze held between them break "The Burgundian cloth trade is the most important of your business I believe?" He gave a clipped nod.

"Well, here is my proposal. Provide my Lord husband and King with a thousand men and eight hundred pounds and my household, let me remind you that is the Queen's household as well as the households of my children shall buy our cloth exclusively from Burgundy for the next three years. My husband's shall maintain the English cloth, keeping our merchants happy but the women of court are likely to follow me, brother. If it is fair payment you seek then I believe I can provide it. Exclusive supply to the Queen's household and most likely the majority of the noble houses of England? Why within one year I'll wager we will have payed what you have given us thrice over. Is that not fair, dear brother?"

Silence.

Silence that could be cut with a knife filled the air, all eyes on the Queen and the Duke, two players with an invisible board between them. She had made her move, a bold one, a clever one, now it was his turn.

Keeping his brown eyes on his opponent, Charles leant back in his chair, twisting his rings, calculating his words. God, it was a fine offer, none could deny that - if Edward won of course, but extra aid of course brought extra risk. Would it be worth it?

He sighed, the determination in Constance's eyes reminding him a little of his wife. While he did not love her as Edward loved his Queen, he certainly admired Margaret for her spirit and her strength - a strength all of her House seemed to share, Isabella had had it too, a strength that could topple a King and raise him high....

"Five years"

It was hard for the men to hide their bewildered gasps as Charles spoke and they rumbled around the room in a swirl of disbelieving shock. While not one doubted Constance's intelligence, they'd thought Charles heard her out of courtesy rather than seriousness! Women did not meddle in state affairs!

"Agreed" Her voice cut through their trains of thought, returning their eyes to the table where Charles now extended his hand to Edward, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

But all could agree, that solitary gleam was nothing compared to the blinding shine of pride that lit Edward's eyes as he shook the Duke's hand, gazing on his wife.

"Que ferais-je sans toi?" 'What would I do without you?' Dickon heard him whisper and Constance blushed again, accepting his gentle kiss to her lips with crimson cheeks.

"Très peu" 'very little' She replied teasingly and his jolly laughter rang up to the rafters.