The Yorkist Rose

He had held out for days, Lord Warwick and his own mother had tried to find a relief for his pain, the women had performed well. satisfying some of his needs; so much so he had even proved able to to stop thinking of the damned Woodville woman. That was until now. He lay in his bed, her face, her body, her voice, her skin all ran through his head as though they were an ordinary dance, one which he knew well and would know for his life... That could not be so, Warwick had told him just days before that he had found, and arranged, the perfect marriage, that Edward was to marry, a Princess from France. Warwick had told him the importance of this alliance, something he had barely been able to pay attention to. Not for a lack of want to marry, for marriage now was all that invaded his mind, the Princess was not one he wished to marry. Warwick had sensed his lack of warmth to the idea, that had been obvious...

The King had sat there, said nothing, looked at Warwick with an expression which simply read 'needs must' of course, Warwick had informed him that when he was not just King of England but the oldest son of the House of York he had said it as though it explained everything. His mother had watched the event with disapproval, sending her son dagger glares, simply meaning he was to do as Warwick said, as though that was not only best for him, but for all of them. Still cold to the idea, Warwick had told the king that such did not matter, for the marriage would happen, that all had been agreed on and that it was the least that could be given to him when he had put such a young creature on the throne of England. Edward had been furious, of course he had not shown it, instead he had waited until all were gone and his rage took over, the finest silvers, pewters and golds had been thrown across the grand hall in which he had been sat. Even now as the memory came to him he was furious, Warwick had indeed put him on the throne to rule.

The suggestion of the marriage, he did not like that yet it was something he could live with, something he surely would grow to. The woman would be kind, good natured, obedient and polite, she would make no difference to his rule and little to his life - until of course she offered him heirs. Yet that would be Richard's and George's complaint, both pious boys to level beyond Edward's understanding, they would complain that his heirs would be French, despite tracing the line of the throne back to Normandy, they would do anything to keep their place as England's important sons. Of course, Edward had got them their, they owed him their positions, even their lives - for during the battles, Edward had always feared for the boys, had he lost his head he knew, theirs surely would too have been removed.

Finally, the thought returned, marriage. The ceremony played before him in his mind, the cheering and the crowds, the lavish colours and luxuries, the French court and the English, two great courts and one great achievement, for France would once again be under English influence. Yet his heart it wanted a different scene, a smaller scene, one in which he was happy and not an object close to a sacrificial lamb, offering his hand and bed to please not God but to please a man he owed as much to. Instead he wished to be marrying for love, for the woman he loved, he wanted. So many times he had seen women, laid in their bed and his own, many times he had claimed love, offered titles, offered favours and his days of Duke and Earldom, he had offered victory and peace, all had worked, the good women had thrown themselves to him and satisfied his needs one after another. The Duchess had been slightly harder, a marriage had happened, one he saw quickly overlooked, one he discarded as though it were meaningless.

Elizabeth would see that coming he knew, she would run from him. The marriage would have to be real, unbreakable and unforced.

She was no princess whose father could tell her how to be and who to marry for the sake of two great nations, she would not simply obey her husband and offer heirs, she was widowed and independent. Widowed and independent at his hand.

Of course when he had spoken to Jacqeutta Rivers, he had offered to take her daughters hand in marriage, asked her to inform Elizabeth when no one was around, to reply a date and place and to keep it quiet. Today that reply had come and so he could not sleep for the excitement. He was already dressed in his finest, his groom had helped change him, surprised when the king had asked for his fine clothes and not his bed gown, yet his order had been done and there he sat, waiting for dawn like an eager child. Too eager, like he had waited before his first battle, and then before the buckling disappointment, when he had marched to Wakefield, arrived cold and hungry to be told he must find his father and brother,that York were not to be victorious, he had been eager then, to no avail... Eager before Towton, St Albans and eager to have heirs. No matter, he needed to make a successful marriage. Of course Elizabeth had been delighted at the news and accepted, she had proven fertile in the bed of another marriage, she had proven able to hold and bare sons. Yet she was still a gamble, one he knew might grant him fury from his advisor's.

He cared not.

***

The Rivers Household.

Edward arrived shortly before dawn, the men of the house Jacqeutta had told him were away and would be for days, they were safe to do as they please away from prying eyes. Edward had informed the priest of where to go, he would arrive at first light when Lady Rivers had informed him Elizabeth would surely be ready, she had then offered the king a bed, somewhere to rest his head or somewhere to eat - the woman had apparently anticipated his early arrival for she made comment of how she had prepared a room with the finest things, the gold and purple sheets, the finest ale and wine. He had accepted her offer but only for his manners, so her hard work and courtesy would not go wasted. The room had been done well, below his standards but could pass for royal, he attempted food but ate little for his excitement welled. He would of course, after dawn, find a way to tell Warwick the answer was no, to tell him he was already married. To infuriate the man he was sure.

The reassuring thought came of his father, how the Duke would have approved if his previous and eldest son had laid such a proposal at his feet, the man would not have hesitated instead have jumped on the opportunity of his son's happiness. It was only for Warwicks disputable power he was sure.

The first sun came with too many minutes, Edward raced as though he were a child, had the household been full he would have awoken all he was sure, his feet eagerly tapping an untimed dance on the stone and wood. The women he knew were awake for her heard who he was sure to be Elizabeth stifle a giggle as she heard his feet, he wished to call out to her, to shout for her to hurry, he could wait no longer but he did not, for rushing the woman would have been a waste, she would be ready in time and her mother would make sure of that. The household was changed he was sure of that too, white roses replaced what must have been red, the curtains of silk were white and gold, not red, the priest had arrived and waited, a choir boy. Edward fetched a page, a woman dressed in light silks, he had arranged the making of the dress, a display of wealth that such could be afforded. It was not long, but too long before the wait was over, Elizabeth had not walked to him but he was sure had floated as though she were an angel, a Goddess and not just the descendent of both. She seemed not mortal but sacred and his eyes never left her as they said their vows and accepted each other as husband and as wife. His lips, too eager had devoured hers.

All before he had, led by grooms, carried her to a hunting lodge prepared by Jacqeutta where their marriage had been consummated, twice.