Bound by the Heart
A time long past.
Rouen, 1448
Negotiations had been going well. Shrewsbury sat in a room crowded with well-dressed men in fine velvets, weighed down with jewels. The Duke of York sat silently, his face set hard with the stubbornness bred through the generations of Plantagenet’s. Next to him sat Salisbury, his Neville brother-in-law, a man known for his mercy. A man who was the stark contrast of the heavy jewelled Duke.
For a moment, no one spoke, the atmosphere gloomy from the knowledge of violence, for the reason all were here. Shrewsbury shuddered not from cold but anticipation. King Henry had sent him to finish these negotiations, to tell the Duke news he would be loath to hear. The war was to end, the Duke to be short of a job and a French castle. The fighting, the bloodshed and the bankruptcy of England had been for naught. It had amounted to nothing but the lost lands of Normandy which had so proudly belonged to England. Such a disaster had not been seen since the rule of good King John. The tyrant ancestor of these ruling men.
All knew York had invested his very being into this war, he had paid more than all of them. Now he was indebted, owed 10,000 pounds by the crown. 10,000 pounds he would never see again. 10,000 pounds that would have fed his family, would have kept him wealthy. Now he had nothing. Shrewsbury began to speak, putting Henry’s petition forward, mentioning the kings message to the outrage of this royal duke. To the discomfort of his Neville kindred. Shrewsbury’s eyes met his cousins, begging help and sympathy from the Yorkist Earl. Salisbury shrugged, knowing nothing now was in his power to stop the Duke’s fury as he raved. His voice loud from anger. All until attention as taken by the doors opened, small children ran into the room, bickering between themselves. Shrewsbury breathed relief as the Duke’s eyes set upon the boys, watching with pride as they fought between themselves, distracting all from the dark topic none wished to discuss.
Five minutes passed before the children played at York’s feet. The Duke looked down in paternal approval, his hand resting on the eldest’s head. The boy had approached in nervous curiosity, peering over the table with soft blue eyes, smiling the innocent smile of a six year old. Shrewsbury smiled, frowning slightly as the Duke lifted the boy onto his lap. “Oh Edward, always seeking my attentions.” The female voice filled the room, the woman approaching at almost a run, the look of devastation clear on her face as she lifted the infant from the dukes lap.
“My lord papa is busy, he has little time for children-“
“Wife-“ He was cut down by the look, offering Shrewsbury a blush stained glance. Offering a smile and a shrug, Shrewsbury stifled a laugh –knowing well the look York had handed him. Women, what can you do?
“Duchess Cecily, good morning to you.” Shrewsbury laughed, standing as he took the writhing child from Cecily’s arms. Watching as the boys muttered objection turned to tear stained wails. Reaching for his father, silenced only as his cheek rested against the dukes velvet doublet. “My daughter is a similar age.”
“Daughter?”
“Nell, she is ten this January.”
“Edward is seven this April.”
“Have you discussed his marriage.” Shrewsbury held up a hand to stop the dukes objection. “Please my lord, you discussed the boys marriage at his third birthday. A French alliance.”
“I was not to object about my son’s age Shrewsbury.” As the duke spoke, he did so with a wry smile, stroking the child’s blond locks as he rocked the boy. “It is rather what you can offer.”
“Oh York, my offer, it is limitless.” Both sets of eyes set onto the child now sleeping against his father’s chest.
***
The room was bleak, the atmosphere gloomy. The Earl of Shrewsbury looked at his daughter, silent disapproval registering on his face, soon festering to anger as she offered her usual dismissive smile. One which read she cared little for his opinions, little for the fact that she had worked with York’s cub to humiliate him – to ruin the agreements which had brought peace to a country torn. Which would have seen the Talford’s once more favoured at court, once more rich and influential. He flinched at his sudden realisation. Never before had he hated this girl, never had he looked to his daughter and his blood boiled. He rose quickly, gaining every man’s attention, the ignorance of his daughter outliving his outburst.
Nell Talbot waited until the room lacked her father’s presence, looking up her eyes met the sparkling diamonds of Emma’s eyes. The maid approached, curtsying as her mistress signalled her close. “Send a message to Peter for me, I want my horse saddled, I will travel.”
“But my lady, his lordship wills it you stay here.”
“In confinement until I come to my senses, until he can persuade that devil I will marry his son without complaint, without the need for, training.” Emma winced at the harsh tone of her mistress’ words. She curtsied before leaving the room, her loyalties torn. His lordship would whip her, would take her wages and cast her to the streets should he hear she played a hand in his daughter’s escape. But how could she keep her mistress her, cooped up like a prisoner, like chickens or sheep. She hurried her feet along the gravel path, pulling Peter from his slumber with a slap.
“Mistress Eleanor wants her horse.”
“Can’t do Emmy, his lordship says nay. Not until she comes to sense. Till she writes to the Duke in apology, her dowry doubled for her troubles.”
“Peter, don’t be a fool. You cannot have her kept here. You cannot.” Emma watched, fury filling her for the first time in her years. How could men be so callous? She stormed back toward the house offering the news to her mistress with dismay.
Negotiations had been going well. Shrewsbury sat in a room crowded with well-dressed men in fine velvets, weighed down with jewels. The Duke of York sat silently, his face set hard with the stubbornness bred through the generations of Plantagenet’s. Next to him sat Salisbury, his Neville brother-in-law, a man known for his mercy. A man who was the stark contrast of the heavy jewelled Duke.
For a moment, no one spoke, the atmosphere gloomy from the knowledge of violence, for the reason all were here. Shrewsbury shuddered not from cold but anticipation. King Henry had sent him to finish these negotiations, to tell the Duke news he would be loath to hear. The war was to end, the Duke to be short of a job and a French castle. The fighting, the bloodshed and the bankruptcy of England had been for naught. It had amounted to nothing but the lost lands of Normandy which had so proudly belonged to England. Such a disaster had not been seen since the rule of good King John. The tyrant ancestor of these ruling men.
All knew York had invested his very being into this war, he had paid more than all of them. Now he was indebted, owed 10,000 pounds by the crown. 10,000 pounds he would never see again. 10,000 pounds that would have fed his family, would have kept him wealthy. Now he had nothing. Shrewsbury began to speak, putting Henry’s petition forward, mentioning the kings message to the outrage of this royal duke. To the discomfort of his Neville kindred. Shrewsbury’s eyes met his cousins, begging help and sympathy from the Yorkist Earl. Salisbury shrugged, knowing nothing now was in his power to stop the Duke’s fury as he raved. His voice loud from anger. All until attention as taken by the doors opened, small children ran into the room, bickering between themselves. Shrewsbury breathed relief as the Duke’s eyes set upon the boys, watching with pride as they fought between themselves, distracting all from the dark topic none wished to discuss.
Five minutes passed before the children played at York’s feet. The Duke looked down in paternal approval, his hand resting on the eldest’s head. The boy had approached in nervous curiosity, peering over the table with soft blue eyes, smiling the innocent smile of a six year old. Shrewsbury smiled, frowning slightly as the Duke lifted the boy onto his lap. “Oh Edward, always seeking my attentions.” The female voice filled the room, the woman approaching at almost a run, the look of devastation clear on her face as she lifted the infant from the dukes lap.
“My lord papa is busy, he has little time for children-“
“Wife-“ He was cut down by the look, offering Shrewsbury a blush stained glance. Offering a smile and a shrug, Shrewsbury stifled a laugh –knowing well the look York had handed him. Women, what can you do?
“Duchess Cecily, good morning to you.” Shrewsbury laughed, standing as he took the writhing child from Cecily’s arms. Watching as the boys muttered objection turned to tear stained wails. Reaching for his father, silenced only as his cheek rested against the dukes velvet doublet. “My daughter is a similar age.”
“Daughter?”
“Nell, she is ten this January.”
“Edward is seven this April.”
“Have you discussed his marriage.” Shrewsbury held up a hand to stop the dukes objection. “Please my lord, you discussed the boys marriage at his third birthday. A French alliance.”
“I was not to object about my son’s age Shrewsbury.” As the duke spoke, he did so with a wry smile, stroking the child’s blond locks as he rocked the boy. “It is rather what you can offer.”
“Oh York, my offer, it is limitless.” Both sets of eyes set onto the child now sleeping against his father’s chest.
***
The room was bleak, the atmosphere gloomy. The Earl of Shrewsbury looked at his daughter, silent disapproval registering on his face, soon festering to anger as she offered her usual dismissive smile. One which read she cared little for his opinions, little for the fact that she had worked with York’s cub to humiliate him – to ruin the agreements which had brought peace to a country torn. Which would have seen the Talford’s once more favoured at court, once more rich and influential. He flinched at his sudden realisation. Never before had he hated this girl, never had he looked to his daughter and his blood boiled. He rose quickly, gaining every man’s attention, the ignorance of his daughter outliving his outburst.
Nell Talbot waited until the room lacked her father’s presence, looking up her eyes met the sparkling diamonds of Emma’s eyes. The maid approached, curtsying as her mistress signalled her close. “Send a message to Peter for me, I want my horse saddled, I will travel.”
“But my lady, his lordship wills it you stay here.”
“In confinement until I come to my senses, until he can persuade that devil I will marry his son without complaint, without the need for, training.” Emma winced at the harsh tone of her mistress’ words. She curtsied before leaving the room, her loyalties torn. His lordship would whip her, would take her wages and cast her to the streets should he hear she played a hand in his daughter’s escape. But how could she keep her mistress her, cooped up like a prisoner, like chickens or sheep. She hurried her feet along the gravel path, pulling Peter from his slumber with a slap.
“Mistress Eleanor wants her horse.”
“Can’t do Emmy, his lordship says nay. Not until she comes to sense. Till she writes to the Duke in apology, her dowry doubled for her troubles.”
“Peter, don’t be a fool. You cannot have her kept here. You cannot.” Emma watched, fury filling her for the first time in her years. How could men be so callous? She stormed back toward the house offering the news to her mistress with dismay.