Chapter Text
“My lord Edward! My lord Edward!”
The cries of the nursemaid were echoing all down the corridor by now, more insistent by the minute, and definitely overshadowing the soft lute music coming from the solar where Anne was sitting in circle with her ladies. Whenever Richard was away – which was more often than not these days, whether to sedate rising restlessness on the Scottish borders, or because he had to go administering justice here and there, or his brother the King summoned him – it was there that his Duchess liked to spend her evenings the most, having her favourite ballads read aloud, or just sitting there quietly sewing and listening to her youngest lady Mary’s skill with the chords, like tonight; all in all trying to pretend that she didn’t miss her husband like a thirsty wanderer craving water in the middle of a desert.
“Do you want me to go and see what’s going on, Your Grace?” asked Mary now, stopping playing and resting the lute on her knees while her eyes wonderingly flickered to the closed door.
Anne felt a stab of concern pricking her heart, as it always happened when something was wrong with her Ned, always so small, so frail. She tried, God knew how much, not to smother him with overprotectiveness, wanting him to do all the things a little lord of his station would be expected to; but she couldn’t help herself but fear a little everytime there seemed to be something out of place with him, her precious only son. What if he had fallen? Or taken ill again? She knew it; she shouldn’t have let him indulge in horse-riding practice so much in the morning chill…
“Thank you, Mary; but I think I’ll go check myself,” she said in her calmest intonation possible, while managing a grateful smile to the lass seated on the rich crimson carpet covering the floor of the solar. In a rush of flowing dark blue skirts, she was in the corridor, and only by pure luck she avoided collision with the very flustered, slightly plump woman of the household who had been filling it with her shouts, and whose embarrassment only flared higher in coming face to face with her.
“My Lady! My Lady, I’m so sorry!”
“Calm down,” she gently steadied the anxious maid. “What’s going on?”
“It…it be the little lord, my Lady. I know it be past his bedtime already, but we can’t find him anywhere…”
She was startled when she saw the Duchess burst into relieved laughter, which was the very last reaction she was expecting. “My Lady?”
“Be that all that’s wrong?”
“Yes, my Lady. I really don’t know where else to look…”
“Then I’m taking it on myself from here,” Anne interrupted her with a reassuring smile, thankful beside herself that none of her worst expectations had turned out true.
…Even though, if Ned was hiding where she thought he was, a cold was probably the least that was sure to follow.
My little rascal.
The thought made her smile widen despite herself. “I think I might have a good idea where he could be.”
She was proven right as soon as she finished climbing the last few steps leading to the top of the southern tower: there he was, her son, leaning over the battlements, his mop of black hair ruffling into the wind, bravely facing the cold and staring intently at the horizon. He was small and lean, her Ned, almost too much, and save for the lack of curls in his hair he was such a splitting image of his father at the same age that Anne felt nostalgia acutely tugging at her heart, and was almost reluctant to break the moment.
“Hey, little man, what are you exactly doing here at this hour?” As a six-year-old earl, Ned already had his peculiar, childish pride; only Richard could call him my boy and get away with it without earning himself an all-day pout.
The little boy looked startled as he turned to his mother, and then flashed her the sheepish smile of one caught doing the very same reproachful thing once again.
Anne sighed, shaking her head slightly. “Ned, you know how it goes when you catch too much cold,” she gently scolded. “You just came out of a fever last week…”
“But I’m not cold, Mama!” the child protested. “And I was looking out for Papa.”
Of course he was, Anne chuckled to herself. Receiving that message from Richard that morning, warning of his soon-to-be arrival, had set them both on edge, and she had lost count of how many times she’d heard Ned saying excitedly he had this and that to show his father when he was back. His adoration for his father shone as brightly as the Sun in Splendour of York and, as much as Richard preferred to be discrete with his affections in public – and as much as she knew he loved and was proud of his other children, Johnny and Kathy – it was plainly there for everyone to see that he clearly adored his little Edward back.
Just the thought of them together, the two men of her life, made her heart want to burst with joy.
“I do hope your father has the sense not to be travelling in this dark,” she commented, bending down onto the back of her heels beside the boy, her gown pooling around her, and looking out into the night herself. Actually Richard had a reputation for pushing his men when he wanted, a craft he had perfectly learnt from his brother; nor, if she was honest, was he new to shenanigans such as this. She still blushed remembering the searing kiss he’d effectively killed all her protests with the last time he’d pulled a late arrival on her, after one of his expeditions on the Scottish border…and what had come after that.
“But he promised he would be home in no time,” Ned insisted, pouting. “I can’t go to bed now, Mama. What if he arrives when I’m sleeping?”
“And what if he arrives and you can’t greet him because you’re in bed with that horrible fever again?” she countered reasonably, and patted him affectionately on the little arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
Her son regarded her dubiously for a moment; and then he seemed to be hit by a thought, and he looked at her, as defiant as a six-year-old could muster. “You can’t make me. Uncle Edward the King made me an Earl now, and…”
“…and your mother is a Duchess; so, technically, she can still order you around, little lord,” Anne laughed, falsely outraged. “I also believe she has some most persuasive methods at her disposal…”
Without warning, she grabbed the child’s tiny waist and started tickling him mercilessly, until they were both messy laughing shapes on the stony ground.
“No!...Mama!...That’s not fair fighting!” Ned spluttered between laughs.
“You men can fight with swords; we women have to find our own weapons,” Anne said mysteriously, as she finally released him. Her dress was by now completely crumpled, and her braid probably a disaster, too, but it was all worth the bright beam on her son’s face. This is what happiness is, she thought.
“Does that mean you all cheat?” he asked candidly.
“No, just that we be clever, you little cheeky thing” she chuckled, tapping him on the tip of his nose. “Come now, to bed and that’s final, little man.”
Ned finally surrendered and let himself be dragged away with one last small huff, and Anne smiled knowingly as she saw it turning into a badly concealed yawn. Despite his best intentions, he was asleep almost as soon as his dark head hit the soft feathery pillow, and she found herself staring contemplatively at him, soothingly stroking his thick hair as she lulled her child to a deeper slumber.
He looked so peaceful while sleeping, she mused, again just like his father. Her smile widened at the memory of endless nights fighting tiredness in Richard’s arms just so she could watch him sleep, dark strands of curls plastered all over his forehead and his worry lines, carved deeper and deeper into his skin each passing year, softened into an expression of easy contentment that had only recently started to grace his handsome features by daylight again – having disappeared altogether for months in that year past, as he had been forced to watch one of his brothers destroy the other. Thinking of George’s downfall was always dangerous for them both, for it reopened old scars and some still healing wounds – to Anne, it always reminded her of her own loss, of the big void her sister had left into her life; of how much she would have wanted Isabel to be a part of her present happiness, as she had been an irreplaceable part of her for most of their lives.
She watched her precious little Ned now, and wished so desperately she could give him a brother or sister he could share the same affection with. After her last, painful miscarriage, Richard had told her that he would rather have her well and safe more than anything else, that they were still so young and she shouldn’t worry so. However, she wondered now and then if there was something failing inside her, and prayed fervently to the Almighty that He would not make it so, while almost immediately scolding herself for the thought – for He had already granted her most of the things she had wished for; she sometimes still marvelled at how, after all that had happened, she could possibly be who she was now, Richard’s Duchess and Lady of the North.
Of one thing she was sure: if she ever had another boy, the last name she would ever give him would be that of her ill-fated brother-in-law. Having an Edward and a George as siblings seemed to be a very bad omen these days.
“I would think you're much better at putting our son to bed than all his nurses together, my love.”
She had been so deep in thought that the familiar voice from behind her almost made her jump on Ned’s bed; and her senses seemed to all rush back to her just then, because she was suddenly aware of sounds of horses and dismounting men she had completely missed coming from the courtyard below, filling the nightly castle with their chattering.
She spun around, disbelieving, and Richard was leaning against the doorframe, maybe had been for some time, grinning at her.
“Richard!” she cried in happy surprise, as softly as she could as not to undermine her efforts with Ned. She picked up her skirts and ran to him, and in a moment she was in his arms, which were still heavily-clothed against the cold.
“When did you arrive? How-”
Before she knew it, he had silenced her with a hungry kiss, stolen all her breath from her lungs, his fingertips cool on her face from the evening chill.
“Will you…will you stop shutting me up with your kisses? I was talking to you,” she stuttered when he finally released her, feigning indignation.
“You never seem to mind much, love,” Richard laughed, his hand still on her face, eyes shining as he seemed to drink her in. “I’ve arrived just now.”
“Late-riding again, Richard? Your men must hate you by now,” Anne reprimanded gently, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“I can go and come back tomorrow, if you like?” he teased, but she was quick to grab his doublet firmly in her hands.
“Don’t you dare.” She raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed him again, her fingers tangling in his hair; still dazed, after all those years, by the feel of his sudden closeness after weeks of separation.
“God, Anne, I’ve missed you” he murmured breathlessly against her lips. “I could not and would not wait for another day apart from my family.”
Family, the word echoed sweetly through Anne’s mind; it just felt so incredibly right, as she watched him walk closer to Ned’s curled form, bend down to kiss him lightly on his tiny forehead.
“I had thought we could afford better bed covers than this old rag?” she heard him chuckle softly, and then noticed him fingering the faded, slightly frayed golden warp of Ned’s blanket, the very same old blanket that spoke of so many memories to them and that as a child she would’ve never, even in her wildest dreams, imagined to be able to wrap around her son’s sleeping frame.
“Since he discovered it was yours, he would not sleep without it,” she whispered, her voice almost trembling with the sudden tenderness threatening to engulf her. “And I don’t mind. This way, it’s like…”
She hesitated briefly, fearing he would find the thought silly. “It’s like a part of you is with him even when you be away.”
Richard turned his head to look at her at that, and all her concerns dissipated instantly at the touched expression on his face. He raised one hand to her cheek in a soft caress, and she angled her face slightly to kiss his outstretched palm lovingly.
No other words were needed between them. Later, their hands held like those of youngsters at their first crush as they walked into their rooms and, as the door closed behind them, were lost all over each other, their every move filled with raw longing, Richard’s kisses growing more and more demanding and crumpling every little resolve Anne could have had of asking him about his venture first.
“Francis can tell you all about it,” was his only answer when she did – she hadn’t the slightest idea of how – manage to question him between kisses. “He has always been a far better storyteller than I. And he said he will come ad pay his respects before leaving tomorrow, but not too early…he didn’t want to…ah…disturb us.”
Anne was sure she had to be blushing, but he couldn’t have seen it, anyway, because he was much more enraptured with the soft skin of her neck, trailing kisses all along her jawline and sending tingling shivers down her spine. Answering him was the most difficult task ever.
“And why would he think he would…disturb us?”
“Hmm, no idea,” Richard raised his head from her neck and grinned mischievously. “But I was thinking maybe we could use that time to try giving Ned some company to share that horrible old blanket with…”
She couldn't hide the even deeper redness on her face from him this time but, as he claimed her mouth again, Anne knew that didn't matter anymore in the slightest, for all rational thought was lost to her; just as she knew that they, instead, would have very little need of any kind of covers that night.