A Rose for Lancaster (The Tudor Rose Novella series) (8 page)

“My baby,” I cried. “Help my baby.”

The illusion of an easy birth lay cracked and shattered around me. The pain intensified and I hoped and prayed to see the man who had done this to me, so that I may give him a taste of my suffering.
Please God, let my baby live and let this agony be fruitful.

By dinnertime I lay in bed, completely exhausted, soaked in sweat and blood. The midw
yfe, the physician and the priest conferred outside my door.

I managed a half-yell. “Gerda, come here at once.”

“Miladay, the baby lives. A little weak but it will thrive, they say.”

“A boy or a girl?” I must know.

Gerda’s face told me before she uttered the words. “A girl, milady.”

I sighed and surrendered to the washcloth and the maid’s gentle hands. After refreshing the bedclothes they brought a little bundle and I took one look and fell in love as a tiny rosebud mouth sought my breast and sucked with vigor. I sank into a deep sleep and woke in the night to hear whispers. Giles had not appeared in my time of despairing need and I envisioned him disappointed. My sobs woke the baby and holding her close to my heart I swore never to love anyone who did not love her with the same deep devotion alive within me from the moment I laid eyes on her.

Three days passed while I discovered the wonderment of motherhood. No news reached my chambers and Gerda claimed to know nothing. I fumed. I hated Giles for abandoning our daughter and me. If I had given him a precious Beaufort boy for the court to groom as one of its own he would come quickly enough.

I sang to my baby, my poor little girl, whose father did not wish to look at her. Without a wet nurse I took care of her needs and I reveled in the task as I stroked her little fingers and downy head. I ate, slept and slowly found my feet again.

Gerda took the baby to the nursery for a time to encourage me to rest. I sipped wine and waited for a meal to come to my room. “Your husband has returned,” the maid informed me.

“I will not see him.”

“He has not asked for you, milady.”

I froze. “Where is he?”

“In the nursery.”

I threw on a robe and ran to the baby’s chamber, my heart pounding. I reached the door, prepared to commit murder if necessary. Giles stood with the baby in his arms, gently rocking her back and forth, with a crutch under his arm and a livid slash running down the side of his face.

“My God! What happened to you?”

“Trouble in the town.” He shrugged as though it were merely a scrape. His gaze held mine. “I wasn’t here for you and the baby. Murdo brought the household news of my injury but they were afraid to burden you.”

“It’s a girl.” I anticipated his disappointment.

He nodded, studying her with serious consideration. I waited. “What name have you given her?”

“I hadn’t thought of a name. Perhaps, Margaret.” His mother may not appreciate a girl but may soften if the child bore her name.

Giles hummed a tune and our baby’s eyes opened and looked into his face for the first time.

“You know me, my little rose,” he whispered. “I wish to name you Blanche, after your mother.” He grinned.

“Little rose,” I echoed his endearment. My mood lifted.

Giles stared back at her in fascination. “Blanche Rose,” he announced.

“Will the king and his mother approve?”

“We shall call the next one after a Tudor or a Beaufort.”

I lifted my Rose out of his arms. “I’ve sworn never to have another child. This little flower gave me more trouble than you can ever imagine.”

“You managed admirably, Blanche, but I agree.”

“You agree?” Giles Beaufort surprised me often but this reply shocked me.

Hobbling alongside me on his crutch we reached our chamber to find the delicious aroma of warm bread, cheese and fresh ale waiting for us.

“I heard of your labors and the midw
yfe’s worries. She recommends rest and recovery for you both. I’m to stay away from your bed,” he shrugged, “but that’s a small price for a healthy wife and child.”

I bristled. No
woman would order my husband out of my bed. “How dare she suggest such a thing? I have a word or two to say about her notions of recovery.”

I caught the twinkle in Giles’ eyes. I paused. “You are testing me.”

“I give you a choice.”

“Oh, Giles. I’ve been so angry with you. I thought… I imagined…”

“That I didn’t want you because you birthed a girl?”

“Yes,” I whispered. My heart broke for him, knowing my doubt must hurt.

“I hope we have a garden full of roses. They needn’t join useless wars or leave home when the next pretender turns up.” He fingered the wound on his cheek. “I’ve no taste for fighting but I do it because I must.”

“The townspeople are not happy with the king?”

“No. There will be more disruptions for Henry before long. I’ve done my duty for now and sent him a report.”

“Giles, forgive me for not trusting that you’d care for Rose.”

He took our sleeping daughter out of my arms and laid her in the crib by our bed.

“Blanche, the first time we met at Langley I knew you were the woman I wanted to wed. If you don’t want me in your bed I’ll understand, but you’ll have no other.”

“Giles, how can you think such a thing?”

“You’re more beautiful than you can possibly know. Any man would fall over himself to have you. It’s a miracle you lasted until your twenty-fifth year.”

“But you married me for my lands and titles on the proviso of having sons. You’re not disappointed?”

He pulled me close. “Only that I missed our sweet Rose’s birth.” His lips landed softly on my cheek. I ached for his affections.

He waited for me to make my choice, needing a wife to give him children and share his joys and sorrows, and I wanted to be that wife. My hands slid across his shoulders, I leaned forward pressing firmly over his lips. For a moment he did not respond but after I teased his mouth open his strong hands slid around my back.

“I love you, Blanche, and our newborn rose.”

“That’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said. I love you, Giles Beaufort. Lancaster or York—it matters not who we are as long as we live in peace.”

Epilogue
(Four years later)

~ July 1491 ~

“Blanche, I will knock the door down if you do not let me in.”

I recalled my vow to remain celibate with a wry smile. Any woman stupid enough to believe it possible while married to Giles Beaufort fooled herself. My husband had matured into a handsome, generous man who loved our children with a devotion that rivaled my own. His ready grin, happy nature and strong build made him irresistible, sending me into confinement for the third time in our marriage.

“You are not supposed to see me. The baby is coming fast, it won’t be long.” I gasped for breath. Giles had sent a midwyfe from the village, one with a good reputation to replace the last one who moved away with a new husband. He stood on the other side of the door fretting over my progress.

“Let him in,” I panted, resigned to Giles and his ways

He took my hand, brushed back my sticky hair and gently soothed my fears as the midwyfe kept about her business. At the great age of twenty-nine I risked my life to bear a child. Every woman knew the danger but we must do what nature intended, and by God this child hurried into the world, eager for life.

“Rose and Meg…”

“The girls are well and eagerly wait for the baby. They send you their love and prayers.”

My little daughters, at four and three years old, were the light of our lives. Giles adored them and we prayed they would not lose their mother this day.

“You must go, Giles.”

“If you wish.” He held me as the pain gripped my belly and the urge to push overwhelmed my senses. The babe came easily this time and I smiled at my husband in victory as the child slid into the arms of the midw
yfe. She wrapped a sheet around the baby and brought it to us. I held the tiny bundle as it squawked indignantly.

We folded back the sheet to seek the answer to our question.

“A boy,” Giles murmured.

I gloried in the moment as I savored a taste of what
queen Elizabeth enjoyed a month ago as she delivered England’s second heir to the throne—Prince Harry.

“He’s a big one,” the midw
yfe remarked, glancing at my husband who wore a smile that threatened to last for months.

John Edmund Beaufort
had arrived at last. “Has my Lady the King’s Mother approved the name?” Margaret Beaufort communicated regularly.

“She has given her blessing. Prince Arthur will receive him at court one day.”

“Mayhap he will make a fine friend for baby Harry. They are the same age.”

“Prince Harry is destined for the church and the life of a scholar. I doubt they will ever cross paths. It is Arthur, Prince of Wales, who will rule England one day.”

“The astrologer said these past few months are a lucky time for children born into the kingdom. A golden king will rule for many years and bring great changes to England.”

Giles squeezed my arm as I rocked our baby. “Then we’d best keep my mother’s ear and good favor.”

“I don’t envy the queen. She must breed more children for Henry.”

“Speaking of that, dear wife, I believe you uttered an oath along with a desire to hurt my person.”

I shook with laughter so much that baby John opened his eyes briefly. “That is true.”

“And now?”

“I have a beautiful babe in my arms and my inclination to harm you has vanished.”

My husband’s eyes grew solemn. “I don’t want to lose you, Blanche.”

“You will not lose me. I am strong and happy, and my babies need me.”

“I need you, now and always.”

Two weeks later a package arrived at the
castle. Giles handed it to me and waited, curious over the contents. Without thought I tore open the wrapping and discovered five tiny white nightshirts, each with the Beaufort crest skillfully stitched into the fabric. The girls came running at the sound their father’s laughter, admired the baby clothes but soon returned to the nursery. A note fluttered to the floor and I stooped to pick it up.

By my own hand,

M.B.

I gave it to Giles. “Is this a message?”

“A cause for celebration. A personal gift speaks to her satisfaction.”

I considered the meaning. “The king is safe and so are we. I am beyond the age of desirability.”

Giles groaned. He itched to bed me but must wait until the midwyfe permitted marital relations to renew.

“I’m of no use to a hopeful pretender. Henry Tudor is relieved.”

“Are you disappointed that some fellow languishing on the continent cannot storm England to sweep you off your feet.”

“Giles Beaufort!” I lowered my voice. “You are the only man who makes me happy, and a Lancaster at that.”

“I believe I have York blood. Too bad I’m born a bastard or you’d have been falling over yourself to tempt me into your bed.”

“Mayhap I seduced you from the beginning. A man likes a good chase before the quarry is won.”

“I recall you in a yellow dress, hair flowing like a maid, standing in your father’s hall looking down upon the rabble that presented itself to you. I dared not imagine you were Lady Langley. ‘Twas my good fortune to reach you before another suitor snatched you away.”

“Edmund Pole?”

“Any man but me. You are a Tudor rose now my love, in full bloom.”

“I’d
prefer to be a rose for Lancaster.”

The baby squawked, Giles grinned, and I delighted in the company of my Lancastrian men.

The End.

Langley Hall and Langley Village are fictional places.

Edmund Pole was aged a few years to rival Giles.

Prince Arthur died unexpectedly in 1502 but until then he was the heir to Henry VII.

Viscount Welles was the younger, maternal, half-brother of Margaret Beaufort, and uncle to Henry VII. He married Cecily, the sister of Elizabeth of York. He became the obvious choice as the invisible hand guiding Giles’ education on behalf of Margaret Beaufort.

The dates and details of John de la Pole’s betrayal were altered slightly to fit the story.

Richard Neville, 16
th
Earl of Warwick 1428-1471, known as the Kingmaker, very possibly met Margaret Beaufort when she was in her early twenties, and he in his forties. Warwick switched sides after his disaffection from Edward IV to help the Lancastrian side. A secret love child was hardly impossible in those times.

Christine Elaine Black, born and raised in the West of Scotland, currently resides in Ontario, Canada. Her favorite stories to write are romantic fiction with an ancient Roman theme, medieval, and Tudor.

Christine's daughter provided the inspiration for her foray into writing. Both mother and daughter enjoy an exciting tale with a happy ending.

Thank you for purchasing this publication
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Look for book II in the Tudor Rose series:

Prince of Roses

Due out in late 2013