Free Virgin Widow by Anne O'Brien

sit on the top step of the stair that led back down to the courtyard, out of the sharp breeze.
    ‘Stuck for words? Remarkable!’
    I kicked him on the ankle and he laughed. That was better. I felt my nerves relax in my throat. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
    ‘Do you want to know what I think?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I don’t find the idea objectionable. Do you?’
    I thought. ‘No. Just strange.’
    ‘Marriage to a changeling, as you once so unkindly pointed out.’ But his smile was soft, kind. I blushed at the cruel memory. ‘It will be some years yet,’ he added, perhaps mistaking my pink cheeks for apprehension. ‘You’re only eleven—too young to be a bride.’
    ‘But I think you’ll leave soon.’ It saddened me.
    ‘Next year. When I am of age. I hope that Edward summons me to Court.’
    ‘So then I shall not see you for years.’
    ‘No. Not for a little time. But when you have grown up, when we are wed, we’ll live together.’
    ‘Yes. Will you like it?’ I slid a glance, hoping I did not see dismay.
    ‘I expect I shall. Especially if you stop asking questions.’
    ‘I could.’ It suddenly mattered desperately that he should like it.
    Richard put his arm around my shoulders, a warm hug. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t beat you.’
    ‘I should think not! I am a Neville.’ My sense of dignity returned rapidly. ‘And I promise I won’t tease you.’
    A sharp voice carried up from below, aimed in our direction. I could not hear the words, but knew its owner. Master Ellerby had come to discover the whereabouts of his absent pupil. Lady Masham, I suspected, would be on the look-out for me.
    ‘I am needed,’ Richard said. ‘I’ve neglected my duties in the stables too long. My betrothal means nothing to the horses I must groom!’ He stood and pulled me up, brushed a hand down my dustspeckled skirts. I still did not know what to say to him at this moment of parting. Somehow our relationship had changed in that one pronouncement from my father. He was still Richard. Still an intriguing mix of cousin and brother, of henchman and royalguest in our house. And yet he was now so much more.
    I think he saw my perplexity and demanded nothing from me as he set off down the steps in front of me, then stopped so quickly that I almost fell over his heels. He bent and picked up a tail feather from one of the cockerels in a moult. What it was doing on the battlements I do not know—I found my thoughts incongruously taken up with the thing of such little importance in comparison with the plans for my future. The feather was green and black, long and shining still, iridescent in the dim light.
    ‘I have given you a bird. And now a feather. As a promise of my regard.’ With a flamboyant gesture he reached up and stuck it in through the fillet that held my veil, so that it drooped ridiculously over my brow. Then with a chivalry he never showed to me unless it were a formal occasion in adult company, he took my cold fingers and kissed them.
    ‘Good day to you, Lady Anne Neville.’
    I can still remember, all these years after, the brush of his lips against my skin on those cold battlements, the complex weave of my feelings for him.
    Overnight my sister Isabel became impossible. She summoned Margery to help her dress with an arrogant gesture of her hand as if she were Queen Elizabethherself. Looking down her narrow nose, she informed Lady Masham, always a colourless lady, that the days of her lessons were at an end—until the Countess heard and took a hand. The royal demeanour slipped somewhat when the Duchess-apparent was once more compelled to read the text of the day and practise her sewing of neat seams.
    Yet, when we were alone, still she was unquenchable.
    ‘Duchess of Clarence.’ She spun in a circle, her silk skirts brushing against the tapestries that decorated the walls in the corridor where we walked. ‘A royal brother for my husband. Wife of the male heir to the throne of England. Would you