I: 1472 -1475

What struck Anne first were all the people. The narrow streets of Middleham were thronged with men and women, in such numbers that she realised at once many must have been drawn from the neighbouring villages. As she glanced back over her shoulder, intending to ask Richard if the Monday market day could somehow have been changed in her absence, they began to shout. With a start, she realised the cheers were for her, for their lord the Earl's daughter come home at last.

Above the keep itself flew the standard of Gloucester. Anne shielded her eyes, gazed upward at the scarlet and blue background bannered with the Rose-en-Soleil, the cognizance of her cousin Ned, and Richard's tusked Whyte Boar, the Blancsanglier. As she watched, it dipped and then unfurled to full length, held there for a moment as if pinned against the vivid streaking sky.

Turning, she saw Richard had reined in beside her.

"We're home," he said.

She beamed back at him, let him spur his horse ahead of hers over the drawbridge, galloping like a boy in his excitement. As he disappeared, she laughed breathlessly, the delight of the moment so filling her that she had no room for any other feeling. She was home! Home at Middleham, recognised by all the world as Richard's wife and Duchess of Gloucester! Suddenly no longer caring what people thought of her, she unpinned her headdress, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder for one of the women behind her to catch. Blowing a kiss to the throngs of cheering villagers, she spurred her own mount forward and cantered beneath the portcullis with her burnished russet-blonde hair streaming in a ribbon behind her.

Richard met her in the courtyard, his arms outstretched.

"Welcome home, My Lady Gloucester," he chuckled lowly, sweeping her from the saddle as soon as she reined back.

"Richard!" she squealed, betraying how young she still was in that moment, as her arms went round his neck and he bore her across the courtyard, as any husband would bear his bride across the threshold of their new home.

"What do you say we stake our claim to your parents' bed?" He murmured huskily, nuzzling her flowing hair as he spoke.

Anne flushed, startled that he would express his desire for her so publicly.

"Richard!" she protested, but, mingled with the shock and the shame was a by now familiar throb of real desire, one that made her giggle like a child as he broke into a run up the great stairs.

"The Duchess would like to see you in her solar as soon as it is convenient, My Lord," Richard's steward greeted him as he rode into the courtyard at a canter, and pulled back on the reins to avoid running down any of the half-dozen dogs that swarmed about the white stallion's legs.

At the words, Richard glanced across at the steps of the castle, alarm filling him as he saw them empty. In the eight months since they had taken possession of Middleham together, Anne had never once failed to welcome him home. Indeed, the older servants had begun to whisper that their love for one another was just as fierce as that between the late Earl and Countess of Warwick. Which indeed it was.

So what was keeping her from the gatehouse now? Tossing the steward the reins, Richard swung himself from the saddle and ran a hand through his tousled dark curls.

"Thank you, John. I'll go up at once."

He fought to keep his voice level, but he knew only too well that his apprehension must be showing in his eyes. Thankfully, the man didn't comment on it, only murmured, "Very good, Your Grace," and led the horse away as Richard turned and half-ran towards the doors of Middleham.

He reached the solar far quicker than any other man would ordinarily have done, but still not quickly enough for his liking. To his relief, however, the scene within seemed tranquil enough. Anne sat sewing, attended only by Veronique and Constanza, her closest confidantes among her ladies. The former was also sewing, while Constanza plucked desultorily at the strings of a lute.

"Anne. John said you wanted to see me?"

"Richard!" She sprang to her feet at his voice, crossed the room to him, turned her face up for his kiss. He held her close, a little reassured at seeing her move so easily, but far from entirely quiet in his mind.

"Are you well, sweetheart? I must confess, you had me worried, not coming out to greet me as you usually do."

At his words, Anne did a most unusual thing. She laughed, turning in his arms to face the women.

"Vero?"

The Frenchwoman came over to her, pressed a scrap of fabric into her outstretched hand, then swept out of the room, pulling Constanza with her before the other woman could protest. Anne watched them go, then turned back to Richard, placing the scrap of fabric in his hand.

"I know it's a few weeks early, but I couldn't wait. Merry Christmas, my love," she smiled.

Mystified, Richard looked down at the piece of fabric he held in his hand. Lovingly crafted out of silk and Brussels lace, it was a minute christening gown, such as he had seen his nieces wear at the lavish Court ceremonies that had accompanied their baptisms.

Glancing from it up to Anne, he saw her face was alight with joy; alight with a secret she was clearly bursting to tell him. In that instant, clarity burst upon him in a great dazzling rush as bright as the three suns of York.

"Anne!" He gasped with joy; swung her up off her feet and twirled her around. She beamed down at him, laughing, and caught his lips with hers.

"Congratulations, my Lord of Gloucester," she murmured into the kiss, making his lips tingle pleasurably with the vibrations, "You're going to be a father."

"Congratulations, Your Grace. The Duchess has been delivered of a baby boy."

Richard swung round at the midwife's words. As they slowly sank in, his face split in two in the widest grin he thought he might ever have given anyone. "Sweet Jesus be thanked!" he cried, and was about to dash out of the room to go to Anne, when the matronly woman made so bold as to put a hand on his arm.

"Your Grace...the babe was weeks too early. He's hale enough for now, but he's very small. So small I fear the slightest thing might snuff him out like a candle flame. And the Duchess had a very hard time of it."

"What are you saying?" The joy had gone from Richard's face now, to be replaced by cold, desperate fear, "Might I lose her? Lose them both?"

"Not both, thank God. The Duchess has youth and determination on her side; she will recover. Though I feel I ought to warn Your Grace, I doubt conceiving another child too swiftly would be good for her."

Richard nodded absently, impatient to be off and visiting his wife and child. No sooner had the midwife taken her hand off his arm than he had pressed a pouch of silver into hers and gone. He bounded up the stairs, reaching Anne's bedchamber in record time. The women in there tidying looked up at his footsteps; curtsied and scurried out at a single hand movement.

Anne, too, lifted her head, smiling tiredly at him, "Richard," she held out the tiniest bundle he had ever seen, beckoning him towards the bed, "Come and meet your son."

He crouched down on the edge of the great bed beside her, took the babe into his arms. He cradled the tiny boy as gently as if he was made of glass, scarcely daring to touch the fair downy head with more than the very tip of his forefinger. When the midwife had said his son was small, he'd scarcely dreamt she meant this delicate. He almost feared breathing over the boy might bruise him, he seemed that fragile.

"Thank you, my love," he murmured, glancing up just long enough to kiss Anne's temple and push a stray strand of her hair out of her eyes with his lips, "You've done so well."

"What shall we name him?" Anne whispered in return, though she knew the answer almost before it had formed on Richard's lips. After all, Richard had grown up idolising his oldest brother; their bond now was the strongest she had ever seen between siblings. How could Richard do anything other than name his eldest son after him?

"Ned, for my brother."

Knowing she would not change his mind even if she wanted to, all Anne replied was, "As you wish, Richard. Ned it is. God willing, he'll have a sister named Isabella within the year."

She knew she was making bold; not many men would brook their wives wishing for a daughter so openly, but allowances had to be made for women in childbed, and she knew it. Besides, Richard had always been different; being Cecily Neville's son had ensured he never saw women as nought more than delicate political pawns.

He too, said nothing, only quirked an eyebrow and twisted his lips into that crooked half-smile she so loved.

"What my lady wife commands, my lady wife shall get, if she is only willing to help in its attainment," he breathed, leaning up over the babe to kiss her heatedly and bring a scarlet blush to her cheeks.

"For shame, Richard! You would speak so in front of your son?!" she protested, but her protest had little more than laughter in it and they both knew it. He laughed himself, kissed her one last time as he put Ned back in her arms and then swung himself off the bed, "I'll go and have Middleham's bells rung in honour of our son."

Anne couldn't help the grin that split her face as he left. She watched him out of sight and then turned her attention to the bundle in her arms.

Richard's bedchamber was shuttered, admitted neither light nor cheer. He signalled and behind him, a torch flared into life. Anne didn't stir as he approached the bed. Long, loose hair trailed limply over a bared shoulder. It was uncombed, dulled to a lifeless brittle brown. Her face was pinched and bloodless, as white as the sheets upon which she lay; her eyes were closed, but the lids looked bruised and inflamed. She looked lost in the vastness of their bed, huddled and still under the weight of silken summer coverlets.

Richard sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. Her lashes lifted.

"Beloved, I'm sorry," he leaned over to touch his lips to her forehead and was taken aback when she turned her face away.

"Anne, be you angry with me? Because I wasn't with you? Sweetheart, I did come as soon as Nan's message reached me."

She shook her head swiftly, vehemently. Her face was pressed into the pillow and her voice so muffled, so indistinct, that he had strain to hear her words.

"Forgive me."

"Forgive? Forgive what, Anne? I don't understand."

The way her shoulders hunched forward told him that she wept, "I've failed you."

"Anne, that's not so."

"It be a wife's duty to give her husband children. You have the right to expect that of me. Yet I haven't. I've failed you."

Richard pulled her up; wrapped an arm around her and turned her in to face his chest, nuzzling her dark blonde hair, "There is something I would have you know, Anne. When you told me this autumn that you were with child again, I could take little joy in it."

She pulled back, regarded him with shock and uncertainty.

"Richard, why? You want more children, I know you do."

"Yes. But there is something I value far more, Anne. Your life. Ned's not even a year old yet and the midwife did tell me that if you conceived too soon after his birth, your own life might well be forfeit. You had such a bad time when he was born, your body may not have recovered enough to bear another yet. Another twelve months might make all the difference. Remember, you're barely twenty; I'm not yet twenty-four. We're yet young enough to have more children. We'll fill the nursery yet, you mark my words. Just give yourself more time."

Burying her face in his shoulder, she wept fiercely, even as he tried to wipe her hot tears away with the pads of his fingers and kissed her wet lashes.

"Hush," he said, "Hush."

Anne cradled her little girl in her arms, raining kisses down upon the downy hair. Healthier and stronger than her older brother, the baby whimpered, then began full-scale wailing as she struggled to escape her mother's smothering caresses.

"Let her breathe, love," Richard chuckled, entering the room far more sedately than he had done after Ned's birth. Anne glanced up sheepishly, "I'm just so happy."

"I know, but she's not going to disappear," Seating himself on the edge of the bed, Richard held out his arms silently. Anne flushed and handed over their daughter. Richard stroked the minute nose and then looked up at his wife.

"We're calling her what we discussed, I take it?"

"Of course. Isabella, for my sister and my aunt."

"Ned will wonder why we don't call her Cecily for ma mere," Richard warned. Anne scowled,

"We named our son for your brother. Surely nothing could be more fitting than to name our daughter for my sister?"

Richard held up his free hand, "Peace, love. I meant nothing by it. I was only teasing. "

Standing up, he took his tightly-swaddled daughter over to the window and opened it slightly, wrapping her in his doublet to keep the balmy July breeze from startling her or making her ill.

He bent his head over the baby so that his mouth was level with her ear, breathing into it words so soft that Anne had to strain to hear them.

"Welcome to the world, Lady Isabella of Gloucester."