𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑 || 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐿

~The House of the Rising Sun~

Barnet Heath....

The sound of marching men, their boots against the earth and armour clanking filled Catherine's ears as she rode with her husband toward the York encampment. Wrapped in a thick woollen cloak, adorned with a ruby clasp, and a velvet gown beneath, the chill of the air did not reach her and she knew at the sight of the soldiers no coldness could.

They were here to secure England once more and warmth flooded her body because of it.

Though she had been adamant that she was perfectly capable of riding by herself, Richard had insisted she sit behind him, her arms firmly wrapped around his middle and so that was where she was, peering over his shoulder. She supposed it was a small price to pay, after all, he had allowed her to accompany him, to show him that she was safe seemed fair.

Tents of white linen sprung from the earth like a hundred giant blossoms, each bearing banners of murrey and blue, banners she felt her heart warm at the sight of. By God she had missed them for they were a sign of her husband's safety, of her son's safety. Trestle tables on rickety legs lay hastily strewn about the camp and were packed with soldiers, polishing armour, sharpening swords, true sights of war.

Feeling a shiver run through her, Richard glanced over his shoulder.
"Are you well, sweetheart?"
She nodded, sitting up slightly to place a gentle kiss of reassurance to the nape of his neck, making him smile.

He rode confidently through the York camp, head held high and eager to show his wife what strength they had. They were outnumbered by Warwick's men but he would not be the one to tell her that! He wanted to show her that he was more than capable of protecting her, of protecting their son and when he looked over his shoulder a second time, he was pleased to see she held a look of silent awe on her face. She was proud of him.

On either sides of his stallion, men bowed, respectful murmurs of 'your graces' upon their lips which served to make her smile. It had been so long since she'd been addressed as a Princess, as the Royal Duchess that she was and to be so once more restored her heart some more to happiness.

"You never lost your title" Richard remarked, aptly reading her mind "The attainder was unlawful. There has not been one moment where you were not the Duchess of Gloucester nor a Princess of England!"

"Dickon! At last! I was beginning to think you were still abed with your wife!"
His voice was just as rich, just as powerful as Catherine remembered, and a sweet relief flooded through her.

"Truth be told, Ned, I thought the same of you!" Richard replied teasingly when Edward strode from his tent to greet them, locks of golden hair glinting in the morning sun.