Violent Delights (Violent Delights Book 1)

Chapter 11: "Beneath the visiting moon"

It's a battle, not the war. But the battle is lost. Edward argues. Edward rages. I am not privy to all of it. I'm down the hall from one such argument and I hear him screaming at them. Parliament convenes in Northampton, and it's mostly a family fight. Edward finally rises up and protests.
They shout back.
It doesn't matter in the end. Edward tries. But he's massively overwhelmed. They don't know how he found out about the plot. Lancaster arrives. He is on Edward's side, however, he can't actually control the betrothal of Edward's sister, Isabela can. Edward isn't her guardian, Isabela is. Edward is furious. But they don't listen to him. He may be King. But Mortimer, Isabela, and Lancaster hold all the land in England. And they don't want a war, in the end just Lancaster and Edward can't do anything about it.
A war isn't a good idea. But Edward wants it. And he doesn't want his baby sister married off to the Scottish.
But it's happening anyway.
Edward shouts at his mother. Names are called. Words are had. Mortimer oozes politeness and kindness. But all the time he acts the king. It's clear he thinks himself king more than Edward. And at the end of the day Edward isn't yet sixteen years old. He's a boy who can't shave who barely knows how to run a country.
Edward in the end is furious. He refuses to go to the wedding. He storms out and simply informs me we are leaving. He doesn't tell me how it went. He doesn't have to.
He goes to say goodbye to Joan, who cries. I've barely met the little girl. She's a fair thing like all of them, blue eyes and soft blonde hair.
"I don't want to go away," she sobs.
"I'll take Scotland. And I'll bring you home, you can come home to England. I promise," Edward says, gently. He's always kind to his sisters. Perhaps he'll be a good father. But then I don't know if there are good fathers.
She flings her arms about his neck and both of them sob as they part. He tells her he doesn't know when he'll see her again. He promises though that they will see each other again.
And then we go.
We return to Windsor together. Edward comes with me. His mother is furious. She glares at me. Mortimer is more affronted.
"I know this is your doing. You think you've bewitched him," he whispers, in my ear, "Things will go better for both of you if you stop resisting."
"I don't know what you mean," I say, looking forward to the day Edward kills him.
And that is our parting. Isabela doesn't bother to speak to me. That's fine.
Edward is burning with rage. Once again he's been undermined. Once again he's not been able to exercise his power as king.
England has gone from ill managed, to a tyranny. And Edward knows it. His father let the Despensers run wild, and was far from a good administrator. But his spending and his methods were nothing like Mortimer's. Isabela has an absurd allowance, something like twenty times mine, and more lands than most of the nobles. Mortimer himself shouldn't wield half the power he does, and he empties the royal coffers on things like his own family and his own clothes. I know this because I read the royal accounts back five years and the recent ones, because I was bored. And now I know all this and I hate it. And I wish it would all stop. It's disgusting. And it's too slow, we are mostly powerless if Edward can't assert himself over them. And Despenser, though a criminal himself, was actually doing an amusingly good job. Royal revenues were up. He reduced Isabela's income yes but that needed to be done. It still needs to be done she's the Queen Dowager. And I don't mind her wielding power but frankly she's not doing anything but enriching herself. Taxes haven't been managed appropriately. And no one is looking at imports and exports.
I tell all this to Edward.
"I have people—people are supposed to be doing that," he sighs.
"They're not," I say, "We need more nobles, knighted nobles, no not Mortimer's family. More landowners need to be on our side."
"I can't distribute lands without my mother signing off half of them are hers," he sighs.
"Right, so have it be someone she'd agree to," I say.
"John, I can grant him property," Edward points out, "She'll likely have a compromise but—,"
"But it gives us a voice in Parliament," I say.
"Agreed. I could give you lands—? Castles? Woodstock, or Langley—," he says.
"No, no, no, that would irritate her. We're not doing it. Anything I do twists the knife they know I am you. It has to be outside," I say.
"I want you to have income, what if something happened to me?" Edward asks.
"I would survive," I say, stubbornly, "Right now we're playing for England. Worry about me after."
He nods.
"This has to be slow," I say.
"All right," Edward agrees, "We'll creat John a Duke."
"There aren't Dukes in England," I say, frowning, "That's for French holdings."
"Well we're doing it, I'll grant him lands I don't know which just yet," he says, putting a hand through his hair, "And come to some concession with my mother to do it. It'll require a trade especially after that row over Scotland."
"I'm still going to help you invade Scotland."
"I know, it's why I love you."
We both laugh.
"No, I love you because you laugh at things like this," he says, kissing me gently like he does, just steadily nursing it like he's absorbing the taste of me.
"You do love me?" I ask, frowning.
"Yes, what did you think?" He asks, putting a hand to the back of my head.
"I thought you'd get tired of me," I say, quietly. I don't know why someone wouldn't tire of me. They tend to. I'm far too much even I tire of me why wouldn't someone else? I'm not that pretty. And I'm intense. And I'm me. That's the end of it I'm always going to be me and that's not someone that can be loved.
"Not exactly. I've got a whole country and this is what feels like home," he says, pushing his forehead against mine, "Listening to you talk quickly and dreaming of kissing your lips. Go on, you used to me yet?"
"Edward, I fell in love with you when you said 'trust no one, we're not safe here' instead of kissing my cheek," I sigh.
"You idiot," he laughs, then he kisses me again.
We do that, more often than not these days. We talk, and then we'll kiss. Then we'll talk some more. We'll talk for hours. Usually it's business but sometimes we'll force ourselves to take a day off and read and talk for pleasure. He'll read aloud, he has a lovely voice, and he discovers I can play the lute (not well) and he'll make me play for him.
John and Elenor are happy to have us home. Edward of course is either looking for a joust or finding a way he can arrange a joust. Elenor has her lessons. And I finally have a breakthrough with her.
It turns out the little girl has nightmares. Her father had paid a governess to sit with her all night but her mother cancelled that of course. Again I don't know if their father was actually a good father, but I do know he was at least trying to love them, and that counts for something I suppose. Their mother may be trying I don't know. There's an odd poison to mothers, which makes me terrified of being one. They simply love this thing they made in a terrible and dangerous way, and that can come out twisted and drown mother and child. I don't know quite how it comes out well. My mother was good because she kept herself away so the poison didn't reach me. Perhaps that alone was a blessing. But it leaves me wondering if I know how to love anything at all the way I should. There's no formula or rules for love. It's not sixty four squares it's not simple. Edward makes it so. And that scares me even more.
I tell Elenor that she can come and wake any of us if she's frightened. She insisted she doesn't want someone in with her as she's meant to be brave. I tell her to come and get me or Aimee if she is scared.
Most women have a lady sleep with them. I don't, mostly because I thrash. I've always been rather private and I don't mind caring for myself if I wake up in the night with cramps or the like. And now Edward for some reason is often here. He'll come in to talk then conveniently not leave. And I find myself curling up happily in his arms. So I'm either alone, or Edward is there and anyway Edward is her brother so it hardly matters if Elenor runs in.
Elenor takes me up on it a couple of times. The third time it's a stormy night and she's downright sobbing.
"Come here, hurry the floors are cold," I say, patting the bed. I'm shocked she made it without tripping over Edward's damn lion. The thing was loose tonight he gave the keeper the night off. So the thing will probably in his room or sprawled in the halls. He's a hall down from us it's not far how else could he and a goblet of wine walk down to see if I'm still awake to talk about the joust he was at, at two in the morning.
"I had another nightmare," Elenor sobs, crawling into the other side of the bed, "I'm sorry."
"Shh, you're fine," I say, wrapping my arms around her, "What was it about?"
"My daddy," she whispers, wiping her eyes, "I'm scared they cut him up like they did Uncle Hugh."
All the kids liked Hugh. Granted all the kids apparently think paying the servants to kidnap each other is the height of comedy. They seriously do I'm learning to find the humor in it; my family wasn't a very funny family I don't think.
"Shh, I'm sure they didn't," I don't know what to say. How can I comfort a heartbroken ten year old whose dad may very well have been torn apart? He was a king and maybe not a good one, but to her he was her dad. "They wouldn't—if he did die it was quick."
"I didn't get to say goodbye," she whispers.
"He knew you loved him," I say. I hope he did. I'm sure he loved his little girls; he was kind to them.
She sobs a bit more, wiping her face.
"Here, stay with me, and if you have another dream then wake me up and I'll talk about something boring. Like one of your brother's jousts," I say.
"Don't let him hear you call them boring," she says, nearly smiling.
"Oh, he knows I think he's pretty covered in other people's blood," I say. I do it's a real, real problem. And he knows and that's a bigger problem.
She giggles.
"Come on, I warn you, I roll over all the time," I say.
She snuggles up on the other side of bed. She's clutching a little doll. Her dad gave it to her I know she always carries it. It's fine but it's soft, good for a little girl to sleep with and hold, not so fancy she can't play with it.
"Where did your doll come from?" I ask.
"A lady who used to work for my dad, made it. She made them for her little girls so he paid her for ones for us," she says, softly, playing with the doll's hand a little, "They're stuffed with lavender. Joanie has one too."
"That's nice," I say. It's a nice gift, and I'm sure the serving woman got paid well. And it's something the little girl can cuddle. At least he did that sort of thing and thought of his girls. Girls can't get the crown so girls aren't usually thought of. My father thought of us more than most, he saw to it we had lessons. Many fathers don't, they don't think of their daughters at all, not as people, certainly not as daughters.
She talks a bit more about her toys, before we both drift off to sleep. I don't know if I did a good job comforting her. But at least I tried. I'm not her mother. But I'll be someone's mother someday. And how will I know how to do that? I'm not even good with these children.
Worrying about that, I fall asleep.
I should wake up to the dawn coming in or perhaps minstrels outside playing. Something nice like that.
No, instead I wake up to the click of the latch of the window. That wakes me. I'm a light sleeper so that makes sense. The sound doesn't make sense.
I sit up, my hand flying to the dagger that I keep beneath my pillow at all times.
A shape, a person, is stepping in the window. He's got a torch.
Elenor wakes, and screams, darting behind me.
I stand up, dagger in hand, my head only going to how to strike him, and how far away help is. It's a man, in peasants clothes I don't know him, and he has a dagger too.
"Get out," I say, holding the dagger at ready, other hand up to block his.
Elenor screams again.
The door bursts open, Aimee steps in and screams.
The man is moving to perhaps dive at me I don't know, when a rush of dark fur collides with him. Edward's lion, likely summoned by Elenor's screams, flies at the man, pinning him to the ground with a muffled growl.
Elenor screams again, and she and I both back away and climb onto the bed.
Edward stumbles in, summoned by the screams, actually carrying a sword and shield, wearing just his night shirt, hair standing on end.
"I fucking love your lion," I say, holding the dagger, pointing at the lion which is clearly mauling the intruder.
Edward looks at the lion, then at me, then just walks over to me and Elenor, ascertaining that we are not hurt.
"Sorry—I just need to—," he kisses me on the mouth, quite involved, his tongue slides across my teeth.
"EDWARD GET YOUR LION!" Aimee cries, backing away from the carnage.
"Sorry—sorry needed to do that—um—right, come here, here boy, it's all right," Edward goes and takes the lion's collar.
I'm still panting from the kiss and wondering why he needed to kiss me right now it's not a priority when the lion is eating someone on the floor.
"Come here—oh I know you want a snack, good boy," Edward pats the lion, dragging it backward a little.
"Who was that?" Elenor cries, hiding behind a pillow.
"I don't know, the lion ate his face," I say, leaning over to look.
"Good boy, I'm gonna put him in the hall, or not," Edward can't move the lion any farther.
"What is going on?" Aimee asks.
"I don't know, the lion ate someone's face, Pippa knows more than I do," Edward's says, holding the lion's collar and trying to stop it from eating the intruder any more.
"That man just climbed into the window," I say, "Here, you hold the lion and maybe move it? I'll take your sword."
"Probably can't handle you holding a sword and a knife at the same time, not if you want me to be coherent, no," Edward says.
"What?" I ask.
"Oh my god," Aimee comes and takes his sword from Edward, "Can you calm down?"
"Probably not, have you even LOOKED at her?" Edward asks.
"Who? What?" I ask, trying to look in the body and not step in blood.
"You gorgeous, holding weapons, swearing," Edward kisses the top of my head, which is about all he can reach, while holding the lion.
"Your lion ate someone's face, Edward," Aimee snaps her fingers.
"What are we doing—oh you were right screams did come from this way?" Monty comes in, mostly dressed, also carrying a sword, "Sorry, your lady ships—why did the lion eat someone's face?"
"Yes, I was right, you owe me a crown," Aimee says, patting his shoulder.
"Eddie, who is that?" Elenor whimpers.
"I don't know. I just got here," Edward says, looking at me, "I don't know things."
"Look, there's an intruder in the queen's bedroom I'm calling more guards," Aimee says.
"Better not, that's one of Mortimer's men, got his face eaten. So not an intruder to the grounds," Monty says, kneeling by the bloody corpse.
"You recognize him?" Edward asks.
"Unfortunately, face eaten or no," Monty scoffs.
"Meaning Mortimer sent him," I say, "Which means again we do nothing."
"We can't continue doing nothing," Edward says, a bit annoyed, "We can't keep playing into their hands."
"We do until we're ready to tip the board. That time hasn't come yet," I say, "At this point it's a threat. Nothing more. If Mortimer even sent him. He could have come of his own accord. This means nothing."
Edward sighs.
"Our time will come," I say.
Because the trap is nearly set.