Like Fire and Powder (Violent Delights Book 18)

Chapter 6: the engagement according to Margret Beaufort

I wake as ever, from nightmares.
It's not always this bad. But seeing my son brings it all back. One would think nearly thirty years on the misery of those days would have subsided. 
But it has not. The horror in my bones is as fresh as that very first night. Like the inside of my skin is still unclean. And I wish simply to get it out of my mind but I can't do that either. I can't recall my own childhood, as clearly as I recall him ending it.
"You're beautiful, you're such a pretty girl," he said, hands rough on my cheeks as he stroked my hair from my face.
"You love me?" I asked. I had heard stories. He was supposed to love me. If he loved me then it was all all right. I was his wife.
"Of course I love you," he said, kissing me.
He did not love me.
That is not what love is.
"Please stop," I sobbed. I didn't know what it was to lay with a man. I was thirteen. I wanted to be a good wife. But it hurt. "Please."
"Shh, you're all right," hand on my sweaty cheek.
I was not at all, all right.
I cried every single night after he left. I didn't sleep. I felt so horrible. So filthy. I came to hate my days and dread my nights. I prayed for guidance. I prayed for things to get better.
Things got worse.
It was my governess who first realized I was with child. I didn't. I was a child. I didn't properly note the subtle change in my belly.
"There's been blood," I said, shivering, as she felt my once slim stomach. Looking down now there was a roll beneath my naval. "I've bled onto my trousers. So I can't be with child."
She sighed. Only much later would I know that I was bleeding because he lay with me. That it wasn't my cycle. But at the time I didn't know. I didn't know anything.
My husband was equally doubtful, "She's tiny. You cannot tell."
"She is," my governess told him. I'll never know what she thought. "There is a quickening."
He shrugged a little, "You feel all right?"
I nodded.
He shrugged again. I'll never know what he thought either. Nor do I want to.
I didn't stay tiny. The baby showed quickly on my small frame. What went from a puffiness between my hip bones turned to a solid, squirming mass. My skin stretched with awful red marks and it felt weird to roll over in bed. I couldn't sleep on my stomach like I liked with that inside me. And I woke up from my nightmares with no solace of an empty bed, now his child now moved inside me. I sobbed, and hugged my swelling belly. I didn't know how I'd do it. I didn't know how I'd do all this again when we had more children. And he'd be back in my bed and I hated that but this was even worse.
Then of course he died. I was sad for it meant I'd be married to some other man. And at least he said he loved me. And I didn't know what I was going to do. I was entering my seventh month of pregnancy, and my back ached all the time, and it was hard to rise from my bed or sitting, I was carrying so much weight.
Things were getting better but I didn't know or believe it at the time. Jasper came to get me. A steady, calm I had no idea I needed in my life. He was collected, obviously the soldier but terrifyingly reassuring. I couldn't bring myself to trust him and he didn't react to that either, soothing me as naturally as he would a skittish horse.
I felt like a broodmare. I couldn't roll over in bed or get up without aid. My back hurt so much I wanted to cry. I was carrying this child to term and every day was equally miserable. The creature wouldn't stop moving in me, and I hated how it felt.
My poor little Henry. Brought into the world so harshly after probably a day of labor. I don't know. It went on and on and I was in such pain. I was dripping in my own sweat and blood they had to help tug the baby from me. And he and I were both sobbing and in a way to me that was nearly funny.
They gave the baby to me, wrapped up a blanket, both of us still shedding tears from the ordeal and dripping with my blood. I was so weak was I shaking. But I knew then my baby might not live and suddenly I wanted to look at him. They said it was a boy. I knew that. I'd dreamed of a boy with his father's pale eyes.
"Hello," I said, as they placed the child in my arms. He was too little, sobbing and red faced and as miserable as I felt.
"He's very weak," the midwife said, gently.
"No, he's strong. Aren't you? You're strong," I said, looking down at my son for the first time. And I felt myself smile then.
My mood sank within hours. I told them to let Jasper up and they did. I wanted his usual calm.
He held his nephew, speaking to the baby in Welsh and for the first time the child quit crying.
"Good teach him that, he likes it," I said, leaning back in the bed, "Don't you Henry? Don't sass your uncle."
"Maggie sasses me all the time, it's fine," Jasper said, smiling down at the boy who was whimpering pitifully.
I got better. They didn't strictly let me out of bed but I got out of bed within weeks. Little Henry didn't like sleeping at night either as it happened. I didn't know what his excuse was, but mine was unending nightmares.
Jasper's rooms were on the other hall presumably so he could sleep but he did not. He'd come up and check on us. He knew nightmares plagued me. And he was dedicated to treating me like one of the page boys. I loved it. He let me swear and if he caught me sneaking out of bed he'd suggest we get food from the kitchens or chat with me or bring six dogs to let me keep in my room. One night it was storming so Henry and I were both up, so were all the nurses. Jasper came up to check on us, found us all up, and we wound up playing hide and seek in the shadows of the hall, laughing as we tried to conceal ourselves behind the ancient columns. I'd tackle my brother in law, full force of my tiny body against his thick side. He'd trap me under one arm and pretend to keep looking for me while I giggled. I hadn't been a child in nearly a year. I didn't know how I'd missed it.
Nearly two months after Henry was born, I was finally officially on the mend and the doctors allowed me outside, and Henry was as sickly as ever. It still cold but I didn't stay out long but being pregnant and ill I'd missed all the good snow. Jasper was home, and walked me out of course with a few of the dogs so I could look at the snow for a bit.
"Did the doctors talk to you after little Henry was born? And it was such a hard labor?" Jasper asked.
"They said we were lucky to be alive," I said, quietly, going to inspect a tree. I hadn't touched a tree in months.
"They told me the same. And that you might not have another child, for it was so bad," he said.
"They said maybe not or at least not for years," I said, picking at the tree bark, "Why?"
"Because, you being widowed, and of good fortune, it was generally asked—from, London, how you were. And I thought I should tell you that I've informed, everyone, including the doctors that told me, that you are unable to have any more children," he said.
"Why?" I frowned.
"I mean if you did marry and had another child it can be a miracle it honestly doesn't matter—,"
"No, why'd you lie to them?" I asked. I was not acquainted with his lies then.
"Felt like it. You don't—need to be marrying some man to have his babies do you? If, something were to happen to me and Yorks get you, and then one of theirs weds you, I can't probably do anything about that because I'll be dead. But. At least if this is common knowledge, might keep him from your bed, at least keep him from it for that purpose," he said, shrugging looking off.
"You probably can't do anything if you're dead?" I asked.
"Well. I haven't actually tried now, have I?" He smiled finally, when he realized that I wasn't cross.
No, I wasn't cross.
And I have my chastity nearly thirty years on. And I still have my nightmares. And the same antedote as it happens.
I go in search of my favorite liar, fully expecting him to be awake at this hour.
I knock once, quickly.
"Come in, Maggie."
I step into the sitting room. Jasper is lying in the middle of the rug, surrounded completely by papers, spinning a knife in each hand idly, eyes closed. About fifteen wolfhounds are lying by the fire.
"No guards?" I ask, stepping in and closing the door.
"I'll keep," he keeps spinning the knives, not rising.
"How'd you know it was me?" I ask, coming and sitting down on the sofa.
"Footsteps. Used to sit up listening for the sound of tiny little Maggie feet on stone floors," he says. He's the only person in the world who calls me Maggie. When I was a little girl they'd call me that. Just people would. He started it of his own accord and retained it. I've never minded.
"Have you seen Henry?" I ask.
"Last the guards sent me a report, he's in his chambers, weeping with Roland and David," he says, "I've got guards on his rooms. And outside. And on yours."
"Hm, yes, I noticed, none on yours?"
He flicks his wrist, launching on knife into the door frame at approximately head height. It buries itself there, quivering in the thick wood. He doesn't even turn his head to do it, still staring at the ceiling.
"Jasper," I say.
"You're heard," he grunts.
"I'll post them myself I've no issue ordering people about," I say.
"Yeah I will. I knew I wasn't going to sleep," he sighs, rubbing his face with his free hand.
"What's all this?" I ask.
"Things that need doing. Oh, on that note," he flicks his knife to land buried in one of the papers. He then sits up and uses the knife to retrieve it.
"Nobody wonders why your correspondence has knife holes in it?"
"Interestingly enough, no, they do not. People know me, well, Henry knows me apparently," he mutters.
"Do you know what he's weeping about?"
"Being a young man more than likely? Good to get drunk and cry with your young friends I'm pleased he's doing it. Harry and I used to go get drunk on the roof, or my brother the king would want to tell us about his colleges at length so we'd drink while he did that," Jasper says, looking over the paper.
"What about Edmund?" I ask, softly. He never mentions his brother, I assume out of respect for me.
"Eddie had his own friends, he was usually off. Same with my father, doing as he liked I expect," Jasper says, shrugging, and holding out the paper. "I often wonder what mother would have thought. Then I remember to say a little prayer and remind God not to let her see a single one of my actions over the last forty odd years."
"Well. I'm sure your actions when you were eleven were all right," I say.
"I did say, odd, also the summer we were—well I was eleven or twelve, in there, Harry dared me to climb to the top of Winchester Cathedral with a scarf about my eyes. So naturally I did. You don't have to say anything I am also shocked I'm still alive. Here. This is ah—Henry's draft of marriages, for me I'm suggesting you find someone who won't be wanting a husband," he hands me the paper, using the knife to reach, then laying back down to go back to spinning it.
"You're finally getting married?" I ask, almost amused.
"You and my mum can have a good laugh in heaven about it, save it," he says, waving a hand at me idly.
"Henry's right, Catherine Woodville makes the most sense," I say.
"She's twenty seven with four children," Jasper says, "The idea isn't to upset little girls."
"She's tough, I've met her a few times. No, she's got a good head on her shoulders," I say. She might not like him I'm aware of how he presents. But he can talk with her and tell her what he's about. She'll know it's political.
"That's why I asked you, you've —had dinner with all these people, I read spy reports," he says.
"Do you miss the shadows?" I ask.
"No, I don't sleep anymore so I spend plenty of time spying on my own time so no I don't get homesick, thank you very much," he grins a bit.
"It's weird to have you both back home."
"That'll come, I don't believe it yet, I'm still in denial enough for it not to be weird honestly," he says.
"I've been there as well. It comes in waves," I warn. He's spent the last thirty years of his life on the run, at war, or as a prisoner. My life hasn't be normal or even kind, but my son and brother in law have known nothing but the threat of nooses about their necks for three decades. My Henry probably can't remember a life when he wasn't living as an outlaw. Jasper had normalcy as a child, as normal as any of us are, but he lost that pretty early on. Besides which fact Jasper's father, both his brothers, his other nephew, and basically all of his childhood friends, are all dead, the majority murdered. At least Henry has had some constancy in his uncle's presence, and I'd hope the comfort that I at least exist and am alive and care for him.  And his friends, such as they are. I don't know if I like the young men he's getting drunk with but at least he's doing it at home. I know how they got David, the boy's parents worked at Pembroke I think I met his mother she was a nurse or a cook? Something? Anyway that's how we got him. "How did you find Roland?"
"In Brittany, we were being kept at this place and one of the little boys' father had died of sweating sickness, so the boy was being sent to an abby and he was crying in a gutter, he started following me," Jasper says, as though he didn't definitely lure the child out of the gutter with food and tell the child it had a new home with the exiled Tudors and formally adopt it as his squire or something.
"Ah," I say.
"Didn't probably explain in letters there's some young knights Henry's fond of remind me and I'll point them out, most of 'em we picked up in Brittany though a couple latched on in France," he says, feeling for another paper, "Did someone show you the marriage arrangements Henry's tentatively drawing up?"
"Does he want my input?" I ask.
"Do I—look like I've planned a wedding before? —yes we want your bloody input, the boy hasn't planned a wedding before either and he's doing a million and one things, look at it," he says, handing me the paper.
"I've not planned a wedding before," I say.
"But you've been to weddings," he says, "You are aware of the life I've led, Mags."
"You went to your brother the king's wedding," I say.
"I was not very aware of my surroundings. I was like thirteen one is not generally aware of one's surroundings as a thirteen year old boy," he says.
"Fair point, I'll have a look," I say, taking it.
"Oh, speaking of the wedding, remind me in the morning, to tell Henry those York girls can be in the same set of rooms, the mother not just yet," he says, rubbing his face with one hand.
"Why?" I ask, suspicious.
"So distrusting. I'm hurt. And shocked. That I who am merely an honest man—,"
"Jasper Tudor, what information did you get in the past few hours under the cover darkness that made you change your mind on the girls?" I ask.
"For personal reasons not to do with spying I was walking outside in the total darkness in a black cloak outside the girls' rooms and the older one was crawling into the other one's window perched out there on the rock. So, one punched the other likely because they are dumb kids. And they are going to find ways to each other, being dumb kids. Which is fine. So, I wrote it someplace then lost it, that we're letting the girls be with each other, and I sent them up a plate of food."
I decide which part of that to ask more about first, and which I don't want to know more about, "You sent them up a plate of food?"
"Kids like food."
"It's after midnight."
"Yeah I know."
"Were you spying on their rooms?" I ask.
"For one, if that girl had fallen and twisted her ankle everyone would be thanking me, for another, no, I was looking for one of the sad dogs. There were a bunch of 'em wandering around the place and so I was bringing 'em all inside," Jasper says, gesturing to the many wolfhounds lying about.
"You used to have a wolfhound at Pembroke."
"It followed me for a while. I left it with my brother the king he liked petting them, I went to —probably Burgundy then— it died while I was gone," Jasper says, "Queen Margret gave it to me said I needed a pair of eyes on me at all times."
"These were Richard's, he always had them about."
"Explains why they were sad. Didn't know you were York dogs did you?" He asks, as one comes to lick his face.
"I still have a line of Stafford's mastiffs."
"Oh that reminds me, I need to write a note to myself, 'Get Henry a mastiff or something equally mean he can't dismiss because he feels bad for it or is in a mood'," he rolls over, feeling for his inkpot and nearly upsetting it.
"I'll bring a couple," I laugh.
"That's really all I ask, do you want the note?"
"No, I'll remember," I say, "I'll bring them as wedding presents, assuming I'm invited."
"Of course you're bloody invited."
"Not if I uninvited myself I'm not you just handed me the guest list I hate weddings," I say, very seriously.
Jasper finally laughs, hand over his face.
There's a rap at the door.
"Fuck off," I say, making Jasper laugh harder.
"It's Roland please don't throw a knife at my face, please don't throw a knife—why do you always feel the need to do that?" Roland asks, sighing, as he enters and of course a knife flies directly past his head and buries itself safely a few hands width away on the door.
"Jasper, what have you done to this boy?" I laugh.
"Conditioned him—and I'll quit when you quit creeping in here begging me not to,"  Jasper says, rising to come and get his knives but Roland was getting them for him.
"The king requests your presence in his chambers, because, and well—," Roland winces.
"Give me the direct message, I know him," Jasper nods.
"Because 'my fool uncle will still be up tossing knives at people with probably five new pets if we're lucky none of them are humans' my opinion was not, ah, wanted he really does need you," Roland says, looking directly at the dogs.
"Hm, he knows me, right I'm coming, you all right Maggie?"
"Yes, I'm fine, go," I nod. He wouldn't know I'd be here to ask for me. And he doesn't want to see his mother in the middle of the night anyway. Of course he doesn't want me it's been fourteen years. He's grown up.
Once the men depart, I nearly weep. He is my only child. This is all the family I have too and I'm not even a part of it. I don't know what do about it either. Looking at him causes me pain and yet I do care for him. I just want the nightmares to stop that's all.
I'm just drying my tears when I hear footsteps in the hallway. That was surprisingly fast. I wipe my face again and sit up.
Jasper leans back in the room, "Are lilies superior in any way to violets?"
"What?" I nearly laugh.
"You heard me," Jasper says, leaning on the door, "Your son needs to know."
"Why does your nephew want this information?" I ask.
"You have the identical context which I do," he says, so tiredly.
"Why does he want to know if lilies are superior to violets?" I ask, frowning.
"Why would I know that? He's your son."
"He's your nephew."
"If you please, my lady, there is some money riding on this, for me," Roland says, hopefully from behind Jasper.
"And there we have more context, and it makes even less sense," Jasper says.
"That's what you young men get drunk and argue about?" I ask.
Jasper shrugs, "These new young folk. I don't know. I don't personally want more information."
"Look it makes less sense explained," Roland says, "I was there and I'm not clear on it but there is money riding on it."
"At least they stopped crying," I say.
"They're still crying," Jasper says.
"We're still crying," Roland says.
"Is this what it was like in Brittany?" I ask.
"Very close," Jasper says, "Yes, it's like you're really in exile with us we've brought the fun of exile home to England. Lilies? Violets? Because I don't actually care and it doesn't have to be true but I do want to go back to what I was doing."
"No, we do care it has to be true, because I need to be right it's important to me," Roland says.
"Young people. Can't figure 'em," Jasper shrugs.
"What did you argue about when you were a young person getting drunk?" I ask.
"Ceilings. And also roofs. And how high they were," Jasper says, very proud, as though it makes perfect sense and it does not.
"What?" Roland and I both say.
"I'm not giving more context it really wasn't there I said what I said and I'm maintaining it makes more sense," Jasper says.
"It makes less sense," I say.
"Doesn't if you're drunk."
"No, flowers are useful," Roland says.
"Are you arguing about flowers to give to a girl or something?" I ask.
"No, we got off girls a couple of hours ago it is really just the merits of flowers, so we thought we'd ask the king's uncle's opinion and then he deferred to a woman claiming he had one. David and I didn't think he'd have a woman to ask but the king sighed a long time and said he's got people everywhere, your ladyship," Roland says, quickly.
"You know I hope my deceased family looks down on me at these exact moments, hears the conversations, and then gives up looking down on me long enough to miss all the stupid bits where I nearly die, then checks back in on the useless conversations that mean nothing to even the participants. I'm sure my dear mother simply abandoned us for years after even one of the ceilings and roofs ones, two of her sons were involved not just one, occasionally three can you imagine watching three of your progeny, arguing about ceilings two unwillingly emotionally invested, for upwards of four hours? Probably missed the whole war checked back in just for this," Jasper muses, while Roland tries to sneak in the room and Jasper blocks him from getting in and two dogs from getting out.
"Your ladyship?" Roland asks.
"I don't really like either. I'm not fond of flowers there's my answer," I say.
"Right you have you answer, goodbye," Jasper says, pushing Roland ahead of him and leaving.
I pet the dogs that woke up from the exchange, and have just settled them, when Jasper returns.
"Only me," he says, strolling in and flipping knives in either hand.
"Well? How are they?" I ask, "Did you find out more?"
"No. I did not. When the message was delivered two of them cried 'The woman does NOT even like flowers' and then all devolved into arguing I took my leave," he lies back down on the rug, closing his eyes.
"There's—no way one of them isn't trying to woo a girl," I say.
"So, yes, there definitely is. I know all those boys there's a solid fifty fifty chance this conversation is due to nothing whatsoever. Also even if you're right, the operative word there, is try. If their collective intelligence over the last seven hours got them to, 'girls may like flowers could we do something with that?' Then the girl will die an old maid," Jasper says.
"I mean, Henry does have to woo her, he ought to, a little it is polite," I say.
"Yes, yes it is, which is why we are apparently involved, especially if what I just witnessed is their best," Jasper scoffs.
"I'm thinking she can help us go and observe the stables. You've not done a royal walkthrough yet and she's fond of riding, it'll be something polite to invite her to, and they can walk ahead and chat a bit," I say.
"Yes, what could go wrong?" Jasper says, clearly thinking of all the things that could go wrong.