His Common Queen (Temporary ending)

Chapter 1

Because so many people keep asking me if I've copied this or if this is a movie let me explain. I have NOT plagiarized this. This is a true story. This is a HISTORICAL fiction which means that this happened and the bits historians don't know are true the writer (Me) is free to make up. There is a series called the White Queen which I haven't watched but I hear is great about Elizabeth Woodville. The author and writer of that series is Philippa Gregory who also wrote about the life of Elizabeth Woodville, this is my own story and my own work!

The sound of hooves on the mud path thundered into the empty night. The nameless rider dug his heels into the beast pushing him further. The steed's legs moved at an impossible speed. The rider, a messenger, carried a singular message. This message would forever change the fate of one simple, countrywoman- Elizabeth Woodville. The letter was delivered in the dead of night. There were three strong raps at the door. A fair blond woman of great beauty, dressed in nothing but her nightgown, timidly opened the door. The letter was thrust into her hands and with a nod of the messenger, she was left alone. The contents of the letter brought Elizabeth to her knees; she read the words again. "On the seventh day in the year of our lord Jesus Christ 1461, Sir John Gray of Groby was killed in service at the Second Battle of St. Albans..." A single tear rolled down her cheek, another daring to follow, then an uncontrollable stream was let loose. Her marriage to John Gray was not one of love, it was one of convenience. It was only proper for her to be married off at the ripe young age of fifteen. John had never raised a hand to her in the nine years of their marriage. He treated their sons well, he was a fair man, a good man, and that was hard to come by these days. It was not the loss of her husband that made her cry. It was not the fact she did not love him. She cried for her sons, she cried for the world's loss of a good man. She cried again on the seventeenth because ten days after his death it was announced that the Second Battle of St. Albans had been won. Had he waited just a little longer he would be back in the loving embrace of his sons where he belonged.

The months after John's death Elizabeth's life had been in a state of turmoil. While she was grieving the loss of her husband, she continued to be the mother her children knew and expected her to be. While she kept the act up, she fought to keep the land that belonged to her husband, the late Sir John Gray. Although she fought long and hard, she knew the estate was out of her grasp. The day came when she got the notice of eviction; the land now belonged to the King, Edward IV. Giving up for a period of time, she went home to the place where it all started. , Northampton Shire. Now that can be interpreted in two ways, where Elizabeth Woodville's life started, or where the future Queen consort to King Edward IV was born.

Days passed in which Elizabeth had nothing to do. Weeks passed; eventually the months began to build up. One season passed and another came; Northampton Shire was getting ready for hunting season. The men kissed their wives and children goodbye and set out, hoping to bring home a big prize. It was nearing the end of the season when Elizabeth learned that King Edward was near. His Highness and his royal subjects had chosen Grafton Regis as their hunting region this particular year. Elizabeth woke her sons early on a hot summer's day in August. She kissed each of them on the forehead, then swung her youngest son onto her hip and took the other's hand. Their pace was quick; it was obvious to anyone's wondering eyes that she was on a mission.

Elizabeth had a special radiance about her; she was as fair as the calmest breeze in summer. Her hair was as rich and as gold the sun. Her eyes were an enriching deep blue that told every onlooker she knew their secrets. Elizabeth was a breathtaking figure and there was nothing else to be said about it. She was elegant and courteous. It was no secret that women hated her, it was no secret that men craved her, and it was no secret women hated their husbands for craving her. Elizabeth knew what kind of a man the King was; he appreciated great beauty in women. She was counting on her beauty and charm to sway the King into what she wanted, or rather, what was rightfully hers. The sun was starting to peek over the mountains, casting a gentle warm glow on the land. Elizabeth quickened her pace gently, shifting Richard on her shoulder. She knew the oak tree was just beyond the next curve; she followed the path letting her thoughts consume her.

She could already hear the stomp of hooves before she reached the tree. She worked her way between tree roots, squeezing her son's hand, then promptly coming to a halt and falling ungraciously to the forest floor. She spread her skirt around her and raised her hand to fix her once perfectly fastened hair.

"I must look a fright."

"You look wonderful, mother," her eldest son Thomas said, perching beside her and pecking her on the cheek.

"Thank you, my dear boy," she replied, brushing the muck off of his forehead and pulling Richard closer to her. "You'd best be on your best behavior today, we are about to meet someone very important." Before the words had left her mouth, the first of many handsome horses turned the corner with men atop them bearing the colours of the English flag. A man with short curly hair wearing fine silks and a long red cape was approaching slowly. He didn't seem to notice the woman and her two sons sitting only a few feet head of him. However it was a different story for the guards surrounding the King. Elizabeth stood, smoothing out her dress with all grace. The guards rode forward, pointing their hunting spears at her.

"Stand down! You are posing a threat to the King of England!" Elizabeth stood her ground, looking the guards right in the eye. She wasn't going to let one of the guards stand in the way of her conversation with the King. A smooth and calm voice floated over her as the King spoke.

"You shall not raise your weapons to a woman of such beauty. Put them away immediately." He didn't so much as glance in the direction of the guards but kept his gaze focused on her. The guards hesitated for a second before lowering the spears.

"Your Grace," she said, curtsying deeply, "what a matter of coincidence it is that we have stumbled upon each other. It is a great honour." Both of her son's faces stretched into little grins, knowing that none of what their mother was saying was true. They might only be eight and nine, but they knew that their parents supported the Lancastrian cause.

"Pray tell me your name, my lady"

"Lady Elizabeth Grey, your Grace." Nodding his head, he dismounted from atop his proud steed.

"What is a beautiful woman such as yourself doing wandering alone in these woods. Where is your husband?"

"He's dead, sir. Are you really the King of England?" Richard said, staring up at the King in awe.

"Richard! That is no way to speak to the King!" Elizabeth exclaimed, scolding her son. As much as she loved her son's curiosity, this was not the time nor person to experiment with it. The King looked down at Richard with a small smile on his face, then kneeled down in front of him.

"I am indeed the real King of England."

"But you look just like everyone else!" Thomas said, wrinkling his brow in disappointment. The guards behind the King took a step forward but the King reached his hand out behind him, motioning for them to stand still.

"I was a little disappointed too. I was hoping to sprout horns when I was crowned," the King said, with a little frown appearing on his lips. A man stepped forward, dressed in elegant robes. He cleared his throat with an ugly sniffle and cough, then he spoke up:

"Your Majesty, the Lords and Ladies are wondering what the hold-up is. They wish to reach the castle before the sunset."

"Of course, Lord Warwick." The King stood and wiped his hands then locked eyes with Elizabeth, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Promise you will meet me here again on the morrow." Without waiting for an answer from Elizabeth he turned, his cape rippling in the wind, mounted his horse and rode off, the procession of fancy carriages and prizewinning horses promptly following after him. Elizabeth watched after him for as far as the eye could see.